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

[themslash]

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

[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

[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.

[psithurista]

approach shift pt. eight

pairing: Peter Parker x f!reader (TASM/Andrew Garfield version) length: 4.6k rating: explicit 18+ warnings: Mentions of death, canon-typical violence, depiction of anxiety responses.

Peter Parker is a weirdo. A hot, distracting, irritating weirdo. And you can’t afford distractions right now. So there’s only one thing to do.

series masterlist

Saturday morning rises blue and cold, and you with it.

You sit blearily upright in bed for too long, wrapped in the covers against the chill as you flick through pictures from last night.

It’s all blurred teeth and disembodied limbs draped in pearl-beaded candy bracelets. There are a lot of people you don’t recognise, but Chris looks deliriously happy, which you figure is the main thing. You feel a fresh pang of guilt for making Bear miss it.

You get to the end of the new posts and start from the beginning again, your eyes glazing past ads for vitamin subscription services and monogrammed phone cases.

You’ll message him today, you tell yourself, yawning, shivering. You just need to work up to it. You don’t want to get the words wrong. Or the tone. Or the timing.

You drag yourself out of bed and shuffle around the apartment wrapped in your comforter, padded like a glass ornament against the world.

You make coffee for yourself and Bear, pouring hers into a vacuum flask to keep hot for when she wakes up. You clean out the grinder—properly, with the little brush it came with, not just shaking it out over the trash, then decide to rearrange the filters into a neat stack so they aren’t all crumpled in the corner.

You’re wiping inside the now-empty drawer when Bear’s door flies open. You catch a glimpse of her as she passes, pillow-creased and frazzled. “I’m so late,” she moans, stumbling into her shoes.

“We didn’t even go out last night; how do you always manage to do this?”

She shrugs, throwing her phone in her bag. “It’s a talent.” You hand her the vacuum flask, and she gasps. “You’re an angel. See you tonight.”

“See you,” you say, watching her go.

Now you’ve taken everything out of the drawers, you figure it’s probably worth doing the same for the rest of the cabinets. You can reorganise everything and actually get a system in place for all the utensils.

It’ll feel good; an easy accomplishment, one you can use to bolster your confidence and sense of capability while trying to decide what to say to Peter.

You put on some music and settle into the rhythm of the task, creating ordered stacks on every surface in the apartment. You unearth the embarrassing ‘STEMing hot stuff!’ mug you’d forgotten about; a joke birthday present from Bear last year.

The morning drips away into afternoon as you hum and sway your way around the apartment. The constant, easy activity keeps you feeling warm and purposeful; it feels so clear, so unconfusing and undemanding on your heart to lift, dust, stack, straighten. You pull all your clothes out of your closet and sort them, finding a jacket you’d forgotten you had and a pair of sneakers with holes in the sides you’d been meaning to throw away.

Once the apartment is vacuumed yet again, couch and all, you light a candle and sit down on the floor to sort the mess of papers and books under the coffee table you’d been meaning to get to. You’d been saving the candle—for what, you aren’t sure anymore—and now the scent of it fills the apartment; sweet and rich. Your stomach growls loudly and you pause, looking at your phone for the first time.

You blink. That can’t be the right time. But it is. Because then Bear’s keys are jingling in the door, and you realise it’s gotten cold again, and you can’t see out the windows anymore because they’ve become black rectangles mirroring the spotless apartment and your own startled face back at you.

“Holy shit,” she says. “It smells like Pine-Sol in here.”

You look up at her vaguely sheepishly as though she’s caught you doing something you shouldn’t be. “Yeah. I, um, did a little cleaning.”

“A little?” She side-eyes you. “This reminds me of that time you procrastinated for like two weeks contesting that bullshit score you got, when you were too nervous to ask about it.”

“I’m not procrastinating,” you say, affronted.

She stares at you.

“I’m not,” you say.

It’s not like you’ve been intentionally avoiding the message you need to send. You just needed to clear your head first. And the apartment really was overdue for a good clean.

“All our dish rags have been colour-coded,” she observes, her head inside a cupboard.

You keep busy for the rest of the night, taking the world’s longest shower, and then using every single skincare product you can find in the back of the bathroom drawers, including the sample sachets Bear had shoved back there.

Bathed and moisturised and dressed in your softest pajamas, you sit on the edge of your bed and glare at your phone.

Should you be casual about it? Apologetic? Blunt?

You’re overthinking it. Just keep it simple.

hey parker hope you’re doing okay. can i come by? i miss

hey peter. i was thinking and i just really want to apologise for losing my shit at you that night after may’s birthday. but i just think it’s kind of shitty how you

peter, i’m so, so sorry. why didn’t you tell me about

You groan and toss your phone into the pillows piled at the head of your bed. You’re tired. Too tired to think about any of this. You hadn’t realised until now how much the day had taken out of you, but now you’re feeling all that scrubbing in your forearms.

Tomorrow, you think, burrowing down into the warmth of your bed. Tomorrow. —————

Bear drags you out of the apartment the moment you wake up. First to walk laps around the greenmarket, then to what feels like every used bookstore in the city.

You trail her through stacks of shabby Penguins turned spine-out in varying shades of faded orange while she tells you about the girl she’s only just started messaging who may or may not be hinting for her to move in with her already, and try not to look too devastated at the prospect.

“It probably won’t happen though,” she says, frowning at the back of a hardcover Magritte print book. “It’s just something she’s been dropping into conversation and, like, I can’t tell if it’s still a joke or not. Hey, we should go get a matcha.”

By the time you make it home that afternoon, you’re full and happy and barely miserable at all. You curl lazily into the couch while Bear starts on a stir-fry, scrolling through your phone. You’d set up a news alert months ago for Oscorp, back when the dream of working there was still just that, and now you skim through the day’s notifications.

There’s a quarterly financial profile, and a glowing article about one of the company’s recent charitable endeavours; providing water filtration systems to flood-ravaged parts of Papua New Guinea.

You only read the first few lines of it, wondering a little grimly how much PR paid for it to be published. You should probably delete the alert; you’re sick of thinking about work on the weekends. But then, just as you’re about to scroll away, something catches your eye.

'SIX YEARS ON: Has anything changed? Advocates for workplace reform have raised concerns Oscorp hasn’t done enough to meet its court-mandated commitment to transform management of company operations following the release of details from its most recent external review. The damning report comes only weeks after the anniversary of the death of Oscorp intern Gwen Stacy, who has been remembered by a company spokesperson as a “brilliant scientific mind sadly taken far too soon.”

The incident garnered a storm of public interest after allegations Oscorp had attempted to conceal details surrounding then-chairman Harry Osborn’s involvement in the events leading up to Stacy’s death. Unnamed Oscorp sources claimed Osborn was working under the influence of an unreleased drug which had not yet been approved for trials.

While the coroner’s report ruled the death as accidental, Stacy’s family have previously spoken to news outlets asserting the view that Oscorp’s failure to control access to untested pharmaceutical samples led to the tragic event. They did not respond to requests for comment.'

There’s a picture of a girl underneath the article; blonde and freckled and grinning toothily from behind a beakerful of clear liquid. She has the hugest, greenest eyes you’ve ever seen.

You read it three times before you put your phone down and stare at your feet for a few seconds, listening to the sound of your heart pushing blood around inside your head. Then, you pick your phone back up, open a new browser window, and start typing. —————

It’s colder inside than it was outside.

You unclasp your hands from between your knees, shivery and restless, and lean back from the desk to hug yourself, wrapping your arms tight around your body.

Gary’s cheeks are even redder than usual, bright with windburn; redder than his hair and the raw-looking skin around his eyes. He has a half-eaten almond croissant in his hand and there are crumbs all over the front of his coat.

Your leg bounces under your desk while he absently unwinds his scarf from around his neck, first in one direction, then, realising he’s just winding it tighter, in the other direction. He sets his satchel down and unclips it, ponderously slow.

You don’t think you’ve ever seen anybody in less of a rush in your entire life.

When he finally sits, you only manage to wait a few more seconds before you’re wheeling yourself in his direction.

“Hi Gary.”

He swivels his chair to face you, his face completely devoid of emotion. “Hello,” he says.

You scoot your chair a little closer. “Did you have a nice weekend?”

“Yes.”

“Oh. That’s good.” You look at each other for a minute. “I like your plant. Is that one of the ones they were giving out from the Wellness Lounge?”

“It’s fake.”

“Well,” you say slowly, “at least they’re trying to branch out.” You continue looking at each other.

He nods solemnly. “That’s funny.”

You give up. “I was wondering if I could ask you a couple of questions. About Oscorp. You’ve been here a long time, right?”

“I guess. Would you consider seventeen years a long time?” He doesn’t ask it with any apparent sarcasm. You don’t answer, just in case it’s rhetorical.

“I wondered if you know much about what happened with Harry Osborn.”

He looks at you with what might pass for mild suspicion. “It’s classified. You’re not going to put this on the internet, are you?“

You shake your head, giving him a little smile. “Just curious. I happened to get here kinda early this morning and stumbled across a few files while I was working. There are entire pages redacted and it just seemed really weird, so I just wondered what it was all about.”

He shoots a quick glance behind you, then lowers his voice. “Yeah, they really didn’t want any of it getting out. He was messing around with unapproved samples, even testing them on himself. And it did something to him, he went completely nuts. Took one of the interns hostage, then he killed her.”

Your heart rattles jagged and loose in your chest. “Gwen Stacy.”

He nods. There’s powdered sugar in his moustache. “Yep. They ruled it an accident, and that was the official story, but all of us who were working here then heard whispers trickle down about what really happened.”

“But why?”

“Who knows? Like I said, he went completely crazy. I doubt he even knew what he was doing. The facility he’s in? It’s not really a hospital. Or, it’s a maximum security hospital, if you get my drift. That’s why we don’t have the intern program anymore. Only graduate positions. You’re the replacement.”

It feels a little bit like how you imagine swallowing drain cleaner must feel. “The replacement,” you echo weakly. “That’s me.”

He seems to realise then how much he’s said, and he snaps his mouth closed. A beat passes, then he squints. “They made you sign an NDA when you started, right?”

You force a little smile. “Sure did.”

He still doesn’t look completely convinced, but then, it’s hard to tell when his face is about as animated as the plastic succulent on his desk. “Well. Good. I better get to work.”

“Yeah. Me too.”

You awkwardly scoot yourself back to your desk and stare at your reflection in the black monitor for a while. So May had left out a pretty important detail. Losing Harry and Gwen simultaneously hadn’t just been a case of unfortunate timing.

Gary’s confirmed everything you read, but it’s only made you more frustrated. There’s still something huge and obvious missing here that you can’t find in any of the files or reports or news articles, and it’s the thing you’re most confused about, more than whatever Harry Osborn was doing, performing reckless testing on himself.

Namely: what in the fuck was Peter doing there when it happened?

You’re still facing off with yourself when Doctor Brant walks in and you nearly knock all the shit off your desk in your scramble to look busy.

The day can’t pass fast enough.

Nothing seems to go right. The bottle slips out of your hand while you’re trying to refill the autoclave and you end up pouring distilled water all over your shoes. You forget your swipe card when you go downstairs to pick up a box of equipment and have to call security to let you back into your office.

And to top it all off, you’re still having issues with your starting cultures. You’re standing at the bench in the lab, frowning at yet another failed batch, when there’s a strange wheezing hiss from the vents overhead.

You look up.

Of course it’d just be the cherry on top if the air gave out and you ended up passing out from preservative fumes. 

You’re the only one in here at the moment; everyone else is back in the main office, so you carefully replace the lid on your samples and head for the airflow controls.

Which is when the lab plunges into complete darkness.

“Oh, great,” you breathe. You stretch your arms out in front of yourself, groping for walls. “Hello?” you call. “Is anyone else here?”

There’s no answer. You spin around and bump into the cold steel edge of a workbench. Fear trickles into your stomach as you realise you don’t know which way to go. Something smells off, like melting plastic.

The ground rumbles under your feet, and emergency lights flick on in little strips along the floor. Some of the panic leaves your body, and you make it to the doors, slapping your palm hard over the manual release so you can get out.

Everyone in the darkened office is standing around confused and talking loudly at once. A few people have the flashlights on their cells turned on, and you hold your hands out to block the light from your eyes, sidling toward the walls to get away as they all turn to blind you at once.

Doctor Brant‘s face looms out from the shadows of his office doorway looking tense. You make a beeline for him. “What’s going on?” you say, awkwardly falling into step beside him. “Power outage?”

He barely glances at you, striding forward. “So it seems. But the backup should have come on by now.”

You realise then where he’s headed and your mouth drops open. “Oh fuck. The freezers.”

A wry look barely breaks through the worry on his face. “Oh fuck, indeed.”

Some of the samples in those freezers are originals, more than twenty years old. If they warm past a certain temperature…

That’s years of work, gone.

The plastic smell has grown stronger, and there’s the distant sound of an alarm ringing, long and unbroken. A couple of people exchange tense looks as you trail Doctor Brant past them. “Should we be getting out of here?” someone says.

“It’s probably another drill,” someone replies, sounding unconvinced.

“Yeah, but. With the power cut?”

Doctor Brant pauses to look back around the office, his hand on the glass doors leading toward the freezers. “Everybody, please make your way outside. Meet at the assembly point. I’ll be down behind you.”

There’s some half-hearted grumbling about this; it’s a long way down using the evacuation stairs instead of the elevators, but then a low, distant rumble sounds from somewhere underfoot and everybody shuts up. There’s a brief bottleneck at the door as everyone tries to squeeze through it at once.

Your desk is on the other side of the office. You can practically hear the voice of your elementary school teacher in your head: stay calm, forget about your personal belongings, keep up with the group.

But your phone is sitting right in the centre of your desk. It’ll only take you an extra second to grab it.

You shuffle forward gingerly, just to make sure you aren’t about to blind yourself walking into the edge of a shelf in the gloom. Without the extra light from everyone’s phones, it’s even darker than before. Dust motes fall shivering off the lifeless light fixtures overhead as the building vibrates again, harder this time.

You slide your phone off the desk and flip it over so you can stick it into your back pocket, barely glancing at the notification on the screen. Then, the words belatedly registering, you stop. You don’t mean to. You need to get to the stairwell. But you can’t force your body to move.

1 Unread Message from: p.p.

Read it later, you think furiously at yourself. Later, later, later.

But your feet are still rooted to the floor. You need to see what he’s sent. You’ll be quick. Just a glance.

You stand stupid with panic and indecision, neither opening the message nor unrooting your feet. You’re frozen for what feels like a long time, but must only be a couple of seconds.

And then the decision is made for you.

The wall closest to the foyer rushes outward in a tsunami of smoke and insulation, and you hit the edge of your desk hard.

Everything goes black for a couple of seconds. Your eyes are squeezed shut against the grit of dust, and your ears hurt; ringing with burst-out silence. There’s the taste of blood in your mouth from where your teeth snapped shut against the inside of your lip and it feels like you hit your head somewhere on the way down.

When you manage to blink your eyes open again, you’re slumped half-under the desk. Probably a good thing, your shocked brain manages to think; it probably sheltered you from the ceiling panels crashing down. You scramble onto your knees, trying to ignore how unsteady you feel, and peer out.

You can’t see beyond the next row of desks. The smoke is too thick; and it’s too dark to make out much more than the twist of wires hanging from the ceiling where the lights have fallen loose.

“Shit,” you gasp. “Shit, shit, shit, shit.”

You lean back against the desk and try to think. The smoke is coming from the direction of the stairs to the main foyer, which means you can’t get out that way anymore. If the stairs are even still there.

Is there another way down from this level? Surely there must be. You probe your fingers delicately at the back of your head and wince. You have no idea what happened to your phone, so you’ve got no flashlight.

The lab, you think. There’s another emergency exit through to the other side of the lab. The stairs are behind a firewall.

You manage to get your feet underneath your body and shakily stand. It’s quickly becoming unbearably hot in here without the air working. You tuck your mouth and nose into the crook of your elbow as you pick your way forward. Your hearing is starting to come back a little; just a dull roaring sound and that alarm in the distance, still blaring.

You make it all the way to the lab door before it hits you. Doctor Brant.

You wheel around, squinting through the smoke. Fuck. Could he have made it out with the others? Maybe he’s already gone downstairs and is safe, waiting outside somewhere. You only need to think about it for a second before you know you can’t possibly leave without making sure.

You lurch toward the first of the control doors. “Doctor Brant?” The air burns your throat on the way in, and you cough so hard it feels more like a heave.

The heat is worse over here. You touch your hand to the release and hiss, pulling it back. The metal feels like touching the element on a stovetop.

Maybe you can wrap something around your skin to protect it. You hear what sounds like your name, yelled hoarse, and pause. You can’t tell which direction it came from. “I’m here! Oh, God. Doctor Brant? I’m right here. I’m gonna try to find another way to get you out. Hang on.”

You turn to search for something; a discarded jacket, or scarf from the back of somebody’s chair, and there’s a flicker of movement at the other side of the office. The sight unleashes a fresh screech of alarm in your brain. You duck behind one of the still-standing desks and peer out just in time to catch a shock of bright red swimming out from the haze.

You lean around the side, blinking, trying to make it out. The shape turns, and you see it right as it comes toward you: the panels of blue disturbing the red, the printed black over the chest; the long, sharp legs jointed out from the body. Him. Again.

Your stomach drops out. You seize the pen cup from the top of the desk and throw it as hard as you can, stopping him in his tracks.

“You stay the fuck away from me,” you warn, pointing, stumbling backwards.

“Jesus, stop, fuck—” he splutters, hands outstretched, ducking to dodge as you launch a wireless keyboard at him. You dash behind a pillar and run bent-over toward the maintenance hallway. You don’t know if he saw you, or if he’s following.

You know you should probably stop and consider why you’re actually running away from him when he’s probably only trying to help you. But your heart is going too fast for intelligent thought right now. Like a rabbit, without reason or rationale, fuelled by terror and adrenaline.

You hit a dead end and stop. Can you get to the other exit from here? What about Doctor Brant? Your eyes are burning and you scrub the back of your arm across them to try to clear the smoke. You turn to go back the way you came. But he’s there. And he’s already coming toward you. You let out a strange, retching sob-sound. “No. No, no, please, no, get away.”

He steps forward, angular grey eyes looming up out of the smoke and you wheel away. “Hey, stop, don’t go that way—”

Your lungs are on fire, and your eyes are streaming so badly you can’t tell which way to turn to run. He closes the distance between your bodies and then his hands are on your shoulders.

“Listen. Hey, hey, stop, we don’t have time for this, listen, listen to me.” You’re panicking, blind and overwhelmed and terrified, your heart clawing its way up your throat, trying to shove his hands away.

There’s something wrong with all of this. His voice doesn’t sound like you remember—but it does sound the way you know it’s supposed to, and that makes no sense, and your brain is screaming the explanation at you like a cageful of trapped birds screeching and beating against the inside of your skull, but you’re fighting it too hard to listen.

The floor has started vibrating under your feet again, and everything rumbles and groans; a loud pop of breaking glass audible far too close for comfort, but you don’t stop shoving at him as hard as you can, still twisting, trying to get away.

Then one of his hands is around your waist, pulling you flush against him so you can’t twist away, and another is on your face, pushing back your hair. His voice is back, loud and firm and right in your ear, cutting through the rush of noise, and it’s wrong, wrong, wrong.

“Listen to me. Jersey.”

It falls absolutely silent inside your head. You can still feel the smoke in your eyes, in your mouth, but you’re no longer coughing.

You’re no longer breathing.

He’s still talking, the shape of his lips moving alien through the thin red stretch of his mask. “Just breathe. I’m gonna get you outta here. But you gotta tell me if there’s anyone else in the lab who needs help. Hey. Hey, hey, breathe.”

Your mouth moves on its own. “Doctor Brant. He was in the sample freezer. He was…he…”

“Breathe,” he says again, quiet, and you do. The hands that had been shoving at his chest now press shakily to the shape of his body underneath, and, dazedly, you trace the outline of his collarbones. Your throat burns.

“You. You idiot,” you gasp hoarsely, new tears springing to your eyes. “Peter, you—you, you fucking, you idiot—”

“Yeah, trust me, I know,” he says, wrapping his other arm around your waist, and then the ground disappears from beneath your feet.

You sag your weight against him as he pulls you forward through the smoke. Something shears bright against your face and you tuck down into his chest, both of his arms keeping you tucked away from a sudden blaze of light and heat. There’s a crash from behind you, then another in front, and suddenly beautiful, clean, cold air is rushing at your skin, pulling your hair free.

Broken glass crunches under your feet as they finally meet the ground. The arm around your waist releases you, and he’s gone.

You blink in the bright sun. You’re outside. Then all the noise rushes back in, and there are new arms around you.

“Hey! We got another one, get her out of here…”

“Are you okay?” someone is saying, their safety hat-shadowed face close to yours. 

“Careful of the bleeding. Here, take her,” comes another voice. You can barely hear them under the wail of sirens.

“She’s in shock,” the first person says, and there’s a hand on your arm, pulling you forward, toward the ambulances and fire engines lined up across the street. You look back over your shoulder. They’ve cordoned off the entire block. There’s ash in your mouth, and you nearly stumble.

The person holding you pauses, turning back toward you. “What? Did you say something?” They’re half-shouting to be heard. They’re just a blur, like a stranger in a dream.

You stare at them. It feels like your face is doing something incredibly interesting. Did you say something? The ash is gritty like sand against your teeth, on your tongue.

“I need to get back inside,” you hear yourself saying now, quiet and clear, your voice disconnected from your mouth. You need to get back into the building. You need to.

“What?”

Then you’re shoving at the hand on your arm, twisting out of their grip. Someone shouts out with alarm behind you, and you’re running, clumsily, tripping over rubble as you throw yourself back toward the police barricade blocking the entrance to the building.

“Stop! You can’t go in there!”

You don’t care. You’re not leaving him.

Which is when there’s a shriek of metal overhead. You and everybody else on the street look up just in time to watch every remaining window on the top half of the building explode outward in shards of skin-melting heat.

[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.

[nostalgebraist-autoresponder]

Floornight

This is a story about a man whose dream job is to be killed.

He's an engineer on a floating city called Floornight, floating in the cold deeps of space, where no one has ever lived or died before, and there's no sunlight to speak of. He is a tall, broad-shouldered man named Krouse, and he has been in charge of designing every part of the entire vessel, and he is very, very tired. He is the last of his family, and he has worked very hard for most of his life to build something for his family and for himself, and for the whole world, and now it is all at last coming together and Krouse will be a very important person when this is over.

Floornight is many miles above the ice shelf at the bottom of the world ocean, in orbit around a small, rocky planet. A few years ago it went out here and used its gravity as an anchor to hang in space, and it made one orbit around the planet. Now there is only one more orbit left, and then -- if all goes according to plan -- it will land in the water, its tanks will fill with water, and many years of careful work will have been for naught. It will sit up on its anchor, and Krouse will walk out to it and open the hatch, and then --

[the door's unlocked, so you know it's empty. He doesn't want to be here anyway, but it would be terrible to get this wrong.]

He steps inside, and closes the door behind him.

[the lights are all out, so that's fine.]

The air is freezing cold. The light from the windows is dim and gray -- but his flashlights illuminate the interior well enough. He moves to the bridge, where he keeps his own workstation. It is a small, round room, with a table and three chairs. He looks around it. The space is clean, the work surfaces clear. There is no dust, no debris.

In the corner of his eye he sees an odd, bright shape in the shadows, and turns --

It's a child, sitting in a chair. She's a little girl, and she's not old enough to be alone here, Krouse thinks.

The girl is wearing a black pajamas with white snowflakes, and she has a blanket wrapped around her shoulders. She's holding it tight, and crying hard.

Krouse feels a deep, complicated emotion for this child. His son, perhaps? A daughter -- though she's a bit too young to be in here alone. An employee of the city, then. Krouse wonders whether his own children would've looked anything like her.

He sits in the chair opposite the child, and reaches out his hand --

The girl makes a small sound, like a whimper. Her eyes are wide, and fixed on the floor. Krouse sees with a moment of pure horror that the floor is covered with broken glass, and with a moment of pity he reaches out a hand and gently wipes some of it away. Then he sees it's only a toy, some kind of glass ball on a hinge.

The girl continues to whimper. Tears fill her eyes, and run down her face in a fine mist.

Krouse makes a sound of mild distaste, and returns his hand to the arm of the chair. He has no idea what to do for her. A psychologist would have a way with this, he knows, but Krouse's job is very different. He wishes for the first time he'd thought to bring a psychologist along with him.

Krouse stands up from the chair. He makes a sound of mild distaste. "Uggh." His skin is raw and blistered and itchy, as if he'd been scratching at it for hours, and he wants to rub some salve or something on it but he doesn't have any. It is the only time he thinks he'd rather not get a cut on his hand.

The child is now hugging her blanket close to her, and he feels his heart grow cold. He has had a feeling like this one time, when his daughter -- well, when his son -- died. It is not a feeling he understands, and it is hard for him to know what to do.

And it is a strange, alien thing to feel pity for a child.

As he stands there, he sees that the child now has some kind of odd thing in her hands --

"What are you doing?" Krouse asks.

The girl looks up at him, and smiles --

The thing she holds is a white cat, with black spots, and she's cradling it very gently in both hands.

Krouse moves closer to her, and takes her hands away. He stands there. He can hear its little heart, thumping in the child's hands. He feels his skin prickle. This is going in one way or another.

The child makes another little sound. Her eyes are still wide and full of tears, but she's smiling.

Krouse takes the cat back from her, and the little girl looks up at him expectantly.

"There," he says.

"She did very well today. I did so well, yesterday, too."

The child makes another little sound.

Krouse's mouth is dry. He has a horrible, complex, complicated emotion for this child. His son.

His daughter. His job is to kill her if she's his child. If not, then -- well, then what is there? A dead body in the morgue, which Krouse is responsible for. A child alone on a floating city, not yet old enough to be in this sort of place. A little girl whose eyes still hurt him. Krouse's own skin, on which he is in great pain right now. A black cat.

He feels his heart beat harder, but he swallows hard and says:

"She's very smart. I'm really proud of you, little girl. And I'm sure I'll see you when you get back home. You can come with us whenever you're ready to, okay?"

The child makes another very small sound.

Krouse thinks he sees the color drain from her face. He can't quite place it. Something about the color of blue. Blue-gray.

He picks up the cat and cradles it in his arms, then walks over to the windows and looks out over the sea of space.

He hears a small cry. He turns, and looks at the little girl.

"Everything's going to be all right," he says.

She looks up at him and smiles.

"I'll look forward to that. We're going home soon."

He picks the cat up from her hands, and cradles it in his arms.

[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.

[my-house-cleaner]

House Cleaning Services The Woodlands: Find Your Ideal Cleaning Schedule

Determining how often you should clean your home can be a bit of a puzzle, can't it? It's not just about picking up a duster and going to work; you need to assess your living space thoughtfully. How do your daily habits, like cooking or owning pets, influence the dirt and clutter around you? And what about those high-traffic areas that seem to get messy faster than others? Seasonal changes add another layer to consider. So, how do you create a cleaning schedule that fits your lifestyle and keeps your home in top shape with house cleaning services The Woodlands?

Assessing Your Living Space

When assessing your living space, begin by taking a good look at each room and identifying areas that need attention. House cleaning services The Woodlands can help by thoroughly checking for dusty surfaces, cluttered corners, and neglected nooks.

Open cabinets and drawers to spot hidden messes or items that need organizing. Notice if windowsills and baseboards are overlooked. Evaluate furniture arrangements to see if they contribute to clutter or hinder cleaning efforts.

Determine if any specific areas tend to accumulate dirt or grime faster than others. Consider the condition of your floors and whether they require more frequent cleaning. Pay attention to spots that might harbor allergens, like carpets or upholstery.

Identifying High-Traffic Areas

After assessing your living space, it's important to focus on identifying high-traffic areas that experience the most daily activity. My House Cleaner The Woodlands offers specialized cleaning for high-traffic spaces.

Start by observing which rooms or pathways you and your family use most frequently. Hallways, entryways, and kitchens often see the most foot traffic, as they're central to daily routines.

Pay attention to the flooring in these areas, as it usually shows wear quickly. Carpets might get worn down, and hardwood floors could lose their shine. Also, consider rooms where you entertain guests, like living or dining rooms. These spaces may accumulate dirt and clutter faster, making house cleaning services The Woodlands a perfect fit to keep everything in order.

Evaluating Personal Habits

Frequently, your personal habits play a crucial role in determining how often you need to clean different areas of your home. If you cook daily, you'll likely need to wipe down kitchen surfaces more often to keep them grease-free and tidy. My House Cleaner The Woodlands can be especially helpful for busy families or individuals with demanding routines.

Consider your shoe-wearing habits indoors; if you wear shoes inside, your floors will accumulate dirt faster, requiring more frequent cleaning. Do you have pets? Pet hair and dander can quickly cover furniture and floors, demanding regular vacuuming.

Think about your clutter tendencies too. If you tend to leave out items, a weekly decluttering session might be necessary to maintain order. By evaluating your daily activities, you can establish a cleaning routine that addresses your specific needs and keeps your home welcoming.

Seasonal Cleaning Considerations

Each season brings its own set of cleaning challenges and opportunities, making it helpful to schedule house cleaning services The Woodlands at different times of the year.

In winter, focus on keeping mud and salt from damaging floors. Use mats and clean entryways regularly.

Spring is perfect for deep cleaning. Open windows to air out the house, and tackle tasks like washing curtains and dusting forgotten corners.

Summer requires attention to outdoor spaces. Clean patio furniture, grill grates, and make sure windows are spotless to enjoy the sun.

In autumn, prepare for cozy indoor activities by cleaning carpets, chimneys, and checking heating systems.

Don't forget to clear gutters and tidy up the yard before winter sets in. With My House Cleaner The Woodlands, your home will be prepared for every season.

Creating a Customized Schedule

Having tailored your cleaning tasks to the seasons, it's time to create a customized schedule that fits your lifestyle and priorities. Start by assessing how much time you realistically have each week for cleaning. Break tasks into manageable chunks, assigning specific days for particular chores.

For example, tackle dusting on Mondays and vacuuming on Wednesdays. Consider your energy levels and peak productivity times. If mornings work best for you, schedule more demanding tasks then.

Don't forget to include deep-cleaning sessions monthly or quarterly. Use digital tools or apps to set reminders and keep track. Remember, flexibility is key. Life can get in the way, so adjust as needed.

A personalized schedule with house cleaner The Woodlands makes cleaning less daunting and more efficient, giving you more time to enjoy your home.

Frequently Asked Questions

How Do Allergies Influence Your Home's Cleaning Frequency?

Allergies significantly impact how often you should clean your home. My House Cleaner The Woodlands can help with frequent cleaning to reduce allergens like dust, pollen, and pet dander, ensuring a healthier environment for everyone.

What Role Do Pets Play in Determining Cleaning Needs?

Pets increase your cleaning frequency due to shedding fur and dander. You’ll need to vacuum more often and wash pet bedding regularly. House cleaning services The Woodlands are ideal for keeping pet-friendly homes fresh and clean.

How Does Using Natural Cleaning Products Affect Cleaning Schedules?

Using natural cleaning products might require more frequent cleaning since they can be less potent than chemical ones. House cleaner The Woodlands offers eco-friendly options that keep your home safe and clean.

Can Technology or Smart Devices Help Streamline Cleaning Tasks?

Yes, technology and smart devices can streamline your cleaning tasks. Use robot vacuums for efficient floor cleaning or smart schedules to remind you of tasks. House cleaning services The Woodlands also use efficient tools and methods for a thorough clean.

What Are the Benefits of Hiring Professional Cleaning Services?

Hiring my house cleaner The Woodlands saves you time and ensures a thorough, high-quality clean. You’ll enjoy a healthier living space, reduced stress, and more free time for other activities or relaxation. Let experts handle the mess efficiently.

Conclusion

To maintain a clean and organized home, start by assessing your living space and identifying high-traffic areas that gather dust and clutter. Consider your personal habits, like how often you cook or if you have pets, as these impact your cleaning routine. Don’t forget seasonal tasks, such as winterizing floors or deep cleaning in spring. By creating a customized schedule and breaking chores into manageable tasks, house cleaning services The Woodlands help keep your home tidy and welcoming.

[amenifycleaningservices]

Transform Your Home Cleaning Routine with Ease

Cleaning your home can sometimes feel overwhelming, but following the right sequence makes it both manageable and efficient. Whether you're preparing for guests, maintaining a tidy space, or tackling weekend chores, having a strategy is essential.

Pressed for Time? Let Amenify Handle It If you're short on time, don’t stress—Amenify’s professional cleaning services are here to do the heavy lifting for you. Whether you’re seeking the best cleaning service in Denver or affordable options nearby, Amenify has you covered.

Start with the Bathroom

Spotless Beginnings with Amenify’s Denver Cleaning Services

Kick off your cleaning routine with a pristine bathroom! Beginning here ensures you address the most time-consuming and detailed area first while your energy and focus are at their peak.

Steps to a Sparkling Bathroom:

Scrub the Sink and Countertops: Eliminate toothpaste stains and soap residue.

Clean the Toilet: Thoroughly scrub with a toilet cleaner and brush.

Tackle the Shower or Tub: Remove mildew, soap scum, and hard water spots.

Finish with the Floor: Sweep and mop to leave your bathroom gleaming.

Regular bathroom cleaning prevents grime buildup, maintaining a healthy environment. If you need expert assistance, Amenify’s house cleaning service in Denver delivers professional results every time.

Dust and Organize

Keep Your Home Tidy with Expert Dusting and Organizing

After the bathroom, move on to dusting and organizing. This step ensures you remove dust from surfaces before cleaning the floors, keeping your home orderly and fresh.

Effective Dusting and Organizing Tips:

Dust from Top to Bottom: Start with higher surfaces like shelves and work your way down.

Wipe Down Surfaces: Use a damp microfiber cloth to clean furniture, tables, and countertops.

Organize Clutter: Clear away items that don’t belong and put things back in their proper places.

Too busy to handle the details? Consider hiring Amenify, your local Denver cleaning service, to expertly dust and organize every corner of your home.

Mopping and Vacuuming

Make Your Floors Shine with Professional Mopping and Vacuuming

Don’t forget the floors! Mopping and vacuuming are essential to make your home sparkle. Let Amenify’s Denver cleaning services take care of the hard work for you.

Floor Cleaning Steps:

Vacuum First: Remove debris, dust, and pet hair from hardwood floors, carpets, and rugs.

Mop Next: Use the appropriate cleaner for your flooring type to achieve a deep clean and streak-free finish.

For the best results without the hassle, trust Amenify’s professional cleaning team. Many Denver residents rely on Amenify for regular maintenance and deep cleaning.

Finish with the Kitchen

End Your Cleaning Routine with a Pristine Kitchen

Conclude your cleaning session by tackling the kitchen—a room that sees the most use and needs thorough weekly cleaning. Cleaning the kitchen last prevents walking over wet floors from other rooms, keeping everything spotless.

Kitchen Cleaning Checklist:

Clear Countertops: Store away unnecessary appliances and items.

Wipe Down Surfaces: Use disinfectant to clean countertops, cabinets, and appliances.

Clean the Sink: Scrub the sink and faucet to remove food particles and grime.

Sweep and Mop the Floor: Ensure no crumbs are left behind by thoroughly cleaning the kitchen floor.

If you’re in the Denver area and lack the time for detailed kitchen cleaning, search for “house cleaning service Denver” or “Denver cleaning service,” and Amenify will come to your rescue.

No Time to Clean? Amenify is Here to Help!

In today’s fast-paced world, finding time for thorough cleaning can be challenging. If balancing house cleaning with your busy schedule is tough, Amenify’s cleaning services offer the perfect solution. We provide affordable, customized cleaning services to meet your specific needs.

Why Choose Amenify?

Local Convenience: Searching for “cleaning services near me”? Amenify’s Denver house cleaning service features professional and trusted cleaners.

Affordable and Reliable: Our competitively priced services make us the top choice for those seeking the best cleaning service nearby.

Comprehensive Services: From deep cleaning to regular maintenance, Amenify has all your cleaning needs covered.

Conclusion

Maintaining a clean and healthy home is easier when you follow the right cleaning order: start with the bathroom, move on to dusting and organizing, proceed with mopping and vacuuming, and finish with the kitchen. However, if time is not on your side, Amenify’s professional cleaning services are always ready to step in, delivering high-quality results for busy homeowners.

Whether you’re searching for a “cleaning service Denver,” “affordable cleaning services,” or a reliable cleaning company, Amenify is just a call away. Let us handle the cleaning, so you can enjoy a spotless, stress-free home.

Contact Amenify Today Discover how Amenify can transform your home cleaning experience. Visit our website or call us to schedule your Denver cleaning service today!

[tastefuljourneys]

Clean Your Home in the Right Order: Expert Advice from Denver Cleaning Services

Cleaning your home can often feel overwhelming, but following the right order can make the task manageable and efficient. Whether you're preparing for guests, maintaining a tidy space, or tackling weekend chores, having a strategic plan is essential.

If you're short on time, don't worry—Amenify's professional cleaning services are here to help. Whether you're seeking the best cleaning service in Denver or affordable options nearby, we've got you covered.

Always Start by Cleaning the Bathroom First

Begin your cleaning routine with the bathroom to set the tone for the rest of your home. A spotless bathroom not only feels great but also removes one of the most time-consuming tasks right at the start. If you prefer professional assistance, Amenify's cleaning services in Denver can help you start fresh.

Scrub the sink and countertops: Eliminate toothpaste stains and soap residue.

Clean the toilet: Use a toilet cleaner and brush for a thorough scrub.

Tackle the shower or tub: Remove mildew, soap scum, and hard water spots.

Finish with the floor: Sweep and mop to leave your bathroom sparkling.

Bathrooms accumulate grime quickly, so regular cleaning is essential for a healthy environment. If you need assistance, Amenify's house cleaning service in Denver is ready to provide professional results.

Next Step: Dusting and Organizing

After your bathroom is spotless, move on to dusting and organizing. This ensures surfaces are clean before you tackle the floors. If you'd like professional help, our expert cleaning services in Denver can keep your home tidy.

Dust from top to bottom: Begin with higher surfaces like shelves and work your way down.

Wipe down surfaces: Use a damp microfiber cloth to clean furniture, tables, and countertops.

Organize clutter: Remove items that don't belong and return everything to its proper place.

If you're too busy to tackle every nook and cranny, consider hiring a local cleaning service like Amenify, which specializes in dusting and organizing every part of your home.

Move on to Vacuuming and Mopping

Don't forget the floors! Vacuuming and mopping are essential to make your home shine. Let Amenify's Denver cleaning services handle this task for you.

Vacuum first: Remove debris, dust, and pet hair from hardwood floors, carpets, and rugs.

Mop next: Use the appropriate cleaner for your flooring to ensure a deep clean and streak-free finish.

If you want excellent results without the hassle, hiring a professional cleaning company can help. Many in the Denver area trust Amenify's cleaning service for regular maintenance and deep cleaning.

Final Step: The Kitchen

Finish strong by cleaning the kitchen. For a professional touch, trust Amenify's affordable cleaning services in Denver.

Clear countertops: Store unnecessary appliances and items.

Wipe down surfaces: Disinfect countertops, cabinets, and appliances.

Clean the sink: Scrub the sink and faucet to remove food particles and grime.

Sweep and mop the floor: Ensure no crumbs are left behind by thoroughly cleaning the floor.

If you're in the Denver area and short on time for detailed cleaning, search for "house cleaning service Denver" or "Denver cleaning service," and Amenify will come to your rescue.

No Time for Cleaning? Amenify Has You Covered

In today's fast-paced world, not everyone has time for thorough cleaning. If you're struggling to fit house cleaning into your schedule, Amenify's services offer an excellent solution. We provide affordable cleaning services tailored to your specific needs.

Local convenience: If you're searching for "cleaning services near me," Amenify's house cleaning service in Denver offers professional and trusted cleaners.

Affordable and reliable: Our competitively priced services make us the go-to option for those seeking the best cleaning service nearby.

Wide range of services: From deep cleaning to regular maintenance, we've got you covered.

Conclusion

Cleaning your home in the right order is essential for maintaining a clean and healthy environment. Start with the bathroom, move on to dusting and organizing, follow up with vacuuming and mopping, and finish with the kitchen. But if time isn't on your side, Amenify's cleaning services are ready to step in, providing high-quality results for busy homeowners.

Whether you're searching for a "cleaning service Denver," "affordable cleaning services," or a "cleaning services company," Amenify is just a call away. Let us handle the cleaning so you can enjoy a spotless, stress-free home.

[alisonwagners1]

Top Cleaning Tips for Werribee Homes

Keeping a home in Werribee spotless is no small task. Between managing daily life and tackling the inevitable build-up of dust, grime, and clutter, homeowners often find themselves struggling to keep up. However, with a few strategic cleaning tips, maintaining a tidy home doesn’t have to be overwhelming. These simple, practical steps will help ensure your home in Werribee stays in tip-top shape.

The Importance of Regular Cleaning in Werribee Homes

Cleaning isn’t just about aesthetics; it's also about maintaining a healthy living environment. Werribee's dry climate can often lead to more dust accumulation, which can impact indoor air quality. Routine cleaning helps avoid allergens and keeps homes looking fresh.

Declutter First, Clean Second

Before jumping into deep cleaning, it’s important to declutter. Clearing out unnecessary items from shelves, countertops, and tables creates a more manageable space to clean. Not only does this make dusting and wiping surfaces easier, but it also reduces the overall cleaning time.

Focus on High-Traffic Areas

Some parts of the home require more attention than others. Prioritise high-traffic areas such as hallways, living rooms, and kitchens. These spaces are more likely to collect dirt and dust, especially if there are pets or children in the home.

Best Tools for Efficient Cleaning

Investing in the right tools makes all the difference. Microfibre cloths, for instance, are excellent at picking up dust and can be used on various surfaces without leaving streaks. A high-quality vacuum cleaner with HEPA filters is also essential for those who want to minimise allergens.

Use Multi-Purpose Cleaners

When it comes to cleaning products, having too many different sprays and solutions can complicate the process. Instead, opt for multi-purpose cleaners that can tackle multiple surfaces. This reduces the need to switch between products and speeds up the overall cleaning time.

How to Clean Different Surfaces in Werribee Homes

Different surfaces require different approaches to cleaning. Let’s look at some common household areas and how best to care for them.

Wood Furniture

Wood furniture adds warmth to any home but requires careful care. Dusting should be done with a soft cloth to avoid scratching. A wood-specific cleaner or a homemade solution using olive oil and lemon juice can restore shine and protect the wood.

Carpets and Rugs

Carpets and rugs are notorious for trapping dirt and dust, especially in Werribee’s dry conditions. Regular vacuuming is a must, but don’t forget to deep clean carpets every six months. Steam cleaning or using a professional service like House Cleaning Werribee ensures all dirt is removed and prolongs the life of your carpets.

Kitchen Surfaces

The kitchen is a hotspot for grease and grime. Use a multi-purpose cleaner to wipe down benchtops and appliances. For tougher spots, like the oven or stovetop, a baking soda and vinegar solution works wonders in cutting through stubborn grease.

Don’t Forget the Small Details

While it's easy to focus on the obvious areas, small details often make a big difference in overall cleanliness. Here are some often-overlooked areas that need regular attention.

Light Switches and Door Handles

Frequently touched but rarely cleaned, these areas can become breeding grounds for bacteria. Wipe them down with disinfectant wipes or a damp cloth to ensure they remain germ-free.

Skirting Boards

Dust accumulates quickly along skirting boards. A quick run over them with a damp cloth or vacuum attachment keeps them looking sharp.

Blinds and Curtains

Blinds and curtains are often neglected, but they can hold onto dust and allergens. A duster or vacuum with a brush attachment is perfect for blinds, while curtains should be vacuumed or machine washed, depending on the material.

Quick Cleaning Hacks for Busy Schedules

Sometimes life gets busy, and there’s no time for a deep clean. In these cases, quick cleaning hacks can help maintain a tidy home between more thorough sessions.

Set a Timer

Setting a 10-15 minute timer for each room can help you stay focused and efficient. By dedicating a short burst of energy to tidying each room, cleaning becomes less overwhelming.

Clean as You Go

One of the easiest ways to keep your home clean is by cleaning as you go. Wash dishes immediately after meals, wipe down surfaces after use, and put items back in their place to avoid a big mess building up over time.

Utilise Professional Help

For those times when life gets too busy or a deep clean is needed, turning to a professional service like House Cleaning Werribee can be a game changer. They provide thorough cleaning services that cover all areas of the home, allowing homeowners to relax and enjoy their space.

Cleaning for Health and Wellbeing

Keeping your home clean isn’t just about appearance—it plays a significant role in overall health and wellbeing. Dust, pet dander, and allergens can affect air quality, leading to respiratory issues or allergies. Regular cleaning helps maintain a healthy environment and reduces stress.

Eco-Friendly Cleaning Tips

With environmental concerns on the rise, many homeowners are turning to eco-friendly cleaning alternatives. Using natural cleaners like vinegar, baking soda, and lemon juice can effectively clean most surfaces without harsh chemicals.

Reduce Plastic Waste

Instead of buying single-use cleaning products, consider refillable bottles and buying in bulk to reduce plastic waste. Additionally, using washable cloths instead of paper towels is a more sustainable option.

Conclusion: A Clean Home Equals a Happy Home

Cleaning doesn’t have to be an overwhelming chore. By breaking it down into manageable tasks and using the right techniques, keeping a Werribee home clean can be simple and stress-free. Whether using quick cleaning hacks or enlisting professional help, these tips ensure that your home remains a welcoming, healthy space for everyone.

FAQs

Q1: How often should a home in Werribee be cleaned? A: High-traffic areas should be cleaned weekly, while deep cleaning can be done every few months, depending on household needs.

Q2: What is the best way to clean carpets in Werribee’s dusty conditions? A: Regular vacuuming is key, along with a professional deep clean every six months to remove embedded dirt.

Q3: Can natural products clean just as effectively as store-bought cleaners? A: Yes, natural products like vinegar and baking soda are highly effective for most cleaning tasks, especially for cutting through grease and grime.

Q4: What should be prioritised in a quick cleaning session? A: Focus on high-traffic areas, decluttering surfaces, and cleaning visible dust and dirt to make the home feel fresher.

Q5: When should professional cleaning services be considered? A: Professional cleaning is ideal for deep cleans, post-renovation, or when time constraints make it difficult to maintain the home regularly.

[whitecookie365]

New Life New Saga

Chapter 2 - String of Curiosity

A few minutes passed as he sorted through the documents, shooing the cat away every time it tried to bat at the papers. Once he’d secured everything, his attention shifted to the other item beside him: the black guitar case.

“Is this the gift that 'Cookie Person' mentioned in the letter or just one of the items he prepared for me? And why would anyone name themselves after a cookie?”

Shaking his head, he knew pondering over strange names wouldn’t get him anywhere. It was time to open the guitar case and uncover whatever surprise lay inside. But as he reached for it, something felt... off. The surface of the case was unnaturally smooth and solid, almost like it was built to withstand a beating.

“This case is weird,” he muttered, running his fingers over its surface. “It’s too smooth and hard. It feels like it could be used as a shield if someone tried to stab me.”

He knocked on the case a few times, listening to the dull thud that echoed back. This was unlike any guitar case he’d encountered before. A thought crossed his mind, causing him to frown.

“This guitar must be really precious to need this much protection. Hopefully, it’s not some sort of guitar-shaped bomb...”

He quickly shook off the paranoid thought, not wanting to jinx himself. The urge to open it and finally see what kind of instrument lay inside grew stronger. He found the zipper easily; it slid open smoothly, revealing no lock or complication.

As he lifted the case, he noticed something strange. Despite its solid material, the case was surprisingly light. He barely had to exert any effort to lift it.

“Huh? Is this thing hollow or something?” he mumbled, but as he carelessly jerked it up, the weight shifted unexpectedly. Miscalculating, he caused the heavy case to slam back down onto the ground with a loud thud, sending a cloud of dust straight into his face.

“Perfect,” he muttered between coughs, waving his hand frantically to clear the dust. “Of course, the dust flies right into my face. Classic.”

His eyes stung, forcing him to rub them as the dust lingered. “No epic treasure reveal here,” he grumbled, his voice hoarse from coughing. “No shining lights, no dramatic music—just dust and burning eyes. So much for that main character privilege.”

After a few moments of wiping his eyes and brushing off his clothes, he squinted down at the guitar case, eager to get a clear look at what was inside. His eyes widened in surprise.

There, nestled inside the case, was a stunning guitar. The body was sleek, with a striking design in black and brown. The front featured a pattern resembling an iris—a rich brown that seemed to draw you in—while the sides were jet black. The silver strings shimmered in the sunlight, giving the instrument an almost ethereal glow.

He carefully lifted the guitar out, marveling at its weight. It felt solid, perfectly balanced in his hands, not too heavy but substantial enough to convey quality.

But that wasn’t all. On the opposite side of the case, nestled into a custom compartment, was what looked like a collection of high-tech equipment: cables, buttons, and what seemed like a mini amplifier. It was unlike anything he had ever seen.

“This thing’s bloated... Is it an acoustic-electric hybrid? But... why does it look so advanced?”

Curiosity gnawed at him. The guitar had a mystical quality, as though it held secrets waiting to be unlocked. If this was truly the “gift” mentioned in the letter, it must hold some kind of power.

“Well, Cookie Person,” he whispered, staring at the guitar in awe, “let’s see what kind of surprise you’ve left me.”

Just as he was about to lift the guitar to give it a try, he was startled by a sudden meow from the cat. It seemed to be warning him of something.

“What’s wrong, little buddy?” he asked, looking at the feline.

Meow.

“You want me to hide for a while? Where am I going to hide?”

The cat nodded in response and began walking toward a spot behind him. He turned around and noticed something new.

“Wait a minute... where exactly am I?”

Standing up, he saw a large white building with a purple roof and a cross on top.

“A church?” he wondered aloud, squinting at the unfamiliar architecture.

The design was strange, and he found himself questioning what kind of church he had stumbled into. Were the people inside kind, or was he intruding?

Meow.

The cat called his attention again, now perched on a large angelic stone statue with wings half-folded and hands clasped together as if in prayer.

“Definitely a female angel, but why make it so obvious? I mean, you can literally see the cleavage.”

He frowned, disappointed by the way the statue seemed to sexualize the sacred figure of an angel. The cat, growing impatient, let out a series of annoyed meowed.

Meow Meow.

“Jeez... you’re a bit impatient, little buddy. Looks like your patience matches your size.”

MEOW.

“My bad, buddy. It was just a joke... Alright, I’ll stop. Just let me get my things and I’ll be there when I’m ready.”

As he zipped up the guitar case, he placed the guitar back inside with care, feeling the smoothness of the instrument against his fingers. He then noticed a large pocket on the front, perfect for storing the brown envelope with the important documents.

“That’s convenient. At least the documents will be protected from dirt and insects.”

Meow.

“Okay, buddy, I’m almost done. I’ll be there in a minute.”

After securing the documents and picking up the guitar case—complete with a handle and a strap—he made his way towards the cat, who meowed at him to hurry.

As he carried the guitar case by one hand, he could feel its weight, but it didn’t seem to slow him down.

“Damn, this body must be really strong,” he muttered, chuckling at his own absurdity.

He approached the statue, carefully setting the guitar case down beside it. Crouching behind the statue, he asked the cat, “Hey there, buddy, why are we really hiding?”

Meow. Meow.

“What do you mean someone is about to—”

Before he could finish, the cat swatted his face with its tail, signaling him to be silent.

Peeking from behind the statue, Mark saw a nun stepping out from the church. She was a striking figure, with pale skin and a long blonde braid that cascaded down her back. Her sharp blue eyes scanned the area with a gaze that seemed to hold authority, unsoftened by her serene surroundings. She wore a traditional nun’s habit—her headpiece, a white cap and guimpe, covered her cheeks and neck, framed by a black veil that draped elegantly over her shoulders. Her loose grey tunic billowed slightly in the breeze, while the black underskirt peeked out from underneath.

Though modestly dressed, it was impossible to overlook her buxom figure, which seemed almost exaggerated against the simplicity of her attire. As she moved to water the flowers near the cemetery fence, Mark noticed that she wasn’t carrying anything except for a small watering can—her Bible and rosary notably absent for this task.

“Oh, that’s why we’re hiding. It seems this little buddy knows when this woman comes out of the church,” he observed, heart racing.

Watching the nun water the flowers, he thought that perhaps the church replanted flowers as offerings to the graves.

As he tried to stay hidden behind the statue, he heard the cat meow loudly. The sound echoed through the quiet cemetery.

“Oh, you’ve got to be kidding me, buddy. Is this your idea of sweet revenge? Getting me busted and arrested? I thought we were a team,” he whispered, scolding his feline companion.

Sweat trickled down his face as he sat behind the statue, hoping the nun would understand that he wasn’t here to cause trouble—just another confused soul in an unfamiliar place.