#vacant lots for sale | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

deadsetobsessions · 9 months ago

Text

Danny always knew tax evasion ran in his veins. His parents hadn’t been the most… morally sound of people, and less so as ecto-scientists.

He just didn’t think their lessons would ever result in a criminal empire that spanned the entire city and then some. Danny hadn’t seen it coming. His parents definitely wouldn’t have.

“Good afternoon, Mr. Wayne. Mr. Fox.”

Danny ‘the Phantom’ Fenton sat down across from a rather tense looking (to Danny’s enhanced senses, anyways) Brucie Wayne and his right hand, Lucius Fox. He smiled pleasantly, matching Brucie’s vacant smile with that touch of Midwest suburban mother smile.

With his acquisition of multiple Gotham companies, his rather newly established Fentom Co. became one of the largest holding companies in Gotham, the first being Wayne Enterprises and the second being Drake Industries. After months of constantly working his butt off while fending off assassins, reforming Gotham’s slums and cleaning up some of the streets, and taking care of his nest of street kids, Danny garnered enough power to even stand close to Wayne Enterprises in terms of financial powers.

The topic of this meeting was, of course, the proposed merger of Wayne Enterprises’ Medical R&D division with Fentom Co.’s pharmaceutical department. Usually, Wayne Enterprises wouldn’t even consider such an offer, as their Medical R&D division was the most well funded and least likely to be part of a Rogue’s scheme- and therefore most beloved- department of the same nature in Gotham. However, Danny had something the other offers didn’t.

Blackmail.

His overly polite smile widened as Bruce’s mask twitched. His eyes slid over to Lucius Fox.

“It’s an honor to meet you, sir. I’ve heard much about your genius in… research and development.”

By that, Danny meant that he knew Lucius Fox helped develop Batman’s tech.

He did a lot of stalking that week. It felt rather… invasive, even if he did get a bunch of juicy secrets.

You know what they say: dead men tell no tales… but halfas are generally blabbermouths.

“Is that so? It is a pleasure to meet you as well, Mr. Fenton.” The man quickly glanced between the youngsters, accurately predicting that this might have something to do with Bruce’s active nightlife.

“Yes, it is such a pleasure to meet you.”

Wow, Danny didn’t think he’d ever heard anyone sound both so perky and dead inside at the same time, except for Susan at Gotham High’s bake sale.

Bruce wishes he could be a Susan. He’s at best a Becky.

“Will you be staying, Mr. Fox? You’re the head of the R&D department, correct?”

“Ah, yes-”

“Oh, Lucius! I think you had an appointment with the finance department right now! I heard Sally talk about it, you know!”

Lucius Fox sent an unreadable look at Bruce before rallying.

“Oh, it must have slipped my mind. My apologies, Mr. Fenton, it seems as though I can not skip this appointment.”

“That’s alright. I suppose it gives you… plausible deniability… should things go wrong, haha!” Danny allowed his smile to widen a little further than natural. Bruce tensed but Lucius Fox simply politely smiled and left the room.

Ignorance is bliss and all that, Danny amusedly thought.

As the door shut with a click, Bruce dropped the vacant Brucie smile and sighed.

“What do you want,” he gritted out. Danny wasn’t about to let that slide, not after he spent the better part of this month wrangling Bruce’s problem children.

“Ah, it must be because I’m from the Midwest, Brucie, but where I come from, we value these things called manners.”

You uneducated jerk, he doesn’t say.

Danny leaned back in his chair, loosening his smile into something relaxed and sharp.

“…” Oh, boy, Danny could just hear the other man’s blood pressure rising. “What is the purpose of your visit, Mr. Fenton?”

“Relax, Brucie,” Danny sing-songed in a non-relaxing way. “I’m just here to discuss a possible merger that I’m sure you’ll agree to, and give you a couple of updates on your… wayward bird.”

He heard Bruce take a slow, controlled breath. “Very well. Where. Would. You. Like. To. Start.”

Danny ignored the gritted out sentence. He passed a contract to Bruce, who took it like he was handling a live bomb.

“Here’s the proposal, Mr. Wayne. Please, look it over.”

He watched as Bruce looked over the contract with an eagle eye before lowering it, scrutinizing Danny.

“This is… very fair.”

Danny raised an eyebrow. Of course it was fair. Danny wasn’t interested in exploiting the Waynes, despite them being very able to afford it.

He’d brought fifty manufacturing sites for pharmaceuticals, and offered up a building where both companies could send their workers. He provided top notch security- that definitely didn’t have any talons on staff, what were they talking about?- that came from his own security division. Granted, most of them were reformed and trained goons, but hey, creating jobs can only help Gotham’s economy and help break the cycle of poverty, right? Guaranteed by the Wayne name and, most importantly, uncompromised medicine that was accessible to everyone would be a damn good start. He’d also have Penguin’s empire to distribute it to those who couldn’t make it to a clinic or a store, and there were plans in there to work with and establish contracts with Gotham’s welfare department. Well… once Danny finished replacing them with people who wouldn’t try to take a cut of the funds and actually cared about the people. He was thinking… the multitudes of poor grad students and parents that need income. He’s in the process of building childcare centers and…

It’s a good thing he managed to save money from the taxes (thank you, Gotham’s morally ambiguous tax experts that were in desperate need for clients! He could do it himself but having a team of accountants at the ready was seriously so helpful.) because ancients knows the government weren’t about to step into Gotham and help the people here. He needs so much money to pull all of this shit off and a lot of it has to be clean.

Danny inwardly sighed and marked another thing onto his to do list.

Make money laundering fronts.

“Of course, Mr. Wayne. You didn’t think I’d come in here demanding money, did you?”

“I considered it.”

“I am, in fact, trying to help Gotham. You might not agree with my methods, but I’d rather not damage Wayne Enterprises when it’s doing so much to help the people.”

Ugh, he was doing too much work. Danny just wanted to- hah- chill at home and read bed time stories to his kids.

Bruce Wayne, the specific blend between Brucie and Batman, regarded him silently. Danny felt like he went up a few notches in the respect ladder.

Nice.

“You’re a criminal.”

“Says the man in the bat-suit breaking into places and assaulting people.”

Bruce’s hands spasmed around the contract. Danny smiled at him, taking a sip of the coffee they’d prepared. Oo, nice!

“Ah, I heard you’re adopting- pardon, fostering- Tim Drake. Getting empty nest syndrome, Brucie?” He slipped back into using Bruce’s first name. The proposal was formal. This… was very much not.

“What about it?”

“That’s very kind of you. Speaking of which, well, of your birds, I was wondering if you remembered what I asked you to do.” Danny continued, not giving Bruce a chance to reply. “Didn’t I ask for you to keep your birds in line, Brucie?”

The CEO straightened even further, form filling out to be Batman’s imposing figure. “I did.”

“No, you didn’t. Do you know where your charge is, right now? No, not the formerly dead one,” Danny tilted his head, smile shrinking.

“Don’t you dare do anything to Tim. I swear, if you even lay a hand on a strand of his hair, I’ll-”

“Sit your Armani clad ass down, Bruce.” Danny snapped. “Your son’s in your office. I don’t harm children, and your assumptions are deeply insulting. Threaten me again, Bruce, and I’ll make sure you know exactly how much I know about your birds, your cousin, and the commissioner’s daughter.”

Bruce snarled but leashed his anger just enough to sit back down. He itched to go check on Tim, but leaving a threat like Phantom unwatched felt inherently wrong.

“Your other son,” Danny continued. “Is doing quite well. He’s learning that he has hobbies again. He’s actually working under me, you know.”

“He’s what.”

Oh, yeah, that tracks. It figured that Jason wouldn’t tell Bruce about anything. He’s still conflicted about his death. Danny got it.

“Ah, that’s precious information. You’ll have to offer something of equal value if you want to know. There is, on the other hand, a piece of information I’ll give you for free.”

Danny paused for the dramatic effect. It was lost on Bruce, the ultimate drama queen of this world.

“The League of Assassins are hanging around Hotham lately. It’s getting tedious, getting rid of them. I suggest talking to your old flame, you know, with words and what little communication skill you’ve got rattling around in your noggin to get them to pull back. Her interest is… unnaturally focused on Jason.”

Danny read the dark agreement swimming about Bruce’s face and inclined his head. “Should negotiations fail, rest assured that Jason will be protected.”

“…Thank you.”

“You are most welcome. Go ahead and discuss the contract with Mr. Fox, I am sure you’ll find little problems with it. Ah,” Danny stood up, fixing his suit jacket. “And you should probably check up on Timothy. He’s probably having a great time in your office, Mr. Wayne.”

“I’ll see you out.”

“Of course.”

Having Batman escorting him out should probably be more intimidating.

Danny stood in the elevator, waiting for Bruce’s contemplative silence to put itself into words.

Sure enough, “What… what kind of hobbies does Jason have now?”

“I’d tell you to ask him, but you two aren’t on speaking terms, are you? He likes books, of course, but recently, he’s found an interest in glass blowing. He made quite a bit of progress on his attempts at sun catchers.”

“I see.”

Well, Danny’s not about to step on that landmine any more than he has to.

——

“Danny.”

“Oh, hey, Jason. Sit down, we were about to have dinner.”

Jason clambered into the window. Danny sighed. He had a door, but by the way Jason never used it, it was like the door didn’t exist.

“Mind telling me why the old bastard showed up on my rooftops with a bunch of glass and glassblowing tools?”

Danny smiled. “No idea.”

“Uh huh.”

Danny placed a hand on his chest and put on his best woe-is-me expression. The teen’s face twitched in annoyance. “Doubt? At me? Why, I never!”

A bread roll thwacked him in the face.

#dpxdc #danny phantom #batman #bruce wayne #jason todd #tim drake #dc x dp #red hood #bamf danny phantom #crime lord Danny #accidental crime lord Danny

4K notes · View notes

justmaghookit · 10 months ago

Text

To protect their identities I will not be posting images of the victims.

Yesterday a 45 year old white man took it upon himself to do a "citizens arrest" wherein he physically restrained three blak kids, binding their wrists together with zip ties and then binding them to each other. The children were aged 6, 7 and 8. They had gone swimming in the pool of a vacant property which is currently for sale, you know, regular kid stuff.

The perpetrator is not the owner of the property, allegedly he is a tradesman who was called to work on the air conditioning in the property and took great personal issue with three kids taking a cheeky swim on a blistering summers day. The man then called the police to report trespassing.

You know you've fucked up when so called australia's famously racist cops rock up on the scene and go "what the fuck mate." even the WA police commissioner was able to find a shred of empathy in his cold dead heart to call the scene "disturbing"

The children were attended by an ambulance and there has been no reports of injuries, though I suspect they're deeply traumatized by the experience, if the images of them sobbing are anything to go by.

The man has been arrested and is facing three counts of aggravated assault.

As I was making sure I had my information correct writing this post I saw a lot of white folks on twitter asking where the parents were, how they wouldn't let their kids do this, how its still trespassing blah blah blah, regular entitled white racist nonsense.

I was once a cheeky kid myself, and more than once I hopped a fence to go swimming in the neighbours pool while they weren't home alongside my siblings, but I'm white, so I'm allowed the luxury of kids will be kids. These were just children, innocent little bubs who just wanted to cool down in the suffocating heat. They were punished for the crime of daring to be children while blak.

It just goes to show just how deeply racism against indigenous people is still rooted in our society.

#australia #auspol #racism

5K notes · View notes

reasonsforhope · 4 months ago

Text

"Faced with declining membership, aging buildings and large, underutilized properties, many U.S. houses of worship have closed their doors in recent years. Presbyterian minister Eileen Linder has argued that 100,000 churches may close in the next few decades.

But some congregations are using their land in new ways that reflect their faith – a focus of my urban planning research. Some are repurposing their property to provide affordable housing, as the housing crisis intensifies across the country.

Take Arlington Presbyterian Church in Arlington, Virginia. In 2016, the church sold its historic stone building to the Arlington Partnership for Affordable Housing to construct a 6-story complex with 173 apartments, known as “Gilliam Place.” The building still houses space for the congregation, as well as La Cocina, a bilingual culinary job training facility and cafe. In Austin, Texas, St. Austin Catholic Parish is partnering with a developer to build a 29-story tower providing 200 beds of affordable student housing, in addition to new spaces for ministry.

Other houses of worship are pursuing similar projects today.

Same mission, new projects

Faith-based organizations have been building housing for many years, but generally by purchasing additional property. In recent years, however, more houses of worship are building affordable housing on the same property as the sanctuary.

This can be done in a variety of ways. Some congregations adapt the existing sanctuary and other faith-owned buildings, while others demolish existing buildings to construct a new development, which may or may not have space for the congregation. Another option is to build on excess property, like a parking lot.

Depending on how a development deal is structured, a faith-based organization may receive proceeds from the sale of its land, or from leasing their property to a developer – funds which they can then spend on ministry or on a new space for worship. If a new development includes space for the congregation, sometimes they rent out those spaces when the space is not being used for worship, which can also financially benefit the congregation.

Faith-based organizations often see these projects as a way to do “God’s work.” In some instances, they include community services beyond the housing itself.

Near Los Angeles, the Episcopal Church of the Blessed Sacrament in Placentia partnered with a nonprofit affordable housing developer – National Community Renaissance, also called National CORE – to develop 65 units for older people. The complex also includes a 1,500 square foot (140 square meter) community center. The city’s diocese has a goal of building affordable housing on 25% of its 133 properties.

For some congregations, these are mission-driven projects rooted in social justice.

In Washington, D.C., Emory United Methodist Church redeveloped its property and constructed The Beacon Center – which has 99 affordable housing units, community spaces, and a commercial kitchen that provides job training for recently incarcerated people – while preserving the sanctuary. In Seattle, the Nehemiah Initiative is working with Black churches in the Central District, a historically African American neighborhood, to redevelop its properties into affordable housing to keep residents from being displaced."

Potential to evolve

As states and cities struggle to provide affordable housing, studies have been conducted from Nashville to New York City on the amount of land faith organizations own, and their potential as housing partners.

In the D.C. metro area, for example, the Urban Institute found almost 800 vacant parcels owned by religious organizations. In California, a report from the Terner Center at University of California, Berkeley found approximately 170,000 “potentially developable” acres of land owned by religious organizations and nonprofit colleges and universities...

When thinking about the redevelopment process, Arlington Presbyterian member Jon Etherton told me, “the call from God to create, do something about affordable housing was bigger than the building itself.”"

-via The Conversation, July 19, 2024

#church #christianity #washington state #california #washington dc #presbyterian #affordable housing #housing crisis #good news #hope

190 notes · View notes

fortheloveoffanfic · 1 month ago

Text

Letters to Christmas: The Letter

Hozier x fem!reader

Author's note: Defying the logic of mail to bring you this subpar fic.

Fic summary Hozier masterlist

Summary: when Y/n's letter to an old flame ends up in the wrong mail box, Andrew decides to respond to a stranger across the pond.

Warnings: angst

Hey,

I know its been a while and I know I have no right sending this after everything, but its hard to see trees go up and not think about you. You always picked the best ones. I caved last year and got one of those plastic ones, from that department store we always went to. Its tall with frosted tips, and fills up that little space between the window and the fireplace really nicely. And there aren’t any pine needles to get caught in the floorboards, so that’s great too, but it doesn’t smell the same, but I guess a lot of things aren’t the same now. I haven’t decorated it yet, not like it matters, there’s no one but me here to see it and it feels awfully silly to decorate a tree that no one else is gonna see.

How’s the job going? And country living? Hopefully its everything you thought it would be, if there's anyone on this fucked up planet that deserves every shread of happiness that comes their way, its you. You deserve everything you’ve ever wanted. Its funny how I used to know exactly what that was and now…..now we’re practically strangers.

Milo’s gone. I can’t remember if we’ve spoken since it happened, but we should’ve, you were his favorite person. But anyway, he was a happy cat, and it was quiet and easy. He just went to sleep on your chair one night and never woke up, he missed you so much, until the very end.

But enough of that.

If you do reply, send me a picture of an Irish winter, hopefully its prettier than Seattle around this time. Though, it doesn’t take much to be prettier than gray skies and slush on the sidewalk. Tell me about what work’s like, and your life there. Say anything.

I don’t know why I’m writing this, I guess I’m lonely. Or maybe bored, like you said. Maybe I’m looking for something that I only ever had with you – maybe I'll never have it with anyone else.

Love always,

Y/n.

There’s something in-between the penultimate and last paragraphs, but its been scratched off with such vigor that it isn't legible in the slightest. The dark patch of ink almost resembles those redacted documents in movies about rouge spies and wayward government agents and it makes Andrew think that whatever the letter’s author had written there must be so personal that they have no choice but to keep it near and dear. Its a secret that can’t be shared with someone she loves so deeply, so why should she share it with him, a total stranger thousands of miles away from her?

Then it hits him – almost an hour after pouring over this obviously personal letter, scrawled in slanted penmanship that reminds him of his own – these words were never meant for his eyes. He’s a stranger looking in, dragging his thumb along a little bleed in the ink that resembles a tear stain like the intruder he is. Its almost as bad as looking into someone’s window, except this person, whose face he’s never seen and whose voice he may never hear, won’t ever know that he is doing something that borders unspeakable.

Or will she?

Andrew has had the overwhelming urge to pen a response since his first reading of the letter that accidently made its way into his postbox. An accident – it couldn’t have been anything but that. It was addressed to a house one block over; 124 Crescent Avenue – his house is 124 Crenshaw Avenue, so he understands the mistake. Though, when he’d bundled himself up and walked over to Crescent Avenue, the house that the letter should have been delivered to was vacant with a ‘for sale’ sign pitched in the damp grass.

He should have taken it back to the post office, but snow had fallen on his mailbox, and subsequently melted, skewing the name on the front of the envelope so much that he could only make out a couple letters. It would have probably just been stamped with the words 'return to sender’ anyway, so really, he’s doing this person a service by offering them the illusion of receipt.

But that’s just an excuse concocted by prying eyes and a curious mind – and it does not deal with the itch to reply.

There’s just something about the ache welling off the page that resonates with him. Coming off a break-up himself, Andrew understands the sense of hopelessness that gets tangled up in an end. The ‘what if’s and ‘what could I have done?’s. Far too often, he thinks about the things he did that caused the demise of his own relationship;

It had started off as blaming her for not trying hard enough to understand him, but eventually, he’d come to terms with his own, albeit larger, role in the matter. Perhaps he should have tried harder to be someone she could understand.

Most days, Andrew tells himself that he’d do everything in his power to be different if she ever gives him a second – or rather third – chance. Though, he has very little faith in his ability to change. But he does know he’ll do anything to have things go back to the way they were before.

Rereading the bit about Y/n’s store bought tree, Andrew contemplates the amount of time he expends lately, watching his own, undecorated tree and thinking about the woman that used to carefully hang tinsel off the branches and hopes that she’s missing him the way he misses her, if only it would mean that she would allow him some undeserved opportunity for redemption.

Sloane. He was so sure it was going to be her for the rest of his life. They'd been together for so long that he isn't really sure that he quite knows how to do life without her.

The way things were, clearly they weren’t very good so why is he so eager to relive them?

He wonders if the writer of the letter in his hand – Y/n – feels the same way about her nameless person. Does she think about all the things she’d change if she had a second chance? She seems as lonely as he does right now, so perhaps she would.

Andrew wonders what she did to warrant the idea that her letter wouldn’t be welcome. As he does, he runs his thumb over her name at the bottom of the page, and suddenly his imagination is running wild with all sorts of thoughts. He wonders what she’s like, how she sounds and if she’s the sort of person that writes letters often. Maybe it was something special between her and the person she’d been hoping to reach, or maybe its something she just does. Anyhow, he likes it. he’s always wanted someone to write to when he’s away. Most of the people in his life prefer texting, because its faster, and its no easy task to converse via pen and paper when you’re on the road, covering three states in a week.

The rest of the day goes by so listlessly that he can’t help but let his mind stray to the letter over and over. It feels almost comical that he's sparing all this time thinking about words on a page, written by someone he’s never met.

By the time he gets to bed at around one am that night, a good fifteen hours since he first read Y/n’s letter, Andrew is staring at it again. The edges have now been softened by the number of times he'd picked it up and the words "Love always, Y/n" are underlined in his mind like a quiet echo, lingering longer than he liked to admit. He keeps wondering what she’d sound like if he could hear her say it which only serves to make him feel even more like an intruder, a stranger peering into someone else’s heartbreak.

Yet, he can’t shake the pull. It isn’t just her words; its the way they mirror his own thoughts. The hollow ache of losing something—someone—without ever knowing if you could have done better. Her loneliness is so painfully familiar, matching his own.

"She deserves her privacy," he mutters to himself, running his fingers over the previously untouched notebook that he’d brought along to bed. He keeps telling himself he’d only picked up because he’s been meaning to flesh out a couple ideas that have been swirling around over the past week. But the only person he’s lying to is himself, and he’s not doing a very good job of it.

Leaning back against the headboard, he exhaled sharply. "But what if..."

The thought was absurd, but it stuck. What if replying made things better, even if just for her? What if this small act of acknowledgment meant she didn’t have to feel like her words had been sent into the void?

Wouldn’t he like it if someone did it for him? He isn’t quite sure.

Nonetheless, Andrew reaches forward, pulls the notebook onto his lap, and uncaps his pen. The words started slowly, stilted, but they came:

Dear Y/n,

We don’t know each other, and I know I shouldn’t have opened your letter……..

Y/n feels awfully stupid about sending that letter, but what makes her feel even worse is checking her mailbox in the lobby everyday only to find it empty. Its been a week since she sent it off, and she’s almost certain that its reached its destination by now.

Maybe he just doesn’t want to talk to you, a small voice insists. Y/n doesn’t think she has any right to grieve over it, she’s the whole reason their relationship met its ugly demise. It was her selfishness, her stubbornness, her putting her own needs over his. So really, she had absolutely no right to the privilege of his time or attention, but that doesn’t mean she can’t miss him.

Shaking off the memory, she slaps the little, brass door closed, locks it and trudges towards the elevator, defeated. Maybe its time to accept that he is not going to write back – maybe its about time she starts accepting that its over between them. For good, its done; she ruined it. She stomped all over the best thing she’s ever had and there’s no use crying about it now – though, after a couple glasses of wine, she probably will.

For almost ten years, they used to be each other’s everything, doesn’t that mean anything to him anymore?

"Ten years, Y/n. Ten fucking years," he stresses, running worn fingers through his wind touseled hair, "you can write from anywhere in the world. Seattle.....Ireland. Doesn't this - us - mean enough to you for you to give it a try?"

As the dull, metallic doors slide closed, effectively shutting out all the activity in the lobby, Y/n presses the worn button that’ll take her to the seventh floor and just when the elevator starts going up, a familiar Christmas tune comes over the speakers. Pressing her back to the cool reflective wall, she finds herself humming along to it. Even if she isn't in the grandest mood, Ella Fitzgerald’s voice never fails to lighten the weight on her shoulders. For a minute, Y/n shuts her eyes and lets a little fantasy take her;

He’ll write back, say he misses her. In another follow-up letter, she will apologize and ask if there’s still any chance for them. He’ll say yes – in her mind, he always says yes because, sometimes, you can love someone enough to give them a second chance.

In her silly little unmade memory, it all works out somehow. They do the long distance thing for a while, until he’s ready to come home to her.

The ding of the elevator startles Y/n out of thought, and with a jump, she pushes off the wall and awkwardly tugs at her cashmere scarf. “So stupid,” she mutters, shoving the strap of her bag higher up on her shoulder, clad in a heavy, gray long coat. Stepping out into the long hallway, she twists her frame awkwardly to reach into her handbag, rummaging around for her keys.

Y/n is within a few feet of her door, the last one down a hall that houses four other apartments, heeled boots wet with melting snow thumping softly on the long strip of burgundy and gold carpet. “Y/n!” The door right before hers swings open with the sort of enthusiasm that can only be mustered up by her eccentric, and frustratingly nosey, neighbor. “I’ve been waiting for you!”

“Gladis,” Y/n tries to hide her groan under a bubbly smile, “me? Why?” God, please let this be a quick conversation.

“Gosh, I swear, its like I never see you,” the older woman bulldozes right over her earlier question, “I'd never think you lived next door if it wasn’t for all those packages that get dropped off – a little shopping addiction, have we?”

Y/n chuckles wearily, quickly thinking up excuses that would validate an escape from the clutches of small talk with Gladis. “Ha, maybe,” she licks her lips and rubs her thumb along the side of her house key, “you know, i’d love to chat but I have a meeting in…..” pretending to check her watch, she summons a gasp that would make her highschool drama teacher proud, “thirty minutes, so I really should get going.”

“Oh, well, then,” Gladis frowns, “let me just give you this, I think your mail got mixed up in mine,” she explains, handing over a brown envelope littered with stamps on the front. “Coming all the way from Ireland, Peter’s out there, isn’t he?”

The envelope feels heavier than she’d expected. It wasn’t just the weight of the paper; it was the promise of something inside. A response. From Peter? Her heart twisted at the thought, but the handwriting on the front didn’t match his neat, precise script. This was different—messier, almost rushed.

Furrowing her brows, Y/n stares at the address that she’s certain isn’t Peter's. “Huh,” briefly, she glances back up at Gladis, “What? Oh, yeah, he is,” she rattles off, now even more eager to muster up a quick good-bye and be on her way. “Look um, I should go.”

“Oh, of course. Busy busy,” Gladis chuckles softly, then, as Y/n starts walking off, she adds in a tone of pesky judgment, “too busy to even decorate, I see.”

Suppressing the urge to roll her eyes, Y/n slips her key into the lock. Of course, even she can admit how sad and plain her door, lacking a wreath like Gladis’ and her other neighbors, but Y/n just can’t seem to bring herself to decorate. Every time she looks at the boxes she’s pulled out of storage, it makes her a little sad – no Peter to insist on mistletoe in every doorway, or Milo to swat at twinkling lights with his tiny paw. “Yeah,” Y/n licks her lips, “something like that. Take care Gladis,” she manages soberly before slipping inside.

Upon shutting the door, Y/n presses her back to the cool, white-painted oak she gives the brown envelope another long look. She hesitates, her fingers trembling as they finally slide under the flap to tear it open. The crinkle of the paper fills the silence of her apartment as she unfolded the letter, joining the slight shake of her breathing.

Getting it out, the name at the bottom catches her eye first: Andy. Not Peter.

Y/n blinked. Confusion giving way to curiosity as she reads the opening lines.

“We don’t know each other, and I know I shouldn’t have opened your letter...”

A stranger. A stranger had read her words. Her cheeks flushed hot, and she almost crumpled the paper on instinct, shame pooling in her chest. But something stops her. She can’t just do that, not when this stranger has given her time out of his day to offer whatever comfort he can muster up for someone oceans away.

So stumbles out of the foyer and into the living room, dropping herself unceremoniously onto the long sofa as she keeps reading.

Dear Y/n,

We don’t know each other, and I know I shouldn’t have opened your letter but I hope you don’t mind me writing this. I know this is wrong—it wasn’t meant for me, and for that, I’m truly sorry. But I promise you, I tried to do the right thing and take it to its intended address, but the house is empty and up for sale, and the snow has all but ruined the envelope. So here I am, writing to a stranger, hoping I’m not overstepping by responding.

I’m Andy. Well, Andrew. You know, I’m not really sure how to do this.

But your words stayed with me. They remind me of something I’ve lost—or maybe, thrown away. I can’t explain it, but your letter didn’t feel like something I could just set aside. It was raw, honest and that kind of loneliness…….I think understand it. I know what it's like to feel like you’ve screwed everything up. To become a stranger to someone you used to know better than the back of your own hand. Its funny how that happens, how someone can become such a huge part of your life and know everything about you, and you think you know everything about them. And then one day they just…..leave, but you can’t really blame them because its all your fault.

I’m also sorry about your Milo, losing a pet is like losing a piece of your home. But for what its worth, I’m sure he appreciated you being there with him until the end. It's such a simple joy, having someone that stays until the end, not that I would know anything about it. I seem to have a knack for driving people away.

As for your tree, I have to admit that mine’s just as sad. It’s just sitting undecorated in the corner of my living room, looking a bit sorry for itself. I keep telling myself I’ll get around to putting up the lights and ornaments, but it feels strange doing it alone, I used to have someone to help me decorate too. But she’s gone now, and maybe this is my way of avoiding the reminder of what’s missing.

You asked about Irish winters. If I’m being honest, they’re usually pretty gray and the cold kind of seeps into your bones. Wicklow is never short on snow, or rain, so we’re no stranger to slush. And iced-over driveways. But so far, we’ve had a good one this year, no too much rain so the snow stays put – my driveways still frozen, though. Sometimes, at least where I’m from, it gets so quiet, almost like the world’s holding its breath. Its beautiful, its lonely.

I’m not sure why I’m writing this, except that it feels like the right thing to do. I don’t know what you were hoping to find when you sent your letter, but maybe this reply means that neither of us has wasted the effort. If you do write back, I’d like to hear more about your plastic tree—and maybe even see a picture. I’ll send one of mine in return. Let’s make it a contest. May the best tree win.

Take care, Y/n. And thank you for making me feel a little less lonely.

– Andy.

By the time she reaches the end, Y/n’s chest aches in a way that isn’t unpleasant. The tone isn’t mocking or dismissive. Its... kind. Empathetic. This Andy doesn’t know her, but somehow, he understands.

It takes her a handful of minutes to process everything that’s happened; her hope of reconnecting with Peter, this newfound affinity with a man she’s never met. Suddenly, and quite surprisingly, Y/n doesn’t feel the loss so greatly anymore.

Though, the longer Y/n stares at the letter, its neatly folded edges sharp when she drags her fingers along them, the more she starts feeling a tightness in her stomach. The kindness in his tone, the shared loneliness in his admissions, the unexpected warmth that radiated from every line—all of it made her chest ache in ways she couldn’t untangle.

But she can't shake the shame curling in her stomach.

Letting it go, she presses her fingertips to her temples, squeezing her eyes shut. What was I thinking? She hadn’t been thinking, that's the truth. Sending that letter to Peter—an impulse born from desperation and the relentless tug of the holiday season—was foolish enough. But now, knowing a stranger has read her most private thoughts, her rawest emotions? Its borders unbearable.

Her cheeks burn at the memory of her own words, the confessions she’d stupidly spilled without thinking. “Maybe I’m looking for something that I only ever had with you.” How could she have written that? Would she even say that to Peter had they been on the phone, or in the same room? Probably not. And now, Andrew—a stranger—had seen it, read it, felt sorry for her.

She swallows hard, a lump forming in her throat and embarrassment suddenly gives way to anger that boils up and makes her skin hot. “He shouldn’t have opened it,” she mutters to the. “He had no right.” But the protest sounds hollow, even to her own ears. The house was vacant, and the envelope had been damaged by the snow. Andrew’s apology seemed sincere, and his intentions genuine.

But writing back to him feels... wrong. Like a betrayal of something she isn’t ready to let go of. She still loves Peter, these are thoughts meant for him, these feelings belong to him – she can’t just give her innermost thoughts to someone else like that.

Y/n spends so long wrapped up in turmoil that she almost forgets that there were other things besides Andrew’s letter in the envelope, until she goes to move it off her jean-cald lap and two photographs slip out. Drawing in a sharp breath, she collects them off the tweed cushion. The first one is of a backyard she’s never seen before, the pool is covered and there are patches of snow gathered near tall trees with white flecks peppered on the bare bones of ornamental bushes. The yard retreats into what she guesses is the forest, and she wonders what it must be like living so close to wildlife; she’s lived in the city all her life with only a couple vacations to the likes of Aspen and Maine – both with Peter – but seeing that much foliage in person is still foreign to her.

The second picture is of a sparse Christmas tree standing in front of a wide, floor to ceiling window. Its so tall, it almost reaches the high ceilings of what seems like a spacious living room. Her finger traces the outline of the tree, and she thinks back on what he said about not having someone to help him decorate. When Y/n turns it over, there note scrawled on the back and it reads: "Mine’s a little sad too."

Then, for the first time in days, Y/n smiles……and the anger wans.

#hozier #andrew hozier byrne #hozier x reader #hozier x you #hozier x y/n #hozier fanfiction #fanficton #holiday fic #letters to Christmas

61 notes · View notes

maxwell-mtv · 5 months ago

Text

Maxwell_MTV's Store Swap AU for SDV!

[I've been working a lot as always, so it's been hard to write. But... I guess the stars are aligning because one of my fave artists and mutuals ( @vilochkaaa ) posted their own Store Swap AU art today (WHICH IS SUPER COOL YOU SHOULD CHECK IT IF YOU HAVEN'T SEEN IT ALREADY!!!) and I was also planning on posting my own Store Swap AU stuff today that I've been working on...

I hope everyone enjoys! I've put my extra braincells into spicing this up. Written stuff is below the cut... I was allowed to cook and I made the best meal I could for all you wonderful folks out there lol]

Morris: You ever feel like you're doing better in another life?

The general idea:

In this universe, Pierre finds success after a long career as a professional boxer and manages to somehow use his fame to open a chain of convenience stores after he retires. This, of course, competes directly with Joja and while it’s not enough to drive them completely out of business, it manages to split business fairly evenly between the two.

While Pierre reaps the daily grind of those beneath him as the CEO of what is simplified to being called “Pierre’s”, someone else finds himself settling into a small town to try and live out his own dreams of running a store.

Morris:

While Pierre is living the dream, Morris has been put through the wringer.

With the success of “Pierre’s”, many JojaMarts were forced to shut down as a result.

Morris was on a fast track to his first promotion to be a manager when his store had to shut down no thanks to “Pierre’s” success in that part of the city.

With the store shutting down, many were laid off (only current management got to relocate to other stores) so Morris became ✨unemployed✨.

While Morris began with quite the rising confidence as he gained notoriety in his store, him being laid off brought all that to a crashing halt.

So, with a new sense of humility given his circumstances, he gathers what he can and searches for a new path in life.

He finds himself in a small town by the seaside, a village, really, with how small the populace was.

But during his time soaking in the calming charm of Pelican Town, he notices an issue with the locals.

All of them needed to take a day’s trip to the city to purchase their groceries for the week. A huge inconvenience for those who needed small, simple necessities like bread or toilet paper. And when it came to purchasing from the locals, many farmers were out of seasonal stock by the time the locals needed them.

So Morris takes the initiative and opens up what he calls “Morris’s Market” in the semi-vacant building next to the clinic.

Semi-vacant, only because of the public access to Yoba’s altar.

Morris runs a successful business, feeling himself renewed as he gains a positive reputation amongst the locals.

But still there’s this feeling deep inside of him as though something had gone astray in his story. Like something in his fate had been tampered with to have stolen his dreams from him.

But thanks to time, he finds himself proud and content with his small success as a small businessman.

That is, until someone decides to break ground in his small town, which leads him to a dizzying disparaging of his confidence once again.

Morris, in a desperate plea to keep what he has, often finds himself praying in front of the altar beneath his home. Although he’s never been religious, he doesn’t think he can take another blow to his ego. At the end of the day, when numbers are crunched and sales are charted, he doesn’t see himself doing anything but this.

It is evident that in this universe, unlike canon, Morris is more humble and anxious. Where his insecurities were buried deep beneath the corporate mask JojaMart had given him in canon, he has nothing but his more organic self to offer to a fairly organic town. Polite, tired all the time, and just doing his best…

Pierre:

After his famous career as a boxer comes to an honorable end, he retires and uses his fortune to start a business. With the charms of what is reminiscent of a small business, Pierre’s General Store (later simplified to “Pierre’s” for better mass marketing) goes toe-to-toe with Joja’s long time success as the better box store.

Competing with a conglomerate like Joja isn’t easy, but “Pierre’s” values that are taken straight from the founder himself aid in toppling them to a mere equal competitor.

"A family business from humble beginnings with the drive to give back to the farmers who give them their produce to sell."

It feels like a more country version of a Trader Joe’s. And (not to intentionally out my current geography) competes against Joja like Meijers does with a Kroger.

On vaster scale, it’s like Walmart/Sam's Club against Costco…

Hard to explain but that’s the general vibes of “Pierre’s.”

After a little vacation to Pelican Town with his wife and daughter, he decides to take on a capital expenditure which challenges the very competence of his title as a CEO.

Seeing that the only store these people in the middle of the Valley were confined to were either his stores in the city or a “pathetic excuse of a general store” (his words, not mine), he has a little talk with the Mayor.

Breaking ground in Pelican Town was easy, a convenient plot of land was just over the bridge from where "Morris’s Market" was and so customers would be a breeze to snatch up.

Despite what his advisors warned him against, Pierre ignores all odds and sets his eyes on the prize. Not even JojaMart could do what he was about to do, and that would catapult him from just an equal competitor to the top dog.

It was easy enough to draw a crowd, but there was a growing issue with his store just barely breaking even each week. It seemed that though the town flocked to him for most things, the majority tended to stick with “Morris’s Market” in the name of loyalty. I mean, it wasn’t like his prices were much better than Morris’s store anyways since he aimed for both profit and quality.

As he contemplated it each morning as he hit the gym, the problem became all too clear to him. It wasn’t his prices or the quality of products, rather it was the sense of community amongst the town.

I mean, just look how they all gathered every month (sometimes more!) in that old, barely functional Community Center to hold meetings, plan festivities, hold celebrations, and just socialize and bond!

If only there was someway he could break that and shatter that sense of loyalty they had in the name of supporting their fellow townie.

It would be a shame, really… if someone were to report that sad, beaten building to the proper authorities for an inspection. Without the Mayor knowing of it, he might be able to convince them that the building wasn't just “well loved” as the Mayor put it and was hardly still up to code, if at all.

If only he could prove it wasn’t up to code…

Damn his advisors, damn his wife, and damn everyone in this "hick town". He will succeed at all costs… even if he loses his charms along the way.

Pierre uses his charms as an admittedly still good looking man. If you ignore the small crook in his nose from it being broken too many times before, you’d see why his wife still stayed with him despite her seeming too sweet and meek for his own good.

It would be easy, if he laid it on thick, to sway the town amongst a tragedy to lean on him in some regard. Just a little wink, an offer of setting up events every month outside his store. Hey, maybe if he could drive Morris’s store out of business he could buy that storefront from him and use it as the new gathering place. It seemed fitting seeing as half the town gathered there every Sunday for Yoba’s altar anyways.

It’s too bad his daughter puts a dent in his plans though… She never did outgrow that rebellious phase…

Pierre works out often in this universe, having the time and freedom to make his own schedule as CEO. He treats his family well enough, although he’s never home long enough to let them see the monster he’s let himself become. But his daughter can see glimpses in the way he talks to her and her mother that he’s not the same father he had once been. It’s like something changed in him along the way to make him worse than he’d been before…

Having never lost a match in his career, only when it was planned for ticket sales, Pierre has an inflated ego which blinds him to his own faults. In his eyes, this is the life he’s always been destined for. To be on the top of the world and determined to never fall from grace.

His daughter, on the other hand, would say otherwise. She often has a similar epiphany as Morris. Where an existential feeling of dread consumes her and deep down, despite her fairly privileged life, she knows this was not what she was destined for.

(I'd like to think Pierre just doesn't bother with the "no-homo" stuff and constantly flirts with Morris in this AU just to rile him up and throw him off his game. Especially when they get into fights about ethics and business and blah blah typical enemies to still enemies but also lovers stuff.)

59 notes · View notes

hometoursandotherstuff · 11 months ago

Text

Here's an unusual/unique custom built 1926 home in Deland, Florida. 3bds, 3ba, $398,900. From what I understand, Deland is an artsy town, so maybe that would explain the design of this home.

This is such an interesting living room. Look at the ceiling and archway.

There's a lot going on in the kitchen. Brick, wood, Victorian tin, stained glass, and I've never seen plaid cabinets. The kitchen is huge, though. Note that on the far end of the kitchen, there are iron gates.

The brick looks like fake Home Depot brick. My parents had a brick wall that looked so real, even contractors would touch it to make sure, so some brands are better than others.

The kitchen is open to a family room. I like the flooring in here.

One of the empty bedrooms.

I really don't know what this room is. I guess it could be a bedroom.

I'm so confused by this house.

Definitely a bath. Looks like there was a leak in the wall.

This has to be the primary bedroom.

It has an en-suite.

Not sure, but maybe this is a walk-in closet?

Here's a shower room.

The yard is interesting. There's a hot tub and a covered patio, at least I think that's what it is.

The lot is .49 acre but there's a vacant lot behind it that's also available for sale.

#custom built homes #unusual homes #unique homes #homes under $400K #houses #house tours #home tour

144 notes · View notes

slitherpunk · 1 year ago

Text

Hey! Have you heard! It's itch.io Creator Day! The merchant from our Cartomancy Anthology game has a little message for you... 🐈

If you've wanted to pick up some games on itch and support developers, it's the best day to do so! 🎮💜

Check out Cartomancy Anthology on itch!

Video transcript:

[The viewer stands in a market space surrounded by vacant stalls. The camera approaches Merchant, an orange cat-person in a black overcoat. Merchant speaks via dialogue box.]

Merchant: Oh, hey there Seer. What's that? You haven't seen me actually sell anything? Hmm that's true... Well! Wouldn't you happen to know... It's Itch.io Creator Day! That means itch forgoes its usual sales cut! And more money goes to the creators! (Payment processing aside...) It's the perfect day to support your favorite developers on Itch.io! Hm, what do I recommend? Well, the Cartomancy Anthology, of course! 22 games, made by dozens of people all over the globe? Lots of unique experiences in there to be sure. [Merchant bounces happily until the video ends.] End transcript

#itchio #itch.io #cartomancy anthology #itch creator day #felt like the other post i made was too low effort ha ha

285 notes · View notes

ahye1427 · 6 months ago

Text

4560 Kate Circle Cookeville, TN 38506

Location, Location, Location! Imagine crafting your dream home in the enchanting Willow Estates of Cookeville! This prime lot is a true gem, offering all the essentials you need: utilities are conveniently available at the road, and the lot has been perked for a 4 bedroom septic tank, making it ready for immediate construction. This lot is 0.87 acres! Whether you have your own builder or choose to collaborate with the seller's recommended expert, this is an unparalleled opportunity you simply cannot overlook. Nestled in a scenic community, you're just moments away from the serene Southern Hills Golf Course, perfect for both leisure and recreation. Burgess Falls State Park, Cookeville Boatdock & Center Hill Lake are just mins away! Enjoy the convenience of being just 15 minutes from Downtown Cookeville, 25 minutes from Sparta, and a little over an hour from BNA. Don't miss the chance to secure your piece of paradise in Willow Estates. Start planning your dream home today! Call Elijah Castelli 931-283-6644 for more details.

#4560 Kate Circle Cookeville #TN 38506 #bill mcdonald #elijah castelli #vacant lot #vacant land #lot for sale

0 notes

iigrowrich · 1 year ago

Text

Land for sale / Low prices and easy payments / From $199 per month

Land for sale / Making Land Ownership Easy & Affordable . Low prices and easy payments. From $199/month +

See todays discount lots special offers on this link..

https://shareasale.com/r.cfm?b=2262171&u=2343799&m=136987&urllink=&afftrack=

Become a landowner for as little as $500 down, in less than 5 minutes. Buy Land & Vacant Lots on Easy Monthly Payment Plans , innovative rent-to-own program.

We've made the land buying process simple and hassle-free for 2000+ happy clients. No Agent Fees or Commissions..No Credit Checks..Exclusive, Off-Market Listings..Potential for Profitable Re-sale..

Buying land for investment and land investing for beginners..Land for sale on a low budget..

#Undeveloped land for sale #Land Ownership #Buy Land & Vacant Lots #rent-to-own program #land buying #No Agent Fees or Commissions #No Credit Checks #Off-Market Listings #Potential for Profitable Re-sale #land for sale low prices #buying land for investment #land investing online #land investing for beginners #real estate investing #land for sale low budget #buying vacant land

0 notes

2cutie · 1 year ago

Note

PLEASEEEEE SHANG TSUNG WITH HOPE IS SO CUTEE I CANNOT 😭💖

i will do anything to hear more about em,,,,

eee yes i force more people into my ideas *ugly evil laugh* Continuing the Shang + cat!reader (named Hope after this prompt)

Before Shang is a sorcerer:

-You are mostly an outdoor cat. Mainly because Shang is out as well, trying to sell potions. You can tagalong with him, sometimes Shang even uses you to boost sales; saying you're sick, need medical attention, or that you're a magical cat because of his potions.

Don't worry, he's trained you in gimmicks. You're quite the actor.

Sometimes Shang also has you go back into towns where he can't show his face and you would steal food or something for the night.

-Because you're an outdoor cat and low to the ground, you got dirty pretty quick.

You loathed baths, but Shang hated them so much more than you. Because you *did not* corporate. He brandished cat scratches every single time, and you would still cuddle up next to him after it all like you didn't just try to scratch him to the bone.

-You annoyed Shang in the mornings. On purpose, of course. You liked when his hair was down since he barely ever had it down. So everytime he was sitting and putting his hair up in a bun, you walked through his arms. You were on his shoulders. You would paw his bun out.

You lived to see the annoyance on his face. And loved to see how you only needed to do something cute to make the annoyance disappear and he would go back to petting you.

-Shang would talk to you. Quite a lot. You were his only friend, after all. He would tell you what he would put in his elixirs, show you what they looked like after, even if it was just tea.

He would rant to you as he combed through your fur, gossip about annoying townsfolk. Tell you how you both deserved much better than the slums.

-You watched him while he slept. Just because when he woke up and saw you staring into his soul, his expression was priceless. But you also made sure he was alright. He had night terrors often.

He would hold you close on nights he was in pain with how bad he was beaten. Sometimes his eyes were vacant, but you were a constant. A comfort. You were the only thing that could never hate him.

-Despite him not having much, Shang would eventually get you something that displayed you were a pet. A collar with a charm; a very nice charm at that.

After Shang is a sorcerer:

-He will show you around his *entire* palace. He is proud of his accomplishments and delighted to show you. He shows you all, Except for the dungeon.

-You are mostly kept secret, but Syzoth does know of you because of his close working with Shang. You are friendly to the reptilian, and you very much enjoy him actually. Sometimes he takes care of you when Shang is too busy. He likes you better than he likes the sorcerer.

-You have the most beautiful fur coat a cat has ever had. Shang takes the upmost pride and care for you. You have decorative collars, charms and jewels that you're constantly bedazzled with. All your collars are embroidered with a snake in some way.

-You have many, many catbeds around the palace. All so plush and comfy. But your favourite place is still Shang's lap and shoulders. But all is well, as you're his favoured accessory.

You sleep on his bed as well. Shang is much more of a cuddler than he's willing to admit. You like to see him when he just wakes up. His tired expression and bedhead is lost to the rest of the world. You get to see his 'ugly' and low moments.

-You like to paw at his freckles. He finds it endearing until you do it when he's trying to focus then he gives you a groundbreaking glare. He could be terrifying!

-He would read spells and spellbooks to you. It helped him memorize more quickly as well. When he wrote notes in ink, he would add your pawprint in ink to the end of the page.

#mk1 #mortal kombat 1 #shang tsung x reader #shang tsung #my writing

92 notes · View notes

guppygiggles · 10 months ago

Text

Like Real People Do, Part 8! ♡ (Casper x Avery)

☁️ Summary: Avery's cloud form starts to emerge in public. Casper takes quick action to try and save him. Big crying scene -- BIGGER tickle scene. This fic is outrageously self-indulgent, even for me.

☁️ Warnings: Ler!Avery fans... this one is for you. Unspeakably, desperately vulnerable. Lots of crying. Discussion of trans (ftm particularly) topics. Men in their underwear (no genital nudity). If you can get through the emotions, I reward you with the biggest, teasiest Ler!Avery scene you can imagine. This is not NSFW, however… it is very suggestive. If you skip to the end... well, I just can't believe you! (Just kidding, read this however you want.💙)

☁️ Author's Note: I discuss being a demiboy/FTM pretty intimately here. Importantly, I do not claim to speak for every demiboy/gay/FTM/trans person. I am not a gender studies major, this is just my experience, and I do not have to justify it to anyone. Do not come in my messages/ask box with critical language about how I describe my experience. If you do, I will immediately block you.

This is a series now!

Part 1

Part 2

Part 3

Part 4

Part 5

Part 6

Part 7

Part 8 *you are here

If you just got here and want to know more about my characters, you can read my comic starting right here!

My eyes frantically scanned the storage area. Luckily, it was vacant, at least for now.

Gary's Market was a relatively small grocery chain, and the stockroom was clean and well-organized. Large shelving racks stood in rows that reached the ceiling, and a small handful of pallets waited to be unloaded. Above us, rows of fluorescent lights hummed softly.

“Look for an exit,” I whispered, still grasping Avery's wrist.

“Casper, I'm so sorry-”

“Shh, no time for that now, let’s just get out of here.” I let go of him, walking to the end of the entryway and peeking around the nearest shelving unit. At the end of the hallway, past several rows of goods, was a glowing red exit sign.

“Oh, thank god. Let's go,” I turned back to Avery.

My blood ran cold.

I had not seen the employee who was approaching us; perhaps he had been in an adjacent aisle when we entered, had found what he needed, and was returning to the sales floor. Avery was still standing in the doorway, and as soon as the man rounded the corner, they would be face-to-face. The brunette twenty-something held a jar of peanut butter in one hand, and the only reason he hadn't seen me yet was because he was holding his phone in the other, texting with his thumb.

There was still space between us, but not so much that I couldn't read his nametag: David. “Hi, my name is David!” I imagined the smaller print said. It was difficult to believe the bored-looking youth, with his wrinkled uniform and beat-up Vans, would ever introduce himself that way.

Avery wasn't looking at me. If I called to him, the clerk would certainly hear. If I moved, I was sure to catch David's peripheral; he would see me, and then he would see Avery. There was nothing I could do; David was about to ruin my life.

What would happen, then? Would he scream? Would he pass out, as I almost had the first time I saw Avery? Would he tell his boss, then his family, then the news? His phone was already out – what if he took pictures? I imagined Avery's terrified face on CNN, Twitter, Tiktok. A cold sweat broke out all over my body as my insides twisted, a metallic taste filling my mouth. Was I really going to lose him – and like this?

Suddenly, Avery moved, his feet shuffling on the concrete floor as he widened his stance. His hands extended outward, fingers spread and clawed, as if he were preparing to grapple someone. His fingertips began to glow.

Was he going to attack this man?! My heart raced.

“Oh god, Avery, no!” I screamed internally. Whatever I imagined might happen to Avery would be infinitely worse if he harmed someone. He wouldn't just be captured and studied, he'd be killed. My blood pressure plummeted. I tightened my grip on the storage rack; I was about to collapse.

Then, the sound of crackling electricity filled the air. Until that moment, I hadn’t known electricity could sound like fire. A series of deafening pops rang out, followed by a blinding flash – then glass rained down on us as every lightbulb in the room exploded.

“What the fuck!” David cried as he dropped his phone.

Before I could react, I felt a cold hand on my arm, guiding me down the hallway toward the exit. The sign itself had gone out, too, but I could barely make out where sunlight seeped through the cracks. My knees were weak as Avery pulled me through the door and into the bright daylight, practically tripping over my own feet as I tried to regain my bearings.

The alley behind Gary's was empty, except for a pair of dumpsters and a few broken wood pallets. It was a clear day, and on the other side of the building, my car was right in the middle of the parking lot. We weren't out of the woods, yet.

I pulled Avery behind the dumpsters. His face was a mask of emotions I had never seen on him: guilt, shock, desperation. Fingers trembling, he carefully picked a piece of glass out of my hair. I could tell he was about to say something; I cut him off, cupping his cheek with my hand.

“Avery, stay right here. I'm going to bring the car around, okay? Stay right here behind this dumpster. I'll be right back.” I turned away before he could respond, jogging to my car as my heart shattered to leave him in such a state.

As I got in my car, I glanced at the store's entrance. The lights were on; I guessed the sales floor was on a different breaker than the warehouse. That was good – the less people who saw the lights go out, the better. I sped around back and parked next to the dumpster. Avery was right where I left him, huddled in a ball, face hidden in his hands.

“Hey, hey, it's okay… you're okay, you're safe now,” I comforted as I helped him into the back seat. Luckily, my car windows were tinted – practically a necessity in the desert where I was from. Afraid that David (or really, anyone) might come out the exit, I got in the driver's seat and pulled around to a secluded parking area. I climbed into the back, kneeling on the seat beside Avery as I put my hand on his shoulder. It was then that I realized just how small he was – I guessed he had shrunk to my height, maybe even shorter. He was still hiding his face in his hands.

“Avery… are you okay? I'm so sorry. I should have set an alarm… This is all my fault.”

“Casper, I'm- I'm- I'm so s-sorry!” He broke into a sob, his shoulders trembling as tears leaked out from under his hands. I saw, too, that the flat bottom of his head was dark and puffy. Water gushed from him, soaking his clothes. He wasn't just crying, he was raining.

“Oh my god, Avery, it isn't your fault! None of this is your fault!” I put my arms around him, hugging him into my chest. I hated to cry, especially when I was trying to comfort someone else, but I couldn't help it; my eyes stung as tears streamed down my cheeks, too.

“I- I should have known. I- I put you in danger,” he choked, his square glasses falling into his lap as he rubbed his pale eyes. He was completely soaked – so was my car seat – and as he cried, he was shrinking quickly. I panicked.

“You're shrinking! Avery, please stop crying! We're safe now, okay? I'll get you something to drink, alright? I'm not mad – at all – and I'm SO sorry. God, this is all my fault…” My stomach churned with regret. How could I have been so thoughtless? When we first met, I always set a timer on my phone, just to make sure we never ran out of time. As we’d grown closer, I'd become more and more lax. It had never been an issue before today, but now, my carelessness could have cost Avery his life. How could I live that down?

He looked up, then, to meet my eyes for the first time. Gently, he tucked a wisp of damp hair behind my ear. “Casper, i-it's not your fault, either. I know today was different from usual, there's no way you could have known. Please… don't cry,” he sniffled. “My heart breaks when you cry.”

“You don't cry! My heart breaks when you cry! So put that in your juice box and suck it!” Through my tears, I managed a small, but sincere laugh. Sniffling again, Avery giggled back. Regaining a bit of composure, he picked up his glasses, wiped the lenses and put them back on his face.

“How about we agree that, before we leave, we always set a timer. No matter what. Deal?” I kissed Avery's forehead, gently wiping the last of his tears. It was a bit wavering, but he finally gave me a real smile.

“Deal.”

+++

Avery protested, but I had to go back into the store to get our groceries. By the time we had finished crying, both of us were soaked, which earned me plenty of uncomfortable stares as I checked out. I had never been so thankful to be home.

He started to assist me with putting away the groceries, but I pointed sternly to the couch. “Dude, you’re shorter than me right now. You need to sit down and start hydrating, don’t worry about the groceries, I can handle it. Oh! I got you this.” I handed him a styrofoam cup with a dome lid. “It’s an ICEE. At first, I thought I should get you Gatorade… but your body isn’t like mine; you have ice crystals in there. I thought this might help you hydrate faster. It’s kinda like ice cream, but… different. It’s cherry flavored, think you’ll like it.”

Avery took the cup from me. His wet clothes hung on him like a tent in his diminished form – his glasses, too, were cartoonishly big for his shrunken face. I watched him sip slowly from the straw – then, his eyes lit up with an expression I recognized. He started to drink faster. I was delighted to have been correct in my selection; as he drank, he was rapidly growing in size.

“Heh, I’m glad you like it. Uhh… woah there, turbo, slow down. You’re gonna get-”

“Ow, ow, ow!” Avery winced, clutching his head. “Ahh… I’m not sure I like this, after all.”

I snorted. His mouth – normally a pale blue – had already turned purple from the red dye.

“Dude, you got a brain freeze. You can’t drink cold stuff that fast.”

“Ah, I see. It… tastes so good, though…” He started sipping again, his eyes forming half-moons of enjoyment.

I tittered. Relatable.

I worked on the groceries as Avery rested on the couch, sipping his drink and scrolling on his phone. By the time I was finished, he had returned to his smallest “normal” size – 6”3 (190.5cm ♡) and there was a big wet spot on my couch. I should have put a towel down, first.

“Alright, let’s get out of these wet clothes. I know you don’t have a spare set, here… but you can just wear your pajamas until your day clothes are dry, okay?”

It cost an extra thirty dollars per month, but it was worth it to have the tiny washer and dryer set in my unit. Standing over the washing machine, I peeled off my wet shirt and jeans, leaving me in my plaid boxers.

“What is this…?” Avery asked. I hadn’t noticed him leave the couch, and I jumped slightly. Though we had been together for several months, his quiet footsteps – and unexpected speed – still caught me off guard sometimes. He was pinching the hem of my binder. I realized that, even though my torso was mostly covered, I was still more exposed than he had ever seen me. Having fallen asleep unexpectedly the night before, I had never even taken my binder off.

“Oh… uh, it’s a binder,” I replied, embarrassed.

“What is it for?” Avery looked concerned.

My binder was wet, and at that point, I had been wearing it for well over twenty-four hours. I was uncomfortable, and I was sure I looked it, too. A sigh rolled from my chest. I knew I would have to explain this to him, eventually. I just didn’t expect it to be today, when I had already spent so much energy… well, fearing for our lives.

“Remember last month, when I explained queerness for humans? I know for clouds, you guys all get born the same, and you can kinda decide what your bodies look like. Well… for us, we get born how we get born, and sometimes we get born looking a different way than we feel inside. For humans, changing our bodies is actually really hard, and complicated… and sometimes, even if we feel a different way from how we’re born, we don't want to change our bodies. We just want to be seen for who we are inside, but in the bodies we're already in.”

I paused to look up at him – he was listening intently, his brow furrowed as he stared into my eyes. I shrunk under his intense gaze, blushing a bit.

“It’s rarely ever cut-and-dry, though, when we’re born a different way than we feel. Sometimes people get born in a ‘man's body,’ but they know they are female, and vice versa… but there are a lot of people who are in-between, too. Some people feel like ‘gender’ as a whole doesn't apply to them. Some feel a mix of things.

“I was born biologically female. Most of the time, I feel either male, or neither. It’s not that there's anything wrong with my body… it's just… when other people see me, I want them to see me how I feel inside. I wish I didn't have to wear a binder, but when I don't, people get ideas about me – and sometimes, I even get ideas about myself – that aren't who I really am,” I said, as if wearing a binder allowed me to pass consistently – it did not.

I was afraid to meet Avery's eyes, staring down at my wet clothes as they laid at the bottom of the washing machine. What would he think of me, now? Would he think I was just “confused,” as so many had said in the past? Even when they didn't say it out loud, I could tell. I could always tell.

A cool, soft finger crooked under my chin, gently tilting my head up.

“You will always be who you are inside when you're with me, no matter what your body looks like. Is that clear?”

My eyes welled with tears. I tried to look away, but Avery didn't let me.

“Don't let me find out that you've been wearing that thing longer than you should be – I know there must be safety precautions with something like that – and you never need to wear it when I'm around. In fact, I think you should take it off, right now. You don't have to do it in front of me, of course… but I can see that it's wet, and I can tell it's affecting your breathing. In fact, I've been able to tell many times in the past; I just presumed it to be a facet of your hypotension. Now that I know better, you can expect that I will be keeping you in check.” His intense gaze softened as a tear streaked down my flushed cheek. He encircled me in his huge embrace, a cool hand rubbing my back.

“Casper, I love you. I love you so much that it hurts, sometimes. Never feel like you have to perform for me, you are perfect just as you are.”

I trembled. I was frustrated to be sobbing for the second time in the same day, but Avery's chest was so soft, and his love was so big, I just couldn't help myself. Years of self-loathing and rejection poured out of me as he cradled my half-naked body against his chest.

“Shhh… it's okay, sweetheart. I know you must have been worried for months about what I'd think, but you don't have to worry any more.”

He pulled back from me, hands on my shoulders and a gentle, playful smile on his lips. He peered at me over the rim of his glasses.

“Now, go change, okay? I believe I made a promise to you earlier, and I intend to keep it.”

+++

Avery and I changed separately. I was soaked all the way through, so I donned new boxers and a fresh, loose t-shirt. It was a relief to be free of my binder. I inhaled deeply, feeling my ribs fully expand. Though I was still a bit nervous for Avery to see my chest, after so much crying, a flood of endorphins suppressed my fear.

As I entered the living room, Avery was already on the couch, hands folded neatly in his lap. He was dressed in his pajamas, and I could only assume he had been drinking more ICEE, because he was especially big and fluffy once again. Only the washing machine’s soft whirring broke the silence.

“Come here, dear.”

I took a few steps toward him, and then a sudden force – like a gust of wind – swept me from behind into his lap. I yelped in surprise.

“Hey, that scared me!”

“Hehe, sorry – guess I’m feeling a bit eager.” He smirked. My eyes widened. Until that moment, I had not realized exactly what he meant about his… promise.

It was the one he had made in the frozen section.

“W-wait,” I stuttered, my ears growing hot as I tried to scramble out of his lap. It was too late; with one large hand, he ensnared both of my wrists, lifting them over my head. I squealed. “WAHAHAIT!”

Avery laughed gleefully, showing his delicate round teeth.

“What, exactly, am I waiting for?” He teased. “Am I waiting for you to be ready for how much this is going to tickle? Because, I don’t think you could ever be ready for that. Hehe… you’re just buzzing with oxytocin right now, aren’t you? This is going to be so fun. Wonder where I should start?”

“Pff-hahahaha!” I laughed, trying to curl inward, which was impossible with Avery holding my arms up. As I pulled against his grasp, I fully internalized that my strength was no match for his. I also knew that as soon as he started tickling, I was likely to go limp as a ragdoll, too weak to fight. Despite the futility, it was all I could do to struggle while I still could.

“All this giggling when I haven’t even touched you, yet – I never tire of it. You’re so cute. Why don’t you save some laughs for when I start tickling, dear? You’re going to need them… trust me.” With his free hand, he wiggled his plush fingers threateningly in the air above my tummy.

“AHAhahahahavery PLEASE!” I could hardly contain myself; he hadn’t laid a finger on me, yet I could feel his damnably soft fingers already, dancing all over my body.

“Please what? Please don’t tickle your cute tummy? You know… I think it’s only fair that I should get to see it, this time. I did, after all, show you mine. As a matter of fact… I think I want to turn this snack into a full course.”

Avery stood, scooping me into his arms “bridal style” as I squirmed, howling in protest.

“Put me down! You can’t just manhandle me like th- ACK!” Chuckling, he deposited me unceremoniously on the bed.

“Can’t I?” He mused.

Then, he flourished his hand in a way I’d never seen before. Like magic, two ghostly hands – very similar in appearance to Avery’s – appeared out of thin air. Before I could react, each of my wrists were grappled and pinned to the top of the bed.

“What is this! This is cheating!” I objected, pulling at my arms. It was no use – apparently, any strength that Avery had, he was able to transfer to these apparitions, too.

“All’s fair in love and war, isn’t it, Casper?” Tittering, he straddled my waist, one knee on each side of my wriggling body. He pinned me so firmly that between his weight and his cursed “helping hands,” I could barely move. My blush spread like fire; especially with my binder off, I’d never felt more vulnerable.

“There we are… Now, let’s see what you’ve been hiding, hm?” Avery gently lifted the hem of my shirt to my lower ribs, exposing my tummy completely.

He paused, his eyebrows raising. As I watched, a pretty cerulean dusted his cheeks. His eyes practically sparkled as he looked down at me, making me flush even hotter.

“Oh… Casper. Just look at you. Goodness, I… I knew you would be lovely, but… oh, you are so cute. Just look at this little belly button…” With a silky fingertip, Avery drew a circle around the rim of my navel.

“PFFF HEHhahAHAHA!” I shouldn’t have been, but I was surprised by how much it tickled. My stomach muscles tensed beneath his delicate touch; it was completely undeniable, impossible to block out.

“Oh, wow... Your blush goes all the way down, doesn’t it~?”

I could hardly stand this any longer.

“Plehehehease…!” I begged, though not entirely sure what for.

“Ah, sorry. You’re right: It’s impolite to play with your food.”

With that, he lowered all ten of his fingertips to my tummy, wiggling them deftly into my taut skin.

“AAAAAHAHAHAHAHA!!!” I screamed with laughter, my hands balling into useless fists. My unrestrained feet kicked uncontrollably as my back, with the little space I was allowed, strained to arch off the bed.

“Oh no, does that tickle? Poor, sensitive Casper… have you forgotten what it’s like to be anxious, yet? No? I suppose I should keep going, then.” Avery giggled cheerfully, gently moving his fingers around my tummy, probing different spots randomly, just as I had done to him just a day prior. As always, his touch was so gentle; he always tickled with just enough force to excite the nerves beneath my delicate skin.

Fireworks exploded in my mind as the torture of sensation ran through my veins like electricity. I tried, but I was laughing too hard to even get a word out, like someone attempting – but unable – to tell the funniest joke they’d ever heard. Beads of moisture collected in the corners of my eyes as I shook my head, a halo of sweat forming on my pillow.

“What’s wrong, dear? Can’t stand the taste of your own medicine? I distinctly remember you tickling me, just like this. Could it be that you did so because you knew, if done on you, it would be simply unbearable? You’re already a mess, and we haven’t even gotten to your other spots, yet.”

Like a comedian pausing for effect, he stilled his fingers, grinning deviously.

“YOU’RE KIHIHIHLLLING MEHEHEHE!” I cried, finally able to somewhat form a sentence, though the tickle persisted long after he had stopped.

Avery laughed reactively – his big laugh, the one that I loved so much. My exposed, trembling tummy filled with butterflies.

“Would it be such a bad thing to die laughing?” He joked tenderly, leaning down to place a feather-light kiss on my tummy. Then he reached up, brushing the damp hair from my forehead. “Do you need a break?”

“...”

Avery lowered his tone, leering over his glasses again. “Before you answer, just so you know: I’m taking those armpits for a spin, next.”

The fluster I experienced was so powerful and so immediate, I saw stars.

“Y-Y-Yes, I need w-water,” I choked, imagining how crazed I must look to him. He chuckled, leaving the room for a moment, and then returning with a bottle of water. With a hand on my back, he helped me sit up. The hands holding my wrists relaxed, but not enough to give me free range of motion. I shot him a quizzical glance.

“Oh, dewdrop… You didn’t think I was going to let you go, did you?” He taunted, gently cupping my chin as he poured the water into my mouth.

I blushed furiously.

It was difficult to drink, as I was trembling from head to toe, but I managed… somehow. He set the bottle on the nightstand, and then I was trapped again, arms aloft as Avery sat on my waist.

He eyed me through his bifocals, a fingertip placed to his lips.

“Hmm… Under, or over your shirt?”

“What?!”

“Sorry, did I stutter? Under or over, Casper.”

“I-I-I…”

“What’s wrong, dear? Can’t you manage a simple, one-word answer~?”

My response was nothing but an incoherent whimper.

“Since it seems you’re feeling indecisive, I’ll choose for you. I choose under.”

“No! NO! AHAHAHahveery!”

He leaned forward, placing his fingertips on my bare lower ribs.

“Let’s just take a little trip, shall we? We’ll start right here.”

“NOHHOHOHO!”

“Then we’ll work our way upward, nice and slow…”

Avery walked his fingertips up my ribs, pausing now and then to wiggle into a soft spot.

“AAAAHAHA NOOO PLHEHEHEHEHASE!”

“You know, sometimes, it’s about the journey, not the destination… don’t you agree?”

His silky digits continued upward until they reached the top of my ribcage. I shook with laughter beneath him, my feet stomping the bed fruitlessly as my toes curled in desperation. I simultaneously dreaded and craved what was next.

“But, then again… it is nice to arrive, too~”

With that, he dipped his fingertips into each of my helpless armpits, scribbling gently into the bare hollows.

“Tickle tickle tickle,” he lilted, grinning.

My response was a delirious, unintelligible shriek. In my mind raged a five-alarm fire, searing any coherent thought to ash. With what little movement my restraints would allow, I thrashed beneath Avery, my heart palpitating so fiercely I was afraid it would escape my chest. Tears streamed down my burning cheeks, heralding my third cry of the day.

“Oh, my god… Your previous laughs were hardly a giggle compared to this. Have I finally found a favorite spot, sweetheart? Are you just too ticklish under these arms? Goodness… I could hardly tickle you any more gently, but even this is driving you nuts!”

I couldn’t respond – the tickle was so intense, so overwhelming that all I could do was laugh in futility. I had no strength left to struggle; my body lay limp beneath Avery as he killed me softly with those silky, gentle fingertips, stroking merrily away under my arms, destroying any hope I had of stringing two thoughts together.

After what seemed like an eternity – but in reality, must have been less than ten minutes – Avery stopped. The pair of hands that were holding my wrists released me, but I hadn’t even the strength to put my arms down. His cool hand stroked my cheek as he chuckled affectionately.

“Well, now… How do you feel? Have you forgotten what it’s like to be anxious?”

I sat up – tried to, anyway – and then collapsed back onto the pillow in a blissfully overstimulated huff. Avery started to giggle, which escalated to a delighted belly laugh.

“I’ll take that as a yes!”

“Avery…”

“Yes…?”

“If you don’t cuddle me – right now – I think I'm going to die.”

Still chuckling, he immediately enveloped me in his fluffy embrace, hugging me as if he were afraid someone would take me from him. I snuggled easily into his arms, cocooned in a heretofore unknown peace and safety. The last thing I heard was Avery’s characteristic lightning zap as the light flickered out; I was asleep before my head hit the pillow.

#tickle fic #tickle fluff #tickling community #casper and avery #like real people do #fluffylore #writing #my fic #romance #tickling #ocs #my ocs

40 notes · View notes