#not to little meow meow the classics or anything but come on they check all the boxes. war crimes and everything

[cakemoney]

fun little thing i enjoy doing is just imagining that odysseus and aeneas are constantly, increasingly, sopping wet the entire time of their Journeys even when they’re not. even when they’re on dry land they are Covered In Water and Dripping Everywhere they Cannot Escape The Sea

[carlsangel]

BIRTHDAY

carl grimes x reader

(you find carl the perfect gift.)

tags: fluff fluff fluff

masterlist here! (i fixed it btw)

send some more requests!!!

You could never keep a secret from Carl, no matter how serious or how stupid he could always manage to get it out of you. All he had to do was ask repeatedly or when you got really stubborn he’d tickle it out of you. He’s just that kind of guy, he likes to know everything going on in that brain of yours. But more importantly he hates secrets.

That’s why when his birthday rolled around you had no idea what to get him or how you would even keep it from him. You’d done the classic comic gift maybe two times before already. Last year you had gotten him a vinyl for his record player and he was happy with it.

Carl didn’t care for gifts at all, he believed your presence was enough but gifts sort of just gave him something to enjoy with you. Every time you’d gotten him a comic, you read it with him. When you got him that vinyl, he listened to it with you. He was happy, so you knew whatever you got him this year was something you should enjoy too.

You decided to go out to scavenge with Glenn to see if you could find anything. You went out to a shopping center nearby and looked around there. You thought maybe you could get him a new flannel but you weren’t sure if he’d like it. You found a red flannel and realized he’d hate it.

“Hey, is this ugly?” You asked Glenn who was also digging through racks to find something for Maggie since her birthday was coming soon too. He looked over and cringed at the sight of it. “Yeah that’s- that’s pretty bad..” He looked back to the racks to dig through. “Fair.”

You were so stumped, what could he possibly want? You walk through the store some more, looking around the aisles when you hear something behind you. A small meow. You stop in your tracks and just pause. You loved cats probably as much as you loved Carl. You turn around and look to the floor to be met with the cutest little siamese kitten.

You crouch to the floor and let him walk to you. You melt at how adorable he is before gently picking him up. You need to show Glenn. When you find Glenn, his eyes are locked on the racks of clothes still. “Glenn.” You try to get his attention but his eyes wouldn’t pry away. You stick the cat out in his direction. “Glenn look.” He rolls his eyes and turns to you to be face to face with a cat and he almost jumps a little.

“Oh- jesus christ. Where…” His voice trails off when he realizes what you’re asking. “No. Nope. That thing probably has fleas.” He replies backing away. “But he doesn’t I already checked and even if he does we can treat it, can’t we? Cmonnn for Carl’s birthday.” You smile pleadingly. Glenn sighs and agrees. “Fine but if I get in trouble with Rick or Michonne, you’re dead.”

You smile and thank him. You look around the store for some more stuff you might need like the cats food or maybe a collar or something. You find everything and a couple a toys before you guys leave back to Alexandria. You knew getting back home would be tough, Carl’s birthday isn’t till tomorrow so you needed a way to hide the cat.

When you approached the gates you knew you’d have to be quick to hide him. You couldn’t ask Glenn since he’s already at risk of being scolded because Rick would usually never agree to letting you bring an animal home. So you thought of someone Rick can’t get mad at.

“That ain’t happenin.” Daryl says as you’re standing at his doorstep practically begging him to let you keep the cat there for the night. “Daryl it’s just for tonight? Please? It’s the perfect gift for him and I can’t keep it at our house he’ll find out and I don’t want it to be spoiled.” You pout. It kinda worked.

“If it shits in here you’re cleanin it up.” He grumbles, taking the cat from your hands and your bag of supplies. You thank him and praise him for doing you the favor. Now it’s just a matter of keeping it from Carl until the morning.

You and Glenn had come back from the run quite late so it shouldn’t be that hard. Maybe an hour and you can spend half of it in the shower. You walk into the house and Carl was feeding Judith dinner. “Hey how was the run?” He asks, trying to get Judith to eat the food off the spoon. “Fine.” You muster up. He’s confused as to why you’re being so short with him. “Find anything interesting?” He adds. “No. Not at all, I think i’m gonna go shower.” You make your way over to the stairs and he chose not to push it. He knew something was up, maybe you actually hadn’t found anything and you were upset about it. Or you were up to something else.

You had to wake up early the next morning in order to surprise him properly. You walked downstairs to see Carol cooking his breakfast and she flashes you a smile before going back to work. You head back over next door to collect the cat. You walk in and Daryl’s looking down in the box he had kept him in. He notices you and looks at you for a moment before speaking. “He shit in the kitchen.” He tells you before walking past you and out the door. “What the fuck, Daryl?” You giggle.

You handle it of course due to your guys’ agreement. You gather everything and head back over to finally surprise Carl. Rick and Michonne didn’t even realize you’d gotten him a cat so they found out when Carl did. They didn’t care, however, they knew the both of you would parent that thing like it was your damn newborn. You walk into your guys’ room and see he’s still soundly asleep. You gently place the cat on him as he sleeps and you poke him to wake up.

“Wh- woah what-“ Rick and Michonne giggle at how delirious he was. “Happy birthday.” You smile, waiting for him to process. He sits there for a moment to do so. “Wait we can keep it?” He croaks out. You look to Rick and Michonne and they look to each other. They look back to the both of you and nod, finally giving in. “Thank you.” He smiles as you lean down to kiss his forehead.

The rest of the day went perfectly, you guys spent the whole day together and got to do whatever it was you wanted, like going out to the woods with your new cat. Carl had his birthday dinner and afterwards you both went upstairs to rest from your eventful day.

His birthday ended perfectly. Laying in bed with his favorite person and his new kitten.

It couldn’t get any better than that.

a/n: i hope you likedddd ittttt this one’s one of my favorites now UHHH i didn’t give the cat a specific name bc i wanna leave that to you guys to name him muehehehe lowkey reply with a name you’d give the cat :P THIS REQUEST WAS ADOOORABLE THANK YOU ♠���

[cybersvoid]

❧ Cybers AU List ☙

Okay, lets spice things up. I’m going to write fanfics of the AU’s listed with whatever characters that you guys vote for the most, and whenever I have a bit of writers block, or I’m bored, I’ll write the AU with whatever character got the highest votes for that specific AU. If you donate to my kofi (you can name a chracter and AU) and it’ll count as two votes instead of one. If you can’t donate, you can just vote by sending it in through my asks. (Ko-Fi is just a way to double the chances of the character you want, getting the AU you want them to be in)

I’ll write whatever character is in the lead, next to the AU’s that they’re in the lead for down below, so check back here for updates. If you don’t know what fandoms I’ll write for check my rules (I’ll write for any characters in those fandoms). If you have any questions ask, and good luck!

♡ Rules  ♡  Kofi  ♡

➵ Pirate AU 

Swashbuckling. Scalawags. You’re a mer-person, held hostage on a pirate ship and the captain sure does think you come in handy guiding them through the ocean, so why not keep you just a little longer? And you’re just so naïve when it comes to human things you don’t even realize how twisted their morals are

➵ Horror AU 

Jinkies, please don’t kill me Mr. Ghostface, I wanna be in the sequel! You and your friends got a cabin in the woods and there’s a killer on the loose. What will you do? Especially when the killer seems more keen on toying with you, and making you theirs than actually killing you.

➵ Soulmate AU 

Tied to someone you haven’t even met yet. The universe says you’re meant for each other, but what if your soulmate is a total psycho? Hell bent on not only keeping you metaphorically tied to them, but physically as well.

➵ Ancient Gods AU 

Oh gods, you’re nothing more than a mortal. You didn’t mean to catch the attention of an all powerful being, but you did. And now they’ll do anything to have you. From killing your villages crops to flooding rivers. They won’t stop until you're in their arms.

➵ Fairytale AU [ex] 

Dark spins on classic stories. Beauty and the beast, but this time the beast doesn't let you go home to your village. What do you need there anyway when you have them? Goldilocks and the three bears, but this time I think I deserve a little compensation for you sleeping in my bed and eating my food. It’s only fair, isn’t it? etc.

➵ Arranged Marriage AU 

But father, I don’t love them! Fuck you child. You marry this person who’s secretly obsessed with you because I said so, and because this story needs plot.

➵ Monster AU 

Nagas who keep you locked in their caves, and a bird person who brings you shiny gifts while keeping you up in their nest, and a dragon hybrid hiding you in the mountains and burning alive anyone who even comes close to finding you... oh my. etc.

➵  Café AU 

You work at a cat cafe. Meow. A little weird, but it pays the bills. Especially when one of your regulars is especially generous. Oh... I suppose it is a little late. Sure, I wouldn’t mind you walking me home. How kind of you.

[bangtann-bangdamn]

Nocturne

<Yoongi x Reader>

Part 46 - The whole world melted

It was supposed to be easy: confess your love for Park Jimin and spend the final moments of the year locked in his arms. Only one problem – he has a new girlfriend and now you need to save face. Good thing Yoongi is willing to play pretend. But how long until you catch feelings for the quiet music man?

Word count: 1.1k

Warnings: None

You didn’t want to seem rude. That’s why you had agreed to take Mrs Min to the theatre. Not because you had ticked every single thing on your to-do list before the sun had even risen and had been sitting in your room staring at the clock ever since. Not because the thought of seeing Yoongi made your chest flutter.

If Mrs Min noticed anything unusual about your attitude, she didn’t care enough to comment. Instead, Mrs Min filled the car with the chatter of a baking programme she thought you might like and recipes she was dying to try. You hummed in all the right places, but you simply couldn’t focus on the conversation.

Nothing had changed, you knew that. Yoongi was still avoiding you and you were still leaving. And yet, the urge to tell him wouldn’t leave you. Your heart desperately wanted to see his reaction, hoping beyond hope that he would tell you not to go.

But you knew that would never happen. Everything was fake, of course.

Fake, fake, fake, fake, fake.

You pulled into the closest parking spot you could find to the theatre.

“Oh thank you, Yn. I was so worried that I was going to miss the performance.” Mrs Min opened the door. “Are you not coming, dear?”

You stared straight ahead. “I don’t think I should,” you admitted quietly.

“Don’t be ridiculous, Yn. It would mean the world to Yoongi to have you there.” She reached over and placed a hand on your shoulder. “He would never admit it, but you mean a whole lot more to him than he lets on.” She paused, waiting to see if you would say anything but when it became apparent that you weren’t going to comment, she sighed. “It’s okay, Yn. Thank you for the lift.”

The door closed quietly and you watched as Mrs Min strode towards the crowd slowly filtering into the theatre. You saw a few faces you knew, most notably Namjoon as he tried to pass Jin on the steps without being noticed. It didn’t work and Jin quickly threw his arms around Namjoon as if they were long lost best friends. But the one face you wanted to see wasn’t in the crowd. Not that that was unexpected. Knowing Yoongi, he would have turned up a few hours before for a last-minute practice.

You hoped that the year abroad would clear your mind. That, when you returned, you could face Yoongi without the unescapable sense of doom filling your heart. That you could be his friend. But a year seemed like a long time to wait, and you couldn’t deny that you missed him. You missed the way he could read you without you saying a thing, the way he took your hand when you watched a film, or put a blanket around you if you started nodding off. You missed your midnight texts about nothing and everything. But mostly, you just missed him.

You didn’t make a conscious decision to go in. You just found yourself turning your car off and making your way over. You weren’t going to tell him you were there. That was the easiest way to leave. You were just going to watch his performance and then sneak away. You had less than two hours to kill before the taxi turned up to take you to the airport. Surely that was enough time.

You took the first available seat at the back of the theatre. What you hadn’t counted on was how small the theatre would be. The stage felt impossibly close, despite the crowded room. You shrunk down in your seat as the MC of the night took the stage and hushed the crowd.

You had to sit through several performances, each better than the last. Despite their skill, you found yourself checking the time every 5 minutes. The longer you sat, the more it felt like a bad idea.

By the time Yoongi took the stage, you had 10 minutes until you absolutely had to leave. You sat back as Yoongi walked onto the stage. You couldn’t deny he looked handsome with his hair pushed away from his forehead and fitted suit. He looked mature, every inch the classical musician he wanted to be.

You smiled as he bowed before taking his seat at the piano bench. He looked around the theatre, stopping as his gaze locked with yours. You saw his eyes widen with surprise and you tried to swallow your racing heart. You raised your hand in a wave.

He looked away, head shaking a little before he stretched out his fingers and placed them on his opening chords.

His fingers danced across the keys with swift elegance, starting out slowly, almost mournfully. Then the lighter notes started to intercept the lower ones, dancing together in a sweet melody that raced to compete. The low notes slowly disappeared, leaving the light notes to slow until they stopped. Silence filled the theatre and then - the low notes started again, impossibly sad with each passing moment.

You couldn’t explain how, but the song spoke to you in a way that words never could. It reached within your chest and plucked at your heart. It said everything you had felt towards Yoongi these last few months without saying a single word. And you couldn’t help but think that Yoongi felt the same way.

The last note sang out to the theatre, leaving only silence. The room erupted into applause and you stood with the crowd as you clapped. You wiped away the tears you hadn’t realised you shed as you stared down at the man that you were in love with. He stood from the stool and bowed to the crowd, the faint traces of a smile playing on his lips. When he stood, his gaze locked onto yours.

The whole world melted away and suddenly, you were the only two people left. You wanted to run to him, to tell him that you felt it. The magic in his music.

You wanted to tell him everything. That you were leaving, but only because you couldn’t take the thought that he didn’t love you back.

Yoongi was led off stage, and the magic disappeared. You moved towards the door. You had to catch him.

Asking the umpire at the door for directions, you found yourself standing outside the green room for the performers. You hesitated at the doorway, looking in at the commotion as the other performers congratulated Yoongi. Yoongi had his back to the door, but you could feel his second-hand embarrassment. He never did like being the centre of attention.

You were about to call out to him when a pretty blonde clung to his arm, looking up adoringly at him. Yoongi didn’t try to pull himself away. In fact, he seemed to like the attention she leant up and placed a chaste kiss on his cheek.

You moved away from the doorway as you felt your heart break in two. God, you were so stupid to think… of course, the song wasn’t about you. After all, it was all fake.

You left without saying a word.

<Part 45 (x) Part 47>

Tag List: @missmadwoman @boraength @wondersky @chiminilove @miki-chi @skyrro @sunashawty @crispychanniee @salty-for-suga @lylanie12 @mochiteddybear @misscheesecakeee @thebluemoonlight @yourhoneymilkandtea @lidda @rjsmochii @taeshuworld @sessi03 @dreamcatcherjiah @shay-the-turtle @jisnuq @herosvillians87 ​ @meowmeowyoongles @lyndseygoregasmxo @bang-tan-fan @lilramenl0ver @our-little-meow-meow @unadulteratedlyunique @chocobetterknot @tremendousminyoongi @atulipandarose @jaiuneamesolitaiire @yoongisabby @trinityxsope @veronawrites @mon-art-de-reve @shininmoonchild @chogiyeol-utopia @kim-jias-den @kimmalik @min-yus @secretlycrazyhummingbird @uxwi @despressowhatelse @potatoandfries @localmoonchild @annawolfhard19 @betysotelo18 @thesweetest-peas @jovialdelusionbouquet

[spacedikut]

lockdown lovers ; spencer reid

pairing: spencer reid (criminal minds) x f!reader

summary: lockdown!au. spencer goes from expecting his days to be filled with books, books and more books to books, an asshole cat, and a cute anonymous neighbour. 4857 words

a/n: i was so excited about this and stayed up writing it so i hope you like it too :)

masterlist

It’s three days into lockdown when Spencer notices the cat.

It’s a Maine Coon, he recognises instantly, but there’s this distinctive… dead look in it’s eyes. The body is huge – so fluffy it looks like the cat has a mane, ears invariably up straight and large enough that the eyes look beady in comparison. A mixture of white and grey throughout, the cat spends its days lounging across the windowsill of the apartment in the building next to Spencer’s.

He’s fascinated. How can a cat be so big, so ugly, yet so lovely?

He has to know more.

If he was anyone else, he’d argue the obsession is the fruit of going stir-crazy in his apartment. A lack of seeing his friends combined with having to work cases from home would be the perfect justification for Spencer to move his work station to the window facing the cat.

But this is Spencer. He’s happy being stuck home. He just likes the look of the cat.

He spends a good twenty minutes rifling through his stationary to find a piece of paper and the appropriate pen to jot a note for the cat owner. He thinks the owner must be stuck home, too, so if he sticks the note to his window and waits a day, he could know the cat’s name within twenty four hours.

They’ve had plenty of staring contests. Spencer should know his rival’s name.

So he does. He takes his time writing out the words “I like your cat. Do they have a name?” clearly on the paper, then spends a good five minutes deciding where on the window to stick the message.

He decides on the upper left corner. You won’t miss it.

The cat blinks sleepily at him as they watch Spencer tape the question up.

There’s an answer within three hours.

Spencer is too excited to be embarrassed at how enthused he was when he noticed the response.

Or when he saw the name.

Hi there! His name is Mr Darcy :) He’s a dick x

Spencer can’t help but profile the writing, the syntax, the grammar.

The first thing he notices is there’s a feminine lilt to the way you write – you’re a woman, most likely. The writing is slightly messy, indicating high intelligence, and the use of a smiley face and a kiss makes him think you’re younger in age. If you live alone, which you must because you live in a one bedroom apartment, he can safely guess you’re around his age.

And Mr Darcy… you’re a bookworm. At least for romance and the classics.

Spencer likes Mr Darcy. He has so many questions, suddenly, like how is Mr Darcy a dick and how old is he and why does he never seem to move from his position by the window and what is your name and who are you and do you happen to read a lot of books? Like Ray Bradbury? Please say yes.

He shocks himself. Maybe this quarantine is getting to him more than he realises. He hasn’t felt this excited since Maeve.

He hasn’t been this intrigued since Maeve. And the circumstances are similar, he realises.

No. Let’s not get ahead of ourselves, Spence.

He worries himself into a spiral when he begins thinking about how to reply. As if she can hear his whining, Penelope calls him.

They’ve made it a habit to call one another a lot. She recently taught him how to use his webcam and has been encouraging him to write more on his computer, rather than by hand.

“Good afternoon, my favourite Doctor.” She sings. He hears some shuffling in the background and can tell she’s baking.

“I need your help with something.” He cuts straight to the chase.

Her interest is piqued, “Oh? I am all ears.”

“Remember the cat I mentioned?”

“The ugly-but-beautiful majestic beast that, if you believed in reincarnation, would’ve been a high class gentleman in his past life? Yes. I think about him every day.”

“His name’s Mr Darcy.”

She lets out a screech, a mixture of a groan and moan that is filled with pure glee. “Of course he’s called Mr Darcy! Tell me everything. How do you know?”

He’s clearly impressed with himself when he says, “I asked.”

“Whoa.” Penelope freezes in her kitchen. “Are you, Doctor Germaphobe, breaking the lockdown rules?”

Spencer feels insulted. “No! Never! I stuck a note to my window, like in that viral tweet you sent me.”

She chuckles, “Well, I already told you I could’ve told you everything about Mr Darcy and the owner if you wanted me to. I am incredible.”

“I appreciate the gesture, Garcia-“

“But it’s morally wrong. Yeah, yeah, heard it all before. What have you said back?”

“That’s what I need your help with.”

Garcia is only a little surprised he’s asking her and not Derek. But, then, as much as she loves Derek, he’s a bit too.. much for someone like Spencer when it comes to love. Spencer approaches people gently, hesitantly, often giving the impression he doesn’t even want to be there.

Derek can have anyone on their knees within minutes.

Different tactics, that’s all.

“Alright, pretty boy. How long have you been talking? Purely through window messages? What else has been said?”

“Well,” He begins, clearing his throat, making eye contact with Mr Darcy, “We’ve only spoken once. When I asked for Mr Darcy’s name. You know, studies have shown that animals can form lifelong friendships with other animals, even if they’re not from the same species.”

“Spencer.”

“Most research has focused on chimpanzees, baboons, horses, hyenas, elephants, bats, and dolphins - but there’s no reason to think that friendship is exclusive to these species.”

“Spencer!”

“What?”

“You’ve spoken to them once?”

“Her. Spoken to her once. And it wasn’t speaking, it was writing.”

There’s a long sigh down the phone. “First of all, how do you know the owner’s a girl?”

There’s movement in Mr Darcy’s apartment. Spencer stares. “The way she writes.”

“Uhuh,” Spencer can hear her stirring something through the phone, “And what was the last thing said?”

Spencer’s eyes narrow – is that a person? Is that the owner? Is that her? Oh my god.

“Spencer? You still there?” Garcia looks to her laptop, checking the call is still connected.

“Yeah, I’m here. Sorry. The last thing she said was his name is Mr Darcy and he’s a dick.”

“Oh,” Garcia smirks, “It’s sexy hearing you say dick.”

In normal circumstances, Spencer would register her comment and give a very distinct huh, but he’s distracted.

He sees Mr Darcy meow. A hand appears, petite, with fingernails painted yellow that have smiley faces on them. She brushes Mr Darcy’s fur back, pulling so the skin around his eyes tugs up high and he looks stupid. He seems to like it, though.

She must like smileys, he thinks.

Mr Darcy stands and stretches. He’s alarmingly long.

It’s silent on Garcia’s end, where she looks confused at the sudden silence. She checks again that the call is still connected.

“Spence?”

“Still here. Sorry. I thought I saw her.”

“Oooo,” She’s all giddy, “What does she look like? Is she pretty?”

“I couldn’t see her properly. I can tell she’s too cool for me already. This was stupid.” He sighs, “Forget I said anything. I’ll take knowing Mr Darcy’s name and move on with my life.”

Spencer moves to hang up, but is interrupted by a loud “No!” being shouted at him by Garcia.

“No, Spencer! No! You write something back to her right now and you form a friendship with someone that isn’t one of your colleagues. I love you with my whole heart, and you know that, but it would be good for you to expand your social circle!” She grins and bites her tongue between her teeth, “Aaaand.. this could be the start of a quarantine romance. God, I miss dating.”

At the mention of romance, Spencer visibly flinches. “I’ll see what I can do. I gotta go, Garcia, thanks for calling.”

“Love you. Please marry her so Mr Darcy can be the ring bearer.”

And she hangs up. He’s left contemplating whether he should respond, and what he should respond, as he watches the empty space where Mr Darcy is absent.

It must be dinner time for him.

+++

I’m curious as to how someone named Mr Darcy can be a dick.

That’s a good response, right?

Right?

It lets you know he gets the reference, he knows who Mr Darcy is named after, and leads you to continue the conversation. It’s perfect.

It’s taken him nearly two hours to come up with it. He feels exhausted.

He sticks it on the window, where Mr Darcy has returned to, and huffs out a breath.

He reminds himself to be calm and cool. This is simply a way to pass the time during quarantine, there’s no need to put too much pressure on himself to think it’s anything more or to put more effort than is necessary (he says, after spending two hours formulating a response).

Calm and cool. Cool and calm. Neither are words Spencer would ever use to describe himself.

Spencer stays up until nearly 1am reading. Just before he sleeps, he walks to the kitchen to get some water, and can’t resist checking to see if you’ve responded.

You have. He ignores the way his heart speeds up.

He used to share the windowsill with my other cat and a bunch of plants. Now he bites anything that attempts to move near him. He also likes to vomit on my pillow. My single pillow.

Spencer chuckles as he reads it. He remembers when the window was full of plants, and how one day they all just… disappeared. He assumed the person moved out, but now it’s funny to think that you had to move them all because Mr Darcy demanded he own that space.

He doesn’t recall ever seeing another cat.

Well, now he has to respond. He needs to know about the other cat!

He imagines Derek coming to him in an apparition, like some sort of angel, and saying, calm and cool, kid. Calm and cool.

Spencer decides he’ll reply in the morning. Cause he’s calm and cool, and totally doesn’t want to know anything and everything about you and the two cats you live with.

+++

The messages continue for days. Spencer learns a lot, despite his “attempts” to not profile you (“attempts” as in there was really no attempt).

He learns you were given Mr Darcy by a friend, he’s two years old, and your other cat is the recently adopted, affectionately named Stupid Sally. She’s a ginger cat, estimated to be at least four years old, and you refuse to believe there’s anything going on in that tiny head of hers.

Spencer catches a glimpse of Sally a couple of days after he learns her name. She jumps up beside Mr Darcy, bonks her head on the window, then is whacked by Mr Darcy and falls from the windowsill. Sally doesn’t make another attempt.

He still hasn’t seen you, though. The longer he talks to you, the more he wants Garcia to send him everything she can find on you.

But he has restraint. And fear.

He wants to know more, wants to learn more about the anonymous girl in the opposite building. He doesn’t even know your name, and he assumes you don’t know his, and he’s not entirely sure what number apartment you live in.

He considers asking to convert your conversation from post-it notes on windows to hand-written letters, but that reminds Spencer too much of Maeve and he can’t handle that.

Do you know how difficult it is for Spencer Reid, with all his knowledge and facts and ramblings, to limit himself and how much he says?

It’s torture.

The sun is blinding when Spencer pulls his curtain back, eyes navigating to see if there’s a new message waiting.

I haven’t asked, do you have any cats? Any pets? Mr Darcy would be a terrible boyfriend but Sally could use a lover :)

Before he can stop himself, his mind is whirring with the possible implications of your message. Does this mean you want to meet? You want to know about him as much as he wants to know about you? You’re interested?

He needs to call Penelope. He wants to talk to you so badly, learn everything there is to know, but he can’t bring himself to do it. The situation reminds him of Maeve and, although it’s been so long, he’s still mourning. He’s not sure he’s ready.

Turns out he doesn’t need to worry. You’ve got your own plan.

+++

“So,” Your friend sighs, flopping onto the couch, “You got his number? His name? Anything?”

“No,” You pout, “Not even sure he’s a guy.”

“That’s never stopped you before.”

You playfully gasp. “I don’t know what you’re implying, but I am insulted.”

She chuckles. She knows all about your curious neighbour - she’s the one that encouraged you to reply and keep replying. And now she’s the one trying to convince you to form an actual friendship.

“Just put your number on your window.”

“Do you know how dangerous that is?!” You scold, “Anyone could see it!”

“Yeah, but neighbour guy could see it. And text you. And be really cute.”

You can’t help but glance behind you, into your bedroom window, where the infamous window is. Mr Darcy lounges, completely zonked out with the sunshine keeping him warm.

“What’s the worst that can happen? Some random people text you and you, what, block them? That’s it. Easy.”

Life is so easy for extroverts, you think.

You grab your notebook, rip a piece out and jot down your number before you have a change of heart. You’re essentially double messaging through the medium of your window messaging. But who cares?

What have you got to lose?

+++

Spencer stares at your phone number for way too long. Mr Darcy, as if sensing Spencer’s battle, lazily lifts a paw and rests it against the paper, pushing it into the window.

Spencer dials Penelope’s number straight from memory.

“I was beginning to think you’d died, Spencer-“

“Is it a terrible idea to start texting with Mr Darcy’s owner?”

“What?!” She exclaims, “No! No no no no no! That is an incredible idea! Spencer, please tell me you’re texting her!”

Penelope’s excitement gives him a rush of confidence. She’s always so supportive, so encouraging. Penelope is the best.

“I’m staring at her phone number. I just- we know what happened last time..” He trails off, voice meek. He wants to pretend he isn’t constantly thinking about the worst outcome, but he is. He’s scared.

Penelope’s voice is soft down the phone, “Spence. You have nothing to be afraid of, okay? I’m so proud of you for even considering texting her. But if you truly think you’re not ready, maybe you’re not. But remember, this doesn’t have to be anything you don’t want it to. You can keep the conversation to cats and cats only.”

Spencer smiles even though she can’t see him. She’s right. It doesn’t have to be anything and, honestly, it’s likely it won’t be anything – after all, Spencer isn’t exactly confident when it comes to women.

She might also have a boyfriend. A husband. A wife. He doesn’t know.

He realises he’s started thinking way too deep about someone he doesn’t even know the name of.

“Does that silence mean you’re gonna text her?” Penelope questions, suspense and hope clear in her voice.

“Yeah,” He replies, glancing at Mr Darcy, “I am.”

+++

[To: Mr Darcy and Sally’s Owner]: Hello. I’m Spencer.

[From: Mr Darcy and Sally’s Owner] hello??????? do i know a spencer?

Embarrassment flushes through him. What a weird way to introduce yourself, he chastises himself, Great first impression.

[To: Mr Darcy and Sally’s owner]: Sorry. I’m the one that’s been asking about your cats through the window.

[From: Mr Darcy and Sally’s Owner]: really? prove it

He wants to feel insulted that you’re so suspicious, but is simultaneously impressed that you’re so cautious. It makes sense to worry after posting your number for anyone to see.

[To: Mr Darcy and Sally’s Owner]: Of course. I’ll put a note on my window with my number now.

He does just that, shuffling quickly and frantically like he does when his mind is moving a thousand miles a minute during a case. He slaps the note against the window, unable to resist hovering on the off chance he spots you.

His phone buzzes.

[From: Mr Darcy and Sally’s Owner]: oh hi spencer! im Y/N, owner of Mr Darcy and sally :)

He can’t help but chuckle at the sudden change of tone. You take stranger danger seriously, it seems.

Why does he find that so endearing?

He’s getting ahead of himself, again. Calm and cool.

They pick up the conversation from where the last note left off, where you asked Spencer if he has any pets of his own. He finds it much easier to talk to you like this, rambling and all, which you don’t seem to mind. Your texting style is distinctively different to his, making his phone vibrate multiple times as you send each sentence of your message separately. He prefers writing chunks full of information, all with perfect grammar and punctuation.

You teach him what ‘wtf’ means and when he sends a meme to Penelope with that caption she loses her damn mind.

She decides she loves you there and then.

A friendship blossoms. It’s odd, he doesn’t know what you look like and you admit to catching a glimpse of him when he showed you his number through the window, but other than that you have no idea what the other looks like.

You know so much about eachother’s lives, though, and so much about eachother. You know which apartment you both live in, he’s got a whole list of reasons why Mr Darcy is a dick and he kind of agrees, you even know that he’s an FBI agent.

Then it happens.

He discovers what you look like.

He wants to play it off as an accident, he really does, but that would be a complete and utter lie.

The area under the window opposite yours has become his new sanctuary. He spends way too much time there, reading and whatnot, and he tries to pretend that it’s so he can watch Mr Darcy all day every day, but there’s always been a part of him that wants you to walk by. Maybe stop right in the centre of the window, pause, let him get a good look.

That’s exactly what happens.

He’s doing some “light” reading before he moves to his bed, where he will continue to read, and he sees the main light in your bedroom switch on. You always have a light on – you’re scared of the dark, just like him, but the main light catches his attention because Mr Darcy looks back and meows.

Someone’s in the room.

For some reason, he can’t tear his eyes away. It’s not the first time he’s noticed someone flutter around the room, never managing to really show themselves. It could the best friend you told Spencer about, the one that you’ve been stuck living with the past month or so.

But it’s not.

A girl appears, wearing an oversized t-shirt and shorts with still-wet hair. She dangles a cat toy before Mr Darcy, which he swipes at twice, then looks away, uninterested.

She rolls her eyes at that, then starts dancing and mouthing along to a song Spencer doesn’t recognise. Now he can’t stop staring – she’s captivating, whoever she is, as she prances around her room, arms flailing around and serenading a very unimpressed Mr Darcy.

This has to be you, he thinks. He doesn’t know why, but this has to be you.

Your passionate singing dies out. It’s the end of the song. Before the next one can begin, you happen to look up and through the window, straight at Spencer.

And you disappear.

You collapse. You definitely scream a little, dramatically falling to the floor and hiding under the window with your back to the wall.

Holy shit. You think. He’s cute and he saw me singing to my asshole cat.

He must think I’m crazy.

Spencer keeps staring at the now empty space of your window, Mr Darcy having been spooked by your exit.

He thinks he might be in love.

+++

Neither of you know what to say to one another after what transpired.

You’re too embarrassed, Spencer feels a little star-struck, and you’re both speechless.

Neither of you expected the other to be so.. attractive.

Your phone is thrown in your lap. “Do it. Do it now.”

In a daze, you blink up at your friend, “I can’t.”

“Don’t make me threaten you.”

You blink.

“I know where he lives. I will obliterate the lockdown rules to go talk to him and drag him here, then you can deal with this face-to-face.”

Your mouth falls open. “Are you insane?”

She unlocks your phone, opens your conversation with Spencer, and places it in your hand.

“Yes.”

+++

[From: Y/N :)]: did you at least enjoy the performance…..

Spencer’s whole body prickles when he sees you’ve texted him.

Maybe Penelope’s manifesting did work.

[To: Y/N :)]: I did. I didn’t expect our face reveals to be so…

I honestly don’t know what to say.

[From: Y/N :)]: s doctor reid speechless? am i that talented?

Spencer lies back on his couch, beaming at his phone like a teenager in a cheesy chick flick.

[To: Y/N :)]: You’re very talented. Mr Darcy clearly disagrees, but don’t listen to him.

And just like that, you’re back in the flow of things.

+++

When July rolls around, you and Spencer have been talking every day since March. Despite the monotonous, repetitive days, Spencer wakes up giddy when he sees you’ve texted him. He usually wakes up earlier than you, you have a habit of playing games or watching television until the early hours of the morning, and he loves to send you a fact to wake up to.

Your favourite are the animal facts. He got Amazon Prime just so he could buy a plethora of animal books and watch animal documentaries. All for you.

At one point, you evolved to phone calls. They don’t happen often and the first one was while you were drunk, but they’re fun for the both of you.

It had been a Saturday, you and your friend were having a movie marathon with wine and of course she brought up Spencer. She choked on her drink when you told her you haven’t heard his voice or seen him since the incident.

“You should call him,” She slurred, “Tonight.”

“He’s working on his jigsaw. I’m not going to interrupt.”

She gave you this incredulous look, asking Really?

“What?! I have respect for him and his jigsaws!”

“Have respect for yourself and how cute he is!”

“That doesn’t make sense!”

She sighed, placing her glass on the coffee table with a clunk, “Picture this: you’re helping him with the jigsaw.”

You couldn’t hide the slight upturn of your lips at the thought. You both love jigsaws, doing one with him would be stupidly romantic to you.

“Yeah.” She nodded ridiculously, “That ain’t gonna happen if you don’t call him!”

In your drunken state, you realised she’s right. You called him that night for a total of ten minutes before you passed out after calling him super handsome.

You both went to sleep feeling warm inside. Spencer called you again the next day, where the call lasted nearly two hours, and it went from there.

But now the lockdown rules are being eased. People are going back to work, meaning establishments like restaurants and hairdressers are opening up with limited capacity, all breathing beings expected to wear a mask.

Neither of you have mentioned actually meeting one another. You’re too nervous. What if he doesn’t like you? What if the image he’s created of you in his head is way better than you are in real life and he’s disappointed? What if he doesn’t want to meet you?

Spencer worries about the exact same things.

So neither of you say anything.

+++

It doesn’t happen often, but sometimes Spencer’s mail gets sent to the wrong address. Perhaps to his neighbour, the person living across the hall, or someone on a completely different floor.

Twice, Spencer’s mail has been delivered to the apartment building next door. The building he now exclusively calls “Y/N’s building”.

Now it’s three times.

Unphased by the mask on his face, Spencer glances around the lobby of your apartment building and wonders what your routine is when you get home. Do you immediately check for packages? Look at the noticeboard? Or do you go straight up to your apartment?

Spencer walks to the reception desk, smiling politely even though the person can’t see it.

“Hi, I’m from the building next door. I think my mail was accidentally sent here?”

He clicks a few buttons, types a few things, then flippantly asks, “Apartment number?”

“Twenty-three.”

“Let me go get it.”

He takes his time leaving his chair and wandering through a door. Spencer glances around. There’s a few people, all wearing masks (Thank God), doing their own thing.

There’s two girls next to him. He eavesdrops, because he’s bored.

“I’m too used to living with you now,” The girl facing him pouts, “I don’t want to go.”

The girl with her back to him laughs, light and sweet, “You live a block away.”

“You know Sally is gonna miss me.”

Sally? As in…

“She’s gonna miss you only because you feed her too much and now she’s fat.”

Wait.

“C’mon, Y/N-“

Spencer blocks out the rest cause holy hell. You’re right there. You’re standing right next to Spencer, in all your glory, and you have no idea that he’s right there, too.

Should he say something? Should he introduce himself? Should he..

“Here, sir. My apologies for the mix-up.” The receptionist re-appears, handing Spencer his mail.

“Thank you.”

And Spencer leaves.

Except he doesn’t.

He stops outside the reception entrance, takes out his phone, and texts you.

[To: Y/N :)] This is weird but I’m right outside your building. I think you’re in the foyer and I’m too scared to approach you.

Two minutes pass before the building doors fly open.

Your head swivels back and forth. When you find Spencer, adorable and awkward Spencer, he can tell you’re grinning from the way your eyes bunch up under your mask. God, he knows you have the most beautiful smile. Everything about you is beautiful.

“Hi,” You breathe.

Spencer mouths a silent hi. You’ve taken his breath away.

“I-um. It’s good to see you in person.” Your voice is soft. It’s soft, and smooth, and so much prettier in real life. It’s already pretty through the phone, but the real version shoots straight to his heart.

He gulps, “Yeah, it’s.. Unexpected, but nice.” The corners of his mouth quirk up and he can’t tear his eyes away from you, “You’re even more gorgeous in real life.”

The compliment rolls off his tongue naturally because it’s true and from the second he spotted you he’s lost all logical thinking.

“I am?” You ask, gentle and hesitant, almost asking are you sure you mean me?

Spencer blushes, somewhat embarrassed by his confession. But he meant it, Spencer’s not the type to say things he doesn’t mean, and you don’t give him time to regret it-

“Would you like to get some coffee? If you’re free now?”

Would it be too much if he screams Yes?

“Yes. I’m free,” He ignores the mail in his hands, stuffing it in his satchel, “But let’s avoid Café Nero, I assume you still haven’t recovered from the nightmare latte you had there.”

You grin, which makes Spencer feel fuzzy, flattered that he remembers anecdotes from your texts.

Of course he remembers. You remember he has an eidetic memory.

You shyly brush your hair behind your ears, both sides, and Spencer spots the bright red of them. You’re flushed, just like him, and it fills him with confidence to know you’re the same mixture of excited and anxious about meeting him in person.

“W-what about your friend?” Spencer gestures vaguely to where he assumes she’d be, “Would she mind?”

“She’s the reason I ran out here, so… I think she’d be mad if we didn’t leave her behind.”

You smile at one another, a few feet apart. Spencer’s bumped into by the opening door of your apartment complex and stumbles, apologising profusely to the unimpressed woman that just stares at him.

Through the entire ordeal you watch Spencer, only him, and can’t stop the radiant, love-filled look on your face.

Maybe Mr Darcy isn’t such a dick when he’s the reason Spencer came into your life.

[ruvviks]

bones spare some facts about nathan please 🤲

AAAAA THANK U NICO ;w;; i love talking abt my special little princess. my horrible little man. worm shaped final girl in horror movie. i'm shaking him and shaking him and shaking him and shaking him and sha

nathan is my evil within oc (epic cringe fail moment but i'm being so brave about it) and he's around for the events of the second game :) he's a mobius agent who is sent with sebastian to assist him in his search for lily, but he's secretly also part of the plan with juli, myra, torres and theodore to actually get lily out of there >:)

nathan was um "recruited" into mobius at the age of 16 under Unpleasant Circumstances :/ won't go into great detail about it all because that requires some Warnings LMFAO but let's just say his parents were Horrible Horrible Terrible Horrible and he decided to Properly take care of the problem <3 his plan was to leave krimson city but before he could do that, mobius members showed up (the administrator had been eyeing him for a while already) and "recruited" him [classic case of Join Us Or Die]

he mostly did field work for mobius at first (slightly pulling this out of my ass but i'm assuming they needed to get themselves into powerful positions which would require Assassination of some Powerful Assets and Infiltration etc etc) but eventually switched over to a desk job at the administrator's request (i'm killing him) and started doing development work :) he was first assigned to ruvik's stem project but later got moved to another project which would become the union environment (which is why he wasn't around for the events of the first game)

nathan is a pretty good leader and he would often end up in that position for his assignments (ended up as lead developer as well at some point), which kind of. caused his coworkers to dislike him a lot LMFAO he was a lot younger than most people there and liked a job well done so he was very straightforward and focused on work and people didn't like that :/

before he goes with sebastian, he already briefly experienced the Horrors of the union environment after lily has gone missing because there's a brief window in which extraction is still possible so he went to check it out, got the living shit scared out of him and then went back out LMFAO and then he had to go back in immediately :( this is what i mean when i say he's my poor little meow meow i'm just putting him in Situations

nathan isn't all that scared of what's going on in there tbh but anima scares the SHIT out of him!!!!! he's very Professional and Stoic at first to the point sebastian doesn't like him all that much but then they encounter anima and nathan simply just passes away for personal reasons and sebastian is like Oh okay. so you DO have feelings

won't tell you anything about nathan's current relationship because it requires me to drop my own personal "the evil within 3" and i'm not doing that but i WILL tell you who his ex is. it's liam from the second game. go google him you'll Laugh

nathan goes from neutral evil to chaotic neutral throughout the course of the story >:) he starts out as someone who only keeps other people around for their practical use and completely detaches himself from others because of things that happened in his past and he doesn't want to experience Emotions anymore :// and then sebastian comes along and sort of turns into a father figure to nathan so everybody say thank you sebastian LMFAO

during the events of the second game he gets mowed down by the buzzsaw arm of the guardian :/ he's very dramatic about it i should redraw the art i made of the aftermath of that and post it here OGH

his birthday is january 5th <3 idk why i think i just liked the date <3 also he's 25 now LOL

nathan is an introvert and a pessimist <3 a little unpleasant to be around when you first meet him but if you give him another chance he's actually very very sweet and really makes an effort not to come over as cold or disinterested ;w; he's trying his best ok ;w;

he color codes his closet!! there's not much color to begin with but he still likes how organized it looks >:)

nathan prefers to sleep in a sitting position :/ he is very restless when he has to sleep lying down, he needs to like. lie on a bunch of pillows and everything LMFAO

and to finish all of this, i described his aesthetic in keywords at some point so have those as well: blood on marble floors, sleepless nights, crooked smiles, haunting memories, patience, dark circles around eyes, a shoulder to cry on, gray skies, the taste of alcohol and blood in your mouth, grief, working at 3am in a poorly lit room, solitude, endings, piercing eyes lurking in the dark, gentle touches, cheap motels by the highway, rain

AND last but not least, i also wrote some stuff for him here if you're interested!!! thank you so much again!!!!!!!! auauuauaua

[samuel-de-champagne-problems]

Blurb #9

Pairing- Spencer Reid x Female Reader

CW- none

Author’s Note- this comes from this ask by @leahblackk thanks so much for this love!! it was so much fun to write 💛 also sorry if it looks a little wonky I’m on mobile!!

Word Count— 2K (not really a blurb)

-

Studies show that the music we listen to at 14 years old is the most influential on our personality and development. Naturally, there’s some exceptions to this. Spencer, for one, tended to listen to classical music or the Beach Boys records his mother had around the house as a teenager. He still can’t listen to jazz without the bittersweet memories of Ethan coming back to haunt him. His music taste, in his opinion, didn’t really develop until Derek made him listen to his CDs on rides during their commute.

It wasn’t until he met his neighbor, Y/N that he learned just how impactful music can be on someone’s life. Spencer, despite Derek and Penelope’s efforts, doesn’t really enjoy modern music. There’s one expectation to that though: Y/N. Everytime she drags him over for late night dinners and movie nights, she always ends up putting a Taylor Swift album on her vintage record player. It’s like a ritual that either comforts her, hypes her up, or softens her heartbreak. Through the months that they’ve been friends, Spencer’s come to enjoy the music nights. There’s something about the way that she sings about love and life that is so familiar to Spencer. The day he realized, it hit him like a ton of bricks. Y/N makes all those magical, heartwarming, Taylor Swift songs make sense.

So everytime he goes over to her apartment, before he knocks he’ll listen for the music. It’s hard to not let his profiling instincts kick when he does this. Thanks to his eidetic memory, Spencer can recognize any of the songs with only a couple seconds of the lyrics.

On a sunny Monday, Spencer listens closely for the record player. He can hear the upbeat, dance tunes of New Romantics. Okay, he thinks. If Y/N is listening to that song, she’s probably happy. So he knocks on the door, a big smile on his face ready to listen to the happiest Taylor Swift songs with the girl he’s pining for and try not to reveal just how much he wants her to love him back.

“Spence! Come on, we’re dancing” Y/N shouts loudly above the music. Spencer doesn’t want to burst her bubble by telling her he doesn’t dance, so he takes her hand and dances his heart away.

In between the jumpy and laughter the song shifts. Y/N must be playing it from her Alexa because the next song is from a different album, Paper Rings comes on next. A song dedicated to the kind of love that probably makes the most sense to Spencer. He’d marry Y/N without any kind of ring- and that’s a terrifying thought.

“I love this song!” Y/N says, closing her eyes and dancing wildly, “You like this one too, right Spence?” she says above the loud music.

Spencer, unable to fully articulate how much he loves this song, decides to grab Y/N by the hand and twirl her around and around. She’s laughing and smiling, happy as she could be. Spencer’s thoughts shift from how beautiful she looks, to how easy this is. How simple loving her could be, but how hard telling her is.

The music slows, turning to Lover, a song that Spencer has dreamt of dancing with Y/N to on a white veiled occasion several times. This must be her happy playlist, Spencer thinks as she pull him close. They’re slow dancing and if Spencer closes his eyes and quiets his mind, he can trick himself into thinking she loves him back. Afterall she holds him like she does.

“I like this one the best,” Spencer whispers, his eyes still closed as he and Y/N sway to the beat of the song, “It’s comforting,” he explains.

“It’s a good wedding song,” Y/N says, resting her head against his shoulder, “like a first dance song,”

“It is,” Spencer says, “It’s actually in the proper beats per second to be a waltz, which is a common dance for a traditional first dance at a wedding,”

“Yeah,” Y/N says, pulling herself in closer to Spencer as she pets small circles into his soft cardigan. The spot where she touches leaves her mark; his heart has belonged to her for awhile now, but Spencer’s ready to give her whatever else she wants, “but dancing like this is also very nice,”

“Hmm,” Spencer says, not trusting himself to say anything else. The music switches again, and Spencer knows the song, probably before even Y/N. Dress comes on and Spencer really isn’t sure how he’ll get through listening to the sultry song that croons about pining after your best friend. Part of him seriously thinks he’s being stalked, because those songs perfectly encapsulate his love and his admiration for the girl next door.

“Oh, I got asked out on a date,” Y/N says, seemingly shocking Spencer out of his daydream, “at the coffee shop. His name is John, he seems nice,” she tells him, sounding a little nervous.

“That’s great, Y/N,” Spencer says, trying to put on a smile for his best friend, but fails to do so, “I’m happy for you,”

“Well it’s, you know. I think I just need to put myself out there and stop waiting around for my wild dreams to come true. Because after all your wildest dreams are just that, dreams,” she says, a little sadly.

“Call me after, Y/N, just to make sure you get home safe,” Spencer requests, he squeezes her hand, in what he hopes can be seen as a friendly gesture, despite him not wanting to let go.

“Of course, Mr. FBI,” Y/N teases, “Alexa, shut up! Hey, Spence, you want to order pizza. It’s been like a week since I watch Long Pond and I’ve got that itch that only listening to This Is Me Trying while stuffing my face with pizza and white wine can fix,”

“Sure, Y/N,” Spencer says, smiling through his heartbreak. He tries to not let Y/N see the tears that prickle in the corners of his eyes when the 1 comes on. It would have been fun, if he could have been Y/N’s “1”. Even in heartbreak, Taylor Swift can capture exactly what Spencer feels.

--

He almost didn’t bother checking by her apartment because he knew it’s her date with Jake or John, or whatever his name was. Spencer’s not a man to get jealous, he knows that Y/N doesn’t owe him her love just because he loves her. He knows that, but that doesn’t lessen the hurt of her falling for someone other than him.

As he walks by, Spencer’s ears catch the music coming from her apartment. He hears the unrecognizable twangy strum of the guitar and knows it’s going to be back news. Without thinking, Spencer rumages into his pocket, looking for his spare key to Y/N’s apartment. He unlocks the door and is greeted by Y/N’s cat, August, meowing at the door.

“Where’s our girl?” Spencer says, picking up the cat as he slips off his shoes, “hey, Y/N. It’s Spencer. I heard the music and I just thought I’d check in. I thought you were going out on your date?” he asks, finding Y/N curled up on the couch, with piles of tissues littered around her.

“Please, Spence. I’m a mess. I don’t want anyone to see me like this, especially you,” Y/N tells him, mopping her eyes up and petting her lap for August to jump up.

“Hey, hey, honey. You don’t have to worry about being a mess in front of me, I already think you’re amazing,” Spencer says, softly. He tries to gracefully avoid the spoiled tissues, he might be in love with Y/N, but he’s not in love with her used tissues.

“He-he stood me up,” Y/N stutters as a new wave of tears floods her face. Spencer leans over, shutting Alexa off. The sorrow, regretful tunes of Dear John turn off, leaving Spencer with the thought that it probably was an appropriate song to choose.

“I don’t even know why I try any more, Spence” she says, leaning into his body as he puts a comforting and protective arm around her upper half, “it’s useless. I’m doomed to be alone,”

“That’s not true, Y/N,” Spencer says, mumbling into her hair, “not at all. You’re amazing. You’re kind and so smart. You’re beautiful and you have great taste in music. Anybody would be lucky to date you,” he finishes, forgetting himself for a second as he kisses her hair. She smells like green apples and ivory soap.

“You’re just saying that because you’re my friend,” Y/N says. The emphasis on ‘friend’ giving Spencer a little hope at what she is subtly implying.

“What-what if I wasn’t? What if I wasn’t saying this as just a friend?” Spencer asks, daring to be bold and brave for once in his life. He couldn’t be bold and brave for Y/N, then who is he?

She must be thinking, because Y/N doesn’t say anything. Spencer’s mind instantly switches into full gear, thinking of how he’d get out of here all while sparing his feelings.

“Please don’t say those things, Spencer. Don’t say those things unless you mean it,” Y/N tells him, her voice sounding cold and far off, like she’s trying to put some distance between themselves to protect herself. Spencer’s mind ventures to take it as a good thing, when she doesn’t physically distance herself. She decides to stay with Spencer’s arms wrapped around her upper half and his hands drawing shapes on her back.

“I mean it, Y/N. I really do mean it,” Spencer says, sounding terrified, but feeling braver than ever. “I’d never lie to you about how you make me feel. Not anymore at least,” he explains, waiting for Y/N to respond.

“Can I show you something?” Y/N ask, her voicing sounding an awfully lot like Spencer’s with the mix of fear and tension and love fighting for dominance.

“Of course,” Spencer says, nodding into her hair and letting her go.

He watches and waits as she grabs her phone from the coffee table. Y/N launches her music app, but covers her phone so Spencer can’t see which playlist she’s choosing. Y/N has very curated Taylor Swift playlists kko that help her to either middle through her dark days or celebrate her happy ones.

The music starts and just within the first few notes Spencer can tell which song is playing. “Gold Rush,” he asks, of course getting it correct and making Y/N smile.

“I knew I kept you around for a reason,” Y/N says, scooting in closer to Spencer so his chin rests over her head. “I don’t think you’ve heard this playlist yet,” she says, handing him her phone.

Spencer looks at the phone, reading the playlist title Songs That Remind Me of Spencer, but ends up having to do a double take.

“This song always reminded me of you, Spence. I think it just captures how beautiful you are and how scared I am that you’ll find someone that will make you feel that way. Someone that’s more beautiful and better for you—“

Spencer can’t hear it anymore so he does something that was only a figment of his imagination: he kisses Y/N. He holds her head in his hands, brushing gently on her temples. It’s wonderful and magical, and Spencer thinks that he could kiss her for his whole life. He wants to know what makes her whimper and whine or make her flush. He wants to know everything about her because he is her 1, just as she is his.

“You made a playlist for me?” Spencer says, breaking away from Y/N’s lips to kiss her face. All over her forehead, her cheeks and eyes. He kisses her like he can’t get enough and is only encouraged by Y/N giggles for approval.

“Of course I did, Spence. You’re just everything to me and I couldn’t quite say it myself. So I left it up to the best songwriter I know,”

“I’ll make you one, today. Tomorrow, everyday,” Spencer says, kissing Y/N’s hands and wrists, “I just want to make you happy and know how loved you are. Because I love you, Y/N” Spencer says

“Spence,” Y/N says, not quite able to articulate how much she loves him, kisses his forehead, “I love you. God. I love you so much. And I may or may not have re-written Hey Stephen as Hey Spencer,”

[gothfoxx]

Day seven: Free Day: Sides as Pokémon

Warning: Pokémon typical violence

Thomas had let all his Pokémon out of their balls for a well deserved stretch of their limbs. His shiny Sylveon Patton excitedly ran around checking out the scenery while his Zoroark changed into an Ekans and draped itself over his shoulders, classic Janus.

Roman and Remus were play-fighting, he hopes the Pikachu doesn’t rip Mimikyu’s disguise again. Remus hated not looking like his brother and taking his cover to fix it was always a horrible experience for all involved. His last Pokémon, a Meowstic named Logan, was sniffing at a frosted over bush. Thomas was going to tell Logan to come back just incase whatever had frozen the bush was still around when a weird looking Sneasel dashed out of the brush and behind Logan. Another, normal looking, Sneasel sliced the bushes away with freezing claws and headed straight for Logan and the other Sneasel. Ice claw! “Janus, Remus, use dire claw!” The two called on Pokémon are too far to make it and Logan is at a type disadvantage!

Stic!

Logan’s little paw darkened with a shadowy aura and he met the Sneasel with the charged attack. The move is super effective and the attacking Sneasel is chased away. The victorious Meowstic turns back to the cowering Sneasel checking the frightened Pokémon over with a calculating look.

Meow Mee Meowstic

Snee Snease Snee -cough- Sel

The other Pokémon all look at Thomas expectantly before Patton squeaks in the tone Thomas knows means that Sylveon is upset. “Guys I don’t know what you want me to do, does it need a soda? A center? You know I’m useless at first aid!” Sometimes he wishes he could understand Pokémon, they always seemed to have something to say.

Logan huffs and uses his esp to pull an aspear berry and a bottled water out of Thomas’s bag. Oh, yeah, that made sense. The odd Sneasel had been hit with ice claws and who knows what other ice moves since the flora was iced over, it must be suffering from the effects of being frozen. Thomas watched as Logan helped the Sneasel open the water and eat the berry, it was so beat up that the water barely seemed to help. It nuzzled into Logan’s warm midnight blue fur and gave a rumbling purr, thankful for the help. Which reminded him.

“When did you learn sucker punch? I don’t remember getting that T.M.”

Meow mmmstic

okay that was a stupid thing to ask, again he wished he could understand.

The weird purple and dusky Sneasel wearily walked up to Thomas, if this was a rare variant or a natural crossbreed then it might not have seen many humans. If it was a man made crossbreed it might have every reason to be scared of humans. Either way he would let it take control and decide if it wanted anything to do with him.

Sel Easel Sne Sne?

Carefully it bumps the blunt side of its claws on his bag hopping back when he slides the bag off his shoulder so it can see inside.

SNE!

It plucks out a luxury ball Thomas won in a raffle and hands it to the human, pointing from the ball to itself. When Thomas doesn’t move Sneasel looks at Logan and gestures at the human with clear annoyance. Logan makes a motion with his tail and Sneasel shrugs and bumps it’s jeweled forehead to the ball, a beam of red light sucks Sneasel in and the ball clicks in an insta catch. Thomas is so confused and made even more so when Logan pushes the button to let the new teammate out. Sneasel pops out and immediately is nuzzling Logan and giving that low rumbling purr, surprisingly Logan was purring too.

“Did that Sneasel catch itself because you two like each other? Oh my Arceus, that is so cute! Now what do I name you? You have a long ear feather so I guess you’re a boy. Mark, no, Sean? Ew no you are not a Sean. Victor…vi, Vi, Virgil?” Sneasel chirped at that so that was the name he registered on the ball. “Welcome to the team Sneasel! I can’t wait to get to know you.”

A few months later and a trip to the daycare left Thomas with the new knowledge that 1) Virgil was part of a thought to be extinct verity of Sneasel 2)This type on Sneasel had swapped feather lengths for males and females 3) Virgil was now a mommy to a whole litter of these extremely rare species. Logan was helping one of the Sneaselits try to take their first steps, a very proud look on the papa’s muzzle.

@analogicalweek

[royalswille]

@ace-bookworm said Button House gets a cat and I said yes and then I wrote this, enjoy.

Buttons’ House

Alison and Mike Cooper had never intended to adopt a cat. After all, Button House was already full to bursting, what with the both of them, eight ghosts living in the main house, an entire village of plague victims in the basement, and the ghost of a pesky pigeon courtesy of their neighbour’s dog. Simply put, there was not enough space to add any more family members to Button House.

So the cat had taken it upon itself to move in.

It had started one morning while Button House was going through its usual morning routine. Alison had woken up, checked the bathroom for ghosts so that Mike could use it without fear, then started the stopwatch for the Captain’s run before putting on a record for Thomas to do his morning dance to. She had filled in a few words on Robin’s crossword, set up Pong for Julian, and put on a classic football match for Pat. In the next room, she had helped Mary with her phonics work, turned to the next page in Kitty and Fanny’s book, and then done the same for Humphrey (or rather, Humphrey’s head – god only knew where his body was). She had arrived downstairs in two minutes and thirty seconds to open the door for the Captain to run in, perfectly timed.

Everything was the same as usual.

“Two minutes thirty, Cap,” Alison said, stopping the timer. “Same as always.”

“Blast,” the Captain said frustratedly. “Are you quite certain of it, Alison? I could have sworn I shaved off a second or two, I really pushed myself on that last corner.”

She shrugged apologetically. “Sorry. I’m just going by what the timer says.”

The Captain harrumphed and peered out the door, beckoning Alison to join him. She did, looking out across the driveway to where he pointed at the gate.

“That’s my problem,” he said, waggling his finger. “The terrain switches from concrete to gravel. If you could just pave over the driveway then I’m quite sure I c– hello.”

The Captain’s tone changed abruptly and Alison raised an eyebrow. “Hello?” she replied, bewildered.

“No, no, not you,” Cap replied, pointing down the driveway again. “Look, over there. It’s a cat.”

Alison squinted and saw that the Captain was quite right. Trotting up the driveway towards the open door, mewing quietly, was a little cat. It was jet black with bright yellow eyes and looked a little tatty with its scraggly fur. As it got closer, Alison could see that its ribs jutted out from under its skin slightly. The cat looked happy enough, but it was very clearly a stray, or badly neglected at the very least.

It stopped just in front of the Captain and sat primly, looking up at him with its eyes squinted serenely.

“Can cats see ghosts?” Alison asked him.

“It would appear so,” he returned. With a painful-sounding cracking of his knees, the Captain crouched down in front of the cat and regarded it. The cat stared back, blinking happily up into the Captain’s face. It attempted to bat at the Captain’s swagger stick, which was hanging from his hands, but its paw went straight through.

“Yep,” Alison said, “it can see you.”

It didn’t appear the Captain was listening to her, because a moment later he pointed his stick at the cat and said, “Now you listen here. It is improper to try and touch a Commanding Officer’s person or belongings. Had you been a soldier – or indeed able to touch me – I should have you punished.”

“Captain, it’s a cat, it can’t understand you,” Alison told him.

He stood up again, knees creaking audibly. “Yes, well. That hardly matters – I am a senior officer and I– oh dear, good Lord, what is it doing now?”

The cat was purring, attempting to rub itself against the Captain’s legs lovingly, but simply passing right through, which only seemed to make it more determined to show the Captain its love. The Captain began to gag, reminding Alison of the ghosts’ inability to touch living things without feeling sick. Quickly, she scooped the cat into her arms and held it close – the Captain stopped his gagging, but the cat continued to purr, nuzzling at Alison’s face.

“It’s very affectionate,” she said through all the fur blocking her face.

“Quite,” returned the Captain, voice a touch more gentle than usual. “Do you think it has a home of its own?”

Alison stroked the cat and frowned. “If it does then it’s not a very good one. Look, you can see all its bones, the poor thing hasn’t eaten in ages. And look at its fur, it’s disgusting. And it stinks.” The cat stopped purring momentarily as if offended. “Sorry.”

“Well,” the Captain said, assuming his usual military-man stance, bouncing once on the balls of his feet, back straight, stick tucked under his arm. “If this creature is in need then perhaps we should provide a home for it.”

“What? No, we can’t do that. Captain, the house is more than full already, we can’t add a cat to the mix.”

“During the war we never left a soldier behind!”

“This is a cat, not a soldier. I’m sure it’ll find a home eventually, just not here.”

As she said it, the cat laid its head upon her shoulder, purring again, eyes closed. It appeared it had decided that in Alison’s arms was the perfect place to go to sleep. Alison had always been a cat person and wanted nothing more than to cuddle the cat, even though it was probably riddled with disease and it stank like rot, but she knew if she did that then the cat would start thinking that Button House was its home. It would start coming back and they couldn’t have that. So with a heavy heart, she gently placed it down on the floor.

“Sorry,” she said to it as it looked up at her sadly. “I’ll feed you just this once because you look like you need it, but that’s it. Right, Captain?”

The Captain muttered something under his breath as he often did when he felt put out, then turned on his heel and left, stretching the way he liked to after his morning run. Alison went the opposite direction, leading the cat to the kitchen to find it something to eat.

It was halfway through the plate of tuna she had laid down for it when Mike came in. He looked down at it, then to Alison, then back at the cat before saying bewilderedly, “I don’t remember getting one of those.”

“That’s because we don’t have one,” Alison told him. She watched fondly as it ate its food – it clearly hadn’t eaten in months judging by the way it wolfed the fish down. “This is a stray, it followed the Captain in this morning after his run.”

“Uh huh,” Mike said slowly, sitting down to watch the cat too. “So why is it in our kitchen?”

“I’m feeding it.”

“Yes, I can see that. Why though?”

“Because,” Alison said emphatically, picking the cat up as it wandered absently towards her, then turning it to face Mike. She held its paws in her hands and wiggled them back and forth like a bad puppeteer. “Look at it! It needed some sort of food otherwise the poor thing would probably die. It’s not like we’re going to keep it, I just wanted to make sure it lived.”

“You remember what happened to my Auntie Barbara,” Mike replied. “She accidentally adopted so many neighbourhood strays that her house was practically overrun with them. And then what happened to her? She died. Because she was allergic to cats and there was so many that it killed her.”

“I never understood why she fed them and stroked them in the first place if she was so allergic,” Alison returned, to which Mike shrugged. “But it doesn’t matter anyway. We aren’t keeping it.”

“We don’t get to decide that,” Mike said, “the cat does.”

The cat, from its place nestled on Alison’s lap, meowed in agreement.

“Well, if it shows up again, we just won’t let it in. Agreed?”

“Agreed. We can’t afford another mouth to feed. It is cute though,” he admitted.

“It is, isn’t it?”

Despite how adorable the cat was, Alison let it out the front door. She watched as it obediently walked away, tail a little higher than it had been before, looking healthier and perkier. She knew she shouldn’t have been hoping it would come back, but a little part of her didn’t want to say goodbye.

Luckily, she didn’t have to. The very next morning, she opened the door to let the Captain in from his run (“Two minutes and thirty seconds, Captain, but I think you knew that already.”) and hot on his tail came the cat, smiling as obviously as a cat could.

In spite of her better judgement, Alison took the cat into the kitchen again and fed it once more. She knew she shouldn’t have been, but she was already growing very attached to it. Despite its awful smell and awful condition, she felt a soft spot for it. Absently, she wondered if she should take it to a vet, just to get it checked over and see if it had a home. But she was snapped out of her thoughts by one of the loudest things known to mankind – Lady Fanny Button.

“What on Earth is that disgusting creature doing in my house?!” she shrieked, pointing wildly at the cat, which kept eating its food just as peacefully as before.

“Relax, Fanny, I’m just feeding it,” Alison explained.

“Whyever are you doing that? That creature is clearly a stray, probably riddled with fleas, and you’ve brought it into this house like it’s nothing! It’s going to defile this beautiful house and you shall be the one to blame for it, Alison. I want it gone at once!”

“Fanny, it’s not doing anything, okay? Calm down, look, it’s just having something to eat, it needs it.”

“It is a very small step from eating to… to defecating, young lady!” Lady Button retorted. “I shall not have that thing in my house, ruining everything! Take it away.”

“I thought you liked animals,” Alison tried. “You had Dante when you were alive.”

“Dante was a well-behaved, loving, healthy, clean dog. He was not some stray we just picked up off the street one day because we felt like it!”

“Well,” Alison said, “to be fair, we haven’t picked up the cat because we feel like it, it kind of invited itself in.”

“If anything that makes it worse,” Fanny yelled, sounding appalled. “Not only does it smell ghastly and look unseemly, but it is rude as well. It clearly has no manners. I will not ask again, Alison, take the cat out of this house!”

At that moment, the cat finished eating and turned around to try and bat at the hem of Lady Button’s dress. Though it couldn’t touch it (for obvious ghostly reasons), Fanny screamed and took a few paces back. She started yelling more nonsense at Alison, something along the lines of ‘get it out’ and then ran straight through the wall, out of the kitchen.

Sighing, Alison heaved the cat into her arms, took it through the house again and let it out through the front door just like the previous day. She watched it wander away once more, though this time it stopped in the middle of the driveway to wash its leg briefly. She shut the door behind it and got on with the rest of her day.

It wasn’t until the next day, day three, that Alison realised that the cat situation was likely going to become permanent. When she opened the door for the Captain, he did not run in as usual, so she peered out of the door and saw him crouched in the middle of the driveway, attempting to pet the cat but failing miserably because each time his hand passed right through and he gagged.

She watched for a minute, stifling her laughs so that the Captain didn’t hear her and realise she was watching which would likely make him stop. Soon she was joined by someone else.

“Good morning, Alison,” Kitty said, bounding up to her, smiling as brightly as ever. “How are you today? Oh look – the Captain has made a friend!”

Alison chuckled. “He has. It looks like they’re getting on very well.”

Kitty gasped excitedly then said, “It’s a cat. That means it’s a kitty, just like me!” And without further ado, she skipped over to join the Captain and the cat. The Captain looked mildly disgruntled, their moment having been interrupted, but he smiled as soon as the cat started purring, trying to bat at his swagger stick again and jumping at the bows on Kitty’s dress.

A moment later, Mike joined Alison. He looked out at the cat, watching as it jumped and played with what would seem like nothing to him.

“Are there ghosts out there with it?” he asked Alison.

“Yep,” she returned, popping the ‘p’. “Cap and Kitty. They’ve really taken a shine to it.”

“Well, like I said,” Mike replied, “it is really cute, I don’t blame them. Have any of the others met it yet?”

“Only Lady B,” Alison told him. He raised an eyebrow and she continued, “She wasn’t a fan.”

Mike hummed and a silence fell between them. Alison had been thinking more frequently that they really should take it to a vet. Even though it was happy and eating properly when she fed it, getting it checked over wasn’t a bad idea. It didn’t mean they had to adopt it – it just meant that they could have peace of mind knowing it was alright.

She was just about to say this to Mike, but he got in first and said, “I think we should keep it.”

“What?” she replied, shocked. “Why? Two days ago you were worried it was going to kill you.”

“No,” he said, “I just suggested that it’s a possibility we can’t rule out. But you clearly like it, and I think it’s cute, and if the ghosts like it then maybe it’ll – I don’t know – like, placate them a little.”

“They’re not dangerous, they don’t need placating,” Alison said. “Is this just the same as when you said we should get Netflix to ‘appease’ them after they’d finished watching every DVD we own?”

“No,” he said, sounding too affronted to be telling the truth. “Plus, we won’t be caring for it on our own, will we? We’ve got eight extra pairs of eyes to keep a lookout for it. So we can all look after it, it won’t be just us.”

“Only one of those ghosts can touch anything,” Alison told him. “We’ll still have to clean up its poo and stuff like that. And you’re terrible with poo.”

“Yeah, that’s why you’ll be on poo duty.”

“No. If we’re adopting this cat then we’re sharing poo duty. That’s the price you have to pay.”

The both of them turned to watch the Captain and Kitty playing with the cat again. It jumped up to try and grab the feathers in Kitty’s hair and she giggled delightedly.

“Alison,” she called, “it’s so lovely! Come and play with us, please!”

She turned to Mike. “Okay. We’re keeping it then.”

He tore his gaze away from the cat and smiled. “Yeah. Why not? Let’s do it.”

“Great,” Alison said, clapping her hands. “I’ll call the vet, see if they can get us an appointment to make sure it’s all healthy and see if it’s microchipped. I hope it doesn’t already have a home.”

“If it does then we can just get another one,” Mike said, slipping an arm around Alison’s shoulders. “There’s a shelter not too far away.”

“I like this cat, though. I want this one.”

“Well, we’d better get that vet appointment to see if we can have it then, hm?”

And so, not four hours later, Alison and Mike made their way back to Button House from the vets, the kitten nestled comfortably in the back seat. Their appointment had gone very well – the cat was in surprisingly good health for a stray, they had got it up to date on its vaccinations, and they had determined the cat didn’t have a home. So, to the couple’s delight, it was allowed to stay at Button House.

The house was unusually quiet when they arrived back. That normally meant that all the ghosts were assembled upstairs partaking in one of Pat’s clubs or another. There was the faint sound of scattered applause as Alison walked through the front door – one of them had probably finished giving a speech.

She gently put the cat down on the floor as Mike shut the front door behind them.

“Right, missy,” she said. The vet had also confirmed that the cat was a girl and about six months old. “Welcome home!”

The cat meowed and trotted off down the hallway, seemingly in search of the source of the clapping. Alison wandered after it, and the cat led her upstairs to the common room. She found the ghosts all gathered around together, most of them on the sofa, Julian and Robin by the chess board, and Thomas in full view of all of them, bowing even though their half-hearted applause had long since ceased.

Lady Button was the first to notice the new arrival and she didn’t seem best pleased.

“Alison,” she shouted, standing up and pointing at the cat furiously. “I told you to get rid of that vermin, that vile creature, I do not want it in this house!”

“Now listen here,” interrupted the Captain, brandishing his swagger stick. “That cat happens to be in dire need of our assistance. I think it only right that Alison has brought it inside.”

“And it really is a sweetheart, too, Lady Button,” Kitty gushed.

“You’d probably think a grizzly bear was a sweetheart,” Fanny retorted.

Robin shook his head, saying, “Grizzly bear never sweetheart. Grizzly bear kill my uncle. Was very funny actually.”

“Excuse me,” interjected Thomas, “I still have four more poems I want to perform!”

As happened far too often to be endearing anymore, the ghosts all started yelling over each other, some insisting they get rid of the cat, some insisting it stayed, and Thomas insisting he be allowed to finish his recital. Alison watched them fight, the cat sat at her feet, watching bemusedly too, before finally stepping in after Julian and Thomas started squaring up to one another.

“Alright, alright, enough!” she shouted.

Shouting only worked about half the time, sometimes the ghosts’ arguing would be  so loud that Alison couldn’t even hear herself over it – luckily, this time around the ghosts fell silent and looked towards her expectantly.

“Okay,” she said, “everyone just listen to me. Mike and I decided that we’re going to adopt this cat–”

“Outrageous,” interrupted Lady Button. Alison ignored her.

“We’ve taken her to the vets. She’s in perfectly good shape and she doesn’t seem to have a home, so we’re taking her in. She might need a little TLC before she starts looking…”

“Less like a toilet brush?” suggested Julian, eyeing the cat.

Alison frowned. “Before she starts looking herself. But we’re keeping her, no objections. Okay? She really is lovely, I promise you all.”

“No, no, no,” shrieked Mary, standing up and joining Lady Button as far away from the cat as they could get. “Al’son, you can’t keeps the pussycat.”

“Why is that, Mary?” Alison asked, trying not to sigh.

“Because you’ll’s be branded a witch!” Mary explained, sounding as if it should have been obvious. “If a woman have a cat then she be a witch! They’ll burns you at the stake! I’d know.”

“Mary, lots of people have cats now and they don’t get burned to death. Alright? And you know I’m not a witch.”

“Oh,” Mary said. “Right. Okay then.”

Without further hesitation she crouched down and smiled at the little cat. It purred and tried to bat at her apron. But it appeared Mary took that as an attempt at attack, so she yelped and ran, hiding behind Kitty.

“You can keeps the pussycat, Al’son, but please keeps it aways from me.”

“If you’re quite finished with the witchcraft nonsense,” said the Captain, stepping forward, “then might I ask if this cat has a name?”

“Oh,” Alison said, “well, Mike and I were going to brainstorm later this evening–”

“That seems hardly fair,” Cap returned. “We all live here, we should all name it.”

“Yes,” said Kitty, bouncing up and down. “I think we should call her Princess Snuggles.”

The Captain laughed. “No, thank you, Katherine, that’s a silly name. I was thinking something more like Major Fuzzyboots.”

“And how, pray tell, is that any less silly than Princess Snuggles?” asked Thomas flatly.

“Well, I don’t see what’s wrong with any classic cat names,” Pat said, peering down at the cat. He stretched his hand out to scratch her head, then looked as if he had to hold back vomit, and withdrew his hand. “Something like Luna or Shadow. Something simple, like.”

“Boring,” Robin remarked. “Should call it Cat. Save trouble.”

“No offense, guys, but I think I’m just going to talk it over with Mike,” Alison decided – the ‘all these names are terrible’ wasn’t spoken aloud but was heavily implied and she was sure they got the picture. “We’ll come up with something. Come on, missy.”

Alison hoisted the cat into her arms and was about to head back downstairs with her, when Julian’s voice piped up from behind and said, “Why not call her Buttons?”

The other ghosts made noises of agreement, which was rare.

“Buttons?” Alison said, looking at the cat. “Well, I suppose she does look like a Buttons. And it’s like Button House! Oh, I love it, nice one, Julian.”

He straightened his tie and suit jacket. “Yes, well, if anyone was going to be the one to solve this – uh – cat naming crisis, well then, I suppose it only makes sense that it were me. It’s not the first crisis I’ve solved, not by any stretch of the imagination. Did I ever tell you all about the time, back in eighty-three, when I…”

Alison didn’t stick around to hear the rest of whatever godawful story Julian was planning on telling. She left the room and headed back downstairs to get Buttons some food and tell Mike they’d decided on a name.

Over the next few weeks, Buttons’ presence in Button House seemed to be almost completely accepted by everyone living there. There had been a few unfortunate incidents and teething problems, but nothing that wasn’t fixable.

The first real problem came two days after Buttons’ adoption. Nobody had been able to find Humphrey’s head, which was predictably detached from his body. Kitty remembered placing it down on the kitchen table, but all they found there was Buttons. Everyone had been searching the house (including Mike, though he couldn’t see Humphrey, and Humphrey’s body, which couldn’t see anything at all) but it hadn’t been until Alison had picked Buttons up that the head had been discovered.

It turned out that Buttons had taken quite a liking to Humphrey and decided to sit on him. The problems arose when Buttons obviously couldn’t sit on Humphrey and instead ended up in him, which obscured the head from view completely. And it didn’t help that Humphrey was allergic, something that apparently hadn’t changed in death. His face was red and his eyes were watering when Alison finally picked up Buttons and freed him.

“Oh, thank goodness for that,” Humphrey breathed. “I’ve been shouting for hours, couldn’t anyone hear me?”

“You must’ve been muffled by Buttons’ fur,” Alison suggested. “Sorry Humphrey, I’ll try to stop that from happening again.”

“Oh, don’t trouble yourself, Alison. It’s alright, really. Well, apart from the allergy, and the sick feeling from having something living touch me. But really, no need to go out of your way.”

Another issue was that Robin just didn’t seem to get on with Buttons. She loved him, clearly – in fact, Buttons seemed to adore everyone in Button House (except Mike, for reasons unknown to anybody) – but one day Alison had walked into the common room to see Robin yelling at the cat.

“Oh, you think you so big, so clever. I kill mammoth. I can easy kill little cat!”

“Woah, hey,” Alison said, approaching the two. Buttons was stood on the chess table, gazing up at Robin with nothing short of adoration in her eyes. “Why are you threatening to kill my cat?”

“Ruin chess game,” Robin huffed, jabbing a finger in Buttons’ direction. She tried to pat it and he grumbled, “Go away.”

“She’s just a cat, I’m sure she didn’t mean to.”

“She did. She jump on table and hit all pieces off. Little guy and horsey on floor, me no pick them up!”

Alison did it for him, picking up the chess pieces and placing them on the squares Robin instructed her to. Buttons quickly lost interest, hopped off the table and left the room.

“And stay out!” Robin called after her.

Thomas didn’t seem to be the cat’s biggest fan either. Alison had a sneaking suspicion that his hatred towards her stemmed from the fact that he had been trying to recite yet another unwarranted love poem to Alison but she’d not been paying attention, instead playing with Buttons. She had caught him seeking his revenge later that day, leaning over Buttons as she slept on the sofa, and whispering what sounded like a demand for her to duel him. Alison had decided to avoid that situation altogether and quickly backed out the room.

The only other ghost who wasn’t totally enamoured with Buttons was Julian, who seemed very indifferent on the whole subject. Though Alison did once catch him practising one of his speeches on the cat, who seemed surprisingly attentive.

But for the most part, Buttons was adored. Many a time, Alison came across the Captain or Pat pretending to stroke her or sitting by her as she slept. Kitty and Mary would play with her (though Mary was still a little wary and periodically asked Buttons if she was a witch in disguise). Even the plague ghosts adored her – she had managed to sneak down to the basement when Mike left the door open once, and the ghosts had tried their hardest to adopt her for themselves. They were happy with the agreement they reached with Alison though, that she would let Buttons down there once a week to visit them all.

The biggest surprise of all came one lazy evening when Alison had been on her way to bed, a sleepy Mike in tow. They had passed through the common room where a fire was dwindling in the fireplace. Buttons was curled up in front of it, sleeping soundly, and watching her with a fond expression on her face was Fanny.

Alison smiled and cleared her throat. Fanny looked round, looking a little startled and embarrassed to be caught gazing at the cat she had been so against.

“Alison,” she said, but didn’t seem to have any words to follow it up with.

“Is she growing on you, then, Fanny?” Alison asked, stifling a yawn.

Fanny turned away, facing Buttons again, and said, “Well. She’s certainly no Dante. But I can admit now that she is rather sweet. I suppose it’s alright that she stays here.”

Alison watched as a small smile grew on Fanny’s face, watching the gentle rise and fall of Buttons’ chest.

“Goodnight, Lady B,” she said.

“Goodnight, Alison.”

From then on, all the residents of Button House treated Buttons as if she were all that mattered, even Robin and Thomas, whose grudges quickly wore off. It seemed that despite the fact that Button House was already full to the brim, adding little Buttons made the house a home.

[baejl]

friends

ateez 9th member au 

moon and lucas share a moment.

masterlist  ☾

I'm down here, that was the last message Lucas sent to Moon. 

She couldn't believe him but she left the company building with the 'I'll buy some coffee' excuse just to be sure he wasn't actually there. 

When she saw a black SUV parked on the other side of the street, her heart fluttered. 

"I told you." he said when she opened the car's door. "Now, you better get inside if you don't wanna get caught." he suggested. 

Moon looked side to side to check if anyone was watching them and got inside of the car. 

"You are insane!" she said, turning to close the door. She was welcomed by the warm air from the heather and low music. "You can't just show up out of nowhere and come to my comp-" 

She stopped talking when she turned her glance back at Lucas and her heart instantly melted. 

He was holding a cat and a dog and was looking at Moon with the most innocent look she has ever seen. The dog was sleeping while the cat was trying to bit his jacket. 

"Oh my God!" she said in a whisper, too afraid to say anything that would scare the two little pets and took her mask off. "You really got them." 

"I did." Lucas said with a big smile. "Want to hold them?" 

She nodded and Lucas carefully passed the pets to her. 

Moon could feel the small snores from the dog and the little 'meow' from the cat. 

"They are so cute!" she said looking at them. "Hi babies, how are you?" she said to a cute low voice and Lucas chuckled beside her. "What are the names?" 

"We're thinking about Bella to the dog and Louis to the cat. What do you think?" the boy answered him, leaning back in his seat and looking at the girl with his two pets.

The girl smiled at the names and gave him a small nod. "Perfect." 

She stayed there, playing with the pets a little bit more, and then, when she realized, Lucas was still leaned and looking at her with an innocent grin and bright look.

She smiled at him and decided to give the little pets to their owner. Lucas silently took them and placed on their little cages in the back seat. 

Moon allowed herself to observe the boy. 

Unlike her, his perfume was exhaling around the car and his clothes were nothing sweaty like hers. He was wearing a black shirt and jeans, with a black hat that covered his, now, white hair. 

She was wearing a long sized shirt, borrowed from Mingi, a black legging, and her classical vans. Her dark brown her was up in a messy bun and she was sure her face was a little bit red due to the sweating from the practice. 

"What?" he asked bringing the youngest back to the reality. 

"Uh?" she asked trying to look normal. "I didn't know you could drive."

"Well, I have a manager to take me wherever I want." he shrugged. "How are you, Eunji?" he asked with a mischievous smile on his face. "Long time no see, right?" 

"I'm fine. A little tired from all the recording and practicing but fine. What about you?" she tried to avoid his last question. 

After their meeting on the cafe game, Moon massaged him in the next morning apologizing for leaving so fast and asked him what he meant by asking her if she thought what they were doing was right.  

For her happiness, he said that never meant to hurt her and that he knew she wasn't like the other girls and that was why he liked her so much since the beginning. And, with the whole pandemic thing going on, all the chances of them to meet each other reduced to zero. 

But, now that things were going back to normal and he was in Korea, he thought it'd be a good idea to surprise her with his new little friends knowing how much she loves animals.

"Fine..." he shrugged. "So this is KQ Entertainment?" he asked her, looking to the building. 

"Yep!" she said biting her lip. "Not as fancy as SM but yes, that's my crib."

Their talk was interrupted by her notification tone. 

We know you're in that fancy car. Don't take too long. 

She tried to contain her smile with a straight expression and put her phone back on her tights. 

"Do they know?" Lucas said looking at her. Moon took a deep breath and nodded. 

"They do," she affirmed and Lucas opened the larger smile he could. "do your members know?" 

"Since day one." 

"I met Bee some months ago," she said playing with her nails. "she didn't know." 

He opened his mouth trying to get the right answer to that but it hit him like a bomb. 

He recoiled himself on the seat. 

"I told the WayV members," he said. "I'll tell the NCT ones whenever I see them." 

"You don't have to." she gave a nasal laugh. "We're just friends." 

He laughed and rubbed his face and his hair, tilting his head back. 

"I like you," he confessed. "and I'm sorry for bringing this topic back again but,  I don't see the age gap such a thing but, I don't know. I really can't see a way of making this work." 

"Lucas," she cut him. "we are friends. You don't have to feel like this. I like you too but if this whole age thing makes you feel uncomfortable, then, we shouldn't talk about this anymore." she suggested. "I'm genuinely like you, but, as a friend." 

He held the wheel and blew out a sigh of relief. 

"I thought you'd be sad," he said revealing a smile. "I'm sorry for doing this. I hate arguing with someone." 

Now, Moon was the one laughing. 

"This is not an argument. This is a conversation," she explained. "when someone talks and the other person listens." 

He took another deep breath, leaning against the wheel, and Moon laughed out loud. 

"It's okay oppa." she rubbed his back. "We're friends, and, if you don't feel bad about complements between friends, you looked good with white hair." 

He looked at the small mirror there with a shocked expression. 

"I did, right?" he said with a girly voice. 

[voidcat]

– calico of the lonely

Characters: Semi Eita/Reader

Genre & Word Count: fluff, comfort & 1.2k

A/N: Mainly inspired by the song Calico by glass beach but I suggest listening to All Delighted People (Classic Rock version) for the beginning of it:) i’ll probably redo the banner for Semi later

originall this was going to be (another) Oikawa piece but Linette’s suggestion (Semi)  seemed better, thank you!

Waking up for the nth time today, you don’t have it in you to check the time. A sour taste in your mouth, you start walking around the house. This only dampens your mood.

Each furniture laying around, a reminder of another abandoned task, you make your way to the fridge. Snacking on some leftover food and drinking whatever you can find, you eyes take a tour in the room again.

Social media has gotten boring, your short lived hobbies desperately call your name; all there’s left is the pile of text books that wink your way, didn’t you say you would start studying about two weeks ago? All the opinions seem dreadful and you don’t think you can survive another nap without waking up every five seconds, dreams that await you are worse as it is. Putting on a hoodie and the first socks you can find, you count to yourself.

3… 2… 1…

You slam the door as soon as you open it. Maybe the cliché of hissing at sunlight is more of a thing than you thought, since you did it just now.

Five minutes of searching for sunglasses and you throw yourself out. The sun burns your skin and hurts your eyes but it was about time for a change. So you start walking around in the neighborhood, examining some houses with softer colors and ignoring the violent vibrant tones. The soil smells awful and the lawns of dog owners make your steps fasten.

Some time later, the walk becomes pleasant. No aim to it, no meaning behind it, no end goal or something to achieve; it feels like the first breathe of fresh air you take after getting lost under the sea for how long.

Without you notice, your steps gain rhythm, your hands move on their own and the light breeze feels to be welcoming you.

The lovely shade of silence is interrupted by a high pitched mewl.

Turning in place, you can spot a little cat. So you do what any person, who doesn’t hold a meaningless grudge towards animals, would do and crouch to its level. “Hello little one. Are you lost?”

As the words spill before your lips, you notice they’re the first ones you’ve said out loud in a long, long time. The cat meows back.

“Do you have a home or someone to go?” Reaching out your hand and petting the cat once, you look for a collar. She doesn’t seem to have one. You feel as lost as the cat does.

“I-“ “I’ll look around and ask if anyone has lost a beauty such as you. You stay where you are.” She moves her head in a way that resembles a nod. Your lips curl up towards the sight and you stand up.

The cat seems to have other plans.

Ignore all you want, you can’t not hear the little steps on the pavement after you. You turn again and the calico offers you a pleading face you’ve only seen in Shrek. “No, no; no. You stay here. I’ll bring help.” Saying the words one by one, loudly, doesn’t seem to help, she sits by your foot and rubs her cheek now.

How on earth am I supposed to look after a cat when I can’t even look after myself? All you can do is to hope the tales about cats choosing someone is true. Checking your pockets for cash, you look down at the cat again. “Come on then, let’s go shopping.”

—

As if on cue, the little calico waited outside as you shopped. Not exactly sure what the cat would like, you gathered anything you supposed was fit for her; cat food wet and dry, chicken, milk… Walking around a bit more, you had enough food for a month in the cart. By the time you walked back home, the sun began to set, the colors becoming one with her orange haired areas, shining like gold in the whites.

Jumping over the tiny fence to enter the yard, she waited for you by the door. That evening cooking seemed tempting. Turning on the radio and coming across a channel with nostalgic tunes, you chopped and cooked, set and served, ate and laughed. You woke up the next morning only to find her in her arms. It was the first time you got a decent night’s sleep with no interruptions.

The following days became weeks and each day was a dawn worth waiting. Muscles sore from using, hands getting back to work, your mind juggling, the calico sleeping by the sofa waiting for your breaks; some instances she’d grow too impatient and sit on whatever it is you’re working on. Smiling became more familiar on your face and so did falling asleep to purring.

The lovely dream shattered one day when you couldn’t find her anywhere. Noticing the open window, you put on the first hoodie you could find and rushed outside in a worry. Not sure how long has it been as you searched and you found yourself frozen in place when you spotted a cat all too familiar, behind someone’s window.

Approaching the said window with caution, the cat seemed to notice you as well, stopped clawing at the window sill and answered your gaze.

With the window opening and the cat pushing your chin with her head, you began your routine of head scratches and petting.

“Can I help you?” Four words you snap you out of your trance, you noticed the young man watching the two of you with a smile on his face.

Taking in your silence as a reply, he held out his hand and the cat turned her attention to him.

“Is this your cat?” He seemed surprised at your question. He must be, the cat was inside his house obviously. “It’s just- I’ve spotted her outside few times before.” You add a little excited.

“Ah yes, I let her out sometimes. She likes walking around during the day.” His voice sounds a bit different than when he first spoke to you. “Although she was gone for two weeks, got me worried.” At that, you avoid his gaze, he seems to notice it too.

“I have a guess you had something to do with it but I’d hate to speculate things.” You keep your gaze focused on the cat for a while.

“You didn’t happen to be lonely or lost, did you?” He tries again. “That’s how she first found me too.” As his voice softens, you look up to him, only to see the sun.

“They have an eye for spotting alone souls, don’t they?”

“Maybe they just seek company like theirs and find comfort in shared loneliness.”

“With meows that seem to say ‘You don’t need to be alone any more’.-“ “I am Semi!.. Semi Eita.”

With a confused look, you offer back your name. “If you happen to come visit us again- the cat, I mean-“ Your laughter cuts his sentence in the middle.

“I’d love to, Semi.”

When you look back at the cat between your figures, you can’t help but think how wrong it was of you  to pet her head and tell her she’s a lucky girl; because now all you can realize is how lucky you were to go out that day and run into her.

[kinetic-elaboration]

July 17: 2x26 Assignment: Earth

Finally finished up S2 of TOS yesterday. That was... a rough episode tbh. I’m just gonna say it: back door pilots are bad! They’re bad. If I wanted to watch that other show, I’d watch it.

Wow, they’re just really jumping right in, huh? “Here we are, on a routine mission into the past, using a time travel method that we invented nbd.”

Investigating desperate problems in the year 2020...2016.... no wait 1968.

Ooh, Spock in the transport room today. Does he have a whole extra random station there? That’s so weird; I’ve never seen that before. It’s like hidden in the corner.

Cat!! Cat!!

What a good actor. I’m still bitter that wikipedia has a whole section about the casting for “Isis the cat” that talks entirely about the human who played Isis for 2 minutes and nothing about the talented feline actor. Where did they find her? How did they teach her to act?

She has a lot of thoughts about Kirk.

I wrote down “Scully, you’ve got to see this” in my notes and I’ve already forgotten what it refers to lol. Some moment that I thought would fit well with my favorite x-files meme.

Change history, you say? Spock is intrigued. ...Admittedly, Spock is often intrigued.

“What if it turns out you’re an invading alien from the future?” Honestly...let him invade. You’re not supposed to be here anyway.

I’m pretty insulted by this. The aliens went through all this trouble to help in 1968...where are our alien helpers NOW?

The cat straight up attacked his face.

Kirk is so fond of Spock being fond of the cat.

“It’s a lovely animal. I feel myself strangely drawn to it.”

Kirk is way too confused by Seven--an allegedly human person with super-human abilities that he says come from aliens--and yet, he’s met Charlie X so??? Is this not the same?

Kirk’s got the whole crew checking in on zoom.

(I actually do like this sequence of him getting video calls from different parts of the ship.)

“Weren’t orbiting H-bombs a huge problem in 1968?” Looks at the camera like he’s on The Office. Not the subtlest bit of writing in the “social commentary” genre. I do say this with love, though. I always enjoy when they comment on contemporary problems.

“He has a totally perfect body.” Lol don’t distract these two bisexuals.

[soft meowing]

“The prisoner has escaped.” The way this is shot, it looks like he’s talking about the cat.

Hmm, I do love the decor. Very 60s. This honestly immediately feels like a different show, and a much more dated show; even when the Enterprise time travels, it tends not to time travel to... office space.

Love the little sounds the computer makes.

So is Isis supposed to be one of the fancy aliens? It’s never explained but one must assume she is.

Aw, he’s petting her paw.

So I assumed the cats sounds are real, but just dubbed. They’re not lol. Which I guess isn’t surprising: this cat makes a lot of noises! They were provided by a human voice actress.

Damn.... I want a secret bookshelf that turns around to reveal a super computer with a big screen. “Computer... play Netflix.”

That’s what Seven does in his spare time.

The computer is an AI. “Beta 5 snobbery” lol.

Where are OUR alien overlords to stop US from destroying ourselves before WE can mature into a peaceful society?

This is really masterful exposition lol. Not forced or awkward at all.

ST sure does love the snooty female computer trope.

“Get us the proper costumes.” Yes, get Spock his Requisite Hat.

Omicron IV....that’s one of the names they use in Futurama lol. Such nerds.

Another excellent Spock Hat.

I love Seven’s various IDs. Great style. I wish my driver’s license looked like those.

“Who do you think you are?” He hasn’t decided yet. That’s why he was shifting through his IDs.

Seven is not smart lol. Like, he should have figured out way faster that this lady isn’t one of the Alien Overlords. He asks her the code question, she doesn’t understand it, and he... assumes she’s just really in character? Dude, that’s what the code questions are for!!! To help you identify people! Otherwise you could just straight up ask: are you an alien?

Instead he’s like “oh, you silly alien, you’re playing with me,” and then is forced to trap her, reveal his whole mission, and ultimately ensnare her in his plan.

I want that typewriter. Voice recognition typewriter.

"My incompetence has made you aware of very secret devices." Well at least he knows.

Trained cat!

The alien overlords were killed in a random car accident. That’s ironic.

Oh look, a real rocket!

Brown pants + short sleeved shirt + tie is such a Classic 60s look.

This security guard doesn’t think it’s weird that this random dude has a cat with him? Is this part of Isis’s alien power?

Except for the part where it’s a weapon, it’s pretty cool to see all this build up to, like... launching stuff into space. Exciting.

Isis likes to be on shoulders. Just like Little Guy.

New hat for Spock. His outer wear hat, and now his fancy hat. There is something to be said for this ep, and that is Kirk and Spock in suits.

Amazing how they literally launched rockets with computers that old. Like seeing the big bank of primitive computers is totally wild. We put people on the moon that way! Amazing.

“Meow.” Lol, Isis is stressed so she’s speaking like a cat. That’s a pretty funny joke actually.

Seven is so incompetent. If he’d just let the Enterprise help, Scotty could have fixed that rocket issue in like 3 seconds.

Lol everyone’s just pulling Gary through space. Now on the Enterprise. Now in the office.

Why does this computer have a hug black screen if it only displays images on the small white circle?

"Spock and  I in custody. Main characters, doing nothing, knowing nothing, totally useless and irrelevant. I have never felt more helpless." Literally what is even the point of them today? Does Spock even have lines outside of “I like the cat”?

Isis is jealous of Roberta. Is she.. in a relationship with Seven lol?

Uhura is listening to everyone in the world. She probably has a universal translator on, but I do feel like this scene implies she just...understands all the languages.

So now the warhead is armed and heading to somewhere vague... in other words, everyone has collectively made the situation worse.

....Or this was Seven’s plan all along? To scare people into ceasing to be so careful with nuclear weaponry? As someone who knows humans better than this guy, I think this is a dumbass plan.

“That’s why so many people in my generation are kind of crazy and rebels.” Same, sweetheart.

Really this is just a story about bad communication. If Seven had told Kirk his plan upfront, Kirk would have helped him. And if Kirk weren’t so insistent on involving himself in something just because he happens to be somewhere he probably shouldn’t be, we wouldn’t have this issue either. The hubris of everyone.

Overall, just a really forced narrative imo.

Or that’s how it was supposed to be lol. The Irony of time travel. By it’s nature, everything has already worked out.

Kirk and Spock are like “You’re welcome. Peace out.”

Honestly... Isis was the only good part. Such a talented cat actor!! Or trio of cat actors, I guess. Had to do all those stunts and stuff.. .amazing. I also liked the concept of Isis. How she turned into a human later just to troll Roberta. How she’s never really explained--one must assume, an alien? Plus I pretty much never get tired of human + animal teams where the animal makes animal noises and the human just understands and answers in English.

As a stand alone sci fi concept...it was okay. Kinda dated by now. The alien tech was nifty and Roberta could have grown on me. Maybe even Seven, though he left a lot to be desire. That said, the narrative relied a lot on people getting in each other’s way for no reason, which I find very frustrating.

But as a Star Trek episode....no. The main characters were just nuisances on the side lines!! I’m not even sure what Kirk’s mission here was--to try to figure out what Seven was doing? And stop him if necessary? But he never really decided if it was or not, until the point where not trusting him would basically cause a nuclear war? I don’t know, I found it all very frustrating. The melding of the original show and the spinoff was not smooth.

If I were watching this in 1968, I’d feel very cheated. THIS was the season finale? That’s it? I don’t even get a real Star Trek episode and now I have to wait months for anything new?

And what I get after all that waiting is Spock’s Brain?? I’d be tempted to quit. If I had a tumblr in 1969 I’d be writing multi-paragraph rants about how the best show on television has completely nose-dived lol.

But then there’s The Enterprise Incident, which is one of the best episodes... I don’t know, man. It’s a conundrum. I’ve only seen maybe half of season 3 but from what I remember it’s very uneven: some of the best eps (The Enterprise Incident, For the World Is Hollow, Day of the Dove) mixed in with some of the worst (Spock’s Brain, The Paradise Syndrome), plus some that are good concepts but shoddily executed (The Way to Eden). So we’ll see what I think about it when I see it all in one piece, in air date order.

[sarcasmisakindofmagic]

And I, seeking safe harbour, found it between the pages of a book

Pairing: Santiago Garcia x fem!reader

Word count: 2,200

Warnings: Tom prefers the movie to the book. one (1) swear word. This is a yearning sort of fluff.

A/N: This is unbeta’d so please forgive any typos 

It started, as so many things did for Santiago Garcia, in a bookshop.

The bookshop of his childhood had been haphazard and dusty, second hand books piled high above his head; unending towers of adventures waiting for him to read. They had been browning at the edges, marginalia scrawled in a rainbow of colours in thousands of different hands - previous readers accompanying him on his journey and adding wry remarks to the story. 

His abuela had taken him there every Wednesday after school. It had just been the two of them, the cousins relegated to helping abuelo on the farm, but Santi as the baby could help abuela with the town errands. She always got him one book to add to his collection.

Le Morte d’Arthur was a favourite, the binding long since giving up the ghost. Pages held together by string and Santi turning each page with a gentle caress, weighting down each pile with carefully selected rocks - flat, nothing to tear the paper.

Santi had gone back to the bookshop once after Abuela died. The day before he was due to leave town to hit bootcamp. He handed a fresh copy of Le Morte d’Arthur to the volunteer behind the desk, complete with scrawled annotations and inscription.

There hadn’t been many bookshops on the tours he’d taken, occasional lingering moments of perusing the shelves. Frankie knew to leave him alone with the potential stories, a quiet nod and he’d be off to stake out a quiet spot. The whole team would find him later, passively guarding enough space for them to guard each other’s backs. Tom never got the message always hovering, making comments about how he always preferred the movies anyway, Santiago stopped looking for bookshops with him around. Will and Benny usually came as a pair. Benny burning off energy, as Will followed more placidly. Ironically it had been Benny who understood the most, Will losing himself to music more easily than the written word.

“Books, man, I could do that anywhere. It’s active, y’know? Music just happens to you, but i can lose myself in a book.” Benny had told him once, dropping a Du Maurier novel in his lap with a sly grin and only offering a shrug when anybody asked where he’s got an english copy in the middle of bumfuck nowhere redacted.

On the long flights where Benny literally couldn’t sleep, and Santi had too many possibilities running through his head, they’d swap books, making little notes and hiding dicks in the centre folds so they’d get bigger as the book opened.

Half their friendship had been little doodles of dicks, drawn at the most heartfelt and profound moments of classics. Oddly it completely summed Benny up.

The local bookshop was a hidden gem. After Colombia he hadn’t sought out the written word for so long the impulse to go in surprised him enough that he was inside before he’d really thought about it. The shelves inside were crammed full, small hand-painted signs letting him know the genre in which he found himself. There was no military precision to be found here, plenty of space to get lost and find a gem no one had wanted to read in years. The ghost abuela murmured approvingly in his ear, old advice echoing ‘Books need readers, nieto, always find a story that has taken someone on the journey before.’

Occasionally, there would be little stacks of books as new orders came in, the shelves too full to make room for the new arrivals. Regulars moved round them, or paused to run the pad of one finger down the spines, a momentary introduction to a potential new companion.

Hidden around a corner was a tiny café area, only enough to seat maybe ten people, it wasn’t advertised outside - Santiago had never seen every seat taken, though he certainly recognised the regulars by now.

There was the local Rabbi who would tuck himself in the corner with a hot tea and write, occasionally muttering under his breath in Hebrew as he wrestled his sermon into existence. Two students, who were not dating but should be, occupied the table with book wedged under the leg to make it stop wobbling. They were always in contact with one another, limbs seeking the other’s warmth. They didn’t have a schedule but were never in before noon and had only once been spotted on a Thursday. 

A young mum who sat by herself on Saturday mornings and absorbed the quiet, she’d once fallen asleep, resting her head on the shelves. Santiago had woken her at her usual departure time, to flustered thank yous, ‘her twins were at ballet classes and her husband was away-’. She’d been out the store and earshot before she’d finished speaking but a little plate with a huge slab of shortcake had been waiting for him the Saturday after, with ‘Thank you’ iced across the top. There had also been a card with a little boy and girl dancing ballet together impressively drawn in crayon, with capitalised signatures.

Santiago had it in a frame at his house and refused to explain it to anyone that asked beyond a bland, “It’s a thank you card.” 

Only Will had taken more than a beat to move on, absorbing the bright colours and wobbly letters. The clap on Santi’s shoulder and soft look had been enough. Will had never needed words to get a point across, but a gesture like the card? Will understood that well enough.

The boys all knew about you, heard stories about the book shop owner who could make Pope blush with a well timed smile and look in her eye. 

Abuela would have liked her, was the way he explained it to Frankie, blaming the hushed tones on the baby cradled in his arms, rather than the strength of his crush. Little Nina was as placid as her daddy and slept like a rock from day one, Santiago could have yelled his love to heavens and she would only have huffed a little and snuggled closer.

Frankie had only cuffed him on the back of the head and asked if he would pick up some Spanish children’s books for Nina. Santiago didn’t need the excuse to go in there, but he grabbed it with both hands anyway.

You’d been delighted to help, piling his arms high with options before whittling it back down again, selecting tough to rip cardboard and silly rhymes over the school year novellas.

“I’ll pick those up once she’s grown a bit.” He promised, eyeing the reject pile guiltily. “If she takes after her godfather she’ll have her own library soon enough.”

“I was the same,” you laughed, stacking the books neatly by age group and sub-genre, “I used to drive my mother spare reading the book the same day we’d bought it.” “Would you like to go to dinner?” Santiago asked impulsively, talking over the end of your sentence, flushing a little at how abruptly he’d blurted it out. “I’d like to hear about your favourite books.” Your smile made his stomach flip, as you nodded fumbling with the book in your hands.

“I’d like that.” You agreed warmly. “I have quite a few favourites though, it might take more than one.”

Will met you first; in the bookshop without Santi’s supervision. There had been a break in at the shop and Will only lived five minutes away, rushing to calm you down as Santi drove like a madman to get to you.

The shop was in shambles, shelves torn down and books strewn everywhere. Loose leaves littered the floor, glass shards gleaming cruelly in the glaring streetlights. Will had wrapped you up in his jacket, careful of the bruises and nasty gash on your leg, lifting you off the floor and out onto the sidewalk.

He didn’t leave your side until Santiago arrived, waiting until Santi had you in his arms before heading back into the shop to check out what needed fixing.

Frankie met the shop before he met you. His house had the biggest yard, opening out into the woods without anything fencing him in. Will commandeered the space, Frankie happily helping out with the book repairs. His hands had never shaken under pressure, always sure on the controls of the choppers. He learnt the art of bookbinding quickly enough, humming along to Will’s playlists, the two quietest members of the team content to let the music fill the quiet for them.

The first time Frankie met you was when he and Will showed you the shop. The shelves Will had built, now firmly fixed to the wall and floor - they’d prop up the walls before anybody toppled them again. The undamaged books were separated from Frankie’s repairs, in case they weren’t up to your standards. He was pulled into a hug before he could summon up an apology for the amateur job. A stream of thank yous echoing in his ear as you hugged Will just as tightly.

Santiago was smiling, bringing him into hug with a quiet cabron. He always knew when Frankie was overthinking something. You pulled Santi away, demanding Will give a tour of the new, improved shop. Happily calling for Frankie to keep up, you needed to know everything he’d done too.

Benny volunteered to stay at the shop during the day, doing the heavy lifting while your bruises faded. Santiago worked from home but couldn’t help hovering in the shop, too concerned for you and too distracted by all the books he hadn’t got a chance to read.

Somehow this had turned into Benny painting little murals on any spare wall space and the edges of the shelves.

“Have you always painted?” You asked curiously,

Benny shrugged, scratching his chin and leaving tracks of paint over the stubble.

“Pops always had Will out back helping with the farm, he learned the woodworking with him. I helped momma round the house until I was old enough to help paint the stuff they built together.” He broke off to gently shoo Hades away from the paints, the shop cat meowing plaintively at his curiosity being denied.

“Come here puss, you don’t need a paint job.” You coaxed, clicking your fingers to entice him up onto the counter. There was no way your bruises were going to let you bend down to pick him up.

“Anyway, momma was an art teacher she taught me the basics, after that,” he flushed, “a friend helped me practice.”

You had to bite down on your cheek to keep from smiling or asking anymore questions. Benny’s friend sounded interesting but his expression screamed please-don’t-ask-questions.

“My mum could knit anything.” You said instead, finally convincing Hades to have a cuddle and scritching under his chin. “I tried to copy her one summer, ended up having to be cut free from all the wool.”

Benny laughed, all the tension leaving his shoulders at the image of you all snared up like a kitten.

“Me and Will used to track footprints through the house all the time, ‘til we did it with whitewash after painting the barn. Momma had us camped outside for a month before she let us back in.” Benny said sheepishly, a smudged green handprint marking the back of his neck as he confessed. “Pops snuck us in for showers, said he felt bad we’d got punished for chores.”

Hades leapt out of your arms, startled by your laughter. 

“God, I dropped a whole bowl of tomato soup on a cream carpet? Does that count?” You wheezed, leaning back against the shelves to try and stretch out the bruising seeing if the new position would help. Benny winced in sympathy

“Sorry. I’ll try to be less hilarious.” He quipped dryly. “And no, not unless you camped out for a month.”

The decision to marry you was the easiest one Santiago ever made. How on earth to actually ask you to marry him, turned out to be a harder thing to pin down. The ring went on half the trips you made for a year: down to Hawai’i on a group holiday, camping up in the mountains and even the near weekly hikes you took on Mondays, shutting shop up and leaving the town far behind.

It was an old copy of The Princess Bride that eventually spurred him into action. Santi was helping with organising the basement which was full of donations and books to be shipped out across the county.

Golding’s novel hit him square in the chest, the achingly familiar cover making Santiago’s throat tighten. Abuela had loved this book, taking great pleasure in dramatically clearing her throat to read it to him when he was sick. The grandpa in the story was replaced with Abuela as she told him the tale of true love: Inigo Montoya switching between Spanish and English and easily as he switched his sword hand.

He’d long been enamoured with pirates and fighting evil kings, but The Princess Bride had been the book to remind him to find something to fight for. Perhaps he’d been clinging to the doomed romance of Le Morte d’Arthur for too long.

“The Princess Bride? Santiago, this is true love - you think this happens every day?” You quoted easily, pressing a kiss to his cheek as you passed.

Santiago sent up a garbled prayer of thanks to Abuela, she always knew what he needed before he did anyway.

And so, Santiago Garcia asked the love of his life to marry him on a rainy Thursday in a bookshop. And it was perfect.

‘But I also have to say, for the umpty-umpth time, that life isn't fair. It's just fairer than death, that's all.’ -William Golding, The Princess Bride.

[feedmecookiesnow]

...I need more of Clint Barton’s Home for Wayward Puppies. Please 🥺

Clint Barton’s Home for Wayward Puppies (original)

Part 2:

Finding a house is relatively easy, all things considered. Bucky suspects that Stark greases a few palms for them, and throwing around things like old war hero and Avengers certainly doesn’t hurt matters any. Bucky feels a little guilty about this, but Clint tells him to just roll with it. “We need more space,” he says, picking up Winter and patting his soft ears. They’re down to just the three dogs now---Winter, Lucky, and Ollie 2.0---but Bucky is highly aware that’s not going to last long.

They end up settling with a little house over on Staten Island. It’s three bedrooms, which Bucky feels is slightly overkill for just the two of them. But it’s in their price range, and it’s cute, and there’s a dog park nearby. So when Clint says, “I think this one would work,” and turns to him with pleading eyes, Bucky says, “Okay.”

They move in shortly before the summer starts. Other than Clint’s books and a few other things, neither of them really has much in the way of stuff. Or furniture. Or anything else. Both of them are fine with this, all things considered. Clint’s happy as long as he’s got his archery stuff, coffee pot and books, and Bucky just likes seeing him that way. So Nat’s the one who ends up taking them to buy furniture when she comes to visit the first time. She walks in the door, takes one look at the lawn chairs they’re using, and says, “Absolutely not.” She grabs her keys in one hand, Clint’s arm in the other, and drags him out the door. Bucky, who’d suspected this was coming, stays behind with the dogs.

Clint whines at him over texts the whole time, which Bucky finds inherently amusing. But they do end up picking some things, and a day or so later a large truck delivers an enormous couch, a kitchen table, and some chairs.

“Much better,” Natasha says approvingly as she sits on the couch. “See? Plenty of room for you and the dogs.”

“You have a point,” Clint says, surveying the couch. “But this is a classic case of too much couch space and not enough dogs to fill it.” He turns to Bucky. “We need more.”

“Clint Barton’s Home for Wayward Puppies,” Bucky sighs, but he knows there’s no point in fighting it. And to be honest, he doesn’t really want to. He’ll adopt every damn dog in the world just to see Clint smile.  

“Exactly,” Clint says, kissing him. “I’ll get right on it. Gotta get us some new friends.”

But surprisingly, Bucky’s the one who finds a new friend first. And it’s not a dog at all.

It’s a few weeks after move-in day, and Bucky’s making a quick stop after work. Clint’s been sick the past few days---like really, actually sick, and so Bucky’s picking up some donuts from his favorite shop in Brooklyn. He’s walking out with his box when he hears a little mewing sound from the alley next to the shop.

He investigates, following the noise deeper into the alley. He moves aside a trash bag with one hand, digs under a couple cardboard boxes, and finds a kitten. It’s small and grey, and a little dirty. One of its ears is missing, but otherwise it looks relatively healthy.

“Hi,” he says, setting the donut box on the ground. “What are you doing out here?”

The kitten mews at him and starts to move away, but it’s not moving quite right. It’s...wobbling, almost, like it’s going to fall over. Like it can’t quite figure out how to walk properly. Bucky watches it for a moment, then reaches out and gently picks it up with his metal hand. The kitten struggles for a moment, then goes totally limp and allows Bucky to tuck it into his jacket. He zips it up safely and grabs the donut box with his free hand.

Clint is still on the couch where Bucky left him. He perks up at the sight of the donuts. “I love you,” he says. “You’re the...” His voice trails off, and he narrows his eyes at the lump in Bucky’s jacket. “What’s in your coat?”

The cat meows, and Bucky grins at Clint. “Drugs?”

Clint snorts, which then turns into a coughing fit. “Seriously,” he says, propping himself up on the couch once it’s over. “Is it a dog? Let me see.”

“Actually,” Bucky says, unzipping his jacket, “it’s a kitten. I found it by the shop. Watch.” He sets the kitten on the floor. It looks around with vague interest before spying the water bowl and doing its little wobble-walk over to it.

“Aww,” Clint says, putting a hand on his heart. “It’s so cute, holy shit.”

Ollie 2.0 sniffs at the kitten with interest. Bucky watches, ready to interfere, but Ollie 2.0 just pads away after a moment. The kitten meows again and starts lapping at the water.

“So is this this plan?” Clint asks, scratching at Lucky’s ear. “I bring home dogs, you bring home cats?”

“Bucky Barnes’s Home for Wayward Kittens,” Bucky says with a smile, bringing him a donut. “I’m good with it if you are.”

“You kidding me? Look how adorable he is. He can stay.” Clint takes the donut. “What are you naming him?”

Bucky studies the kitten, who’s now stumbling around the room and meowing at things. “I feel like Wobbles is a little too on the nose.”

“Yeah.” Clint coughs again. “What about Weebles?”

“Huh?”

“You know, like the commercial. ‘Weebles wobble, but they don’t fall down.’” Bucky gives him a blank look, and Clint waves a hand. “I’ll show you later. Trust me, he’s a Weebles.”

Winter sniffs at the kitten, who meows back. Bucky snickers at the confused tilt of Winter’s head and nods. “Okay. Sure. Weebles.” He puts a hand on Clint’s forehead, checking his temperature. “I’ll take him to a vet tomorrow. Get him checked out.”

“Sounds good.” Clint takes Bucky’s hand and squeezes it. “You’re the best boyfriend ever, by the way. You brought me donuts and a kitten.”

Lucky licks their joined hands. Bucky laughs and settles on the floor by Clint’s head, patting his lap for Winter to crawl into. After a moment, Weebles makes his way over, curling up against Bucky’s other leg. Bucky lays a hand on him, petting the soft fur, and Weebles starts to purr.

Yeah, Bucky thinks, looking around at their little family of imperfect people and pets. He closes his eyes as Clint’s hand settles in his hair, gently scritching through it. Definitely nowhere else I’d rather be.

“Love you,” he says to the room in general. “All you guys.”

Clint chuckles and presses a kiss to his head. “We love you too.”

***

[sasuhinasno1fan]

Flowers and a bit of flirting- Lukadrien June Day 19

So usually it’s Adrien who get’s flustered, so I did a bit of flustered Luka. Another cannon divergance, the Miraculous don’t exist an our fav gods are house pets, including a cheese loving cat. Yes, mama Agreste is alive and well but like my last cannon divergence, they separated. I don’t know why I keep doing this to Adrien but he’s allowed to act more like his Chat self with his mom, so yeah. I swear, I’m not trying to salt Gabriel, it’s just hard to not make him be the villian sometimes. Yeah, anyway, please enjoy. @lukadrien-june​ Flower Language

Luka stopped his bike at the security box for the movie set, waving to the familiar guard.

“Again?” the guard asked.

Luka shrugged. “I’m just here to deliver them.”

the guard shook his head, grabbing a visitor pass and handed it to Luka, the routine familiar and quite honestly getting old. “When is he gonna get the hint?”

“Probably never, which is great for my bank account.” Luka answered, pushing his bike past the gate.

People were rushing around, two different scenes being filmed for different movies. The Graham de Vanily movie studio was busy as always and Luka was heading towards the trailer for their biggest star, Ms. Emilie Graham de Vanily. The sad part was that her recent new surge in fan wasn’t for her amazing acting or the tireless work she does for charity. No, the reason she was in the public eye was her public divorce from famed fashion designer Gabriel Agreste and full custody of their unnamed son. From what they were told, due to some horrible disagreement before a trip to Tibet that was cancelled, they finally called it quits. Some say it was because Gabriel cheated, others say that they never really loved each other, most say that they fell out of love and few speculated that maybe their son had been the main reason. Gabriel was getting ready to release his as the face of the fashion name but Emilie said no and filled for full custody.

Now the flower shop Luka worked for was getting huge orders of flowers to be delivered to the known actress by her former husband as a way to try and win her back. From what he’d seen of pictures of the two, Gabriel had real love in his eyes whenever he looked at his wife but whatever happened between them Emilie had had enough because most times when Luka arrived to drop off the flowers, he would separate the large bouquet into smaller ones to give to staff members and her co stars. Thankfully those who were given the smaller bouquets didn’t say anything about where they came from and just accepted them.

Gabriel had obviously been doing homework as his orders had flowers that asked for forgiveness and said how much he still loved her. Shame they were rejected. One time, she’d been so annoyed, she cut them up, dumped them in a box and gave Luka twice what the bouquet was to send the mess of flowers back to the original sender. She felt embarrassed after but Luka wasn’t going to blame her. She was obviously still hurting and all the extra attention wasn’t making her feel any better or letting her move on.

He reached the familiar trailer and knocked on the door. He was focused on pulling the large bouquet out of his basket that when the door opened, he started with his usual spill.

“New delivery Mme. Graham. If you’re going to split them, I can go ahead and get started.”

“Probably best since my mom is allergic to those flowers.”

Luka turned and instead of the kind blonde woman he was used to seeing in the doorway of the trailer, there was a blond guy, slightly younger than him with bright green eyes. He had the same smile Emilie would wear, if not a bit mischievous like a cat. He was cute, like really cute.

“Adrien, who is it?” Emilie came around, smiling at Luka. “Luka, nice to see you again. Another delivery I see.”

“Uh, yeah. It’s purple aquilegia, which mean ‘I can’t give thee up’.” Luka answered, his eyes trailing back to the guy, Adrien.

Emilie shook her head, seeming drained. “If he paid any attention, then he’d remember I’m allergic to those. Could you split them up for me dear? Adrien, why don’t you help him? By the time you get back, I’ll be filming and you can finally start on your homework. I don’t care if it’s physics.” she cut in as Adrien opened his mouth. “You need to finish it before we leave. Help Luka sort and deliver those and I’ll see you later, ok sweetheart?”

“Yes mom.”

Mom, so this was the mysterious son.

Adrien climbed down from the trailer and planted himself next to Luka.

“So you’re Luka. Mom tells me my dad sends you here almost everyday and you know flowers.”

“Yeah. I don’t fully like it because of awkward it obviously is but the payment gets spilt into my pay check so I can’t complain. Here, hold these.” Luka pulled out a roll of plastic they wrapped the flowers in and a pair of scissors. “Learning the language of flowers is pretty interesting too. There’s so much you can say with a simple bouquet.”

“Has anyone ever said F you in flowers?”

Luka let out a laugh. “Yes, there is actually truth to that Tumblr post. Why, asking for a friend?”

Adrien hold the roll loosely as Luka pulled a length off. “I mean, a friend of mine really doesn’t like this new girl in our class. She lies a lot and almost got away with everything when she messed up and we caught her out on it. She’s got the rest of the school under her thumb and it takes everything in us to keep Marinette from wanting to rip her head off. I’ll admit, I could do the same to my dad, but only cause he doesn’t realise that he keep putting my mom in a difficult position when he sends the flowers. But my mom would say it’s none of my business.”

Marinette? Like his ex-girlfriend and still good friend Marinette? Well, it had to be a common name.

“Well if your mom isn’t totally turned off by flowers, you could give her red camellia. They mean admiration. Your mom is pretty strong. She’d get along with mine I think.”

“So those pierced ears and nail polish are to hide your bad boy exterior?”

“I am the farthest thing from a bad boy. For one, don’t wear a lot of black, that’s more my sister’s thing. I might like Jagged Stone, but I’m sure most of France does too. And motorcycles scare the hell out of me. I’ll stick with my classic bike.”

Adrien let out a small life, his eyes crinkling. “Guess I shouldn’t put people in boxes. I’ve been known to be a huge flirt amongst my classmates and they can get pretty annoyed by my puns and most people who look at me expect this quiet kid.”

“Something tells me if there’s a prank pulled, everyone looks to you first.” Luka teased.

Adrien bleped at him, shrugging his shoulders. “I’ve had a good teacher in the form of my cat. Just flash them pouty eyes and they’ll never be mad at you.” he flashed him those same pouty eyes he talked about and Luka had to look away to save him from turning red. Fuck, he was really cute.

They continued talking, finishing separating all the flowers and putting them back into the vase. He let Adrien lead him around to the people not working with his mother until the vase was empty and he escorted him back to his mother’s trailer.

“Have fun with your homework.”

“I’d rather do a hard pass but mom’s right. It’s physics so it won’t take long. So, I guess I’ll see you around?”

“I guess so.”

Adrien gave him a wave and smile before disappearing into his mother’s trailer and Luka walked back to the gates. Usually when he left, his thoughts would usually consist of wondering when this would end and Gabriel would back off. Now, all he could think about was bright green eyes and a mischievous smile.

                                                      ___________

“Another one?” Adrien asked as he opened his mother’s trailer door and saw Luka standing there with another large bouquet, yellow chrysanthemums this time. “What do they mean this time?”

“Slighted love.”

Adrien seemed to flinch at that. “they did have a huge a argument over the phone last night. Mom’s making me stay with a friend tonight to avoid hearing more of it. She’s not here, so we can go ahead and split them up.”

a loud protesting meow called from inside and Adrien shook his head before looking into the trailer. “Plagg, calm down. You’ve gotten enough treats from mom.”

“Plagg?” Luka asked.

“Like plage. I’m a weird child.” Adrien said, taking the roll of plastic from Luka.

“Not that weird. My snake is called Sass. I think I was just lazy.”

“Well can’t be as weird as my classmate’s pet monkey, aptly named King.”

King the monkey? Wait a second.

“Random, but do you go to Collège Françoise Dupont?”

“Yeah, why?”

“Your home room teacher Mme. Bustier?” Adrien nodded, looking lost. “I think you’re in the same class as my sister, Juleka?”

the eyes brightened in understanding. “Oh! You’re that Luka! The guys told me about you. They’ve been trying to come up with ways to make you join their band, Kitty Section.”

“And I would, if I wasn’t trying to earn money to get into this music college I want to go to. Your dad is paying a hefty amount towards my education. My sister mentioned they had a new student in class. Guess it makes sense why she didn’t say who. No one really knows who you are yet do they?”

“Not yet. Mom wants to wait until after the filming is done in case she needs to be there. I mean, if you know Alya, she knows and my closer friends do. I trust you can keep a secret?” Adrien asked, sliding up closer to Luka.

Luka controlled himself, trying not to look bothered. He was usually so calm and cool. What was it about Adrien that made him like that?

“I can. Don’t worry. Just don’t tell my sister you know me. She might beg you to help convince me to join Kitty Section.”

“I don’t know. I saw the costumes Marinette sketched. You’d look interesting as a kittycorn.” Adrien laughed a little.

“I look amazing in anything.” Luka said, tossing his hair similar to how he’d seen Chloe Bourgeois do whenever she came by the house boat to tease his sister – which tended to lead into his mother yelling at her from the stern. Chloe’s father might spoil his daughter, but no one bothered a pissed off Anarka Couffaine.

“I’m sure you do.”

Adrien admitted to being a flirt, but that knowledge didn’t stop the sudden blush from popping up on Luka’s face.

                                                     __________

Alyssum, primrose, diosma and gloxinia, with a few white clover flowers to fill in the space. Mme. Anciel usually took care of making the bouquets, though she gladly taught Luka after seeing how he retained the information about the language of flowers.

“Luka, we’ve got a new order. Could you grab me some purple columbines from the green house?” Mme. Anciel said as she came out from the back where she usually made the orders. She had black hair like her son, though her eyes were hazel and tanned skin from always being in the sun. “Oh, is that a new order?”

“Oh, no. I was just messing around. These were older ones, don’t worry.”

Mme. Anciel took in the bouquet in the green vase. “Worth beyond beauty, unconscious beauty, you’re simple charms enchant me and love at first sight. And think of me. Who are you trying to send a message to Luka?”

“Oh, no one. I was just messing around.”

the florist raised an eyebrow. She’d been in the business long enough and spoke the language of flowers well enough to see a person’s whole heart in them. Luka knew he wasn’t tricking her.

“Ok, there’s this guy.”

“Sounds like my son before he started dating, but go on.”

“Well I met him on my deliveries and he’s really cool and funny and such a flirt and that usually wouldn’t bother me but I like it when he flirts with me. Which isn’t like me, but still. He’s a really cool guy.” Luka shrugged, feeling embarrassed. Not a normal feeling for him but one he was ok with. Adrien was doing strange things to him.

“You’ve only really been doing deliveries to Mme. Graham de Vanily, so he must be from there. He an actor?”

Luka shook his head, thinking of Adrien and how easily he could look innocent with those pouty green eyes of his. “No, his mom works there though.”

“Who’s mom works where?” Marco came in, from where he’d been hiding in the back for his break. He was smudged with dirt and if Luka didn’t know how into his story writing Marco let himself get when in the safety of his home, he’d think Nathaniel came by for a visit.

“Luka’s crush.”

“You have a crush?”

Luka rolled his eyes. “Maybe. Why are you bugging me about this? Any mention of Nathaniel and you go red.”

“Maybe I want to break the calm musician facade. Who are they? Customer?”

“Customer's son.” he didn’t want to give too much away. Adrien and Marco might go to the same school and Marco might date Adrien’s classmate but he wasn’t sure how much he was privy to. “We’ve been talking whenever I go drop off deliveries at the Graham de Vanily studio.”

“Guess M. Agreste is good other than giving us a big pay check. He helps Luka find love.”

“It’s always the shy ones.” Luka muttered under his breath.

“Will you give it to him?” Mme. Anciel asked.

“Maybe not.”

“Why not? Good way to ask him on a date.”

“I don’t want to assume anything. He might not even be interested.”

“Darling, if he’s got you making bouquets like that, there has to be something mutual.”

As much as he would of liked to avoid it, Mme. Anciel all but forced the newly made bouquet into his hands as he got ready to deliver a new bouquet to Emilie. She accepted the gilliflower bouquet, though it sounded like it was going to be re-homed anyway.

“Adrien’s inside the trailer if you wanted to talk to him. He talks quite a bit about you at home, asking me a lot of questions about you.”

“Good things I hope.”

“Well, you haven’t given me any reason to say bad.” she said with this sort of smile he’d usually see on his mom when she was trying to get him and Juleka to admit their sexuality, like she already knew, she just wanted to hear it from them. It had to be a mom thing.

Adrien was laying on the couch, pinned by a lazy looking black cat. He smiled at Luka when he came in, though he couldn’t move.

“Hi. I would of come out to greet you, but someone refuses to move. He dug the Camembert from my mom’s fruit basket and is now so full he won’t move.” Adrien said, staring down at his chilled out cat, who only flicked his tail. “Did you not give me mom the flowers?”

the bouquet for Adrien was still in his hands. He could of lied and said it was for someone else, but he decided to take a chance. “They’re for you actually. I was thinking about you and made this.”

“Really? Thank you. That was really sweet of you. Did my mom tell you primroses are my favourite?” Adrien asked, putting his phone down and taking the flowers, a large smile on his face.

“No, just thought they suited you.”

“Well I love it. Thank you. Um, do you think it’d be ok if you stayed a bit, unless you had to go back to work.”

he thought of Mme. Anciel and what she might do to him if he returned sooner than what had become usual whenever he dropped off flowers for Emilie. Then he thought of spending time with Adrien without having to focus on flowers for a little while.

“Yeah, sure. I can stay. What where you playing?” Luka asked, sitting on the edge of the sofa next to Adrien.

He tugged on Luka’s sleeve to pull him closer as he picked up his phone. “Any good at otome games? I’m trying to woo this guy and he’s being shy.”

“I have a feeling you’d be fine regardless.”

Not a date, but it would do for now, until he could actually say what he was feeling without hiding behind flowers.

[desperatefrenchwriter]

Sola Gratia (7/?)

Rating / Warnings : General audiences, no particular warnings.

Fandom : Bram Stoker’s Dracula, BBC’s Dracula, various Dracula and vampire lore.

Part 7/? (2219 words)

Author’s notes : Rated A for Angst

~ - ~ - ~ - ~ - ~ - ~ - ~ - ~ - ~ - ~ - ~ - ~

“Won’t you invite me in ?”

I slowly turned my head to face him, the tip of my nose touching his for a second.

“Do you think this is how it works ?”, I whispered. He inched back, probably picking up the anger I tried to conceal in the softness of my tone. “Do you think you, who has haunted my every nightmare, every dark corner, every space behind my back, for months-” I took a shaky breath. “Do you think you can invade a place I feel most safe in, threaten my dearest friend, threaten me, and hope a gift will make up for it ?”

I clenched my jaw. His expression, as he has leaned back into his seat, was unreadable.

“I have spent days in the hospital, terrified that you would find me and finish the job. And I couldn’t tell- I couldn’t tell anyone why I felt so unsafe because frankly, who would believe me ?”

Tears welled up in my eyes, still he said nothing. Had he spent so much time apart from any humans he forgot how to understand emotion ?

“I am terrified, right now, because I know you could… snap my neck, or bleed me dry, and I couldn’t- I couldn’t do anything about it !”

I started to cry silently, unable to stop the flow of tears running down my cheeks. He seemed almost paralyzed. I took the chance, and got out of the car, slamming the door behind me. Fumbling for my keys, my fingers were so shaky I dropped them. As I picked them up, I heard the other car door open, and froze, slowly turning back to face him. He circled around the car, but kept a distance between us.

“I cannot begin to imagine what you went through because of me.” He looked and sounded completely serious, which was a strange color on him. “There is nothing I can say that would be close to an acceptable apology, but I do want to make amends.”

He handed me the box, keys still on the lock. The chain glimmered under the streetlamp’s lights.

“I won’t invite you in”, I maintained.

“And I will not insist.”

I hesitated a little, and first pulled the key from the lock, slipped it into my pocket. As I took the box, my fingers brushed against his, sending a shiver down my spine.

“Are you cold ?”

                   I could have a fire lit, if you want.

“I’m fine”, I replied, once again having no time to protest as he put his jacket on my shoulders. “I’m literally ten feet from my door, Vlad-”

“Hah, she called me Vlad !” A semi-triumphant look plastered on his face.

“This doesn’t mean I trust you, or like you, for all that matter”, I snapped at him.

“And I will make my peace with that.” He put a hand over his heart. “For now.”

“You are insufferable. I’m going to bed.”

He still had a somewhat… sheepish look to him, head slightly tilted to the side, like a grounded puppy. Still. I couldn’t move past the flashes of teeth, blood and feral growls layering over his face. I suddenly had to inhale a sharp gust of air, and turned back, the box held against my chest by my injured hand, the other looking for my keys. I turned back, and climbed the short flight of stairs to the entrance of my building.

���Sleep well, Lady Cetero.”

Can’t promise anything. I buzzed myself in, and hurried to the stairs without a second look behind me, turning all light on as I went by. As I climbed the steps to the fourth and last floor, I felt like my heart was about to jump out of my chest. Not only because those stairs were a nightmare, though. On the doorstep, the meowing on the other side of the door had me smiling. That little monster was going to be unbearable.

Giving the usual kick to the door panel to get open, it creaked on its hinges, yet the incessant yelling of the hairball at my feet covered most of the noise.

“Hey, shut it, dumbass, you’ll wake the whole building”, I told him, locking the door behind me.

Following his little strut to the kitchen, I gave him his much expected dose of kibble.

“You fat idiot, you need a diet. I love you so much. Babie.”

He purred hysterically as he ate, and I kept on my incoherent baby talk for a while, mindlessly running my hands through his shaggy fur. God, what a day. I sat on the floor, removing my heels, and resisted the urge to throw them out of the window. Gift from Leah, gift from Leah, I muttered under my breath as I put them away in the hall closet.

Pulling my phone out of my pocket, I dialed Leah’s number, who picked up before the first ring. I reassured her, told her I was home, safe, and tired. As soon as she started taking her usual gossip-y tone, asking about Vlad, I bid her good night, and hung up on her crystalline laugh.

I dragged my feet to my bedroom, throwing the jacket on my desk chair.  I grumbled as I tried to unzip my dress. God, who decided to make clothing you can’t take off by yourself ? Rich people, probably. Or people in a relationship. As I finally succeeded to pull the tab down, I heard knocking on my window. A panicked scream escaped my mouth as I noticed the dark silhouette standing on the emergency staircase, outside. Him, again. I sighed, and climbed over my bed to open the window a crack.

“What the hell do you want now ?”, I barked at him.

“You forgot your briefcase”, he told me, holding it up for me.

“Oh. Thanks.” I hesitated before opening the window wider. “This is not an invitation.”

“Wouldn’t dream of it”, he smiled as he passed me the worn leather bag. “Although, if you still need help with your dress-”

“Get out of my balcony.”

I could swear he winked before he disappeared. By that I mean, literally vanished. I leaned out of the window, and felt a soft stroke against my cheek, and a bat, flying off. Well. Something to add to the list. I closed the window, and sat back on my mattress. Sleeping was going to be a challenge, tonight.

~ - ~ - ~

The sound of my alarm dragged me from sleep. Buried in my thick duvet, head incased in my pillows, I groaned for a good minute before I found the energy to set my phone off. Outside, everything was still dark, which made getting up that much harder. Zardoz meowed in indignation when I had the nerve, the hubris to move him from my legs, where he’d spent the night.

My hand felt sore, and I figured I had to redo the bandages, if only to assess the damage. It wasn’t too bad, two cuts to my palm, and one across my thumb, the rest being small, superficial scrapes. I disinfected the whole, and carefully placed fresh bandages, making sure I’d be able to actually use my hand this time.

I dragged myself to the kitchen, and the sacrosanct bean juice machine. It did make disgusting coffee, but then again, I was very much used to it. As it rumbled, having the whole table vibrating, I served His Royal Majesty his morning dose. This time, I set it into a training ball, so that he’d have minimal exercise. God, I could barely picture the sorry state I’d found him in. A small, half dying kitten, at the corner of my building, now a year and a half ago. His harrowing mews of distress attracted me, and after a significant amount of vet bills, he was mine. Leah had the idea for his name, as we were in a weird movie binge-watch party, and Sean Connery’s red underwear made some lasting impression of us. By that, I mean she almost choked to death laughing.

Bringing my cup back to my bedroom, I threw some clothes on, and slipped my feet into my boots. Thursdays were usually not that busy for me, but my absence during the seminar meant I had to catch up on some classes, both to my dismay and that of my students. I finished my coffee with a wince. The things we do for energy. At least, wasn’t coke. I checked the contents of my briefcase, wrapped a scarf around my neck, and was out, but not before a final kiss on Zardoz’s belly, who endured with minimal complaints.

Greeting Mrs. Mills, checking her mailbox way too early as she always did, she asked if I had any breakfast, and cursed at me when I answered by the negative, as she always did. And as I always did, I wished her a good day, before storming out. I climbed down the stairs, checking my watch for the next train, and froze as soon as I raised my head back up.

“What the hell are you still doing here ?”, I exclaimed, my voice coming out a bit more squeaky than I would have liked.

“Good morning to you too”, the Count cheerfully replied, handing me a paper bag.

“What’s that ?”

“Oh, don’t sound so suspicious, it’s breakfast”, he sighed.

Squinting at him, I took the bag, and peeked inside. Warm, buttery looking croissants.

“I didn’t know what to pick, I went for ‘timeless classic’. Is that alright ?”

He seemed to genuinely care. I sighed.

“What isn’t alright is you standing at my front door at six thirty in the god forsaken morning. The croissants are fine.”

“Well, perfect then !”, he exclaimed. “Come on, I’ll drive.”

He opened the passenger door once again.

“What do you mean, you’ll drive ? I’m going to class. I don’t have time for whatever shenanigans you have planned.”

“I know, I’m driving you there.”

Knowing I wouldn’t win this argument, being still half asleep and on an empty stomach, I threw my head back, sighed, letting out a “FINE” that seemed to satisfy him, as I slipped into the car. He sat behind the wheel, my university’s address already in the GPS. Worried me a little. How much exactly did he know ? Was it all in my blood ? Gods, that would be very telling of my academic situation. I leaned back onto my seat, deciding that if I had to put up with him, I didn’t need to make conversation.

“Are you angry, for some reason ?” He really did seem puzzled.

“Dear Lord, you actually have no idea, do you ?”, I sighed.

“I thought it would be gallant.”

“In the twenty-first century, waiting for a woman you barely know, whom you tried to murder a few months ago, is considered a bit creepy, my guy.”

He remained silent, excluding an outraged mouthing of “my guy”, which almost sent me in a fit of laughter.

“Maybe you will have to ‘update’ me on your modern manners, then”, he proposed after a short silence.

“Yeah, maybe.”

What in the goddamn fuck was happening. Three days ago, I had nightmares about the guy, and he was now my glorified chauffeur. Well, not that it really did much for the lingering feeling of dread in the pit of my stomach.

“So, did you just wait in front of the building, hoping I’d come out eventually ?”

He laughed. “Would you call me a stalker again if I did ?”

“Obviously.”

“Then no.”

I had to say, he was a little funny. Not that I would admit it under torture, but still. The sky started to take a pink color, lighting the few clouds in bright orange.

“You don’t burn in the sunlight. What’s up with that ?”, I asked.

“I don’t sparkle either, if you want to know.” He didn’t let me enough time to react to the terrible implications of that sentence. “Maybe it’s easier to believe you are only unsafe in the dark.”

I sat back, watching the first rays of sunlight come through the windshield, giving his eyes an almost silver color. I noticed a soft smile form on his lips. He wasn’t horrible to look at, when he wasn’t in a bloodthirsty frenzy. A sharp profile, that commended authority, high cheekbones, and a strong jaw. His hair was still long, in controlled, soft waves, mostly slicked back, except for a few strands, falling casually in front of his face.

“Lady Cetero, you will have me blushing soon”, he teased.

Ah. Fuck. “I don’t like you clean-shaven. It looks weird.”

He laughed, and I turned my eyes to the road, trying to ignore the rising heat to my face. Curse me for blushing so easily.

“I’ll let it grow back, then”, he told me, almost apologetic. Soft.

I shifted further into the leather seat, a smile forcing its way to my lips. “Hrm.”

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