#this house is OLD & not renovated or anything at all & not even in a fancy upscale area and yet two people can only JUST afford it

[lilydvoratrelundar]

The floorboards used to creak when I stepped on them.

Only me, mind. Maybe I was just too heavy, or hit them at a particular angle, but there was always a particular character to them with me personally. I loved that about them. I miss it.

I wasn’t so special when it came to the hinges of the doors - those squeaks would follow anyone who so much as nudged one. Same with the rattling of the pipes; it didn’t matter who turned the tap, the noise would be the same. 

Houses have character, you see. When you’ve lived in one place for as long as I have, you get to know it well. The sounds, the colour of the walls, the little patches of damp and rot in odd corners which nobody who can do anything about it has noticed yet, the stains on the carpet where I once lay for hours on end. I loved this house as it was. I never wanted anything to change.

But things always do.

It started when my family left the house. They couldn’t stand it - everything I loved, everything that I lived for now, was tainted. In my father’s words, it was a “complete pile of shit,” needed to be “burned down before it collapses in on itself.” Still, they needed money to get out of our town, so they sold it instead. My mother didn’t like that. She said the house would remember me, and that it wouldn’t take kindly to strangers moving in. 

I had smiled at that, not that they’d seen. The house loves me, but it loves new people too. Houses are strange like that. Life goes on within them, and life begins and ends within them as well. Not so much these days, of course. That’s what they built the hospitals for. It was deemed better for one big house to take the weight of the beginnings and the ends, and let the houses just hold the living. But still, any house old enough welcomes change.

I didn’t welcome it, though. When they new people first came in, I begged them to leave everything as it was. They didn’t care, though, and neither did the house. 

The carpet in my old room, with my stains on it, went first. I screamed and stamped and cried, but they took no heed of my protests. The floorboards didn’t notice me, so why should these new men? The patch of red was gone within a week of their arrival, and the house didn’t even miss it.

The walls were redecorated next, whitewashed over my favourite wallpapers. The old pictures had been taken by my parents, so new ones went up. Then the locks, then the entire front door, then all the doors. They did something to the outside, too, removing old carvings and adding something new in their place. I never left to see what they’d put there. At that point, I was clinging desperately to what little remained of my house.

After that first big effort, things did slow down. The bathroom was renovated, a new shower and a fancy mixer tap and tiles and everything. A few months later, the desks were quietly removed, and new ones from Ikea arrived the same day. A year, and the kitchen was stripped entirely of even the functioning old parts, modern appliances being provided in their place. The lightbulbs began to die once more and were switched out, which was something I was used to, something I’d done before in fact, but still, it hurt. And it hurt more when all the light fittings went completely as the electrics were replaced.

The floorboards were the last to go. They hadn’t been noticed. Maybe the house did love me, I thought to myself, as I sat pondering the floors’ persistence. Maybe the house knew I missed that creak, the creak I can no longer make but that I sit, day after day, waiting for, as the workers and the owners wander up and down that corridor, past and over and through me, stepping but not in that special way. Maybe the house loved me.

It didn’t, though. And I knew that the moment I heard the creak again. He stopped where he had stood, and shifted his weight back and then forwards again. There it was. That beautiful sound, that wonderful melody I had longed for all these years. It warmed my punctured heart so, just to hear it again. But even as I listened, I knew that it would not last.

Within a week, there were new floorboards. 

The truck came to pick up the old wood, and I followed it out. I stepped across the threshold for the first time in years, and for a moment I imagined I could breathe the fresh air. 

I turned back, to look at the house one more time. I felt it smile.

My child, it said, or so I imagined, this is no longer yours to haunt.

I knew that it was right. The last traces of what I had known were leaving. I sat on the back of that truck, pondering my future, and the floor’s. A woodchipper, maybe, or kindling. Scattered across the country, across the world. In a sense, I already was. I was in the house, I was where the kitchen appliances had gone, and the bulbs, and the bath. And the pictures, yes, in a sense I was with my parents, keeping them company in their old age. And I would still be near the house, six feet underground in the back garden. But I wouldn’t be with the house. I wouldn’t be in the house.

Change, it said.

But why? Why must things change? I wish I could be there forever. I wish the floorboards would creak for me, just once more.

You are not the first to say that.

Will I be the last?

No. You will not.

#I DID SOME WRITING. FOR THE FIRST TIME IN AGES. ARE U PROUD OF ME. #lily dot tee ex tee #what do i even tag this as idk. #fuck it u dont get tags. if u see this u see it <3 #writing

[omnybus]

The House (2022) Netflix Original Analysis

I watched this anthology months ago, but it hasn't appeared on my dash until now so I figure I'd throw in my two cents about the film and its message. I feel the overall theme in this anthology is about the different ways that materialism ends up hurting people, and leaves them disconnected from the world.

(Spoilers)

In the first short, the parents become so obsessed with the new house and all the stuff it has to offer they not only ignore their daughter's pleas, but also all the red flags popping up around them. Plus the way that the father starts out humble and almost a bit proud of the furniture he's had for generations, soon starts laughing and belitting the sight of his old house being destroyed. Later he's seen happily burning all his old belongings, wasting otherwise perfectly good furniture just because he has new ones. The wife, meanwhile, sews a bunch of curtains to cover the windows, metaphorically blinding them to the outside world with a wall of envious green. She's later shown producing far, far more curtains then she could possibly need, almost smothering herself in them. In the end, they are consumed by their materialism as they are transformed into furniture themselves, their pride, excess, and ignorance of their surroundings, reducing them to mere extentions of the house. It's only when their own daughter's life is in danger that they actually reach out to her, but by then they're too far gone and are consumed by the fire and the house.

In the second short, the Developer is shown to be deep in debt and is trying his best to sell his house to pay it off. The house seems perfectly fine at first, but he insists on dolling it up with exotic and expensive fittings, furniture, and "state-of-the-art" gadgets, trying to make the house more impressive than it actually is while ironically sending him deeper in debt. This theme of trying to put on airs of wealth and sophistication runs through the whole short, especially during the open house scene- he tries to present junk food and energy drinks like champagne and canapes, he dresses up in a nice suit despite spending most of the short in his underpants, and trying and failing to woo the others with his gaudy gizmos like the bluetooth lights and rotisserie oven (which, let's be honest, are neat but wouldn't serve much practical use in daily life; I mean how often would any of us actually cook a rotisserie chicken?). He even sleeps in a cot in the basemenr instead of his own bed upstairs just to keep it looking nice. All the while problems pile up- stuff breaks, messes build up, and of course the fur beetles grow out of control as the Odd Couple continue squatting in his house. During all this slow-boiling chaos, the Developer has no-one to help him; no family, no friends... the only person he feels a connection to is his dentist, who eventually gets fed up with him. In the end, the house is in ruins as the rat-bugs tear up and devour everything, and the Developer, now reduced to a naked, feral creature, learns an ugly truth the hard way: no matter how fancy his house, clothes, or belongings are, he's still a rat deep down, and failing to accept his shortcomings ultimately led to his mental collapse.

In the third short, Rosa's problems are sort of a mix between the previous two: she's obsessed with trying to renovate the house to get more tenants and more money, yet is utterly blind to the world and people around her. The world outside is completely flooded, and everyone has either left or drowned; even if she manages to fix up the place there's nobody left to rent from her, nor anyone to exchange the money with for anything. Instead of acknowledging this, Rosa blames her problems on her tenants for not paying rent. Normally she'd be rightfully upset with being paid with fish and rocks, but what does she honestly expect? Neither of her tenants have any way of making money even if they wanted to. The only reason they seem to stick around is because they truly care about Rosa despite her bitterness, and want her to stop obsessing over this lost cause. Eventually something comes along to shake up the status quo in the form of Cosmos, who at first offers to help Rosa with her project, but instead tears up floorboards, builds a boat for the two tenants, and converts Rosa's house into a makeshift sailboat. But ultimately it is up to Rosa to choose whether to stay here in her ultimately doomed comfort zone or venture forth into the scary but more hopeful unknown. And unlike the other two shorts, Rosa gets the happier ending because while she does start off materialistic, she has something the other victims of the house didn't have: love and support from friends who care about her.

Ultimately, consumerism ends up consuming you back, and can leave you in a state of hollow isolation and dissatisfaction that no amount of expensive toys and trinkets can fulfill. This is the true meaning of "money can't buy happiness"; while nice things are nice and money certainly solves a lot of our problems, past a certain point it just becomes more disposable income. Money can't buy or replace real, meaningful relationships with other people, which we all need to truly be happy.

#ramblings #media analysis #the house 2022 #netflix original #stop motion animation #consumerism #materialism #isolation

[tc-doherty]

Olay I got a weird idea i have to ask writeblrs I like: So you're writing silverwood,right? Or anything else if you want What would those characters be an alternative universe? Any type you want, but I would love to hear in like completly different setting like... idk in a spulmate fanfic or something?

Hi, thank you for the question!! Silverwood is a nearly 20-year-old story at this point so there are many AUs.

Primarily there is Silverwood and there is Modern!Silverwood which is still set in more or less the same "world" but instead of fantasy it's heavily inspired by our world and starts at a time resembling the 30s. In this version neither Ithea nor Anthem die, so the family actually stays together. Anthem works as a lawyer with an eye towards politics, and Ithea reads his textbooks but is basically a stay-at-home mom/arm candy. We love this AU because it allows us to think about big Silverwood family Thanksgivings and Christmases with all of the children and their spouses and their children, hilarious, beautiful. The fact that this is a family full of criminals in some version or another and Charlie basically marries a cop is never not funny.

In the original version, and they are from a very small farming community and Anthem's family just happens to be the richest family in the area. In the modern AU, his mother is an opera singer and Ithea is trailer park trash. But he recognizes her ability to schmooze and manipulate people after he finds her working a party that his parents take him to. Although they had very little to do with each other before that, the next day he proposes to her flat out. They get married right after high school.

Notably, the children still aren't actually hers, he just has a bad habit of knocking up his secretaries.

Alternately, to have a version where they only meet as adults (even though Anthem wouldn't exist if they didn't know each other as children but whatever) I do have a basically set on earth version where he buys a fancy manor house and she is the contractor that he hires to renovate it. That's a lot of fun.

I think no matter what universe you put them into, Anthem should always act better than he is, and Ithea should always be a bit trashy. It's fine for Anthem to actually come from money, but Ithea should always come from a poor background. Anthem should always do something bookish, he's technically a researcher in the original, and otherwise we usually have him be either a lawyer or a businessman. Ithea's profession is causing chaos. I could definitely see her as a courtesan, or an actress, anything that will let her rub elbows with the rich and famous and steal from them LMAO but she's also very strong, hardy, and loves the outdoors, so having her do something like being a general contractor also isn't that much of a stretch.

#Silverwood #Thanks!!

[starry-teacup]

An entirely indulgent statement I wrote for fun. Me and my friend have a little self insert into the tma world that takes place at the Usher Foundation, and is therefore technically canon compliant. This is one of the statements I wrote for it. It’s below the cut if you want to read it.

TRIGGER WARNING// Insanity, character death, suicide, mental illness, I guess you could call a bit of it gaslighting???

[CLICK]

CHARLIE (ARCHIVAL ASSISTANT)

Statement #0190411, given by one Zoë McKendrick, concerning a trip to the museum with her cousin. Recorded by Charlotte Renhan, archival assistant to Daniel Rodrey, the head archivist. Originally given at the Magnus Institute, London, and currently on loan by its sister organization, the Usher Foundation. Statement begins.

{Statement}

Alright, first of all, I swear to God this isn’t a hazing. I know, I know how it looks. A teenager dressed in scene walks into a well established academic place that takes the statement of any random person off the street. It’s obviously a prank. Except that’s not what’s happening. I promise. I need you guys to believe me. God, I just need someone to believe me, anyone! I’m not crazy. I know I’m not. No matter what people say, no matter what those damned tapes show, I am not a liar, I am not just a kid with a hyperactive imagination, and I am not insane. I refuse to believe I am. That’s how it gets you. That’s how it got Amanda. And I refuse to be next. I won’t be next, do you hear me? I am not just a thing for them to take.

God, I’m rambling. I’m sorry, I’m not in the best state of mind right now. Even though a couple weeks have passed, this feeling still won’t go away. I can’t stop seeing the colors- they fill the space behind my eyes whenever I close them, and if I go too long without blinking to avoid it, they bleed into my vision like ink stains on a carpet. I wasn’t built to see those colors. No one was. But I saw them, and now they won’t leave me alone, and they make me feel like I’m going in-

No. I can’t say that. I won’t. 

[sighs]

This is probably making zero sense to you. I need to back up. I live in Bournemouth. It’s mostly a resort and vacation town, but there are a couple of normal neighborhoods if you squint really hard and ignore all of the rich tourists. I live in Springbourne. A lot of families live there, because there are a lot of schools nearby. 

The schools are all fine, I guess, but they’re a bit lacking in the field trip department. All of the interesting places in the area are either casinos, resorts, or ridiculously overcharged shops because of all of the senators vacationing there. There’s one exception, though. In the middle of all of those fancy hotels is an old Victorian mansion that somebody turned into a museum. It’s pretty much the only educational location within a two hour radius. 

Because of this, pretty much every field trip from year 1 to year 13 goes to that weird mansion. It’s called the Russell Cotes Art Gallery and Museum, and it was interesting enough the first two or three visits, but it got old fast. It mostly houses old portraits and statues with muted hues and sensible poses. It never gets new art, and it never renovates. I have seen every exhibit what feels like hundreds of times, and I know that place like the back of my hand.

This summer, my cousin Amanda was coming to stay with us. She’s from the States, so she has the summer off, and my parents said it was okay if she lived with us for a couple weeks even though I still had school. She’s about my age, maybe a year or two older, so my mum and dad assumed we’d instantly bond and start painting each other’s nails or braiding each other’s hair or something. I think my parents might’ve hoped she’d be a good influence on me, maybe get me to wear a little less black. And it’s not like we hated each other or anything, we just …didn’t really talk. We’d never been close, and neither of us particularly felt like building that relationship now. 

My mum blamed it on me. Said I was being antisocial or something. She suggested that I show Amanda around Bournemouth, as some sort of bonding activity. I figured I might as well show her the old museum. There was nothing much else to show, not anything that I could afford.  My dad agreed to take us, and we were awkwardly silent most of the way there. Amanda had her headphones in, and I decided I didn’t have the energy to try and pretend we were friends, so I took out my phone and scrolled on my Tumblr feed.

When we arrived, something felt…different. There was something off about the place that I couldn’t quite put my finger on. If anyone who hadn’t been raised on this museum had seen it, they would have had no idea what I was talking about. But I had seen this place a thousand times, and there was something about it that just felt wrong. Like the saturation had been turned up zero point four notches, and all the angles had been made one degree sharper. It was unsettling- I could’ve sworn it wasn’t like this last time I was here. But a little voice was whispering in the back of my head that I was remembering it wrong, it had always been like this, and why would I even think it had changed?

I shook off my unease and figured I must have misremembered. When we went into the museum, the place was almost deserted. There was barely anyone there outside of the security guards. That wasn’t wholly unusual, though. Most people who came to Bournemouth didn’t come for the museums. I let Amanda take the lead. She seemed to enjoy wandering around, and I had seen everything this place had to offer.

Almost everything that this place had to offer. But as we went down a familiar hallway, it branched suddenly to the left where it should have opened into the Greco-Roman exhibit. I felt the knowledge that that turn should not have been there like a stone in the pit of my stomach- it was impossible. It didn’t make sense. The blank wall in front of me seemed to mock me for my denial. I couldn’t help but think that if that wall had a mouth, it would be laughing at me for trying to deny the existence of what was so clearly in front of my face. 

I guess I might be wrong. I might be filling spaces of memory with what I know now, coloring it in with my current dread. But no, I don’t think that’s it. I saw Amanda hesitate uneasily before she continued on, and I saw undiguised fear in her eyes as she decided to walk forward. That’s how wrong that wall was- Amanda had never been here before, and yet she could still tell- this wasn’t supposed to be here. But she walked onward anyways, and I wasn’t about to tell her that I was scared of a turn in a hallway, so I followed nervously behind. 

At the end of this new hallway was a room. It was small and dimly lit, and there weren’t any windows. If this building used to be a mansion, then this had definitely been a closet. On the wall opposite us was a sketch on a canvas. The lines were so sharp that I marveled that the canvas wasn’t cut by them. I tried to figure out what it was a sketch of. It seemed like I was missing something obvious- like it was a word on the tip of my tongue, like I almost had it. I stared at the framed drawing, trying to see what it was depicting- all the lines twisted and bent and seemed to make a picture, but every time I thought I made out what it was a drawing of, I realized that the lines kept going on ever so slightly past where I thought they had ended. It was hypnotic- I couldn’t tear my eyes away, couldn’t stop trying to see what the art was showing, even though it made my eyes ring and my ears hear stars. In retrospect, I think those lines went on forever. I think I could have stared and stared and stared, and I never would have figured out what it meant. It didn’t have a meaning- but it beckoned people to try and spend their life finding it anyway.

I don’t know how long I stared at it- it felt like decades, a lifetime, trying to interpret something that didn’t make sense- that couldn’t make sense. But I know my reverie was broken when Amanda began to walk towards the canvas. She had seen something I had been too absorbed in the colors and lines to notice- the painting was hung up wrong. The whole thing was tilted 45 degrees to the left. Amanda lifted her arms up slowly and shakily, and gently placed them on the edges of the frame. For a moment, time was frozen, Amanda’s hands trembling on the edges of the painting while I stared. 

In one swift and steady motion, Amanda righted the sketch.

Immediately I was released from the spell. I turned to run out the door- but it was gone. There was simply another wall there taunting me where the exit used to be. 

Wait, what do I mean, used to be? No, there was never an exit there. It had always been a wall. I turned back to Amanda and the painting. The lines of graphite had finally cut clean through the canvas, shredding it. Nothing changed about the sketch. No colors appeared, strange and acidic and not meant for human eyes. I didn’t scream as my eyes began to bleed at the sight of the hues that weren’t there and never had been. Nothing was anything here. Not anymore. Had anything ever been? I couldn’t tell. I couldn’t remember. My brain was throbbing and aching. I couldn’t think. I could barely see with the blood sliding down my cheeks like tears. I tried desperately to understand what was happening, but trying to comprehend it only made it hurt worse.

Amanda stood by the sketch, frozen. The colors that weren’t spilled out of the ravaged canvas like blood out of a wound and did not begin to pool and spread on the floor. I knew, I knew, that no matter what happened, we shouldn’t touch the growing pool that wasn’t. I seized Amanda’s arm and yanked her away as hard as I could. She went stumbling backwards and fell onto the concrete floor. Hadn’t it used to be wooden? No, I was remembering wrong, it had always been concrete. It must have been. 

I backed against the wall opposite the bleeding canvas, and Amanda stumbled to her feet beside me. Her shoe had fallen off when she fell over. The pool of colors didn’t reach the shoe and lap at its edges hungrily. The shoe didn’t begin to warp and twist and invert until it was something that was barely recognizable. It didn’t begin screaming with an impossible mouth that wasn’t there, and the sound didn’t give me a headache that still hasn’t completely left. The shoe wasn’t. And it looked painful.

I started banging at the wall, screaming and crying for help. I don’t know what I hoped to achieve. Even if someone had heard me, they couldn’t very well have broken through solid concrete- wait, plaster now- and I doubt anyone could hear me. I hit the wall and no sound was made. My screams turned to bubbles the moment they left my mouth, and floated away until they landed on those nonexistent colors and burst with horrendous chromatic vibrancy. 

Even though I hadn’t touched it yet, I could feel everything that wasn’t there seeping into the room and saturating it, like a tea bag steeping. The dim light, the air, Amanda, me- everything was being instilled with a horrible, inescapable wrongness. I choked down a sob as I thought about it: I would be locked in this room forever, slowly becoming warped and twisted until I was nothing I ever was or should have been able to be. I felt like I was going crazy- nothing here was possible. Nothing here was anything. All of my senses must have been lying to me- malfunctioning, showing me things that weren’t there. Everything here was soaked in that vague, hazy wrongness, like a dream gone wrong, except my brain would never have been able to create anything like this on its own.

Amanda seemed to think that too.

“It’s…it’s like a dream. It’s all like a dream.” Her voice was gleaming and dewy. When she looked at me, something in her eyes scared me almost more than that impossible room. Something black and tenuous, like thin ice, already starting to crack. “Maybe…maybe if we apply dream logic, we can escape?” She seemed as though she was talking more to herself than to me. I didn’t think that was a good idea. This place seemed to me the antithesis of all logic or pattern. Trying to make sense of it in any way would only make things much, much worse. I told her so. 

Sometimes I wonder if I should have done that. I’m now certain that her dream logic solution wouldn’t have worked, but my words seemed to be the last straw. The thin, fragile thing in her eyes seemed to break, and a nervous, unhinged chuckle left her lips. It echoed and danced unnaturally around us, like the room was gloating over a victory.

 “So that’s it, then?” She asked me, her voice dangerous and hazy in the dark light. “I’m just crazy?” 

I didn’t know what to say, so I said nothing. What was I supposed to have done? Told her everything was going to be okay? Told her that no, she wasn’t crazy, there was a logical explanation to this obvious impossibility? I think a lot about what I could’ve said. I don’t think there was anything that could’ve saved her. It was too late for that.

At my silence, Amanda started laughing again, a horrid thing that morphed into a sob, then a scream, then back again. I just stood there, frozen. Amanda finally calmed herself down, but what she did next scared me more than screaming. She smiled pleasantly at me, like there was nothing at all wrong in the world. She briskly brushed off her clothes, which had been made messy by the dirt wall we had been fruitlessly pounding on.

Finally, she sighed contentedly, then looked at me and said, “Well, there’s no use delaying it, then.” Amanda turned on her heel and walked directly into the pool of not-colors. She dissolved into-

CHARLIE {Pauses the statement}

I, uh- I can’t read this. It…looks like words? Maybe? But…uh…this handwriting isn’t readable. Not like it’s sorta messy, it’s…wow. I can’t even tell if this is the English lettering system. 

[Avery pauses] Actually, I think it isn’t. And did she bring colored pens in? This ink definitely isn’t black.

…wait, is it?

[Avery pauses again to examine] …I think it is. It looks colorful but it isn’t. I can tell it’s written in black ink. That’s…huh. I’ll take it up with Daniel later. Maybe he’ll be able to read it. It resumes two pages later.

CHARLIE {continues statement}

After that, the room was gone. No, that’s not right, it couldn’t have been gone. In order for something to be gone, it has to have been there in the first place. I was standing in the Greco-Roman exhibit, the place that hallway should’ve led me to. The place I must have been the entire time. Without hesitation, I turned and left.

Mom says there’s never been an Allison in our family. She says her sister never had kids, that I don’t have any cousins, especially not in America. When I mention her, my mom and dad exchange these worried glances. They’re scared, I can see it. At first, when I got home and started yelling about a nonexistent cousin, they thought I was messing with them. When I started hyperventilating, though, they began to see it was something more. They took me back to the museum, asked me to show them which hallway it was. When I saw it, I started shaking. I don’t remember much after that, but apparently I had a breakdown in the middle of the museum and started screaming about the colors. They sent me to a shrink after that. I don’t tell her the truth. I can hear what my parents say when they think I’m not paying attention, but they’re wrong. I’m not schizophrenic. I’m not crazy. But I take it that telling her about colors that aren’t there and Amanda’s voice in my ear whenever I’m alone, telling me that she made the right decision, isn’t going to help my case. 

I still see them, you know. More and more often, they seep into my vision and the cracks of my mind and refuse to leave. Even now, I can see them. Can’t you? A blotch of them hovers over the paper, angrily lapping at the ink. It’s difficult to see what I’m writing when they cover everything. It’s difficult to think, too. Amanda tells me that I should’ve listened to her. She says the only thing better than seeing the colors is being them. 

She’s wrong. She whispers to me that I can’t really know unless I join her. I don’t know how I would even go about doing that, but I have no intention of doing so. I’m not like her, I am perfectly sane. My parents and the shrink can go screw themselves, because however much doubt they put in my mind, I still know. I-I’m sane. I’m not crazy. I have to be, right?

AVERY

Statement ends.

Follow up on this one is difficult, because it would appear that, no matter what our young statement giver claimed, this was, indeed, a prank. According to our records, and the records of everyone I have checked with, there has never been a Zoë McKendrick. While there is a couple in the area Zoë mentioned with the same last name who happen to have family in America, they do not, nor have ever had, a daughter.

Zoë mentioned at the beginning of her statement that the museum she visited has video tapes that went against her claim. Merideth went to that check out and found that she was correct, and there was no evidence corroborating a left turn in any hallway where there should not have been. 

She did find, though, that a few weeks before this statement was given, there were tapes of two unidentified teenage girls entering the museum. After a few minutes of looking around, they went down a hallway, and entered the Greco-Roman exhibit. They stood there motionless, and for around two hours, the tapes continued on with no visible change. For one moment, though, the tapes broadcasted an unfamiliar room with a single work of art hung on the wall. Then the feed cut back to what was broadcasted before, except only one girl remained. She turned and left, and didn’t return until a few hours later, when she brought in two adults and visibly had a breakdown before leaving again. That is all the evidence supporting this statement. 

When confronted with this, the McKendricks firmly stated that they had no memory of either person, or the visit to the museum.

To be honest, this statement can be one of two things. A teenager may have seen a malfunction in the tapes, and thought it would be funny to tell this to the Magnus Institute as a prank. That is the more likely scenario. 

On the other hand…perhaps, Zoë was unable to believe in her sanity as firmly as she needed to.

End recording.

[CLICK]

#Tma #magnus archives #the magnus archives #the usher foundation #Usher foundation #Fan statement #Statement #the spiral #I you daw any typos- no you didn’t

[sunblindsyyc]

Customized Blinds Installation Company In Calgary

Are you planning on a renovation of your home or office? Well, choosing the right blind for the change can be an important decision to make. For any room, blinds can be the fairy stick to your moods. It can change the ambiance of your room and office, giving you the sole control to have the desired amount of light and make it your new favorite place. But the installation of the blinds can be a challenge in itself. Luckily, there are a lot of professional blind installation service providers in Calgary that can come to your aid. These services specialize in fitting blinds according to your requirements and ensure that your room's aesthetic remains intact.

Now, you may be wondering how you can find blind installation services. In recent years, there has been a rise in the number of home installation services. So let us tell you how to find the right blind installation service around Calgary.

Things to Keep in Mind

Look for Options:

There are a lot of options when it comes to choosing the installation service for blinds. Window treatment and blind installation agencies are the most common places that offer these types of services. If you are trying to get the fittings and measurements right by yourself, a little help from one of these agencies can go a long way. You can start the process of finding a professional blind installation service by asking for recommendations from trusted sources or going on the internet. Customer reviews can be a great way to find the right service you are looking for.

Do a Background Check:

You must remember that a service of blinds installation has to be done right. If you are moving into a new home, you do not want to spend on installing blinds every few months. Hence, remember to do a background check on your chosen service. Ask for their certification and information from the agency they work for. If they are independent contractors, you have the full right to ask them about the kind of work they do and whether they will be able to take on your project.

Trust Expertise, not Advertisement:

One helpful thing you can do before selecting a blind installation service in Calgary is to conduct a brief interview. This can help you get an idea about what kind of work this service has been doing and how many years of expertise they have in work. Even though there are agencies who advertise their work in fancy terms, it is always better to ask the people who will be working in your home.

Customer Service and Warranty:

You want to be prepared for anything that comes your way, so remember to ask for the details about a warranty. Professional blind installation services in Calgary will have contracts drawn up that will assure you about the quality of work and what you can expect in case of a mishap. The services should also be ready to help you out with any kind of trouble you run into in the first few months of servicing. There should ideally be an assistance helpline that will allow you to contact them in cases of emergency.

Compare prices:

When you have finally narrowed it down to a few installation services, ask for quotes. Keep a list of services as backup and compare the prices of all. This will help you get the best deal at the best price. Check the quality of materials being used, the time taken, and how the contract is being drawn. All of these, taken together, should determine the price of the service and whether you are getting the best out of the situation. Settling for the first service you find is not always a good idea.

Finding the Right Services at the Right Place

Sunblinds YYC has been working for years as a blind installation service provider in Calgary. With our own inventory of blinds and a professional team of installers and a list of other window treatments, we understand what your home needs. Whether you are trying to add some shine to the old rooms or building your dream house, we have the right services lined up for you. Contact Sunblinds YYC in Calgary today for all your windows and blinds-related concerns!

#customized blinds #window blinds #window blinds in calgary

[phoenixmaiden-gaming]

House Renovation #23: Old House with Bunker

The next house I bought was the Old House with Bunker that I bought for $138,934.95. It was one of the houses for the three apocalypse people. It was a nice little place with some trash but it did have some nice stuff already, but I found out too late when I sold some of it. And I have to say I am already loving the new dlc items. There was new tile and wallpaper that are a lot more fancy so I used them in the bathroom and the kitchen. There were even more paint colors that I played around with, mainly the yellow and made a yellow bedroom. I’m not really into that color, but it came out really nice. I kept the office really simple and then moved onto the bunker. I didn’t do anything to it except pick up all the food stuff on the floor and neatly put them on the shelves. I just renovated the bathroom and called it done. The highest bidder was Maria Kolkowaki and I asked her to up her bid by over $5,000 and she took it. I sold the house for $203,446.26 and made a profit of $63,495.01. Not bad.

#phoenix be gaming #House Flipper #PC Games #Steam Games #gaming #gameplay #playthrough #game #games #video games #gamer #gamer fun #gamer girl #gamer life #Entertainment #Nothing is Queue Everything is Permitted

[isiratrieswriting]

Entry no 74

On the drive back home

I long to return to a place that does not exist anymore. That is, it is present physically, but it can never be what it once was again.

A lovely little cottage, nestled in the middle of rolling fields. Trees of every kind, birds of every song. 

I would play all day long outside sometimes, the flowers and critters being more than enough to occupy a little girl with too much imagination for her own good. When it rained, I would climb up the stairs to the picture room (as I used to call it for it had giant posters plastered all across the walls), plop onto the bed and huddle in the covers with a good book. On summer nights, I would often camp out on the terrace, the vast inky sky stretching above me, the cool breeze of the evening playing with my hair as it passed. The stars were glorious. I would always try to find my favorite constellation, but I never could.

There was grandfather’s old soda machine, and me and my siblings would try every vacation to get it to work. I think we succeeded one time. Although the soda didn’t taste very good. The old computer room, where I made and designed my first website. There was a fancy candle holder, which you could hold up like a lantern. I used to pretend I was an adventurer exploring the unknown with that. And hiding places! Oh, so many wonderful hiding places. My favorite was the little empty space under the stairs. It was just the right size for a child of six to squeeze through. There were books aplenty, novels worn down by their previous readers, with little notes in shaky blue letters on the margins. While I did love going through those pages, I don’t think I ever made it to the end.

I could ramble on and on like this. Overcome by nostalgia, I decided to take a little trip to this quaint place one day, decades after the last time I had stepped foot there. 

I wish I hadn’t.

The place is there and the house still stands but it has changed beyond recognition. Words fail me as I try to decipher this feeling. 

What was missing? Nothing, and yet everything. 

The things of my childhood fancy were still there, worn and old, but existing nonetheless. There had been no renovations, the rooms looked the same as I had last seen them. The house and grounds showed signs of aging and poor maintenance. But it had been let out, so there were tenants and hence it hadn’t completely fallen into disrepair. Yet the voice inside me could not be reasoned with. Here I was, as an adult, at my childhood vacation headquarters and nothing was familiar anymore. 

Confused, I just focused on finding anything I could salvage before this place completely slipped away. I chanced upon some ancient photo albums and spent a good while absorbed in them. Pictures of my mother and her cousins, weddings of my grandparents and uncles and aunts, friends and colleagues, random shots of trees or a fluffy cloud.

Slowly, sipping the tea I had been offered, it dawned on me that it was never about the house. 

It was the people, it was always going to be the people. 

But these people are akin to the old photos I had been looking through. They, along with the house, only existed in that particular moment of time. 

The people are, so to speak,  gone, in more than one meaning of that word.

The teacup was empty in my hands. Except for a tiny teardrop.

#diary entry #musings #i miss this #nostalgic #did i really cry tho? #hehe

[legitelizabethwwefan]

Building a Garden - Skye x Fem! Reader

A/N: I wanna apologize for not publishing anything yesterday! I had a massive headache and could hardly get through my day. So, I decided to take a day off from writing to recharge my batteries (so to speak).

I thought this was a cute modern AU idea that fit Skye to a T, so I wrote it earlier today. I wrote it for a fem! reader, but you can picture it with a male or general reader instead if you wish. It’s nothing serious- just some cute fluff for the hell of it.

If you want to request anything, you can do so here.

Word count: 1000

Warning: A little suggestive if you squint.

It was a warm, sunny Saturday afternoon when you and your long-time girlfriend Kirra decided to tackle your first big home project- building a garden in your backyard.

You two had been together for a few years by now and had lived in an apartment for one year prior to today. But last winter, you and Kirra had decided to take the next big step in your relationship and buy a house. It hadn’t been an easy process to navigate by any means- but you two were officially homeowners.

The house wasn’t big or fancy by any means. It was a small bungalow fixer-upper that you two had been working on ever since moving in about six months ago. The renovations hadn’t been cheap or easy, but the effort was well worth it. You two wanted to create a loving home for you and your pets- Kirra’s dog and your cat, to be specific.

With spring having been in full bloom for over a month now, Kirra had been anxious to create a garden perfect for your home. You had no gardening experience to speak of, but Kirra was an expert on the subject. You let her lead the charge in what to buy, only speaking up if a certain plant or flower caught your eye.

You stared at the bags of soil, shovels, and various plants that sat on the ground. You had made sure to wear an old T-shirt, comfy shorts, and a pair of old running shoes. You were going to get dirty today, so there was no point in wearing anything nice. Your hair was already tied back as you threw on a brand new pair of black gardening gloves.

“Sorry to keep you waiting, Y/N,” Kirra suddenly piped up as she shut the door behind her. “I had to take a phone call.”

“It’s no trouble,” you said with an unconcerned grin.

Kirra nodded while giving you a once-over. “Y/N...you look lovely as always.”

You blushed and smiled. “Thanks, babe. As do you. So...ready to begin?”

Kirra nodded while flinging her braided hair behind her back. “Better now than never, girlie.”

You glanced back at the current state of your backyard. The grass was green and healthy after Kirra had taken care of that the other day. A small wooden deck with secondhand patio furniture sat close to the house to make the area cozy yet welcoming. There was even a small brown wooden shed sat in the right corner of your backyard, courtesy of the previous homeowners. The wooden fences appeared to be new, fixed with solar-panelled lights also left by the previous owners.

The backyard didn’t look bad- it was already looking rather nice given what you were working with. But it still didn’t feel like home for you and Kirra. It lack much personality outside of the black and white patio furniture on the deck. There was also no other colour to speak of outside of the green grass.

Hopefully, this gardening adventure would change that.

You and Kirra sat the planter boxes you had purchased last week along one of the fences. The previously brown wooden planters were now painted a pale yellow, which already breathed new life into your backyard. It wasn’t obnoxious to look at; but rather, a nice addition to your new home.

Once the planters were in their rightful spots, you and Kirra put some soil inside for the plants that would be placed inside. It was Kirra who had suggested flowers- regular green bushes were nice to look at, but she really wanted a colourful garden of gorgeous flowers. You were all too happy to go along with her suggestion.

The six planters were soon filled with an array of flowers that you had each picked out. Kirra had chosen blue hydrangeas, bright yellow daffodils, and snapdragons. You had selected marigolds, pholox, and salvia. Various shades of blue, pink, white and yellow bellowed out of the planters to create a sea of colour. It was a beautiful sight to behold.

“They look so lovely,” you remarked as you brushed some dirt off your knees.

“They do, don’t ‘cha think?” Kirra said, her Australian accent more apparent. “We do good work, girlie. Shall we plant the pansies by the shed?”

You glanced over at the bare spots of dirt by the otherwise plain shed. “Let’s do it.”

An hour or so later, the pansies had been successfully planted on the left side of the shed. The right side was right beside the fence, but it still looked amazing. Orange, purple, red and yellow pansies sat alongside the shed to bring more life- and colour- to your backyard.

“I’m surprised you didn’t want to do a vegetable garden,” you admitted once the task at hand was complete. You had thought that before, but hadn’t brought it up until now. You weren’t disappointed by Kirra not wanting a vegetable garden- you were simply curious.

Kirra smirked. “I think flowers look nicer. They’ll also attract a ton of creatures into our backyard- butterflies, hummingbirds, maybe even bees.”

You returned your girlfriend’s smirk. You knew Kirra was a big animal lover- of course a flower garden made more sense than a vegetable garden.

“This feels more like home,” you remarked while taking your gardening gloves off.

“It sure does,” Kirra replied with a large smile on her face. “God, I love you so much, Y/N.”

“I love you too,” you responded before giving her a much-need kiss on her soft lips.

“Let’s put everything away and get a much-needed shower,” Kirra said once they broke apart.

You raised your right eyebrow. “Together?”

Kirra snickered. “That sounds like an excellent idea, girlie.”

You both rushed to put the gardening gear away in the shed before Kirra dragged you inside by the arm.

This house felt more like home with your beautiful garden now finished. You were already looking forward to the memories you and Kirra would created together in this very home.

#skye x reader #valorant skye #skye valorant #valorant x reader #reader insert #imagine #imagines #valorant imagine #valorant imagines #alternate universe #au #modern au

[slothspaghettiwrites]

Hey👋🏻 Idk if request are open (if not ignore this) but I'd love to see a yandere Lee Bodecker x f!reader where he kidnaps her and essentially she goes along with it, maybe bc she is tired/bored of her life. Like at first she's reluctant and like 'I should try to escape or at least be scared' but she feels safe with him, but he thinks she is trying to gain his trust to escape him😩

Hnng! Could you imagine?!?!? 😂

It was all set up, the old Russell Place had been easy for Lee to get fixed up and nobody really bothered going all the way out there anyway. Some people even thought it was haunted after the shit that went down in '57.

It was easy to snatch you as well. A simple offer to give you a ride home after your shift at the grocery store.

You didn't even struggle when he put the ether soaked rag over your mouth. You fell right back into the leather bench.

He really didn't think it would be this easy. Maybe Lee was prepared than he thought he could ever be. You were lighter than he expected, carrying you into the renovated house, and up to your new room.

He tied your ankles to the bed and waited. You'd wake up soon and he knew there'd be a bit of fight. This was a new change, and new home, it would take you a bit of time to get adjusted. But you'd be happy soon enough.

You wake up slowly with a curse, growling and whimpering about your head hurting. Lee watched you try and curl up to go back to sleep. He sees the moment when it clocks in your head, when you realise you aren't at home.

Lee shushes you quickly, grabs both your hands in his and squeezes.

"Just take it easy, Babygirl, you're home now. I'll take care a ya from now on."

You blink at him, mouth still cottony and gross.

"Now, I know this is a lot. But we're gonna be happy together. I got our house all nice and fixed up. Gotta plenty a space for me and you and... And a baby soon."

He sees the way your eyes take in the bedroom, the clean floors, fancy vanity he picked out for you, the homemade quilt in your lap. Lee is struggling to gage your reaction. You aren't trying to run away or scream or fight him. He was ready for a fight, had kept his duty belt on just in case he needed to hand cuff you.

When you look at him again, he can see the tears in your eyes. Yep he was ready for this. Ready force comfort onto you if he needed to.

"No more grocery store? No more crowded apartment? Just you and me?" You words are husky, but not filled with fear. Lee would almost think you were happy.

"Just you and me, forever."

Lee squeezes your hand to a point he know must hurt, but he's not ready for you to fall into him. He let's go of your hands to steady the both of you and your arms wrap around his middle.

Lee spends the rest of the weekend suspicious. The houses is locked up, his guns stored in the cruiser, and yet he was still fighting the urge tie you back down.

This immediate acceptance was not something he planned for. Fighting, screaming, cowering - all things he has covered. The crying he knew would happen, but not in that way. Not in that thankful sort of way.

There wasn't a moment you were alone in the house. Two weeks in Lee was certain you were trying to drive him insane. That this was the long con to try and escape.

So he tied you to a chair. Now you did fight that and start crying, begging him to stop, sobbing that you would do anything he asked, just to untie you.

"Why are you tryn'ta escape? You're safe with me Babygirl, trust me."

When he puts a hand on your knee you shriek, jumping enough to almost knock the chair over. He grabs you more firmly forcing you to be still.

"Stop! Tell me what the fuck is going on?"

"Won't run, won't run, please, you promised, can't go back."

Lee stares at you, a rage boiling in his blood like he hadn't felt before. He unties you and you cling to him, sobbing on to his shoulder and apologizing for upsetting him. He holds you close and smooths his hand over your back.

"Don't cry Baby, your safe with me, just don't want you to leave, please Honey. I'll always keep you safe, promise, just don't leave."

#sloth asks #nonnie #lee bodecker #lee bodecker x reader #yandere!lee bodecker #soft!dark!lee bodecker

[kikis-writing-world]

Every Pilot Needs a Wingman

Summary: You have been pining quietly over your neighbor for months. He hasn’t noticed, but apparently his friend has...

Pairing: Frankie Morales x F!Reader

Word Count: 3.9k

Rating/Warnings: Smutty thoughts - grey sweatpants should be their own warning. Fleeting mentions of masturbation and sex toys. Swearing. Santi gives the reader tips on how to impress/pick up Frankie, I don’t know if that might come off as shady or triggering to people so I want to mention that. Dividers by @firefly-graphics​

You grabbed your keys from the hook beside the door on your way out, making sure to check that it was locked behind you. It was warm out, especially given the time of day. Walking out of your air conditioned house into the humidity felt like walking into a brick wall. Luckily you had checked the weather, dressing in a pair of shorts and a light t-shirt. You didn’t have to wear anything fancy just to run errands, so you made comfort the priority.

You heard your neighbor’s door open and even before looking, you wished you’d done something nicer with your hair. The humidity made it a little unmanageable so you hadn’t bothered this morning. You turned to see if it was the owner of the house next door stepping out into the midday sun, or a guest, but there was Frankie in all his glory. All of it.

You’d lived next door to Frankie Morales for just over a year, and most of that had been spent pining silently over the man. He was attractive, that you had noticed the first time you had seen him, but getting to know him since moving had made him all the more appealing. Those warm brown eyes that crinkled with laugh lines as he smiled. His big, strong hands that he used on his woodworking projects and home renovations. His broad shoulders that he would happily sit his daughter on for rides when he had her for his shared custody. He was not only devastatingly handsome in a fittingly “boy man next door” kind of way, but he was just so kind and funny. God you wanted him.

It took a conscious effort to keep your eyes from bulging out of your head when you saw him. Hair wild, dark framed glasses perched on his nose - that was a treat in itself, he often opted for contacts over his glasses. His lack of shirt let you see the sprinkling of hair along his chest and the darker treasure trail that started just below his navel, running down over the dip of the small tummy he’d gained with age. He often complained about being out of shape compared to his younger years but you loved any glimpse you got of it. The line of hair grew thicker until it disappeared under the waistband of his grey sweatpants. Taking him in, you didn’t know if the powers that be were rewarding you or punishing you.

“Hey Frankie,” you greeted politely. You’d more or less been staring at him, so you couldn’t play it off that you hadn’t seen him.

He greeted you back, his voice hoarse as he squinted in the bright sunlight.

“Rough night?” You guessed with a knowing grin. You knew the signs of a late night as easily as the next person, plus with Frankie usually being an early riser his disheveled appearance definitely had you thinking he’d been into some kind of mischief. You bit your lip, trying not to frown if you wondered if a woman was part of the mischief, a spark of envy flowing through your veins.

“Yeah,” he chuckled, running a hand through the mess of chocolate curls atop his head. Oh lord, his sweatpants dipped lower on his hips as he did. “An old buddy of mine had a fight. Went out with the guys after to celebrate.”

“Oh, that’s… Billy?” You attempted, trying to remember the name of the friend he had told you was into boxing.

“Benny.” He corrected lightly.

“Benny. Sorry.” You nodded.

When his back turned, reaching into his mailbox to get his mail, you allowed yourself the moment to check him out properly. The muscles in his back flexed softly as his arms moved. The dimples in his lower back called out to you. The curve of his ass just barely hidden beneath the elastic waistband. Staring at his ass, you wondered if he was going commando before you stopped yourself from following that train of thought. Stop being perverted…

He turned back around, shuffling the envelopes in his hands. You were lucky he was looking through his mail since your eyes were still aimed on his lower half as he turned. You’d sacrifice something to the gods of grey sweatpants as a tribute later. After the errands, and after spending some time with your battery powered friends as the image stayed in your mind. The pants were thick enough fabric that they didn’t bare all, but damn if you couldn’t tell he had a decent length to him.

You had fantasized about the man more than you’d care to admit. He was such a goodhearted man, you knew he would be a kind, gentle lover, but he also had this underlying masculine energy that made you wonder if he would go a little wild. Your favorite fantasies involved both, and now that you’d caught more of a glimpse of what he was working with, you could add even more context to your thoughts. How he’d prep you gently, sweetly, making sure you were ready to take all of him but once he’s inside he would lose himself to the pleasure and fuck into you nice and hard-

You forced your eyes back up to his face as you swallowed hard, knowing that you’d have to stop somewhere to get a cool drink as you drove around town.

“Anything good?” You asked, nodding towards the envelopes in his hand. It wasn’t any of your business but you wanted to keep the small talk going a little longer. A few more minutes in his presence.

“Junk and bills. The usual.” He chuckled, his usual laugh sounding even lower, raspier from the late night of drinking. Even with the glasses on, you could see those laugh lines you loved sprouting at the corners of his eyes.

“Damn. Being an adult sucks.” You laughed with him.

“Tell me about it.” He sighed. “But it does have its perks.”

“Like drinking all night and napping all day?” You suggested.

“Like that.” He agreed with a grin and a nod. “Just gotta kick some pendejo out of my house first.”

Your easy grin became forced at that. So he had brought someone home from the bar. “Another perk to adulthood, right?” Your laugh was a little strained this time, but he didn’t seem to notice.

“Huh?” He frowned, his hungover brain taking a minute to figure out your meaning. “Oh, oh, yeah, I guess.” He chuckled, scratching the back of his head bashfully. “Not last night though. Just my friend. He crashed on my couch.”

“Oh!” You hated yourself a little bit for the relief that you felt. He can sleep with whoever he wants to and it would be none of your business. “Not that I should have- it’s not really my business.” You mumbled, running a hand over your own hair to make sure it was behaving in the heat.

“Don’t worry about it.” He waved you off. “I’ll let you get going though.”

“Alright.” You were equal parts disappointed the conversation was closing and relieved you couldn’t dig yourself into a deeper hole. “I’ll see you around.”

“Yeah, you know where I live.” He teased.

“That I do.” You smirked. “Feel better.”

He didn’t respond verbally, waving a hand at you as he turned to walk back up the path to his home. You moved around your car, stopping once you were at the driver’s side to watch him for another fleeting moment. You hated to see him go but you loved to watch him leave...

Forcing your mind out of the gutter, you focused on the mental to do list you had for the day, climbing into your car and starting the A/C as soon as the engine was on.

Frankie closed the door behind him, relishing the dark and cool of inside.

“Who was that?” Santiago asked him, making him jump. He was standing in front of the living room window, facing the street.

“Neighbor. Nice girl.” Frankie barely explained as he dropped the envelopes onto the side table for later.

“Just a neighbor?” Santi pushed with a grin. “She’s cute.”

Frankie shot him a half-assed glare, not having the energy yet to deal with Pope’s libido. The coffee he’d put on before stepping out was brewing so he instead followed his nose to the kitchen.

“She’s really into you, too.” Santi continued, following Frankie through the house.

That caught Frankie’s attention. “What?” He scoffed, turning to stare at his former teammate.

“Seriously?” Pope deadpanned, lifting an eyebrow at Frankie’s grumpy, confused grimace.

“She was just being neighborly. Making small talk.” Frankie brushed it off, turning to pull two mugs out of the cupboard.

“Neighborly staring at your cock.” Pope grumbled under his breath, in disbelief Frankie could be this oblivious. “Remind me again how you ever got far enough with a woman to knock her up?”

“Why are you this way? Who hurt you?” Frankie sighed, rubbing his creased brow to ease the pressure of the hangover.

“I’m serious, hermano. You wouldn’t know a woman was flirting with you if she gave you a fuckin’ lap dance.”

“She wasn’t flirting.”

“Maybe not with her words, but she was eyeing you like a damn buffet.” Pope teased. “Sausage buffet.”

“Get out of my house.” Frankie huffed, no real bite to his words as he leaned against the counter, holding his head in his hands.

Pope ignored him, picking up the coffee pot and pouring it into their mugs. He slid one towards Frankie before picking up his. The two men savored the first few sips of the piping hot coffee in silence, letting it erase the pains of the night before.

“Seriously though,” Santiago broke the silence. “You should ask her out sometime.”

“You’re still here?” Frankie shot back, eyes locked straight ahead as if no one was in the room with him.

Santi sighed, shaking his head as he took another sip of his coffee. If Frankie wanted to be difficult, then he’d just have to play dirty.

Later on in the week you were still thinking about the encounter. You couldn’t remember exactly what the two of you had talked about, but the image of Frankie stuck in your mind. Despite knowing that he was nursing a hangover at the time, you couldn’t help but imagine he’d look a bit similar after sex. Hair mused, under-dressed, a light exhaustion. He was missing that post-sex glow: the relief that shines through your skin, mixing in with the sheen of sweat that covers your whole body. That part you’d had to add in yourself in some mental editing.

You imagined Frankie walking through your kitchen looking that way. Like he’d thrown on the nearest pants he could find after sliding from the bed, scavenging for something to eat after working up an appetite with you.

God, I need to go out and get laid… you thought to yourself as you realized just how much of your mental capacity was taken over by the handsome man next door.

A knock on your door had you frown softly. You weren’t expecting anyone, you didn’t think you had any deliveries scheduled. You looked through the peephole to find out who was there. 

You didn’t recognize the man standing on your stoop. You looked him over, trying to gauge if you should open the door or pretend you weren’t home. He kept looking off to the left, towards Frankie’s house, which didn’t help ease your mind, but after making sure your chain lock was secured you decided to open the door.

“Hi?” You greeted cautiously, looking at him through the small crack the chain lock allowed.

“Hey! I’m Santiago. I’m a friend of your neighbor. Frankie.” He introduced with a smile.

Your stomach dropped. “Is everything okay?” You blurted out, worried. Was he okay? Was his daughter?

“No, no! He’s fine! Everything is fine.” Santiago was quick to reassure you. “I’m actually here to talk to you.”

Your frown returned as your brow creased in confusion. “Why? What did I do?” Your mind started racing, wondering what you had done to make Frankie send a friend over. Oh god, had you made him uncomfortable and now this Santiago was going to tell you to back off?

“Nothing. Wow, you’re nervous.” He laughed.

“A man I don’t know is knocking on my door.” You pointed out with a wry grin.

“That is true. I didn’t think about that part. Damn.” Santiago grumbled to himself. “I’ll cut to the chase then and you can decide if you want to talk to me or not. I know you like Frankie, but he’s an idiot. He doesn’t know you like him, but I saw you flirting with him a few days ago. I was inside, saw everything.”

You felt your face heating up in embarrassment as he explained himself. You briefly considered closing the door in his face and moving to Bora Bora.

“Since ‘Fish is never going to believe me and make a move, I thought I would come over, give you some pointers, help you make the first move?” He offered, voice pitching up as he questioned your interest.

You glared at him for a moment, considering the request as you tamped down your fight or flight instincts. Frankie had mentioned a friend stayed the night, and you had definitely checked him out hard.

“Give me a sec,” you mumbled, closing the door so you could unlatch the chain. When you opened it fully, you stood to the side and gestured for Santiago to come inside.

As you knocked on Frankie’s door a few days later, you started second guessing yourself. Would any of this even work? You didn’t know Santiago from a hole in the ground, what if he’d told you things to make you seem like an idiot? Or what if he told you things that Frankie hated, just so he would be sure not to ask you out? This was so stupid. You were about to turn around and walk away when the door opened.

Frankie’s eyes widened when he saw you standing on his porch. His eyes immediately fell to your bare legs before flickering back to your face. The small action gave you confidence in the plan as you started to believe what Santiago had said.

“Frankie loves a woman in a sundress. I know, who doesn’t? But he really likes it. Wear a dress that shows off your legs, and if you have any kind of strappy shoe, the kind that will make him notice your legs… yeah, that’ll get his attention.”

“Hey, what’s up?” Frankie asked as he leaned against his door jam.

“He likes feeling useful, likes helping his friends out. Ask him for help with something, something he needs to fix, use his hands. That kind of thing.”

“I noticed you’re pretty handy,” you started hoping he would take it as the compliment it was. “Fixing your fence, building the porch. Are you any good with plumbing?”

Frankie seemed to puff up a bit at the question, your confidence growing even more. “A little. I’m no plumber but... depends on what you need.”

“My garbage disposal isn’t working right. I don’t know if I did something or if I need to call a professional. Would you mind coming to take a look?” You asked, fluttering your eyelashes at him a little.

“He’s oblivious. I mean it. You could smack him over the head with a board and he probably wouldn’t notice. Don’t be scared to lay it on pretty thick.”

“Sure! Want me to come over now?” Frankie was already stepping out onto the porch before you could answer him. “My tools are in the garage, I can grab them and follow you over.”

“That’d be great,” you smiled brightly at him. “Thanks!”

You trotted down the steps ahead of him, heading towards his garage.

“Any chance you get to turn around, take it. He’s an ass man, and in a sundress… he’ll be looking.”

You resisted the urge to look over your shoulder to make sure he was watching you as you crossed the yard. You didn’t want to give-up the game, let him know you were onto him. If you caught him, he might get shy and draw into himself instead of being bolstered up into asking you out.

It took no time at all for him to grab his basic toolkit and follow you into your house. You led him into the kitchen and showed him the problem..

“Did you want a drink while you take a look? I’ve got beer.” You offered as he used a flashlight to peer down the drain.

“Once you’ve got him on the hook, get him a nice cold beer.”

“Th-that sounds great, actually, thanks.” He leaned up to grin at you before his attention turned back to the sink. You smiled triumphantly, fighting the urge to skip to the fridge. Grabbing two bottles, you took a moment to appreciate the sight.

He was leaned over the sink a bit, emphasizing his ass and his waist, but that wasn’t the part that appealed to you most… he was fixing up something in your house, and you’d be lying if you weren’t attracted to a man who could get the job done. Who wasn’t scared to roll up his sleeves and use some good old fashioned elbow grease. Before you could walk back over, he crouched down with a quiet groan, looking under the sink.

It was the perfect moment to return, standing next to his crouching form as you offered him the beer. He turned, face to face with the skirt of your dress. You couldn’t tell from this vantage, but it looked like actually licked his lips as he took in your legs from such close proximity before slowly looking up.

“Thanks.” He took the beer, taking a swig immediately. You hid your smile by doing the same.

Frankie sat his beer on the counter and turned back to the pipes under the sink. You set your beer next to his before hopping up to sit on the sink, letting your legs dangle.

“If you need anything, just let me know. I’ll be your runner.” You offered, waiting patiently as he inspected everything.

“Honestly, it looks like it’s just some loose connections. Easy fix.” He explained, setting his hat on the floor next to the toolkit before sliding himself under the sink. You grinned at the memory of Santiago helping you to loosen them.

“Really? That’s great.” You mocked relief at the news. “I didn’t want to have to wait for someone to come in and take a look then charge me an arm and a leg for some putty or something stupid. It definitely pays to have a neighbour who knows his way around a toolbox.”

Frankie chuckled in agreement, but didn’t respond otherwise as he worked at tightening all the joints you and Santi had messed with. It didn’t take him long before he was shimmying out from under the sink.

“All done.” He declared as he sat up, wiping his hands on his jeans.

“Thanks Frankie, you’re a lifesaver.” You gushed, crossing your legs at the ankles.

The motion caught his eye and he turned, coming face to face with your legs. You watched as he once again checked out your legs, eyes trailing from ankle to where your knees just barely disappeared under the hem of the dress. He chewed on that full bottom lip of his for a moment before seemingly remembering himself, smiling up at you. “It was nothing.” He pulled his cap on, hiding under the bill as he finished tidying up his things.

“Still, I want to thank you somehow.” You insisted, hopping off the counter.

“You don’t have to.” He shook his head. “The beer is enough, I promise.” He reached up for the bottle, taking a few gulps to prove his point.

“Okay, it’s a bit of a thank you and a little bit another favor then,” you confessed.

Frankie’s eyebrow quirked up in confusion, setting the bottle back on the counter and sealing up his toolbox before standing back at his full height. You had been standing close enough to give him a view of your legs, and now that he wasn’t crouched down, he towered over you.

“And what’s that?” He asked.

“Fish doesn’t talk about it a lot, but he loves baseball. Doesn’t have a favorite team or anything, but this guy goes as much as he can. He likes the slow pace and the strategy to it. It’s relaxing after all the shit we’ve gone through.”

“I have an extra ticket to the ballgame next week. Decent seats, nothing crazy though.” You shrugged. “I was going to offer it to you, if you wanted to join me.”

His eyebrows shot up into his bangs, stuck still under the hat. “Really? The Rays game?”

“Mmhmm.” You nodded coyly.

“I-I’d love to.” He admitted, face flushing. “I love baseball.”

“Really?” You pretended not to know.

“Yeah. Great way to spend a day.” He shrugged bashfully. “I’ll make you a deal. I’ll take the ticket if you let me drive.”

“I’ll allow it.” You teased, feeling emboldened enough to wink at him. You were pleased that it seemed to make him blush more.

“Great. It’s a… plan.” He hesitated, fiddling with the hat atop his head nervously, lifting it to smooth down his curls before repositioning it.

“A plan?” You repeated, grinning. “Sounded like you were going to say something else for a second.”

Frankie hid his face from you as he bent to pick up his toolbox, opening it once more to make sure he didn’t forget anything first. “I uh, I almost said date,” he admitted, and you could see the blush creeping up his neck. “I didn’t wanna be too forward.”

You waited patiently for him to stand back up, watching him avoid eye contact with you. You thought it was adorable, how sweet he was that he was worried about seeming too forward when you’d spent the day carefully leading him like a horse to water.

“A date it is.” You declared, smiled widening as you watched Frankie’s embarrassment make way for his own happy grin.

Bonus scene:

[4:23] Fish:  Idk how you do it but you were right [4:24] Pope:  I know [4:25] Pope:  About what? [4:26] Fish:  I’ve got a date with my neighbor next week [4:26] Fish:  She invited me to the Rays game [4:26] Pope:  Really? Nice! [4:27] Pope:  You sure thats a date? [4:27] Fish:  100% [4:27] Pope:  You’re the man 🐟 [4:28] Pope:  Half man half fish [4:28] Pope:  🧜🏻‍♀️🧜🏻‍♀️🧜🏻‍♀️ [4:32] Pope:  Fish? [4:36] Pope:  You ignoring me? [4:42] Pope:  Hello? [4:45] 🧜🏻‍♀️: HOW DID YOU CHANGE MY NAME?! [4:46] 🧜🏻‍♀️:  PUT IT BACK!

Tagging  @wickedfrsgrl​​ @din-damn-djarin​​ @seasonschange-butpeopledont​ @kesskirata​ @phoenixhalliwell​ @vonschweetz​ @insideafictionaluniverse​​ @driedgreentomatoes​​ @computeringturtle​​ @spideysimpossiblegirl​

#Frankie Morales x Reader #Frankie Morales imagine #Frankie Morales drabble #Frankie Morales fanfic #Frankie Morales x You #triple frontier imagine #triple frontier fic #triple frontier drabble #WookieTales

[kneeeklaus]

Decadence - Klaus Mikaelson

General Info:

TW: Swearing

Type: Fluff, innocent confession

Summary: At the Mikaelson’s Ball, you accidentally make a comment about Klaus while Rebekah’s around, she figures out you have a crush, and plays the part of a double agent wing-woman. 

*I’m pretty sure I wrote this gender neutral

Another day, another fancy event to attend. Mystic Falls was kind of just like that. One might assume that after a while, these formal events may start to get boring, and while that’s generally true, tonight’s event was an exception. The Mikaelson’s Ball. 

You knew the Mikaelson family to be quite flamboyant in taste, and so, you assumed they’d spare no expense. So neither did you. You had picked the most decadent of outfits, one that suited your features and fiery personality. You had to admit, you really liked one upping other people, so you went all out. 

The outfit was not expensive per say, but carefully crafted, and with no detail spared. As soon as you’d heard of the occasion, you’d started sifting through ideas in your head about what you wanted to wear. The result of your blood, sweat, and tears certainly justified your effort. 

You looked amazing. You were well aware of that. When you entered the Mikaelson mansion, in all its’ newly renovated glory, you could tell that many people noticed you. It wasn’t one of those movie moments where time stopped for a moment and all eyes were on you - that would be cliche. But you were perceptive enough to notice the volume in the room lower as you entered. 

And soon you were aware that you knew barely half of these people, and not even a tenth of them well. You noticed a beautiful head of blonde hair skate by in between the gaps of heads, and you intrinsically knew it was Rebekah. You followed behind her as she made her way to a small seating area on the second floor. 

She whipped her head around at you, she could sense your presence. “Oh, you’re here. No wonder it got so quiet.”

“You noticed that too?” You asked. 

“I’m very perceptive. Moving on, you look bloody gorgeous. I’m jealous.” Rebekah whined, crossing her arms and throwing herself back into a leather chair. Her perfect posture slumped. 

“Yeah, but you’ve been gorgeous for over a thousand years. I age. I think we can call it even.” You explained. Rebekah snorted and shifted in her seat. 

“Very true. How have you been?” She asked thoughtfully. 

“Since last night? Probably about the same as the last time I answered that question.” You said, sarcasm lacing your lips. 

“Very witty, you are. But truthfully, a human’s condition can change very rapidly in the span of a few hours. You’re my favorite human, I try to check in on you often. And honestly, good things don’t really come to those associated with the Mikaelson name.” She drabbled, her expression growing bleak. 

“How sentimental.” You smiled. “Luckily for you, I’m not superstitious.”

You looked around the room as Rebekah got up from her chair and joined you at the balcony’s railing, you both silently observed the guests below. In reality though, Rebekah was droning on about how old these events get sometimes, but you didn’t hear a word she said because Klaus caught your eye. 

He looked so good in a suit, and it was a sight you didn’t see all that often. You took your time to appreciate it. His shoulders were wide, and he looked tall, especially when standing next to Elijah. His arms looked slender and long. The white on white on black suit ironically suited him. He looked so extravagant, with his hair parted and pulled away from his face, exposing his beautiful bone structure. The slight shadow of his facial hair made you weak. Everything about him made you weak. He looked so unbelievably good, but your gaze wondered to his lips. “He has such pretty, pink lips.” 

And suddenly, you realized that you had accidentally said that last bit out loud. You could feel the heat rising in your cheeks as you finally pulled your eyes away from Klaus to glance at Rebekah’s reaction. Her mouth was slightly agape, and her eyebrows were dipped in confusion. You didn’t know what to say, you were completely speechless. 

“Y/N, do you have a crush on my brother, Nik?” She asked, a smile tugging at the corners of her lips. 

“What? No!” You said, panicked. And then you realized how stupid that sounded, and also that if you didn’t admit that you liked Klaus, she might think it was Elijah you fancied. “Okay, so maybe I’m slightly fond of Klaus. It’s really not that big of a deal, he’s just charming, okay?” 

“Y/N, you zoned out, didn’t hear a word I said, and mumbled something about how pretty you think his lips are.” She raised her eyebrows “You’ve been caught red handed.”

“Look, Rebekah, I always intended to keep it to myself. I’m just attracted to him, that’s all, I’m sorry.”

“What on earth are you apologizing for? Finally, Klaus has a suitor that I actually like!” She said, quite excited. 

“Shh, don’t say that out loud, what if he’s listening in? Oh god, I’m doomed. I’m done and-” You paused “Did you just call me a suitor? What makes me a suitor, I don’t have a chance in hell with him.”

“You have a better chance than you think you do, sisterly intuition. Now, come on.” She said as she took your hand and dragged you down the stairs with her.

“What are you doing, Rebekah?” You asked, but there was no answer, only a content smile lingering on her lips. “Rebekah, I think this is a really bad idea.” 

But she paid you no mind, she was hellbent on making this happen. Soon, you approached the bar, where Elijah and Klaus were standing. 

“Elijah! I think I may have spotted one Katerina Petrova. Do-” He cut her off by immediately walking away, towards the entrance of the mansion. “You stay here, I’m going to go deal with that.” And with that, she was gone. 

But more importantly, you were left alone with Klaus Mikaelson. “Fancy a drink, love?” He asked. 

You weren’t twenty one yet, but you answered “Yes” without much hesitation. 

“What’ll it be then?” He quizzed you. 

You really didn’t know much about alcohol, in fact, you were more of a weed person. And so you ordered a manhattan, without really knowing what it was. A short while after, it was served to you, but you took one sip and decided that was enough. The look on your face said it all. 

“Would you fancy something a little sweeter?” He asked, taking a step closer to you. You nodded curtly. 

He delicately took your hand, and led you away from the party to a dimly lit room, decorated as decadently as the rest of the house. There was wine lining most of the walls, which Klaus appeared to be scouring. 

“Ah, there it is. A 1789 Botryis Nobel Rot.” He muttered under his breath as he pulled the wine bottle out of its’ sheath. 

“I’m going to be honest, I don’t know anything about wine, but if you say it’s good, then I’ll trust you on that. Although, the 1789 part does make it sound lethal.” You explained, trying your very best to be charming. 

He laughed. He laughed, at a joke you made. You couldn’t even recall the last time you’d seen him smile. An asymmetrical grin took its place on your face as you relished in the moment. 

He poured two glasses and handed one to you “You do look absolutely gorgeous, might I add.” As he handed off the glass to you, his fingers lingered there, tangled with yours. You smiled and looked down, trying to hide your rosy cheeks which were betraying you.

“Oh, well, uh, thanks. And you as well. I mean-” You stuttered, tripping over your words “You don’t look gorgeous, I mean you do! But there’s a better word for that, I think. Handsome, maybe?” You really wished you could crawl into a hole, and never come out after that. How would you ever come back from that? 

And then he said “Sweetheart, am I making you nervous?” And if you weren’t so god damn stubborn, you probably would’ve fainted before he even finished that sentence.  

“You? Oh no, it’s- it’s the wine.” 

“But you haven’t even taken a sip yet?” He questioned.

“No, I- I mean I’m still afraid this could kill me. I mean it’s way older than I am.” You elaborated. 

“Love, I promise that won’t kill you.” He chuckled. And there it was, that cheeky grin that made you go weak in the knees. You nodded and took a seat on a nearby ottoman. He sat down right next to you. He watched you carefully as you took a sip, and adored seeing your expression light up. 

“Oh! It’s sweet, I wasn’t expecting that.” You said, delighted. But what you really weren’t expecting was how your knees would graze his from time to time as you sat together. 

“Well, it’s a dessert wine, I hoped you’d like it.” He grinned. 

“What have you done with Klaus Mikaelson?” 

“What ever do you mean?” He asked. 

“Klaus Mikaelson doesn’t smile this much, I know him better than that.” You claimed, sipping on your wine “And he certainly doesn’t go out of his way to serve guests dessert wine.”

He shrugged “Klaus Mikaelson also would’ve gone after Katherine, had she been here.” 

You had been found out. And part of you wanted never to show your face around Klaus ever again, but a part of you was intrigued. “Well it wasn’t me who said she was around, was it?”

“Don’t be daft, now, I would’ve known if Katherine was within a hundred mile radius of this town.” He said “Now why don’t you tell me why Rebekah was in such a hurry to lure Elijah away?”

“How would I know? I’m not Rebekah. Why don’t you just go and ask her?” You stalled. 

“Well, the thing is, love. I don’t really need to ask her, I did actually happen to overhear bits and pieces of your conversation, and by bits and pieces, I mean all of it.” He admitted. 

You audibly gasped, and set your glass down before standing up. “So you’ve just been chatting with me, knowing this incriminating information? Was this all just an elaborate plan for some shitty practical joke? Oh god, I’m such an idiot.” You sighed, hiding your eyes with your hand out of embarrassment. 

“No!” He exclaimed “No, that’s not what this is at all. I simply thought you looked beautiful tonight, and well, you deserve to have some fun.” 

“So you threw me a pity party?” You laughed uncomfortably. 

“Wrong again, are you always this paranoid?” He said as he stood up, towering over you. 

“Then what?”

“Oh come on, Y/N, you’re a beautiful girl, I just though-”

You cut him off “So you brought me here to flirt with me?”

“No, well, yes, actually. I thought that’s what you wanted? Don’t you like me?” He asked sheepishly. 

“Well, obviously, Sherlock Holmes.” 

“Then I don’t see the problem here? Have women always been this confusing?” He asked rhetorically. 

“Probably.” You shrugged. By this point you were half convinced you were being tricked, and half teasing him. 

“Well, I um, I like you too. I have ever since I met you.” He admitted. “Rebekah figured it out a while ago, but I never thought you’d feel the same. I don’t exactly have a good reputation.” 

“Klaus, there’s nothing wrong with you that can’t be fixed. You’re only the bad guy because you insist on playing the role.” You explained “Besides, everyone knows power corrupts good men, isn’t that like, Newton’s third law, or something?”

“Not quite...” He said. He wasn’t even looking at you anymore, he was looking through you. “I’m sorry, can I just-” Without warning, he pulled you in by your hand and pressed his lips to yours. You melted into his touch, your fingers instinctively making their way to the hair on the back of his neck. His hands pulled you in at the waist now. He pulled away, and his forehead rested on yours. 

“Y/N?” 

“Yes, Klaus?” 

“I’ve never really done the whole relationship thing. Honestly, until I met you I was convinced I had no emotions at all. But for the first time, I want to, I want you. Please be patient with me.” He said, your foreheads still touching, his eyes still closed. 

You were stunned, your cheeks went bright pink, realizing how close you were to him. “Okay” you said quietly, before wrapping your arms around his shoulders, and nuzzling your face into the crook of his neck. He wrapped his arms around your torso, and lifted you slightly off the ground. For once, things may have been looking up. 

**I may or may not do a part 2 to this because I have a good plot idea, stay tuned

#Klaus #niklaus imagine #klaus imagine #klaus x y/n #klaus x reader #Klaus mikaelson #niklaus mikaelson #niklaus x reader #niklaus oneshot #klaus oneshot #the originals #rebekah #rebekah mikaelson #elijah #elijah mikaelson #tvd #oneshots #fanfiction #imagines

[luci-in-trenchcoats]

By Your Doorstep (Part 8)

Summary: The reader and Sam try to find a way to ensure John leaves them alone while Dean has a sweet moment with Tessa...

Pairing: Doctor/Neighbor!Dean x reader

Masterlist

Word Count: 3,700ish

Warnings: language, bad parenting, past child abuse, manipulation, angst, fluff

A/N: Parts of this series are told from two different POV’s. Dean’s POV are written from limited third person. Reader’s POV are second person (like a typical reader insert). Enjoy!…

_________

Reader’s POV

“Hey, Mr. Valens,” you said when he came into the reception area about twenty minutes after you’d left the house with Sam.

“Y/N! Everything alright? You’re not in trouble are you?” he asked, giving Sam a look. “You look familiar.”

“I work on opposing counsel for the Druman case,” he said.

“You’re that son of a bitch that got a delay. That was good work,” he said. “A friend of Y/N’s is always welcome although I have to ask what exactly is going on that you’re here after seven?”

“Mr. Valens this is Sam Winchester. His brother Dean is my boyfriend. They knew my dad years back. He might have kept a file on them and I was wondering if you might have it since I know you took over my dad’s stuff?”

“Well I can’t allow you to go looking through the file cabinets and certainly not a lawyer from a rival firm,” he said. You frowned and he smiled. “Sam, you wouldn’t mind waiting out here. I’m sure you understand considering our prep is going on right now.”

“Of course. I’ll hang here,” he said. You walked through a set of doors into some offices, walking down the familiar hall. 

“You guys renovated,” you said.

“A few months back. We wanted a little more modern touch. Your dad’s idea actually. Finally got it going,” he said. 

“He always had a thousand things going at once it seems,” you said. You walked into his office, Mr. Valens going to a file cabinet in the corner. He dug around in the bottom drawer and pulled out a folder.

“Winchester boys. I’m guessing this is them,” he said. He took a seat at his desk and opened it up, lifting his head after a minute. “Y/N. Why do you want this file?”

“Mr. Valens. Let me have it,” you said. “Please.”

“There’s a reason your father never escalated this to law enforcement,” he said, shutting the file. “What are you involved in?”

“Mr. Valens. You were my dad’s partner and best friend and Tessa and I haven’t heard from you since two weeks after the funeral. You helped me get access to our trust but you left. We needed help. I needed help. You’re a lawyer. You could have made life so much easier. But you wouldn’t pick up the phone. The least you can do is give me that file.”

“You weren’t a child when they died, Y/N.”

“It doesn’t mean I wasn’t devastated. It doesn’t mean I was ready to change my whole life to become a mom to my sister, my very hurt baby sister. I just needed a little bit of help with paperwork and you couldn’t even do that for your best friend’s kids. I want that file, Mr. Valens.”

“You should stay away from those boys,” he said, handing it over to you.

“Why?”

“Their father is an ex-cop. Why do you think your father never escalated it? He needed hard evidence to make that kind of accusation,” he said. 

“Can you help them?”

“Y/N, why are you digging around in the past.”

“He came to our house and hurt Dean tonight.” He shut his eyes and ran his hand over his face. “I’m tired of people I care about getting hurt. Is there anything we can do to get them to leave us alone?”

“I’m sorry but unless he does something and you report it, I can’t do anything without hard evidence.”

“I have a recording of him beating up Dean.”

“He could very easily walk on that charge. My suggestion would be to get you and Tessa out of that house and away from those two for good.”

“You’re a dick,” you said as you rolled your eyes. You started to leave and went past a conference room, wide eyed when you saw John Winchester walking out with another lawyer. “What are you doing here?”

“None of your business,” he said. Mr. Valens cleared his throat and pulled you back into his office, shutting the door behind him.

“He’s right next door and you don’t care to mention that?”

“He’s a client for another lawyer.”

“No, I was stupid to come here was all. You don’t care about anyone or anything except money. You’ll work with a guy like that and let him keep hurting his kids as long as you get paid. I’m glad my father didn’t have to see you for who you really are.”

“Do not put words in my mouth,” he said, staring you down. “I said he is a client. Plenty of people need lawyers, including bad ones. I did not say I knew about his past with his sons. I do not condone that and that is exactly the kind of person I enjoy putting in prison. As a lawyer, I’m telling you that you either need very, very hard evidence of something he can’t get out of or you need to not antagonize him and hope he stays away. As someone who has watched you grow up, get you and your sister away from those Winchester boys. You do not know what he will do and that is dangerous.”

“Dean’s in danger. Sam’s in danger. Tessa and I aren’t leaving them.”

“You need to think of your sister, not your boyfriend.”

“She loves them like they’re her big brothers. She is happy, the happiest I’ve seen her since the accident. We’re not walking away from our family. We’ll figure this out ourselves.”

You went to leave when he caught your arm.

“I’ll do some digging. He’s no longer a cop but if he did something dirty, it might be enough.”

“Thank you.”

“Be careful, Y/N.”

You left and walked down the hall, John waiting by the doors out to the lobby. 

“You Sammy’s girlfriend?” he asked.

“Dean’s,” you said.

“Your boyfriend going to keep up our arrangement?”

“Why don’t you just leave them alone,” you said.

“I do.”

“Tell that to Dean’s face.”

“He understands that the arrangement-”

“You got nothing on him and we all know it. We will let the past stay in the past as long as you never come near them again. I’m friends with the senior partner here so if you want to try something, I have a very good lawyer waiting in the wings.”

“To tell you the truth,” he said, leaning down to your ear. “It was never about the money. Sure it was nice but I mean he’s so pathetic he never even realized there was no proof. That’s what I get for letting him spend all that time at his uncle’s place. You do realize you’re dating a dumbass don’t you?”

“If it’s not about the money then why did you go to our house?”

“You saw the look on his face,” he smirked. “Fancy ass doctor is nothing more than a little bitch that-”

“Fuck you,” you said, slapping him in the face. You went to leave when you felt a shove from behind. You turned and glared, catching Mr. Valens coming down the hall.

“What the fuck is going on here?” said Mr. Valens. 

“She tripped,” said John.

“Oh well now you’re officially on the top of my shit list,” he said, walking over and getting in John’s face.

“Exciting,” said John. “I bet that’ll work out well.”

“Y/N, leave,” he said. You ducked out the door, Sam sprawled out on the couch.

“How’d it-”

“Let’s go. Now,” you said, both of you turning when you heard the doors open.

“Sammy,” said John, Sam swallowing as he stood up. John glanced over at you and smirked. “You know Dean’s been paying me for years to-”

“Go fuck yourself. With a cactus,” said Sam. John smiled and cocked his head.

“You Sam, you always had that fight in you Dean didn’t. I didn’t have to toughen you up. It was just there already. I’m just sorry to have to be the one to tell you that Dean...he doesn’t really love you. He only took you because he couldn’t stand the thought of being alone. I mean he abandoned you. You remember when you called us to help you out cause Dean was too busy partying at school? You remember who took care of you?”

“Sam. He’s just trying to fuck with you.”

“Dean’s human. He’s allowed to have fun and I called you as a last resort. I would not do it again,” said Sam.

“Funny. I don’t recall ever once laying a hand on you. I mean did you ever see me ever put a hand on Dean?”

“You were such a dick. Just because I didn’t see it doesn’t-”

“You know he got bullied right? Blamed me for that. Blamed us for all of his little problems. Then he took you. I can’t forgive him for that. But you had no choice and who knows what lies he’s been filling your head with for years.”

“Sam.”

“And this one. Dean her knight in shining armor? She’s just using him and you know it. For all you know she did that to him. Go back to your old city Sammy. Get out from under his thumb. It’s what’d I’d do.”

He left the building and you put your hands on your hips, Sam giving you a glance.

“Do not look at me like that,” you said. “I watched him beat up your brother tonight.”

“You did almost hit that yoga woman.”

“Because she hurt Dean,” you said quietly. “Your dad literally just shoved me in there. He knows he’s got nothing left except getting you to hurt Dean too. He’s so controlling Sam. That’s all he wants to do is control the two of you and making you fight means he wins.”

“Dean gives you everything,” said Sam.

“I love him.” He seemed to stop whatever he was about to say and you looked down. “And I love you too and I didn’t want to love anyone ever again so that’s a really big deal for me. He makes me happy Sam. I’d never hurt him. He’s my best friend. He’s your best friend too and he has gone to hell and back for you since he was a child. Please don’t listen to John. Believe your brother.”

“Dean used to say to me that he got wailed on but I got the manipulation worse. I think he had that pretty spot on,” said Sam, closing his eyes. “You love Dean?”

“I haven’t exactly told him yet,” you said with a shrug.

“Pretty sure the dork knows,” said Sam. “Just like you do.”

“I hope so. Are you okay?”

“Yeah. Let’s head home.”

“Do you believe him?” you asked.

“You know every morning, every morning, you make Dean a cup of coffee and you either put it in his thermos or a cup for him. Every morning you do that.”

“So?”

“You wash out his thermos every night because you know it’s his favorite. On the weekend you put it in his blue mug and have it ready for him along with a cheese danish that you picked up the morning before on the way to work. That’s just one thing. You care about him and he lets you take care of him and Dean doesn’t do that. I’ll always pick my real family over my parents any day. I’m never gonna turn my back on my brother.”

“Thank you,” you said.

“Did you make any headway, on anything?”

“The partner is gonna look into him but hopefully he just stays away from now on knowing he’s got nothing left to hold over you guys.”

“I hope so too.”

Dean’s POV

“Tessa, I’m fine,” said Dean, wincing as she put a fresh cold ice pack on his ribs.

“I guess it’s true. Doctors are the worst patients,” she said. She hopped up when the doorbell rang and Dean sat up. “It’s just the delivery guy.”

“Tessa I can-” said Dean before he ran off. Dean sighed, Tessa coming back a few minutes later with some styrofoam containers. “You need to be more careful.”

“You think your dad is gonna punch me? A high school girl?” she said.

“I don’t like testing that theory.” Dean scooted back against the headboard, Tessa handing him some utensils and one of the containers. She sat on the other side with hers, watching the TV and eating up some pieces of chicken. “Tessa.”

“Hm?” she hummed.

“If you want to go over to Jack’s that’s okay,” he said. “I didn’t mean to ruin your date.”

“I think my sister put me in charge of you. Jack’s cool with it. We’ll hang out tomorrow,” she said, eating more of her food.

“Are you okay?” 

“I’m not the one that got punched in the face.”

“Still. Things can be triggering,” he said.

“I don’t get why you didn’t hit back I guess. I would have.”

“I’ve spent most of my life afraid of my dad. I still am a bit unfortunately.”

“Well you’re obviously not like him. At all,” she said. Dean smiled and started to eat, Toast licking his toes every so often. “He knows you’re hurt. He does that when he wants you to feel better.”

“Animals are very intuitive like that,” said Dean. It was quiet for a few minutes as they ate, Tessa shifting in her spot eventually.

“Dean.”

“Yeah?” he asked, mouthful of macaroni.

“Do you love my sister?” she asked. Dean swallowed and set his food down in his lap, smiling at it.

“Yeah, I do.”

“Why not tell her then?”

“I think she knows just like I think I know that she loves me. I think we’ve both been through so much already that it’s not always in the words how to say you love someone. Actions, those are as important, more important in a way. Your sister is kind and good to me in a way I never thought I’d have. I love her very, very much. I love you too.”

“She smiles again,” said Tessa. “She’s a better person around you.”

“She was always a good person. She just needed some else to lean on for a moment. That’s what a relationship is. It’s why she’s pissed as hell right now and standing up to someone I couldn’t.”

“I know you took Sam away from your parents. That was badass too,” she said.

“Maybe.”

“Are you gonna marry her?” she asked. 

“Also a maybe.”

“Do you want to?”

“Would you be okay with that?”

“Yeah. Are you asking like my permission or something?”

“Well, I’d still ask no matter what you say but I’d like to think you’d be alright with it.”

“I’m confused.”

“I’m not asking right now...but maybe hypothetically I will ask in the future.”

“Oh,” she said with a nod. “I got you. When you’re done being shy be sure to let me know.”

“You’re a little shit, you know that?” asked Dean with a laugh.

“It’s one of my best qualities,” she said.

“Sure it is,” he said as he reached over and ruffled her hair.

“Dean?” she asked when he picked up his food again. “I know she’d say yes, whenever you do decide to do it.”

“I said maybe I recall.”

“Maybe it’s not always in the words but the actions,” she said, smirking at him.

“Got me there,” he said. “Let’s not tell Y/N about this though. Deal?”

“Deal.”

Reader’s POV

Three Days Later

“Hey, Dean,” you said as he stirred awake beside you. He smiled and snuggled into your side, covers tucked up under his chin. “Sleep good?”

“Yeah. Better,” he said. You carded your fingers through his hair and he slowly opened his eyes, sleepily watching you. “I don’t think he’ll try anything. It’s been a few days and it’s been quiet.”

“Me either. Like Sam said, he’s an asshole but he’s not nuts,” you said.

“No, he’s not. But I do wonder sometimes...about my mom.”

“You don’t talk about her much,” you said. You started twirling short strands and he started to wake up more but didn’t move around. 

“I just...I don’t know if he broke her down after years and that’s why she is the way she is or if she genuinely doesn’t like us,” said Dean. “I don’t know whether to feel sorry for her or not.”

“Well...I think there’s a difference between her failing to protect you and her actively hurting you. Only you and Sam would know what really happened there.”

“Going off of that logic she’s not a good person,” said Dean. “Our grandpa wasn’t so it makes sense in a way. I don’t understand why they hated Sam and me so much though.”

“I don’t understand how anyone could ever not want you either.” He smiled and you bent down, kissing his cheek and then his lips, Dean humming when you moved back.

“Well, I got more than enough people that want me in my life now,” he said. He reached up and kissed you as you sunk back down in bed. He put his hand on the back of your neck and you grabbed his hip, Dean smirking beside you. He was starting to breath a little harder, pants filling the air, when you heard the door creak open.

“Guess who made...seriously,” said Tessa. You both turned and saw her with a tray and some food on top. 

“Your sister’s hot, Tessa,” chuckled Dean. You smacked his chest lightly as you both sat up, Tessa setting the tray down on the end of the bed.

“Might want to knock from now on before you get a view of something mentally scaring,” you said.

“I’ll remember that,” she said. She turned to go when Dean tsked her. “Guys. Have morning sex or whatever you were doing.”

“A little kissing never hurt anyone,” you said, picking up a cinnamon roll from the plate. “This looks yummy.”

“What’s the occasion, Tess?” asked Dean, grabbing one himself without a wince, his ribs looking a lot better.

“I figured I could make breakfast,” she shrugged.

“As a doctor, this isn’t the healthiest thing I’d consider for breakfast. As myself, excellent choice,” said Dean. She started to go and he chuckled. “Tessa. Thank you very much.”

“You’re welcome,” she said, Toast trotting in and hopping up on the bed. “No Toast. Your food’s downstairs.”

“While I got you girls both here, I was wondering what you guys would like to do for Christmas?” he asked. “It’s only a little over a week away.”

“Oh,” she said before she looked at you. Dean raised an eyebrow and you shrugged. 

“Well don’t everyone be too over excited,” he said with a chuckle. “Come on, anything in the world, what do you guys want to do?”

“Y/N not have to work,” mumbled Tessa.

“I know for a fact she won’t. I also know for a fact that our offices will be closed aside from the doctor that always works that week anyways. All of our lab work goes out that week so a certain someone is going to have her first week off in a few years,” said Dean.

“Wait I get the whole week off?” you asked.

“Yup. We all do and it doesn’t count against vacation. It’s something that’s always been done as a treat to the employees. So. Everybody’s got the week off, even Sammy. I say us and Toast all go do something really fun.”

“Like what?” she asked.

“Well...would you guys be interested in going up north a bit to South Dakota? The past few years our friends all chip in to rent a big house and we celebrate up there. There’s snowboarding, skiing, a resort spa nearby. What do you guys think?”

“Can we afford that?” Tessa asked you.

“Yes we can and I think it sounds great,” you said. “You guys wanna go?”

“We can even get Toast a little jacket so he doesn’t get cold,” said Dean. “Jack will be there…”

“Shut up,” she said, pushing on his shoulder. “It sounds alright.”

“Just alright?” he teased. She rolled her eyes and got up, spinning back around and giving him a hug.

“Thanks,” she whispered.

“For what?” he asked quietly.

“I was starting to hate Christmas was all,” she said. He chuckled and reached over to his nightstand, taking out his wallet. He took out a few hundred and handed it over. “Uh, what’s this for?”

“Why don’t you go get yourself some winter boots and snowpants. My treat.”

“Dean.”

“You don’t have any and you need it for the trip. Besides, Y/N’s going with you after we finish making out,” he said with a wink.

“You’re so gross,” she said. She hugged him again and he plopped back in bed, stretching out wide as she left.

“Dean. I know what you got her for Christmas,” you said. “You can’t give her money all the time.”

“Boots and pants and lunch for the both of you is gonna be a few hundred. Have a girls day. I have my own shopping to do for you anyways,” he said as you lay back.

“Dean I have a good job now. I can pay for those things.”

“Y/N. I make an assload. A day of you two going and having fun like sisters do is more than worth two hundred dollars to me,” he said. “This guy did it for me and Sam once. I’m actually just paying it back so really you can’t say no.”

“Fine,” you sighed. “But after we makeout.”

“Oh you’re not getting out of this bed without that happening,” he chuckled.

_______

A/N: Read the Final Part here!

#supernatural #spn #dean x reader #doctor!dean #au!dean x reader #dean winchester #supernatural fanfiction #dean winchester x reader #spn reader insert #supernatural reader insert #dean #winchester #dean spn #doctor!dean x reader

[bookandcranny]

Beatrice - Chapter One

“What’s that garden over there?” she asked the landlady.

“Oh, so you spotted it,” she replied. “It’s a funny thing to see around here, isn’t it? How’s the saying go? ‘Like a sore thumb.’”

“Or a green one,” Gianna agreed.

“It’s a bit small.”

The landlady nodded and gave Gianna a sympathetic smile. She was a stout, older woman with drooping features behind wide-framed glasses that dominated her face. Gianna’s more generous first impression of her was that she looked kind, and the way she spoke reminded her faintly of her mother, though the landlady’s accent was thicker and her voice crackled and dragged with age like a damaged film reel.

It was due in no small part to this assessment that she’d chosen this apartment in the first place. That and the low price of rent. Although it was a decent neighborhood the building was fairly run-down and the long winding staircase leading up to her floor was creaky and narrow.

The unit she was supposed to be living in when she’d first made to move in had suddenly had to undergo renovations after a pipe burst behind one of the walls. Gianna couldn’t wait for the repairs or for another cheap space to miraculously open up in New York City, so she agreed to move from the second floor to the only other available unit, which was on the sixth floor.

It was little more than a single room with a bathroom and kitchenette attached and-- she could not emphasize this enough-- it was on the sixth floor in a building with no elevator. Thankfully, the rent was also considerably cheaper, and the landlady had offered her a discount for the inconvenience as well. Even if she’d stuck her on a cot in the basement for twice the amount she would have had little choice but to take it. It was either that or take the long, shameful train ride back to her parents’ house, tail between her legs.

Living with her parents after college had been fine for a while, but only just fine, and she wasn’t willing to settle for fine any longer. She wanted a life, a career, maybe a girlfriend? No, no, probably not that. Not yet. Being trapped in a town where every eligible bachelorette was somebody she’d gone to highschool with-- no thanks-- had left Gianna touch-starved and sexless, but that wasn’t enough to make her lose track of her priorities. She’d start her new job on Monday, focus on saving up enough for a marginally nicer place, then she could think about getting laid.

“Be careful about the light in the kitchen,” the landlady warned. “The wiring is old so if you leave it on for too long at a time in the summer it’ll start to spark.”

“Oh great,” she deadpanned.

“Tsh. You won’t miss it. On a sunny day like today you don’t even need the extra light.”

That was one thing she did like about the apartment. There was indeed a lot of natural light that came in through the windows along the east wall. She walked over and opened one, hoping to air the place out before she finished bringing up what little she’d brought with her. Despite the recent heatwave, the breeze that afternoon was cool and sweet, only smelling very faintly of car exhaust and asphalt. She sorely missed the sea-salted winds that had blown in from the shore when she had been traveling abroad, and reminded herself again that this was a temporary arrangement.

As she admired the view-- one of the few true perks of her new living arrangement-- a splash of green amongst the brown and gray colored landscape caught her eye. She pulled up the mesh screen and leaned her head out, one hand braced on the windowsill, expecting to see maybe a stubborn curl of ivy that had climbed its way up the neighboring brownstone. Instead, she was surprised to see a lustrous garden growing out of a terrace a couple floors below. If she took a good running leap, she mused, she could jump right onto that ledge from here, providing she didn’t miss and end up splattered all over the alleyway.

The elevated garden was too high and too hidden to be seen from the street, but from above she could get close enough to count the leaves on the shrubbery. It was quite an impressive collection, particularly the many-colored array of flowers. Gianna wasn’t exactly a florist, but they looked exotic, unlike anything she’d seen before.

“What’s that garden over there?” she asked the landlady.

“Oh, so you spotted it,” she replied. “It’s a funny thing to see around here, isn’t it? How’s the saying go? ‘Like a sore thumb.’”

“Or a green one,” Gianna agreed.

“Honestly I almost forgot about it. You can’t see it so well from the other apartments. The man who lives there is a… what’s the word? A stay-inside man. You know, someone who doesn’t go out much-- a shut-in! He likes his privacy. I remember once he called the office phone one day in a terrible mood, saying if I got in the habit of housing peeping toms he’d have to inform the police. Horrible old man.”

She tutted disapprovingly.

“Geez, all that over someone looking at his plants?”

“Well, he didn’t say it outright, but I got the feeling it was more about the girl. His daughter, I think, or granddaughter maybe. I never met either of them in person, and for that I thank God.” She blew a kiss towards the ceiling and chuckled raspingly. “Now come this way, I need to show you what to do if the sink gives you trouble.”

With no small effort Gianna pulled her gaze away from the window. The richly colored blooms just across the way captured both her attention and imagination in a way that made her wish she hadn’t given up painting. When the last of the paperwork was settled and she was alone in her-- her!-- apartment, she returned to the spot and stared.

At the center of that mass of plantlife, that color swatch of eden, there was a big ceramic fountain with even more flowers filling up its basin, taking root who knows where. Delicate vines dotted with purple and yellow flowers spiralled up the center statue, a broken, half-eroded thing which must have once depicted a human figure, though now all that remained was an offwhite pair of naked legs and the beginning of a torso.

After a few minutes of languishing by the sunlit sill like some lazy housecat, a door slid open and Gianna saw a figure enter into the garden. She took one look and knew this must be the man that the landlady spoke of. He was wearing a dark dressing gown over his clothes, which hung loosely from his bony frame, and moved as though he were ankle-deep in quicksand, plodding through the mass of green at a snail’s pace. As he came more into view, Gianna began to glean why. The man’s face was sallow, sunken, with an unscrupulous smattering of pure white stubble on his chin. Even from a distance, he was unmistakably ill.

Just like the beauty of the terrace garden had caught and cradled her attention, so too did the ugliness of its master. She felt bad for spying, but it was like a car crash on the highway or a particularly inane online argument; she couldn’t look away.

The man pulled on a heavy pair of gardening gloves and a paper mask and began to prune and pluck at certain growths. He gathered and sorted the clippings into little plastic bags. If he had some sort of system driving his path, it was an inscrutable one. After a while of picking through the garden seemingly at random, he retreated back inside.

However, just as he was shuffling through the sliding door-- the phrase, “back from whence he came” came to mind-- he paused with his hand on the glass and raised his head. He turned and, as if guided by some preternatural intuition, stared directly into Gianna’s window.

Their eyes met and Gianna withdrew with a gasp. Of course after the moment had passed, she laughed at herself for her reaction. There was no way he’d been looking at her. Coincidence paired with a chronically overactive imagination had made her see something where there was nothing. He was a sick old man with a perfectly normal hobby, not some sinister ghoul.

Nevertheless, she lowered the blinds and kept them lowered for the rest of the day.

-----

By Monday, Gianna had more or less forgotten about the creepy old man and his garden. There was unpacking to do, furniture to acquire and then spray with bedbug killer, and most importantly, a fancy new job to buy some fancy second-hand clothes for.

That was maybe overstating things a bit. She was hired on to work with a small team restoring and preserving a local university’s art collection. The reality of the occupation wasn’t glamorous, but it was dignified. It was something Gianna could and did take pride in, undoing the damage wrought by the passing years one cotton swab at a time, revealing the beauty underneath.

Being back in the city, she nostalgically recalled a field trip to the Metropolitan back at the age when the nude sculptures made her classmates giggle, earning rolled eyes from the chaperone, and made young Gianna deeply uneasy in a way she didn’t yet have the words to explain. But it was the women with the flowing finery and piercing painted stares that caused her insides to flutter with something like hope. Billowing skirts caught in suspended animation mid-twirl, whether staged in the dramatic light-vs-shadow games of the baroque period or abstracted by a million tiny brushstrokes in a more impressionistic style. They had changed something in her.

But in spite of her love of the arts, she could never seem to sum up the same confidence when the brush was in her own hands. After long struggling on her own, she reluctantly accepted her dad’s offer to put a word in for her with connections at Fordham. Once upon a time the idea of returning to her dad’s alma mater would’ve warmed her with pride. Now she was just thankful the surname Alexander was common enough that the chances of anyone recognizing her was slim. The last thing she wanted was to start her first day with people already thinking she was only here by the grace of her family connections.

In spite of all her apprehensions, her first day went by without a hitch, save for the belated realization that she’d forgotten to tear the tag off her new blouse. She didn’t think anyone noticed. By the time she stepped on the subway that evening she was practically vibrating with a frantic, ecstatic energy that didn’t abate into exhaustion until she was home and sweating off her six-story hike. That, more than anything, was going to take some getting used to, she mused.

She shed her good-first-impression suit in favor of a cropped halter top and sweatpants. The setting sun cast beams of golden light through the slats in the blinds and over the back of her neck, the curve of one freckled shoulder. It wobbled iridescent through the glass and on a whim Gianna got up to open the window. There was that sweetish scent on the wind again, overpowering even the smoke that wafted up from the tenant below as he ground his cigarette butt against the masonry. Innocently, almost incidentally, she cast her gaze upon the little eden. There was someone new in the garden today.

The woman in the violet dress was opposite to the old man in every way. Dancing through the garden, touching every bloom and bud as if it were the hand of a treasured friend, Gianna had never seen anyone more alive. Short, dark curls like fiddleheads bobbed around her plum-flushed cheeks. In the pink twilight, she almost seemed to glow.

It wasn’t like Gianna to start waxing romantic over a stranger. She hadn’t felt that sort of blind infatuation since her first year of college, when she left home for the first time and a whole new world of opportunity suddenly opened to her the way it never could have with her passionately Catholic mother looking over her shoulder. This, she reasoned, must be something like that. She was just getting high on that feeling of possibility and freedom again.

Before she fully realized what she was doing, Gianna had opened the window and climbed out onto the fire escape. She climbed from platform to platform until the neighboring terrace was only a stone’s throw away, until she could hear the young woman’s voice as she murmured fawning nonsense to the flowers. In her distraction, Gianna’s foot slipped on the last rung of the ladder. She caught herself, though not gracefully and not before making a notable clamor on the way down.

The woman’s head shot up. Her eyes were the same color as her dress, and there was a leaf caught in her hair.

“Hey,” Gianna said, trying and failing to recover smoothly.

“...Hi.”

She swallowed. “I live up there.” She pointed. “I’m not, like, a burglar.”

“You wouldn’t be a very good one,” the woman said with a timid, uncertain smile.

She stepped away from the ledge and started to walk away. As Gianna’s heart sunk, she glanced back over her shoulder.

“I just need a refill.” She held up an empty plant mister. “I’m coming back.”

“Wouldn’t blame you if you didn’t,” she said under her breath, hands covering her face from the embarrassment. What is wrong with me?

“Are you the new tenant? My father said there was someone new. He hated the last person who lived in that apartment.” She clapped a hand over her mouth. “But, I mean, I’m sure he’ll like you.”

She huffed a laugh, taking some comfort from the knowledge that she wasn’t the only one so utterly awkward at introductions.

“I’m Gianna.” She put out her hand, although it was obvious she couldn’t reach to shake it.

The other mirrored the motion. “Beatrice. It’s a pleasure to meet you, new neighbor, and a relief.”

“Oh yeah, why’s that?”

Beatrice fiddled absently with her dress, twisting one thin strap around her finger. “None of the other neighbors ever come to say hey. It’s been boring.” She smiled. “You don’t seem boring.”

That fluttery feeling returned, the tender thrill of standing before a piece of artwork. Here like there, now like then, something just clicked.

Insects filled the silence with their buzzing hums of contentment. A butterfly alighted onto Beatrice’s shoulder as she settled on the garden wall and a faint woozy feeling overcame Gianna as its wings slowed, spasmed, then went rigid as it fell motionless to the ground.

--

next chapter

#my writing #project: beatrice #writeblr #chapter story #gothic #horror romance #lgbt #rappaccini's daughter

[dontexpecttomakesense]

On The House, Material Wealth and Selfdestructive Obsession

One of the most interesting things that I found in The House, it’s how it deviates from the tipical haunted or cursed house, and instead of the House being this malicious entity that tortures its inhabitants, it’s merely a conduit for their obsessions, a very physical metaphor for their mental state. The House it’s not the antagonist, it does nothing (In fact the more antagonistic forces in the movie are Von Shooebeck, The Odd Couple and Cosmo or the flood, depending on how along you are in part 3).

It becomes rather obvious through the movie, that there is an overaching theme reagarding material wealth, and the House acts as the focus point of such need, driving the characters to become obsessed with the House:

On Part I, we follow a family. A poor family. But they didn’t use to be poor, rather they fell out of grace when the father’s own father gambled away all their money, leaving Raymond and Penny with very little possesions. This causes a lot of rescentment, especially in Raymond. The House then acts as a present almost fallen from heaven, and it has everything they want: it’s big, fancy, they have servants so they don’t have to worry about cocking or doing anything else but their own leisure activities. The parents immediatelly fall for such lavish, but frivolous, life style, obsessed with mantaining and upholding the aparence of a wealthy couple with status, they mindlessly agree to anything Von Shooebeck offers, even if it’s just some ridiculous clothes, but Mabel and Isobelle seem to remain immune. Isobelles is probably too young to understand what is happening, and Mabel actively hates the House.

Then we have the renovations, at first it seems like they are a byproduct of the architects quirky character, but the renovations only impact two characters, the children. That’s because the renovations is how the House it’s manifesting the neglect the parents are imposing to Mabel and Isobelle; the more they neglect them, the more labrynthine the renovations turn the upper floor, physically setting appart the girls from their parents. The burning of their old posessions is equally symbolic, as they throw away everything that had sentimental value, for the House own shiny furniture, which leads to the transformation of Raymond and Penny into furniture itself, their lifestyle was so superflous, so superficial, they weren’t really people anymore, just more fixtures in the House.

On Part II, we have the Developer, who is also in economic trouble (in fact the whole economy seems to be suffering, as “a recession” goes mentioned here and there): he’s in massive debt, having poured everything in the renovation of the House, in hopes of selling it for a lot of money (enough to be able to buy a yatch and then still be able to live comfortably). While money is still a present object in here, it takes a slight backseat, as the obsession of the Developer is with the status afforded by the success of selling it, on how it would allegedly solve all the problems he has (with the bank, with his lover -before we learn the truth about the relationship-, and probably with himself and he’s on a lot of pressure to sell it). One of the early tells is the diference between the aesthetically lavish house, and the dilapidated basement where the Developer actually lives.

But the main representation is the “fur bugs” infestation. At first, in spite of a couple of seemingly unimportant setbacks (like letting go all of the construction workers), everything seems fine, so the only presence are two miserable bugs who quickly scuttle away into a crack, which the developer seals away. A telling action, as it demonstrates his tendency to cover everything up with cheap solutions, rather than actually adressing the problem and asking for professional help. The result is that the inside is actually completely falling appart, as evidenced by a later shot, where after his “homemade” extermination, we see the inbetween walls is crawling with vermin. As the story progresses and and the pressure builds up, the bug infestation grows bigger and more apparent, harder to deal with, not helped by the arribal -and refusal to leave-, of the Odd Couple. These two eccentrinc, suspiciously bug shaped fellow rats, who while nice, cordial, and intent on being the Developers friends, are nothing but a nuisance to him. Eventually everything boils over, and every issue crashes down on the Developer, who ends up nearly catatonic in the hospital after accidentally inhaling pesticide. The final shots are reaveling: the Odd couple and the relatives are nothing but gigant bugs, who proceed to eat and undo everything the Developer had worked in, parallelly the Developer loses all superior functions and regresses to a mindless rat, joining on the ensuing chaos.

The final part, Part III, this is the one that convinced me that the House is in fact channeling the owners obsesions back at them, not only in this part a character correctly identifies Roses desire to renovate the house as an obsession, it’s telling that as the only story with a markedly positive ending, it only happens the moment Rosa let’s go of wanting to enforce her “dream”, and let’s the House just be what she needs.

In this part money also comes back at the forefront, Rosa, our landlady and point of reference, constantly complains about lacking the necessary funding for the renovations. At first the narrative makes us simpatize with her, how dare those tenants pay her with fish and rocks? But soon enough you see the real perspective, the flood has caused everyone to leave, there is no “society” as we know it, wich means “money” has no more value than the use we can make of it’s paper. Suddenly, Elias’ fish it’s food, and Jen is actually caring of a garden (as well as acting as sort of her thrapist), both of them skills far more useful in that post-apocaliptic scenario, than just “money”. Furthermore it frames Rosa’s endeavor as delusional: everyone has left, it makes no sense to turn the house into an aparment, nobody will come, and their money will be worthless. The House spits back that futility at Rosa, with a water that doesn’t allowe her to glue her wall paper, and endless repairs that need to be made. Said repairs also contribute to the other side of Rosa’s obsession, ignoring the ongoing flood, so nothing gets really done, because nothing is done to adress the real problem at hand.

Cosmo’s arrival at the begining seems like a hope spot for Rosa, someone that will help her realize her vision, but soon enough she start straying for the plan and tearing the house apart to make boats. Obviously Rosa is furious, it’s making the renovations more dificult, meanwhile she’s ankle deep in water. But unlike the two fromer owners, who sucumbed to their own obsessions, rather than drowning, Rosa get’s one final epiphany and rather than doubling down it what is essentially a lost cause, and drowning, she embraces what the House can offer at the moment -a boat-, thus allowing her to move on, in a literal sense, but also from all the bagage that she carried with the house and her project.

#the house #the house netflix #the house 2022 #also #you can listen to the credits song #that sumarises everything I've said in #4 minutes

[proodigalexplorer]

WELCOME HOME.

[ spoilers for the ending of season 1 of arcane ]

    Now, having to sneak through the streets of Piltover and break into your own library, museum, and house for want of a lockdown furnished with barricades at every junction, malaise in the air and no clue what might have started this, only the surety that at any moment this tension might explode into outright pandemonium?

    Even Ezreal has to admit, this is a first. (Though he can’t act as though he hasn’t been accused of worse timing, there and again.)

    Fortunately, unlike many Piltovan fellows, Ezreal doesn’t count himself among the laterally challenged—and this wouldn’t be an introductory experience to “going by the rooftops”, might as last time been more about smuggling so-called illegal artefacts under the nose of border customs and less about the entire city contracted onto itself and the stink of freshly shot gunpowder everywhere. The moon is red tonight, and Ezreal can’t help but feel it’s glaring at him. What are you doing, boy? He imagines it demanding. Can’t you see you aren’t welcome?

    “Maybe,” Ezreal says to nobody, gauntlet singing as he shifts from one rooftop to another, “but you know I’ve never found being unwelcome that persuasive.”

    Almost slipping off the side because this particular building has had some renovation done that he didn’t see and didn’t care to remember because he figured muscle memory would do the job, well. Let’s just say that his tone jumped a few octaves on the ‘ive’ of “persuasive”.

    Ezreal has come from—where else?—Shurima, if the tan in his face or the jingling of his pack guaranteed to be lined with gold baubles and coins not proof enough. He’d been marginally more daring by trading the rollicking sand dunes for the jungled border country this time around, dodging ancient tomb guardians and wasting disease alike. Maybe he knew that something wasn’t quite right with the city when he left, reading unease off faces just as he’d grown accustomed to reading from his trail guides in the wild, but this? Sterling, golden Piltover, miserable as if waiting with baited breath?

    Hnh.

    He’s at the atrium of his library now.

    Uncle Lymere gave the building to Ezreal when he went off on his Freljord journey, ostensibly because Lymere thought Ezreal “old enough” to be able to “court some responsibility”, but they both knew it was so the Explorer’s Guild would have to see less of him now that Ezreal had somewhere else to go, sleep, and put those illegal artefacts on display. Not that Ezreal minded. (He minded, but a whole museum to himself? There was no world where he said no to that, bruised ego aside.)

    Okay. Giant, cylindrical windows, and the sort of iron trusses that are not going to budge if Ezreal’s life depends on it. That’s fine. There’s got to be some sort of ventilation hole around here somewhere, right? … An appropriately man-sized ventilation hole? Some searching later and Ezreal finds what probably fits the bill, and he’s all smiles before he goes to open it and it’s locked. Locked. With a key.

    Which much shuffling of his pack later confirms he doesn’t have, in case he was wondering.

    “Shit.”

    Truer words rarely spoken.

    He can see the inside—isn’t that enough to shift in, you might be thinking, and you’d be correct, if only Ezreal fancies himself a fountain of giblets. Ne’Zuk’s gauntlet is many things, but capable of shifting through anything but the open air it is not. (How does he know? You’re better off not asking.) Naturally he’s got a lockpick of some kind in his pack too, designed for old ancient things that might as well crumble to dust when touched as opposed to the intricate, clockwork locksmithing of Piltover. This is a problem. Solution? See:

    He zaps it with a bolt of arcane energy until it explodes, that’s what. Shame—it was a nice lock.

    Throwing the hatch open, Ezreal sighs with relief as he tucks his head in and gets a good enough look to shift the rest of the way down. The relief is a touch short lived, as Ezreal comes to the realization that a library filled with bones of long forgotten beasts and taxidermy of beasts more recent is not the most homey place to break into at night where the rest of Piltover seems set to blow.

    Less so when he spots a crossbow pointed at his face.

   “H-hey!” Ezreal throws his hands up. “It’s me!”

   In the darkness he spots the familiar reflection of eyeglasses, then a pointed exhale. “By the Maker, Ezreal. I thought you were a burglar! Haven’t you heard of using the front door?”

   “… Is that a Rakshemi crossbow? You know it’s reconstructed only for display, right—”

   “—but would a burglar know that?”

   “Okay. Touché. How about a kiss instead?”

    Ezekiel all but laughs out loud, and the tension in the air evaporates. “No,” he says. “You know the rule. No kissing until you’ve washed your face of whatever mud and disease you’ve no doubt dragged in.” He lowers the crossbow and sets it back up on its hooks, crossing Ezreal another furtive glance.

   “But are you going to tell me why you broke in to your own museum?”

   “Umm… well. Have you taken a look around Piltover? I don’t think I’m exactly the kind of face those Enforcers want to see right now. Are you going to tell me what’s going on, here?”

    Ezekiel sighs, taking out his glasses to rub the lenses. Ezreal knows that look—the it’s worse than it sounds look. Ezekiel never takes out his glasses unless it’s serious. He grimaces.

    “It’s the undercity,” he admits, and Ezreal’s heart drops. “Listen, Ezreal… I’m glad to see you. But I can’t help but feel as though you may have been better served still exploring the jungle than coming back. I fear something terrible is about to happen. I’m sure you felt it as soon as you crossed the Sun Gate.”

    “Yeah,” Ezreal says, looking down. “I did. Feels like the whole city is waiting, and the waiting isn’t for anything good.”

    Ezekiel resets his glasses, nodding. Ezreal loves the slim line of him—Lymere’s assistant before he left the library to Ezreal, promoting himself to director as soon as the old man wandered north. How his knowledgeable attitude would be tempered by his dry snarking and bossy candor, king of the roost should that roost be books, museum engravings and herding guests.

    Ezreal doesn’t see any of that now, and that’s what worries him.

    “Hey.” He takes Ezekiel’s hand, bringing it to his cheek. “No matter what happens, we’ve got each other. And I have at least a handful of new life or death stories from Shurima to tell you! What’s more exciting and helpfully distracting than that?”

    Ezekiel chuffs. “Ah, Ezreal. However else would I ever cheer myself up? Alright. Let’s get going to the lounge before the fire pits itself out.”

    They walk together, and Ezreal steals a kiss on the lips.

    Ezekiel, wiping that off with a playful scoff: “Welcome home, Ezreal.”

    Welcome home.

    The same night, a rocket tears off the Council sanctum.

#vignette

[winryofresembool]

Things We Lost in the Fire, ch 24

aka Caleo uni au

Fic summary: Calypso starts studying at a new university, but to her annoyance her new flatmate is a loud mouthed mechanic who also likes to sneak his dog in whenever. But as she learns to know him better, she realizes they might have more in common than what she first thought. Eventually, even the darkest secrets come out…

Chapter summary: Halloween chapter, part 2.

A/N: Yay, an update! I think some of you are gonna be happy about the characters that are being introduced in this chapter... Also lots of Caleo dorkiness (and canon references) in it! And you'll get to see if you were right with your costume guesses :D

Also like I already mentioned last week, this is the last chapter that I have written so far (when I started posting this fic I tried to make sure I'd have at least 7 chapters ready so I wouldn't have to stress about deadlines... and here we are now) so it is possible that updates may slow down a bit, at least if the chapter wants to become long. But I am still /trying/ to keep up with the regular updates the best I can :) So worry not!

Now, enjoy and let me know what you think!! Ps. somehow we’ve managed to pass 50k words already :O

Words: 4040

Genre: romance & hurt/comfort

Warnings: none

previous chapter / AO3

…

“Hi, you guys!” Piper, who was dressed as Wonder Woman, greeted Leo and Calypso first when they arrived, gesturing for them to come in.

“Hello! I was afraid Argo II had decided to stop working because you guys are late,” Jason the Superman noted as he offered to take Calypso’s coat and put it in a hanger by the door.

“I’m not going to lie to you, Jason, that possibility did cross my mind as well,” Calypso said, casting Leo a meaningful look. “But no, not this time.”

“We’re only 10 minutes late!” Leo protested, checking the time from his phone. “I was busy finishing something… and Calypso took her time preparing herself as well. She probably did her wig for like two hours.” He gave her a not so serious side-eye.

“I did not!” Calypso said defensively. “Yeah, I straightened and combed and braided it but that took me maybe 15-20 minutes so he is highly exaggerating.”

“Don’t worry, Calypso, we know he does that a lot.” Piper smiled at her reassuringly. “Speaking of your wig, though, you look very cute! That hair reminds me of the style you had before my makeover. You’re dressed as the mythology Calypso, right?”

“Yes, I am,” Calypso said, pleased that Piper had figured that out so fast. “I thought it would be fun to be a bit self ironic for once. I haven’t really had a good reason to sew recently so this was a nice excuse to do that as well.” She made a small twirl to show the dress better.

“That dress really looks great!” Piper told her. “I would gladly commission you to sew me clothes; it’s so hard to find anything nice from the clothes stores these days. But Leo.” She turned back to him. “I see someone hasn’t bothered to get a costume. I wasn’t expecting that from you because you’re always so excited about them.”

“No, you got it all wrong.” Leo wagged his finger at her. “I do have it here, but as I told Cal, it would have been too difficult to wear in the car.” He dropped his bag on the floor, causing a loud thud as it hit the ground.

“Alright. Care to give us any hint what it is?” Piper asked curiously. “Seems heavy.” Calypso wondered if this was something they did every year.

“I’m just saying that it’s inspired by some movies that united us three,” Leo noted mysteriously. “But that’s all, you’ll see soon!”

“My mind is blank now,” Piper said. “Jason, what movies have we watched with him?”

“The first one that comes to my mind is Star Wars,” Jason reminded her. Suddenly both Jason and Piper’s eyes widened in realization. “Could it be?”

“Oh no, Leo you didn’t!” Piper doubled over in laughter when it occurred to her what Leo’s costume most likely was. “I can’t wait to see this!”

“I hope you took pictures with Festus!” Jason couldn’t keep his poker face either, and Calypso watched their reactions with confusion.

“Don’t worry, I will show them later.” Leo grinned, unperplexed by Jason and Piper’s laughter. “Now, where can I change?”

Piper showed him an empty room where he could get into his costume in peace, while Calypso started looking around the house on her own. Even though the place seemed rather fancy, Jason and Piper had managed to make it cozier with their personal objects. A lot of them had seen life and were worn but somehow they still fit in with the newer decorations.

As Calypso reached the living room, her focus went to the guests who had already arrived at the party. She waved at Annabeth and nodded awkwardly to Percy. Even though she and Annabeth were friends again, she wasn’t quite sure how she should act near Percy so ‘reserved’ felt the most natural reaction. She couldn’t help but smile a bit, though, when she registered their costumes: Annabeth had a Chiton just like her, although grey instead of white, with some silvery accessories and a beautiful owl shaped brooch over her chest. Perhaps the most impressive part of her costume was the Greek styled helmet that was used in battles and that hid most of Annabeth’s curly ponytail. Calypso was quite certain she was dressed as Athena, the Greek goddess that according to her was the one she identified herself the most with. Percy on the other hand was wearing sandals, shorts, a tropical shirt, and a belt with fishing equipment and he was holding a fishing rod in his hand. Calypso couldn’t quite figure out who he was supposed to be, other than some sort of fisherman.

“Hi,” Calypso greeted them as she got to hearing distance with them. “You guys look nice. You’re Athena, right?” She asked Annabeth. “Matches my theme, don’t you think?”

“Sure does,” Annabeth nodded, eyeing Calypso’s costume. “You look pretty much exactly like how I imagine the mythology Calypso.”

“Thank you. Coming from you it’s a big compliment.” She turned Percy. “I can’t figure out who you are, though. You don’t seem like a Greek god?”

“I am, though,” Percy replied. “I’m Poseidon.”

“Ooh, so that’s why the fishing gear!” Calypso realized. “But I don’t think the Greeks had tropical shirts quite yet.”

“No, you’re right in that.” Percy shook his head, smiling a bit. “But I’m basing this on the version in the Peter Johnson series. That’s how he was described in it.”

“I didn’t know you have read that too,” Calypso said, “But makes sense. Um, the Poseidon and Athena of the mythology hated each other, though. Not that it’s really my business, but I hope you two are doing fine…?” She asked a bit nervously, not wanting to be the reason for their issues.

“Oh yeah, we are,” Percy confirmed immediately. “It’s just an old joke – back when Annabeth and I were reading the Peter Johnson books I used to say Poseidon is my godly parent and Athena Annabeth’s, and that just kind of stuck with us.”

“Alright.” Calypso accepted Percy’s answer, turning her attention back to Annabeth. “By the way, where did you get that helmet? It definitely looks fancier than most of the plastic ones you see at costume shops.”

“My father collects these things,” Annabeth answered, lifting the helmet from her head for a moment. “I’ve told you he’s also a historian, right? Well, one of his friends wanted to make a replica of the ancient Greek helmets with some modern machines and dad bought this from him. I’m not saying this is 100 per cent accurate but it looks pretty cool, in my opinion.”

“It does,” Calypso confirmed.

“You came with Leo, right?” Percy asked then, to which Calypso nodded. “Where is he? I can’t wait to see his costume; he usually goes for something that is way over the top. Last year he was Hiccup from How to Train your Dragon and he had made a Toothless costume for his dog. I’ve also seen pics of him as Iron Man. Yes, with a full iron costume.”

“I can believe that of him,” Calypso chuckled, imagining Leo in the said costume. “He just went to change into his costume because apparently he couldn’t drive in it. He didn’t reveal what he was going to be, but it does sound like something extravagant.”

“I missed his costume last year but I’ll be sure to have a camera ready when he shows up this time,” Annabeth said happily. Calypso was relieved that the conversation was going this well; she hadn’t known what to expect beforehand because this was the first time she was in the same room with Percy since the ‘incident’. Talking with him now, though, made her realize that holding a grudge wouldn’t be smart and he seemed to think the same way.

“I just realized,” Calypso decided to change the topic, “that I’ve never heard the story of how you guys know Jason and Piper. So how did that happen?”

“It’s a funny story,” Percy started, smiling at the memory. “Jason and I used to be the captains of rivaling soccer teams when we were around 16. Well, one time Jason’s team was visiting us but we were playing in an arena that had just been renovated so I hadn’t been there before. I may have been a bit late from our team meeting and I was a bit lost so I decided to ask one staff lady where I was supposed to go. Somehow she got our teams mixed up and I ended up in the locker room of Jason’s team. Some of Jason’s teammates said that my expression was worth seeing when I realized the mistake but I dunno about that. The funny thing was that somehow the same thing had happened to Jason; he had also been late for the meeting because of traffic or something and he had gotten into my team’s locker room. Well, after the game we had a good laugh about it together and ended up talking about other stuff as well and noticed we have a lot in common. That’s how we became friends. When we moved into the same town, we started training together at least a few times a week.”

“Piper and I didn’t learn to know each other until Jason and she started dating a couple of years ago and they invited Percy to some party where I went with him. To be honest, I was a bit suspicious about her at first because we seemed very different but eventually we learned to respect each other’s qualities. And here we are,” Annabeth added.

“Those are some cool stories,” Calypso said. “It seems like a funny coincidence that somehow we all ended up in this city even though most of us are from somewhere else. Like Leo is from Texas, I am from Greece…” “Speaking of him,” Annabeth had to muffle his laughter with her hand, “I believe we are finally getting some answers about his costume.”

“Oh… my gods” was all Calypso could say when she turned to the direction Annabeth was looking at. “You’re really something else.”

Leo was completely hidden inside his costume, but Calypso could practically hear him grinning at their reactions. The costume looked very much like in the movies; golden (just painted, not real gold, because there was no way Leo could afford something like that) plating forming a droid with big round eyes and an ability to speak lots and lots of different languages: C-3PO from Star Wars.

“Holy shit, dude, that looks so real.” Percy gaped at Leo. “I’m starting to understand why you spent so much time in your room the past few weeks.”

“Why C-3PO, though?” Calypso asked once she managed to put her poker face back on. “Does that have some story behind it?”

“Because, duh, it looks cool!” Leo exclaimed with a mechanical voice from inside his costume. “I dunno, ever since I first saw C-3PO as a kid I thought it would be cool to be able to build something like that. And hey, his ability to translate like all the possible languages is pretty neat. Me? I just know 3.”

“Isn’t it uncomfortable in there, though?” Calypso asked. “That thing must be heavy.”

“Sunshine, I’m always uncomfortable. But this was a childhood dream of mine so I sure as heck am not backing off now,” Leo said with determination.

“A stubborn one, aren’t you?” Calypso stated. “Even I have to admit, though, that you have certainly done some thorough job with it. Hey, I should take photos before I forget! You don’t get to see this every day.”

The others dug their phones up as well and for a while Leo just made silly poses while they took pictures, clearly enjoying the attention his costume got. Eventually he started demanding that Calypso should join him for the photos but she was a bit hesitant at first.

Leo argued: “Come on. Greek mythology meets Star Wars? You don’t see a crossover like that every day.”

“Can’t argue with that, I suppose,” Calypso said and went next to him. “Well, do we have some kind of story for Calypso and C-3PO’s meeting?” she asked as Percy and Annabeth waved at them to look at the camera.

Leo considered her question for a moment. “Oh, how about this? C-3PO somehow ends up on Calypso’s island - because duh, Calypso is cursed so she can’t leave the island…”

“You seem to know surprisingly much about Greek mythology, just saying…” Calypso noted while trying to smile for the photos, resting her hand on the metallic shoulder.

“I told ya, Sunshine, you can blame tía Callida for that…” Leo reminded her. “Anyway, I imagine those two don’t really like each other at first because they’re so different but eventually they learn to respect each other’s skills; C-3PO can translate basically any language and Calypso is good at all kinds of handiworks, which is hard for a droid.”

“And? What happens after that?” Calypso asked curiously.

Leo considered it for a moment. “C-3PO doesn’t really wanna leave Calypso’s island but he has galaxies to save with his friend R2-D2 so he has to go but he promises to come get her afterwards.”

“Aw, Leo, that is kind of sweet,” Calypso commented, suddenly aware of the metal arm that had snuck around her waist. “Does he… does he ever return, though? Shouldn’t that be impossible?”

“For a human, maybe, but he’s a droid,” Leo noted. “Unfortunately during a big battle he blows up badly but the ever so faithful R2-D2 collects the pieces and finds someone who can rebuild him again. And boom, he makes it back and lives happily ever after with his goddess.”

“What’s the term you use when you enjoy a fictional relationship a lot?” Calypso asked. “Shipping?” Annabeth nodded at her. “I don’t know, Leo, to me it sounds like you ship those two. Isn’t that a bit weird?” “What, why would that be weird? I’ve seen people ship…”

“I see these two have gotten into a full on nerd mode again,” Annabeth said quietly to Percy while they were waiting for the flatmates to stop their bickering so they’d be able to take the photos. “Not projecting themselves into their characters, right?”

“No, definitely not,” Percy agreed.

Eventually Leo and Calypso stopped bickering and Annabeth was able to take the pictures. Even if Leo was mostly hidden by his costume, Calypso felt a bit self conscious about the fact that these were the first photos of them together. They did a few goofy poses because Annabeth and Percy told them to, but Calypso thought she probably looked more embarrassed than funny in them.

Once they were done, Leo went to Annabeth who was going through the photos and bowed his head a bit to see them better. “Hey, these do look pretty cool! It’s probably just the lighting but here you look like you’re blushing to some funny comment C-3PO made.”

“Show me!” Calypso yelped nervously and took the phone from Annabeth. When she saw it, she could immediately tell Leo was not wrong; she really was blushing. “Yeah, it’s definitely those candles in the background that do it… And I think it’s pretty warm in here, maybe all the people here heat this room…”

“OK, if you say so,” Leo said but Calypso imagined that he was looking at her suspiciously through his costume.

Trying to get the others’ attention to something else, she said: “So, who else has arrived so far?”

“Nico and Will. I think they went to get some snacks from the dining room,” Piper, who had just entered the room, answered.

“Leo told me that Nico is Jason’s relative, but what about Will?” Calypso asked her.

“Will is Nico’s boyfriend. This is the first time we’re meeting him but they seem very good together. At least he seems to have a grounding effect on Nico, and he actually listens to him, unlike most of us. Um, sorry, it’s a long story, one that I should probably save for another time. Nico may be a bit hard to approach sometimes but he is a very nice guy when you learn to know him. Just… been through a lot. I guess like many of us here. But he seems way happier now,” Piper said, and as if on cue, they could hear some distant laughter coming from the dining room.

“We should start a traumatized college kids’ club,” Leo attempted to joke, and the others hummed in agreement. Maybe she did belong to this group after all, Calypso thought. If only they knew, though…

“This just got cheerful,” Percy said, interrupting Calypso’s thought process. “Who’s up for blue candies? Get them before Will and Nico eat them all.”

“I heard that, Jackson!” Nico entered the room without a warning. “No offense to you or your mom but blue candies aren’t exactly my thing.”

“Hi, Nico,” Percy greeted him, seeming a bit flustered after Nico’s comment. “You haven’t met Calypso, right?” He pointed at her.

“No, I haven’t,” Nico took a quick look at her and crossed his arms over his chest.

“Alright, in that case, this is Calypso Astal. And Calypso, this is Nico di Angelo,” Percy introduced them to each other.

“Nice to meet you,” Calypso approached him, but he seemed to evaluate her for a moment before he took her hand.

“Likewise,” Nico said finally. “I think Jason has mentioned you a few times.”

“Oh. That’s nice,” Calypso said a bit unsurely, like every time she met a new person. The lonely years still had a toll on her, and even though she liked spending time with her friends, meeting new people was always a bit nerve wracking to her. “You’re his relative, right?”

“A distant cousin,” Nico answered. “Yeah, our fathers are related, but I have my mother’s last name and Jason has his.”

“I take it your mother has roots elsewhere, based on the last name?” Calypso asked.

“She was Italian,” Nico shrugged. “I lived there my first years too. But now I can barely remember those times.”

Calypso noticed the use of past tense, but she thought it was probably better to not ask about that in the middle of a party. “Oh. I’ve been to Italy a few times. I’m originally from Greece.”

“What brought you here, then?” Nico asked.

“Dad’s work,” Calypso responded in a tone that told everyone she wouldn’t elaborate on that topic more. It seemed to have become a habit to her.

“Anyway,” Leo, who had managed to stay quiet for a surprisingly long amount of time in Calypso’s opinion, stepped forward and cleared his throat. “Nico, a little bird told me,” he looked at Jason, “that your boyfriend is a Star Wars geek. Is that true?”

Nico took one look at Leo’s costume and his mouth twitched when he realized why Leo was asking. “He is, but don’t let him get started on it, or else he will never stop. Besides, he’s not my boyfriend, I prefer calling him…”

“A significant nuisance?” Will showed up from the dining room, carrying a plate full of food. “Don’t mind him, he just warms up a bit slow.”

“Yes, this is Will,” Nico sighed, addressing those who hadn’t met them before. “Sometimes he’s a nuisance, sometimes he can be quite OK. When he’s having a good day.”

“Same back at you, dear,” Will laughed. “Did I hear someone mention Star Wars, though?”

“You did,” Leo said, stepping forward so Will could see his costume better. Needless to say, Will looked beyond thrilled.

“Oh boy, here we go again,” Nico said quietly before Will even had time to comment on the costume.

“Woah, that must be the best C-3PO costume I’ve seen. And yeah, I’ve seen a few so I don’t compliment you for nothing,” Will assured.

“Thanks, man, I did spend quite a while with it,” Leo said, high fiving Will. “Glad someone here appreciates good things.”

“I still hope you’re not one of those fans who have only seen the most recent movies and not the originals,” Will noted.

“Heck, no!” Leo exclaimed immediately. “The original three for the win! Mom and I used to watch them a lot… um, when I was little. She was a big fan. But the newer ones just don’t feel the same.” Calypso had a feeling Leo had almost said something else, but he had changed his phrasing at the last moment.

“You have a pretty good taste,” Will said approvingly. Then he finally realized he hadn’t even asked Leo and Calypso’s names before getting into the geek mode.

“So, who are you two? I already met Percy and Annabeth earlier but I don’t think I know you guys yet.”

“I’m Leo Valdez, and this is my, um, flatmate, Calypso Astal,” Leo introduced. Calypso hoped there was a better word to describe their relationship than a ‘flatmate’ but at the moment it was probably the best and the safest option there was.

“Flatmates, huh?” Will repeated. “How did that happen?”

“I was in a hurry to find a roof over my head so I put in the application that I also accept mixed flats,” Calypso replied. “I didn’t meet Leo beforehand because, um, that would have been a bit difficult to arrange in this case, but it worked out OK.” Calypso noticed Leo was looking at her from the corner of his eye, and she realized she had never even talked about that option before. The truth was that she had had to plan her leaving very thoroughly so her father wouldn’t notice and she had driven to Indianapolis as fast as possible, with no time for second guessing.

“And my flat happened to have a room free because our boy Jason decided to move in with Beauty Queen,” Leo added to that story. “It’s really no stranger than that.”

“Oh, right, someone must have mentioned that you and Jason used to be flatmates,” Will recalled. “I just didn’t connect the dots.”

Jason had apparently finished welcoming the rest of the guests because he joined the group in the living room. “That reminds me, I don’t think I’ve asked you, Calypso, if Leo still leaves his dishes undone and if he has empty milk cartons in the fridge.”

“He used to do that?” Calypso asked with amusement. “After seeing his room that’s not so hard to picture, but no, he’s been pretty tidy in the common area. Although one time he bribed me to do his dishes for him in exchange for some of his food.”

“It was a good deal!” Leo protested. “You didn’t have to cook and you also got to taste some Valdez’ sizzling hot quesadillas so I’d say it was a win-win. Besides, you didn’t seem to have anything against that.”

“Alright, I will admit the quesadillas were pretty good,” Calypso conceded. “But a true gentleman offers them without even asking. Well, other than that he’s been OK,” she told Jason with a playful twinkle in her eye.

“I guess he really is able to change his habits, then,” he replied. “At least when the flatmate is someone he...”

Before Jason had time to finish his sentence, Leo intervened: “Folks, do we really have to be talking about my cleaning habits in front of people I don’t know? The first impressions are important, especially when it comes to Supersized McShizzle!”

“We’re just being honest, Repair Boy.” Calypso couldn’t resist booping his metal covered nose. Apparently she just didn’t know how to not cross the line with this boy, she sighed in her mind.

“Is that all? Where’s the feisty Sunshine I know?,” Leo said in a low tone, so the others could barely hear his comment, coming out almost flirty.

“Shut up,” Calypso answered equally quietly but held her gaze at him.

“Ahem,” they suddenly heard Piper’s voice behind them. “In case you’ve stopped with the flirting, I’d like you to meet a couple of people.”

Calypso turned to see the newcomers and as she recognized the Hunter badges both of them had attached to their shirts, something in her mind just suddenly turned off.

#caleo #leo valdez #calypso #heroes of olympus #percy jackson and the olympians #trials of apollo #my fics #caleo uni au