#wiping down every surface too to clear it of dust and such

[themslash]

:/ laid low by the common cold again, my friends

[lokiandbuckysdoll]

Early Christmas Gift

Paring: Stucky x Reader

Summary: Bucky and Steve surprise you for Christmas.

Word Count: 820

Warnings: None just some Christmas fluff.

A/N: Happy Holidays to all💗

It was a crisp December morning morenotably, it was Christmas Eve when Steve and Bucky decided to surprise you early for Christmas. The plan had been simple. They'd show up unannounced to your apartment, sneak in, and catch you off guard before you could finish whatever holiday preparations you had in store. They’d expected to see you wrapped up in holiday cheer, maybe a little frantic, but still festive.

But when they arrived at the door and slipped inside quietly, they found something entirely different.

The apartment was warm and smelled of cinnamon, gingerbread, and butter, the scent of holiday baking filling the air. The kitchen, however, was another story. Flour was scattered across the counters like a soft dusting of snow, and pots and pans cluttered every available surface. You stood at the stove, hair tied up in a messy bun, flour streaked across your cheeks, and a little bit of icing smeared on your cheek as you worked over a batch of cookies, humming softly to yourself.

The sight made Steve’s heart swell with affection. Bucky, for his part, couldn't stop smiling as he leaned against the doorframe, taking in the chaos that somehow felt like home.

You didn’t notice them right away, lost in the rhythm of cooking and baking. You were wearing an oversized red sweater with a reindeer on it, the sleeves rolled up to your elbows, and a pair of old leggings that had seen better days. A pair of mismatched Christmas socks peeked out from beneath the leggings, and your feet shuffled back and forth as you worked, clearly oblivious to the world outside the kitchen.

It was the perfect kind of mess. The kind of mess that told them you were relaxing, wrapped in the joy of the holiday spirit and the comfort of your own home.

Bucky cleared his throat, and You jumped, nearly knocking over the bowl of cookie dough in your hands. You spun around, wide-eyed, a little flustered, and immediately blurted out, “You two are home now! I’m in the middle of baking, I look like a disaster, and—”

But Steve was already stepping forward, grinning as he gently cut you off. “You look perfect, Doll. We didn’t mean to surprise you this way, but we couldn’t wait for Christmas.”

Bucky snorted, stepping into the kitchen. “Yeah, Steve’s right. We love seeing you like this—chaos and all.”

You blinked, then looked back at the kitchen. You hadn’t expected your boyfriends to see you like this, especially not before Christmas. There were flour smudges on the floor, sticky sugar dribbled down the front of your sweater, and you felt like a mess. But as you met their eyes, both men looked at you like you were the most beautiful, glowing person in the world.

A little self-conscious, you wiped at your cheek. “Well, I guess if you two can handle the kitchen disaster, I’ll just have to finish baking,” you said, with a teasing tone in your voice.

Bucky chuckled and pulled up a chair at the kitchen table. “Don’t mind us. We’re happy to watch and eat whatever you throw at us. This smells amazing!.”

Steve leaned against the counter, arms crossed, his gaze soft and affectionate as he watched you. “Yeah, we came early to help, but looks like you're handling everything just fine.”

You rolled your eyes but grinned. “You want to help?” You asked, raising an eyebrow, and Bucky immediately jumped up.

“What do you need me to do?” he asked, his enthusiasm making Steve laugh.

You handed him a bowl of pre-made dough. “You can start by rolling out these cookies. Try not to eat too many of them, alright?”

Bucky saluted you, then began rolling the dough with a level of focus that was almost comical. Steve found himself a spot on the counter, watching you both work in a comfortable silence, the sound of flour dusting the air and the soft hum of the oven filling the room.

At that moment, you caught Steve’s gaze again, your smile soft and genuine. There was something about this chaos, about sharing it with them, that made the holiday season feel even more special. They weren’t just coming home for the cookies or the presents or the decorations—they were here because they wanted to be with you, mess and all.

Steve smiled back, his heart full. “We wouldn’t want to be anywhere else, than with you” he leaned over and kissed your forehead. You hummed before going back to helping Bucky.

Sook the kitchen was filled with laughter, the clinking of baking utensils, and the warmth of love, it was clear that this Christmas would be one they'd all remember. No perfectly decorated tree, no perfect holiday meal could ever be more meaningful than moments like these. Just the three of you, together, enjoying each other’s company in the mess of the holiday season.

Tags 🏷️

@caothicshit @missvelvetsstuff @hallecarey1 @just-another-blog34411 @foxherder @springdandelixn @hannibals-favourite-meal @imyourbratzdoll @silverfire475 @vbecker10 @sarahrogersevans @tomandcakes @lyds247 @raajali3 @supraveng @kingkamk @loopsisloops @lokischambermaid @mochie85 @nana1000night @ladyofthestayingpower

[drgnflyteabox]

a little kate laswell x gn!reader drabble

-> insecurity, anxiety, hurt/comfort, relationship worries, OCD, sooooo self indulgent lmao, self-hatred, therapy, compulsive behaviors, ableist language used towards self, shame, this is literally nothing and theres no real ending so mb <3

You've been working on it. You have. The anxiety; the fear of abandonment. Kate leaves so often she's probably gone almost half the year, anyway. Your relationship isn't exactly built on physical closeness, and as the years go by you feel more and more secure.

She fits, you fit, your cat Cheddar fits. The house fits, even though it sometimes feels too big when she's gone and you're still a little afraid of being home alone.

Security's tight, babe, she's assured you a dozen times. Locks, alarms, the whole nine yards. Everything works. You're usually close to sure about that.

So, you’ve worked on recognizing which feelings are rooted in reality, and which feelings sometimes come from insecurity, or jealousy.

Sometimes, it's fear. That old braying beast in your head, muddling up reality (Kate loves you) with unreality (she hates you, your life is a lie).

You know where it comes from, but that doesn't always help. On the bad days, it even makes it worse. Something is wrong with you, really really wrong. Irredeemably wrong.

Kate's been on an op three months. Longer than usual, but you've been through it a couple times. It's a serious one, so you haven't even gotten more than the odd phone call maybe once every week and a half.

Which fucking sucks normally, but its worse when you can't seem to shake the voice in your head that says she's found someone else, that she's delaying coming home because she's sick of you.

You do have a small laugh at the one that tells you she's got a secret family – even in the state you're in that's a ridiculous thought.

Still, it doesn’t break you from your worries. You begin backsliding. Your hands chafe from washing them, your water bill climbs and climbs and climbs as a result of your compulsive showering.

Am I too dirty? You think. You feel dirty. Contaminated. Maybe that’s why she doesn’t like you anymore, doesn’t love you. Maybe it just wasn’t meant to be, not with your insanity.

This is the cycle.

Someone will break in. You check the locks an even number of times. But did you? Okay, shower to ‘set’ the locks now, or someone really will break in. Don’t think of Kate. She hates you. Oh, hey Cheddar. Good boy. Did you lock the doors?

You’re exhausted. You lose track of the days, working robotically at your computer, burning your nose with the scent of bleach wipes. There’s not even any real cleaning, just you compulsively wiping the same four surfaces over and over.

When the wood starts showing a little damage from the incessant wiping, you cry in the fourth shower of the day.

You lose track so badly that you’re in bed rotting when Kate gets home.

The door opens, and your heart drops with fear – fuck, it’s happening. Then you check your phone and deflate. Fuck, you think again, for a different reason.

“Baby?” Kate’s voice is clear in the empty house. It makes you think of all the dust laying around, about how you usually tidy before she arrives.

You pull the cover over your face. Shame burns your face, injects lead into your muscles.

“You home?” she calls again. Cheddar meows, probably at her feet.

That’s how she finds you. Prone, upset, eyes burning.

“Oh, baby,” she murmurs. Her weight makes you dip towards her when she crawls on the bed. “Bad day?”

You pull the blanket down.

“I’m sorry,” you say. “I meant to clean the house for you, and cook you something–”

“Hey,” she puts a finger to your lips, slipping in beside you to cradle one cheek in her rough palm, body pressed to yours.

You can’t help but lean into it despite feeling wretched, despite feeling like you’ve dirtied everything around you lately.

“I don’t need any of that, honey. I appreciate it, but I’m really just excited to see you,” she presses her mouth to your jaw. Not to entice, but to breathe you in, to feel you for the first time in months.

“But it’s awful,” you mumble. “It’s dusty, dirty, disgusting–”

She stops you again.

“Hey now, it looks fine to me,” then a frown. “How long have you been feeling like this?”

“I don’t know,” you admit. It’s the truth.

“Have you called Dr. Klein?”

“No,” finally, a tear slips down your temple. You’re confused, and angry about these feelings; why now? Why when you’ve recovered?

Kate tuts, wiping at your tear with a thumb. She climbs halfway on top of you, looking down at your face. She looks tired, which makes you feel even guiltier.

“God, I’m sorry. You shouldn’t have to deal with this when you’ve just gotten back.”

Her frown deepens.

“Baby,” she starts. “We take care of each other, remember? What have we talked about?”

“Asking for help is okay,” you murmur. That’s one of the worst parts about this thing you have, the obsessions. They dress themselves up as the world's worst taboos. Speak them aloud and make them not only come true, but alienate everyone around you. In high school, you’d hardly spoken for fear of accidentally revealing your anxiety.

That in and of itself had been a years-long journey to heal in therapy. With Dr. Klein, with Kate, with yourself.

“Think we better set up an appointment, huh?” she says, and there’s no judgment in her voice, no sign of hatred.

“Yeah,” you whisper. You tilt your head towards her, and feel her nose against yours.

“I missed you,” she says, breath mingling with yours.

“I missed you too,” you say back.

[changelingsandothernonsense]

✶Sujumma Morndas (Coz I live in the future)✶

Thank you @skyrim-forever and @sulphuricgrin for tagging me!

tagging @archangelsunited @nyarevar @saltymaplesyrup @pocket-vvardvark @dayundying @vivifriend @viss-and-pinegar @firefly-factory no pressure tagging is no pressures. [This week Sujamma has been brushing up on his literacy. It's hard being a humble Nix-Hound. Reading doesn't come naturally to him, but he's doing his best! This week Sujamma is hoping you will help him learn to read!

Post a favorite scene, favorite sentence, favorite dialogue, favorite anything from any fic you've written! If you haven't written any fic, feel free to share your ideas. If you don't have any, recommend a friend's fic!]

Going to post a snippet from the one shot "The Myriad Realms of Revelry" or that time Josh joined then ran a Cult of Sanguine out in the Alik'r. The section I'm sharing doesn't involve smut but I will drop a NSFT warning on the fic itself. It's about a sex cult and Josh getting caught up in a massacre as a result. This is the point in his history where his brain gets a bit skooma addled, so...

Josh kills some Vigilants and escapes a ruin with a familiar face below the cut.

His ear was ringing something awful as he struggled to sit up, something heavy seemed to be preventing him from moving his legs. Teldryn wiped the dust out of his eyes and looked around him, struggling to understand the scene before him.

Fire was what stood out to him the most. The flickering of orange flames surrounded him, and dust floated through the air…or maybe it was smoke? Teldryn couldn’t tell, there was too much going on around him.

Screaming slowly began to replace the ringing in his ear before the whole scene cleared in his mind. It took one of his followers running past him, robe burning as he ran towards the ancient fountain that sat in the centre of the hall. For him to realise they had been ejected from Oblivion by some extreme force.

Teldryn looked down and was met with the lifeless form of his favourite sprawled across his lap. Her green eyes glazed and unfocused as they stared up at the ceiling. Her mask was broken and blood dripped from her mouth, nose and ear.

This was not what he wanted.

Teldryn leant down and kissed the girl on the lips as he closed her eyes. He carefully moved her to the side as he stood. He would find out what the fuck had happened and he’d fucking kill whoever did it!

He looked around him the room choked by a thick black smoke. His followers were strewn across the hall, some struggling to their feet, some staring about in shock. Most of them were just lying about the room. Still and lifeless, some missing limbs and suffering deep wounds from whatever had caused the blast. He saw a small, delicate hand lying at his feet. He knew who it belonged to.

Teldryn still felt stunned as he took in the whole scene before him. He noticed there was something a little off amongst those Revellers who were still standing. Namely, that several of them were dressed in armoured mages’ robes. The faded teal fabric stood apart from the scarlet decor that his followers had covered every surface with. He watched as one of them ran a blade across the neck of one of his screaming followers, the Redguard falling to the ground as he held his hands to the gaping wound across his throat.

“Stendarr’s Mercy be upon you, for the Vigil has none to spare!”

FUCK!

Those fanatical fuck heads had found them! It was just a question as to how. Though maybe that didn’t matter anymore, everyone was dead. Teldryn felt an intense rage take him, he had not wanted this! The cult was just supposed to continue without him. Find a new leader and keep up Sanguine’s praises. Instead, the bodies of those whom he had spent decades with lay mangled at his feet. Some were so burnt that he couldn’t tell who they used to be…some were still breathing.

He pooled his magicka into his palm and unleashed a jet of fire at the Vigilant, engulfing her in flame. He walked towards her as the fires died down, taking the blade she had dropped to the ground and holding it to the dying woman’s throat. A charred hand reached for his ankle as he placed a foot on her chest, gurgling something as he smiled down at her.

“Pray to your god for mercy,” Teldryn hummed as he plunged the blade into her throat, “For I have none.”

He withdrew his blade from the woman’s throat, twirling it in his hand as he flicked the excess blood from the weapon. The thing was a standard-looking steel sword. Not his favourite weapon but it would do until he got back to his chambers. Teldryn raced out of the banquette hall, and up the set of stairs that led to his living quarters. He dodged the carnage as he raced through the hall, slicing at whichever fuck it was that came at him. Honestly, he couldn’t quite tell who it was half the time! Friend or foe he didn’t fucking care! Everything was just a blur, and the sheer amount of moon sugar he had ingested earlier that night certainly wasn’t fucking helping things!

He had finally gotten back to his private chambers and hurriedly set about gathering his things. Teldryn grabbed his ebony scimitar and slung his pack over his shoulder. He had placed his set of netch leathers in his bag and threw on a pair of boots. His armour would take too long to put on, and he was already feeling light-headed from the lack of air. He coughed as a thick, black smoke began to fill his room. He had to get out of here. Now!

And then something moved out of the corner of his eye.

Teldryn looked up, expecting a Vigilant, weapon ready to take him in combat, which would have been a stupid idea on that fuck’s behalf. He was even more dangerous with a blade when he was off his face and didn’t know which way was up.

Instead, he was met with what looked like one of his followers. Though it couldn’t have been, he was the only Dunmer here. He’d have remembered seeing her around, surely. Had he really become so numb to everything around him that she simply joined without him noticing?

“We have to get out of here!” he wheezed as he staggered towards the door. The girl only nodded, her silver mask glinting in the light of the inferno that surrounded them. A nightingale, the feathers detailed in silver. She smiled at him, before turning, her long, auburn hair swaying behind her as she slinked down the hall.

Her eyes had reminded him of Gidain’s. Amaranth, bright and beautiful.

He raced after her, following her as she ran down the halls and through the ruin. She almost seemed to move right through the chaos, as if the dead and dying were nothing but illusions. Her robe reminded him of starlight as she raced through the halls and then she was gone. Her form lost in the thick, black smoke that threatened to choke the life from him.

Teldryn sank to the ground, choking on the thick smoke. The heat was growing unbearable and he found himself lost in the chaos. His vision began to tunnel as he lay down on the stone floor, heated by the inferno that raged around him.

And then she returned, amaranth eyes bright and sparkling behind that silver mask. She smiled at him and the look made his heart slam against his chest. Who was she? Teldryn took her hand and let her help him to his feet. She let go and started running through the halls again, her form disappearing into the darkness.

‘Follow her!’

It was the first time in decades that Nerevar said something that he actually agreed with.

He set off after the girl, catching up to her as she seemingly ran through a Vigilant, their mace at the ready as Teldryn ran straight into it. The thick steel connected with his ribs and knocked the wind from him. He grabbed at the area that had been hit as he sunk to his knees, trying his best to suck in a breath as an intense ache radiated through his chest. The Vigilant approached him, raising his mace for a final swing.

He wasn’t sure if it had actually connected with his head. Honestly, he didn’t quite know what had happened though he suspected that Nerevar had something to do with it. He could feel a sharp pain behind his eye that told him he must have well and truly spent his miserable stores of magicka. A cool breeze rustled through his hair as he stared at the vast, open night sky. He tried to suck in a breath of air, the act causing his chest to throb, and he cried out in pain.

Teldryn looked down at his abdomen, his fingers brushing painfully against the area on his right side where the mace hit. The skin looked like it was beginning to bruise, the thick, gnarled scar that webbed across his torso oozed that thick, black substance from the small lacerations caused by the edges of the weapon. He was certain that bastard managed to crack his ribs. Fucking fantastic!

Teldryn struggled to his feet and gathered his things, slinging his bag over his shoulder and grabbing his scimitar. He looked around him, hoping that maybe someone else had escaped that inferno. His heart sank when he realised he was alone. Standing half naked in the middle of the fucking desert, covered in soot.

[pandenewie]

34 - Where we went wrong

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As soon as Y/n’s final message comes through on Jungwon’s phone, the realisation of what just happened starts to settle into his brain. He promised himself he would never even speak to Y/n again, and yet here he is inviting them over to his house…

Holy shit. He just invited Y/n to his house. What the hell has he done?

Y/n hasn't come over since they first started dating… well "dating". Even then, they were only over for like 5 minutes and Jungwon had a mass panic-clean before they arrived. It��s a habit he’s picked up over the years whenever someone comes over, even if he knows they won’t care about a little mess. Jungwon knows Y/n especially won’t care, but that doesn’t stop him from quickly wiping down every surface of the house, making sure not a single spec of dust can be found.

The sudden sound of the doorbell causes Jungwon to jump slightly. It takes a second for his brain to register the fact that Y/n has, in fact, arrived. As soon as he fully comprehends this thought, he rushes down the stairs towards the front door - pausing to quickly check his reflection in the hallway mirror.

Jungwon’s not sure what to expect when he opens the door. It’s not like he had much time to prepare himself for Y/n’s arrival (and the time he did have was spent aggressively vacuuming the living room.) But he certainly wasn’t prepared for the instant flutter to the heart he felt at the sight of Y/n, standing at his doorstep in what appears to be their coziest outfit - pyjama pants, a cropped singlet and most importantly, his jacket.

“Hi.” Y/n smiles, trying not to laugh at the way Jungwon stares at them with wide eyes - as if he didn’t know they were coming. The atmosphere between the two is a little awkward, naturally, due to recent events and it takes Jungwon’s brain a few seconds to process the fact that Y/n actually spoke to him.

“Oh, hey. Come in.” Jungwon awkwardly laughs, stepping aside to allow space for Y/n to walk past him and into the house. He watches as Y/n slips off their shoes and takes a quick look around the room before turning back to Jungwon.

It’s quiet for a moment as the two stand in the entranceway of Jungwon’s home. “Did you clean for me?” Y/n asks, causing Jungwon’s face to immediately heat up. “I was… uh… already cleaning when we were texting so…” Jungwon lies. Y/n doesn’t believe him for a second but chooses not to pry any further. “Where did you want to work?” Y/n changes the topic, causing Jungwon’s eyes to widen.

That’s right… Y/n is over to help him do homework. He had been so focused on the fact that they were coming over that he forgot the reason why. “Um… my computer is in my room… if that’s okay?” He mumbles, absentmindedly pointing towards the stairs. Once Y/n agrees, they quietly follow Jungwon up to his room.

Y/n pauses in the middle of Jungwon’s room as he makes himself comfortable at his desk. Are they supposed to sit on his bed? They assume so, given the fact that there are no other chairs… but do they just sit without asking? Noticing their hesitation, Jungwon spins in his chair to look at them. “Oh… you can sit wherever you want.” He mumbles, aimlessly gesturing around the room. Smiling, Y/n makes themself comfortable on Jungwon’s bed.

From where they’re sitting, they get a pretty clear view of Jungwon’s screen. He already has his English work open but judging by the two short paragraphs Y/n can see, it looks like Jungwon still has a long way to go. “Uh… I’ll just… start this.” Jungwon says, pointing at his computer. Y/n nods, a little too enthusiastically. “Of course, let me know if you need anything.”

It’s awkward. Y/n knows it. Jungwon knows it. The sound of Jungwon’s fingers slowly hitting his keyboard is all that fills the silent room. Every few minutes, his eyes dart to where he can see Y/n in the reflection of his computer screen. They seem to be doing their own homework, with some sort of textbook open in their lap.

It’s weird to be in Y/n’s presence and yet have them sit so far away… Jungwon doesn’t like it. Glancing back at his work, he sees that he’s only written about 3 sentences since Y/n arrived. This isn’t working.

Sighing, Jungwon glances at Y/n once more. They’re not paying attention to him, too busy engrossed in whatever information their textbook is supplying. This is not how these “study sessions” used to go. Typically, the two would be sat side-by-side in the library - so close that their knees would touch. Jungwon’s focus would shift between his work and Y/n, whilst Y/n’s stayed completely on him. They’d rest their head on his shoulder, reading what he was writing and pointing out the occasional error. Sometimes, Jungwon would purposefully ignore a typo, just to see the teasing smile on Y/n’s lips when they pointed it out to him. He misses that.

Jungwon suddenly stands from his position at the desk - gaining Y/n’s attention as he does so. He unplugs his laptop and walks towards the bed. “The chair was hurting my back.” He lies, moving to sit next to Y/n. “Oh, okay. We can swap, then.” Y/n smiles, going to get up and move to the desk. Before they can move off the bed, Jungwon quickly grabs Y/n’s hand, pausing Y/n’s movements.

“Wait!... I mean… you don’t have to move.” Jungwon stammers out. It sounded a little more desperate than intended. “I’m trying to set boundaries, Jungwon… isn’t this what you want?” Y/n asks. It’s quiet for a moment as Jungwon processes their words. “I don’t know what I want.” Jungwon sighs. “I thought I wanted to never talk to you again but… I guess I was wrong. Then I thought we could just be friends but… I was wrong about that too.”

Y/n can’t help but roll their eyes at Jungwon’s words as they pull their hand out of his grip. Is this some sort of payback for the whole dress code thing? Stringing them along and giving them false hope? How are they supposed to figure out what to do if Jungwon himself keeps pushing and pulling them back and forth?

“Why did you invite me here?” Y/n asks, refusing to turn around and face him. Jungwon sighs again. “I want things to go back to how they were.” Y/n scoffs at this. “You know that can’t happen, Jungwon. Not after what I did to you.” Now it’s Jungwon’s turn to roll his eyes, as he turns Y/n around to face him.

“I don’t care about what you did to me. Maybe I deserved it. You were right about the dress code, everyone was. I should’ve helped you change it from the start but… I was too uptight and selfish to do it.” Jungwon frowns.

“Maybe uptight but I wouldn't say selfish… and maybe I could’ve been a little less… on your case… about the whole dress code thing.” Y/n mumbles awkwardly. Looking back, there are a lot of things they could have done differently with Jungwon. Not calling him pathetic (among other things) being one of them. “Honestly, I kinda needed that… I was a lot less tense when we were… you know…” Jungwon trails off.

Together.

Y/n smiles. “I get that… I mean, I got in a lot less trouble when we were…”

Together.

The two look at each other for a moment. Y/n can practically feel the way their heart jumps as Jungwon’s eyes flicker to their lips. How badly, they want to just step forward and press them against his in a gentle kiss. It’s been a while since they’ve kissed Jungwon, they’ve almost forgotten how it feels.

Coughing awkwardly, Jungwon takes a step back and Y/n feels their heart shatter ever-so-slightly. “I should do my work.” Jungwon mumbles, settling back into his position on the bed. “Right.” Y/n smiles but they don’t move. “Um… can you… sit with me?” Jungwon asks; his eyes nervous and sensing rejection. Y/n bites their lip and nods slightly before moving to sit up right next to Jungwon on the bed. They don’t relax into it like Jungwon does - far too nervous to do so. Instead, they keep a respectable distance from Jungwon and focus on their own homework.

Even with the small amount of space still between them, Jungwon feels much better than he did before. He knows that Y/n is still holding back from him - something that he is partially grateful for. He can tell how hard they are trying to be “just friends” and the thought puts a small smile on his face. It makes him think that this whole forgiving Y/n thing might be a lot easier than he originally thought.

Meanwhile, Y/n is battling with their own thoughts. They have no right to be upset at Jungwon for not forgiving them right away, but the way he sets boundaries and then stares at them like he’s going to kiss them is definitely confusing. Once again, Y/n has no right to be upset. They hurt him in so many ways, that the fact they are even in his room right now is a miracle. So Y/n will accept any closeness to Jungwon - no matter how confusing it may be.

Jungwon lets out a small groan, leaning his head back and hitting it against the wall a few times. This gains the attention of Y/n, who looks at him with concern. “Are you okay?” Y/n asks, quickly slipping their hand between Jungwon’s head and the wall - cushioning the impact. Their eyes widen as soon as Jungwon’s soft strands touch their skin, and they immediately pull their hand back. God dammit, Y/n. Think before you act.

As Y/n’s brain begins to spiral over the small touch, Jungwon repeats the minuscule moment over and over again in his. He misses Y/n’s touch, they used to play with his hair a lot. “I’ve just been reading the same part over and over again.” Jungwon whines slightly.

Y/n isn’t exactly sure what to do. Jungwon invited them over to help him study, help him focus. They know what they used to do in these situations but… that’s not exactly an option given their current relationship.

“You’ve got writer's block.” Y/n states simply, causing Jungwon’s eyes to snap from the computer screen to Y/n’s. “How did you know?” He asks, earning a smug shrug from Y/n. “I just know you like that.” Y/n jokes. “Also, you haven’t written anything in like, 10 minutes.” They add, making Jungwon sigh.

“I don’t know what else to write.” He mumbles, eyes closing slightly as Y/n’s hand comes up to play with his hair. “Well, staring at the page isn’t going to help.” Y/n mumbles, gently nudging their nose against Jungwon’s jaw.

Jungwon anxiously looks around the library - checking for any teachers or students who are paying attention to them. Seeing that the coast is clear, Jungwon immediately slips his hand down to wrap around Y/n's waist, turning to face them.

“Think I need to take a break.” He whispers, nuzzling his nose against Y/n’s. “Well… I have an idea for that…” Y/n smirks. They look up at him with playful eyes and bring their other hand to hook around the back of Junwon’s neck - pulling him closer until their lips are gently pressed together.

Yeah… Y/n definitely can’t do that. So instead, they settled for sitting cross-legged next to Jungwon, watching him cautiously as he shoves his head in his hands. “Do you need to take a break? You can finish this tomorrow, Jungwon.” Y/n says gently, frowning slightly as Jungwon shakes his head in his hands. “That’ll push back history… which will push back maths… which will mean I fail my maths test… which will mean I fail the class… which will mean I don’t graduate.” Jungwon mumbles out.

Realistically, none of that is going to happen. The worst that will happen is Jungwon will have to pull a few all-nighters and end up acing the test anyway. But Jungwon’s not much of a realist. 

“Okay, Won. Let’s just focus on today, hmm?” Y/n asks, moving closer so that they can see Jungwon’s laptop screen. “It’s only 7 pm… you’ve still got 5 hours left of the day. And look, you’ve almost written 1000 words!” Y/n says, pointing at the screen happily. Jungwon slowly lifts his head up to look at where Y/n is pointing. “Oh.” He mumbles, looking at the screen confused. Since when did he write so much? Last he checked, he was still on the second paragraph.

“See? You’re freaking out over nothing, babe.” Y/n says, the term of endearment slipping so naturally from their lips, that they almost didn’t realise they had said it. But judging by the way Y/n’s eyes widen, they definitely realise what they said. Jungwon’s eyes widen momentarily as well, but he tries to act as normal as possible - anything to not scare Y/n away.

“I guess I could take a break… when do you have to get home?” Jungwon asks, taking note of the time. “I don’t have a curfew, I told my parents I’d be at a friend’s till late.” Y/n shrugs. Jungwon nods at this, part of him relieved that Y/n doesn’t have to go home anytime soon. “Did you uh… wanna watch a movie or something? Then I’ll finish my work afterwards.” Jungwon offers. Y/n nods wordlessly as Jungwon begins to set up his laptop.

…

Are they supposed to move closer? Y/n can’t remember the last time they watched a movie with someone that didn’t involve cuddling in some way. Since that is something Y/n definitely doesn’t want to do, they’re currently in a dilemma.

Once everything is set up, Jungwon turns to look at Y/n. His eyes are almost hopeful, as he looks at them. Y/n can tell what he’s asking without him even opening his mouth. Sending a gentle smile towards him, Y/n moves to sit next to Jungwon - their legs touching slightly. Jungwon places the laptop on both of their laps before leaning back into the pillows he strategically placed. Noticing the way he gets comfy, Y/n decides to relax a little as well, as they turn their attention towards the movie that’s beginning to play.

Y/n still can’t remember the last time they watched a movie with someone that didn’t involve cuddling. As they feel themself begin to drift off, they realise that their head has fallen to Jungwon’s shoulder. Their body tenses slightly at the contact but slowly relaxes once they realise that Jungwon isn’t pulling away.

This is fine. Friends cuddle all the time. Except Y/n can’t help the way their heartbeat quickens at Jungwon’s familiar scent. They’ve always loved cuddling with him - the warmth of his body contrasting the coolness of their own. The way their head can lay perfectly indented in the crook of Jungwon’s neck, almost as if the spot was made just for them.

Before they know it, Y/n’s drifting off to sleep. Possibly the best sleep they’ve had in a while. Jungwon bites his lip in an attempt to stop a grin from spreading across his face. God, how he’s missed the feeling of Y/n cuddled up against him.

Once he’s sure that Y/n is fast asleep, Jungwon pauses the movie and switches back to his homework tab. With the weight of Y/n’s head on his shoulder, Jungwon suddenly feels more determined than ever. The words flow out of him so much easier, his fingers dancing along the keys of his laptop so much quicker. It’s as if having Y/n with him, like this, just makes him so much better.

Jungwon doesn’t think he’s finished a piece of homework so quickly. With Y/n still fast asleep on his shoulder, he takes the time to fully appreciate the moment. He doesn’t know if he’ll ever get to be with Y/n like this again, so he has to savour the feeling of their body pressed up against his.

He adjusts the pillow behind him slightly before moving to gently rest his head on top of Y/n’s. They stir for a moment, nuzzling their head further into his neck and mumbling a short sigh before drifting off once more.

As he begins to fall into a slumber himself, Jungwon can’t help but notice the fuzzy feeling in his heart. He doesn’t know what exactly is going to happen between the two when they wake up, but that can be tomorrow’s problem. Because, god, does he want this to never end.

There's nothing worse than waking up with a sore neck. Y/n learns this the hard way as they nuzzle further into their pillow, letting out a small whine of discomfort as the movement causes the muscles in their neck to spasm.

Shifting slightly again, they try to get more comfortable. Has their pillow always been this hard? They swore their parents got them a new one last month.

Suddenly it clicks… they were at Jungwon's last night. That makes more sense, Jungwon has shitty pillows. Their thoughts are interrupted by the feeling of something moving next to them, shifting their own position in the process. Opening their eyes in annoyance, Y/n suddenly realises exactly what has happened. Jungwon doesn't have shitty pillows, he is a shitty pillow.

Sitting up quickly, Y/n almost blacks out at the sudden rush of blood to their head. They look at Jungwon, who appears to still be asleep, with wide eyes. No wonder their neck is so sore, they were using Jungwon as a human pillow!

Noticing the sudden lack of warmth, Jungwon rolls over and attempts to pull Y/n back towards him. "Jungwon." Y/n whispers, gently pushing his hands away. He mumbles something incoherent and laces his fingers with theirs. "Jungwon, we have to get ready for school." Y/n sighs, making no move to separate their hands.

Jungwon's eyes slowly flutter open as he takes in his surroundings. His gaze lands on his and Y/n's intertwined fingers and he immediately freezes. Neither of them say anything, opting to just stare at their hands.

"Sorry." Jungwon mumbles, reluctantly pulling away from Y/n's grasp. "It's okay." They reply, biting their lip nervously. "Did I make you uncomfortable?" Jungwon asks, smiling slightly as Y/n immediately shakes their head. "No… well sleeping against your wall made me uncomfortable but… you didn't." Y/n points out, causing Jungwon to laugh. "Sorry… you fell asleep during the movie and I didn't want to wake you up." He says. He’s blushing slightly and Y/n can’t help but smile at the sight. "It's alright, I'll just be complaining about my neck all day."

The atmosphere is… weird. It’s not as awkward as it was last night but it’s not the most comfortable thing either. It’s almost as if they’re both unsure of how to act, waiting for the other to confirm what is and isn’t okay. It’s obvious that there are still lingering feelings… are they supposed to act like there isn’t? Are they supposed to pretend that they can be friends when deep down they both know it’s more than that? Neither wants to act out of fear of messing it up again, leaving them in an awkward middle ground. Both Y/n and Jungwon are completely unsure of where to go from here.

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@miumiuoi @lucyinthesky-00 @wrapmeinatortilla

[silverslipstream]

One Shot, One Kill

Nobody on Earth saw it—but then again, that was the point. If humanity’s telescopes had somehow been given advance warning, they would’ve seen a brief gamma flash in the constellation of Draco—a lit match against the interstellar background, a minor course correction which flared for a few seconds before dissipating. Other than that, the intruder streaking towards the Sun left no trail. Its anti-hydrogen tanks were empty, the magnetic coil of its main engine had lain dormant for decades and its electromagnetic emissions were nothing but ghosts of ghosts. As the craft barrelled from interstellar space into the far reaches of the Solar System, the volume of dust particles increased, ionising harmlessly against the craft’s immense shields. There wasn’t a force in the universe that could dissuade it from its chosen path. It had no way of slowing down, but that wasn’t the intruder’s concern. It wasn’t going home again.

Five light-weeks from Earth, still deep in the recesses of the Oort Cloud, the intruder’s payload broke into two halves. Another gamma flare pricked at the stars as the trailing half slowed its approach by an imperceptible amount—just enough to delay interception of its target by a few hours.

Deep in the gravity well of the Solar System, the intruder’s nine billion targets continued sleeping and waking, dreaming and planning, fighting and loving, heedless of the relativistic crosshairs painted squarely on each of their heads.

** Just a few scant seconds from arrival, the leading half of the intruder’s payload burst apart, revealing a field of eight hundred flechettes. These ‘flechettes’ were nothing more than inert bullets of metal, each weighing fifteen tons and small enough to fit within the typical living room. Traveling at 91.37 percent of light-speed, each fragment carried the explosive power of the world’s nuclear arsenals more than three hundred times over. A smattering of the projectiles were diverted to impact the scattered bases on the far side of Earth’s moon. For the briefest fraction of a second, the Moon was outlined in fire: the corona of a second sun, born in the daytime skies of Earth.

Just over a second after lunar impact, the first of the relativistic flechette-bombs entered Earth’s atmosphere, forty miles off the eastern coast of Indonesia. Earth’s atmosphere produced no resistance. It would’ve been like trying to swat back a nuclear missile with a napkin.

An intense spear of light descended through the air, clearing a tunnel of near-vacuum density through which the flechette plummeted. Thirty kilometers above the waters of the Indian Ocean, the air pressure became too much—the flechette dropped another couple of halting kilometers before detonating in a flash of searing blue light, so bright that its ferocious glare wiped away every shadow in Southeast Asia. The entire eastern hemisphere of the Earth was frozen in eerie blue light, the first frame of a grisly slide. Before the human optic nerve could even react, everything in the Indonesian archipelago—every skyscraper, car, sidewalk, apartment block and beachgoer—was instantly liquefied. The skyline of Jakarta began to slip like a melting oil painting, but before it dropped half a meter, it was blasted to disparate atoms, leaving nothing but carbonized streaks across burning soil.

More than seven hundred of its sister flechettes pierced the sky in unison. Millions of square miles of ocean began to steam. From Shanghai to Sydney, from Addis Ababa to Auckland, the side of the planet facing the onslaught was now a giant microwave oven. Six billion people were boiled to vapour in the blink of an eye.

By the time the second round of projectiles reached the Earth eight hours later, every free-standing structure on the planet's surface was already burning.

[thefabulous-mostgroovy]

Here When You're Ready

After Martin is rescued from the Lonely, it takes a long time for him to become comfortable with physical contact again, let alone affection. Jon is willing to be patient with him, no matter how long it takes. And so, it takes three months for Jon and Martin to share their first kiss.

Jon/Martin, 1.7k words, rated T, read on AO3. this is for the prompt 'first kiss' for @jonmartinweek :D

Jon holds Martin's hand the whole way to Scotland.

They sit with their shoulders pressed tight together, with both of Jon's hands wrapped around one of Martin's. His skin is cold and clammy, pale and desaturated. His glasses are misty with the fog pooling on the train carriage floor. His hair is more white than it is blond. His freckles are more of a vague idea than even a suggestion now. But, as Jon rests his cheek on Martin's shoulder, rubs little circles with his thumb on the back of Martin's palm, Martin grows a little more colourful by the time they reach Edinburgh Waverly.

His hair grows warmer and fluffier, his skin more pink, his freckles more stark. Even his eyes are brighter, a cosy hazel. The only feature of the Lonely left is a streak of white cutting through his fringe. Jon still doesn't let go of his hand.

From Edinburgh, it's another train to Glasgow Central, then a Caledonia Sleeper to the Highlands. Trains from dawn till dusk. Their cabin is small, but big enough. They don't stop for dinner—Martin claims not to be hungry, and Jon quite literally doesn't eat anymore—so they simply crawl into the double bed, tangled up in each other's legs and arms. Jon traces patterns over Martin's shoulder blades until he falls asleep, slow and even breaths rustling his hair. Jon follows suit moments after.

Basira had arranged a car to take them to the safehouse, told them what to say to let the driver know they were a friend of Daisy's. The driver doesn't talk to them the whole two hour's drive there; she chucks their bags in the boot, gets in the front, and waits for them to get in the back. Martin sits in the left backseat and Jon sits in the middle. The driver eyes their interlocked hands in the mirror before she adjusts it, then sets off. Martin holds his hand tight, resting his other hand over it. He stares out the window the whole drive, and Jon watches Martin. His eyes flick back and forth as he watches the rolling hills, follows the rain trickling down the glass. The corner of his lips turn up at the sight of sheep, alpacas, horses, highland cows. His cheeks turn pink when he catches Jon staring.

The safehouse was described as a cottage by Basira, but Jon thinks that's a bit of a stretch. The living room and dining room are one room, with a bathroom to the left and a bedroom at the back. The whole place is a bit dingy and musty. Dust sits on every surface, turning everything greyish brown. Luckily, Daisy keeps a seemingly endless supply of wipes and cloths just for the purpose.

They clean the couch and coffee table together, then the kitchen, then the bedroom, then the floors and windows. By the time it gets to the evening, they're too tired to do anything but have a half-hearted dinner and fall into bed. Martin sleeps half on top of Jon, and Jon doesn't mind the pins and needles in his fingers the next morning.

This is all to say, Jon doesn't quite know how they went from 100 to 0 in the span of one day.

The next day, Jon tries to hold Martin's hand again, and Martin flinches away with a nervous laugh and a red face. Over the day, there is lots of blushing and clearing throats and inching away from each other. It only gets worse through the next week.

Jon tries his very best not to Know what's going on, but as far as he can figure, Martin kind of stopped experiencing the human range of emotions when he was thrown fully into the Lonely. Not that it's all bleeding back into him, so too has his tendency to be a nervous, flustered wreck. It's incredibly endearing. But, also a little worrying, considering Jon did give him a whole 'I love you, let's run away to another country' monologue right before they got their train tickets.

So, Jon prepares for a slow journey of becoming accustomed to each other and getting comfortable. After two weeks, they work up to having a long chat about boundaries, especially regarding the bed, as Jon had moved to sleep on the couch that felt more cardboard than stuffing and it was destroying his back more than it already was. Actually sharing the bed is a whole other issue. Martin sleeps like a rock and Jon tosses and turns the whole night. He, luckily, wakes up early enough to remove himself from clinging to Martin's side — he would rather keep over than make him uncomfortable.

It's a long climb to the top where they reach cuddling on the couch and spooning in bed, and every time, Jon has to steel himself to not show how happy it makes him. If he gets too giddy, it might send Martin running. At least, that's what his brain keeps telling him. Either way, after a month, they spend practically every second of the day holding hands, or leaning on each other's shoulders, or folded up in each other's laps.

But still, it takes almost three months for them to kiss for the first time.

When it does happen, it's on a warm evening with golden light pouring through the windows, bathing everything in a golden light.

"Nice break from the rain," Martin mumbles after finishing the last dregs of his tea. Jon hums from his cosy spot under Martin's arm. The radio plays lazily in the background, tinny and static filled, struggling to reach them all the way out here.

"Well, that's Scotland for you," Jon sighs. "Rain and wind and sleet, and occasionally twenty five degrees and sunny."

"Wish we could have visited when we're not on the run." Jon hums again, feeling sleepy and warm in the sunlight (he supposes Martin was not entirely wrong about comparing him to a cat). He wants to keep up the nice conversation, but he's about this close to falling asleep on Martin's shoulder.

The song quietly fades out and back into a new track. Some retro tune that might have been a top 40. The speakers make the lyrics sound garbled, even through the Gaelic, but its slow and soulful plucked guitar still makes it out. Jon watches Martin slowly bounce his knee to the beat, tapping his heel against the rug in a dull thump. Jon smiles as he gets an idea.

With a sluggish reluctance, he untangles himself from Martin's arm, straightening out his jumper and skirt. He holds out a hand to Martin.

"Care for a dance?"

Martin's face lights up in an adorable bright pink, and Jon suddenly Knows that this is a daydream Martin has had for years. He fights down a little smile. He won't tell Martin that one (at least, not for a little while). Martin takes his hand and they stand up.

They fall into position easily; they interlock their right hands, Martin's left on Jon's waist, and Jon's on Martin's shoulder. They sheepishly smile at each other as they start to sway back and forth to the croning of the radio. It's an easy rhythm to fall into, even if Jon keeps accidentally stepping on Martin's toes.

The song fades into another, and another, and eventually, Jon has settled his head on Martin's chest. The sun has set, and the candles in the room are their only light. A faint wind whistles outside the windows, rustles the leaves of the trees. Jon looks back up at Martin, only to be met with adoring eyes and a gentle smile. He moves his hand from Martin's shoulder up to cup his cheek.

Ultimately, it's Martin who makes the move.

His arm winds further around Jon's middle, his hand flat against the plane of his back. He untangles their right hands to stroke Jon's hair out of his face, resting it on his neck after tucking the strands behind his ear. Standing chest to chest — or, as close as they can get with his stature — Jon is sure Martin can feel his heart pounding under his skin. If he does, he mustn't mind all that much, as he leans down and kisses Jon.

Their lips slot together like they were moulded for it, and Jon honestly thinks fireworks might be setting off, or the room is glowing pink, or whatever other cheesy garbage happens in movies. All of them, those sweet tooth rom-coms, he suddenly understands them. He understands why people write poetry in the instant Martin threads his fingers into Jon's hair.

Martin holds him close like he's something precious, rubs his thumb in a gentle circle across his temple. Jon slides his arms up to hold Martin around his middle, slowly rising on his tip toes so Martin doesn't have to lean over as much. The radio fades off into chatter between the two hosts and Jon hardly even notices. Martin's lips are soft and warm, his hands careful and reverent. They pull away from each other for just a second to breathe, then launch back in, holding each other tight.

It's everything Jon imagined and more. His skin tingles all over, but especially where Martin touches him. He's never been one for much physical affection, but Martin seems to have wriggled his way right into Jon's heart (he almost chucks up at how bloody cheesy he's gotten).

Jon very, very reluctantly pulls away after another few moments, his feet aching from standing on his toes, and he draws in a deep, shuddering breath. Martin's face is beet red, and Jon almost—almost—laughs. Instead, he smiles fondly and readjusts his squinty glasses.

"Sorry, I've–" Martin interrupts himself with a little chuckle. "I've basically destroyed your hair."

Jon just laughs, tipping his head forward against Martin's chest. The noise can most accurately be described as a giggle. Jon doesn't think he's ever giggled before. Martin laughs as well, louder than Jon had heard in what could be years.

They blow out the candles and get ready for bed not long after, bundling under the duvet and blankets, wrapped up in each other's arms and peppering each other's faces with kisses. Jon knows the peace won't last. But, right now, he decides to pretend it can last forever.

And it almost feels like it will.

[itsnotzka]

Hello! Huh, what's this? A silly, cheesy little thing, I'd say ;)

TW: (very mild) alcohol, talking about stalking in a not very serious manner Genre: ...fluff? Silly fluff? Confused fluff? Word count: 5,3k Characters: Jake x Phil You can also read it on Ao3.

Not your stalker

With a quiet, contented sigh and a smile on his face, Phil finally let the last customer out and closed the door of Aurora behind them. He turned around and took a few steps towards the center of the pub, taking it all in. The wooden floors creaked softly under his feet. The air was thick with the comforting scent of dust, cigarette smoke, and the faint aroma of old furniture.

He knew it wasn’t the most pleasant smell for most, but for him, it was everything. To Phil, it was more than just a smell; it was a reminder of all he had, and almost lost just a couple of months back. 

Every time he started cleaning up Aurora for the night, he thought about the day he was accused of a crime he didn’t commit and thrown into jail for a few weeks, with basically no explanation. The memories still lingered in his mind, leaving a bitter taste in his mouth.

For quite some time, nobody really cared about him. They had other things on their minds, such as their missing friends being found. He knew he wasn't a perfect person. People tended to either love him or hate him. However, at that time, those he thought were his friends simply didn't care, while those who couldn't stand him laughed behind his back. There was somehow no in-between.

The bartender couldn't help but smile, still lost in thought. He was released from custody only because someone had paid his bail. Then, mysteriously, his lawyer found evidence of his innocence. Normally, there would be nothing unusual about this—lawyers have their own methods for uncovering the truth and exploiting legal loopholes—but the sudden clarity of this particular situation was nothing short of a miracle. At least it felt that way. Despite the happy outcome, his lawyer seemed eager to sever all ties with Phil as soon as possible. In fact, he refused to even accept any money from him, leaving Phil with a sense of both gratitude and absolute confusion.

He hadn’t told his sisters about it. At first, he suspected they might have been involved, but he quickly dismissed the thought. He knew Jessy and Angela all too well; they were always quick to point out his flaws and mistakes, even the smallest ones. Surely, they wouldn't have helped him without a big, wonderful lecture about his life. So he just told them the case was solved, period.

He stopped caring about it and moved on. At least, that's what he was telling himself. He shook his head in frustration, trying not to overanalyze everything once again.

He walked over to the bar, slowly making his way through the tables, turning off the lights, picking up empty beer mugs, and wiping down the surfaces. Unable to shake his thoughts away, he changed the music to something less modern to keep his mind off things, but it didn't help either. Then he was suddenly snapped out of his thoughts by the sound of the bell hanging above the door.

“I’m sorry, I already closed the pub,” he said, turning towards the sound. “Come back tomorrow, eh?”

Only then did he look at the person standing in the doorway and frown. He didn't recognize them. He knew basically every face, every name in Duskwood, after all. He knew at least something about everyone. Those were the advantages of running the only pub in town! Rumors came to him, and tourists, if they appeared at all, came early and didn't stay long.

And yet… there was a stranger in front of him.

The man didn’t answer. He just raised his brow slowly, glanced at Phil, and then looked around the pub.

“Look… I'm tired, I've already cleared the tables. I can give you a beer to go, but that's it,” the bartender said again, his tone tinged with a hint of annoyance.

“I don’t drink,” the stranger replied, his voice resonant and clear, his eyes meeting the bartender's.

Phil paused, the corners of his eyes narrowing slightly as he tried to read the stranger's face, but it was particularly hard. “So, can I help you with anything else?” he asked with a sigh, crossing his arms over his chest. He wasn't sure, but the stranger seemed to give him a small smile. Then the man closed the door behind him and briskly walked down the two steps that led inside the pub.

“I just thought I could finally visit this place,” the man replied casually.

The bartender sighed deeply, trying to keep his composure. "Listen, man… I already told you, Aurora is closed for the night," Phil said firmly, walking over to the door and opening it wide. "I'm sorry, but I can't let you stay here. Now be so kind and get out, or I'll call the police.”

"Oh? The same police that were stupid enough to arrest you?" the stranger’s mocked.

The pub was quite dark, with most of the lamps already turned off by Phil. But at that moment, the light of a street lamp shone in through the open pub door, casting a warm glow on the stranger's face, finally illuminating his features.

As the bartender glanced at his unexpected guest, he noticed the fairly young man was likely around his age, if not a few years older. His all-black outfit, complete with a backpack clearly designed for carrying a laptop, gave him a serious and tidy vibe. Although his nearly black hair seemed neatly combed, it curled in every direction, as if mocking his efforts to keep it in check. Phil couldn't help but notice the man's tired, dark eyes. Yet there was something about his gaze, a level of… maturity that Phil had not expected to see.

“Get out,” the bar owner repeated, but without much conviction.

The stranger laughed softly but ignored his words, calmly and surely walking over to the bar. Laying his heavy backpack on one of the barstools, he sat on another, resting his hands on the counter.

“Could I get some coffee?” he asked, looking over his shoulder at the somewhat confused bartender.

Phil was not a person to be easily upset. True, sometimes he could say too much or react too harshly, but only with words. He was good with words and with people. But for some reason, the stranger didn't seem to care about that… and it was annoying.

“What do you want from me? Didn't you hear what I said?” Phil snapped, his frustration boiling over. He slammed the door shut, the sound reverberating through the room. Turning to the man, he stomped over, his footsteps echoing in the silence. Grabbing the stranger's arm, he spun him around on the stool with such force that he almost fell off his seat.

Phil was surprised when the stranger didn’t react with fear or surprise, but instead looked at him with an understanding gaze, as if he knew something that Phil didn't. The bartender's anger slowly dissipated as he studied the man's reaction, taking a small step back.

"Now, to answer your questions…”  the man sighed, shifting on the barstool once more. “First, I'd appreciate some coffee or something else with caffeine. For your other concern… of course, I've heard what you said, but I don't necessarily want to leave. The truth is, I feel like I owe you this meeting… or at least an explanation."

Phil scoffed. "Oh, you think so?"

"Correct," the stranger exhaled. "I should have done it sooner, but somehow, well... To be completely honest with you, Hawkins, I think you were getting on my nerves a bit too much," he added with a lopsided smile.

"So, you know who I am?" Phil's anger was replaced by curiosity in less than a few seconds.

The bartender then quickly bit his bottom lip, refraining from asking the stranger more. He was well aware of one of his greatest flaws and, even though he didn't like to admit it to himself too often, he secretly enjoyed being the center of attention. No matter what.

"So... no coffee then? Well, that's a shame," the stranger rested his hands on the counter once more and pointed to a soda drink on the right side behind the bar. "So let’s put it this way. The truth is, I happen to know quite a bit about you accidentally, even though you probably don't know who I am. Before you jump to any conclusions - no, I am not your stalker; no, I am not trying to extort money from you; and no, I am definitely not involved in any scheme or conspiracy that would require your involvement."

"You know about me... accidentally ?" Phil repeated doubtfully, walking behind the bar and facing the stranger. "What kind of bullshit is that?"

"Oh, well..." he chuckled again, "I wouldn't say it’s bullshit. Not entirely, at least. You see, we both became involved in the same case a while back, and I was actually forced to learn more about you. You understand that I did not do this for my own enjoyment, although I must admit..." he hesitated, then cringed, "You are not very cautious with what you post online; that was so easy... So yes. It was, at least to some extent, accidental."

"The same case...? Wait, wait, hold on..." Phil resisted the urge to grab his own head in surprise. "Are you... that guy? That hacker or whatever. That tech-savvy guy that disappeared after Hannah was found? No way it’s you… Police say he's dead. That he died during the mine fire."

“I have two pieces of information for you,” the stranger leaned forward conspiratorially and spread his hands. “The first one... I’ve heard you were a good bartender. I somehow can’t picture that, you know?”

Phil looked completely confused as the man rolled his eyes slightly and nodded meaningfully at the soda bottle once more. Gritting his teeth, Phil blindly reached into the fridge, pulled out a bottle, slammed it against the counter, opened it with the agility of a truly experienced bartender, and pushed it towards the man, ending with a jazz hands gesture.

Annoyed jazz hands gesture.

The man only chuckled and nodded in approval, taking a sip of his long-awaited drink.

"And the second thing?" the bartender urged.

“The second thing!” the stranger chuckled. “The second thing is… I don't think you trust the police after all the trouble they caused you, so do you think you should trust them if they say that guy is dead? You’re talking about that Ironsplinter mine fire, correct?”

“Yeah… there was no way he survived that.”

“Oh?” the man chuckled, “I think his chances were quite good, actually.”

Phil frowned, “How so?”

"Well..." the stranger spread his hands again. "I'm not an expert, but I know a thing or two about mines. Actually, I know a lot about many things, but it doesn't matter now... I won't bore you with the details because you probably don't care, but believe me, there are many safety features in mines like that one that can help you survive fire, explosion, shockwaves... It's just a matter of knowing your surroundings well. The amount of air can be a problem during a fire like that, but it can also be remedied. So… maybe he didn't die after all. But what do I know?”

“That's… interesting,” Phil concluded, and the stranger snorted.

The bartender fell silent, analyzing every single word the stranger had said. It was already clear to Phil that he would not tell him anything directly, especially not about himself. The man didn't confirm anything explicitly, but he didn't have to. Phil already knew the answer to his question.

“Alright, I get it… So should I call you Jake, then? That was the name of that techie guy, if I remember correctly.”

“Was it, really?” the stranger smirked. “In that case, you can call me whatever you want, Hawkins. Jake is a name as good as any.”

“Really? Okay then, Techie,” Phil placed his palms on the counter. “You’ve said you owed me… why exactly? Why are you here?” he reiterated, still confused by the stranger’s presence.

Jake paused for a moment, his piercing gaze fixed on the bar owner. Phil was not one to be easily intimidated, but there was something about Jake that made him uneasy yet intrigued at the same time. Was it his unwavering confidence, his carefree attitude, or maybe something else entirely?

“I understand that my visit may seem unnecessary, but I felt compelled to come,” Jake responded, his tone measured and deliberate. “You see, there’s something about you that… let’s say, that doesn’t add up to me.”

“Oh…” the bartender nodded, feeling annoyed and somehow disappointed again. “So you want to accuse me of more things, then? Tell me I should rot in jail, like some other wonderful people?”

“No... nothing like that,” the man chuckled nervously, his dark hair falling onto his forehead. He brushed the locks away with a casual flick of his hand, trying to hide the fact that he was clearly troubled. As he paused to collect his thoughts, his eyes darted around the room. Finally, he spoke again, his voice hesitant and uncertain.

“I know someone anonymously paid your bail, and I may know more about that. I may know a lot about that. And I believe it still bothers you, so I think I should share it with you. And, well… I suppose what I'm trying to say is that this meeting has been weighing heavily on my mind. I've been thinking about it quite often, trying to figure out what to say or… how to say it, and I think I still don’t know… I mean… okay, here's the thing. Do you remember the second person who got involved in this case by accident?” Jake continued, “You… you invited her to Aurora. She never came here, but still, you did, and—”

“The girl? Shit… okay, now I think I get it,” the bartender sighed deeply and nodded, as he couldn’t believe it was that simple. It was always that simple when there were feelings involved. “Don’t tell me… It hit your ego, didn't it? You liked her, right? Did you come to tell me I was not only released from the arrest thanks to you, but they actually arrested me because of you in the first place? You got jealous of that girl, and that's why I had a shitty couple of months? Was it your revenge?”

The stranger shrugged, but his awkward smile said it all.

Guilty as charged.

“Great... so you almost ruined my life over some chick I don't even know?! Only because I invited her here? I did nothing wrong! Couldn't you explain it between you two? You had to get me into this… And you still have the nerve to come to my bar and—”

“No, wait,” the alleged hacker silenced him with a gesture. “I mean… you almost got it right. I do feel guilty you were in that arrest for quite some time, but for a different reason…” the stranger rubbed his neck nervously. “What if… hypothetically, of course, what if I knew right away how to get you out of this? I knew you were innocent and I had proof for that? But... she was so interested in you... and you in her! And I didn't want you to be interested in her… I guess I was just… confused about you. Shit, it doesn't make sense, does it?”

Phil frowned, but slowly the meaning of the stranger's words began to dawn on him. He wasn't after the girl who helped solve the case. Techie was after… him.

He was jealous of… him?

Was that even possible?

He knew he should be angry. Furious even! It was about his life! Countless hours wasted in the arrest he didn’t deserve! Yet, somehow… The guilty look on the stranger’s face made it fade away. He'd be lying if he said he didn't wonder who that mysterious hacker was from back then, or why exactly he was involved in the case. He knew back then that the answers to these questions were just beyond his reach, but now, miraculously, he was sitting in front of him, almost vulnerable and almost exposed. His fascination overcame his anger. The stranger's eyes were full of remorse, and for a moment, he felt a twinge of sympathy.

Sympathy and something else, but he wasn’t sure what it was…

Curiosity!

It had to be just curiosity.

“My, my… So I think you are my stalker, after all…” The bartender hummed, taking two steps away from Jake, but somehow couldn't help but smile.

“No. No, no. Nuh-uh! This statement is definitely not true!” The alleged hacker protested immediately, pointing his finger at Phil as he blushed a bit, his heart pounding in his chest. "I know things about you, and I learned them without your consent, that is correct. Good luck to you with suing me. But I— it’s not my fault. And I didn’t— I wasn’t really— I just wanted to understand you better!" He paused and took a deep breath. "Didn't I help you after all?! You got out, didn’t you? And I am not a stalker! Jesus, I think I need a real drink… " he trailed off.

The bartender was taken aback by the unexpected outburst and blinked a couple of times in confusion. However, he soon burst out laughing, unable to hold it any longer. "Wow, you really lost your cool there, man… You’ve just admitted to some weird things…" he said between chuckles, "I didn’t think it was possible! In fact, you sound exactly like a stalker trying to explain himself, you know." The bartender knew his mocking tone only made the situation more awkward and uncomfortable for the stranger.

“Yeah.. Coming here was a mistake, I guess…” Jake scoffed, grabbed his backpack, and was about to jump off the stool and leave the pub, but Phil, without thinking too much, grabbed his forearm. The stranger winced in surprise, but as his dark eyes met the calm eyes of the bartender, he slowly sat back down.

“Alright, okay. You’re not my stalker, yeah?” Phil smiled,letting go of his arm, “But I think you still owe me more explanation. Fair?”

“F-fair,” the stranger muttered.

To Phil's surprise, Jake leaned forward from his stool and across the counter, invading the bartender's personal space as if it was absolutely nothing unusual. The stranger's arm accidentally grazed Phil's shoulder as he gently pushed him away and reached for a bottle of whiskey and two glasses from behind the bar. Before Phil could even register what was going on, the stranger was already sitting back on his stool, pouring the liquor generously into the glasses.

“I… thought you said you don’t drink,” Phil observed, raising an eyebrow.

"Yeah. And I thought you were a self-absorbed, narcissistic, brainless drama queen, and yet here we are, engaging in a somewhat intelligent conversation. How about that?”

Phil chuckled, a bit taken aback, as he watched Jake down his drink in one swift motion, followed by a wince and quiet grunt. With a solid tap, the stranger placed the glass back on the counter, exhaling audibly.

“That’s some terrible whiskey, Hawkins,” he admitted, reaching for the bottle to pour himself another.

“It’s my finest one, Techie,” Phil smirked, “And the most expensive one, too.”

“Still quite terrible, for my sophisticated taste… And don't call me Techie.”

“Then don't call me by my father's stupid name.”

Jake blinked a couple of times, as if realizing something. “Right. I forgot he was an asshole, too. Bigger than you.”

“You forgot— oh, Jesus…” the bartender whined, “Don't tell me you even know about my father? I didn’t post anything about that online… How the fuck? How much do you exactly know about me, Stalker?”

“Again with the stalker…” the hacker poked Phil’s chest with his finger, “Listen, the thing about your father is quite well-known around town, isn't it? It's not that weird that even I know about it… and I didn't have to dig too deep to—”

“Damn it, Stalker.” Phil shook his head in disbelief, “You're a walking red flag. I should have thrown you out as soon as you came here. Why am I even still talking to you?”

“Oh, come on, I've never— I am not that bad.”

“Any other sane person would have handed you over to the police a long time ago, Stalker. You do realize that, don’t you?” Phil finally took the glass into his hand and sipped his whiskey.

“But you won’t do that,” the stranger smiled as he clinked his glass with Phil’s, “You think you’re so much better than me, don’t you?”

“That's very possible. So what do you think about me, then? Besides that I’m a brainless douche, that is…”

The bartender's question lingered in the air for a few seconds before Jake spoke up. His voice was clear and confident, matching the intensity of his gaze, "I have a couple of thoughts, actually," he said, pausing for dramatic effect, taking a sip of his whiskey as well, "Ready? First and foremost, I think that you have an overinflated sense of self-importance," Jake's tone was stern but not unfriendly, "Secondly, you have a habit of getting under my skin. I can't explain it, but something about the way you carry yourself and the things you say just... irks me, but that much you already know. It's like you're actually trying to push my buttons or something!" He shook his head in frustration. "And finally, I think you may be a ginormous asshole, but you're also… intriguing in a way that I don't—don't quite understand." Jake paused once more, letting his words sink in. Then he, once again, angrily poked Phil’s chest with his finger, "And I don't like it. Not. One. Bit.”

“Oh? And you’re very weird, Stalker. You know that, right?” A little pissed off by the stranger's behavior, Phil grabbed Jake's hand and moved it away from his chest, but didn't let it go afterward. Suddenly, he felt a strange warmth spreading throughout his whole body, an electrifying feeling caused by the touch of the hacker's skin on his own. The stranger looked straight at him, his big, dark eyes almost like they were trying to read his soul. The expression on his face reminded Phil of a deer in the headlights and it definitely didn't help him with getting rid of the hacker.

As Phil slowly released his hand, the silence between them engulfed them both. Jake’s Breathing became heavier, and his cheeks, once pale, now glowed with a blush.

The bartender rested his elbows on the counter right next to him. Close enough to feel the slight touch of fabric of Jake's hoodie on his skin. The stranger's earlier confidence seemed to have disappeared, and the bartender couldn't tell whether it was the alcohol or Jake's confessions that had caused this change.

After a brief moment of silence, the stranger spoke up, "I'm sorry," he said, leaning forward slightly.

The bartender furrowed his brows. "What exactly are you sorry for? Because I could name a few things now..."

The hacker smiled, but it didn't quite reach his eyes, "I didn't mean to be annoying, "he admitted, his hand idly drifting towards the bottle of whiskey on the counter. He rested his hand on it but refrained from lifting it. “I'm not exactly a people person, you see. I just… I wanted to get you out of my head. It didn’t quite work out as I expected…”

Feeling the weight of the moment, Phil gently placed his hand on the whiskey bottle, his fingers brushing against Jake's. The hacker hesitated, his gaze locked onto Phil's intense stare.

In a soft, almost whispered voice, Phil spoke, "Easy there. You're not much of a drinker, and if there's something you want from me, I want you to be clear-headed enough to ask for it. You're already a puzzle without the alcohol. Stick to your soda, Stalker."

Jake's eyes shifted from Phil's to the bottle, as if contemplating its significance. 

After a moment of reflection, Phil continued, his voice measured, "Alright, let's lay it out. You're quiet, so let me see if I understand correctly..." He released his grip on the bottle, meeting Jake's gaze with a steady intensity. "You're suggesting that I'm getting under your skin, but I'd argue otherwise. I have a feeling you actually like me, and you're just not sure how to handle it. That’s your dilemma, Techie.”

"Wow, okay. If what you're saying would even be true," Jake said dismissively, "Would that even be a problem? Like, you know… my problem?”

Phil leaned in closer to Jake once more, a small smile forming on his lips. His fingers traced the hem of the stranger's sleeve playfully as he leaned forward more, "Well, we could always make it my problem, too," he replied, his voice barely above a whisper, “Because, believe it or not, you somehow… fascinate me, too.”

“Oh?”

"Don't get me wrong... You obviously have issues, and I have a feeling your mere presence means trouble. But, the thing is, I don't mind trouble. Life’s boring without it, right? And maybe I should keep an eye on you… to stop you from stalking me further. So… which is it? Do you like me or hate me?"

Jake’s dark hair fell across his face, but Phil could still see the glint in his eyes, "I still can’t decide… Can I say it's both?"

Phil’s smirk grew wider, “It never happens, you know. People either love me or hate me. But you…” he shook his head, “You’re different.”

“Is that a compliment? Are you telling me I’m special? It could be good and bad, you know…” Jake chuckled as he playfully pushed him away, his hand lingering on his chest a little too long.

Then Phil realized he was somehow already long gone... The stranger had managed to wrap the bartender around his finger without him even noticing. The mischievous twinkle in Jake's dark, deep eyes was impossible to resist, drawing Phil towards him like two black holes. Phil found himself powerless to resist the pull, feeling as though he had absolutely nowhere to run.

“What?” Jake asked, noticing Phil was staring at him without saying a word, “Why are you looking at me like that?”

“I have an idea how to help you with your dilemma. Can I… check something?” Phil tilted his “Um, what exact—” Jake wanted to ask, but he didn’t get to finish his question.

Phil was tired of guessing. He sighed, taking the stranger’s face into his hands, his fingers gently entwining with the strands of Jake's dark, tousled hair. As he leaned in, his heart raced, and he could feel the warmth of the hacker's breath on his lips. Yet, to his surprise, Jake tensed up, his eyes widening in a mixture of anticipation and uncertainty. Phil's fingers tightened slightly on Jake's hair, reassuring and firm.

Their kiss was soft, almost tentative, their lips barely grazing each other's. Yet, Phil's tongue slowly found its way into Jake's mouth, and the man welcomed it with a quiet sigh.

That was it. That was what Phil wanted to achieve. 

Phil couldn't suppress a chuckle as the taste of whiskey lingered on Stranger's lips, a soft, breathless sound passing between them. He felt Jake's hesitant smile against his own,a silent acknowledgment that he finally realized what it was all about.

The bartender was suddenly glad that there was a bar counter between them, otherwise he would have pulled the stranger much closer.

“Shit… you really did that,” Jake mumbled as they broke the kiss, but they stayed close, “And you know what’s worse? Fuck, Hawkins, I think I liked that…”

Phil's lips curved into a smirk, his voice low and hoarse as he looked deep into the Stranger’s eyes that no longer felt strange to him, “Liked it, eh? Well, well, well... Seems like we've stumbled upon something interesting here.”

Jake exhaled, his reddened lips still curled into a smile, “Don’t get any ideas, Hawkins…”

The stranger leaned back a bit as Phil’s hands let go of his hair. Then he playfully tugged at Phil's t-shirt, the fabric stretching slightly as he did so.

Suddenly, the watch on the stranger's hand emitted a high, short beep, interrupting the moment. Jake’s expression changed immediately as he glanced at the device. He sighed heavily in frustration, and without any explanation, moved away from the bartender, hopped off the stool, and grabbed his backpack.

Phil was left quite confused. He quickly jumped out from behind the bar and grabbed the stranger's arm, wanting at least some sort of explanation, “Hey, whoa… What is it?”

"I have to go. I'm sorry,” the stranger said quickly, his tone tinged with regret.

"Wha— Why?" Phil asked, his grip on the stranger's arm tightening, “Is it because we–”

"No," he replied with a slight smile. "I don’t really want to go. But it doesn’t matter. You wouldn't believe me anyway."

Phil's brows furrowed in confusion. "So.. you're just leaving me like that? After we–" he scoffed. "Will I… will I even see you again?"

The stranger paused, a thoughtful expression crossing his features. Then, he smiled slowly, his fingers lightly tugging at the hem of Phil's shirt once more. "Even if I wanted to come back here, which I do not confirm at all," he said, his voice teasing, "I would… probably come here tomorrow, same time. Purely hypothetically, of course. We could… get to know each other better. Properly. Without any hint of stalking."

Phil's heart skipped a beat at the prospect. He needed to see him again.

"Is that so, Stalker?" Phil said, grinning, “You mean I could get to know you better. You already know all about me, right?”

The hacker snorted, “Oh, come on, I thought we’re past it…”

“But I don’t want you to go,” the bartender admitted, his voice softer.

The stranger smiled in a way that made Phil’s head spin, “Too bad, Drama Queen. I’m already gone.”

“Well then, Techie. I’ll be thinking about our next, hypothetical meeting.”

A snort of amusement escaped Jake's lips, but his eyes betrayed his hesitation as he held Phil's gaze, “See you never. I demand coffee next time. And maybe some better whiskey…”

At that moment, it seemed like the hacker wanted to say or do something, but he only managed to muster a frustrated grunt. He shook his head, allowing his dark curls to tumble with the motion, and reluctantly, after a couple of long, long seconds, he finally let go of Phil's shirt. A sly smile then crept across his face, a spark in his eyes that made Phil's heart skip a beat. Despite his temptation to keep the stranger with him for even just a bit longer, Phil grudgingly let him leave. 

With a final glance, the stranger turned on his heels and strode out of the pub, disappearing into the night.

[emiplayzmc]

...So here's that 2.5k+ word one-shot that I wrote in one afternoon + night

@turntableart it's the guys ever :3 And also @bigshot-furbiestm since you said you wouldn't be opposed to reading it in your RB last night :3

Also posted it on AO3 in case it's easier to read there :D

♤~~♡~~♤

♤~~♡~~♤

"It's Not Too Late to Learn to be Alive Again"

Summary:

Two former and forgotten Addisons rummage around in an alley and end up staying for too long, hiding out in a dumpster from the cold rain.

AKA, I have brainrot about an Addison OC that me and Turn have been talking about and I am. Very much adding them to my list of blorbos.

Drip.  Drop.

Tink.  Splat.

The sound of tiny bits of acid rain hitting every surface of this block in Cyber City for the moment.  Hopefully, it wouldn't get any worse than a light drizzle.

The dull-coloured Addison stands at the end of the alley, blankly staring up at the gridlines at the top of the world, watching the droplets fall down around and onto him.  The acidity by itself couldn't clear the dust and grime on his dull, bluish-green casing, but he could feel and see the streaks trickling across it, making them slightly more metallic-looking again instead of the matte that he'd been reduced to.

Plink.  Tap-tap.  Clack.

He blinks as a drop of cold rain lands on the tip of his nose, scrunching his face briefly as he's brought out of the blank trance-like state he was in.  He swivels his head around to look over his shoulder, watching as items get tossed out of trash bags within a green dumpster at random intervals, hitting the opposite wall of the alleyway with clatters, cracks, and occasional wet slaps - the least appealing of those sounds, in his opinion.  He wonders when his companion will find something they deem suitable to sell or edible enough to use as a consumable.  He emits a low hum and draws his coat a little closer to himself, looking back over the back alley wall to the thin strip of buildings between the city and the Cyber Fields beyond, an occasional red light blinking on the unfinished railway.

Pitter-patter, thup-thup.

…and it sounds like the rain is falling a little harder.  That's wonderful.  He steps off of the crate that he'd used to look over the back wall and approaches the dumpster, lurching back to let a slimy-looking something hit the wall before moving forward again and standing on the tips of his toes to peer in.

He can see the greased back, oily hair of his companion rummaging around in a trash bag, their gears clicking inside them as they mutter to themselves while deliberating over a bottle with its label torn off, containing MAYBE some kind of juice.  Could also be motor oil, it's not easy to tell.  The lid of the dumpster must be blocking the rain from hitting them.  He reaches over the edge and taps the other on their shoulder, finding it the tiniest bit amusing when they startled and nearly dropped the bottle of whatever-it-was.

“WH 4T THE- AH, U!!!  SOMETHING [Turn Left]?”

The gratingly loud, glitched voice of Spamton G. Spamton had become a small comfort to the other in the past few months.  To others, it may have been hard to listen to for more than a few minutes, but to him it was familiar.  It was safe.  Friendly.

The corner of his mouth twists into a frown as he points upward before making a sweeping gesture to the alleyway now growing wet with puddles and slowly thickening curtains of acidic precipitation.  Spamton pokes his head out of the garbage receptacle and immediately hisses when he feels rain hitting the top of his pompadour and face, causing the other to smirk lightly at the reaction.

“[$%#/] RA1N…” Spamton grumbles as he peers out, wiping the already accumulating rain away from his nearly opaque multicoloured glasses, “WE’LL LEAF [And It's Going Going] [Going] [Going] [Going]- …SO0N.  JUST GOTTA F 1ND SOME GRUB!!!”

…He doesn't exactly know why they couldn't root through the garbage can of a bakery that's on the route back to Spamton's shop, but he hesitantly nods and pulls the back of his coat over his head to hide from the rain, leaning against the dumpster and listening to Spamton rifling through the garbage bags a little quicker.

…

The frigid acid rain drums and hisses against the roofs and the concrete in the alley, making muted green puddles around his feet and staining more of his cyan shoes.  He shivers underneath his now-soaked coat, and Spamton still hasn't finished, likely getting too fixated on finding something edible to have noticed he's taking too long or that the rain has started pouring.  He kicks the back of his foot against the dumpster hard, earning him a muted “1 SEC OND.”  He grumbles and shivers again.  He's cold and wet and he'd rather go back and miss eating instead of obsessing over finding something for too long.  His internal heaters got busted and clogged long ago, he shouldn't be outside in this mess.

…

Screw it.

He turns around and yanks open the other lid on the dumpster, scrambling inside despite Spamton's startled noise and shutting both lids above them, pulling his legs up to his chest and shoving a gutted trash bag off to the side, huddling onto the side and flicking on the flashlights in his eyes.

“H 3Y!!!” Spamton protests, the lights in his eyes flickering on as well, both their sets of eyes shining dimly in the dumpster with light turquoise and pink-and-yellow light, “I’M ALM0ST [Done and Done!], Y'D U-”

His questioning dies off as he sees his dull greyish green-blue companion shivering in the corner of the dumpster, his legs pulled up to and hugging his chest and the soaking wet coat pulled tightly around him, even though it's likely making the shivering worse.

“...0 H.  RITE…” Spamton wavered, remembering his friend's condition, “SHOULD H4VE [Leave while you still have the chance]...”

‘Idiot, he told you we should leave and you got hooked on something that could've been taken care of on the way back,’ he thinks to himself, berating.  He can't keep doing that when he has this guy following him around with broken systems… if he's going to insist on trailing Spamton like a lost Tasque just because the White Addison found him shut down in the middle of the street unable to move and fixed him up as best that he could, he might as well make sure they're at least safe.  Not that he's actually grown to care about the nameless Addison at all.

“...H3RE, I-” Spamton moves to kneel on his knees instead of squatting, looking through his corrupted inventory quickly to find the slot with his blanket, pulling it out of the 1s and 0s.  He then reaches forward and attempts to snatch the wet coat off of the other, holding up a surrendering hand when they flinch and pull themselves back farther, confused.”

“U CANT [ Wear all of our latest styles at -] TH4T, YO U’LL [Freeze, criminal scum!],” he grunts out, holding out his hand as if to say ‘ hand it over .’  The other Addison hesitates for a minute, not wanting to give up his coat, but his fans ultimately emit a whirring sigh as he peels it off of himself, balling it up and handing it to Spamton before trying in vain to wipe the wet spots off his stained blue dress shirt underneath.  Spamton tosses the coat into the corner, intending to dry it back at his shop (somehow) when the rain stops and they leave.

Spamton then takes their ratty - but still functional, with no holes or tears - grey blanket and drapes it over the dull Blue's legs, watching as their face morphs into one of surprise before gratefully (and somewhat covetously) pulling it farther over himself, gripping a small part of it to their chest.

‘It won't help much to heat him up, just block a little more cold,’ he muses…

His own internal heaters may not be the best, but they at least function better than the other's.

He shoves the trash bags next to the Addison farther to the side and crawls over to sit next to him, pushing himself close to the other’s body so they can share the heat.  Surprised, the other tilts his head to the side, wondering why all of a sudden Spamton actually… WANTS to be close to him.  Spamton notices the confused expression and scoffs - not in a mean way.

“U L0OK LIKE A- LIKE A- LIKE A- [[- looking like a kicked puppy and down on your luck? ]] SI TING TH3RE SHIV€RING, D0N’T [Expectations, expectations!] TH IS TO BE A REGULAR THING,” he grumbles lightly, gently pulling some of the blanket over himself before opening his inventory again and bringing out his tattered and yellowed pillow, plopping it behind his and the other's backs.  May as well get comfy, they'll likely be here all night.

…

Bonk.

Spamton feels a light thud on his skull, and feels the other pressing even closer to Spamton's body, realizing that he's resting his head on top of Spamton, looking somewhat content for one of the few times since they've been around each other.

“...TH4T DIDN'T T AK LONG,” Spamton snorts amusedly.  The other angles his eyes down at Spamton's face and gives a small smile, nuzzling into his head, which… most people probably wouldn't do, but at the moment, neither of them cared.  Spamton liked feeling like he was needed at the moment, and the nameless Addison loved the warmth, both the literal and metaphorical kind, coming from his companion right now, relishing it.

Spamton sees the unlabelled bottle of liquid from earlier still resting unopened on a pile of trash, and he grabs it, swishing it around in the glass.

“EXP3RI MENTASHUN!!!” Spamton says gleefully, cracking open the bottle just to finally figure out what it is, “[Rock Bottom]’S UPP!!!”  He tips his head back and pours some of the yellow liquid down his throat, clamping his jaw up and down as he tries to discern the… interesting… taste.

“H3RE,” he says, offering the bottle to the Blue, “DUNNO WH4T IT I S, BUTT ITS CONSUMABLE!!!” The other gingerly takes the bottle, eyeing the familiar curved glass of the bottle before taking a small sip… which he immediately regrets, since it burns the whole way down his throat and tastes like someone mixed toothpaste and rotten glass with alcohol that went wrong.  He splutters whatever he can out of his mouth, his face twisted into a grimace.

…it does warm his insides, though.  Probably because it's started eating away at vital fluids that have started leaking everywhere, based on the taste - though that may be a little overdramatic.

…and his reaction to it made Spamton cackle out a glitched and garbled, yet teasing laugh at his reaction.

“HAEHAEHA EHAEH- WH4T, DON'T LIKE THE N3W [Vile! Awful! Downright hideous!] TASTES OF TH E AUTUMN???” Spamton laughs, nudging the other in their torso lightly.  The dull one flicks the arm of Spamton's glasses, sending them askew with a smile, now feeling a lot less miserable and a bit warmer than he was when he climbed into the dumpster, cuddled next to Spamton and his heaters.  He even made him laugh.  He hums softly and lightly bonks the marionette's long nose with the tip of their own nose, attempting to make him laugh again.

“H- H3Y, URE ACTing [Sugar and Spice and Everything Nice], U BUY A SH1NY NEW [ the spark that created life!! ] 0 R SOMTHIN???” Spamton asks, snickering as he reaches up and touches the other's cheek, watching them lean into it like they haven't had such a simple act of touch in decades.

Boop.

He touches their noses together again and nods up and down quickly, pointing a finger at Spamton, and then himself, before pointing at his face and grinning widely.

…Spamton gets the message loud and clear.  Externally, his eyes roll [[HEAVEN ]]wards as if that was a cheesy thing to imply, but internally he's… Actually getting a little emotional.  He hasn't made someone who he may or may not care about smile since…  Well…  not for a long time.

“[Gourmet Wheel of Brie] LINE 2 BUTT ER ME UP,” he says unconvincingly sarcastically, “BUT URE SM1LING FOR 1NCE, SO ILL [ What can I say except ‘you're welcome’? ]!!!”  Spamton reaches his arm up from its position behind his head and claps the other on their shoulder a couple of times fondly.

“S0 GOOD L UCK GETTING Rid of me NOW, BCAUSE URE [Stuck in a ditch? Call-] WITH ME NOW, [Friend Request Accepted], SO I C4N KEEP THAT  GR1N ON YO UR [Beutiful Head]!!!”

…what does it say about the other, when such garbled yet simple words of kindness were enough to nearly well his eyes with tears?  For just the simple act of being with him to make him emotional?

“... th ank you,” he croaks out, the voicebox quality scratchy and sounding alien from disuse, resting his head on Spamton's again.

“D0NT MENTION IT, [Buddy Chum Pal Fr]- [[Stop the presses!!]]” Spamton halts mid-sentence as he snaps his head to fully look at the one sitting beside him, eyes wide behind his glasses as he stares into their blue-green eyes - does he daresay he saw some sort of sparkle in there?  “D ID- DID U JUST [Everybody's raving about our new-]???”

He nods, his small smile stretching a little as he moves his head down to bump his forehead to Spamton's again.

Spamton's face, in return, breaks out into an ear-to-ear, genuine grin as he bumps foreheads back, ecstatic to hear him speak for what may well be the first time since they met.

“I'LL [ -chugalug, chugalug ] 2 TH AT!!!!” Spamton cheers, holding up the still-open bottle of vile fluid and taking a large swig… oh what the Hell?  Just this once he'll try to like it…  The other grabs the bottle and takes a drink from it as well, nearly gagging but managing to keep it down for a few moments before breaking into silent, body-shaking laughter at the fact they just willingly drank that again.

He wonders what he would do - if Trademark License Addison saw his abhorrent alcohol - unfit for a ViroViroKun, the very same that he detested for taking the place of nearly every cheap but decent gas station brand in the store, the very same drink that he expelled from his body into the bathroom sink - in stores a few years ago now being consumed by his future self in a dumpster while giggling over the smallest of things and sharing heat with the former Big Shot himself.

When the entire bottle is drained, Trademark and Spamton lean back against the pillows, the former listening to the drumming of rain on the dumpster lid above them, and to the White Addison yammering on and on about some convoluted make-it-big-again scheme with a tired and tranquil look on his face, until he eventually falls asleep, his head now drooped onto Spamton's shoulder and his arm draped across his torso, gripping him tightly to keep the warmth close to him.  When he finally does notice that the dull, yet so, so bright Blue Addison whom he doesn't even know the name of, has fallen asleep nuzzling him, he feels… content.  Happy, even.  His own arm gently holds Trademark close to himself, as well.

Spamton likes feeling wanted.  Feeling needed.  By someone, for once in years.

…

They could both get used to expecting this to be a regular thing.

♤~~♡~~♤

♤~~♡~~♤

[hornedadvance]

Horned Advance

Chapter 0 - Prologue

I am a desert traveller. A vagrant. I travel across the arid pathways and dunes of the Psamathe Desert, looting corpses, hunting wildlife and trading with others that cross my path. I do not live an easy or fulfilling life, but the fact that I am living at all is a gift I would not dare neglect. In my life, there have been many trips to and from smaller towns in this desert, a gargantuan plane stretching 5 million kilometres in surface area. By now I am very experienced in trekking this merciless land, but many others could not say the same, with corpses, lost adventurers and tourists often rocking up in places they should never have been.

That day I had found myself stumbling across one such person, a small, young girl by her lonesome collapsed off the side of a central path. I knew not how she got there, what her intent was crossing this vast land alone, or even what kind of person she may have been. As a poor man myself, I was not one to care for others unnecessarily, as doing so may have resulted in my own demise if I was to be careless. This time however, was different. I was unsure why, but seeing that small, torn cloak laid over a barely breathing body I had felt compelled to help, even with my survivalist instincts firing off all chambers to do the opposite. 'I should loot her and be done with it.' I thought to myself, before taking a moment to reconcile with my humanity and conscience that I had begun to lose my grip on in these rough territories. She could have been a bandit, a murderer, or some other scorned fugitive- but some deep human element within me would not allow me to abandon yet another soul to these sands.

I found myself kneeling down by her side, shaking her gently to see if she was still sapient, aware. She lifted her head slowly and shakily to look in my direction and it was clear she was on her very last legs. Her lips were dry, torn and chapped and it was clear she hadn't gotten any water in far too long of a time. Sand had buried itself into every crevice of her face and it seemed she had long since resigned to dying here; this was until I had caught her eye, a sparkle of vitality returning as she had seen her chance to move forward. I offered her my spare leather canteen, a handful of bread and a hash of sun dried fish to get her back on her feet. The food was gone within moments, as I watched the life flow back into her pale cheeks beneath her rough hood. She never looked me in the eye directly, nor even showed any appreciation for what I'd done and for a moment I thought to regret my actions- had I made a mistake in giving what few supplies I had to this stranger? After a minute of silence and her staring me down like I was some sort of beast, she wiped her face and spoke up. 'Thank ye' She said, regaining composure, dusting herself off and standing up. She was about a foot shorter than me, a man of 6'6 stature, with a low voice, but clearly one of youth. She had clear burn marks on her front side from laying on searing sand, but it didn't seem to bother her much. 'I don't know why you came for me, but I would be dead without your help. Just another stray lost to the sands, I suppose.' She spoke, pulling her hood further forward in an effort to cover her face. 'T'was nothing. Any good man 'dve done the same.' I replied, in what was a blatant lie to the both of us. She was clearly trying to hide her identity now that she had come to, but doing so isn't easy in a face to face conversation. She had loose brown hair that hung down near her shoulders, with messy bangs covering her forehead. I could've sworn I had seen a glint of something dark but shiny adorning the side of her head when she had briefly faced me, but she didn't give me the time to ascertain what it may have been.

Just as fast as she had appeared in my story, she had left, with a humble thanks and a moment to gather herself, she had started walking off into the distance, without so much as a wave goodbye. The next settlement was miles away in that direction, and she seemed short on supplies herself, but she made no note to ask me for anything at all before setting off. Whatever had set her on this path, it seemed she was willing to chase it even if it meant her own demise. I briefly watched her walk unto the horizon, before turning back to my own path and heading on to Muvazani, the town of trade. I had been heading there to sell off wares that I had pilfered and gathered during my travels, before I stumbled across that unfortunate girl. Her odd name hung around in my mind for the rest of the trip until now. Just as she had turned to walk away from me I had asked her name and with a moment of hesitation she had uttered it under her voice. 'Palo.. My name is Palo.'

I knew not the significance of this name at the time, nor the meaning of the strange glimmer beneath her hood, but in future it would all become clear to me. In that moment I had met someone who would do unforeseen things to this humble world of ours.

Next Chapter

Link to All Chapters

[total-drama-takes-takes-2]

tta episode 5

“Last time on Total Takes Action: The teams formed their very own mobs to sell the now-contraband Chef Hatchet's Total Drama Yum Yum Happy Go Time Candy Fish Tails. The Fujoshis, despite a strong lead from Michela, lost after Bonnie ratted the team out, sending them to the Lame-o-Sine- but not without a special goodbye from their “friend” Caesar. Will the Anons keep their lead? Has anyone gotten Michela out of those cuffs yet? Find out now, on Total! Takes! Action!”

A black screen. Nothingness. 

Then, light. 

Caesar picks up the phone and holds the camera to the mirror, using the flash to do his hair in the dark. The bathroom door opens and Joner walks in, pausing to look up at the ceiling. 

“What happened to the lights?”

“They’re out again,” Caesar sighs. “I swear, I’m draining the life out of this thing just from doing my hair!”

“Where’d you even get that?” Sha-Mod asks from a stall. 

Caesar shrugs. “Found it just lying around. I’ve been using it to collect information in case I want to sue later. I have very good lawyers,”

Joner nods and whistles as he pulls a toothbrush out of his back pocket, half of his body out of the view from the camera, and wets it under the tap. There’s a heavy silence over the room. The bags under Caesar’s eyes are dark purple. 

The sound of a toilet flushing and Sha-Mod slamming the stall door follows and he walks in the background before reaching a sink off-screen. 

“Hey,” he says. Caesar looks over. “Sorry about Bonnie, man. It’s not easy.”

Caesar sighs and sets the phone down on the counter, shrouding the screen in darkness again. The audio continues to play without hitch. “It’s not easy. I wish it was,”

“When McLovin got voted off, I didn’t know what that meant for any of us,”

“Well, at least you still have Joner,”

Joner agrees through a mouthful of toothpaste. 

“I only had Bonnie,”

The sound of the door opening follows as someone new enters. “Hey, guys, we’re all meeting outside. We can’t find Chris,”

---

“I knew it was getting too quiet around here!” Scary says. She sounds mad, though the camera is obscured by a curtain of blue- Caesar’s pocket. 

“He probably just left to do something without telling us. Where’s Chef?” Michela asks. 

“Can’t find him either,” O sounds nervous. “No one panic, though, okay? Take deep breaths- everyone count to ten-”

“Oh, can it!” Scary snaps. “This is a challenge, obviously. You are all so juvenile.”

“How do you know?!” Scruffy says, panicking. 

The sound of footsteps. “The gate is locked. It looks like the lot is closed down,” Peter says. “We got evicted.”

Fren clears his throat. “Um… it definitely wasn’t an eviction notice,” 

---

“Oh… oh, this is not good,” O mutters. 

Caesar pulls the camera out of his blazer pocket and begins collecting evidence on the scene. Just inside the gates is a police-taped crime scene, complete with a chalk outline of a mangled body in the middle. Various red stains cover every surface. 

Caesar swallows. “Okay, from now on, this camera stays on,”

Scary ducks under the police tape and walks up to the stain-covered chalk outline. 

“What are you doing!” Peter asks. “This is a crime scene!”

“Oh, please,” they swipe some of the red liquid off the asphalt and lick it off their finger. Everyone gags. “It’s cornstarch and food coloring.”

“Nuh-uh,” O shakes his head. “I’m not playing these games. I’m going back to the trailer and waiting for someone to get us. It’s like my therapist always says-”

Everyone groans. 

"Someone's gonna get him alright," Michela mumbles, wiping some dust off her parka. "If this is a challenge, it must be crime themed."

"But we already had the mobster episode?" Joner asks cautiously. She glares at him for having the audacity to address her.

"There are different subgenres of crime,"

"As much as I hate to admit any of you resemble even the smallest fraction of intelligence, you're likely right," Scary crosses their arms. "Nonetheless, I'm not doing anything until Chris addresses us himself."

And with that, the group disperses.

---

Caesar records the sunset over the city and turns back to the craft services tent, where Michela is trying to open a can of beans with a shank. “Stupid kitchen… I cannot BELIEVE they took the can openers,”

“The sunset is pretty tonight,” Caesar says merrily. 

Peter looks up from the table, where he’s closely seated between Michela and Fren. “Is it?”

Caesar nods, shaking the camera a bit. “Very. And there’s no need to worry, we’ll be fine as long as we stick together, right? They can’t just leave a bunch of teens here,”

“Oh, they can,” Scruffy mumbles from the other table, scratching at a bug bite erratically. “They’ve done it before- but, oh, wait, this isn’t before! This is all new!”

They laugh insanely and Joner and Sha-Mod look between each other uncomfortably. Scary stands. "You people are unbearable. I'm going for a walk,"

Just before they can formally excuse themselves, a scream from the trailer catches everyone’s attention and the group runs outside over the dark set. 

Caesar throws open the trailer door first. “O? O?” But there’s no one there. 

Fren mutters. “Uh-oh,” just as all the lights in camp go out. The screen goes dark. 

A few people scream. Scary laughs. “Oh, God. This is so corny,”

“Hold on, I have a night vision setting on this thing,” Caesar mutters. Suddenly, the vision in the camera returns, everything shrouded in green. 

“Is this really the time to be recording?” Fren asks. “I mean, we’re all on camera anyway.”

“This is for my... personal records, thank you,”

---

The group walks alongside each other back to the craft services tent. Joner walks on one side of Caesar, Michela on the other. They’re very clearly ignoring each other. 

Caesar sighs. “I miss Bonbon,”

Michela gives him a sympathetic look. “Yeah, I get the feeling. I miss Max, too,”

“They’d both love this kind of thing, huh?” 

Joner watches the interaction nervously, looking between the two and Sha-Mod. He stares at Michela for a few moments, working up the courage to say something, but then turns to Sha-Mod again with a sigh. 

“Sha-Mod, I- hey, wait… Sha-Mod?” he looks around. “Sha-Mod?”

“What happened?” Michela asks cautiously. 

“He was right here!” Joner squeals, hurrying closer to the group. 

The group enters the craft services tent and Michela takes a headcount.

“Okay, we’re just missing O and Sha-Mod. Everyone else is accounted for,” she taps her chin. “This doesn't feel like a crime flick. It must be a horror movie challenge, like last season’s.”

Caesar sighs loudly. “Bonnie…”

Michela ignores him. “Which means we need to stick together to avoid getting picked off. Maybe we should work by the buddy system to make sure no one’s alone,”

Scary rolls her eyes but doesn’t protest. “I call Scruffy,”

“Oh, thank God!” They whimper, clinging to her leg. “B-but at least if this is like last season’s… I’ll know what to do, right?”

Scary pats their head. “Sure thing, champ!”

Fren and Peter link arms, the latter shaking slightly, and Caesar coughs awkwardly. “Well… I have the phone…”

“You’re not seriously comparing your phone to a person?” Michela blinks. He shrugs. “I can’t partner up without Bonnie. It’s not right.”

She sighs and turns to Joner. “Okay, fine. Just don’t talk too much,”

---

The hours tick by. It’s now far after dark, nearing midnight. Scary yawns and stands, then begins walking to the tent flap. 

“Um, where are you going?” Caesar asks, holding the phone up to them as they leave. 

“To bed, numbskull. I’m tired,” 

“Haven’t you ever seen a horror movie? You’re gonna get beaten to death in a sleeping bag,” Michela says, rubbing her eyes. 

Fren nods. “We agreed on keeping watch in here,”

“Oh, whatever, you big babies. This is just Chris trying to creep you out, and it’s pathetically working. I have some physics to catch up on,” she walks out into the dark. Scruffy sighs and gets up to follow her. 

“Whatever,” Michela sighs, cradling her head in her hands. Fren pats her back reassuringly. 

---

A few more hours go by. Fren is sleeping, slumped over the table. Peter is rocking back and forth at his feet, and Michela is blinking slowly. 

The phone rests in Caesar’s lap as he snoozes, giving a skewed shot of the table from across the way. Every time he breathes, the camera slowly moves up, then down as he exhales. 

“Hey, don’t fall asleep yet,” Joner nudges Michela’s shoulder. “Remember that one sleepover we had where we pulled an all-nighter?”

She rubs her eyes. “We were twelve,”

“Yeah, but still. We made that pact that whoever passed out first had to take out my mom’s trash the next morning, so we both stayed up and made my little brother do it,” he laughs. “I miss that,” he smiles at her. “I miss us.”

Michela frowns and looks away. “Things are different now,”

“Come on, Miccy. What do I have to do to make it up to you?” 

She sighs and rolls her eyes. “I dunno, why don’t you plan out some huge cheesy gesture to win me over, like in the movies,”

Joner nods in thought as Caesar suddenly wakes with a start, the phone falling off of his lap and onto the grass. He picks it up seconds later and holds it to his face, breathing on the camera and cleaning the lens with his sleeve before turning it back around. “Everyone still here?”

“We heard Scruffy screaming about a half hour ago but nothing else,” Michela leans on the table. “Fren, do you still have to go to the bathroom?”

She nudges him awake. He blinks slowly and nods.

“Okay. Joner, you’re up with me. Let’s go. And stay together,”

The three stand and head out. As they leave the tent, Michela stops them. “What are those?”

Surrounding the tent are dozens of oddly woven branches and piles of rocks. Most of the weaving is shaped like Chris. 

“Symbols!” Joner quivers, hiding behind Michela. 

Michela sighs and continues leading the two out to the bathrooms, avoiding knocking over any of the ornaments. 

---

Caesar sits in the craft services tent, propping up the phone against a box of napkins and pointing it at himself. 

“This is Caesar. Video diary #13,” he folds his hands in his lap. “I’ve been telling everyone I’m collecting evidence, but I just need an outlet. Without Bonnie here, with nothing to do… I feel like I’ve been relying far too much on Bonbon,” he looks down. “I’ve been a burden. I’m useless here. I’m just not built for this show! I’m a host! I-I’m a host! And there’s no shame in that!”

He sighs.

"I just wish I could've done better for Bonnie. I don't know if what we have is platonic or... whatever. But I'd like to figure that out together,"

Peter stirs from under the table and Caesar quickly grabs the camera, flipping it back around. Peter rubs his eyes as he sits up, looking around like he can’t remember where he is. 

“Caesar?” he looks around. “Did everyone else get snatched?”

“Nah, Michela and Joner took Fren to the bathroom… wait, they’ve been gone for like, forty minutes now,” he checks the time on the phone. "Weird."

The tent suddenly begins shaking violently, large shadows on either side casting a menacing frame over the two. Peter jumps and scrambles outside into the dark.

"Peter, wait!" Caesar says, but he disappears. Caesar hugs his knees to his chest and trembles as a dark figure re-enters the tent.

"P-Peter?" he asks, voice shaking.

The figure hurries over, face red and wheezing.

"Joner! What the-"

"Michela and Fren-" he pants. "Dark figures- serial killers- witches!"

Caesar stands. "Okay, that's it!"

Joner collapses to the grass and lies on the ground face-first before looking up as Caesar leaves. "Where are you going?"

"I'm gonna win this dumb challenge!"

---

Joner jogs to catch up with Caesar as he storms ahead.

"This is suicide, dude! You're gonna get snatched!"

He shakes his head. "I can't think about that now. I'm going to win, I'm going to be the last one standing!"

Joner sighs, his shoulders hanging. "You deserve it, man. You're a better dude than I am,"

"Oh?" Caesar raises an eyebrow, his gossipy tendencies getting the better of him. "Why's that?"

"You're a great friend to Bonnie. You two always have each other's backs and stuff, and I..." he sighs, rubbing his shoulder. "I really let down Miccy. We'll never be friends again."

Caesar slows his walk, thinking aloud. "Bonnie and I aren't perfect. We have our own problems, too... is making it up to Michela what you really want?"

Joner nods, kicking a rock across the grass. "Don't feel bad for me, bro. Even if I did win, there's no way she'll ever forgive me,"

Caesar sighs.

---

"This is Caesar. Video diary #14. I just remember feeling so bad for the little guy. Bonnie and I... our story is just beginning. And I want to find out where that goes together. If Bonnie hated me and we got separated for another four weeks? I don't think I could live with myself,"

---

Joner and Caesar approach the communal bathrooms, their footsteps seeming to echo. The camera swings around to Joner, who blinks, and then back to the door. 

Caesar walks in first, and the camera takes a moment to adjust. Fren is standing in the corner of the bathroom, facing the wall, completely still. 

“Fren…?” Joner asks. 

Something offscreen lunges at the two and they both shriek. The camera cuts to and from black before landing in an odd angle on the floor, giving a skewed shot of Caesar tackling a black-robed figure and attacking it on the ground.

The phone tips over. Black. Caesar screaming. Joner picks up the camera and starts running in the opposite direction as Caesar shrieks "MY HAIR!"

The lights in camp suddenly flash on, and the screen goes white. 

---

“Well… that was fun,” Chris chuckles, standing at the podium in the amphitheater. “I hope all of you enjoyed playing that as much as I like watching it.” He chuckles, holding up Caesar’s phone. “Teens today are too easy- you give them a phone and they do your job for you!”

Everyone crosses their arms and glares at Caesar. He smiles nervously. 

“Ultimately, the Anons took the win again, but that doesn’t mean all hope is lost for you. In fact… Joner came up with a pretty sweet idea for me earlier,” he grins wickedly. The campers stare at him, confused. “But nevermind that. Let’s get this started! Michela, you’re safe.”

“Peter,”

“Fren,”

“O- you were the first out- and Caesar- your spelled doom for your team,” Chris holds up the last Gilded Chris Award. “O…

… You’re safe. Caesar- sorry, dude.”

Caesar mumbles to himself and stands passively, almost pleasantly. 

---

CAESAR: “I’m not even mad. Let’s be real- if I wanted to win, I would! But I wasn’t born to play, I was born to lead. I’m a host at heart. Now it's time to find out what this "Aftermath" thing is all about,”

---

“Who will be taking the carpet of shame next time? And who will make it one step closer to the million? Find out next time, on Total! Takes! Action!”

[backtraf]

you could say it's a prompt, but if not, know your writing keep smile on my face 😚 I strongly believe that Kelvin keeps oldschool vinyl record player at his place, but since his hearing got worse after the crash he forgot about it. at the same time I am also convinced that if somebody asked him for a dance to sinatra's "strangers in the night" he wouldn't say no. happy tears commence. please 🙏

With Kelvin's love for music, of course he would have an old-school vinyl record player!

Kelvin and Tim were busy for the last few weeks clearing out Kelvin's old apartment. Tim used his pickup to haul a lot of the things that weren't too big, but still big enough not to go in boxes. He came across an old vinyl player, and he grabbed a nearby cloth, wiping the dust off the top and the side knobs. He smiled lightly and lifted the lid.

A record was was still sitting in the player, forgotten. A layer of dust, lighter than the one on the outside had been, coated the record. Tim blew on it gently, watching the dust fly up and off of it. With great care, he lifted it from the table and examined it. It was a Frank Sinatra album, and Tim smiled.

Memories of Kelvin subjecting the unit to songs like New York or Fly Me to the Moon surfaced, and he couldn't help but feel bittersweet about it. He remembered one song in particular that he sometimes played. What had it been?

He looked at the songs on this particular record, and none of them rang a bell, so he found its sleeve and carefully put it away before looking at the shelf that housed all of Kelvin's records. He gently looked through the stack, marveling at how old some of them had to be before he came across another Frank Sinatra album.

He pulled it out and scanned the songs, finding the one he had been looking for. Strangers in the Night. He placed the record on top of the player and scooped it up into his arms. He'd come for the rest of the records later.

He passed through the kitchen and paused at the door, calling out, "Robby, I'm gonna head home and drop off what I've got in my truck!"

"I'll be here." Kelvin called back.

Tim quickly walked out and placed the player in his passenger seat before sliding the vinyl itself carefully next to his seat. When he got back home, he took them in first, placing the player in a corner of the room where Kelvin would not be able to see it if he walked in and gently placed the record onto the turntable.

Taking a moment, he tested it to make sure it still worked and smiled when it began to play the first song. He let the record play until the song before the one he wanted ended and stopped the player, closing it gently and running to unpack the rest of his truck. He headed back to Kelvin's apartment and finished up for the day, ready to relax at home.

Kelvin collapsed on the couch, the stress of packing up his apartment wearing him down mentally. Tim opened the player back up and got the record moving again, the song 'Strangers in the Night' beginning to play. Kelvin opened his eyes, confused, to see Tim standing above him with his hand extended to him.

"Care for a dance?"

Kelvin stared at his hand before taking it, being hauled up by Tim. He began to move Kelvin around slowly, swaying to the music.

"You found my vinyl player..?" The confusion was starting to wear off, and he suddenly recognized the song, feeling tears slowly fill his eyes. "You remembered this song? Out of all my records?"

"Hard to forget something when it involves you." Tim murmured in his ear, causing a shudder to go through Kelvin's spine.

He pressed his face into Tim's shoulder and let him lead the dance, sniffling every now and then. Tim was perfect, and he was all Kelvin's.

[soleilocverse]

Gel Clings/Window Stickies

Here's pics of some of the gel clings I bought as fic research! The halloween ones were first and would you believe me :) if i said they were on my window until the beginning of this month (march) and then. i sat on this post for 3 weeks DHSKFJH

Fic research notes below:

I got all of these from target btw!! some of them in the seasonal section, some of them in that dollar section. okay so things i have learned:

BUGS. will stick in these. i thought my room was a bug free zone until i woke up to like three of those little tiny (idet they're fruit flies) stuck to the surfaces.

Follow up point. IF. u try and wipe those bugs out normally, and they're not fresh, they will crumble into little bug dust and get all sorts of stuck in your gel cling. so either catch them early (you won't. ness might if he's checking them every day but these things become bg noise for me) or carefully pluck them out with your fingers wrapped in a paper towel or smth. or resign yourself to bug dust <3

they Will rip if you are too rough with them

FOLLOW UP POINT, they rip much easier when they've been sitting in the sun for five months and u decide now's the time to switch them out :)

sitting in the sun makes them soft and hot and floppy!! they feel thinner and more delicate than the fresh ones

sitting in the sun for five months also gives them a distinct scent that, if i was feeling generous, i would describe as "sun-warmed." and if i was feeling Not generous, i would describe as "melted plastic" aDHSKJDS

they don't actually catch as much hair/dust as i would've expected?

BOO, i hate putting together the ones like the taco where there's multiple parts. they're kind of annoying to line up (this was seconded by someone else irl)

they sure will just make these things whatever. "love you 'slow much'" is v funny and i think the sloths are cute but babes what does that have to do with valentine's :sob: same for all the foods. i put the taco and pizza together with a heart between them tho like they're a couple

LOL i actually did have ones that said trick or treat but they were ugly and i dropped them on the floor behind a stack of boxes and forgot it existed until after i took this photo. so point being. sometimes u buy the set just for one or two cute things in it. (i can't remember if it was the pumpkins or the BOO; that pic includes 3 mish-mashed sets)

IF i had space for it, there is no way i would've taken down the halloween ones so now all i can think of is ness and crew slowly filling up their window w/ all these miscellaneous holiday gel clings until it's filled up (bc. idt any of them could bear saying no to Ness one's he's started it this way, and soleil would take his cue from the others)

actually (and this is why i do fic research) thinking more about those implications and, ahh,, atm at least, i think soleil would genuinely be the first to break and clear up the window (some). athena would be too enamored with ness filling up all this space on his own even if it bothers her a bit, cyrill would genuinely think it looks hilarious and send pics to his family gc every time new clings go up, and ray would be too unbothered to care either way, esp when his partners aren't super bothered. but soleil has the most practice saying no to ness/re-routing him into smth else, and he Would like to be able to look outside again, actually.

[eldritchships]

34 with Shockwave? 👀

34. Washing each other's body

Word count: 1876

This took much longer than intended, both because the prompt made me blush and I accidentally went way over my intended word count 😅 (Oh also, in case anyone's worried, nothing overly spicy happens)

Cold air whipped around the Nemesis's landing deck, meeting the pleasant warmth of the sun, and stopping what would otherwise be a hot day from being too overwhelming.

Flatline pulled Shockwave further out of the shade of the landing decks' runway interior. An equally blinding smile spread across his faceplates, watching small clouds of dust fall from the both of them with every step they took.

"Rubble doesn't suit you, my love." Flatline chuckled. Shockwave slipped his digits from Flatline's, slowing to a stop. Flatline lowered an oversized container to the floor by his pedes; it was filled with water and suds, and a clean rag hung on its brim. Shockwave's optic flickered, glancing towards Flatline.

"Or you." He paused, assessing himself. "My mechanical systems remain functional, the exterior uncleanliness is only a minor inconvenience." Flatline took the rag from the container.

"A good clean improves both internal systems and personal morale." He echoed Shockwave's matter-of-factual tone with a tilt of his helm, wiping at Shockwave's forearm. Shockwave shifted his arm to present it at a better angle.

"A logical response." He replied. Flatline smiled. He worked his way up Shockwave's forearm, washing away the thick red dirt until Shockwave's paint showed through clearly again, restored to its usual dark purple. Shockwave held his arm loosely, allowing Flatline to gently rotate it one way or another as needed.

The mission they had been sent on together had gone awry, particularly due to Autobot interference. They had managed to retreat, but not without navigating their way out of a collapsing cave system first. Fortunately, Flatline had checked the both of them over once they'd gotten back to the ship, and given the all-clear apart from some surface level wounds.

"You missed a spot." Shockwave's helm moved, directed to the spot he was indicating.

"Well stop moving your digits around." Flatline laughed, optics still down and focused on the servo he was holding and finishing up on. Shockwave's digits twitched, but he held them still. Flatline pulled back, and dropped the rag onto the edge of the container. He used his grip on Shockwave's wrist to pull it close enough to press a kiss to the Shockwave’’s knuckle-joints. Shockwave pushed his servo in a little further, brushing the back of his curled digits against Flatline's cheek. The singular optic was gazing into Flatline again, maybe analysing the dirt still covering his metal, or maybe just watching the glimmer in Flatline's optics.

Shockwave used his thumb to clean a smear from Flatline's faceplate before removing his servo. Flatline patted Shockwave's arm before looking the larger bot over. He tilted his helm back, lips pressed in a contemplative hum.

"You might have to help me." Flatline told him, gesturing downwards. Shockwave looked down at Flatline, the height difference all the more evident between them. He took a step back, and slowly lowered down, cautious of his own weight as he got down on his knees.

"Is this low enough for you?" Shockwave asked. He leaned forward, helm closer to Flatline's faceplate. Flatline smiled and took Shockwave’s helm in his servos. He was still maybe a head shorter, but at least he had easy access to Shockwave's helm now.

"Perfect." Flatline replied. He began picking chunks of rock from Shockwave's neck cabling, tossing them aside. Shockwave's optic flickered again, becoming darker, almost as if he were shutting it as Flatline gently raked through his outer circuitry. The metal beneath their pedes tinned with a dozen falling stones, a tiny symphony that tittered out with the final pebbles. Shockwave's helm was becoming hot underneath the sun when Flatline tilted it up again. Shockwave brightened his optic and twisted to retrieve the rag from the container, his cannon rising to be a stabilising support on Flatline's leg. A single clean, surgical swipe removed the dirt from Flatline's chest screen, the slightly elevated pulse displaying clearly. Shockwave showed the same treatment to Flatline's shoulders, his arms, light dabs that neither took too long nor hurried. Flatline's shoulders hiked but he otherwise stayed still, the helicopter blades on his back twitching underneath Shockwave's attention.

"You're enjoying yourself, aren't you?" Shockwave noted. Flatline's smile was perpetually etched into his lips, trying not to wiggle as Shockwave got a rather difficult stain out of the seams between his stomach panels.

"How could I not? It's a gorgeous day, and we're out here spraying each other with water. I almost feel newly-forged.”

Shockwave hummed thoughtfully, the sound barely a grumble in his vocaliser. He examined the area he had been cleaning, making sure it was satisfactory. Once accepted, he handed the rag into Flatline’s open servo. Flatline crouched to dunk it into the sudsy water, feeling the wind chill against the cleaned parts of his body. He stood up, raising the rag to Shockwave’s chest plate. He took a step forward, and then faltered. His gaze flicked quickly to Shockwave’s chest, his face, and back again. Flatline pulled his arms back and released another chuckle, this one more uncertain, as warmth flooded his faceplate. The charm of the moment was still there, but he seemed to have realised the close proximity of what they were doing, and was getting flustered because of it. Shockwave's helm fins dipped, fixing his round optic on the other bot. He was quiet for a moment, watching Flatline's movements, the shift in his weight.

"Are you embarrassed, Doctor?" He questioned. Flatline's smile strengthened despite himself.

"Of you? Never." He shuffled an inch closer, and gave Shockwave a sideways glance. "Um. May I?" Shockwave nodded, and Flatline moved forward, getting close enough to continue scrubbing away dust and clumps of mud from Shockwave's body. The windows were brought to a gleam, Flatline's empty servo pressing to the side of Shockwave's chest while the other lovingly attended to the opposite side. Flatline's chest-screen picked up, fans whirring to try and dispel the heat in his systems, despite the grin creeping across his features as he wiped Shockwave clean. Shockwave's servo rested on Flatline's waist, purposeless but steady. Flatline's optics affixed on the spot he was working on, dragging down the curve of Shockwave's midsection. Putting a bit more pressure on the rag, he flicked out clumps of clay that had gotten caught. His servos slowed and lingered there, the tips of his digits following the seams between the metal plating, trailing down their expanse.

"Flatline..." Shockwave said; His servo squeezed Flatline’s waist to bring back the smaller bot’s attention, a warning rising in his tone. Flatline startled and quickly pulled his servos away.

"Right." He said quietly, the word apologetic but light.

Shockwave watched Flatline move on to other parts, and his hold relaxed again. More of his colour was beginning to show, greys and purple all but polished to a shine under Flatline’s eager attention. The two bots passed the rag back and forth between them, taking turns to wipe each other down. Flatline pretended to swoon when Shockwave took his servos in his own to scrub down Flatline’s arms, only to insist upon cleaning Shockwave’s cannon when the larger bot attempted to do it himself.

Flatline stepped closer, his pedes almost brushing Shockwave’s kneecaps. His brow was furrowed, taking care as he manoeuvred around the delicate (and potentially lethal) barrel of the cannon, propping it against his own stomach for support. The unconventional shape posed a challenge, but he was able to clear the dust away. Eventually, Flatline’s movements slowed, and he raised his gaze to Shockwave. He stared silently, causing Shockwave to pull his helm back a degree. Flatline gently lowered the cannon, and he reached up, taking Shockwave’s helm back into his servos. He felt Shockwave tense in anticipation, trying to discern his intention, but Flatline’s expression softened, all at once overwhelming the jovial atmosphere.

"My darling.” Flatline’s thumb brushed the purple metal underneath it, his optics meeting Shockwave’s single one and keeping it. “You are the most beautiful creature in this or any other solar system."

Shockwave paused, merely watching Flatline for a long moment.

"Illogical. Aesthetic beauty is entirely subjective." He finally replied. Flatline sighed a smile.

"I know it in my spark." Flatline tilted Shockwave's helm up to press a kiss underneath where his chin would be. He planted another, and another, each one less tender but pressing more firmly with enthusiasm than the one before. Shockwave’s newly-cleaned cannon rested against Flatline’s calf, a light pressure that disturbed the last spots of mud there as he tried to limit the assault on his helm. Flatline pulled back enough to look at Shockwave again. Flatline beamed, the sunlight bouncing off of the blue crest that framed his optics. Shockwave’s helm tilted to the side, and he shifted, his one servo moving up and up. Flatline tilted his chin up, expecting to give another kiss. Shockwave leant forward…

Cold water doused Flatline like a flash flood. He stumbled back, sputtering and spitting water out of his intake.

"Hey!" He accused, staring at Shockwave. He still had the now wrung-out cloth in his servo.

"You hadn't finished your own form yet." Shockwave replied. Flatline's optics narrowed; with Shockwave's monotone, it was hard to tell whether he was being genuine or making an excuse.

Flatline swiped the cloth from Shockwave, dunked it in the container, and thoroughly soaked it in water. He splashed Shockwave with it. Shockwave jerked back, rising to his pedes as he wiped bubbles from his optic. He flicked them at Flatline, who hopped back with an outcry.

“You spend stellar-cycles handling dangerous chemicals, but cannot tolerate a little water?” Shockwave questioned. Flatline laughed, amused and outraged, and hurried forward to the still half-full container. Shockwave slid back a step, then another, as Flatline lifted the container. With a heave, Flatline threw the remaining water all over Shockwave. He moved back a little with the wet slap of a large amount of water hitting his plating. Flatline laughed again, this time much more cheerful as he watched Shockwave shake off. The floor around them had become a slurry of water and dirt, the ratio too one-sided to become mud, but enough to cause a slipping hazard.

“That was a frivolous amount of waste.” Shockwave remarked, rolling suds out of his cannon. Flatline placed a servo on his hip.

“You’re clean now, aren’t you?” He retorted. Shockwave looked himself over, and Flatline could see him thinking it over through the twitches in his helm fins. Before he could respond, Flatline dropped the container and closed the distance, grabbing Shockwave’s servo. He tugged Shockwave with him towards the edge of the landing deck. “Come on. Let’s dry off.” Shockwave’s helm tilted again, somehow scolding despite the lack of facial features, but unlike normal the silent reprimand didn’t have as much bite behind it. He followed Flatline’s pulling further away from the interior hanger. They both knew they had already been in the sun, enough to adequately dry off. But when Flatline sat down, a bit back from the edge, Shockwave only paused for a minute before sitting down himself. The view was better enjoyed from this angle, with much more visible to their optics. Excess water falling from their plating, Flatline intertwined his digits with Shockwave’s, and settled with them there.

[current-234]

Essential Office Cleaning Tips for Busy Professionals

Life as a busy professional can be overwhelming. Between back-to-back meetings, project deadlines, and maintaining a personal life, keeping your office clean often falls to the bottom of the to-do list. But let’s face it—an organized and clean workspace can do wonders for your productivity, focus, and overall mood. If you’re struggling to keep up, these essential office cleaning tips will help you maintain a tidy space while still balancing your hectic schedule.

1. Declutter Daily

One of the simplest ways to maintain a clean office is by decluttering regularly. At the end of each day, spend five to ten minutes clearing your desk. Toss away old coffee cups, organize loose papers into folders, and ensure your supplies are in their proper places. A clutter-free workspace helps reduce stress and keeps distractions to a minimum.

Pro Tip: Adopt the “one in, one out” rule. For every new item you bring into your office, remove one that you no longer need. This keeps clutter from piling up over time.

2. Adopt a Cleaning Schedule

Having a consistent cleaning routine can make a world of difference. Dedicate specific days for tasks like dusting your desk, wiping down your keyboard, and emptying the trash. You don’t need to tackle everything at once—breaking tasks into smaller chunks ensures they’re manageable.

For example:

Monday: Dust surfaces and organize shelves.

Wednesday: Sanitize your keyboard, mouse, and phone.

Friday: Empty the trash and vacuum the floor.

By sticking to a schedule, you’ll avoid the frustration of having to deep-clean when things get out of hand.

3. Keep Cleaning Supplies Handy

Having cleaning supplies within arm’s reach makes it easier to address messes as they happen. Stock your office with a few basics: disinfectant wipes, a microfiber cloth, compressed air for electronics, and a small handheld vacuum. When spills or dust appear, you can take care of them immediately without interrupting your workflow.

4. Use Storage Solutions

If your desk is overwhelmed by papers, gadgets, and office supplies, it’s time to invest in smart storage solutions. Drawer organizers, desk trays, and vertical file holders can keep everything neatly arranged. Use labeled bins or containers for items like pens, paper clips, and sticky notes. Having a designated spot for everything will make your office easier to maintain.

5. Don’t Forget Digital Cleaning

A clean office isn’t just about the physical space—your digital workspace matters too. Set aside time each week to organize your computer desktop, delete unnecessary files, and empty your email inbox. A clutter-free digital environment can improve your focus and efficiency.

6. Take Five-Minute Cleaning Breaks

Short, frequent cleaning breaks can be more effective than one long cleaning session. Set a timer for five minutes during your workday to tidy up your space. Whether it’s wiping down your desk or filing away papers, these quick sessions can help you stay on top of clutter without feeling overwhelmed.

7. Bring in the Professionals

Sometimes, even with the best intentions, keeping your office clean on your own can be a challenge—especially if you’re working long hours or juggling multiple responsibilities. That’s where professional cleaning services come in.

If you’re in Nashville, Tennessee, and looking for a reliable office cleaning service, Maids on Duty is an excellent choice. They specialize in helping busy professionals maintain spotless workspaces, leaving you free to focus on what you do best. Their experienced team can handle everything from dusting and vacuuming to deep-cleaning tasks, ensuring your office stays in top shape.

By outsourcing your office cleaning to Maids on Duty, you can enjoy a healthier, more organized workspace without sacrificing your precious time. It’s a smart investment in both your productivity and peace of mind.

Final Thoughts

A clean office is more than just an aesthetic choice—it’s a tool for enhancing your productivity and well-being. By implementing these simple tips and partnering with a professional cleaning service like Maids on Duty, you can create a workspace that inspires success. So why not take the first step today? Declutter your desk, set up a cleaning schedule, and let the pros handle the rest!

[chocolatedetectivehottub]

Kitchen Deep Cleaning,

Kitchen Deep Cleaning,

The kitchen is the heart of the home, where meals are prepared and memories are made. However, it is also one of the most frequently used and high-traffic areas, often accumulating grease, grime, and food debris. A routine cleaning is necessary to maintain a pleasant environment, but sometimes a deeper clean is required to ensure your kitchen stays hygienic and spotless.

Kitchen deep cleaning involves going beyond regular tidying and scrubbing. It means tackling areas that are typically overlooked in everyday cleaning routines. Here's how to deep clean your kitchen from top to bottom, ensuring every nook and cranny is sanitized and gleaming.

Why is Kitchen Deep Cleaning Important?

Deep cleaning your kitchen not only improves its appearance but also helps maintain a healthy environment. Over time, dust, grime, and bacteria can accumulate in hard-to-reach places, such as behind appliances or in pantry corners. By thoroughly cleaning these areas, you reduce the chances of mold, pests, and contamination, especially in areas where food is prepared.

Step-by-Step Kitchen Deep Cleaning Guide

1. Declutter and Organize

Before diving into the cleaning process, clear off countertops, shelves, and cabinets. Remove any unnecessary items that have accumulated. This will make the entire cleaning process easier and allow you to reach areas that are usually covered.

2. Clean the Refrigerator

Start with the fridge, where food often spills and spoils. Remove all items, wiping down shelves and drawers. Clean any sticky spots or food stains with a mixture of warm water and dish soap or a gentle cleaning solution. Check expiration dates and dispose of any outdated items.

3. Deep Clean the Oven

Ovens can easily become coated with grease and food splatters. Start by removing racks and trays and soaking them in warm soapy water. Use a specialized oven cleaner to scrub the interior, or make a DIY paste using baking soda and water to remove stubborn stains. Let it sit for a few hours before wiping it down.

4. Clean the Microwave

Microwaves accumulate food splatters that can harden over time. To clean, place a bowl of water with a few slices of lemon inside the microwave and heat it for several minutes. The steam will loosen the grime, making it easy to wipe down. Don’t forget to clean the turntable as well.

5. Tackle the Dishwasher

While it may seem counterintuitive, your dishwasher needs deep cleaning, too. Run a cleaning cycle with a dishwasher-safe cleaner or place a cup of vinegar on the top rack and run a hot cycle. Wipe down the door seals and remove any food debris from the bottom of the machine.

6. Clean the Sink and Faucets

Your kitchen sink can harbor bacteria and grime. Scrub the sink using a non-abrasive cleaner to avoid scratches. Pay special attention to the faucet, handles, and around the drain. Use an old toothbrush to scrub hard-to-reach spots.

7. Wipe Down Cabinets and Drawers

Kitchen cabinets collect grease and grime over time. Use a mild detergent and a soft cloth to clean the fronts of your cabinets. If there are any built-up stains or grease, a mixture of vinegar and water can work wonders. Don’t forget to clean inside drawers where crumbs and spills may have accumulated.

8. Scrub Countertops and Backsplash

Your countertops can collect food particles, grease, and stains. Use an appropriate cleaner based on your countertop material. For backsplashes, a solution of vinegar and water will easily remove grease and grime without damaging the surface.

9. Clean the Floors

Kitchen floors often accumulate spills, food crumbs, and dirt. Sweep or vacuum first to remove any loose debris. Afterward, mop the floors with a cleaning solution that is safe for the type of flooring in your kitchen, whether it’s tile, vinyl, or hardwood.

10. Disinfect High-Touch Areas

High-touch areas such as light switches, handles, and door knobs should be disinfected regularly. Use a disinfectant wipe or a solution of water and rubbing alcohol to sanitize these areas thoroughly.

Tips for Maintaining a Clean Kitchen

Clean spills immediately: The longer a spill sits, the harder it will be to clean.

Use liners in drawers and cabinets: These will catch crumbs and spills, making cleanup easier.

Regularly wipe down surfaces: A quick daily wipe-down of countertops and appliance surfaces helps prevent the buildup of grease and grime.

Deep clean every 3-6 months: Depending on your cooking habits, plan for a deep clean at least twice a year to keep your kitchen in tip-top shape.

Conclusion

Kitchen deep cleaning is essential for maintaining a hygienic, organized, and welcoming space. By following these steps, you'll not only keep your kitchen sparkling clean but also ensure a safe and healthy environment for you and your family. A well-maintained kitchen can make cooking and meal prep a much more enjoyable experience, so take the time to clean thoroughly—your kitchen (and your family) will thank you!

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