#toteme towel

[piratefishmama]

Nest | Part 15

A Steddie A/B/O ficlet

For Eddie, it was like he knew he needed something, he knew his body needed something, but had no real idea of how to go about getting it, and in his confusion, he’d forgotten why he’d wanted the nameless mystery thing in the first place.

He’d made one attempt at presenting himself like instinct would guide him into doing, but when the alpha present didn’t take the opportunity, he found himself unsure of what to do next. His alpha just about managed to catch the downward spiral of rejection before it spun out of control, comforting him, reassuring him, but it all left Eddie feeling a little bit… lost.

He didn’t have the experience to try something else.

Had it been anyone else. Anyone with experience. An Omega who’d shared their heats before, or at least gotten laid once or twice, Steve would have been in trouble, Eddie would have had just enough knowledge to try harder, but with the complete lack of such knowledge… it had the Omega simply settling into Steve’s side, and basking in the presence of an alpha’s comforting scent for what should have been the most stressful part of his heat.

Too unsure of what else he ought to be doing to be stressed about doing it. Sure, he was a little uncomfortable, absolutely, but his alpha was right there. Big, strong, his arms wrapped comfortably around him, he had the little towel drenched in his alphas scent direct from his gland so it was easy to let himself drift off.

Even with the ache settled low in his tummy, even with the slippery, warm, slick sensation between his legs, the uncomfortable ache in his gums and the urge to bite something that came along with it, and of course, the feverish heat his body radiated, he knew he wanted something. His body definitely wanted something, an uncomfortable aching hunger that niggled in the back of his mind to be satiated, but… he could wait for… whatever it was, surely it’d show up eventually if it was that important.

It wasn’t as unbearable as he’d been so sure it’d be. He wasn’t even in any pain. It wasn’t hurting him.

He was content, he was cosy, he was safe. Protected. And with his alpha ever so gently stroking his fingers through Eddie’s damp hair, fingertips occasionally grazing his scalp in a way that had Eddie chirruping softly in his light doze… he could comfortably succumb to sleep.

For Steve… there was no sleeping when Eddie was like this.

Steve couldn’t close his eyes and rest, even with Eddie’s own eyes closed, the Omega’s body, while relaxed, felt like it was on fire. Steve could feel every inch of him, he radiated heat, skin clammy, slick with sweat, his hair clinging to his body in a way that could never be comfortable but was likely the very lowest on the totem pole of problems Eddie’s poor incredibly fragile mind was focusing on, even though Steve did try and stroke his fingers through it to give him some comfort.

Eddie seemed to be able to rest, his eyes were closed, and while yes, his body still shook, still shivered, he still appeared deeply uncomfortable, and he still wriggled in Steves arms, he looked like he’d slipped into a light slumber.

Steve couldn’t rest. There was no possible way he could even relax less it accidentally lead to sleep. The last thing Steve needed was to slip under and come to with Eddie taking advantage, he wouldn’t even know it was wrong, wouldn’t even be able to consider what his actions actually were, driven solely by primal instinct, right and wrong lost to him.

Sleep wasn’t safe for either of them.

So he laid there in the nest, Eddie curled up into his side, his warm breath fanning across Steve’s neck in short, laboured little puffs of humid air, his fingers curled so tightly into the towel Steve had given him hours ago that they also dug into Steve’s shirt beneath it.

Steve was focusing entirely on the steady whirr of the vents, loud and somewhat irritating, but there, keeping the air in the room from becoming unbearably thick. Keeping the scent Eddie was still giving off from becoming overwhelming even at such a close proximity to the source.

He was hungry. His stomach rumbled in protest, he hadn’t eaten properly. Too anxious, having been sinking into his own little spiral of despair over not being there for his Omega, he’d totally ignored the one meal he could have had before this whole mess and now… now he had no way of getting food. Any attempt made by anyone outside the room to sneak something in ran the risk of Eddie’s territorial rage. It was just him.

Just him, his thoughts, and his prayers to a god he wasn’t sure he believed in that Eddie would just sleep through it all. That his body would settle for just Steve’s presence and nothing more, because so far it was working.

Eddie wasn’t producing nearly as much slick as he would have been had they being actively going for it, his thighs were damp, the materials of his nest wet beneath his body, but it wasn’t an overwhelming amount, it wasn’t nearly enough for him to comfortably take even an average sized knot. He wouldn’t have even been able to comfortably take the smaller of the heat aids with what he was producing.

He wasn’t begging, he wasn’t pushing, or demanding, he could sort of talk while awake, and he was coherent enough to understand what was being said to him even if he couldn’t retain the memory of it being said.

He was like… a blank slate. A confused animal uncertain of its purpose, made evident by the fact that, as Steve made damn sure to check, Eddie had actually fallen asleep.

While he should have been at the very height of lust, at the pinnacle of need, desperate to be filled, desperate to feel full, to be bred, and doing everything during the short period of time he had to achieve it, he’d… fallen asleep. Nestled into the crook of Steve’s neck, breathing a little heavily, sure, but he’d fallen asleep.

Looking like he had nothing more than a fever, maybe a light flu, he slept.

And he kept sleeping.

Even while Steve stared at the ceiling, listening to the whirr of the air vents, listening to the faint sounds of the clock on the wall as time went tick by tock. Eddie slept soundly all the way through until his status as a human radiator began to slowly subside, as time passed them by reducing the risk with each tick of the clock until sunlight filled the shadows in the room, filtering through the curtains of the frosted windows.

The only warning Steve had that his omega was finally coming too, was the subtle furrow of his brow, and a soft grumble of a sound, before bleary eyes opened to take in the world around him with a little more clarity than he’d had when he’d first closed them.

His pupils were still blown, his skin was still warm and clammy, but he had enough strength to ease himself out of Steve’s arms, the towel he’d been clutching falling into his bare lap, alerting him to the fact that it was there to begin with. He took in his surroundings, his nest was a mess, he took in his physical state, naked and confused.

And finally, he took in the alpha still residing to his left, who watched him with barely concealed alarm. Steve. Steve was in his room.

His nest was a mess.

He was naked.

And Steve, an Alpha. Was in his room.

“Steve…?”

“It’s not what it looks like.” And then came… the panic.

Part 17

[hell-drabbles]

You once said your favourite character was Mammon,now with the new characters has there been any change to who's your favourite and who's your least favourite?

Dante Anon

Least favorite is still Leviathan on virtue of how the devs clearly favor him to the point of making the MC even dumber than they usually are. Satan is just a meh character to me, and seeing people praise him as the "safest choice" rubs me the wrong way. Mammon was the favorite purely because he referred to himself as courtesan and I liked that, and that he specifically says that he's owned by the MC rather than the other way around. But he's been getting lower on the totem pole because of the devs going down the route of "Oh you own him but oh wouldn't it be sexy if the roles were reversed?" thing, which falls flat because the MC is such a wet fucking towel that they never played the role of the master in the first place, so nothing really changes but the narrative acts like there's a change???

I still have little clue about the rest of the kings, Lucifer takes first place for me if only because he gives me angel and Heaven lore. That and he's praised as being one of the most powerful, so much so that even the other kings are more cautious around him so that helps. Having that kind of powerful person under the my control sounds nice.

[undercover-ballerina]

Trailblazing & Stargazing - Chapter 29

The following Saturday afternoon, Draco flooed to Hermione’s house carrying a large ceramic pot with a vanilla orchid totem in full bloom and a bottle of elf-made wine. Hermione was nowhere to be seen. He called her but no reply came. He left the plant and wine on the dining table and ventured into her bedroom. There, he heard loud music blaring from the bathroom. He chuckled lightly. He could hear her voice butchering the tune as she sang at the top of her lungs. He walked back to the living room, not wanting to intrude. When he heard her walk back into the bedroom, he knocked to let her know he was there.

“Draco!” She said, opening the door. “I didn’t hear you floo in.” She was wrapped in a soft purple bathrobe, her hair tucked inside a matching towel, as she leaned in for a kiss.

“I heard you were holding a concert in the bathroom and didn’t want to disturb” A wet strand of hair had escaped her haphazard turban and he curled it around his finger. “Are you, per chance, related to Celestina Warbeck?”

“Ha. Ha. Ha. Hilarious, Mr Malfoy. I like to sing and I don’t give two hoots if I’m not good at it. I’ll do it anyway!” She scoffed, jabbing her finger to his chest.

“I’ll make sure to learn some tuning charms.” He kissed her lips gently. “Or, keep your mouth otherwise occupied.” He laughed and jumped away as she swatted him.

“You are vile!” She laughed.

[stardeer-valley]

Winter 4, Year 1

Beep found a mysterious note today in a catalogue that confirmed a quest he had finished mid-Fall that consisted of;

Battery in the tunnel

Rainbow Shell at the train station

Put 10 beets in someone's fridge??????

The solar essence took Beep a few tries to figure out

All that just to search the wood pile at the farm house

That was a lot of effort only to be told today that he wasn't allowed back inside the Casino. He only wanted inside because the catalogue said there was a rare scarecrow exclusive to the Oasis Casino! Thankfully Mr.Qi seemed sympathetic to his quest to collect all the Rarecrows, and offered an exchange of labour for the items exchanged for the Qi Coins being gambled with. This worked, because Beep had no desire to gamble, and he was pretty sure Mr.Qi would rather not have something upsetting the Casino's patrons.

For the Rarecrow, a cat thing, and some Farm Totems, all Beep needed to do was collect three Prismatic Shards from the Skull Cavern nearby. Such a task was preferable to depending on luck, and while it took all day (and left him covered in rock dust), Beep was able to find the items just after nightfall. He put the Prismatic Shards in a box left out for him behind the Oasis shop, then noticed a larger box next to it with a simplistic drawing of a deer with wings. Thankfully the box would make bringing them home easier, since Beep could just push the box with his head. Getting it on and off the bus would be a bit tricky though…

That was a task for after a bath. He was all dusty and extremely thankful the Calico Desert was at least a tiny bit warmer than the valley. A short dip in an oasis nearby solved the dirty deer problem. He also found an old towel draped over a young palm tree (assumed to be left by Mr.Qi somehow) that he could use to dry off before going back to freezing his tail off.

———

I'll be honest, this was the only time I can think of even as far as Fall Year 3 that I used the cheat menu. I fucking hate gambling games and things based on luck. Add in that I have no fucking clue how most of the minigames worked, it pissed me off enough I just gave myself the qi coins and got the stuff that way. I still have yet to go back. >_>

———

Things different from canon; (AU???) Gramps never had an heir, or they never show/ed up. Special new farm map; Frontier Farm! Stardew Valley Expanded; new maps, new NPCs, new events, a LOT of new stuff. The new “Farmer” is just a Weird Ass Deer. NPCs will respond/react accordingly.

This is my first time playing Stardew Valley Expanded, so I’m learning as I go. (Please no spoilers if you play SVE)

[pbandjesse]

It was absolutely beautiful out today. And I felt a lot better. Like not perfect, but a lot better.

I slept fine. I keep ending up half off the end of the bed and don't know why. But it was fine.

I woke up at 650. And it was dark outside. Which was much better then being to bright. It took me a little to shake off the sleepies. But I got up and washed my face and felt pretty good.

James made the bed and had packed me lunch. They told me they would keep painting today and would finish up the white wall. I was excited to see that.

I was pretty upset when I got in my studio and saw that my fish Ari was dead. I was trying to not be to weepy but like. He was doing good!! And he was alive and eating last night! And now he's gone. Like I feel lucky I was able to get him well after being sick in January. I got a whole month extra with him. But I am still really sad. James would wrap him in a paper towel. I decided I would bury him at camp.

I had a nice drive. I would keep listening to my podcast. It would be a nice thing to have for the next hour or so.

When I got to camp I would get a spoon from the office and go and bury Ari right away. I dig a little hole under the totem pole. And told him I loved him. I hope he has a good life. He was a beautiful fish.

After being sad for a little l, I had my breakfast and started working on sending emails. I finished making the schedules for two of my groups. And started working on measuring out the yarn for my knitting.

I would take a walk over to the lodge to put away the tables and chairs. I saw that there was the whole group of turkey vultures again. They were really cool to see.

It would take me a while to get all the tables and chairs out back. And I would head back to the office and catch up on my knitting.

Sarah came in just as my podcast was finishing. We talked about the muffins she brought to share. Which were chocolate and I was excited to have one. She would also tell me the list of things they left us to do this week while everyone else is at a camp conference. I hope they are having fun.

Once I was done my knitting I would go to the hacienda to take down the old string lights. Sarah was surprised because it was tall and s difficult task. But I brought pliers and would climb up on the railing to get them down. Sarah said she would look out the window periodically to make sure I didn't continue the family legacy of falling off roofs. But I did not fall. I did get cut by the wire when the string lights were falling apart from being out in the weather. But I got them all down and thrown away.

I was listening to a YouTube video about fundamental deconstruction and how Christian fundamentalists make marriage sound terrible. And this one couple was laughing and talking about how hard being married was and the husband starts saying he thinks about killing himself rather then be married anymore but they are both still laughing and smiling! It was crazy! And so sad.

This lead me to tell Sarah all about the weird sex Ed and talks we went through at my school. All the allegories/examples (food dye in a water bottle, tape, gum) of your soul. The examples we were given about being a wife. It is like. Very dark to think about. I am glad being married for real is so much nicer and also easier. People who say being married is the hardest thing theyve ever done are stupid. Loving James is easy.

I would spend a lot of time doing research today. Some about wall paper. Some about projects. More emails.

Sarah went for a walk. And I answered some emails. I even answered the phone! And was able to actually be helpful!

The afternoon would have me driving the gator around to pick up the old archery targets. I also moved the pig target. But I love him so I just moved him to the art building. At least until we know where he will live.

The weather was beautiful at this point. Just perfectly warm with a little breeze. I would drive the gator around a little longer. Saw a door of a cabin was open so I went to close that. And eventually ended up back at the office.

After taking a little break I took a walk to get one of the signs we forgot from the open house. I stopped at the fort first to get the broken light bulb out of the outside light. And headed down to nature to see if there were any feathers from the vultures. And ended up having a really nice talk to Joe about changes at camp and the glitter conspiracy theory and I really like Joe so it's really nice to get to have long chats with him.

We would stand around and talk for a long while. But eventually my hands hurt from holding the signs so I said goodbye and went back to the office.

When I got back there I remembered Elizabeth wanted me to make a PowerPoint slideshow of wedding photos. Can do. We have a lot more photos of those so I did not get it finished by 330. But I got to a good spot and I'll finish it tomorrow.

I got myself together and soon would say goodbye to Sarah. I had to backtrack because I forgot my laptop. But then I was done and ready to go.

I decided I needed to listen to music to scream to and had a really excellent drive home. Just a full music video staring myself. It was so fun. And I got home at 415. Where I was thrilled to see James. They were almost done painting the wall and it looked great. While they worked on that I would start cleaning the tanks. I decided to vacuum Ari's tank and move omelet over there temporarily. And do a deep clean on the frog tank to try and deal with the snails that have gotten out of control over there. It would take a lot of water changes and vacuuming and honestly it's still not totally clean. But I took all of the decor out and I am going to wash it really good at camp tomorrow. And maybe just redo the whole set up. But regardless I want to get the tank really nice. And maybe I'll get a new fish sooner rather then later.

When James finishes the painting and it dried we started decorating the shelf and I'm really excited about how it looks. Like just so fun. And I still have the whole bookcase too!! It's very exciting and I'm really happy with our little home.

James made me a grilled cheese. And we hung out on the couch. Eventually they would have a nice phone call with their friend to talk about a book they were reading. And I just enjoyed laying on the couch with sweetp. It has been a really nice evening.

I am going to go take a shower and get ready to sleep soon. Tomorrow I have some documents to make up for programs I have the next two weeks. And me and Sarah are planning on making craft examples. And organizing the games we have in the attic to make rainy day boxes for cabins and groups. I hope it's a fun day.

I hope you all have a really nice night. I love you all. Goodnight!!

[rosesinspirationandreference]

1. Table 2. Tabloids 3. Taboo   4. Tackled 5. Tainted 6. Taken 7. Takeover   8. Talent 9. Talking 10. Taming

11. Tangible 12. Tangled 13. Tantalizing 14. Tantrum 15. Tapestries 16. Target 17. Tarnished 18. Taste 19. Tattoo 20. Taunted 21. Taxi 22. Teach 23. Teammate 24. Tear 25. Teardrop 26. Teasing 27. Technical 28. Teenage 29. Telephone 30. Telling 31. Temper 32. Temperature 33. Tempest 34. Temple 35. Temporary 36. Temptation   37. Tempting 38. Tender 39. Tennis 40. Tension 41. Terminal 42. Termination 43. Terms 44. Terrible 45. Terrifying 46. Terror 47. Test 48. Testify   49. Texting 50. Thanks 51. Theatre 52. Theme 53. Theory 54. Therapeutic 55. Thief 56. Thinking 57. Third 58. Thorn 59. Thousands 60. Thread 61. Threat 62. Thrill 63. Through 64. Throw 65. Thunder 66. Tiara 67. Ticket 68. Tickle 69. Tidal 70. Tied 71. Tiger 72. Tightrope 73. Time 74. Timeless 75. Tiny 76. Tired   77. Toaster 78. Today 79. Together 80. Tolerance 81. Tomb 82. Tomorrow   83. Tonight 84. Toothbrush 85. Torment   86. Torn 87. Tornado 88. Torrential 89. Torture 90. Total 91. Totem 92. Touch   93. Tough 94. Tournament 95. Tourniquet 96. Towels 97. Tower 98. Toxic 99. Toying 100. Traces 101. Tracks 102. Tradition 103. Tragedy 104. Trail 105. Train 106. Training 107. Traitor 108. Trampled 109. Trance 110. Tranquility 111. Transcending 112. Transfer 113. Transformation 114. Transit   115. Trap 116. Trash 117. Trauma   118. Travel 119. Treasure 120. Treated 121. Tree 122. Trekking 123. Tremble 124. Tremors 125. Trespasser 126. Trial 127. Triangle 128. Tribal 129. Tribulation 130. Tribute 131. Trick 132. Trifecta   133. Trigger 134. Trinity 135. Triple 136. Triumph 137. Trophy 138. Tropical 139. Trouble   140. Troublesome 141. Truce   142. Trust   143. Truthful 144. Trying 145. Tryst 146. Tsunami   147. Tumble 148. Turbulent 149. Turmoil   150. Turn 151. Turnabout 152. Turquoise 153. Tutor 154. Tuxedo 155. Twilight   156. Twin 157. Twist 158. Twisted   159. Typhoon 160. Typical

[almostfoxglove]

AIN'T THAT A BITE

written for @studioghibelli's writing challenge

Rating: Explicit (18+)

Pairing: Joel / f!Reader

Word Count: 6k

read on ao3 | main masterlist | get notifs

SUMMARY: It's the night of Jackson High's Sock Hop, the 8th grade dance which took you weeks to organize, and everything seems determined to go wrong. Thankfully, one student's dad—the handsome and brooding Joel Miller—comes to your rescue.

Four weeks ago, volunteering to organize the eighth-grade dance committee had seemed like an excellent idea—a chance to make a solid first impression on the PTA and the chilly cast of your new colleagues while giving yourself a little excitement, some frivolous living beyond the usual boredom of your repetitive existence. Lesson plan, grade, report card, lesson plan, grade, report card—you love your job, but it gets old.

But now, on the night of Jackson High’s September Sock Hop, you know you’ve made a terrible mistake. Someone brought cookies with walnuts that had to be ceremoniously tossed, one of the speakers in the gym is crackling, three of your parent chaperones have bailed, and oh, yes—a sink in the girls’ bathroom has decided to spring a sudden leak and flood the place a mere fifteen minutes before the kids are due to show up.

Drenched and sweating, you make a hopeless attempt to mop the flood of water with the gym’s supply of linens, turning the tiled floor into a swamp of soggy towels that squelch beneath your shoes. It’s all a futile effort—the burst pipe beneath the far left sink is spewing water faster than the towels can sponge—but here you are, trying anyway, looking like you’ve just taken a long walk in a fucking monsoon. 

A row of square mirrors sits framed above each ceramic sink, taunting you with your reflection. Your red poodle skirt has gone burgundy with water and your once pristine white button-up clings to your chest, translucent, peek-a-booing your bra. 

Real professional. 

“Miss Green?” comes a voice on the other side of the door, followed by a weary knock. “Believe students are arriving now.”

With a sigh, you take a final glare at your reflection as if looking again might fix things, then call out, “Alright,” with as much patience as you have left to muster. Outside the calculus teacher is waiting in his pin-stripe vest with a sorry grimace. He agrees to lock up that bathroom from use and with a tired thank you you click down the hall towards the school doors, stomach raw with nerves.

As promised the first, eager attendees stand outside Jackson High’s wide glass doors, giddy to be let in for the night’s event. Kids are in everything from pastel poodle skirts to leather jackets and waitress get-ups—you even spot the Broderick twins in matching, vintage baseball uniforms striped with strawberry red. Behind them stand their parents, some smiling and others bleary-eyed, who you force yourself to smile cheerfully for as you let them in, a clipboard held over your chest to hide your bra.

You don’t miss how the parents stare at you—soaking wet and clearly befuddled—and you mutter your apologies as they shuffle into the school. All but the main hall has been blocked off, leaving the children a one-way path to the gymnasium for the dance. You check your watch quickly; maybe you can sneak in a quick smoke around the corner before the rest of the eighth graders arrive.

Outside the air is perfect: your one reprieve. Blue-dark clouds haunt the star-pocked sky and the balmy remains of the dying summer sweep through the parking lot as a breeze. You breathe easily for the first time in an hour, lift your face, and close your eyes, stitching yourself together in the calm. 

When you’re steady again, you decide against the smoke break. Too many parents pulling up in shiny cars with the kids. It’s enough to feel them in your skirt pocket—an escape hatch when you need them, a totem when you don’t. A nasty habit, your mother always says. But you only allow yourself two cigarettes a year. Not so bad, as habits go.

You’re about to turn back in and see if you can’t call a plumber at this hour when a pickup groans into the lot—steely-blue, bold text stickered on the side. It pulls not into a parking spot but the drop-off zone, right in front of you.

Miller Construction Ltd.

Maybe miracles are real after all.

As the passenger window rolls down and the cab light blinks on inside, you rush over, desperation rocketing your heart around in your chest. A girl in a lilac poodle skirt blinks up at you from the passenger seat, eyes wide with surprise. She’s got her hair pulled back in two big, curly pigtails ribboned with bows, and looks adorable—exactly what you’d pictured when you took on the behemoth task of putting this whole stupid evening together—complete with a matching neck scarf and shiny black shoes. You give her what you hope is a friendly grin and start rambling.

“I am so sorry,” you say, before you bother looking at the driver. “But we’ve got a plumbing emergency and if there is any chance you might have a few minutes to take a look at it, you’d be a—”

Your sentence drops off as you at last hunch down to make eye contact with the man in the driver’s seat through the open window. Dark-eyed and frowning, all curls and scruffy beard and thick flannel shirt: your type to a T. In your pause his daughter stifles a chuckle, and you shake your head to restart your brain. Focus. Sinks to fix, floods to mop.

With a tight grin, you tuck a stray hair behind your ear. “Would be a lifesaver if you could, I don’t know, take a look. Even if it’s just to tell me we’re fucked and need an emergency plumber. We had a bunch of parent chaperones bail last minute, so we’re a little short on hands.”

Now the kid snorts, giggling. Shit—your teacher-voice has slipped. 

You close your eyes, horrified. Seems there’ll be no end to your embarrassment today.

Sighing, you step back to open the passenger door so the girl can hop out. “If you promise not to tell any grown-ups I swore in front of you,” you tell her. “I’ll give you all As when you get to my class in a couple years.”

“Deal,” the girl says, grinning at you. “But I’d probably get an A anyway.”

Despite yourself, you smile—this time for real.

“You ain’t her teacher?” comes the driver’s voice. Deep and coarse, all Texan. When you glance back, he’s still frowning, eyes narrowed at you.

“Tenth grade English and History,” you say. 

“And you’re workin’ the eighth-grade dance,” he says.

You shrug. “I’m new. Thought it’d go over well if I came in eager and offered to plan the thing.”

He hmphs, expressionless, his skin golden under the overhead light, eyes glinting with amber. You’re almost glad the kid’s not in your class; parent-teacher interviews would be torture. Sitting across your desk from this man, forced to pretend you don’t want him to ruin you. 

Beside you on the sidewalk, the girl shoots her dad a daggered look and crosses her arms. “He’s free,” she says. “He can do it.”

“Sarah,” the man hisses. 

“Oh, I’m sorry,” she snarks. “Do you suddenly have a social calendar I don’t know about?”

After a brief stare-down which Sarah seems to win, he huffs and mutters a cranky one second before pulling out of the drop-off zone to park. 

“I like your skirt,” Sarah says when he’s gone. Streetlamps have you both in a cloak of shadow, and the pale light radiating from the school’s front doors doesn’t quite reach this spot, but her inquisitive expression is unmissable in the dark. 

“It’s a little ruined,” you say sheepishly. “But I like yours.” 

Pleased, she gives you a little twirl, purple fabric blooming from her waist. “Thanks,” she says, when she stills again. “My dad sewed on the poodle.” 

Across the lot you hear the harsh slam of a car door cracking shut and spot her glowering father stalk across the asphalt, silhouetted by a distant streetlight, his shoulders unfairly broad. You nod toward the front doors. You’d never admit it to anyone, but the thought of this surly figure lovingly stitching a felt poodle to his daughter’s costume makes you a little weak in the knees.

“You can go on in,” you tell Sarah, and she waves at her dad before running inside.

Then he’s walking up the pavement, growing closer. Of course he smells good—like patchouli and something earthy and skin. Of course he’s rolled up his sleeves, baring his tanned forearms, one tensed by the toolbox clutched in his hand. You manage a stiff grin as he approaches, no teeth, to which you receive only a curt nod in reply. 

In silence, you walk him through the glassy doors, heels clicking as swing music crackles from the gymnasium some distance away. You catch, in the corner of your eye, the shape of his head turning as he watches Sarah running full-speed down the main hall to catch up with a group of girls that must be her friends. She launches herself at them, and even at this distance you hear the shrill of their joy, the sugar-high laughter, and smile to yourself.

“She’s sweet,” you say, guiding him into a branching hallway, away from the main event.

He grunts, then mumbles, “Pain in my ass is what she is.”

You chuckle. When you dare to look back at him again, you see his begrudging tone doesn’t match his expression. You swear his eyes flit quickly away as if you’ve caught him already looking at you. Hard to be sure, you think, in this dimmer light. But his cheeks almost look pink.

After a beat too long, you realize why.

You’ve dropped your clipboard to your side without thinking, unveiling your water-logged shirt, which clings sheerly to your skin. Grimacing, you cover yourself again. “Not much of a plumber,” you say quietly.

Once you’ve grabbed the keys back from your colleague, you drag this poor, probably busy dad to the girls’ bathroom and unlock the door, glancing down at his boots before you open it. “You don’t love those shoes, do you?” you ask.

His eyebrows lift, jaw tensing. “Sure they’ll be fine, darlin’,” he grunts.

You push into the bathroom before your brain has the chance to recover from darlin’. You’ve been in Texas all of six months and you still aren’t used to the pet names. Everyone here seems to call each other everything. Even the old woman who works the till at the grocer by your apartment calls you honey or angel, and you wouldn’t exactly describe her as the friendly type. Darlin’ isn’t even irregular. Bus drivers call you that. 

Difference here is that it’s this man saying it—which is to say, someone gorgeous with a voice that could melt you if you let yourself listen close enough. Your heart purrs, thrilled.

The bathroom is a calamity. Though the drains in the center of the tiled floor have meant no water has flooded into the hallway, there’s still an inch or so blanketing the tiles wall to wall. Under one of the mirrors, the guilty sink continues to spew: a graceful font of silver gushing from a fault in the pipe.

Over your shoulder you hear Sarah’s dad clear his throat before you step out of his way.

Fearless, he trudges through the mess unfazed, dodging the tides of boggy towels like this is the most natural habitat to find himself in. His boots and the ankles of his jeans blacken with water, and though you’re in some stupid, clacky pair of heels to go with your outfit, you follow him into the shallows anyway, riddled with shame. At the slosh of your footsteps behind him, Sarah’s dad turns to give you a cutting stare you cannot read and you freeze, caught.

“What?” you say.

“No reason you gotta be in here for this,” he says. “Might be wise to dry off a little, don’t you think?”

Does the corner of his mouth twitch upward, or do you imagine it—you can’t decide. “Right,” you manage. “Sorry. Thank you, seriously.”

You pivot to leave him to it, splashing weakly as you go, your skirt bunched in one hand to keep it safe from the splatter. In the doorway you can’t help but look back, and see him kneeling in the mess, tool in hand, his toolbox open and shelved on a not-broken sink. He spots you looking and this time, you don’t imagine it. He lets slip half a grin. 

“Got it from here,” he says.

You nod but don’t move and you don’t know why.

Well, that’s not true. You do.

Sarah’s dad cocks one dark eyebrow at you, bemused, maybe, by your hesitation. “You really have chaperones bail?” he asks, voice low.

“Three,” you say.

He grunts, then turns his attention back to the spitting sink, and you step out into the dim hallway without goodbye.

You slip into the bathrooms in the teacher’s lounge to stand under the hand dryer for a bit, letting your shirt dry out. When it’s no longer see-through, you stand in front of the long mirrors looking at yourself, fussing. You retouch your lipstick—red, like your skirt, like your nails—though the hair’s a lost cause. The best you can do is run a hand through the end bits and say an empty prayer.

Then, finally, you emerge, and take off with a sidelong glance thrown at the closed door of the flooded girls’ bathroom as you pass.

You volunteered four weeks ago, and you spent three of those weeks working on the decorations in tiny pockets of time between the school day, your commute home, and all the hours you spend every evening and weekend on lesson plans and marking. Maybe it’s only September, but the whole staff has been working since August and it’s no slower now than it will be in the spring. Still, you gave up sleep. Gave up seeing friends. Gave up proper, home-cooked meals and reverted to the habits of your college days, eating boxed mac and cheese straight from the pot over the stove. 

Now, it all pays off. 

The gymnasium’s a goddamn ritz. Ribbons of twinkle lights droop from the rafters, sparkling above the scatter of a disco ball. You thrifted huge, vintage neon signs—with your own money, thanks so much public school district—that cast pools of candy-colored light on the shiny floor. Gingham tablecloths sheath the drink stands. You had to bribe the theater department to let you repurpose an old bartop set from some long-gone play. Painted that sucker with black and white checkers, even scrounged up some round, pleather bar stools to match. Instead of a bar-bar, it’s a snack bar—pastel cupcakes and dairy-free milkshakes and huge metal bowls of nut-free, everything-free snack mixes displayed behind the bar. Kids all get three snack tickets ‘cause the PTA had strong feelings about sugar intake, but hey. All the bar stools are full; the kids seem to love it.

Despite the last-minute disasters, you’re tempted to cry with relief. Slept three hours last night, painting the last of the stars that hang overhead, but they look like magic now. Glossy and twinkling while Elvis plays. It looks pretty close to perfect. And the kids, by some miracle, are dancing. The gym teacher comes out to show them some simple swing steps, and as clumsy as they all are, it’s fucking adorable.

“Hope you’re willing to do this for all the dances,” one teacher mutters to you as you pass. 

You flit from table to table, refilling and wiping down and checking in with chaperones—twenty minutes zing by in the blink of an eye. When the gymnasium door creaks quietly open, the dark shape of Sarah’s dad appears in the doorway. You set down your punch glass with a grin and scurry over. 

But he’s looking up when you make it to him, starstruck by twinkle lights, his face pink and blue with the neon light. Christ, he’s easy on the eyes. Facing this way, with none of the gym or kids or decorations in view, you can almost imagine that you’re standing in a bar looking up at some handsome stranger you might have a shot in hell at taking home. 

“Everything okay?” you ask, when he still hasn’t looked down, his hand flat and broad on the door to prop it open.

He blinks, wakes from his daze, and the look of wonder that just now softened him fades, his face stiff again. You step into the hall and the door slides shut behind you. The honeyed voices of The Isley Brothers muffle.

In the direct light of the hallway you can see he’s soaked—jeans wet to the tops of his thighs, his whole flannel clinging to his chest. One curl lays flat and damp against his forehead. He would’ve had to kneel right in the spray to work on the sink. Might as well have set a hose on the poor man.

Jesus, you must have ruined this guy’s whole fucking night. 

“Oh my god,” you say, eyes wide with horror. “I am so sorry—”

He lifts one hand as if to say stop and your mouth snaps shut. “Just water,” he grumbles. “Sink’s fine now. Joint was old and brittle. Had a part in the truck that’ll hold you over till Monday, but you’ll need someone to do a proper repair next week.”

You run a hand over your face, so grateful to him that all logical thought and processing flutters right out of your head. “Jesus, I could kiss you—thank you so much, seriously,” you start to say, hand still over your eyes as you stutter to a halt, realizing your mistake.

Heat boils in your face as you split your fingers to peek at him through your hand, but he doesn’t look horrified. He just rolls his eyes, a little playfully you think, and shakes his head like you’re being ridiculous. “Not necessary,” he says. 

You let your hand drop. “I’d insist that I’m normally the epitome of professionalism, but there’s no way in hell it’d be convincing,” you say, grinning sheepishly. 

Shrugging, he remains silent. Maybe you should take your friends up on their offers to set you up—you clearly need to get laid. Just him shrugging is doing things to you. Nevermind the tiny flick of his tongue that graces his bottom lip as he looks off down a roped-off hall. 

“Still short on chaperones?” he asks, not looking at you. 

“Yeah,” you admit. “But we’ll make due.”

Another shrug. “Could help out—‘m already here.”

Your eyes round. Though part of you wants to refuse, insist he’s done more than enough already, that he ought to get home and into dry clothes and forget about this mess, you don’t. It’s definitely selfish, almost greedy, but you don’t want him to go. Even if you only get to look at him across the gymnasium without saying another word to each other the whole rest of the night, you’d like him to stay.

A grin squirms across your face before you can stop it; you have to look away to smother it as you tap one foot against the floor. 

“Okay,” you say coolly, returning your gaze to him once you’ve gathered yourself. “But you can’t go in there looking like this.”

The theater department’s costume room gives you the creeps. Has since the first day you stepped foot in this place back in August when you got the grand tour—anywhere with this many mannequins is cursed, frankly—and it turns out it’s even worse in the dark. When you swing open the door, pale light from the hall slants against the black floor, and you reach blindly across the wall for the switch as your heart patters with dread.

Then finally: light. Weak, stuttering, yellow, but light all the same. You breathe.

Regardless, stepping into the costume room feels like being squeezed. Cramped alleyways have been formed by clothing racks stuffed well past their capacity—gowns of past Shakespeare productions hang beside the gothic frocks of Morticia and Wednesday Addams��forcing you to inch between racks, grazed by a parade of empty sleeves.

Sarah’s dad, bless him, hardly fits at all, and has to shuffle through the aisles sideways to follow you on what must seem to him like a blind mission without any destination. 

But you’ve been in this place. You know exactly what you’re looking for. Turning a corner, the next section is too narrow for the man to fit through, so you point out a chair across the room by the mirror and tell him to wait. 

“And you can ditch the flannel,” you call out as he goes. “Can hang it over the heaters to dry.”

Though you hear the low thunder of him mumbling, you miss the words.

When you emerge from the dusty racks, unnerved by the looming, half-dressed mannequins standing guard over their lot, Sarah’s dad is sitting where you asked him to wait, stripped out of his flannel, left in a slightly damp white t-shirt, his shoulder blades faintly visible in the stuttering light. If him shrugging was doing something to you earlier—this is likely to kill you. 

You clear your throat as you approach and he quickly straightens his posture. When you’re close enough, you hold out the hangers to him, even give them a little shake when he cuts his eyes at you, doubtful. You roll your own in reply. “Come on,” you insist. “Sarah will love it.”

That gets him to stand, albeit with a scowl, but it still makes you grin. With a grumpy hmph, he takes the hangers from you and you duck between racks again to give him some privacy. Sure, maybe you’d like a peek as he strips off those wet jeans, but even you know better than that. So you stand in the disordered aisle of costumes and listen instead. 

For a long time you hear nothing, like he’s hesitating. You did have to guess the sizes, but you worked plenty of retail jobs in your early twenties. Aren’t so bad at guessing. Every breath in this room, now that you’re silent, feels agonizingly loud. Not just yours, but his. The swelling of his chest with air. 

Then finally—clink. A belt buckle slacking open. Your eyes slam shut even though you’re looking in the opposite direction, at some 60s-style dress from what must’ve been an old Hairspray production with construction paper polka dots duct-taped on. He lets out a soft grunt. There’s a shuffle of fabric. Then a wet slop as his jeans hit the floor.

Your whole body throbs with heady, certain want.

Yes, you definitely need to get laid. This is humiliating. 

When you hear the belt buckle’s metal clink again, signaling he’s got the new, dry jeans on, you feel it’s safe to speak again. “I never asked you your name,” you say, still staring at the costumes. You hear him set the next hanger on the chair and even though putting it on requires no further undressing, you’ll stay exactly where you are until he’s done. Don’t trust yourself not to leer.

More shuffling, this time of sturdier fabric. “Joel,” he gruffs, and after a pause adds bitterly, “I look ridiculous.”

Chuckling, you squeeze out of the aisles and find him standing before the full-length mirror wedged in the corner of the room, into which Joel is sneering at his reflection. 

Also, he’s dead fucking wrong.

The jeans are a little tight, but frankly they’re better this way. His thighs taut beneath denim, his calves hugged. He’s a little bow-legged. So Texan. From the waist down he might as well be a cowboy. From the waist up, however, he looks like he’s just strutted off the set of Grease, putting even 1978’s Travolta to shame. His white t-shirt sits crisply beneath the black leather jacket, which he snaps to adjust the lapels. Fits him perfectly, like it was made for those shoulders, and he’s raked back his wet hair, giving it the look of being gelled, one stray curl rebelling over his forehead.

He catches your eye in the mirror, mouth twitching again, but it doesn’t become a grin or a frown. You raise an eyebrow at him. “Don’t know what you’re looking at,” you say. “But you do not look ridiculous from where I’m standing.”

His nose scrunches as he breaks his eyes from yours in the reflection, ducking his head to rub the back of his neck. Seriously, you’d crawl all over this guy if he weren’t the dad of one of your students. Future students—whatever. But you’ll save yourself the humiliation, gotta get this show on the road, and so you jut your chin in the direction of the door. “Let’s go. Got kids to supervise, hands to keep from wandering.”

Joel balks, hands flat to fists in an instant, ready to kill.

“Oh please,” you tease, and wave one hand dismissively as you make your way to the door. “Like you weren’t thirteen once.”

You listen as he stomps after you, muttering a cranky, “Gonna have to be at all these fuckin’ things,” that makes your head fall back with a sudden laugh.

The moment you return to the gymnasium, you’re needed by everyone—so and so needs to know where the extra ice is; what’s-her-face is concerned about the sugar content of the fruit punch; and some parent wants to talk about their kids’ English grade like this is the appropriate venue for such a conversation. You immediately lose Joel to the call of teacher-slash-host duties, and he slips past you, hugging the wall as he strides over to man the drink table which, in your absence, has stood without supervision. The man might as well be a saint—you manage to catch his eye and mouth a silent thank you across the gym, to which he half-grins from a pool of neon pink glow, setting you ablaze.

Most of the night you spend running around like a madwoman, responsible for switching in new music as each CD ends, refilling snack bowls, and pulling one student off another when you catch them kissing in the hall. Thankfully neither of them is Sarah, but you do have to give the kids a talking-to.

Late in the night, you’re chatting to some of your colleagues against the gymnasium wall and watching the kids shimmy to Rock Around the Clock, poodle skirts billowing like spinning tops, when you spot Sarah rush across the floor toward Joel—apparently only spotting him now. You’re too far to hear them, too far to read their lips, but Sarah’s runaway smile is obvious at any distance. She hops in place, delighted, and forces Joel to do a little spin for her. 

Though smaller, you catch his smile too. The dimple in his cheek as he fails to restrain his contentment at her approval. How he shakes his head, embarrassed to be fawned over. Adorable.

When the Spanish teacher makes his rounds with the school’s camera, snapping flash photos of the kids’ eager smiles and costumes as they pose with their milkshakes or friends, you tap him on the shoulder and point in Joel and Sarah’s direction. “Get one of them, would you?” you whisper, and he nods, shuffling off.

Joel spots him coming a mile off, camera in hand, and immediately frowns. He makes eye contact with you across the gymnasium like he knew exactly where you were standing, and shakes his head as if to say no way. You smile, wicked, and mouth yes. One of his hands balls to a fist. 

But when Sarah spots the photographer a second later, she wraps an arm around Joel’s waist to pose and his resistance crumbles. When you were thirteen, you’d have been humiliated to be seen posing with your parents in front of your classmates, but Sarah doesn’t seem to mind at all. Her adoration is obvious, abundant. Anyone can see how much she loves him—you can see, too, Joel’s love for her. Once the Spanish teacher raises the camera to shoot, he throws his arm around Sarah’s shoulders, looking down at her with a soft, grump-less grin. The white flash snaps in the dark gymnasium, photo taken, then Sarah returns to her friends.

You cut your eyes away when he starts to turn his head in your direction, returning your gaze to your colleague. Don’t need him catching you staring. Your dignity has suffered plenty tonight.

You cave about twenty minutes before parents are due to pick up the kids at the end of the night—not due to stress, just exhaustion—and sneak out into the black night to smoke. Tucked just out of view of the parking lot and doors, you sink onto a wooden bench and light up, letting the tension unwind from your body. Gray smoke tendrils as you exhale a half-formed smoke ring. Never could get those right, but it’s fun to try while crickets croak unseen from the shadows, braiding their eerie melody. With every drag, you relax into a kind of trance, at one with the night. 

Eyes shut, you don’t hear him coming. It isn’t until he clears his throat that your eyes snap open and you realize someone’s caught you smoking.

“Shit,” you mutter, adjusting your posture to sit up straight.

Joel stands over the bench, caliginous in the dark. His hair has dried, curls loosening from each other. You hear a low chuckle that must come from him, but you can’t quite make out his face until he lowers himself onto the bench beside you—then you see he’s smirking. 

You tap ash onto the sidewalk beside your feet, away from him, unable to look him in the eye. “Not worth trying to defend myself, is it?” you joke sheepishly.

He adjusts his position, thighs spread just a touch, and crosses his arms over his chest. The leather jacket is practically criminal, it fits him so well. 

“That’s alright, darlin’,” he replies. “Don’t need to.”

You bring the cigarette to your lips to smother your impulse to smile, the filter stained crimson by your lipstick. You risk a glance at him. “You want one?”

Shaking his head, the corner of Joel’s mouth tugs. “Quit when Sarah came around,” he admits.

“Very responsible,” you say, and though you really shouldn’t flirt, it comes out a little snarky, like you’re teasing him. “Quit after college, but I get to indulge twice a year.”

Joel quirks an eyebrow at you, though doesn’t question the obvious flaw in your logic. “Miss it?” he asks.

You shrug and exhale a thin stream of smoke from the corner of your mouth. “Always think I do,” you say. “But it’s so much grosser than I remember. Can’t believe I used to smoke these everyday.”

He lets out a deep hmph, not quite a laugh. 

“I’m serious,” you say, grinning now. “These things are vile. They reek and make kissing gross. I might as well burn the clothes I’m wearing after this. Don’t even like it anymore—it’s just nostalgia, I think.”

Shifting again, Joel’s legs spread a little wider, though from the other side of the bench you’re still nowhere near touching. As you click one lacquered nail against your cigarette, ash rains softly to the ground. 

“Never minded,” he mumbles. He’s looking out at the dim street, not you. Streetlamps dot the street with coins of gold between cedar elms that have already begun to drain their color. The breeze is next to perfect, whisking your smoke politely away from Joel.

“Minded what?”

“Kissin’ someone who smokes,” he says matter-of-factly. His tone isn’t flirtatious—nor is his expression, his face still profiled to you—but goosebumps scale your arms all the same.

“Hm,” you hum in reply. 

Best not to dwell in this breath of quiet. The long pause in which you feel yourself want. You shift on the bench, cross your legs, and prepare to change the subject—but Joel beats you to it. 

“Looks good in there,” his voice rumbles, and in your periphery, he turns to look at you for just a moment, handsome and leather-clad. Practically put on this earth to punish you. You hold your breath until he turns his head away again. “Impressive.”

Your heart squeezes like he’s crushed it in his fist, but you tilt your head back and forth nonchalantly. “Guess it doesn’t look so bad,” you admit. To your surprise, this drags a quiet chuckle from Joel, and your eyes drop quickly to his hand where it hangs from his still-crossed arms—a brief and discreet glance, you think—and see no ring. It shouldn’t make a difference, but you're glad.

“Gotta be more subtle than that, darlin’,” Joel mumbles, despite the fact that he’s not looking at you.

You feel your face rash with heat. “Fucking eagle eyes,” you mutter, pinching the last of the cigarette to your lips for a final drag. You hold the smoke in your lungs as Joel laughs again, this time with more warmth.

He shakes his head. “Could’a just asked,” he says.

“You’re not even looking at me,” you say, smiling despite your embarrassment. You bend over to crush your cigarette against the bottom of your shoe, then pocket the spent filter, disappearing the evidence. “How the hell did you even catch that.” It isn’t so much a question as it is a whine. 

Joel shrugs. “Don’t have to be looking at you to be watchin’,” he says.

You can’t decide if you’re glad or disappointed that the moment you both look at each other, the whole of his face finally visible in the murk of nightfall—warm eyes, summer skin, that stubbly beard you’d like to nuzzle into—a caw of noise erupts inside the school and shatters the moment. The sound of students emerging from the gymnasium into the hall draws Joel’s attention first, and you allow yourself a long look at the back of his head to study his curls, just beginning to thread with gray, before you let the noise draw your attention, too.

“That’d be our cue,” you say, and you both rise from the bench.

As Joel starts shrugging off the leather jacket, you put a hand on his bicep to stop him and shake your head. So solid. Warm. He freezes under your touch, black leather slumped part-way down his arms, until you withdraw your hand. 

“Nu-uh,” you say. “You’re keeping that.”

He frowns. “Not sure I like the idea of stealin’ from Sarah’s school,” he says. 

You roll your eyes, wave one hand dismissively. “You saw where it came from, they’ll never miss it. There were at least half a dozen more in there.”

When Joel narrows his eyes at you, you narrow yours back stubbornly. Finally, he sighs and snaps the jacket back over his shoulders—a gesture that turns you to honey—and shoves one hand into the back pocket of his jeans. The also-stolen jeans. You’re gonna make him take those too. Not like anything that fits him is gonna fit any of the students here. You don’t even know why the theater department has costumes this size. 

“Least take this and sign me up for,” he gestures vaguely with one hand as he pulls something from his pocket and holds it out to you. “Whatever. More chaperonin’.”

Pinched between his fingers is a crisp business card bearing the same logo stickered to his truck. Miller Construction Ltd—Joel Miller, Co-Owner. His phone number is printed squarely at the bottom. You take it, running your thumb across the printed text. 

“Very generous,” you tease, and Joel looks down at you and grins, one dimple creasing his cheek. When you smile in return, his dark eyes slip down your face, landing on your lips.

As you make your way back up the path to the school, he walks close enough that his arm brushes against yours just once. Your body purrs with want, made worse when he smirks and leans toward you, lowering his voice. “Trust me,” he rumbles quietly. “Offer’s entirely selfish.”

Then, entirely composed, Joel yanks the front door open for you and winks.

Moodboard created by @studioghibelli!

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Vancouver's Spring Tapestry: Weaving Unforgettable Experiences

Spring in Vancouver offers a vibrant array of experiences for outdoor enthusiasts and adventure seekers alike. As the city awakens from its winter slumber, the crisp air and blooming landscapes beckon visitors to explore the city's natural beauty and cultural attractions without breaking the bank. From leisurely strolls through iconic parks to hiking trails winding through lush forests, Vancouver promises a wealth of free adventures for those seeking an unforgettable spring getaway. Whether you're a local or a visitor staying at one of the convenient hotels with airport shuttle Vancouver, this guide will unveil the city's hidden gems, inviting you to embrace the great outdoors and immerse yourself in the vibrant spirit of this West Coast gem.

Stanley Park Strolls

Nestled in the heart of Vancouver, Stanley Park beckons visitors to embark on a serene journey through its verdant landscapes. With over 1,000 acres of lush greenery, this urban oasis offers a respite from the city's hustle and bustle. Wander along the scenic seawall, a 5.5-mile pathway that hugs the coastline, offering breathtaking vistas of the North Shore Mountains and the tranquil waters of the Burrard Inlet. Along the way, discover hidden coves, sandy beaches, and diverse flora and fauna, including the park's famous totem poles carved by Indigenous artists. For a more immersive experience, explore the park's numerous trails, from the easy-going Beaver Lake Trail to the challenging Prospector Stream Trail, each offering a unique glimpse into the natural wonders that Stanley Park has to offer. Whether you're seeking a peaceful escape or an invigorating outdoor adventure, Stanley Park's strolls promise a rejuvenating experience in the heart of this vibrant city.

Granville Island

Granville Island, a vibrant hub of arts, culture, and culinary delights, beckons visitors to explore its charming streets and bustling markets. This pedestrian-friendly island, located across False Creek from downtown Vancouver, is a must-visit destination for those seeking a unique and lively experience. Stroll along the waterfront, where you'll find a plethora of artisan studios, galleries, and street performers entertaining the crowds. Indulge in the tantalizing aromas wafting from the Granville Island Public Market, where you can savor local delicacies, fresh produce, and mouth-watering baked goods. After a day of exploration, unwind at one of the convenient hotels with airport shuttle Vancouver, ensuring a seamless transition to and from this vibrant island oasis. Whether you're a foodie, an art enthusiast, or simply seeking a lively atmosphere, Granville Island promises an unforgettable adventure without breaking the bank.

Beach Day at English Bay

As the sun's warm rays caress the shoreline, English Bay beckons visitors to indulge in a quintessential beach day experience. Nestled in the heart of Vancouver's West End, this sandy expanse offers a perfect blend of urban convenience and natural beauty. Stroll along the iconic seawall, taking in the stunning vistas of the North Shore Mountains and the glistening waters of the Burrard Inlet. Spread out your towel and soak up the sun's radiant warmth, or dive into the refreshing waters for a rejuvenating swim. For those seeking a more active adventure, English Bay boasts a vibrant beach volleyball scene, with courts available for friendly matches or simply spectating the skilled players. As the day winds down, savor the stunning sunset painting the sky with hues of orange and crimson, creating a breathtaking backdrop for a picnic or a leisurely stroll along the shoreline.

Hiking in Lynn Canyon Park

Immerse yourself in the natural splendor of Lynn Canyon Park, a verdant oasis nestled in the heart of North Vancouver. Just a stone's throw away from the bustling city center, this lush haven offers a multitude of hiking trails that wind through towering evergreens and alongside cascading waterfalls. Embark on the iconic Baden Powell Trail, a scenic route that meanders through the park's lush forests and across the breathtaking Suspension Bridge, suspended 50 meters above a tempestuous pool. For a more leisurely exploration, follow the Twin Falls Gate Trail, leading to the park's stunning twin waterfalls that tumble gracefully into pristine pools below. After your invigorating hike, retreat to one of the conveniently located hotels with airport shuttle Vancouver, ensuring a seamless transition from your outdoor adventure to urban comfort. Lynn Canyon Park promises an unforgettable escape into nature's embrace, without the need for expensive excursions.

Visit Queen Elizabeth Park

Queen Elizabeth Park, a verdant oasis perched atop the highest point in Vancouver, offers a tranquil escape from the city's urban landscape. This 130-acre botanical garden boasts a diverse array of flora, meticulously curated and showcased in themed gardens, including the breathtaking Quarry Garden, carved into an abandoned quarry site. Stroll along the winding paths, taking in the vibrant colors and intoxicating fragrances of the blooming flowers that adorn the lush surroundings. For spectacular panoramic views of the city skyline, the North Shore Mountains, and the glistening waters of the Burrard Inlet, ascend to the park's iconic Bloedel Conservatory, a domed structure housing exotic plants and birds. After exploring this natural oasis, retreat to one of the convenient hotels with airport shuttle Vancouver, ensuring a seamless transition from your outdoor adventures to urban comforts.

Public Art and Street Performances

Vancouver's vibrant streets come alive with an eclectic mix of public art and street performances, offering a captivating cultural experience for visitors and locals alike. As you wander through the bustling neighborhoods, you'll stumble upon stunning murals adorning the walls, transforming ordinary spaces into vibrant canvases that reflect the city's diverse artistic spirit. From thought-provoking installations to whimsical sculptures, these public art pieces invite you to pause and appreciate the creativity that permeates every corner.

Beyond the visual delights, Vancouver's streets are alive with the sounds of talented buskers and street performers. Whether it's a melodic guitar riff echoing through an alleyway or a mesmerizing dance routine unfolding on the sidewalk, these impromptu performances add an enchanting layer of spontaneity to your urban exploration. Embrace the energy of these artistic expressions, and let them transport you into a world where art intertwines seamlessly with everyday life, creating a truly unforgettable and free adventure in the heart of this captivating city.

Conclusion

As the sun sets over Vancouver's skyline, reflecting its golden hues on the tranquil waters of the Burrard Inlet, you'll find yourself inspired by the city's boundless free adventures. From the serene strolls in Stanley Park to the lively street performances that enliven the city's streets, Vancouver has proven itself to be a destination that caters to every adventurer's spirit, without the need for an extravagant budget. As you bid farewell to this enchanting city, carry with you the memories of the stunning natural landscapes, the vibrant cultural experiences, and the infectious energy that emanates from every corner. Vancouver's free adventures have left an indelible mark on your soul, igniting a desire to return and continue exploring the endless wonders that a wait around every turn.

[miscellaneousmisadventuresetc]

Conventional Wisdom

Dress: I have a real weakness for souvenirs. Whether we’re talking tiny ships in bottles or decorative tea towels or homemade totems to spirits/religious icons/folkloric figures that may or may not actually be evil but are definitely adorable in that same way that all medieval depictions of hell mostly look like tiny flames and giant muppets and wild things, I’m an easy target. Is that a tiny…

[cafe-solo]

[confoundedluna]

Here's the Until Dawn iconic and absolutely ridiculous lines masterlist, please let me know if there's any good ones that I miss! Sorry this took a while, I had to be Thorough with this. (no they aren't in any particular order, I apologise for that)

MIKE

Maybe we should start with a little, you know, making out, and see where it goes from there.

Jesus hot sauce Christmas cake.

Oh my God, totally, we're SO gonna make-out!

Shutters are shutted.

That scared the blue out of my jeans!

Alright! Let's get going, ya fucked up sonnovabitch.

What- are you serious? Now I gotta find a fucking keycard?!

Fuck nuggets!

All wrapped like a little present with a bow on top for that thing to tear us apart on Christmas morning?

This is the safe room, Em!

One at a time, boys. There's enough of me for all a'ya.

Got any marshmallows?

ASHLEY

Go suck an egg!

What are you tweeting?! Hashtag there's a freaking ghost after us?!

Chris, if this is your way of trying to make me feel better... you're fired.

We're freezing our buns off out here!

EMILY

Understand the palm of my hand, bitch.

It was just a prank, Han!

Rule number one, Emily is always right. Rule number two, nothing else matters because Emily is always right.

Holy Cannoli.

Ugh. Unfollow.

Oh, did you not hear me? Was your sluttiness too loud?

At least I can think. 4.0, bitch, honor roll. Suck on that when you're trying to sleep your way into a job.

Oh God. Here goes six hundred bucks... Better be worth it. I looked great in that top.

Meatbrain? Mister Musclebrawn? Matt the incredible sulk?

I found her head. I found Beth's head. ||| Beth freaking Washington.

JESSICA

That bitch is on crack or something.

You couldn’t buy a moldy loaf of bread with your skanky ass.

Michael! I have the best idea! Let's go hug a bear!

As far as I can tell, I still have all seven of my limbs!

That's what bats do! They bite me!

Maybe nosey nannies shouldn't go nosin' around in other peoples'... nostrils...

Boom shakka-lakka!

Sex-iled.

Stand back, Debbie Downer.

CHRIS

I should have paid more attention in climbing class.

Your ass just got saaaacked!

Panel opens, head explodes!

Boom! You just got monked!

(They don't like fire.) I don't like fire!

I'm bad. I'm a badass.

It's a dummy, dummy.

Any, uh, pro Wendigo tips? Like if I rub garlic all over me they won't be able to smell me or something?

JOSH

Let's party like we're fucking porn stars, okay?

Ooh, a sleepover! C-Can we order pizza?

Can't tie 'em up if they just wriggle around!

Godspeed, pilgrim.

Chris is an ass, Ashley’s a dumb dumb.

Do you have an app that can get you laid? ||| Dude, you don't. The answer is that you don't.

I hope you appreciated my little phantasmagorical spectacle!

Guaranteed for at least three hostages, or your money back!

You know what that sound is? It's the sound of never kissing Ashley, you pussy!

I don't take orders from you. You can't tell me what to do.

MATT

Why do you hate my jacket?

I've seen you fit into some pretty tight jeans, Em. ||| It's a talent!

It's no prob, babe. But you gotta remember that there's more to this guy than just bein' a lean, mean, luggage lifting machine.

I was bein' like... sexy.

This ain't roomy enough for you?

Does this 'spot' start with a 'G'?

Boy I'd be a terrible boyfriend if I let a scary old totem pole bite your hand off, wouldn't I?

SAM

Nice shootin’, Tex!

I see a hot bath in my crystal ball.

Watch out for that Josh, he's a schemer!

The towel didn't turn out to be the best outfit for fighting off killer maniacs.

It was just a cute little baby wolverine!

Can I have my clothes back now or am I supposed to hang out in a towel for the rest of the weekend? ... Towel it is, then.

Spunky for an old timer.

You need to listen to me. I don't care if you believe me or not. Doesn't matter because you will. You need to go down to the mines.

I've seen what's down there... and I'd give anything to unsee it.

[the-xephyr]

Postmortal

Hallo! I am Xephyr!

This is a Technoblade x GN!Reader fic.

Requests are open if you would like me to write something!

I hope you all like it and thank you for reading!!!

Word Count: 1425

You had been worried ever since the Butcher Army had shown up this morning. Technoblade had hidden you up in the bedroom, but that just meant you had a full view of the scene unfolding below. You had spent the entire day either pacing or staring out of the window towards the portal. To say that you were anxious was an understatement. A massive arctic storm had hit about 30 minutes after he had been dragged away, and you were not only worried for his safety, but for his ability to make it home through the storm.

When Techno had stumbled into your line of sight, you had immediately known that something was wrong. His hands were trembling, he looked like he was having trouble standing, his breathing was labored, he was pale, and he was holding his head. You had immediately jumped up off of the window seat and grabbed his cape from the hook beside the door before running out of the house to assist him. You let him lean against you as you led him into the house and onto a chair.

You ran upstairs to get him some pajamas, he was soaking from the snow and there was wet blood on his shirt. You grabbed the towel from the bathroom and some fuzzy pajama pants and a long sleeve shirt from his set of drawers. You took them down to him and he started explaining what happened while he dried off and changed. He had to stop a few times to hold his head or catch his breath, and his speech was slurred.

You had never seen a totem of undying be used, but you had always figured that it had some sort of numbing effect. You had never thought that the user would have to feel every single thing. He explained that he could feel the anvil crush everything, then when the totem kicked in, he could feel his bones restructure themselves and every bone fragment find its correct placement. He had felt the muscle reform over his bones, his skin stretching over the muscle and bone, he felt the blood rush through the places that had been reconstructed. He told you about how he had to fight Quackity with a splitting headache and how some of his extremities were numb from lack of blood.

When he had finished changing into the pajamas, you let him lean against you as you lead him to the couch. He sat up, trying to regulate his breathing as you ran to the kitchen to get him some water. You shushed him as he tried to speak when you handed him the glass. He would need silence, darkness, and rest to get over the headache. He finished the glass and you made him lay down on the couch to attempt to get some sleep.

If his extremities were numb, it meant he had a low red blood cell count. You’d need to cook high-iron food for a few days at least to make sure his blood was being replenished at a healthy rate. Red meat, spinach, and eggs were the foods with the highest levels of iron you had. You’d be able to work with that.

You were pulled out of your thoughts as Techno groaned and shifted to his side. He groaned and got up, walking to the bathroom holding his head the whole time. You heard the sink tap turn on, so you ran to the kitchen to get him more water.

He had slurred speech, a splitting headache, and nausea. It was pretty obvious that he had a bad concussion. You knew that someone with a concussion would need darkness and a lot of rest. You left the glass of water on the side table and went to close the blinds and curtains on each of the windows.

He looked even paler when he came out of the restroom, and he was still having trouble holding himself up fully. You wrapped your arm around him and led him back to the couch. He slumped back against it. You opened the ottoman and pulled out the fluffiest blanket for him. You both spent a couple of minutes in silence before he groaned and shifted around. He picked up the glass of water and downed it all. You took the glass from him and went to the kitchen for more water. You brought back two glasses this time.

He was rubbing at the skin on his face when you walked back in. You figured he was in shock, so you put a hand to his forehead. He was pale, but his skin wasn’t clammy, which might be due to the arctic storm raging outside of the house. You had him lay back down and shut his eyes to attempt to get some sleep, while you made him some tea.

You couldn’t risk him catching a cold, not in the state he was in. You quickly filled the kettle up and turned the stove burner on. You placed the kettle on the burner and opened the cabinet that held the tea. You looked for a noncaffeinated one that hopefully aided in relaxation. A box of chamomile tea at the back of the cabinet caught your eye and you moved different boxes to pull that one. The back told you that it was noncaffeinated and you sighed in relief. You opened the cup cabinet and pulled out a large mug, you opened the box and pulled out one of the tea bags dropping it into the bottom of the mug.

As soon as the kettle started to whistle you took it off of the stove, not wanting to aggravate Techno’s headache with the loud noise. You poured the boiling water into the mug and carried it out to him. You found him sitting up on the couch watching you with half-lidded eyes. He was clearly tired. The blanket had been pushed to the side. You placed the mug down on the side table, picked the blanket up, and sat next to him. He picked the mug up and sipped on it slowly. He leaned against you and rested his head on your shoulder sighing. You reached up and slowly rubbed circles on his back. He sighed deeply and relaxed into your touch.

He lifted his head off of you and moved so his back was facing you. He put his tea down on the table and started attempting to lift his shirt off. You helped him and made sure he didn’t jostle his head around too much. As soon as his shirt was fully off, you wrapped the blanket around his shoulders so he wouldn’t get cold.

You understood what he was asking for so you got up and started heading towards the bathroom. You thought that a strong-smelling lotion might aggravate his head, so you were looking for an unscented one. There was an unscented shea butter lotion near the front of the cabinet so you quickly grabbed it and took it back to the couch. You got settled behind him and gently tugged the blanket down. You pumped some of the lotion into your hand and rubbed it between your hands to warm it up. He picked the tea up again and took a slow sip.

When you deemed it to be warm enough, you gently placed your hands on his back and began to massage his trapezius. He sighed and leaned back into your touch, sipping his tea. It didn’t take you long to find a knot, and he groaned when you focused on working it out of his muscle.

There were multiple knots, and you gently worked each one out. He eventually leaned forward away from you to set his now empty mug down and turned around wincing slightly when he moved his head too fast. You picked the blanket up and began to fluff a pillow for him to lay on. You placed the pillow down and moved to get off of the couch, but he gently pushed you back down so you were laying on the pillow. You smiled softly when he took the blanket and threw it over himself, making sure to cover you as well. He adjusted himself so that he could lay on your chest comfortably. You kissed the top of his head before settling your head down on the pillow. He sighed in contentment and after a few minutes, you felt his breathing even out. You smiled to yourself, and slowly let sleep overtake you.

[unhonest-iago]

You're my Wonderwall

CG!Awesamdude, Little!Foolish, Little!Reader. Somehow turned into more of a Foolish-centric fic but that's fine. Also nsfw/nsft folks, dni w/ this fic.

F/a-favorite animal

Gn reader

. . .

Sam had taken the littles out on a beach trip, spending the time building sand castles & paddle boarding. Only starting to slip into little space on the drive back, now tuckered out. Sam had a spare bag full of gear; pacifiers, stuffies, nightlights if they were to ever stop at a hotel.

Foolish noticeably slipping when he started chewing on his towel. Sam gently pulling the towel from his mouth. Stopping the car to grab the littles’ gear, knowing if he didn’t, Foolish would chew on his fingers. Rummaging, the creeper hybrid finally found what he was looking for, ‘here you go sharkie.’ handing him chewelry and a fidget cube. ‘Tank you Sammie’

Placing the gear next to y/n, you grabbed both your’s & Foolish’s stuffies. ‘Foosh?’ Tapping the totem hybrid’s shoulder.

‘Yea?’ Squealing in happiness when he saw the sucker fish. ‘Where’s your’s?’ Y/n, now with a beaming smile, grabbed the f/a. Holding it in front of them, Foolish giggling. Still focusing on the road, Sam hearing all this, glad his littles are getting along. Hating that he’ll probably have to wash the stuffies afterwards, making sure there’s no sand. In the end, Sam knew it was worth it & wouldn’t trade it for anything.

[lovevalley45]

"a women's place is in the war effort!" thoughts pt. 1

i'm not comin hot off of an episode of shriek week this week so i can fully Concentrate on this midseason finale lol

we Did in fact need to replay bishop parachuting in on a toilet

i joked abt 'YOU' and then ava literally said 'YOU'

how many legends can u fit in a porta potty

how dare bishop look so good post-crashing a toilet into a time machine

lock him in the attic

aww that's so sweet

"ARE WE ALL MOVING INTO A BRACELET"

gkjjg y'all

that one meme of the time travelers headed to the 1920s like "it's the great war not ww1 it's the great war not ww1'

did z1 go to gossip with z2 abt nate moving into the totem

okay but spooner n astra do look good in those overalls

wow i was right

also i love zari's jumpsuit

i love them immediately knowing the ancestors

are they making pasta lmao,,, who got sent out to the farmer's market

once again,,, behrad's hair,, masterful

ooh hell yeah

ZARI STEALING TOWELS FROM THE TOTEM

"ms. godfree" i see what u did there

[sp00kworm]

Silence (Part 2)

Part 1 - A Bar Brawl

Part 3 - The Star Goddess (Bloodhound’s Ending)

---

Pairing: Revenant x Gender Neutral/ Non-specified Reader

Warnings: Threats of Violence. 

---

A Totem to Remember - Revenant’s Ending

---

Loba’s debut seemed to attract more customers than you were ready to deal with. On the night of the test match, you had to refresh the beer kegs twice and you were almost out of a brand of whiskey known as the Red Devil. It was annoying, but you knew you had to refresh stock as you stacked freshly cleaned glasses back under the bar for the next day. Your bot in the back chimed happily as he opened his great washer stomach and offered you another tray of red hot, freshly cleaned glasses.

“Thanks buddy.” You cooed at the robot before taking the tray and patting his head with one hand. Spinning back around, you headed back out into the bar and hummed to yourself as you started moving towards the cabinet of tumblers. You held the tray on your hip as you plucked open the cabinet before carefully putting the glasses into their correct places, in order of size and shape. Mindlessly, your fingers moved on muscle memory as your little washer buddy moved to plug himself back in for the night, waving before he powered down and his battery began to charge. You patted him softly as you placed the tray away for him and turned to lock the kitchen for the night.

 The lights flickered. You looked at the ceiling before a gravelly voice spoke above you.

“You’re oblivious, skinbag.” Revenant purred from the ceiling.

You looked up and realised his face was close to your own, his arms extended, and his legs pinned into the metal of the ceiling. His body contorted monstrously before his head twisted and he dropped from the ceiling with a soft thump.

“What the hell are you doing on my ceiling, Revenant?” You tried to keep calm, but you were quick to fly into fury with the Simulacrum, “You don’t get to just waltz in here after…”

“You don’t get to waltz in here after what you’ve done.” He mimicked back at you with his hand snapping in your face, “Tell me something I haven’t heard before.” Revenant drawled as he looked at the whiskey behind you. He pointed a sharp finger at it, “Give me that.”

“Uh, no.” You gave an exasperated huff and snatched the liquor, “I suggest you pay for it first, plus, we’re closed.”

“I think you’re forgetting just how much money I’ve given you already, squishy.” Revenant purred, “I gave you a thousand credits last time I was here, that pays for more than seven of those whiskey bottles, I know they’re not that expensive.”

 With another hum, his metal fingers reached for a glass, snatching it before you could rescue that from him too.

“Okay. I don’t think you understand that you literally killed a man in my bar, and that your hush money doesn’t just sweep that under the rug.” You pointed a finger in his face angrily, “You pay, or you get out.”

The threat made him laugh. Revenant threw back his head and laughed a deep metallic noise, his mouth opening slightly to reveal the sparking copper inside of his mouth, “I like you. Not just anyone gets away with pointing a finger in my face.” He purred but his hand snapped up and grabbed hold of your wrist. Slowly, his cold sharp fingers crawled down your arm before they grabbed hold of your fingers and pushed, “But point it at me again and I’ll take the nail and skin off and pin your eyes open to watch.”

“This is not the way to get a free drink.” You uttered, in shock at the severity of his threat.

Revenant hummed again before his electronics whirred and he released your hand back to you, “Sure. You’re something odd, skinbag. Get me that drink, I need something to do.” It wasn’t polite nor happy, but you relented and opened the cabinet to retrieve his drink. The expensive liquor was strong, and you turned back around with it in your hand before undoing the screw cap and pouring it into an icy tumbler.

 Revenant eased himself into the bar stool, ignoring your disgruntled look as he took the tumbler and admired the dark colour of the whiskey. He swirled the liquid for a while before taking a small amount into his mouth and swallowing, his neck jarring with the pumps before he gave a small hiss.

“Nice burn.” He commented as he slumped over the bar and looked at the clock on the wall, hardly fazed by the lateness of his visit or how inconvenient he was being to you, “I see you’ve been making a killing with the games broadcasts.”

You didn’t know whether he was being genuine, “Well…I guess that money came in handy.” You shot back at him, “Blood money seems to have made my business flourish.”

“Sometimes money buys happiness.” Revenant drawled, “I got plenty of it. Just ask.”

“I don’t want your money.” You scoffed, “I’ve had plenty of that already.”

Revenant growled, “Then just what do you want from me?!” His fingers rapped along the bar top.

“If you didn’t get it, Revenant, I want you to get out and leave me alone!” You shouted.

 The Simulacrum watched you, his black and orange eyes bright before the orange went small and he snatched his drink back off the bar. He lifted it to the separation in his face where the skull like white met red and opened the hinge to dump the rest of the alcohol inside. Before you could snatch the expensive bottle away from him, he had it in his hand. Revenant said nothing to you as he held the bottle by his leg, his long arm popping upwards with a shrugging readjustment before he whipped around and headed to the door, stalking on long legs. He didn’t glance back as he stormed away, slamming the door behind him with a grunt before disappearing beyond the bright LEDs of the streetlamps and into the night. You looked at the bar and scoffed at the scratch marks down the wood, running your finger over them before you locked the door and shut off the lights to head up to your room above the bar for some well-earned rest.

 Revenant didn’t show up for the next few days. You were glad for the peace again as you ran through your normal daily routine, until it came to cleaning day for you little dishwasher friend. The robot unit chirped happily as you slapped at his dishwashing compartment and watched it open, the cogs and pistons whirring as the racks and doors stretched to their full capacity. Carefully you took a spanner and went to carefully unscrew the back of the water pipes from his back and laid them over the counter and into the sink to avoid any gross water dripping through onto the floor. The pipes smelled. You coughed as you reached for the cleaning fluid and whistled gently as you opened the back of the washing compartment to expose the hose outlets. The robot chimed a whistle as you poured the cleaner inside his belly and started scrubbing, whistling back softly as the suds started to foam up.

“You love cleaning time huh buddy?” You asked.

The robot chirped with a smiley face appearing on the screen which acted as its face.

“Hey, I know, I won’t be too long!” You promised as you took a wire wool to a particularly rough spot of dried grease. You continued to hum as you worked and poured the cleaning fluid down the water pipes to clean them.

 “Okay buddy, lets get these back attached to you.” The washing bot chirped and span for you again as you held his water pipes up and reached for your spanner to crank the bolts back into place.

“And…” You cranked the bolt one last time, settling it in place tightly, “There!” You declared, “Right, go and set yourself for a full rinse and you should feel like brand new!”

The robot chirped and tugged himself into the corner again before starting his cycle. A happy face trundled across his screen as he started the timer for his cycle and plugged himself back into to the charging point to continue the wash in sleep mode.

“See you in a bit buddy.” You patted his washing compartment and headed back into the bar, wiping your hands on a towel before you looked at the empty place and the bright sunshine outside. You weren’t open just yet. It was too early for serving and you felt tiredness seep into your eyes as you looked for the coffee machine. It was usually only used for Expresso Martinis. It needed water and you took the coffee jar and filled it before pouring it into the machine and looking through just what you fancied to drink. If anything had come out of the war, it was the new, expansive range of hot drinks. Tea from far off planets you had never heard of. You plucked free one box with a curious looking fruit on the front before taking the strainer and filling it with the leaves and letting the hot water drip through into the large pot.

 As you watched the water drip, you heard a noise above you. The clink of metal. The barest noise of a scrape of metal over plaster. Slowly, you peered upwards. Nothing. The ceiling was its normal, usual painted colour, the metal support beams poking out of the plaster. You frowned but looked back at your tea. There was another noise. Metal scraping over each other. The noise was coming from behind the closed door to the kitchen. You left the tea unattended and reached for the door handle, pressing the pad to open it with a whirr of mechanical locks. It clunked open. Nothing. Your washing robot chirped at you in confusion his screen flashing with a question mark across his face before you smiled, trying to ease his nerves.

“Hey, don’t panic. I just thought I heard something…” You trailed off as you looked past your washing robot and into the room. Nothing was out of place.

It was then that your washing bot gave a strangled beep and danced away from where he was attached to the wall, pulling the water pipes tight as he beeped in upset.

 “Pah.” A silver clawed hand retracted up back on top of the fridge after taking a rude swipe at your friend, “Stupid tin-can.” Revenant hissed from the giant chrome refrigerator, flashing his claws back at the robot once more.

“How the fuck did you even get in here?” You asked as you looked up at the Simulacrum, “I told you not to come back.”

Revenant’s body contorted on the top of the fridge, his head twisting to the side as his orange eyes span and swirled in the shadows, “I know.” He rumbled, “I…” He went silent as his pistons clicked and he slid over the top of the furniture and down onto the floor with a click and a hiss.

“You what? You needed another bottle of whiskey?” You challenged.

Revenant stood to his full height, looming over you, the joints of his fingers clicking before he gave a grunt, “Something like that.” He rumbled as he looked down at you before he looked back at your washing bot and flexed his shoulders, “I didn’t know you had company.”

 Suddenly, that tension was gone, and Revenant stepped past you to flash his hand at the other robot again. It was a threat perhaps, but your washing robot chirped unhappily again.

“Stupid bag of bolts.” Revenant grumbled at it.

“Hey.” You intervened, “Leave him alone. He’s just a washing bot.” You grabbed Revenant’s arm.

It was like the Simulacrum froze in time, his eyes glaring down at the place where your fingers wrapped around the metal. With a snort, Revenant tugged his arm free from your grip.

“It’s just a washing bot, like you said.” Revenant stalked from the kitchen, his mechanical legs thumping softly as he went. As he left you made sure your friend was safe. Beyond a small nick at the base of his neck he was fine. You nudged him back into his power station to continue his cycles in sleep mode.

 You followed Revenant into the bar to see him picking through your cabinet again, his metal fingers tapping along the labels of the liquors as he decided back to pluck from your reserves.

“What happened to the rest of that posh stuff?” Revenant asked with a hum as he looked through the back of the cabinet.

“You had the last bottle. The supplier hasn’t been in a while.” You watched him look back before he selected another expensive looking bottle. This time it was tequila. You didn’t say anything as he took it out and eyed the label before disappearing into the corner of your bar, slinking into the booth farthest away from you in silence. The Simulacrum didn’t glance back at you as he cracked open the bottle and placed the glass neck between his metal jaws before tipping his head back and emptying a good portion of the alcohol into his synthetic stomach. You watched with a small cringe as he seemed unfazed by the burning liquor. His orange eyes snapped to you as you watched him from the bar.

 His gravelly voice carried well across the room, gracing your ears with the deeply pissed off timbre, “What are you looking at?” Revenant asked with a roll of his optics, “I’m not going to steal anything.” He rumbled.

You watched him for a moment before replying, “I’m more concerned why you want to be here.”

Revenant looked you dead in the eyes as his mechanical thumb stroked the label of the bottle, “Call it a whim, whatever. It’s quiet and there isn’t that annoying Andrade brat. Don’t go thinking anything different. You tell them where I am, and I’ll take great pleasure in making you squeal like the little meatsack you are.”

“You know. There’s no need to threaten me with a good time every time you come in here.” This was a new tactic, and you watched his optics twitch from his bottle to your face.

“Are you making fun of me, skinsuit?” Revenant growled, his two metal jaws parting slightly to reveal the sheen of copper in his mouth with an angry snarl.

“Hardly.” You scoffed, “Fine.” You relented as you headed for the light switch, “Stay here, but I’m going to bed. Enjoy your pity party.” With a snap of the lights, you walked back into the kitchen and to the back staircase to your own apartment. You made sure to lock the door firmly before stripping off for a shower and heading to bed.

 Revenant peered into the darkness with a hum, his fingers tapping along the table before he tugged the bottle of liquor closer and snapped on the holoscreen in the corner, searching for something to fill the noise in the dark bar with outside of his own memories playing over and over again behind his eyes.

 “Skinsuit.” There was a grunt before the bed shook and dipped either side of your body, “Skinsuit!”

With a jolt you woke up, just to come face to face with the skull-head of Revenant and a sneer.

“Finally. I thought I was going to have to choke you awake.” Revenant grumbled as he peered over you, his legs splayed like a spider either side of you as he looked down at you tucked into the covers. His hands pulled back from either side of your head and you watched him flash his claws as he sat back, still perched over your legs, looming like a deranged killer.

“Do I need to ask why you’re up in my room?” You asked groggily, wiping sleep from your eyes as Revenant watched you sit up with great interest. The Simulacrum purred, a low rumbling from somewhere in his throat, as you met him face to face, glaring at his orange and black eyes.

 “Your little washing bot is screaming downstairs. It sounds horrendous.” Revenant didn’t move away, his skeletal nose rushing with air as he inhaled the smell of you.

“If you did something Revenant…”

“You’ll what? You’ll kill me?” He wheezed a great laugh as his claws dragged at your sheets, “Good luck with that, skinsuit. There’s millions of bodies just waiting for me to be reuploaded into them.” He snarled before rasping again as his arms and legs whirred into downwards positions, allowing him to snap, flip and crawl off your bed in one, bizarrely fluid motion before he clicked back into place and stood over the side of your bed with another, odd, calculating rumble.  

 You decided to ignore his snide remark and bitter tone, “Is he malfunctioning?” You asked as you threw back the covers and climbed out of bed to face the Simulacrum. He was intimidating at nearly seven feet tall but slim and streamlined with the ability to move silently at will despite being made from entirely heavy bulletproof metal. He looked down at you, his metal lips parted, unimpressed with your pyjamas covered in small Nesse prints.

“Not a clue.” His orange eyes looked you up and down before he strolled over to look through your desk.

“Hey, asshole.” You snapped at him as he tugged a thick looking document from a fat wad of paper, “No one invited you to look through my things.”

Revenant chuckled, “No. They didn’t…” He pulled open one of the drawers underneath him and hummed at the pens and random assortments of stationary in there, “A penis pen.” He held the phallic pen between his fingers, “Practical.”

 You ignored his taunting swaying of the pen back and forth and hastened down the stairs towards the sound of your screaming washing bot. As you opened the door to the bar kitchen you ducked as a pot came flying towards your head. It clattered against the wall and smashed into several pieces. You avoided the shards as you pushed into the kitchen and saw the pipes spraying water down onto the floor and the robot trying to slam his front closed.

“Oh my…” You didn’t finish your sentence as he caught sight of you and screamed again, the screen in his stomach covered with crying faces as he rushed towards you, holding the severed and burst pipes in one hand and his drawer closed with the other. He screeched again waving the dripping pipes in front of you before shrinking behind your form, ducking as low as it could get as Revenant filled the entrance way into the kitchen.

 His raspy laugh made you scowl. Revenant slinked in through the doorway and set about scratching his claws along the tiles, making a noise that was so ear grating you had to clench your teeth.

“I didn’t expect for him to piss all over your floor, I’ll admit.” The Simulacrum laughed, harshly and entirely mean.

“I knew you had something to do with this!” You pointed a finger in his face, “Why can’t you just leave me alone?! Why do you have to insist on being foul for a reaction?” Your anger seethed out of you as you hid your little robot behind you.

Revenant sneered, “You’re no fun, skinsuit.” He snarled before he snagged the pipes from your robot’s hands and grabbed the mechanical washing bot along the floor, kicking and screaming. His claws crunched into the metal of the washer bot’s shoulder as he pulled it towards the wall it had previously been stationed at. It wiggled violently before Revenant heaved it up and held the pipes up before driving them together with a metallic thunk. The connectors clicked back together easily, and the washing robot beeped confusedly as Revenant stood him against the wall and banged on the front of his tummy, slamming the door closed with a vicious thump of his metal palm. The door remained closed and the washing robot chirped in confusion.

 You looked at the floor and then back to Revenant as he trudged back through the puddles of water and loomed over you again. He gave a long, low, robotic chuckle as he spun his hand and curled the claws towards his palm.

“I fixed your issue.” He stated with a look at his claws before he snapped them into a spike and made sure to push you back against the door, “Your welcome, skinsuit.”

You felt anger boil in your gut, “What? Do you want me to thank you or something?” You spat as you looked up at the unnatural orange optics. They span, the robotic pupils clicking as he focused on your face and the anger that painted your expression.

Revenant’s fingers curled into the wall, “Something like that.” He whispered as he stared at the anger on your face, “I didn’t do this, before you blame me.” With a scoff, he released you from the wall and sauntered through the puddles of water towards the back door, “Nice seeing you…” He turned to look at you, his headscarf rippling in the breeze, “You look nice when you sleep.”

“FREAK!” You screamed after him as he disappeared up the smooth concrete wall and over the next building with a hiss of pistons.

 Your washing bot chirped sadly and held out his hands to you with a shake. You looked and spotted the spanner in his hands as he sheepishly rubbed his washing compartment.

“Well. At least I don’t have to bill him for this as well…but maybe I will to spite the bastard.” You considered as you carefully took a towel to your friend and then grumbled, wading across the kitchen to find the mop to get rid of the rest of the puddles.

 Revenant seemed to lurk in the corners of your vision after that, always sat in the back of the bar, with some bottle of hard liquor and a deadly, judgemental gaze turned on the rest of the patrons. Those who knew him from the Apex Games did not dare approach him. He took great pleasure in launching a young man over the table once from a handshake, laughing as he stalked over to him and signed his name on the boy’s cheek in his own blood. You had promptly doubled his price for drinks that night, but the Simulacrum did not complain, he paid at closing and disappeared into the night. Sometimes he lurked after closing time. More often than not, you found him glaring down at your washing bot as the robot thrust a mop at him to try and get him off the cupboards or fridges. Angry beeps were then met with your angry glares. For some reason, Revenant adored the look. Anger furrowing your brows and a snarl on your lips made him feel smug, almost joyful. He was positively gleeful when he was tormenting you.

 However, the bar was shut for the workers day, a holiday for most of the city, and Revenant was left without his normal activities to entertain himself. He stalked around his room for a while, jumping and reaching for items he had hung from his ceiling as exercise before he looked at the charging port and bed. There was nothing else in his room. A spare scarf was hung in the wardrobe along with the scraps of a suit he had taken great pleasure in peeling apart in front of the other legends before a conference. With a huff he opened the ventilation shaft and rotated his spinal column before his shoulders snapped and tucked in close underneath his arms, allowing for him to fit into the vent and scuttle along to the next room. Noxious fumes made him pause, but with another slow filtration of air he scoffed and opened the grate on the other side.

“Mercury won’t rot my insides, Nox.” His head turned one hundred and eighty degrees before his body followed in a contortion of metal, spilling out and rotating on top of Alexander’s glassware cabinet.

Caustic looked at him with vicious cold green eyes, “I’ve yet to find anything but charged copper dispersals that will have an effect.” He uttered softly, clinical and effective as he opened his filtration systems and watched the mercury vapours swirl away into the chambers above, “Why are you bothering me, Simulacrum?”

Revenant lowered his head over the side of the cabinet, “I smelt rotten eggs. Sulfur. But maybe you just passed gas.” He jeered as he watched Caustic cork the rest of the reaction and pull another yet of heavy metals from a rack alongside various acids.

“Maybe hydrofluoric acid will make you quieter?” Caustic hissed, “I’m working.”

“I know.” Revenant hummed from the cabinet, “But you’re not that busy.” He dragged his claws over the top of the metal with a laugh.

 Caustic closed the arm opening of his experimental chamber with a slam as he peeled free his gloves in order to point a scarred finger at the Simulacrum, “You never come in here unless you’re bored.” He observed as he removed his goggles and respirator, “And that isn’t often…Not after you found that little toy to play with. Did Bloodhound not warn you off enough with that slice to your oil recycler?”

Revenant growled from the cabinet as he leaned over the top, leering at the Chemist underneath him, “It was fucking ugly bleeding shit down my legs but there’s always another body for me…Bloodhound didn’t heal to quickly from my blow I think.” He flashed his claws and hummed as he tucked himself back on the unit, far out of Caustic’s reach, “Besides. That feral brat doesn’t tell me what to do.”

“No but they might be inclined to give you another cut for harassing a…what do you call them…skinsuit?” Alexander’s eyes lit up with silent glee as he watched Revenant click and adjust on top of his glassware cabinet.

“Carry on old man and I’ll show you just what I did to Bloodhound.” Revenant hissed as he laid over the top, his metal legs hanging down over Caustic’s head.

 Caustic binned his gloves and hung his goggles after washing them before he turned on the air conditioning and moved back towards his desk, “I have no desire to taste steel today. So,” He span in his chair, his rectangle frame glasses perched on the end of his nose, “Are you going to tell me what you’re here for? Evidently your little toy isn’t around to entertain you today.”

Revenant propped his head up on his arm, tapping a claw against the metal beneath his eye before he rumbled, “Its…boring.” With a small sigh he looked down at Caustic, “I didn’t think I could feel but its exciting to watch them, like a little rat running around. A little angry rat.”

Alexander was turned back to his desk, working over something before he replied, “You might be an illegally made conscious robot but you will still carry humanity…even if your programming was once to kill.” He shrugged up at the robot, “Perhaps you are having a mild fascination? Infatuation if you will. I can’t say I have felt it myself… The idea of such intimacy disgusts me, but perhaps you are more human than you originally thought?” Glee laced Caustic’s tone as he smirked up at Revenant.

Anger churned in Revenant’s processors, “Human am I.” He slipped from the cabinet and slid in one movement, grabbing for Caustic’s throat.

 His fingers were cold, but Caustic let him grapple from the chair. The Chemist was far shorter than him but was large, bulky and strong despite his love for poisonous gases.

“Did I hit a nerve?” He asked with a laugh and a wheeze which was followed by a cough.

Revenant looked down at him, orange eyes swirling before he leaned close to Caustic’s face, “Compare me to you soft bellied sacks of skin again and I’ll slice you from groin to neck just for the fun of it…Then maybe I’ll show your little apprentice what you look like.”

“I dare you to try Simulacrum.” Caustic whispered before he pried the robotic hand off his throat and sat back down in his chair, slicking his hair back with a huff, “Why not just ask to see them?”  

“Pah.” Revenant’s joints clicked as he climbed back onto the cabinet, “Like I want to see them.” He hissed, “They do nothing but tell me to leave.”

“Have you considered that is because you are foul?!” Caustic shouted as he leaned back to see Revenant disappear back into the vent, “Idiotic fool.” He cursed softly before erasing the measurements for the next reactions he had planned.

 Days suddenly past without Revenant in the corner of the bar. Your washing buddy seemed quiet and contemplative without having to beat him off the countertops, and you found yourself slowly relaxing until it was concerning. The Simulacrum was never gone for long. It was a week since before you knew it and you knew they were still in the downtime between seasons. He had no reason for being gone. You caught yourself one night as you worried about where he had gotten to.

“Probably finally got what was coming to him for that big mouth.” You whispered as you took the cleaned glasses from your robot and began to place them away.

The door opened with a creak and you huffed, “We’re closed!” You shouted over your shoulder, “I swore I turned the sign around…”

There was no one in the bar. You scowled as you opened the bar door and walked towards the entrance where the door was propped open an inch or so, letting the warm air into the bar.

“Hello?” You asked quietly as you opened the door and peered outside.

“Skinsuit.” Revenant hummed from above you.

 You peered upwards and felt a sense of relief wash over you as you gazed into the orange eyes of the sour looking Simulacrum above you. His head turned, much like a bird, as he regarded you.

“You’ve been gone a while.” You commented idly as you stood outside the door. Your foot hit the pavement and the Simulacrum held up one silver finger.

He pointed down at your foot, “I think you just stood on something.”

You jumped when cardboard crumpled and something rattled around in the box, sending it shooting towards the taxi rails. With a rush you grabbed for the box and frowned at the largeness of it.

“Why did you get me an animal?” You asked as you heaved the box to the front door, eyeing the air holes stamped in the side.

“Call it an investment.” He grunted as he dropped from your roof and stood behind you, watching with eager eyes as you carefully opened the lid.

 A growl sounded from within and you jumped back at the sight of the small Prowler cub pacing back and forth in the box.

“REVENANT, WHAT THE FUCK?!” You screeched as the Prowler cub scrambled from the box and hissed, flaring the bare bones of its frills at you, trying to appear intimidating.

“No need to shout. You’ll scare the little guy.” Revenant insisted as he closed the door, “I found him is all. Thought you might like it. Kings Canyon…well its not great but if you head into the jungles of Leviathan there’s still some of these things that survived the purging of the planet.”

“How did you even find one?” You asked as the cub rushed underneath a table, quivering and hissing sadly, “They’re…endangered.”

“It was stuck in a pit. Probably game hunters. I nabbed it. Its weedy and pathetic looking so I thought you might like it.” He shrugged, “I can’t keep animals in the tower so he’s yours.”

You stood silently for a moment, trying to figure out just what the gift meant. That Revenant trusted you? That he thought about you? You didn’t know what to make of it.

 “Are you going to pay for the food?” You asked with a smirk aimed at the Simulacrum stood over you.

The seven-foot robot gave a single, dry laugh before he held up a large bag, “Way ahead of you, skinsuit.” He reached in and pulled out a heavy looking metal dish, “Don’t give me that look.” He gestured to your face, “So happy, doing that thing with your little beady eyes. Its revolting.” With a scoff he pushed past you and headed towards the cowering cub before plucking it from the floor, ignoring the black teeth snapping at him as he pulled at its frill and admired the deep blue and orange colours along his back.

“Hey.” You cautiously approached, “Put him back on the floor, I have a good idea on how to win him over.” You gestured to Revenant who rolled his eyes but dropped the cub with a huff and grabbed a bottle of liquor to watch from the bar as you took off your sweater and gently eased it under the table.

 The Prowler ignored you, mouth agape and dark under its neck. Next you took the food bowel and pulled out the food Revenant had gathered. A small amount of cubed beef was enough, and you placed it in his bowl before filling the other and leaving for the bar.

“Really? That’s it?” He droned, “How boring. I thought you might wrestle it and get eaten alive.” He trailed his fingers over the wood, “Now what?”

“We leave him alone. He needs to settle in. Its all new and traumatic.” You insisted as the cub took a sniff of your sweater and laid in the mass with a sad whimper.

“How dull…Maybe he’ll chew through a pipe in the night.” Revenant wondered as he tipped his head back and poured some liquor into his mouth.

“Hopefully not…but thank you. I didn’t think you were capable of being nice.” You whispered as you watched the Prowler bed himself down.

“Don’t get used to it.” Revenant snapped, but without as much of his usual bite, “It might come back to bite you.”

“Well, it very well might. Look at his teeth.” You joked, for once feeling at ease with the murderous robot in the room.

Revenant only gave another series of dry laughs.

“Demonio.” You cooed at the small cub as he attacked a hunk of meat with talons and teeth. It chewed on its back teeth before its ears pricked behind the frill around his neck.

“Demonio.” You cooed once again and the Prowler looked at you with a grumbling chirp, licking the blood from around its mouth as it eyed the small, marrow filled bone in your palm, “Come on boy.” You wiggled the bone back and forth as the orange eyes tracked your hand along its course.

“Do you like making fun of me?” Revenant grumbled from his seat at the edge of the bar, “That damn brat is the only one who calls me that.” He hissed.

Demonio eyed the bone before he got to his feet and prowled over before licking at your fingers. He took a nip before waiting for the bone.

“Good boy.” You reached with your other hand and touched his frill, gently running your hand down his nose before you gave him the bone and stood up to head back to Revenant.

 “He seems fonder of you.” Revenant observed with a hum, “Almost like a soft little dog.” He spat at the cub, “How delightfully boring.”

“Maybe, but I appreciate not being bitten by him anymore.” You answered as you looked back at the Prowler. He was already growing, and you were more than happy to look after him, but he was going to get large, “Even if he might outgrow me one day…well and maybe try to eat me at any moment.” You huffed.

Revenant snorted, “Ha. Maybe he will, but I’m sure Predators are less inclined to eat people they like.”

You looked at the Simulacrum, “Is that why I’m still alive?” It was barely a whisper, “Because you like making my life miserable?”

 Revenant looked taken aback, his orange eyes turning into pinpoints as he considered his next words, “Miserable…No.” His metal jaws clicked, “You’re the only person that can make me laugh.”

Those words were heavy, and you watched him struggle for a moment with himself, “I don’t understand anything. I was programmed to kill for…I don’t know. A long time. This is new for me and I have hated every second of feeling more than I did being nothing but a slaughter machine.” He growled.

“You should call me by my name then.” You smiled as you said it for him, and the Simulacrum nodded once before repeating it back to you and turning to watch Demonio gnaw on his bone.

“Oh,” Revenant looked back at you and you poured him another drink, “For the record, I like you as well Revenant.” You smiled as you sat down next to him and watched Demonio work on his bone a little longer.

 “Demonio!” You rushed after the Prowler as he launched himself at a customer. He was now a juvenile, and the hound like beast was quick to dislike anyone that touched you over the bar. You kept him behind the bar, but the creature was quick to jump at people that took hold of you. Revenant laughed from the end of the bar, tucked in the shadows of the wall as he ran his claws back and forth over the bar, “He knows people shouldn’t touch what isn’t there’s.” The Simulacrum sneered as the patron whipped around to look at him.

“Oh yeah, you metal fucker? What are you saying?”

“That your disgusting little skin sack hands don’t deserve to be near ‘em.” Revenant’s fingers snapped together, the fusion metal slamming together as he raised himself over the bar, spun and stuck up against the ceiling over the man, “Maybe I’ll take more than your hand like the hound would.” He ran the sharp spear of his hand down the man’s cheek, “I think your innards would make a lovely adornment to my mantle.”

“Revenant.” You tugged the hand away, “Enough.” You hissed at him, “Sir, I’m sorry for the drama…”

“Save it. I’m out of here.” He shoved his drink over the side and rushed to the door, “Bunch of fucking weirdos.” He snarled as he left.

 The night drew to a close and Revenant spent the rest of the opening hours sulking in the back of the bar, alone on a table, with his feet propped up on the metal, his drink untouched as he watched the patrons with a vicious glare.

“Revenant.” You uttered as Demonio pattered along behind you, his frill flared as he dragged his tug rope for play time, “Are we going to talk about what happened, or are you going to sulk forever?” You asked as you sat across from him, pushing his feet to the side in order to see his gaunt metal face.

The Simulacrum snorted, “There’s nothing to talk about.”

“Oh, there is.” You huffed, “You threatened to kill a man tonight who grabbed hold of my hand.” You sat back as Demonio pushed his head into your lap and you rubbed the scaley skin around his ears.

“Is there? I wasn’t aware that it was a problem.” Revenant moved his feet from the table, “He was an asshole. I won’t apologise for my actions.”

“I’m not…”

“And I sure as hell won’t be giving you money for his drinks..”

“Will you shut up and listen?” You snapped.

 Revenant felt anger threaten to spill over, but he slumped back in his seat as you pushed your finger down against the wood and scowled. He watched you with a huff.

“You’re lashing out and I want to know why.” You demanded, “From day one you were horrible. A cruel and mean machine that wanted nothing but to inconvenience me every day, but now you’re…giving me gifts. You’re here constantly and you just…You stopped me from getting a very horrible string of abuse. So, explain this to me, because I’m at a loss.”

Revenant was silent. His chassis was still and his wiring and pistons clunked as though he was being jolted back to life. He opened his hand on the table and dared to reach for one of your own. Smooth, cold metal fingers grazed your fingertips before they gingerly moved up and over your palm to stroke the soft skin. His orange eyes watched the pulse in your wrist before he linked the fingers once, squeezing tightly before he moved away again and guarded himself, crossing his arms out of your reach.

 “I…” He paused again, “I care for you.” That was it, he was silent again, his eyes watching you as you took in the meaning of the words he had dared to utter.

“Care for me?” You whispered back at him.

Anger laced him once again, “Yes, you stupid skinsuit! I might even feel something like love or joy!” He hollered as he flashed his claws and scraped them against one another, “Its infuriating and…And it hurts!” He threw his hand at the wall, “It hurts because I know I’m nothing but a giant killing machine! I’m stained in so much blood I could swim in it and nothing can ever make you love a disgusting creature like me!” Revenant heaved, almost like a human, his spinal column lurching as he screamed in frustration again and moved to stand up.

Like a viper, you grabbed at his hand and tugged, hard enough to jolt his fingers, but he was unfazed. He towered over you and watched, looking down at you with lonely eyes as his fingers dared, once again, to wrap around your own, seeking the heat they no longer possessed. He uttered your name, once, softly, as though he wasn’t allowed to say it, and then he looked you in the eyes.

 “That week you didn’t show up was like torture.” You said carefully, “For the first time, I was actually worried about you. It was then that I realised I liked having you around. Everything you did it was not to piss me off… well it was, but you haven’t had to speak or make friends with someone in so long, you just forgot how to do it anymore.” You felt your hand begin to shake in his, “But then the gifts started, and you thought about them. I said I wanted a dog one day, and well Demonio isn’t a dog but he’s the most amazing thing I’ve ever been given…So,” You smiled at him, “What I’m trying to say is that I think I might love you too.”

Revenant’s hand fell from your own and he looked to the wall for a moment before replying, “You really think you can love me?” He whispered, appearing small despite his towering height.

“Yes, I think I can.” You affirmed before leaning up to wrap your arms around him. The Simulacrum flinched before wrapping his thin, cold arms around you, taking in the warmth of the hug before pressing his face to your neck and humming at the gentle sensation of a kiss against his cheek.

“What was that for?” He asked quietly.

“Because I love you.” You whispered as you hugged him tighter.