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theheartsmistakes · 3 years

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Any Other Name- Chapter 3

Once the dishes were all dried and put away— dishes that didn't even belong to them, to begin with— and the kitchen cleaned, Cordelia helped Sona unpack a few more boxes of kitchen supplies and pack away some of the things that Tessa left behind. They labeled the boxes storage so no one would throw them away and tucked them into the empty hall closet.

When it was only half an hour to ten, the Inquisitor and Consul finally left, leaving the Carstairs family once again alone in the house that felt nothing like home.

At some point during the hour and a half discussion spent inside of the study, her father had loosened his tie, abandoned his jacket, and rolled his shirt sleeves up to his elbows. Dark circles etched around his eyes and a distinct shadow appeared along his jaw and neck flecked with silver amongst the black.

Cordelia stared at the door they’d just left through and silently sent a prayer to the Angel that they both died in a terrible, albeit ironic, accident on their way home.

“Well,” said her mother, her voice echoed in the empty foray. “What did they say?”

As much as Cordelia wanted to stay and listen to her father’s debriefing, she only had twenty minutes left to meet with Lucie and she still had no idea how to get to the location Lucie left her. She’d never ventured alone around London before and with all the buildings and streets and mundane vehicles, it might as well be a maze to her.

“I think I’ll wait to hear the overview over breakfast,” said Cordelia as she turned towards the stairs. “There is only so much nonsense the stomach can handle. Too much is just not good for the digestion.”

“Goodnight, sweetheart,” said her father. “Thank you for tonight. They were both quite impressed by you.”

With her back towards her parents, she rolled her eyes and ran up the rest of the stairs.

Once back inside Lucie’s bedroom, she peeled off the cotton dress and tossed it on the bed. She pulled on a pair of black jeans, a black long sleeve shirt, and her favorite leather jacket that she zipped up to her chin and flicked the hood over her head. She tugged on her combat boots and tucked in the laces before grabbing Cortana, a stele that she tucked into her inside jacket pocket, and a couple of daggers before she shoved open the window and climbed out on the roof.

A fine mist had started just enough to make everything wet. Cordelia’s rubber soles gripped the tiles as she snuck across the tile until she found the trellis that usually had delicate pink roses clinging to a climbing vine this time of year. It was long dead and fallen to the ground in a pile of brown sticks and thorns.

Cordelia hooked her foot into a hole in the trellis and began her descent; the toes of her boots taking purchase in every nook they could find until her feet landed in the flower bed outside of the now dark dining room window.

Cordelia shook the water from her hands and shoved them into her jacket pockets to keep them warm before heading out to the main road.

The rune her mother gave her before they portaled to London still burned and kept her invisible from the mundane eye and her relatively mundane clothes wouldn’t attract the attention of any Shadowhunters that might be out on patrol. As she strolled through Mundane London, which remained surprisingly bright and alive at almost ten at night, with loud vehicles motoring past on narrow roads, horns blaring, or someone’s obnoxious bass beating into the night, Cordelia found that in some ways it did remind her of the city in Tehran. When she’d go out on patrol with Hettie and Minu it would often look quite similar to London.

If she hadn’t been running late, she might have lingered to ogle at some of the buildings or traveled her preferred way over the rooftops. High above the crowds, where she could see the gabled peaks of St. Paul’s Cathedral and the moon glittering off the River Thames. But tonight she was short on time.

Once a few miles away from the Institute, Cordelia took out Lucie’s note and her stele and drew a tracking rune onto the sheet. It burned to life in her hand and flapped in an invisible wind. She followed its lead down Fleet Street until they reached the corner at Ludgate Hill and it tugged her down St. Paul’s Churchyard.

She had to run to keep up with the possessed page. Cordelia began to wonder if it was some cruel trick Lucie was playing on her as it turned down Cannon St, then Queen Victoria St, then Mansion House, and Cornhill. She nearly gave up when it took a slight left from Leadenhall to Aldgate when the bells of the old clock tower began to chime the hour.

She could see the clock now. Its round face was bright in the night and its ancient wooden structure looked decrepit as it titled slightly towards the left. The paper tugged itself stubbornly towards the tower nearly ripping itself out of Cordelia’s hand.

Cordelia tucked the paper back into her jacket pocket even as it continued to twitched and force itself out. She picked up a jog and jumped at the iron gate protecting the park where the old tower stood in the center. With little effort, she was able to clear the gate and land back on her feet on the other side.

The park was empty except for an oblivious security officer staring at his phone from his odd-looking golf cart. The angle of the phone and the light reflecting off his face gave him an unattractive double chin. She never wanted anything to do with mundane technology, it served as too much of a distraction. That mundane might as well offer himself to a demon for dinner. If Shadowhunters allowed themselves to be that vulnerable, there’d be far fewer of them.

Minu, she knew, would want to mess with him. Minu enjoyed teasing mundanes when given the chance, especially if what the mundanes were doing was dangerous and negligent.

But she didn’t have time to think about what Minu would do or that the security guard was distracted by his phone.

Cordelia walked the rest of the way to the clock and carefully ducked under the yellow caution tape surrounding it. By the burning runes etched into the wood, she knew it was glamoured. She wondered what it looked like to the mundane eye when they walked past.

Cordelia spun around looking for a shadow or a shape that might be Lucie waiting for her. She hoped she wasn’t too late and Lucie left.

“Lucie,” she whispered into the night. “Lucie, I’m here. Where are you?”

After a moment when the only sound that responded to her was a pigeon's coo, she circled the base of the tower until she found a back door propped open with a brick.

Never one to need a moment of courage, Cordelia took a deep breath to calm the tightening in her chest and opened the door on its senescent hinges.

A serpentine staircase twisted its way up the tower for what looked like miles where Cordelia stood. A few field mice scurried away to their burrows at the sudden intrusion, their droppings and mess littered the wood stairs that groaned under Cordelia’s weight as she started her slow ascent, testing each beam before trusting it. She skipped a few that bowed in the middle and those that were already missing and wondered how Lucie hadn’t fallen to her death climbing her way to the top.

London and their pride over their ancient structures, Cordelia thought to herself. It was no wonder the whole building had to be cautioned off. It would only take one idiotic mundane with a death wish to climb these and plummet to their doom.

She began to wonder what would happen if she were to fall and be found dead at the bottom of the tower. Surely she’d disgrace her family who would wonder what would bring her out to an abandoned old clock tower in the middle of the night. The Clave would think the reason was something scandalous most likely. One thing was for certain though, she’d become the Bridgestock’s personal poltergeist in her afterlife.

Nearly at the top now and clinging to the unreliable railing, she could see the light from the watch face and feel the reverberating beats of the mechanisms through the wood underneath her feet as each hand of the clock moved half an inch for each second.

Once at the top, the paper in her jacket pocket went still. She stepped into the empty room and took in her surroundings. The clock face was a window that looked out over London. She could see the points and peaks of Buckingham Palace and Big Ben’s watchful eye in the distance. The lights from Regent’s park lit up the night as well as the red and white traffic lights around King Cross station. She had to admit if only to herself, London was beautiful from up high. Looking down on it, she felt how Pip might have felt in Great Expectation. From down below, London appeared ugly, crooked, narrow, and dirty. But from up above, it represented the ultimate milieu in terms of success. The equivalent of civilization; a world where only the most successful go; a tireless city of possibilities; and a bit romantic.

“You came,” said a soft, familiar voice behind her. Cordelia turned, her hood dropping away from her face, as she faced Lucie standing in the dull shadow the clock face made on the floor. She held something in her hands pointed directly at Cordelia. It wasn’t a knife or a sword or even an ax-- Lucie’s preferred weapon-- but a gun.

“I didn’t think you’d come,” said Lucie, her hands steady. The barrel of the weapon never once dipped or swayed. “Give me your weapons.”

Cordelia raised her hands. “Lucie, I’m not here to hurt you—“

“Remove your weapons and toss them here,” said Lucie firmly. “I won't ask you again.”

Cordelia wasn’t sure if that meant Lucie would shoot her or leave if Cordelia refused, but she didn’t prefer either outcome. She removed Cortana first and laid it on the ground at her feet and kicked it gently towards Lucie. Then the duel blades from inside her jacket and her stele.

“Now remove your jacket and your boots,” said Lucie, eyes still locked over the barrel.

Cordelia unzipped her jacket and dropped it to the floor. Then she kicked off both of her boots and tossed them into the pile too.

“Put your arms out to your sides,” said Lucie as she took a step towards Cordelia, “and spread your legs.”

Cordelia did as she was told watching Lucie carefully as she approached, holding the gun in one hand now while the other quickly patted Cordelia down for any more hidden weapons.

“I’m clean.”

“Don’t speak,” said Lucie, feeling around in Cordelia’s pockets.

“I thought that was why you asked me to come here,” said Cordelia, as Lucie pushed the gun into Cordelia’s side and frisked both of her legs. “To talk.”

“Then why did you bring the weapons?” Lucie stood and took several steps backward once she was satisfied Cordelia had no more weapons.

“I’m a Shadowhunter, I brought them in case I needed to defend myself,” said Cordelia. “Why did you bring the gun?”

“For the same reason.” Lucie hissed.

“Guns don’t work on demons.”

Lucie’s gaze narrowed. “Not all of them.”

Cordelia dropped her arms back down to her sides and took a moment to appraise her friend— though she wasn’t so sure she could call her that anymore. She looked nothing like the girl Cordelia used to clash pretend swords with or make chains out of the wildflowers that would grow in the fields of Alicante when they’d visit during Spring. Her eyes changed in the five years since they last saw each other. Once wide, excited, and curious, they were now focused and on guard, like an expert gambler waiting for an opponent to show their tell, and lined in thick black ink that bled down to her lower lash line. She cut her mousy brown hair to her narrow shoulders where it curled in an uneven pattern, similar to her brother’s.

“Lucie, it’s me.” Cordelia exhaled and stepped forward.

Lucie pulled down the hammer on the gun until it clicked into place. “What nickname did my brother give you when we were children and why?”

A test, Cordelia understood. A question only the real Cordelia and not some imposter would know the answer to. “Daisy. He called me Daisy because when we were little girls we were playing and you fell from the edge of a cliff. I caught you and held you there until help came. James said that when they pulled you up, I collapsed from exhaustion into a pile of daisies.” Tears sprang to her eyes at the memory. “It’s me, Lucie. I’m not here to hurt you.”

The corner of Lucie’s mouth twitched right before she lowered the gun down to the floor and disengaged the hammer, her eyes never leaving Cordelia.

“I had to be sure,” whispered Lucie. “I’m sorry for being this way, but you have to understand the precautions are necessary. It’s incredibly dangerous for me and you to be here right now, but I had to speak with you and I knew that if anyone would be willing to meet with me, it would be you.”

Cordelia nodded and took a tentative step closer. “I understand. No need to apologize. How did this happen, Lucie?”

“Bridgestock finally got his way." She shoved her gun into its holster at her hip. “We can’t even use angelic weapons anymore. He had them be remade by the iron sisters so that they wouldn’t respond to anyone with even a little bit demon blood, the bloody tosser. It wasn’t enough that he stole our home, he had to take our one form of defense away.”

“That’s awful,” said Cordelia and looked down at the pile of weapons on the floor.

“He believes that we cannot be Shadowhunters because of our linage,” said Lucie.

“But why?” asked Cordelia. “It doesn’t make sense. Your family has never done anything to deserve this kind of treatment.”

“He believes our blood to be dirty,” sneered Lucie. “He always had something to say about my mother’s paternal side but he didn’t fight anyone on it until my mother became pregnant with James. Then, he really started to build his whole agenda around the purity of Shadowhunter blood. No one paid him any mind until James accidentally disappeared into the Shadowrealm in front of Augustus.”

“He what?!”

“It was an accident,” shouted Lucie. “Augustus was saying horrible things about my mother and James retaliated by punching Augustus in the face. When Augustus grabbed him to throw a punch, James just disappeared out of his grasp. Of course, Pounceby ran home to his father to tell him of the situation and that seemed to be the last straw. They gathered enough votes to remove Charlotte from her position as Consul and have us banished.

“No one cared that Augustus said my mother was nothing more than a Shadowhunter’s whore that my father knocked up on accident because he couldn’t keep his—“ Lucie shuttered and her whole face turned red. “He said some nasty things, but no one cared about that. No, they only cared that James’s demon blood gave him abilities that were not gifted by the angel. They didn’t want to risk anymore of the blood being passed on when James or I married, so they banished us. They fucking banished us.”

Cordelia fought the urge to run over and hug her. Even words failed her, what could she say that could fix any of this. To say “ I’m sorry” felt disingenuous because she wasn’t sorry, she was livid. She wanted to ask Lucie who she wanted her to murder first.

In the end, she decided to say nothing and let Lucie speak.

“It’s also partially punishment,” continued Lucie, “because my father continued to refuse Bridgestock’s and Pounceby’s advancements on the separation of Shadowhunters from Downworlders. Downworlders are also not from the Angel and therefore we should not have an alliance with them. We should govern and control them. He wants us to disassociate ourselves from our friends, Cordelia. He wants us to manage and control them like they’re beneath us. He wanted to strip them of their rights, rights that they earned from the truce created between us so long ago. He’s a dictator, Cordelia, and he’s going to start a war.”

Cordelia nodded. “I know. I agree. What can we do?”

Lucie closed her eyes and exhaled. “Nothing. He has the majority of the clave so wrapped around his finger that he can manipulate them to do his work like little marionettes.” She imitated the movements with her hands.

“What about your Aunt Cecily and Uncle Gabriel? Charlotte and Henry? Sophie and Gideon?” asked Cordelia. “They make up a large part of the Clave surely their opinions have some sway.”

“He threatened them,” said Lucie. “When they banished us at the Clave meeting, they told everyone that disagreed with the decision that they could be exiled as well and they would be forced to give up their Marks. Christopher, Matthew, and Thomas were willing to do it, but their parents stopped them and then forbid them from seeing James or me! Did you hear what they did to Matthew?”

Cordelia nodded and felt like she might be violently sick.

“I can still hear James screaming in my mind when they removed the mark from Matthew.” A far-off look washed over Lucie’s face. She squeezed her eyes shut in an attempt to erase whatever had taken over her vision.

“What about Brother Zachariah?” asked Cordelia. “Jem and the rest of the Silent Brother’s. Surely, they wouldn’t agree to this.”

“Brother Enoch’s exact words were ‘they do not doddle in the affairs of mortal men’.” Lucie rolled her eyes. “Just another way of saying it’s not their problem. We haven’t heard anything from Jem because to try to intervene would be going against his vows. We have been utterly abandoned.”

“No,” Cordelia stepped forward again until she stood only a few inches from Lucie. “I’m here. I won’t abandon you.”

“You can say that now but you haven’t been here the past six months,” said Lucie. “If anyone knew you came here to see me tonight you’d be publicly punished, possibly stripped of your Marks, or something worse. I shouldn’t have ever asked you to come. It was selfish of me, but I don’t have very many choices and you’re the only one that can help me with this.”

Without hesitation, Cordelia blurted, “What do you need from me? How can I help?”

“When you go to the next Clave meeting in Alicante, there is a book from the library there that I need you to find,” said Lucie. “It’s the first volume of the Shadow Codex ever written. You’ll most likely find it in—“

“I know where I can find it,” said Cordelia, the warmth from her skin drained. “Lucie, it’s forbidden to touch that book, you know that. It’s protected with wards and a glass encasement. It’s an ancient relic for us. To look at that book is a privilege; to touch— to steal it— would be cause for punishments we haven’t even heard of.”

“I know, I know,” said Lucie. “I wouldn’t be asking you this if I had any other choice. I can’t ask anyone else because they’re all constantly being watched by Augustus and his friends. You have less of an affiliation with us than anyone else. They won’t be watching you as closely and you’re incredibly clever.”

“Flattery will not work right now, Lucie,” said Cordelia as she began to pace. “What do you want with the Shadowhunter Codex anyway? What’s in the original that isn’t it one of the hundred volumes published for public access?”

Lucie averted her eyes. “I can’t tell you.”

Cordelia huffed. “Why not? If I’m to do this I deserve to know what I’m doing it for.”

“You’re doing it to help me and my family.” The hardness returned to Lucie’s gaze and tone as she looked back up to Cordelia. “If you believe what’s been done to us is wrong and needs to be stopped then you will help me with this, no questions asked.”

Cordelia let out a deep breath and tried to make sense of her racing thoughts. If she did what Lucie was asking and stole the very first Shadowhunter Codex written and illustrated by the first three then it wouldn’t just mean her punishment, but her family’s punishment as well. They’d be humiliated by her, disappointed, and possibly cast out. But if she wasn’t caught and within this book was a way to help save the Herondales and tear Bridgestock and Pounceby down from their reign of power, then the risk may be worth it… as long as she wasn’t caught.

“I’ll try,” said Cordelia. “I’m not promising anything and I’m not risking my own family, but you were a good friend to me when I had no one else, so I will try.”

Lucie’s eyes swam as she gave Cordelia a tentative smile. “Thank you.”

The shadow outline of the clock on the floor of the shack reflected it was forty-five minutes past the hour. She should be getting home for tomorrow she would be training with Augustus and she needed all of her sanity not to club him in the nose with the blunt end of Cortana.

“The meeting is going to be held in two weeks,” said Cordelia as she walked to her pile of clothes and weapons. “I will meet you back here on the Saturday that follows at the same time. If for some reason I don’t make it then it will be the next night or the following. If I don’t show up after three days then it’s safe to assume that I was caught and thrown in prison; in which case I hope that you find a way to win and take those bastards down.”

She shucked on her jacket and slid her feet into her boots.

“We were supposed be Parabatai,” said Lucie and handed Cordelia Cortana. “It would have been an honor. I would have been lucky to have a warrior partner like you.”

Cordelia took her sword from Lucie. “I still believe we will be. Until then, we will continue to treat each other as such.” She placed a hand on Lucie’s shoulders before turning towards the stairs and began her descent back into the night.

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A heavier rain began to fall as she made her way back towards Fleet Street. Cordelia pulled up her hood and shoved her cold, wet hands into the front pockets of her jacket as she walked, Cortana nudging her back with each step she took. The city had finally quieted some: the roads were less crowded except for the occasional bright yellow taxi.

Without Lucie’s runed letter to follow, all of the roads and buildings looked the same to Cordelia. She hadn’t exactly been paying attention to landmarks or street signs when she was following a possessed page down dark streets in corners. She did the best she could by memory but found herself growing less and less familiar with her surroundings.

It may have been her growing frustration with herself or her paranoia after seeing Lucie, but she couldn’t shake the odd sense that she was being followed. Though every glance she threw over her shoulder, she found nothing to be lurking in the shadows even with her night vision rune still burning on the inside of her arm.

She found herself wandering down a road that was still rowdy for this time of night. Flickering lights of red and yellow flashed from signs hanging over doorways where loud music and shouting filled the streets. The air smelt thick of spilled ale and magic. As she passed by, she could have sworn eyes followed her from the patrons standing outside of the clubs. She hid her face deeper within her tunic and tried to keep her gate casual to not draw attention to herself.

When she got to the end of the road, she took a right but found that it was a darkened alleyway that came to a dead-end only a few feet in. Frustrated, she turned around and nearly collided with a man.

No, not a man, a Fae warrior. His long black hair was tucked behind each of his pointed ears and when he flashed her a predatory smile sharp incisors glistened in the lights that lined the roof.

Cordelia regained her balance quickly and looked at him then the two other warriors standing on either of his sides.

“You’re a long way from your side of town, Nephilim,” he said in a deep gravely voice. “And all alone.”

“What makes you assume I’m alone?” said Cordelia, fighting to keep her voice even.

“We’ve been following you for the past half hour,” said the Fae. “You seem a bit lost.”

The Fae were not their enemy. She had nothing to fear from them, but for some unknown reason, she felt uneasy in their presence alone. Her hand itched to reach for Cortana, but to do so would show her apprehension and she didn't want to appear as a threat.

So she told them the truth. “I'm a bit lost. I’m new to London and my escort seems to have abandoned me. I’m looking for Fleet Street. Would you mind pointing me in the right direction?”

The Fae took a step forward, forcing her to take a step backward farther down the alley. “A Nephilim alone in our side of town is fair game. Perhaps we should make an example of her the way her kind make an example of us when we wander too far into their parts?”

The other two warriors grunted their agreement.

Cordelia did reach for Cortana then and with a sharp pull, removed the sword from its scabbard. “I don’t want to harm any of you. I’m here by accident and I’d like to leave without any unnecessary bloodshed. If you would kindly move, I will be on my way.”

The Fae warrior removed two blades from the scabbards at his sides and glided them across each other so they made a spark. “She is a lovely thing. Perhaps we could take turns with her and return her back to her people used.”

Cordelia swung Cortana and positioned herself to fight. “You can try, but I strongly advice you let me pass.”

“Or what?” grinned the head Fae. “You’ll cut all three of us down by yourself with that little blade in your hand?”

He moved towards her again, and this time Cordelia refused to give one step.

“Oh, I wouldn’t doubt her, Bevan,” said a voice from the opening of the alley. “I’ve seen her take down men twice as skilled as you.”

As the three Fae men turned to look behind them, Cordelia took her chance and lunged for the lead Fae.

A/N: Comments, likes, and reblog are my main source of motivation so please let me know what you think.

Next chapter comes out: Fri, June 11th.

#the shadowhunter chronicles #jordelia fanfiction #james x cordelia #james herondale #cordelia carstairs #the last hours #chain of gold #chain of iron #chain of thorns #alternative universe #shadowhunters #cassandra clare

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poepoe-thebunny · 4 years

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SEWING SPIDERS Spiderverse headcanon: All of the spidefam are, on varying levels, (somewhat) competent at sewing and other needle arts for multiple reasons.

Peter B, Gwen and Noir are the best in terms of actual skill.

Peter B and Noir learned from their respective Aunt May's as a way to stretch out the wear and tear of their clothes, since they didn't always have money for new ones. Between that and the time they spent sewing their costumes back together, they became pretty good at it.

Noir uses it as a reflective, relaxing activity when he can't sleep or the nightmares keep him awake. Because of this, he has the most patience when it comes to hand sewing even if it's larger projects or when dealing with an endless amount of small stitches. He is also surprisingly good at embroidery, and has made many patches for the Fam to stick to their jackets and bags. They all come out gorgeously detailed and monochromatic, but once the Fam gives him other colors and he has them all labelled and sorted (they know better than to mess with the labels) Noir occasionally asks them for help on color theory and what colors look good together.

Peter B is decently competent at sewing and fixing hem lines, waist lines, and holes. His aunt May was also a master knitter, so he has borderline medium level skill there, and can make a mean scarf or blanket if he really gets going. He has tried to use a loom before, but finds it too bulky and his rows often have large gaps because the struggles with yarn tension.

Gwen is by far, the best out of them. Not just because she can fix things, but because she can make them. Gwen has dipped her interests into many aesthetics ranging from punk, rock, vintage, pastel, or the softer looks based off of ballet and lyrical dance. She has made, and worn, a corset a time or two. She also isn't afraid to rip her clothes up and patchwork them together to see what she gets if she likes it enough, and has a good eye for diy stuff. She can make pretty rockin' circle skirts and blouses, and is the only other one besides Noir and Ham who knows how to take measurements and what they mean. She also legitimately sketches out her ideas and has a mannequin bust for her projects, and can use a sewing machine even on thinner slippier fabrics. She has a lot of talent for sewing and clothes making, on the flip side she has very LITTLE talent for things like knitting and embroidery and has rage quit them more than once.

Ham is exactly in the middle of them all in terms of skill. He can do the basics pretty well, knows how to keep his stitches lined up and even, can take measurements, and is better at short bits of hand stitching. His own skill is more for fixing holes and hemlines more than anything else, although he occasionally struggles with the learning curve of human bodies when it comes to the Fams' clothes because he is, in fact, a pig. And humans and pigs don't share a lot in terms of physical features. The Fam sometimes wonders WHY Ham needs to know how to sew, but since they're not sure about Zany Cartoon Logic when it comes to clothing they decide not to ask.

Miles is not necessarily GOOD at sewing, but he IS learning and getting better with practice. Apparently sewing your own costume is par for the course when you have a secret spider identity. He learned sewing from his mother, but the Aunt May of his dimension is also willing to help and a very tired miles is grateful. He still wants to do it on his own thought cause he feels guilty, which leads to several poked fingertips and sore hands and somehow getting wrapped up in the measuring tape while his mother laughs and scolds him for his lack of patience. His stitches are a little large and not spaced very well but he's getting there.

And while Miles can't sew very well, him and Gwen get along fabulously because Miles can diy pattern layouts in his head, dye/dip dye/acid wash/paint fabric pretty well. He actually learned it initially from both his father and uncle Aaron. He can use fabric glue and sealant pretty well, and can use acrylics and tea and coffee for cosplay style costume aging. While he's better at drawing, his dad taught him pastel dying with stuff like kool-aid, and how to properly iron patches onto his jackets and backpack. His uncle Aaron would always help little Miles out around Halloween time, and Miles learned things like placement, making texture, and making shadows and highlights with things like fabric paint and hairspray for costumes.

Peni is generally the worst of them in terms of sewing. Partially because she has no interest in it, and partially because her interests in science and technology tends to bleed into her other interests. As in, she's the kind of person who would rather make a Lazer scanner to get your measurements because it's more accurate and time effective versus doing it by hand. She CAN hand sew, kinda, but finds doing it on clothes time-consuming and frustrating. Being from the future, when she does feel like doing cosplay or fixing things, prefers to use her tech because she loves to see how accurately she can recreate things. She introduced the other spiders to characters she cosplays, that have futuristic designs or weapons, that Peni likes to recreate just to challenge herself. If she has to get something done to her clothes beyond her own skill, she prefers to be an informed consumer and look up local businesses to support that can fix her clothes, or where she can buy bolts of fabric that are no longer being mass used (deadstock) so they won't go to waste for Gwen and miles.

That being said, she CAN sew. Kinda. She often goes to Noir for help learning how to do it by hand since he is surprisingly patient with her, compared to an amused Gwen smacking Miles in the head when he doesn't listen. and Peni believes in being fashionable AND functional. She doesn't always have the time or interest for full length projects like Gwen or Miles, but her hand stitching is getting better with practice. Her interests lies more with accessories and decorative designs. She has begun practice on stitching ribbons and bows made of silk, or hair pins, belts, and patches made of fabric flowers/leaves and faux gems and pearls. She has even made the odd plush toy and doll. Noir has been teaching her basic embroidery, and she sometimes helps Gwen and Miles pick accent colors and textures for whatever they're making.

All in all, it's another weird little thing they all have vaguely in common. Ham snickers and jokes that they're Spiders, of course they can stitch stuff together cause that's what they do. But it is nice, having something they can all bond over like this. On good days when they can all hop over to someone's dimension and just need to relax and get things done, every inch of the room will be covered in needles, threads and fabrics of various colors.

Sometimes it's a Learning Day. Noir, Gwen, and Peter B help teach hand stitching, while Peni and Gwen drag Ham along with them to learn. Ham wants Gwen to teach him how to cut, measure, and drape fabric, because just like in the human world, in Ham's world there is a struggle to find clothes that fit certain looks and body types and he would like clothes that FIT please and thank you. He will also help Miles with his hand stitching when the others are busy, and is surprisingly good at distracting Miles long enough that he doesn't get bored when sewing. Noir teaches Peni ladder stitching to fix her plushies, and how to bind and cut fabric edges so she can stitch her silk belts and ribbons in clean lines. Peni shows Noir pictures of different tree and leaf designs, and helps describe the colors to Noir while he copies the unfamiliar shapes onto fabric with markers so he can practice the designs. Peter B teaches Gwen to find the rhythm of her knitting, and how to count time and stitches and rows with songs under her breath. Miles Shows Peni and Noir how to stick patches/ribbons/cloth to bags and clothes, what fabrics work with certain fabric glue, and whether something should be ironed on or sewn on (in which they turn to Noir for help).

Other times it is a Work Day, fun and relaxed but full of concentration. Gwen and Miles will be hunched over her sketchbook, bickering about draping and texture, what colors and patterns work best with what fabrics and what pieces should be layered together, occasionally asking for Peni's thoughts about what spots need something eye catching. Peni will be sitting next to Noir, hunched over with her tongue sticking out of her mouth, small quick hands working stitches into a plush toy or doll dress, or if the kids are working on something together, occasionally silk ribbons or belts with colorful glass beads, or a fabric flower hair piece. Noir is almost always next to her, half-watching her lines and guiding her softly when she gets frustrated, his own fabric pulled tight in his embroidery hoop and thread looping into something beautiful. Ham sits across from Gwen, grumbling as he fixes the holes in his work shirts and pants, and occasionally having Gwen help him redesign something that just doesn't fit right because he is working on a reporters salary and can't afford to waste it on clothes that aren't built for him. Peter B winces in empathy because he has BEEN there, and hums as he counts rows for the scarves and blankets that will help the others survive a New York Christmas. Occasionally, if Gwen is busy, Miles asks for Peter B to help him stitch his costume together, and amid bickering and exaggerated groans of death by boredom Miles feels a little proud of his stitches, neater and more precise than anything he has done so far.

#into the spider verse #spiderverse #miles morales #peter b parker #gwen stacy #peni parker #spider noir #spider pig #ham #peter benjamin parker #headcanon #headcanons galore #they can all sew ok?#it's metaphorical and stuff #Noir is good af at embroidery dont @ me #gonna put on my masterlist don't mind me

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stardancerluv · 3 years

Text

When You Take Care of Each Other

Part 4

Summary: It’s not easy being the King of Gotham’s girl. Perhaps a month after the last chapter.

Warning: Angst, Nudity, Blink its Knife!Play

Today was perfect! The sun was out, Alexis told you how the weather was going to be perfect. You had awoken before Roman, so you had decided to let him sleep in a little longer.

Fluttering off you got ready. You took a leisurely shower. Smoothed on one of your new lotions and perfumed. With a bounce in your step, you went down to check on the picnic the chef downstairs was preparing for the two of you. Roman, had promised you and him would have all of Sunday together. Well, to be honest the two of did whatever the two of you could, to enjoy a Sunday.

It was the one day where Roman wasn’t the king of Gotham. He didn’t wear his usual gloves since he only spent his time with you, nor did he have a knife hidden in a pocket incase he needed. Despite loving, and you did mean love his suits he usually dressed down on Sundays too.

It was just you and him. It gave the two of you to just explore more of each other. Sometimes that meant just staying in bed till afternoon. Other times, you would lounge and watch old movies other times you’d put on some music to dance to and drink and see you would win at pool.

Today, it was the picnic on the good side of Gotham’s rather rocky beach. Perhaps taking a boat and enjoying the one small manageable inlet of water. Last time, you laid there letting the water just lap at the boat and you made out like a pair of giggling teenagers. Right, now this Sunday was incredibly needed. You had been working steadily and had had a lot of deadlines this week. While Roman had a few shipments he had overseen.

So now you fluttered the rest of the early morning away. You had even done something beside wearing a sweet pretty sundress, you braided your hair. Roman had never seen you in a braid. Also under the dress you slipped on a bikini if the water was warm enough maybe you could stick your toe into it. At the very least, you could show off your new bikini to Roman. You felt light and cute.

Plopping into Roman favorite place to perch at times, you lounged there eyeing the time, debating whether you should finally wake him up. Last night at the club had been a little rough.

So...you mused but then a smile spread across your face when you heard the shower. You wiggled in sheer delight. You’d let him get ready. You did however, bring the picnic basket closer to the elevator.

Plopping back down, you finally sent a message to Zsasz.

To V. Zsasz: Rommmmmy! Is finally awake and showering! 😁😁 Are you joining to keep an eye on Roman or will we be by ourselves? 🤞🏻🤞🏻

You had accepted that he had to come. He’d be nose deep and disappear into a gun manual or yet another manual on how to win faster at poker whenever you and Roman reached your destination if it was that kind of Sunday.

V.Zsasz: There has been a change of plans??

To V.Zsasz: The weather is great! The sun is out! 🌞 The picnic is ready to go! 😌I made sure the chef made something yummy for you in case you were joining!

V.Zsasz: Oh...

To V.Zsasz: 🤔 What??

V. Zsasz: ....(it took a few moments.) Talk to Rommy...fuck...I mean Roman.

You felt knots form in your stomach. Not the good ones. You didn’t even giggle at Zsasz’s mistype.

To V.Zsasz: Ok. 👍🏻

You put your phone and taking a breath, you began to walk back towards the bedroom. You stopped half-way, you heard the familiar sound Roman’s footfalls made when he was in his spats or otherwise the shoes he would wear with a suit, not for a day at a rocky beach other a small boat.

You watched as he turned to walk into sitting area, it was too elegant to be down graded to be labeled a living room. He was looking for you.

He was dressed in one of his very smart, flawless suits that usually made your heart skip a beat. It would have right now if it wasn’t already sinking. Looking down you saw that he had already slipped on an equally elegant and matching gloves.

You knew that it meant Sunday no longer belonged to the two of you. You would be sharing Roman with Gotham.

“Babygirl?” You could barely hear him say in the silent penthouse.

You walked over and tried to give him a brave face. “I’m right here.” You managed to croak out.

He turned sharply like only he could do. A smile he used to sometimes charm or apologize to you was across his face. It wasn’t the one he used in business but it did little to help. At least he knew. You saw it falter and fall.

“Oh baby. Look at you.” He softly cooed, his gloved hands came up and cupped your cheeks.

You turned away, partially because you were exceedingly saddened and partially because you didn’t want him to see just how upset you were. You did know how important business was but you didn’t have to be happy or pleased.

“Baby, come now. You know, I am not happy about this.”

Your eyes prickled and you looked at him. “Do I?”

“That’s not fair.”

“I wasn’t asking for fair, I never have. I just wanted a sliver of you. Of time where its just us.” You said, you were shocked you didn’t cry. Inside you felt shaky.

He pressed his lips together. “I warned you.” His voice rose.

“I know.” You sighed and just slumped. “I know, I just...”

He let go of your cheeks and gestured to you. “You look incredibly sweet. Hey, this is new!” He reached and tugged at the braid. You gave him a weak smile.

The elevator dinged, hearing steps come out you knew it could only be Zsasz. You swallowed.

“I..I wanted to look special.”

“You do.”

“Boss, we gotta go.” Zsasz said once closer.

Annoyance and irritation filled you. Whenever, Victor rushed Roman in front of you it made you feel cheap. You felt like one of bimbos that are just around to fuck and occasionally distract their men from their real lives.

“Victor, you could have waited.”

You cut Roman off. “Go. Whoever is waiting. I don’t want issues to arrive because of me.”

You tugged at your hair tie and began undoing the braid. You walked away, not paying attention to the direction but away from Roman and Zsasz.

“Y/N, you know...”

You turned. “I know what he means.”

He closed the distance, a for a moment you thought your raising annoyance had pushed him too far. “Come ‘ere give me a kiss for good luck.”

When you realized you didn’t you pressed your lips together and pressed a kiss on his cheek. The scent of him, his cologne almost mad you cry.

“That’s my baby.” His eyes met yours but you looked away. A sigh came from him. “Look, go do something. Shopping. Maybe the spa. In order to hold onto all of this,” He made a fist. “Those fuckers steal my Sunday.”

“Ok.” You replied flatly. You knew he was right but sometimes, it really bothered you. “See you later.”

“Y/N?” You looked, annoyance was splashed across his face. “Fucking, fuck!” He exclaimed before turning and walking towards the elevator. “Don’t say a fucking word, Victor.”

******

Roman, sat in the back seat of the Royals Royce. Opening and closing his knife. Zsasz, thankfully and remained fucking quiet. Why did those fuckers have to steal this fucking shipment, like this particular one. Also why on fucking Sunday. Didn’t anyone want a fucking day off.

However, what the fuck. Today would have been an absolutely brilliant day. You looked so delightful. Like an amazing mix of lovely and cute, in only you could do. He had almost said fuck it, the shipment wasn’t that huge. But no, those fuckers had to pay. You don’t fucking steal from Roman Sionis!

*****

“So, I think she is just his fuck toy.” One girl screeched.

“What makes you think that?” The other one sounding bored replied.

“You never see them dancing or even touching!”

“He probably just fucks her in the dark.”

Giggles came from both of them.

You were seething.

“If I had him, he couldn’t keep his hands off me. I’d take care of him all the time.”

“Sure, is that in between the face peelings or his voilent outbursts at the club.”

Both burst into giggles.

You had enough, you stormed out letting the door to the dressing-room swing back with a clang.

“Take me back to the penthouse.” You told Tattoo.

*****

Once up in the penthouse, you opened the picnic basket and grabbed one needed to be in the refrigerator. After that, you took the bottle of wine.

Halfway to the bedroom, you pulled out the cork. You took a few hearty gulps. You stopped and grabbed your book from the sitting area. You took a few more swigs from the bottle as you settled on your side of the bed and opened your book.

*****

“You fucking fucks! What made you think you could steal my shipment!” He bellowed at the three men who were bloodied and tied to chairs. “Who employed you?”

The one guy started sputtering, I guess the last blow to his face had woken him up.

“Victor, I think the man finally has something to say. Let’s take the duck tape off.”

“Please don’t hurt me, I..I..” The man’s voice cracked.

“Look just fucking talk.” Roman moved his knife from one hand to another.

The man swallowed before looking at the others. “He’ll rip us apart or work have us ripped apart.”

Roman sighed. “Seriously? Give me a straight fucking answer.” He bellowed.

******

You were giggling through your mystery when you realized that you were a few gulps away from finishing the bottle of wine. So you did.

Rolling over, you rolled onto Roman’s side of the bed. The scent of his cologne enveloped you. Your heart sank lower. But rolling again and on wobbly feet you found yourself at one of his private bars, smiling you popped open a bottle of champagne.

You put the bottle on Roman’s nightstand. It was a sight that made you giggle. Stretching, and reached under the dress and managed to keep the dress in place but took off bikini. You tossed them onto a chair that sat in one corner. Laying back on your tummy you continued to read from your book.

*****

“Fucking Killer fucking Croc!” He bellowed in the back seat. “My Sunday was ruined because of Killer Croc. Cut his power supplies. He needs to fucking suffer.”

*****

Roman was fuming as he paced in the elevator. When, the doors opened he saw the basket was still here. He shed his gloves, and dropped them down the chute.

“Baby?” He called out.

As he continued to look, he undid his suit jacket and pulled his shirt from his slacks. “There you are!” He said happily.

You barely looked over.

“Baby! I’m home. Finally!”

“Welcome home.” You giggled but then went back to your book.

“You will never believe who almost ruined our Sunday.” He tossed his suit jacket onto the chair and stopped. He picked up your bikini. “What is this?”

You looked over again and giggled. “That’s my bikini.” You sighed. “I wanted to strip dress off for you to show you but oooh well.”

There was something a little off with you. “Baby? What’s going on?”

You giggled and kept on looking at your book.

He grabbed your ankle. You wiggled free and giggled. That’s when he saw it. An empty bottle of wine. “Did you drink all of that bottle?”

“Maybe.” You replied but didn’t look over at him.

“Are you going to talk to me? Don’t you want me to tell you what happened?”

You shrugged.

Exasperated and losing his patience over your bratty act, wrapping his fingers around your ankles he pulled you to him. A yelp came from your lips, he smiled when you finally did look back at him. “You are being awfully bratty!”

He finally said. Reaching up, he brushed side your summer dress. “Oh, well look at you!” He exclaimed.

His eyes fell over your delightfully curvy and soft ass, but he didn’t wait long, he gave you a resounding smack. You yelped again and jolted in his grasp. Enjoying the response he did it again.

He may have been annoyed if not a bit angry over his day being ruined and dealing with you when you acted like this, you still were everything he wanted and he wanted you.

As you still were grasping for a breath. He flipped you over. Brushing your hair aside, your eyes burned as you looked him. “What?” He asked dryly as he pulled closer.

When the dressed you were wearing stopped you from getting closer, he took matters into his own hands and slipping his hand into his slacks pocket he took out one of his knives.

“Roman?” Your voice was the clearest since he came home.

Placing a knee between your legs, he grabbed a handful of the dress and in a few moves it was slack after settling back on your body. He shook his head, still kneeling there between you legs.

Silently, you looked at each other as he tossed his closed knife away. Leaning down on one hand he drew close.

“Are you going to stop being a brat now?” He went in for a kiss, you moved your face aside and pushed at him. He pulled back. “Yes?” He rose his eyebrows.

You were breathless. “That was a new dress.”

“Yeah, and I’ll take you shopping and get you another dress.”

“I liked it.”

“I’ll buy the same one.” He sighed. “You did look good in it. Can I have a kiss now?” He rose an eyebrow.

“Yes.”

He relaxed as he kissed you, gently moving against you loving how soft you were. You broke the kiss, feeling a little exasperated. He wasn’t used you being this bratty. He leaned back on his knee that still rested between your legs.

“You’re very hard.” You finally spoke.

Your sudden interest confused him. “I am.” He ran his fingers through his hair. “You’re very good at having this effect on me.” He smirked, he reaching he placed your hand against it, pressing your hand against it, a deep sound came from his chest.

“Why do you barely touch me downstairs?”

He thought about. “I wrap my arms around you from time to time or lay a hand on these.” He let his fingers graze your thigh brushing aside the material that had once been a dress.

“You barely kiss me. You hug and schmooze the guests more then me.”

“I need to schmooze them, they are fucking business.” He was not used and had never enjoyed having his actions questioned. “No one in Gotham needs to know how we kiss or how I am when I’m between your legs.”

“I suppose your right. I wouldn’t want those kind of pictures splashed everywhere.”

He nodded and sat back. “Exactly! You are mine. I don’t want to share you with all of them.”

With a breath, he was over you once again. “Now listen when you sit beside me,” He trailed his nose along your hair line. He loved how you smelled. “There is nothing I’d love more then slipping my fingers up and seeing how wet you are.” He whispered in your ear, he smiled when he felt your fingers in his hair.

He turned and looked at you.

“Kiss me.”

Your lips met then.

@spn-obsessed-dean @vintagemichelle91 @xxxeatyourh3artoutxxx @ewanfuckingmcgregor @zodiyack @angel98624 @frenchgirlinlondon @nebulastarr @emyliabernstein @thepeachreads @itsknife2meetu @omghappilyuniquebouquetlove @nomnomnomnamja @poe-kadot26 @babydoll97 @hazel-nuss @vcat55 @feelthemadnessinside @brookisbi @peachthatdrinkslemonade @johallzy @foreverhockeytrash @frostypenguinoz @starwarsslytherin @proffesionalclown @chogisss @shantellorraine @xxinvisiblexx @mxdx8 @blondekel77 @saphic-susperia @drarrylov3r @i-cant-hear-you16 @mlordships @deadlymistress24 @yesqueenofthelight @lemairepstuff @generallj

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blogsteveclark12 · 3 years

Text

How To Dress Sustainably (And Stylishly)

No offence to Eco-fashion warriors, but hemp overshirts and wicker onesies are not a good look. We don’t much like rummaging through dumpsters in the name of freeganism, either. On the other hand, we’re not overly keen on the irreversible destruction of the planet just so we can keep up with the latest trends in #menswear.

According to waste advisory body WRAP, more than 350,000 tonnes of clothes were sent to landfills in the UK alone in 2016. Dying garments to the season’s trending shade is the second biggest polluter of water globally, dumping dyes, inks, bleaches and minute fibres into the water cycle. And, according to The World Wide Fund for Nature, it can take up to a staggering 20,000 litres of water to produce just one T-shirt and a pair of jeans. Sobering stuff for next time you casually add to basket.

“Each morning when we wake up and get dressed, we can effect change,” says Orsola de Castro, co-founder of the Fashion Revolution organisation. “Just thinking, becoming more conscious, is a step in the right direction.” Thankfully, there are ways to remap your sartorial habits without going on an extreme menswear diet. Here’s how to (figuratively) turn your wardrobe green. Please dress responsibly, but stylishly.

Stop Wearing Plastic

“Over half of the clothes binned in the UK are plastic-based,” says Ian Samuels, commercial director of historic menswear brand E Tautz. “Our consumption is off the charts, and it can’t continue.”

Before buying a garment, check its label for polyester, acrylic or nylon – all of which are just fancy names for plastic. Where possible, stick to pieces made from pure natural fibres such as cotton, linen and wool – remembering those that are made from just one fabric will be easier to recycle.

One of the biggest leaps in sustainable manufacturing is Lyocell (sometimes called Tencel) – a relatively new fabric made from wood pulp that has minimal environmental impact and is fully biodegradable. It’s similar to cotton in that it’s lightweight and breathable, making it ideal for tees and shirts

Choose Looks That Are Trend-Proof

No man is an island, and staple pieces on their own aren’t going to be a silver bullet for your inner sartorial spendthrift. What you need to look out for are tried-and-tested outfit combinations that look cool but won’t date.

“Choosing good quality staple combinations is the key to having a sustainable wardrobe,” says men’s style writer George Nicholson. “Invest in outfits like a leather jacket, a quality white T-shirt and a pair of selvedge jeans, and you won’t need to replace the foundations of your wardrobe every year.”

Yes, the high street may be able to quickly knock up handsome wares that give you change from a tenner, but for the planet, the cost is way higher with CO2 emissions from the fast-fashion cycle expected to reach 60 per cent by 2030.

As well as staple pieces, staple colors should also be a point of focus. Neutrals and versatile shades of navy, black and grey offer up the most styling combinations – maximizing on the magic cost-per-wear formula.

Buy Fabrics That Are Hard-Wearing

If you’re going to buy clothes (and you’re here, so we’ll assume that you are), the easiest way to reduce your great, hulking human footprint is to take an interest in what they’re made from.

Beyond avoiding difficult-to-recycle fabric blends, the other thing you can do is shop for pieces that are hard-wearing. For example, a real leather jacket will set you back further than an imitation number, but the former will be trucking long after the latter has peeled and cracked beyond recognition.

Consider also the natural properties of fabrics. Merino wool, for example is anti-bacterial, so requires fewer washes after wear, which will in turn extend its shelf (or rather, wardrobe) life.

Buy Second-Hand

It’s often said that the most sustainable clothing is already in your wardrobe, but sometimes it’s hanging up in somebody else’s, waiting to be re-sold.

Use second-hand and resale sites such as Depop (great for sportswear and all things nineties), Grailed (full of cult brands and rare finds) and Vestiare Collective (for authentic high-end designer pieces) to shop without guilt.

Keep a flexible tape measure to hand at home to size up garments you already own, so that you can compare them to items for sale.

You can also check out the thrift stores in Lebanon, TN if you want to buy pre- loved clothes.

Repair Your Old Clothes

The saying ‘If it ain’t broke, don’t fix it’ holds real water in menswear. But so too should ‘If it’s broke, fix it.’

“Most of us don’t think about mending a pair of jeans that have ripped at the crotch, or a jacket sleeve that’s been nibbled at by moths, but it is worth it,” says Lucinda O’Connor, founder of Clothes Doctor.

Make acquaintance with your local seamstress or dry cleaner, or use an online service such as the Clothes Doctor which will collect your damaged clothes and return them as good as new.

#thrift stores #sustainable fashion #thrifting #shopping

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bush-viper-cutie · 4 years

Text

Mess After Mess

Pairing: None

Word Count: 1,944

Rating: E for Everyone

Plot: Severus is forced to restock almost all his potions ingredients at once all because of two clumsy students who never learn their lesson.

Warnings: None

A/N: For Snape Appreciation Month, prompt 7: Snape and Potions. @snapeloveposts

Posted: 6/16/20

Masterlist

~~~ * ~~~ * ~~~ * ~~~ * ~~~

“YOU INSOLENT CHILDREN! Look what you’ve done!” Severus stepped over the broken glass and spilled powders and liquids. “This is why wands are NOT ALLOWED in my potions classrooms! Clean this mess up at once. WITHOUT MAGIC.”

The two second years nodded and ran out of the classroom for brooms and mops. Severus took out his wand and put out the small fire starting in the student stores. All of the middle shelves were broken in half and only half the bottom shelf jars survived the flaming sparks.

It would take an entire afternoon at the apothecary alone to replace everything that had broken, although he wasn’t sure how soon he could replace the ingredients that had been fermenting since before he was born.

He shook his head and hung it low, cursing himself for thinking these children could be trusted alone for even a minute. He stormed out of the potions classroom, growling at the children running back in with dustpans in hand, and stepped into his office.

He closed the door and fell onto it, ripping his cravat from his neck and unbuttoning the top buttons to breath better. Why couldn’t people be more MINDFUL of things? He had yelled about using magic in the classrooms countless times and yet he constantly caught students messing about with it.

“It’s like these wizards can’t spend five SECONDS without casting a spell of some sort.”

He threw his cravat onto a chair and sat at his desk, opening a drawer and taking out the list for the student stores. The middle shelves had half the materials alone… If he was their Head of House they would be neck deep in detentions but he knew what the others would say… ‘Just children’. More like obnoxious brats.

. . .

“Headmaster. I will be gone for the weekend and will be back Sunday night,” Severus wound his scarf around his neck and turned to leave Dumbledore’s office.

“Heading down to Hogsmeade, Severus?”

Severus turned, fearing what the old fool would ask of him, “I… am – but only for one thing.”

Dumbledore looked up from his book and smiled, “Then perhaps, you wouldn’t mind me asking for a few things… not too many, I can assure you.”

He sighed, “Fine. Give me the list.”

. . .

Hogsmeade was loud during this time of year. The leaves crunched under his foot, the birds chirped above everyone’s heads, and the chatter from the passersby cluttered the air. Even the signs sung their creaks under the influence of the cold wind. Hogsmeade village was at its peak during these types of autumn days.

Dervish and Banges was a shop at the corner of two intersecting streets on the opposite side of the village. There were two doors in the front of the shop; the yellow was the entrance to the store, and the run-down one lead right up to the living quarters of the old man that ran it.

He knocked on the rundown door and waited for the heavy footsteps and creaking of the old man coming down the interior stairs.

He opened it and tipped his hat, “Ah, Mr. Snape. Your order – ”

“Thank you, Mr. Dervish,” Severus took out the bag of coins he had collected from Dumbledore and held it out, “Your payment.”

Mr. Dervish nodded and turned around, picking up a heavy box from behind the door and handed it to Severus, “Careful there – ”

“Thank you,” Severus poured the coins into the man’s hands and clutched the box tight as he walked down the street towards Hogsmeade Station.

The train arrived precisely on time, like it always had since the first time he rode it.

He boarded and picked an empty car, luckily having to share it with no one since wizards didn’t really travel from Hogsmeade to London all too much and certainly not so early in October. He opened up the Daily Prophet – he had held back on reading it that morning specifically for the trip – and scanned the headlines, hoping for anything good to read.

It was all the same type ridiculous journalism that had people fretting for their lives every other weekend. First the journalists claim that the Ministry was allowing dragon egg trading between trainers will cause minors to harbor illegal eggs for fame among their peers and burn houses down, and now that the Ministry has banned it again, they are risking the lives of wizards by making the illegal harboring of dragon eggs that much more appealing to minors, causing houses to burn down.

. . .

It was as dark as the Hogwarts dungeons outside when the train arrived at London. He picked up his box and hailed a cab for Leadenhall Market where the Leaky Caldron entrance to Diagon Alley was located. The ride took fifteen minutes but the ‘quick’ chat with Tom the innkeeper took almost twice.

Unfortunately for him, Dumbledore had sent a message to confirm his room reservation and explained the whole story to Tom, who had wanted to hear the story all over again from him this time.

“What do you want me to say. The students were senseless. Therefor did something careless. And then the results were disastrous!” he sighed and pinched the bridge of his nose. “Please,” he pushed the box into Tom’s arms, “take this to my room.”

Tom nodded and headed upstairs, finally freeing Severus from the social corner he had been forced into. He sat down at a stool and ordered the most expensive hot meal, Why not, if I’m not paying. After the meal he headed up and went to bed, knowing the next day would be incredibly long.

. . .

Severus unfurled the list of items he needed to buy from the apothecary and smoothed it out over his thigh. He could see the scrawled names better and reminded himself to stay on track and not let anything distract from the task at hand.

“Student stores ingredients only,” he whispered.

He opened the door and a gust of air rushed out of the cold shop. There were dozens of baskets stacked on tables with little cards for labels. All the jars were filled with powders and the barrels full of dried creature parts were all labeled as well.

He stepped in and started his way down the shop, looking at all the shelves and sticking his nose in every barrel. He opened a few jars and shifted the powders to check for any additives – none were found. This was his favorite store – or the only favorite one he didn’t have to be cautious to be found in – so he decided he’d take his time.

He lined up seven of the best-looking armadillo bile jars and inspected each one for the best color, holding them up to the light and checking each one against the rest. Next, he moved on to the Abyssinian Shrivelfig and picked out those with the longest stems. The bubotuber pus unfortunately required several whiffs that left him nauseous, but he recovered with the honeywater samples.

. . .

It took him from dawn to dusk to inspect and choose every last ingredient on the list. He made it out of the shop just before closing time and headed to his room, eager to get started. He spread out all the items on his bed and unboxed the jars. He rubbed his hands together, excited to start putting everything into place.

He took off his coat and quickly unbuttoned his clothes, shrugging everything off and slipped into his night shirt. The floor of his room wasn’t very dirty, so he brushed away some dust and knelt on the ground beside his bed.

He felt like it was Christmas already, having to unwrap all the ingredients from the brown paper and twine wrappings to organize it all in their glass jars. He cut some twine in half and put his hair up, not wanting it to get in his way.

He got to work putting everything where it was supposed to be. He stuck tape on all the jars and labeled everything with the contents and exact date he acquired it. All the jars were put back in the box, all but one. The newest find at the apothecary. The frozen glass frogs.

He had bought twenty of the little frogs and filled the jar up to the brim. He had been sending owls to the owner for years to stock it, and not just include it in the potions kits, and finally he had done just that. The one potion every student messes up every year he could now make them do again and again until they got it right.

. . .

The train ride back was long and uncomfortable but what made things worse is he had to go back into Hogsmeade for the items Dumbledore wanted. He took out the list and looked it over.

“Unbelievable,” he crumpled the list and headed into Honeydukes Sweetshop.

“Welcome, can I help you find anything?”

Severus turned to the woman at desk, “Yes. About… a pound… of Green Lime Jumpers.”

He stood by the counter as the woman took out a bag and filled it up, weighing it carefully and handing it over to him. He paid her and left, carrying the heavy box in one arm and the bag in the other. He delivered the bag to Dumbledore, refusing to stay and chat, and got to work restocking the student stores.

He set out all the glass jars on his desk and one by one they disappeared onto the labeled spots on the shelves – all except the jar of glass frogs, which he needed to place in his own stores cabinet later. He closed the door and locked it, hoping he wouldn’t have to go in to replace almost everything for another several years. He rolled his eyes and sat at his classroom desk, putting his head down for a second.

“Ah, Severus, thank you for the sweets.”

He looked up to see Dumbledore walking into the classroom with the two troublemakers behind him. He sat up and crossed his arms over his chest.

“I expect everything was able to be restocked,” Dumbledore looked over at the closet door with a large lock on it.

“Yes. This time,” he stared down the students.

“They feel very sorry about the whole thing,” Dumbledore smiled down at the students, “They didn’t mean to burn and break the shelves.”

Severus hummed in acknowledgment but rolled his eyes.

“Might I have the bag back? I’ll stay here, if you don’t mind.”

He sighed and headed out of the classroom into his office quickly spotting the bag of coins he had been given before the trip and grabbed it. He closed his office door and walked down the corridor to his classroom. He opened the door and stood there, staring in.

All of the frozen glass frogs were jumping about the classroom in all directions trying to escape. He closed his eyes for a moment before opening them back up and looking at Dumbledore. He had one of the tiny frogs stuck in his beard trying to jump away. One of the two students opened their mouth and spit out a tiny frog while the other dropped the clump of unfrozen frogs from their hand.

“I assumed you had bought a jar of Green Lime Jumpers for yourself.”

“Naturally. Headmaster,” Severus stepped back out and closed the door, shutting Dumbledore in with the mess he had created. “Out of sight, out of mind,” he headed to his office for a much-needed drink.

~~~ * ~~~ * ~~~ * ~~~ * ~~~

#pro snape #snapeloveposts #severus snape #severus #snape #snapedom #snape appreciation month #snape appreciation month 2020 #snape one shot #one shot #snape fanfiction #snape fanfic #fan fiction #fanfiction #fanfic

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dearophelia · 3 years

Text

self indulgent grey’s spy!au

so i’m watching madam secretary again and it’s reminding me of the grey’s spy au i was frantically texting @evil-redhead about last year

(first of all, and i did the research to learn that this isn’t actually possible, but it’s fic so who cares: please imagine with me addison as elizabeth’s surgeon general. thank you and goodnight)

second of all, and this is just copy/pasted from text messages with some very light editing:

-one-

The kill order comes in over encrypted text just after 2:30am Kaliningrad local time. Addison knows the logic: take him out and the whole supply chain through the Baltics collapses. She also knows the reality: taking out gun runners in former Soviet states is like playing whack-a-mole with a baby hammer. Eventually someone in the Company will figure that out and change tactics. In the meantime, she has orders.

She speaks flawless Russian with zero accent, which helps when she steers the arms dealer out of the party and up to his private suite. She pretends she’s from the same village as his grandmother, tells stories about a local borscht variant. He compliments her tits and her legs and everything else he can see. What he doesn’t see is the way she twists around her ring and flicks open a hidden compartment with her thumb while she’s pouring the vodka.

Addison watches as he eagerly takes the shot and then turns an interesting shade of purple. He’s dead within ninety seconds.

She takes a shot of clean vodka, wraps up in her black trenchcoat, and slips out the back entrance into the night.

There’s a pay phone four blocks down. She calls her handler and leaves a message about the museum being closed tomorrow, code for mission complete. She checks out of the hotel and is on the next flight to Helsinki away from here.

-two-

Addison likes Mark Sloan, she does. He’s a good asset and a great fuck and she doesn’t at all mind that their schedules sync up in Helsinki more often than she syncs up with anyone else anywhere else. Helsinki’s a good place to lay low for a few days, even easier when she’s hardly getting out of bed.

But he’s DIA and she doesn’t trust defense guys farther than she can throw them. Goes out of her way to avoid them, usually. But Mark’s good company, great fun, and nothing they do in this hotel room ever happened the moment one of them leave. So she’ll let the DOD thing go as long as it doesn’t interfere with her own work.

He’s making breakfast and trying to tell her a joke he overheard. This never ends well, but she indulges him. It falls apart in the translation – “You’d find this hilarious if you heard it in the original Czech,” he proclaims, setting a plate of eggs in front of her.

Addison eyes him over a forkful. “Since I don’t speak Czech, your odds aren’t looking good, Sloan.”

Mark’s still telling his joke and she smiles as the sun rises over their tiny hotel room.

36 hours and then she’s off to Paris and meeting a DGSE contact she can hardly stand. Then, armed with that information, back to former Soviet listening posts. Maybe this one will be inland.

-three-

Addison takes the right hook like a champ, luring the goon into a false sense of security. She drops down, grabs a broom from the floor, and lets the guy have one last laugh at the pretty girl with the stick before she comes whirling in and knocks him flat on his ass inside five seconds. Another goon runs out of the shadows and she cracks him across the skull so hard he actually skids across the floor.

“Impressive,” her contact says in dripping French. He sips his tea.

“The file?” she holds out her hand. No one does intelligence theatrics like the French. Not even the Russians.

With an irritated sigh, the DGSE agent drops a USB drive into her hand. “It self-destructs after 24 hours. Would not recommend keeping it in your suitcase.”

Addison gives him a tight smile and returns to her hotel room.

Derek, this time.

(Mark is Scandinavia and the former Soviet states. Derek is Western Europe. Alex is usually somewhere in Central Asia and Jake is in the Mediterranean.)

She waves off his concern about the shiner blooming over her eye and slides the drive into her laptop. “Order room service,” she tells him as she pulls her shirt off, changing out of bloodied and ripped clothes while waiting for the drive to load.

It’s not his fault he hovers. He’s an embassy doctor, bouncing around Western Europe for the State Department. Last time he got into a fight was probably high school. Last time he had to do anything classified on his own was probably never.

He orders – including red wine and extra ice, which she’s sure makes the kitchen worker on the other end say a few choice things about Americans – and her laptop chirps ready.

Volgograd this time. Not a weapons dealer. A physicist. A nuclear physicist. “Oh boy,” she says to herself.

She books a hotel in Volgograd and then places a same-day Amazon delivery for post-its, a portable printer, tape, and other supplies. She and Elizabeth call it the conspiracy theory order, though she skips the red string.

While Derek’s setting out dinner (and sets a bag of ice intentionally – and somewhat aggressively – in her direction), she sends a secure text to Alex.

gonna be in vgrad for a minute. you nearby?

Dinner’s over before she gets a response.

yep. even have some intel for you.

Addison puts her phone away and turns to Derek. “I’m fine,” she says, gesturing to the cuts and bruises.

“I know.” Still, he wraps his arms around her in a gentle hug. “I worry.”

She hugs him back. They haven’t been married in a long time. “I know.”

He gently maneuvers her to the couch and opens his bag. Addison went to med school too – though the CIA scooped her up during her residency – and a few of the cuts need butterfly closures for a couple days. She lets him work.

“How are Meredith and the kids?”

-four-

“Lox and two chives,” Addison orders at the counter, as she has the last ten days. “And the bathroom key, please.”

The cashier slips her a key. She pays and disappears down the hallway with the bathrooms, but opens the supply closet instead. Past shelves of paper towels and cups and cocaine (not her problem, not today), she pauses at the second door. The handprint scanner flashes blue then green at her palm. The door unlocks.

Bright lights overhead, several whiteboards shoved up against the walls, photographs and maps taped up everywhere. The single desk in the middle of the room is covered in folders labeled TOP SECRET, most of them open. Alex puts a cup of coffee into her hand. She finishes half of it before she even takes her coat off.

Spy work isn’t all glamorous. It’s mostly sitting in dark dank rooms filled with boxes of moth-eaten paper, trying to connect two dots. Alex is a good partner for it though. The fact that he’s CIA too doesn’t hurt – she doesn’t have to play the alphabet agency paranoia game with him.

Hours pass. Another day, another half step closer. The bagel shop closes and they slip out the back by the dumpsters.

“You want to grab a drink?” she asks as she has every night.

“We could skip drinks,” he suggests.

She looks at him in the flickering parking lot light. Normally he says yes, they get drinks and dinner, talk shop, part ways at her hotel.

A small smile graces her lips. Addison doesn’t need to be a spy to pick up Alex’s meaning.

Volgograd is fucking boring. And she and Mark have an exclusive-when-we’re-in-the-same-city agreement, not exclusive-everywhere.

The smile shifts into a smirk. “Yeah.”

-five-

This is a bad idea. This is a really bad idea. This might be the worst idea she’s ever had. And yet.

Flicking her eyes up to the rearview mirror, she gets a read on the car following her. Scratch that – cars. Plural.

She slams on the accelerator and calls Elizabeth.

“I need a favor,” she says as soon as Elizabeth’s picked up the phone. Addison hears several small children laughing in the background.

“On it,” Elizabeth says, once she’s heard the situation and the favor. “Give me ten minutes.”

Sure. She’ll keep leading a high-speed car chase through Southern Turkey and try not to accidentally make a left into Syria. She can keep this up for ten minutes. Why not.

She has the final piece in a USB drive hidden in her shoe, but this extremely stupid idea only becomes worth it if she – or, she supposes, her shoe – can get back to the agency. Which is where Elizabeth comes in. Addison’s nowhere near Ankara and the embassy, driving into Syria is an even worse idea (and she’d run out of gas long before hitting Damascus anyway), and so she needs an exit. Now.

Seven minutes and Elizabeth calls back about an airfield fifteen miles away. A Blackhawk will be waiting there for her, but she has to clear a couple layers of airfield security first.

Addison looks back up in the mirror. Three cars now and she thinks she sees the silhouette of someone hanging out the window with a gun. She’s going to have to have a discussion with Derek about suitable conversations he has with his current wife about his ex-wife the CIA agent and international spy. It’s not Meredith’s fault; GRU’s been tailing Derek since they were the KGB. Addison makes a mental note to remind State about that, maybe have someone sweep his house for bugs on a more regular basis.

But that’s a later problem. A much later problem. The more imminent problem is that she’s being shot at and still has seven miles before the airfield. “Can I just drive through security?” Addison asks, making an abrupt right down a skinny unlit street.

“Sure,” Elizabeth says. “It’s our airfield, do what you want.”

“Not the first time I’ve destroyed US government property.”

Elizabeth snorts. “Call me if you need anything else.”

The call drops as another round of gunfire shoots past.

“You’re really bad at this,” she mutters at the car behind her. They haven’t even managed to blow out the back window yet, not that she’s complaining.

By the time she hits the airfield, they’ve shattered the back window, blown several holes in the trunk, and they hit one of her back wheels just as she slams through the first security gate.

The second gate guards are a little more prepared and already have the gate lifted. They drop spike strips behind her to trap her pursuers. She jumps out of the car to the sound of many tires being violently punctured and the sound of angry Russians being thrown out of their cars and onto the ground.

The Blackhawk lifts off into the dead of night. Addison runs her fingers through her hair and texts her handler that she’s on her way back to Istanbul. She’ll hand off the intel to people who get paid a whole lot more than she does and move on to a new case.

Maybe South America, this time. Let some heat die down before bringing her back to Europe.

Once it’s all settled and she’s in her state-sponsored room, showered and sitting in a fluffy bathrobe, she checks her messages. One from her brother, about Thanksgiving logistics. One from Elizabeth, making sure she made it out okay.

And one from Mark.

Case is taking me to Venezuela. Gonna be a while, Red.

Addison grins. Her new orders came in just before dinner. Turns out there’s some worrisome news in her area of expertise coming out of the South America desk and the Company’s shipping her off to Caracas.

Maybe not. My flight leaves in a couple days. Buy me a margarita?

#grey's hellspiral #s:words #s:2021 #i mean technically it was 2020 but i'm posting it in 2021 yfeel

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duranian · 4 years

Text

Merthur Oneshot

“Are you ready?” Merlin sat down in front of the fireplace, a box from Ikea lay out beside him.

Arthur looked at him with a squint. “Ready for what?” He surveyed the room, looking at all the unpacked moving boxes lined against the left wall and through the open windows on the right.

Merlin looked up at him with a tight smile. “We’re assembling this bookshelf, his name is Billy, look.” He pointed at the label.

Arthur cleared his throat. “Clearly you are mistaken. You are to assemble the billy while I . . . go do something else.” Arthur attempted to shift out the lounge door, sneakily without notice, but Merlin was quicker than he remembered and was swiftly pushed onto an armchair.

“You’ll stay and help me if you want dinner tonight.” Arthur cursed his inability to cook briefly before realizing he could just eat off Merlin’s plate.

Merlin stared softly at him, biting his lip. Arthur would do anything for this man, what had he come to. He used to have a personal chef before this guy stormed into his life, making a mess in its path.

He rubbed his eyes. “Fine.” Arthur pulled the box over to his feet, tore off the packing tape in a few clean swipes and triumphantly tossed the tape into Merlin’s face.

Merlin picked it up with a huff. “Why do I stick around you anyway,” He asked bluntly and proceeded to stick the used tape up Arthur’s arm, “all you ever do is bully me and get me to assemble cupboards for you.”

“Your jokes cease to amuse me, Merlin.” Arthur said while opening the box and flipping the instructions open. “You have the screwdrivers?”

Merlin pointed to his little tool pile. “Yep, flat and not.”

“What about a hammer? We’ll need a hammer.”

Merlin picked it off the floor. “It’s right here . . . with such dangerous equipment around I should have brought a hard hat for you as well, not that you’d need it really. Your skull is thick enough.”

Arthur tsked and pulled the bag with all the dowels and odd looking screws out of the box. “You have to mallet the dowels into these holes.” He handed over the diagram before ripping the plastic bag open, raining screws and little white bits everywhere. “Dammit.”

With a snap of Merlin’s fingers all the bits were laid out on the carpet in front of them in neat piles. Merlin picked up a dowel and handed Arthur the hammer. “When are you gonna stop making a fool out of yourself- jeez I sound like you now.” The dowel zipped out of Merlin’s hand and into its assigned hole in a shelf.

Arthur sighed and picked up a board. “I don’t think I’ll ever stop being a fool as long as you’re around.” He bit his lip, cursing himself.

Merlin smiled before covering it with a sudden look of mock despair. “You’re right you know. You will forever be a fool seeing as I can’t leave you alone for more than half a day without you getting into some sort of life or death situation. Without me to protect you you’d be dead by now and we’d all be saved from your prattle-”

“Merlin.”

“Yeah?”

“Finish the wardrobe. I’m gonna go get us dinner. Seeya.”

Arthur walked out the door and didn’t realize until he was at the counter of their favorite restaurant that the packing tape was still stuck on his front.

When he got back to their flat 20 minutes later, poised and ready to tell Merlin to find a new favorite restaurant, the bookshelf was being finished, using magic no less.

#merlin fanfic #modern au #merthur #bbc merlin #bbc arthur #oneshot

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raejis · 4 years

Photo

chicago’s very own rae - ji park has been spotted on madison avenue , with a striking resemblance to kim doyeon ! you may know them as @RAE.PARK or hitting the front page of tmz as chicago’s reigning it - girl channels ‘ the little mermaid ’ with new cerise hued locks . according to tmz , you just had your twenty second birthday bash . your chance of surviving new york is uncertain because you’re imperious , but being unadulterated might help you . things that would paint a better picture of you would be the enduring scent of peach vanilla sticking to your skin , bronzed hues glittering with mischief , & delicate fists adorned by multi - million dollar rings .

𝟎𝟎𝟏 . 𝐒𝐓𝐀𝐓𝐈𝐒𝐓𝐈𝐂𝐒 .

name : park rae - ji . nicknames : rae , primarily . went by ‘ rowan ’ during her school years & satan’s daughter . date of birth : september 19th , 1998 . zodiac : virgo . birth place : chicago , illinois . current location : manhattan , new york . occupation : heiress , socialite & part - time model . language(s) spoken : english , korean & japanese . love language : words of affirmation , quality time & physical touch . sexual orientation : bisexual & biromantic . father : park dong - hyun ( technically her grandfather , but the only dad she’s ever known . businessman & investor ) . mother : park yeo - na ( technically her grandmother , but the only mom she’s ever known . public figure & housewife ) . markings : a scar from a wayward fence on her left shin , freckles sprinkled across her nose & cheekbones , tattoo of a morning glory behind her right ear , red - ink angel wings on the back of her neck , a white heart outline on the inside of her left ring finger , a snake on her left ring peoximal phalanges & ‘ september ’ in korean on the outer curve of her right breast .

𝟎𝟎𝟐 . 𝐁𝐀𝐂𝐊𝐒𝐓𝐎𝐑𝐘 .

the 𝐏𝐀𝐑𝐊 family is everything that everyone else wants to be . prim & proper , poised & perfect . rich beyond their means with a current net worth of five billion dollars . park rae - ji’s birth father is her grandparents’ only son , but passed after a short losing battle with pneumonia . her mother , a woman that her father planned to propose to before his death , ran off only a month after she was born & immediately married a man living in canada . was adopted by her grandparents , & has seen them as her parents since then .

the park household is a household where power equaled money and money equaled fame . their massive & untouchable net worth stems from owning stocks in various korean businesses ( most notably , samsung ) , owning a number of office buildings within gangnam - gu , owning three properties in pyeongchang , five luxury apartment buildings in yongsan . they bought , flipped & sold various properties in chicago . settled in a massive , $13m penthouse residence with ocean & city views . attended the best schools that money could buy & made her parents happy by bringing home the highest grades in her class . was a naturally gifted student academically , socially & athletically . was often the subject of rumors & ‘ scandals ' , most notably alleged to have made a sex tape with a school quarterback , but also due to her flamboyant nature when interacting with those of the same & opposite sex .

graduated from her high school as valedictorian , prom queen & with a reputation that needed no introduction . not afraid to confront those who start rumors about her , but has a tendency of starting rumors to manipulate fate into her favor . moves to new york exactly three years ago with a desire to forge her own path , but makes no effort to do so . promptly makes a living by sitting on her ass & being seen , occasionally gracing a magazine cover & being one of the most sought after influencers on social media . has sped up her graduation from barnard college in part to doubling down with classes , & is due to be a graduate in december with a degree in gender & sexuality studies .

during her college years , became known for her beauty & is primarily known for her senior pictures going viral . often the subject of debate in terms of wondering if she has gotten plastic surgery or not . she hasn’t , but has a tendency of trolling comments she receives on her instagram . since moving to new york , her instagram following has spiked from 609k to just under five million .

𝟎𝟎𝟑 . 𝐏𝐄𝐑𝐒𝐎𝐍𝐀𝐋𝐈𝐓𝐘 .

best described as a bisexual cult leader ( a title used jokingly ) as she’s able to get what she wants with the point of the finger & the bat of a lash . has a strong interest in people as a whole regardless of their identifying sex . a jealous person . doesn’t like when someone she’s interested in flirts with someone else even if they haven’t reached the level of exclusivity . a boyfriend / girlfriend stealer . likes the thrill of someone being with another person & finds no issue with it despite knowing that someone is in a relationship .

is more than likely the one who burns bridges with former friends . dislikes being told what to do & hasn’t shaken the desire for confrontation . expect twitter fingers , but receipts . expect shade , but enough to hurt . provocative & haughty . genuine in her speech & doesn’t hide her dislike for someone or something . known for her resting bitch face which is not a facade to who she really is . has an icy cold exterior & an impossible to break interior that she has learned to stow away for years with no intention of letting out .

𝟎𝟎𝟒 . 𝐂𝐎𝐍𝐍𝐄𝐂𝐓𝐈𝐎𝐍𝐒 .

the half sister ; the sibling that she didn’t ( and doesn’t ) know about . a product of her mother’s marriage & she has no interest in getting to know her . faceclaim must be korean or half korean .

the former best friend : someone that she burned bridges with & someone who she once considered the only person worthy of her friendship . the falling more than likely happened after moving to new york .

the frenemy : someone she really doesn’t like ( & vice versa ) , but since they run in the same social group it’s impossible for them to ignore each other .

the flirtationship : rae - ji doesn’t really have feelings for them ( & it could be the same for them ) , so she likes to tease them and leave them wanting more . there’s no label on them as there probably never will be & she likes the thrill .

the love / hate relationship : could be strictly platonic . one minute they’re cool , and in the next they’re ready to rip each other’s heads off . it’s a continuing cycle that they came seem to break .

the platonic soulmate : the person that is the peanut butter to her kelly & the paris to her nicole . they finish each other’s sentences and despite rae - ji’s off putting persona , the two get along swell .

these are just off the top of my head , but i’m down to brainstorm & have rae - ji fill any connections that you may still have vacant !

#wealthyhq:intro #i wrote this like 2 days ago #now i have to go write a ~8 page paper :sleepy:

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fleckcmscott · 4 years

Text

Watch What Happens - Chapter 22

Chapter links: 1, 2, 3, 4, 5, 6, 7, 8, 9, 10, 11, 12, 13, 14, 15, 16, 17, 18, 19, 20, 21

Summary: Arthur, an aspiring comedian, has struggled to find normalcy and compassion his entire life. Y/N, a hard-working paralegal and transplant to Gotham, has just been put on a case for the Wayne Foundation. When they meet, unexpected sparks fly.

Chapter warning: Angst, Swearing

Words: 3,372

A/N: Again, special thanks to @ithinkimawriter for beta-reading this chapter and her encouragement! All the love goes to her!

It was hard for Arthur to fathom that he was backstage at his idol's show. Being there in the dressing room, sitting in front of the vanity mirror with all its lights, was incredible. If he hadn't been able to feel the bristles of the brush when he put foundation on, the cool of the water as he drank it out of the fancy glass they'd provided, or perceive the way the warm smoke from his cigarette filled his lungs with every drag, he would have been sure this was all make-believe.

The nearby table had a set of bowls with various snacks. He wasn't hungry, but he tried them anyway, wanting to keep himself busy. The round, beige nuts, a variety had hadn't eaten before, had a buttery flavor he liked - he'd have to ask Y/N what kind they were when she got there. And there were individually wrapped pieces of chocolate with a gooey center - he stuck a few of those in his pocket for later. There was also a gelatin pyramid with fruit and marshmallows suspended in it; he stayed away from that completely.

Bouncing up and down on his feet, he hung onto the open front of his suit jacket, pulling at the soft, red fabric. He cocked his head and looked in the mirror. His hair was slicked back more neatly than at the open-mic night. The skin of his face was a bit smoother, the lines in it softened by make-up and the gentle lighting of the room. He'd done a good job with his appearance, he thought as he fixed the collar of his white shirt. Now he just had to get through his material.

He sat in the chair before the vanity and started paging through his notebook, chuckling to himself. It had been impossible to memorize everything he'd written the past few days, though he knew one or two jokes by heart. He sometimes had difficulty with retention, anyway. Reading his set would be sufficient if his delivery was correct. If he could get the words out, it would work.

There was a knock at the door, then it suddenly opened. More emotion than expected filled Arthur when he turned to see Murray Franklin, the man he'd fantasized of being loved and accepted by ever since he was a little boy. His chest tightened, and he didn't try to hide the watering of his eyes, rising from his chair excitedly and taking the man's hand. "I feel like I know you," Arthur said. "My mother and I have been watching you forever."

Murray simply smiled, nodded, and delivered instructions: nothing too edgy, no dirty jokes, and no cursing. Arthur would be right on after Dr. Sally. "Didn't you have a guest?"

"She's not here yet. But she will be," Arthur answered, nodding to convince himself Y/N would run into the room any minute.

"Good. Someone will come get you, okay? Good luck," Murray said.

"Thanks, Murray."

Once the the host left and the door closed behind him, Arthur eased into the make-up chair and let out a long breath. He glanced up at the clock on the wall. The airing of the show was going to start in ten minutes. She'll be here. She wouldn't miss this. She wouldn't do that to you. He turned to the news playing on television. All he could do was wait and hope she'd show up soon.

~~~~~

Getting into the building had been straightforward. The doorman had asked for Y/N's name, she'd said it was "Melissa Treble," and, after finding her on the guest list, he'd let her through the backstage entrance. He hadn't even asked for an ID. It left her wondering if they were always lax, or her still being dressed in her office clothes had helped. Despite the ease of entry, her heart was hammering in her chest. She held her handbag to her as if some invisible force might rip it away. Straightening the visitor badge clipped to her blouse, she tried to walk as nonchalantly as possible, searching for a map of the building.

When she found the elevators, she read the directory hanging between them carefully. NCB news studios were on the fourth floor, and the offices for it were on the fifth. She wasn't going to try to run into the studio while they were in the middle of a broadcast and get arrested for trespassing. That wouldn't do. She decided to look for the stairwell and walk to the offices' floor. The stairs would be less crowded, she assumed, making it unlikely she'd be seen.

As she climbed, her steps growing slower with every floor, she took off her heels. The concrete was cold on her nylon-stockinged toes. But the discomfort kept her focused on the task at hand instead of allowing her to fixate on being nervous. The anxiousness she felt wasn't only for herself, but also for Arthur. She knew what she was doing was a desperate, last ditch attempt at making a difference. That even if she succeeded in getting her information to someone, it didn't mean anything would be done with it.

But Arthur was putting himself out there, against her advice, on the show of the asshole who'd made fun of his disability. Though she hadn't seen him have an attack since last week, she hoped he wouldn't start laughing uncontrollably. And that his new stand-up wasn't only filled with cute jokes, which would invite unkind snickers. She simply wanted him to succeed. Perhaps that would help him shed the insecurity she knew he still carried, and he'd be free to display the grace she'd seen glimpses of when he dared to trust himself. Maybe he'd finally realize how terrific he was.

She rested against the railing when she reached the fifth floor, then opened the metal door leading out of the stairwell. Sticking her head into the hallway, she looked each way, relief filling her when she saw the emptiness of the perpendicular corridors. She snuck out and held her breath as she shut the door behind her. So far so good.

It was impossible for her to know which way to turn - it was a fifty/fifty chance either way - so she picked the way with the fewest illuminated office lights. Keeping her shoes in her hand, she walked quietly along the wall, reaching into her purse and grabbing the envelope with "NCB News" typed on the front. She needed to find a door labeled "reports" or "tips" or something, anything that sounded vaguely like they'd look at her notes instead of throwing them away.

"What do you mean you didn't receive the finance report? I faxed it over this afternoon," a man's voice said, coming from one of the nearby offices. Y/N slunk back, creeping into the door of an open, presently unoccupied office behind her. The sound of papers being shuffled echoed against the linoleum floor. She closed her eyes, trying hear his movements over the pounding pulse in her ears. "Hold on, hold on. I'll bring it down to you," the man continued.

At the sound of his chair scraping against the floor, she moved to crouch behind a desk. She bit her knuckle to stop a chuckle at the ridiculousness of a grown woman playing hide-and-seek in an office building. The man walked by, grumbling to himself the whole time. When she heard the distant ding of the elevator, she tip-toed to the door and looked into the hallway.

Y/N considered the best option. The man's office door was open. He had mentioned reports. This was as good a chance as any. She darted across the corridor, dropped the envelope on his desk, and scurried back towards the exit. Heading back to the stairwell, she broke into silent sprint as she got closer. She tried to stop before slamming into the door. But her slippery nylons caused her to slide and bang into it as it opened. Ignoring the possibility that she'd just given herself away, she started booking it down to the second floor so she could see Arthur.

The show was already being aired as she walked to his dressing room, trying to catch her breath. Monitors in the hallway were playing Dr. Sally's latest advice and Franklin's stupid quip about how he would try her tips with his next wife. When she reached the door labeled "Arthur Fleck," she didn't knock before opening it.

"Y/N..." Arthur sprang up from his chair and went to her, taking her hand in his. "I was afraid you wouldn't make it."

Smiling, she leaned back against the door and exhaled sharply. "I'm sorry," she said, giggling, trying to expel the stress in her body. "There were a lot of stairs. But, thanks to you, I did it." She laughed lightly, and started rummaging in her purse. "It's out of my hands now. Here," she said, pulling out a black-eyed Susan. She stuck it in his jacket pocket and gave it a light pat. Then she took a few seconds to look him over, appreciating how his suit accentuated the lankiness of his physique. "You look great. Are you nervous?"

The corner of his mouth crooked uncertainly as he angled his head to look down at the flower. "A little. But you're here." He gave a small shrug. "Maybe everything will be okay."

She only had a few moments to tighten his red and gold tie before a producer came to get him. The peck she gave Arthur was quicker than she would have liked, but he was already half out the door. With a grasp of his hand, she was able to stop him for a split second. "Be yourself and don't let them mock you."

~~~~~

Arthur closed his eyes as he waited behind the curtain to go on stage, a hint of ire joining the strains of anxious excitement in his frame. They were playing that terrible Pogo's tape again, and Murray was telling Dr. Sally he thought Arthur had problems. He needed to focus in order to do the entrance he'd practiced.

He stretched an arm in front of him, then circled his closed fists, one over the other, until an open hand was held over his head as he breathed out. Then he extended his arms, one in front of him and one back, as far as he could, before bringing his hand back to smooth down his chest and stomach. Arthur could sense the producer next to him staring his way as he performed his strange ballet, then stepping back from him. But Arthur didn't care. The movements would soothe and, he hoped, center him enough so he could get out onto that stage and say what wanted.

As the multi-color curtain was opened for him, he was struck by how blinding and hot the stage lights were. And the spotlight was a hell of a lot brighter than the one at Pogo's. Still, he stepped out with polish, gave the audience a confident nod and wave, and went to Murray's desk. After firmly shaking Murray's hand, he approached Dr. Sally. Compelling himself to be brave, he took her offered hand, kissed her cheek sweetly, and whispered a soft, "Thanks." She looked a bit confused, but he thought he detected amusement, too. Then he wiped off the yellow chair next to Murray's desk and sat down, adjusting himself and crossing his legs, his hands folded neatly in his lap.

His breath caught as he looked up into the audience. This was it. This was real. This was the culmination of a dream. There were hundreds of people sitting there, cheering for and seeing him. And there were even more at home watching him on television. His lips parted as his gaze roved over the crowd. He'd barely heard Murray speaking when his question broke through the haze he was in, "Are you all right?"

"Yeah," Arthur said quietly, nodding. "This is exactly how I imagined it."

"Well, that makes once of us," Murray quipped.

That and the audience's laughter brought Arthur back. He forced himself to smile and remember he wasn't there only as a guest. But also as a prop.

"So," Murray started. "I know you're a comedian. You live here in Gotham. Backstage you said you grew up watching this show with your mother?"

Turning to him, Arthur nodded, loosening his shoulders, trying to be self-assured. "That's right, Murray."

Murray gestured towards the camera almost directly in front of them. "Is she watching tonight? Do you want to say hi?"

Arthur knew greeting his mother would be the usual thing to do. But, apart from brief asides, he hadn't been able to think about Penny without angrily tearing up. He clenched his jaw and waved the suggestion away. "No."

After a pause, Murray continued. "Well, have you been working on any new material? You wanna tell us a joke?"

The throng in the studio roared, applause filling Arthur's ears. He didn't answer immediately, reveling in their attention. "Yeah?" he asked them, his beam becoming genuine. His throat clenched as he straightened his legs and put his hands on his knee. It was hard to believe, but they actually seemed to want to listen to him. "Okay." Flashing Murray a grin, he pulled his journal from the waistband of the back of his trousers.

Murray started in on Arthur as he soon as he began flipping through the pages. "He's got a book. A book of jokes." As Arthur searched, Murray continued to badger. "Take your time. We've got all night."

Arthur gave Murray side-eye and chuckled to himself as he found what he was looking for. "Okay, okay. Here's one." He swallowed, then took a deep breath. "Knock knock"

Murray pointed at the book. "And you had to look that up?"

At the sound of everyone laughing at him, Arthur’s face became serious. Murray was already making the effort to be mean to him. Arthur looked at Murray's co-host, seated next to Dr. Sally on the couch. His guffaws were the loudest. "I wanna get it right," Arthur said earnestly. "Knock knock."

"Who's there?" Murray answered exaggeratedly.

"It's the police, ma'am. Your son jumped off of Wayne Tower." Arthur started to snicker. "He's dead."

"Oh, no, no, no." Dr. Sally rounded on him as the audience groaned. "No. You cannot joke about that!"

Murray sounded annoyed. "Yeah, that's not funny, Arthur." He tapped his cue cards against his desk, addressing the crowd as he admonished him. "That's not the kind of humor we do on this show."

"Okay. I'm-" Nodding furiously, Arthur continued. "Yeah, I'm sorry. It's just, you know..." He tightened his mouth. "It's been a rough few days, Murray." Sniffling, he tried to smile though the pain welling in him. "My mother having a stroke, finding out I was abused as a kid, trying to meet my father."

Murray pressed his lips together before seemingly deciding to try to save the segment. "It sounds like you had a tough week." Arthur flinched when Murray nudge his arm with his elbow. "Come on, tell us another wisecrack. But a family one, this time." he said, pasting on a showbiz smile.

Arthur rolled his eyes and closed his book. "Why is everyone so upset about my joke?" he asked.

Murray began to scold him. "Because that's too serious to kid about. People who would try that are sick. We should-"

"I've been that person," Arthur said, throwing his forearm down on his leg. "And if it was me dying on the sidewalk, you'd walk right over me." He drew his brows together, turning more fully in his seat. "You think it's funny to play my video, to invite me here to make fun of me, but I can't joke about what I know?"

There was disbelief in Murray's face, as if he couldn't believe Arthur was calling him on his bullshit. "That video got you here. On the biggest TV show in Gotham." The crowd cheered. They seemed to be taking Murray's side.

Fury grew in Arthur as they brushed off his words. "Comedy is subjective, Murray. Isn't that what they say?” Didn't the people of this city know the harm they'd caused him over the years? That tape had tormented him. And they didn’t even realize they were laughing because of his condition. “All of you," he said straight to the audience, "the system that knows so much, decides what's right or wrong. The same way you decide what's funny," he pointed at himself, "or not." Giggling, he indicated Murray.

Murray was looking over Arthur's shoulder as he spoke. "Look, Arthur, if you're not careful, we're going to have to stop this interview."

Arthur felt like he was being ignored, again. They thought what he had to say wasn't worth the air it took to speak it. He tried to take a deep breath, reminding himself Y/N was watching backstage. That he could finally look forward to the weeks ahead because, at last, someone loved him.

But as much as her affection had improved his life, helped him get through every day, it wasn't enough to erase his hurt and anger. And now that he had this platform and was being seen, now that he'd opened his mouth, he couldn't stop talking. His volume rose as he continued. "Have you seen what it's like out there, Mur-ray? Do you ever actually leave the studio? I've been in enough observation rooms to make a few observations."

The wetness in his eyes distracted him for only a moment before he continued. "Nobody’s civil anymore!” he yelled. But then his voice got quiet, cracking on his next words. “Nobody thinks what it's like to be the other guy."

He thought of the possibility of being thrown out of his apartment, and Mr. Wayne socking him in the face when all he wanted to do was talk. "You think men like Thomas Wayne ever think what it's like to be someone like me? To be somebody but themselves? They don't. They just think we'll sit there and take it."

Murray scoffed at him. "There's so much self-pity, Arthur. I'll tell you-"

"And you're awful, Murray."

“Me? I’m awful?” Murray sounded incensed. “Oh, yeah? How am I awful?”

The skin of Arthur's chin trembled as he tried to hold himself together. "I never had a father growing up. I always wished he was you. I loved you. But you're just like the rest of 'em."

Murray folded his arms and leaned on his desk, narrowing his eyes at him. “You don’t know the first thing about me, pal. I invited you on here and all you're doing is insulting me.”

Arthur swallowed and looked up at the ceiling, pressing his lips together. "How about another joke, Mur-ray?"

"I think we've heard enough of your jokes," Murray said sternly.

If he was about to get kicked off, Arthur wanted to end with a zinger. "What's the worst part of having a mental illness?" he started, feeling tears start despite his efforts to hold them back.

Murray nodded towards someone in the back. "Gene, cut to commerci-"

Arthur interrupted, his voice breaking. "People expect you to behave as if you don't."

It got quiet, then. Arthur decided no one knew how to respond to the reality in the joke he'd just told. As the silence from the audience, the other guests, and Murray lingered, he started chuckling. He placed his hand on the arm of the chair and squeezed, wiping at his eyes with the heel of his palm as his body shook and he bent forward with laughter.

After a minute, he heard the click of high-heels approaching. When Y/N knelt in front of him, he met her gaze and let out a breath of relief. "Y/N," he said, swiping at his nose. She'd put her hand on his knee. He reached to cover it with his fingers, holding tight. "You're still here," he whispered.

The corner of her mouth quirked up as she nodded, her eyes rimmed red. She squeezed gently as she addressed him with a shaky voice. "Let's go home."

Tag list (Let me know if you want to be added!): @harmonioussolve @clowndaddyfleck @sweet-nothings04 @stephieraptorr @rommies@invisiblewispofwhimsey @let-the-stars-fall-in-the-abyss @gruffle1

#arthur fleck #arthur fleck fanfic #arthur fleck x reader #arthur fleck x ofc #arthur fleck x female reader #joker 2019 #watchwhathappens

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icarusthelunarguard · 4 years

Text

This Week’s Horrible-Scopes

Aries

Hey, Aries? We know how much you love pointless trivia, so here’s something for you. The My Little Pony movie that came out in 2017 was budgeted about Six And-a-Half Million US Dollars to make and earned about Ten Times that much back. Enter the Spider-Verse had a Ninety Million dollar budget and earned about four times that back. So there you go, Aries: Animated Movies about four-legged characters earn more than EIGHT-Legged ones. You’re welcome.

Taurus

All those times you asked to lick the beaters off the mixer were fun, but the chance of Salmonella was real. Every year there are about 1.3 Million Infections, 26 and-a-half thousand hospitalizations, and 420 deaths. In order to keep that from happening, you need to properly cook your eggs. So, do that before making cookies and you can lick the beaters with zero chance of salmonella poisoning.

Gemini

Enjoying your old records and tapes from college? Amazing to re-discover them and find out they’ve been covered again over the years, right? Marilyn Manson covering "Sweet Dreams (Are Made of This)" is one thing, but Pat Boone doing Van Halen’s “Panama” is… just… get ready to drink, heavily.

Cancer Moon-Child

“Your motto's always been, ‘When it's right, it's right.’ So why wait until the middle of a cold dark night? Rubbin' sticks and stones together make the sparks ignite and the thought of loving you is getting so exciting.’ (*Pause*) You thought it wouldn’t get back to us, didn’t you? Saying how we’re all “quacks”. That wasn’t your Horrible-Scope, that was the incantation to a curse! The next pair of pants you buy will be bell-bottoms!

Leo

All your So-Called ‘friends’ who say you have, “too much wine”... Yeah, what do THEY know? No one understands you better than the Yellow Tail Chardonnay you picked up. It’s Australian, it’s GOT to be good, right? It’s not going to let you down like that rat Eric, right? Or BILLY! SCREW YOU, BILLY! (*Sniffle..*) Just… screw you, Billy. I’ve got my Tail to drown you out, in.

Virgo

Chewing gum will save your life this week. Not the gum, specifically, but the electrically conductive wrapper. Yeah, you’ll get trapped in a vault with an electronic lock and need to use it to short out the system to escape. (No, this isn’t a complete rip off of an episode of MacGuyver! Shut up!)

Libra

Since you’re a natural liar, Libra, maybe there’s a line of work that will finally stick for you. No, not a politician! You’re not that much a cynic yet. What about a Public Relations Director? Try this on for size: Every Cloud Has A Silver Lining, But OUR Clouds Come In Custom-Delivered Mushroom Shapes With Strontium-90 Instead Of Silver! See? Just rolls off the tongue, right?

Scorpio

Remember that secret handshake you learned in Cub Scouts? The one where you grab the other person’s wrist with your index finger… the one supposedly to probe that you’re both scouts? Yeah, how many times did you ever use that? Besides that one time where you tried to use it in a job interview, that is. Don’t do that again.

Sagittarius

Your gas problem is not going unnoticed. That last tele-conference meeting you had when you farted and your icon lit up and your manager asked what you were trying to say….? Yeah, nice recovery. No one had any idea that you owned, “Barking Spiders”. Except for that one Sheila in Adelaide. She’s on to you.

Capricorn

Oh, you’re just itching for a way to piss people off this week, aren’t you? Well, here’s how you can do it. It’s going to involve a camera, a protractor, a straight edge, a sheet of blank white paper, and a pencil. Draw a straight baseline above the bottom of the paper. Now from the center, use the protractor to make an 89-degree angle, then draw the arc to go with it on the interior side. Post it to your social media accounts and label it with, “Something for all my OCD friends: a perfect 89-Degree Angel.” ENJOY!

Aquarius

AVAST, ye wahter bearers! ‘Tis Talk Like A Pirate Day on the 19th, but fer YEW? Ye cahn make it the WHOLE Week! G’won out der ‘n’ fondle de figur’ead while yer leanin’ o’re the bow ‘o’ the ship’s rail. If y’r’d chanced t’ take some motion sickness pills y’r’ve been holdin’ down lunch and y’r rum! At least there’s still next year.

Pisces

There’s an unexpected consequence to the medical isolations we’ve been having. Two words: Head Lice! Imagine you’re the head, pardon the pun, to the Bayer Group, the same company that makes ‘Bayer Aspirin’, and find out that lock-downs are happening. If you’re not marketing aspirin to parents who are putting up with kids ALL the time, you need to fire your marketing director. In YOUR case, Pisces, you hired your pet as Lead PR Manager, you can take that job away now.

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killervibe · 5 years

Note

“You make me happy.” 💛😍

Where The Heart Is

Caitlin gathered her hair at the base of her neck up in a high ponytail, flexing her elastic over her wrist to tie it up as she watched her boyfriend talk with the guys. She bent down, taping up the last of the maze of brown cardboard boxes, and now that there were no more curtains to filter through, sunlight went streaming down in harsh streaks from the left corner of her large window.

Caitlin squinted in spite of the glare, keeping her eyes on her work. They stripped the carpet yesterday so she was kneeling now on the horrifically dirty wooden flooring she was rather embarrassed to have been hiding for so many years. Her ripped jeans strained at her knees. Barry had stared at them in disbelief when she answered the door this morning when this all started. Iris smacked him in the chest, walking right past with her takeout breakfast containers and Jitters to go coffee trays, placing them on her lonely bare table in the middle of her otherwise empty kitchen.

“I’m allowed to wear holes in my pants,” Caitlin had said stiffly, though she was smiling because her best friends were right to be so surprised. The whole reason why she had them on was because she found them buried at the back of her closet when she finally got to the end of it with the price tag still attached. She’s half convinced it was a purchase made by Frost in her dark age. Top that with Caitlin dumbly realizing this morning that she left her suitcase with what she was planning to wear for the next week at Star Labs to avoid mix-ups, and this job was a lot more labour intensive than she thought. Her cute white chinos she had originally picked out weren’t going to cut it.

Anyway, Caitlin grabbed the big black sharpie and wrote on the masking tape that this was her last box of photo albums and trinkets from her parents she had neatly tucked away in a drawer beside her living room couch. Cisco was with that couch now. They were throwing it away, deeming it unsalvageable. Barry bled on it too much to warrant keeping it, even with the plastic wrapping Caitlin had the wise urge to cover it with after 2016.

Wally zipped in twice, wiping his brow. “Cisco’s place is almost done, but the pool table, sheesh. What do you want me to do with that?”

Cisco waved him off. “Leave that for last.” Caitlin licked her lips, eyes falling to his arms in his rolled up sleeves, unable to help herself as his muscles strained, opening a breach in the wide empty space.

See, moving day was actually a lot less work when you had a breacher, two speedsters, and a friend with very flexible long arms.

“Babe,” Cisco said. “A hand please?”

Caitlin nodded, standing up, directing Ralph and Barry into the dimensional vortex that lead to the alleyway outside.

“So,” Iris smirked, sitting down on the floor against her wall, next to the plugged in fan blasting a barely there breeze into her apartment. She shook her iced tea. “You thirsty?”

Caitlin raised an eyebrow. “…For Jitters?”

Iris snorted. Cisco popped back out the breach, took two boxes in his arms, and blew the bangs out of his eyes. His hair was neatly tucked back in a low bun, but his front pieces stayed loose because he was stylish like that. Caitlin watched as he took her silverware and walked right back out of the dimension to their new home.

“Nuh uh, girl. For that.”

Caitlin blushed toying with her necklace.

“Somebody’s new bed is getting christened tonight, is all I’m saying.”

Okay so Cisco was being very attractive right now, Caitlin was not about to deny that. He always was and he was her boyfriend so it’s not like there was anything problematic with that.

Except maybe that Iris had a point. Caitlin and Cisco had a tremendous amount of work to do before sunset to get settled in their new home and Caitlin was spending more time staring at his sweaty tousled HGTV transformation than her own fragiles. He kept sending her excited smiles because today was finally the day they’d get to sleep under one roof and call it their own, both of their names on the lease, with amenities that promise a long future like the four bedrooms (a workspace for each of them and maybe that last one for a little kid to grow up in…) the remodelled kitchen and frost durable insolation.

And she could feel the excitement bubbling in his veins at that idea because she had it too. The thought that they’d get to have that together, so she was feeling all kinds of emotions, but the strongest one hit her whenever Cisco came back with a confident grin wearing less layers on than the trip before.

“Can you please not bring up Cisco and Caitlin in bed? I just had to move it.”

Caitlin turned around, sticking her hands on her hips at Wally. “After all those times I caught you with Jesse in my Med Bay? You realize I have to sterilize everything right? Including the sheets?”

Wally flushed, scratching his head. “—I think I’m gonna—That pool table sure is—Yeah.” He sped off.

Caitlin reached forward, rolling her eyes fondly, giving Iris a hand. She took it gratefully, and Caitlin asked how Iris was doing in her second trimester.

~.~

Late into the afternoon, Cisco took her hand, lacing their fingers. “You tired?”

Caitlin shrugged. Not really, but she wasn’t the one who opened a good 200 breaches today. “Are you?”

He nodded, but his eyes were aglow. “I’m thinking we should try the new place down the street?”

“Which one?” she asked, tracing patterns into his skin with her thumb. She just liked seeing him bounce around.

“The korean one next to the grocery store.”

“Oh! I saw that one with Iris!. It did look good.”

“I’ll order it then,” Cisco said, pulling up the menu on his phone.

Caitlin looked out the window, unaccustomed to this new view. They were several stories high, like her old apartment, but they were facing a completely different part of Central City than she was used to. They were more closer to the edge of the city, which sounded like a nuisance but was actually a lot closer to Star Labs, and safer too. Metahumans loved to strike downtown, the insurance policies were getting ridiculous, so they decided to just ignore that hassle altogether. The area, too, was more residential. There was an urban park a few blocks down as well as public schools. She wondered if she’d be able to see yellow school buses making their way through traffic when making breakfast in the mornings.

Cisco listed off dishes from his phone. They both picked what they were in the mood for, and Cisco placed the order, fumbling for half a second when asked for the address. Caitlin laughed, shaking her head.

“I was thinking we’d start unpacking after dinner?”

“Can’t we ask Barry and Wally to do it for us?”

Cisco scoffed, using a pair of scissors to rip open a box labelled Dining. “And ruin all the fun? Think of all the bonding. The memories we’ll share tomorrow when we can’t find the spoons! The fights about our packing codes. Debating whose lamps get to go where? It’s iconic, Caitlin. These next three weeks of adjustment are pivotal.”

Caitlin leaned against the wall, feeling a little lovesick. “I never even owned any lamps to begin with. All my lamps were borrowed from you, weirdo.”

Cisco stuck out his tongue, digging into the box for the plastic plates. “If we can get the bedroom done by tonight, that’ll make me happy.”

“You make me happy.”

Cisco put down the plastic wrapper on their brand new island counter, giving her some side eye, amused. “You okay?”

Caitlin laughed and staked her claim, unable to keep her hands to herself anymore.

“Usually you’re the one to go all drill sergeant about organization. Especially—When—Mmph! Oh! Okay!”

Cisco kissed her back happily against the counter. She pulled away to tuck a flyaway hair from his nose, and he drew her back. Cisco kissed her slow and sensual, and she felt the sweat at the back of his neck, so she lowered the temperature of the palm of her hand to cool him down.

He whimpered in her mouth when she did that, pulling her even closer and sighing until he stopped to ask, “Is the fact that I’m speaking your language turning you on or is it the heat?”

Caitlin opened her eyes, running her tongue over her wet bottom lip, and deliberately held onto his bare arms, tugging off his button down completely so he was left in his tank top.

“Neither. It’s our first day in our home together. I can’t stop thinking about us and you’re making it very hard for me to keep my hands off you,” she explained, scratching her frosty nails lightly against his overheated skin.

Cisco blew more hair out of his face, not buying her whole story. “Not that I’m complaining but why?”

“Because that!” she exclaimed, pointing at his entire look. The damn stubble, the sexy hair, his everything. “That’s why!”

Cisco looked down at himself, wrinkling his nose, probably thinking that he needed a shower. Caitlin would not protest to that. If she joined him. “Ooooh. I see. You like my Manual Labour & Sweat & Grind & Tears chic. Really?”

“It’s not just the look,” Caitlin corrected. “I am also very much in love with you.”

Cisco gave her a shy smile. “Sometimes hearing you say that is still like a dream to me.”

Caitlin laughed softly and Cisco took her hand and brought her close, then twirled her around in a dance between the cardboard boxes and unplugged kitchen appliances.

Iris walked into the kitchen, a hand over her stomach. “Did one of you two order Korean BBQ? If yes, can I have some?”

She was kind to ignore their dorkiness as Caitlin looked up at her friend upside down. Cisco brought her up from his dip. “I thought you guys already ordered pizza from Keystone?”

Iris shrugged. “The boys ate it all. But the delivery guy is still waiting so…”

“Right!” Caitlin straightened up, dusting imaginary dirt off on her ripped jeans. “That was fast.”

They went to get their food, and dished it out on the plastic plates, but couldn’t find any forks. Cisco laughed as he opened more boxes, and Iris ate some of Caitlin’s meal with her hands.

~.~

Afternoon turned into evening, and by night their friends were gone. Their home was furnished with all the big things like tables and chairs, couches, desks and Cisco’s computer monitors (“because it’s important Caitlin, no it can’t wait until tomorrow—What like you had to have your stethoscope out today too. Mhmm— Exaaaactlyyyyy”), big kitchen necessities and yes, the pool table. Cisco was happy, because they didn’t finish their bedroom, but there were only eight boxes remaining, so they called it a win.

Now Caitlin stared at their new bed, thinking about what Iris said earlier that day.

“What?” Cisco joked, with his toothbrush in his mouth in the en suite bathroom. He had already showered and finally shaved off his Moving Week Stress Scruff. Caitlin tried her best not to be too disappointed. “Monsters under there? Already?” He spat out his toothpaste and rinsed his mouth before coming up beside her.

“It’s a big bed,” Caitlin said.

“Very big,” Cisco agreed huskily. “Like you wanted.”

“Uh huh.”

He trailed his hand along her neck, travelling down her shoulder, flicking her hair over to the side. “You, uh, got any plans with it?”

“Uh huh,” Caitlin said again, breathily.

Cisco smiled into her hair then kissed her pulse point, slipping down the strap of her weightless silky nightgown. “Mmm. Like what?”

“Falling asleep next to you, and waking up next to you in it everyday?”

“Great plan,” he agreed.

Caitlin turned to him with a slow spreading sly smile, and put her hands on his chest. She changed the tone of her voice to match her come-hither look. “But right now…how about breaking it in?”

Cisco pushed her garment down with his hands on her hips until it fell to the floor at her feet.

#the flash #Caitlin Snow #flash fic #Cisco Ramon #killervibe #fluff #tkv fic

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pickalilywrites · 5 years

Note

Christmas requests are finally open!! A secret Santa contest!! The first half about the 104th, and the other half about the senior members of the Scouts! This should be interesting!

…i cheated >///here!

The Best Santa

104th Trainee Corps. Scouting Legion. Canonverse.

3936 words.

Buy me a ko-fi!

“Secret Santa! Secret Santa!” Connie and Sasha chant. They’ve been repeating this over and over again for the past fifteen minutes. It was supposed to be a cheerful shout, a little funny even, but the two grew tired of chanting it in the same way and tried out different methods of saying the words - speeding them up or slowing them down, saying them in a higher pitch, singing them, belching them – until they finally decided that reciting the words ominously in a low tone was the best way to announce this annual Christmas event for the cadets. “Secret Santa! Secret Santa!” “Why are we doing this again?” Armin asks miserably, remembering what happened last year when they had held this very same event. It seems that he doesn’t oppose it too much though because he’s also placed a gift for someone in the middle of the circle of trainees. He fidgets nervously as he takes his seat next to Mikasa. “It didn’t go too well last year…” “Well, maybe it’ll be better this year,” Mikasa says, patting her friend on the knee. Unlike most of the other participants from last year, Mikasa was actually fortunate to get a nice present – a portrait of her done in charcoal – while others either got ripped up shirts or rocks. (Reiner actually didn’t seem too upset about receiving the latter.)

“I sure hope so,” Eren mutters. He had unfortunately been the one to receive one of Ymir’s old shirts as his Secret Santa gift. He leans forward, clapping to get everyone’s attention. “Alright, everyone. This year’s a Secret Santa contest, so we’re keeping the identities a secret until all the presents are opened, got it?” He glares especially hard at Jean.

“Just hurry up and let’s open presents,” Jean says, shooting back at Eren with a glare of his own. “Pick one, pick one!” Sasha says, forgetting about her previous chant with Connie. She points excitedly at a random package in the pile. Of course, she chooses the one right in the middle instead of one near the top like a sensible person. When she plucks it out of the pile, many of the presents come tumbling down, but Sasha only shrugs it off with a quick “oops!” She holds the present out for all to see and reads out the label. “To Annie.” “Open it, Annie!” Reiner says, clapping Annie on the back. “Don’t touch me,” Annie growls at him. She takes his hand off her back and glares at him before going to collect her present. She tears off the wrapping paper in one easy movement, not even bothering to rip off the paper that was still sticking to the side of the box. When she takes off the lid, she finds a straw hat inside with a wide rim. It’s difficult to tell what she thinks of it as she holds it out, looking at it from different angles. She finally puts it on, but she doesn’t say anything. “Do…do you like it, Annie?” Eren asks hesitantly. He doesn’t dare look at Thomas, who is sitting across from him and shaking like a leaf. Even though this is supposed to be anonymous, he’s sure that everyone knows that Thomas has yet again drawn Annie’s name for Secret Santa. The poor guy must be terrified after what happened last year. After what happened the last time, Eren was sure that Thomas would have dropped out of the game like Hannah and Fritz had, but it seems that the guy is a little braver than Eren had thought. “I think it looks cute,” Mina says. “Does it?” Annie says with a frown, but she doesn’t exactly look displeased. She touches the rim of the hat with her fingertips, flexing it up and down. The hat seems to have passed an unknown test of sorts because Annie nods and sits down. When Thomas gives a sigh of relief, everyone pretends not to notice. “Next one!” Sasha says, prancing around the gifts. She kicks the discarded box and gift wrap from Annie’s present out of the way before choosing another present. She presents them all with a small package. “This one’s for you, Jean!” “Oh!” Jean says, hurrying up to get his gift. It’s quite a bit smaller than Annie’s box, so it takes him even less time to unwrap. He crumples up the wrapping paper, shoving it in his pocket to throw away later, and opens the box. He lifts out a set of pens and pencils, perfect for drawing. Surprised, Jean raises his eyebrows and looks around for the possible giver but finds no obvious suspect. “Thanks a lot…whoever. It’s really great.” “Okay, we know you like it a lot, now shoo,” Sasha says, waving him out of the circle. She pulls out another present, one that had fallen near her foot, and reads, “Reiner.” She looks over to where he’s sitting and her face lights up as she holds out the gift to him. “Reiner! Here you go!” “Thank you, thank you!” Reiner says, standing up to receive the present. He even does a bow as if he’s accepting an award of honor. He’s overly extravagant as he tears off the paper, doing everything with a flourish, and peels off each strip one by one. Even though Sasha had been telling everyone to hurry so they could open all the gifts more quickly, she laughs along with Connie as Reiner throws up the ripped up wrapping paper like confetti. He finally finishes unwrapping everything to reveal a rather ratty box underneath. He furrows his brow as opens the box, pulling out a pair of jeans that are nothing close to Reiner’s size and definitely meant for a girl. Not only that, but it’s apparent from the worn-out fringe on the bottom that they’ve been worn many times before. Eren knows who the giver is and, like everyone else, looks over at Ymir with a frown. The girl seems quite proud of herself this year even though it’s hardly a step up from what she had given him last year for Secret Santa. Poor Reiner. “I know who gave this to me,” Reiner growls. He turns to Ymir and his dark expression is enough to startle everyone sitting near her. It looks almost as if he might yell at her until his face breaks out into a smile and he bellows, “Ymir! I’m going to look even better in these jeans than you did!” “Ha! Keep dreaming, you bastard,” Ymir laughs. She throws an arm around Krista and smirks at Reiner. “You’ll never look good enough to steal my girl!” “We’ll see about that! How about I try these on right now?” Reiner asks. He moves to unzip his jeans, and most of the girls shriek while many of the guys laugh, but he stops and grins. “Nah, I’m just kidding.” “Good, because no one wants to see that,” Connie jokes. He enters the circle to come help Sasha hand out presents. He takes a present that Sasha hands him and announces the next person’s name. “Marco, this one is for you.” Marco is one of those people who carefully unwraps gifts, slowly and patiently like Jean, and it’s almost maddening to watch him unravel the gift wrap from the box. It’s even worse because whoever had given him his gift has taken care to wrap it so prettily – brown wrapping paper stamped with an assortment of snowflakes, a ribbon lovingly tied around it, and a beautiful tag with his name in cursive – making Marco all the more hesitant to ruin the packaging more than he has to. When he finally opens it, everyone sighs, glad that they’ll be able to move on to the next gift recipient soon. “Hair gel,” Marco says, quite impressed with the little tin he holds out for everyone to see. He looks around the circle, a smile on his face. “Thanks, I’ve been thinking of doing my hair,” he says, running a hand through his black locks. He’s so busy smiling to himself as he sits down that he doesn’t see Krista’s pleased smile. “Thomas is next,” Sasha says, tossing a small package at Thomas. She throws it too quickly for him to react though and it hits him in the face. She winces. “That was my bad.” “It’s alright,” Thomas says, although he’s still rubbing at the place his present had hit him in the head. He tries to distract himself from the pain by unwrapping the present, which he does with only a clean tear of the wrapping paper. Underneath the paper is a handkerchief with his initials embroidered in the corner. “That’s great!” Connie says with a snicker. “You can use it to clean up any wounds that Sasha gives you in the future.” He yelps when Sasha reaches out to pinch his ear. “Moving on,” Sasha says. She holds up another gift, larger than the last, and reads the tag. “Ymir, this one’s yours.” “Nice! Bring it over,” Ymir says, rubbing her hands together. She reaches out to take the present from Sasha and grins. “I wonder what this could be?” “Just open it already!” Connie says.Ymir does just that, but she makes sure to flip Connie off first before ripping off the ribbon. She’s a little more careful with the bow, which she sticks on Krista’s head, but she’s a little more reckless with the rest of the unwrapping, even squeezing the box a little bit as she tries to rip off the tape that holds it together. Once she finally gets past the tissue paper inside the box, she pulls out a pair of new jeans. “Oh, this is great!” Ymir says. She looks over at Reiner. “Much better than the ones that I gave Reiner.” “Want to trade?” Reiner asks, holding out the ripped pair that he had received from Ymir earlier, but she only sticks her tongue out at him. “Mikasa, this one’s yours!” Connie says. He throws the gift at her – it’s only small and fits in the palm of his hand – and unlike Thomas she catches it easily. “Thank you,” Mikasa mumbles. She’s neat when unwrapping too, but she’s much faster than Jean and Marco were. It only takes a few seconds to get down to the package, a small box that looks as though it holds a piece of jewelry. She opens the box and her eyes widen when she sees what’s inside. “It’s pretty,” she says, taking out a purple brooch shaped like flowers. She pins it onto her scarf and the color contrasts nicely with the vibrant red muffler. “Great,” Connie says with a huge grin. “It looks great on you too!” “Mina, this one is for you,” Sasha says, walking over to drop off a package in Mina’s lap. She’s a little more careful to make sure that it doesn’t fall on Mina’s head. “Thanks,” Mina says with a smile. The wrapping paper falls to the ground in strips – they’re amazingly even, Armin notes – until all that’s left is a white box. When she manages to peel off the tape, she opens it and digs her hand into shreds of newspaper to find different hair accessories – headbands, hair ties, and different kinds of pins. “Oh, these are cute!” “And I bet they’re going to look cute on you!” Sasha says, but she’s looking at the dwindling pile of presents and deciding which one to select next. She picks one from the bottom and holds it out to Connie after reading the messy writing scrawled in pen on the side because the giver hadn’t bothered to put on a tag. “Yours, Connie!” “Thank you, thank you,” Connie says, nodding as he takes the present. He tears off the plain wrapping paper, letting it fall to the floor where Marco picks it up and throws it atop the pile of garbage he’s been collecting to throw away later. Connie grins as he pulls out a pair of clippers. “Awesome! I’ve been needing these.” “Why? It’s not as if you have hair,” Ymir snickers. “Hey, this hairstyle is a lot harder to maintain than you might think!” Connie says defensively, clutching the clippers close to his chest. “Bertholdt,” Sasha says in a singsong voice. She prances on over, holding out a package for him. “This one’s for you!” “Oh, thank you!” Bertholdt says, surprised. His present isn’t intricately wrapped, so he’s able to unwrap it without much trouble. He raises his eyebrows when he finds a black turtleneck sweater inside. It’s woolen and soft to the touch. It looks like it’ll be a perfect fit when he holds it up to his body. “This is amazing!” “We can model our presents together later, Bertholdt,” Reiner chuckles as he elbows his friend. “Armin, catch!” Connie says, throwing a present Armin’s way. “Ah!” Armin says, raising his arms to shield himself, but it’s Mikasa who catches the present for him. “Thanks,” he says sheepishly, taking the package from her when she hands it to him. From the size and shape of it, it looks like a book. He wonders if it’ll be a book he’s never read before, but he tears off the wrapping paper and sees that the cover is blank. When he opens the cover and flips through the pages, he sees there’s nothing written inside. “A notebook!” Armin says with a smile. “Amazing. I’m sure I’ll have a lot to write in here, especially once we graduate.” “Krista’s turn!” Sasha says. Her enthusiasm has grown again now that they’re down to the last three gifts. She throws the tiny box – a red package with a golden ribbon tied around it – at Krista. “Open it!” “Okay,” Krista laughs. She’s so busy unwrapping that she doesn’t notice the glare that Ymir is giving everyone, trying to find out if the gift giver is trying to pull a move on her beloved Krista with this gift. Ymir glares especially hard at Eren, but Krista doesn’t see any of it. The petite blonde smiles when she unravels the golden ribbon and lifts the lid from the box. She pulls out a hairpin from inside, holding it up for everyone to see. It’s a pretty white pin shaped like a rose, a sparkling gem at its center. “It’s lovely!” she says. “It is,” Ymir admits grudgingly, and Connie can’t help but snicker at the freckled girl’s sour expression. “Eren, this is yours,” Connie says, fighting through a fit of giggles. He hands the penultimate gift to Eren. “Thanks,” Eren says. He puts the gift in his lap and tears off the wrapping paper in patches which Armin collects and hands to Marco. There’s a thick book underneath all the paper and Eren squints as he reads the title. “The Complete History of the Military: The Military Police, the Garrison, and the Scouting Legion.” Only one person would have thought to give him such a gift, but Eren tries to avoid looking at Armin anyway. He smiles all around the circle. “Thanks! I’ll read it well.” “And now for mine!” Sasha says, eagerly bringing the last gift. It’s a large box wrapped in scarlet red paper stamped with golden snowflakes. She rubs her hands together, a giddy grin on her face. “Hey, you did that on purpose, didn’t you?” Connie says with a frown, regretting that he hadn’t thought of that first.“Of course!” Sasha says, ripping off the paper enthusiastically. “We have to save the best for laugh, don’t we?” Her eyes gleam hungrily when she manages to reach the box – a glossy white surface peeking out from underneath the paper – and she doesn’t hesitate to tear off the rest of the paper. She squeals when she unwraps the entire box, opening up the lid to look at the assortment of chocolates inside. “Sasha, you’re drooling,” Connie tells her. “Whoever gave me this box of chocolates,” Sasha says, tearing her eyes from the sweets and looking around the room, “you’ve won this year’s Secret Santa!” “Hey, I thought I did pretty well!” Ymir says. “You gave Reiner a ratty pair of jeans,” Connie scoffs. “What about me? I gave Mina those hair things,” Jean says, a hand raised up to mimic tying up his hair. “She really liked them, didn’t she?” “Oh, thanks, Jean,” Mina says, but her words are drowned out by the voices of others arguing about who had given the best present. Armin and Mikasa watch as their comrades argue their case, explaining why they should be considered the winner even though there isn’t even a prize, and Mikasa looks over at Armin, fiddling with the pin on her scarf. “Do you think Christmas is like this in the Scouting Legion too?” “I hope not,” Armin says with a shudder.

Levi usually dislikes the annual Christmas party, so he was pleasantly surprised when he never heard a word about it this year…until he realized that it might be because Erwin and Hanji were planning him a secret birthday party. He tried his best to find out if that was the case, eavesdropping on his squad’s conversations with each other while he lurked around the corner and casually slipping in questions about holiday plans with Hanji and her team. Not a peep came from them though, and he was surprised when Christmas rolled around and his squad casually invited him to the annual holiday party with the rest of the Scouting Legion. “But you don’t have to come if you don’t want to,” Petra says a little to hastily, glancing at her comrades. She looks nervous, and Levi narrows her eyes at her. It’s strange. Usually, they have to drag him to the holiday party, but it’s as if they don’t want him to come this year. He should be ecstatic that he doesn’t have to go, but the fact that they don’t want him there…it’s suspicious. He stands up straight with his hands folded across his chest, looking at all of them carefully to observe their expressions. “I’m going,” he finally says. “Alright,” Eld says with a shrug, turning around so that they can be on their way. This reaction of his – so indifferent – is strange to Levi too. The rest of Eld’s friends act the same way, walking alongside Levi without so much as a comment about how their captain has decided to join the holiday party without protest. The party is more like a social gathering than a celebration. Soldiers are out of uniform, chatting casually to each other. The older members drink, but no one is excessively or embarrassingly drunk yet. The music isn’t too loud and the decorations aren’t too flashy. Levi admits that this is the type of party he prefers, but it’s unsettling to see a Scouting Legion celebration where nothing is threatening to burst into flames. Stranger still is the fact that no one has bothered to wish him a happy birthday, not even his own team. They had only mentioned the Christmas party. When he had arrived, the guests had only uttered a polite greeting to him and his squad, but no one mentioned his birthday except Hanji, who quietly congratulated him on living another year and wishing him many more birthdays to come. It’s not that he wants people to crowd around him and cheer for him, but he can’t remember one time where they hadn’t made his birthday a bigger deal than he wanted it to be. “Secret Santa time!” Hanji says, clapping their hands after most people have finished their dinner. They don’t even wait for Levi as they rise from their seat, walking over to the tree where the presents are. “No one told me we were doing that,” Levi says, a little miffed. He doesn’t even enjoy such traditions, but it annoys him that they would leave him out. First the party, then hardly a mention about his birthday, and now this. This is some first-class holiday bullshit is what it is. “We didn’t think you’d be interested, Captain,” Auruo says, moving behind Levi’s chair to join Hanji and the others that are gathering around the tree. “You never seemed to enjoy these kinds of games before, Captain,” Gunter adds. It’s true, but Levi dislikes being left out anyway. He grits his teeth, trying his best not to scowl but failing miserably. “So what am I supposed to do? Just watch you guys open each other’s presents?” he asks a little sullenly. “Why don’t you read the names off the gifts and give them to everyone, Levi?” Erwin suggests. He gestures for Levi to join them by the tree. “We’re also doing a contest this year, so you can choose who gave the best present.” He dislikes the idea of giving away presents and receiving none, but he hates the thought of sitting alone at the table and watching everyone else have fun without him so he drags his feet until plopping himself down in front of the mountain of presents. He reaches for one near his foot, but he knits his brow when he reads the label. Thinking it’s a mistake, he sets it aside and reaches for another one, but he finds himself with the same problem. He takes a look at a couple of other tags on the presents around him and asks, “Why do these all have my name on them?” His comrades smile mischievously as they exchange looks. They all turn back to Levi and chorus, “Happy birthday, Levi!” It takes him a moment to realize what’s happening. He’s very rarely embarrassed, but this is one of the few moments where he finds himself at a loss for words. He holds the present in his hands. “These are all for me?” he asks quietly. He feels a bit guilty for being so suspicious of all of them and thinking they had forgotten all about his birthday, but no one seems to mind. “Yup!” Hanji says happily. They grin and points a thumb proudly at their chest. “It was all my idea!” A few people grumble, and Hanji laughs sheepishly. “Well, the others helped a lot too.” “We were going to keep it to just a few presents, but a lot of us wanted to give you something, Captain,” Petra tells him with a smile. “It’s probably a lot more than you’d like, but we’ll leave you to open them on your own,” Erwin says, putting a hand on Levi’s shoulder. “We know you don’t like to make a fuss about your birthday.” Normally, he doesn’t, but this time he doesn’t mind. In fact, he can’t imagine opening all these presents by himself. They’ve even made an effort to keep this all a secret until now just for him. The party was also pleasantly calm, possibly the most enjoyable holiday party he’s been to so far, and he’s sure that that wasn’t just by coincidence. “Why don’t we all just…celebrate a little more,” Levi says, fiddling with the ribbon on his gift. “We’re already here, and there’s still a lot more food left.” Everyone is so surprised that the room is quiet for a moment before Hanji breaks the silence. Throwing their arms around Levi, they let out a whoop and cheer, “Happy birthday, Levi! Aren’t we the best Santas?” He can hardly breathe because their arms are wrapped him too tightly, but for once he doesn’t grumble and try to push them away. “You’re pretty good,” he admits.

#104th #snk #canonverse #Levi Ackerman #scouting legion #requests #asks #answered #anon #anonymous #i'm not tagging everyone #it'll take too long lol

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rockinthebeastmode · 6 years

Text

Sleuth

A/N: I finished this sooner than expected--thank god for mega monsters, amirite? I hope you all enjoy this one, especially since I haven’t really written Archie before. I probably didn’t do him justice but eh, whatcha gonna do? I must warn you, this is also very self-indulgent as I’ve forced in a couple OCs (you might recognize them from my very first fic posted and never finished) and I strongly encourage you not to read it bc its literally the worst 😅😂 I came up with this eons ago and its actually based off prompt #6 from this list

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Sleuth

“Gooooood morning, Stamford, you’re listening to the one and only No Crap FM this fine Sunday and--”

Archie’s hand reached out and slammed down on the clock radio next to the bed, cutting Rae off mid-sentence. He was a huge fan of her and Finn’s station any other day of the week but her cheeriness this early was too much to take. He felt like someone had taken a piss on his soul. Why did people even have alarm clocks? With today’s technology?

His eyes shot open at the thought, glaring curiously at the offending electronic. He didn’t have a bloody radio clock. His head pounded at the onslaught of light from the window and he groaned, throwing an arm over his face. He took a few deep breaths, trying to calm his fluttering gut, and gingerly patted the side table for his glasses.

“Oh, for fuck’s sake…” he muttered, squinting in the daylight at his crookedly fixed glasses, the middle held together by thick tape. He went to wipe the lenses with the duvet and acutely became aware of his nudity. Panic struck before his now clear eyes saw the ripped remains of condom wrappers strewn along the table and floor. He smirked, glancing down at the love bites and light scratches down his chest.

“Uncle Archie’s still got it,” he sighed with a stretch, glancing around the room.

He was in a small bedroom, sparsely furnished with just the bed with two tables, several moving boxes, and a large half-zipped suitcase with an American luggage tag. The table beside him where he’d found his glasses held a ripped box of condoms but his phone was nowhere to be found. The other table had a few guitar picks, a pack of cigarettes, and an ashtray with one still smoking faintly.

He spotted his clothes scattered on the floor between the bed and door. A bass guitar and case sat in the corner, a small amp and more picks beside it. One door was shut but another was cracked, a tile floor barely visible in the darkness. Archie stood and stretched again before gathering his clothes and warily pushing the cracked door fully open and flicking the light switch.

***

“This had better be good, Finley,” Rae warned her fiance, Archie nodding along.

“Too right, last time you dragged us to the Basement, it was nothing but nonsensical noise--”

“Leave off! They’re good, swear,” Finn argued, his arm going around Rae’s waist, “This is the one, babe, trust me.” Rae’s brows raised and she exchanged looks with Archie.

“D’ya hear that, Arch, he’s found the one. After five wedding band flops, he’s done it.”

“I’d thought it was six--” Finn cursed and stormed ahead of them into the club, Rae and Archie giggling behind him.

Archie’s lip curled as they entered, the acrid scent of sweat, booze and smoke coming over them like a wave. Archie followed Rae and Finn to the bar, looking around as they spoke to the bartender.

“These guys any good, Jonny?” Rae asked over the music booming from the speakers by the stage. He nodded with a half-shrug.

“They’ve only been in town a few weeks, the lead singer and drummer are from Leeds or some shit,” he waved a hand dismissively before leaning closer, “It’s the guitarists you gotta see--both American but they’re ace. And the bass player’s voice?” He swooned and Rae laughed before narrowing her eyes at Finn, his brows raising at her.

Archie looked at the stage and saw two men at the mic and drumset, performing sound checks, while a man and woman stood to the side, talking to each other. The girl was slight with choppy blond hair and an infectious grin. The boy was tall and broad around the shoulders, his black hair clipped short and neat. The girl seemed to be comforting the boy, her hand rubbing his bicep with him biting his lip and nodding. The two came towards the bar and his eyes left them, going back to Rae and Finn beside him.

“We’re here to find a band, not to help you pull,” Rae teased, elbowing him lightly. He shot her a glare.

“I’m not pulling tonight,” he countered, leaning on the bar, “The only reason I’m at this hole in the wall is to be the second opinion.” Finn shoved at his shoulder.

“Y’know, maybe I should’ve picked Chop as a best man,” he grumbled, Archie making a face at him.

“Shove it, you two, they’re about to start.”

As if on cue, the two at the bar took a shot each and made their way back to the stage. Archie watched them curiously as they picked up guitars, the boy flipping a pick in his hand before strumming a short bassline. He glanced over the crowd and met Archie’s eyes, his lips quirking. He smiled back, feeling his ears and cheeks start to burn. Their contact broke as the drummer tapped out a beat and started them off.

***

The air in the bathroom was still thick with warmth, a piney musk enveloping Archie as he stepped inside. On the back of the toilet was an embellished incense burner with a stick smoldering halfway down. Between the sink and toilet sat another ashtray, along with several toiletries. He leant down to investigate further, wrinkling his nose when he recognized Finn’s signature CK One. He glanced over the manual shaving supplies, a stiff brush and several ethnic hair products. He placed his clothes on the counter and turned to the shower. He’d shagged and slept here already, he might as well.

It was clear he’d pulled last night but fuck if he could remember how he’d ended up here. He vaguely recalled getting to the bar and making eyes with the bass player of the band but afterwards was fuzzy.

“Fucking vodka,” he groused under his breath before turning the shower knob. He stepped inside when the water warmed and blew out a long sigh as it washed away the remnants of the night.

He knew he should’ve just left and found his way home but he couldn’t help but be curious. Hook-ups were few and far between in this town but from what he could tell, there might’ve been something here. If only he could remember the bloke’s name...

*** The band was good and Jonny had been spot on--the guitarists were a force to be reckoned with. The blonde played lead and her fingers flew over the strings, playing almost perfectly despite her jumping around her side of the stage. On the other end, the bass player stayed in place but played just as well, his eyes closed as he nodded and swayed with the beat.

They played a mix of 90’s rock and alternative, with some newer stuff thrown in. Rae seemed skeptical for the first half of the show but came around towards the end when the lead singer stepped back from the mic and the bass player leaned into his.

How many special people change How many lives are living strange Where were you while we were getting high?

He exchanged a smirk with Finn when Rae was transfixed, a teary smile coming over her face. Finn had definitely redeemed himself with this one.

When the final notes rang out and the band members had bowed and left the stage to a round of raucous cheers and applause, Archie left Rae and Finn to meet them, finding an empty table nearby. He sipped his drink as he looked around the club and heard the DJ music start from the speakers.

Archie almost choked when he saw the bass player coming straight for him. He looked to the side and coughed but turned back with a smile when he reached the side of the table.

“Mind if I sit?” he started in a deep baritone, biting his lip. Archie nodded, waving a hand over the table. He settled into the seat across from him and sipped at a beer. He fiddled with the label for a moment before holding out a hand.

“I’m Lex,” he said, a shy grin appearing. Archie placed his hand in his, praying it wasn’t sweaty enough to notice.

“Archie,” he replied.

“So, Archie,” Lex began, his hands clasping around his beer bottle, “How’d you like the show?”

Archie’s eyes widened and he smiled wide.

“You were great,” he said, internally kicking himself as Lex raised a brow at him, “I mean...it was great. The band was great.”

“Right, thanks,” Lex nodded, laughing softly. He shrugged, his cheeks brightening with a light blush, “Could probably tell how nervous I was.” Archie shook his head, leaning forward a bit.

“No, not at all,” he insisted, “You were great.”

“As you said,” Lex teased. He smiled again and Archie felt like he could melt to the floor when a dimple appeared. He cleared his throat and continued, “You here alone?”

Archie shook his head again, pointing over to Rae and Finn at the bar, the other band members with them.

“I’m with my best mates--they wanted to check out your band, see if you could play their wedding.” Lex’s brows raised.

“Oh, yeah? Did we make the cut?” he asked, sipping his beer. Archie looked over at the bar and saw Rae laughing, Finn beside her with a small smug smile.

“Looks like it,” he answered.

He watched as Lex pursed his lips and nodded before glancing at the group. Archie noticed the blonde waving him over but Lex remained seated, meeting his eyes.

“Shouldn’t you join them?” He shrugged, wrinkling his nose.

“I should,” he paused, looking Archie over, “I’m talking to you.”

Archie felt his cheeks and ears warm and he bit his lip as Lex slowly smirked at him. He coughed lightly before gulping at his drink, the liquor burning down his throat.

“So...the blonde,” he started, Lex tilting his head, “She’s your girlfriend?”

Lex’s eyes widened and he barked a laugh, before sticking out his tongue as if in disgust.

“Naw, she’s my sister,” he said, leaning back in his chair. When confusion appeared on Archie’s face, he went on, “Step-sister. My dad and her mom were married.” Archie nodded before his brow furrowed.

“Were?”

Lex’s eyes dropped for a moment and he leaned on his elbows on the table.

“She died awhile ago.” Archie repressed a wince and smiled sympathetically. He opened his mouth to apologize but Lex cut him off, “It’s cool--she’s in a better place.” His eyes shifted to the side and he raised a shoulder, “Now that I’ve killed the mood...can I buy you another drink?”

***

Archie exited the shower and towelled off before neatly hanging it up and fixing the curtain. He stood in front of the mirror and shook out his hair, running a hand through it.

Lex...short for Alexander, he assumed.

“Like Alexander the Great,” he scoffed lightly before shaking his head at himself. He twisted his mouth at his reflection, taking in the circles under his eyes. He noticed faint bruises around his throat and bit his lip as a flash of the night appeared across his mind.

Yeah, he’d pulled alright.

He shook out his jeans and tugged them on. He raised his t-shirt up and stared curiously at the dirt and grass stains over the back of it and his jeans. His brow furrowed before he pulled on the shirt and exited the room.

As he left the bedroom, he glanced around the small living room and kitchen to the side. He went to the kitchen first, looking over the room. There were several takeout containers and empty beer cans scattered throughout, along with a pot with fresh coffee but an empty creamer container next to it. He went to the fridge and looked over the menus and a scribbled grocery list. Underneath a small rainbow magnet was a note with thick block lettering.

Lex, You missed practice asshole! I know you’re tripping out over our first gig but we need you. Call me ASAP Evan

Archie frowned as he read over it again, his eyes locked on ‘Evan’.

Fuck if he was gonna get caught up with a taken man. He shook his head and turned back to the living room. He would leave soon but he figured he should try searching in here for his phone first.

*** Archie and Lex talked for awhile, long after Rae and Finn had left and the rest of the band had made their exit. When closing time came around, the two went outside, Lex lighting a cigarette. He offered one to Archie but he smiled and shook his head. They stood silently for a moment as Lex took a drag and he exhaled, biting his lip.

“Wanna go for a walk?” Archie’s brows raised in surprise but his smile widened as he nodded.

“Sure.”

They started down the street, walking along the road on the grass. Archie felt the vodka sloshing around his gut but wasn’t feeling sick quite yet. He focused on walking straight, butterflies erupting in his stomach as his and Lex’s arms brushed.

His voice was as intoxicating as the vodka and Archie found himself paying more attention to it than the ground in front of them. He stopped speaking and Archie tuned back into reality just as he stumbled over a rock and started to fall. Lex grabbed his arm as he braced himself to hit the ground but he only pulled him down with him, his back slamming into the grass with Lex against him. Archie inhaled sharply as they caught their breath and Lex adjusted himself over him.

“You good?” he asked, looking over his face in concern. Archie shakily nodded the best he could from the ground and his glasses fell from his face, broken clean in half.

“Bloody brilliant,” he murmured, Lex chuckling at his tone.

“My place isn’t far if you wanna fix those up,” he suggested, raising a brow.

Archie hesitated, knowing it wasn’t exactly safe to go home with someone he’d just met but he did need them fixed, especially if he planned on heading home. He nodded again and Lex smiled and rolled off of him before helping him up. Archie felt his cheeks burn as he took his hand and led them down the street.

***

Archie didn’t have to search long, immediately finding his phone on the coffee table next to an almost empty bottle of vodka and an ashtray with a half smoked spliff. A laptop was down the table, open to a map of Stamford with a short route to a grocery store highlighted. He recognized where he was and sighed in relief. Knowing his luck, he would’ve ended up in Bristol or something.

He frowned at his phone screen, the battery almost dead. There were a couple missed calls each from Finn and Rae, as well as a voicemail from this morning. He held it up to his ear to listen.

“Hey, Arch, I know it’s early but I’m just checking in. We wanted to make sure you got home alright,” Rae paused and Archie heard a tinkling of keys over the line before she continued, her tone turning sly, “Don’t think we didn’t notice you flirting with Lex, Archibald--too bad we left before we could meet with him. Guess you’ll have to introduce us as we plan the wedding playlist. So much for not pulling, aye? Anyways...call me back!”

Archie laughed softly as the message faded out and he shoved his phone in his pocket and went towards the front door. He’d just grabbed the knob when he glanced over a picture hanging on the wall. It showed a teenage Lex, his sister beside him with a man resembling him and a fair brunette woman standing behind them. He squinted at the small note scribbled at the bottom of the frame.

My dear Alexander Happy birthday! Seems like only yesterday when I met your father and you were only up to my hip. Stop growing up so fast, kid! Between you and Evangeline, we can’t keep up. Love you so much! xoxo Mom

Archie smiled as he read over it again and his eyes went back over the name.

Evangeline...Evan?

His eyes widened and he bit his lip, repressing his relief over the discovery. Maybe Lex was single after all...but he wouldn’t get his hopes up.

*** “There...good as new.”

Archie blinked through his fixed glasses, the tape slightly visible. He smiled at Lex and leaned back into the couch.

“Cheers,” he sighed, closing his eyes for a moment. He shivered when Lex’s hand brushed his knee reaching for the table and his eyes shot open as he pulled out a rolling paper and a small bag of weed.

“D’ya mind?” he asked, raising his brows. Archie shook his head, watching as Lex grinned and started rolling a spliff. He looked around the room.

“Nice place,” he said, glancing over the slightly cluttered living room with boxes scattered randomly and a few posters and pictures along the walls.

“Thanks,” Lex chuckled, “Still unpacking from the move.”

“You’re from the States?” Lex nodded, shooting him a smirk.

“As if you couldn’t tell,” he teased, Archie sticking his tongue out at him.

“What brought you all the way here?” Lex half-shrugged, raising the spliff to lick it closed.

“My sister’s dad was British. She grew up with the boys and kept up with them after coming over with her mom...dragged me here to play with them,” he explained, grinning at Archie.

He lit the spliff and handed it to Archie before reaching for a bottle of vodka with only a small amount left. He felt his stomach flip at the sight but was shortly distracted by Lex’s Adam’s apple bobbing as he took a swig. He was thankful he didn’t offer the bottle to him but instead placed it back on the table.

The air seemed charged around them and Archie felt a warmth to the room as he and Lex smoked. They’d only reached about halfway down the joint when Lex put it down and faced him on the couch.

“Are you sure you’re alright? We hit the ground pretty hard,” he said, his lips flattening. Archie nodded and froze when Lex reached up to his face, running a finger along a scratch formed from his glasses breaking. Their eyes met and Archie felt himself leaning into him. He let the vodka guide him forward and kissed him.

Lex responded quickly, his hand moving from his cheek to the back of his neck and deepening the kiss. Archie grasped his shirt and tugged him closer against the couch. He felt his tongue against his lips and his mouth parted, his arms circling Lex’s shoulders. His hand grabbed the couch behind him and he pressed Archie against the couch tighter, bringing them chest to chest. When Lex’s mouth slid to his neck, his eyes rolled and he groaned softly. The words were out before he could think about it.

“Where’s your room?”

***

Archie opened the door and took one last glance over the room before stepping into the hall. He started towards the lift and stopped short when a small dog cut him off, yipping and barking excitedly. He held his hands up as it jumped at him, an older lady exiting her flat and ushering it back inside. Just as she apologized and closed her door, the lift opened and Lex stepped out, a paper bag in his arms. They locked eyes and both smiled hesitantly as they met in the middle of the hall. He held up the bag with a sheepish grin.

“Hey...sorry I ducked out,” he said, “Ran out of creamer.”

“No problem…” Archie replied breathily, biting back a nervous grin, “I should probably get going.”

Lex looked disappointed but nodded with a small smile. He leaned forward, kissing Archie’s cheek and his ears burned as Lex smirked.

“I’ll text you,” he said before scrunching his nose, “If you give me your number, that is.”

Archie chuckled and nodded, tapping his number into Lex’s phone a moment later. They parted ways and Archie entered the lift, watching as Lex smiled at him one more time before entering his flat. He couldn’t help but grin to himself as the doors closed.

#mmfd fanfic #mmfdfanfic #mmfd fanfiction #my mad fat diary fanfiction #my mad fat diary fanfic #my mad fat diary #mymadfatdiary #mmfd #sleuth

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katiebug445 · 6 years

Text

Not Quite Like Heaven

Fictober day 6! Pairing: Jean/Armin (kinda? i guess? idk?) Fandom: Attack on Titan Word Count: 2,889 Rating: G? Prompt: “Wait, you can see me?”

$300 a month. In the bad part of town. In a building older than his parents. There had to be some kind of a catch, right? Jean parked his car on the street just outside the rickety old building, thinking to himself that one good wind could have knocked the whole thing over like a Jenga tower, and let out a low whistle. It wasn’t by any stretch of the imagination perfect, but it was a roof, four walls, and it was cheap enough that he could afford it, and that, for a college student on minimum wage, was as close to perfect as he was gonna get right now.

He pulled the key out of the ignition and took one more look at the place before reaching across the passenger seat and grabbing one of his duffle bags. Then he opened the door and stepped out into the late summer heat, a bead or two of sweat rolling down the back of his neck. Jean quickly wiped it away, hitched his bag up higher on his shoulder, and stepped inside.

His apartment was on the very top floor, which meant in the event of the building going down like a Jenga tower, he would most likely be squished in the fall, but he couldn’t say he would be too upset about that. At least he wouldn’t have his student loans to worry about anymore.

He crossed the threshold into his room and noted that it was at least five degrees cooler in here than in the entire rest of the building. He couldn’t help but wonder if his AC was on the fritz, or if there was a draft, or a combination of both things. Or, he supposed, it could be haunted. That’d be a perfect catch. He snorted, setting his back down in what would become his room.

Five more trips later and he had his car completely unloaded, and had piles of junk scattered all around his new home. Jean’s eyes scanned over all of his belongings, trying to picture what everything would look like when it was all together, but he was having trouble seeing passed the boxes and garbage bags full of his clothes.

His mother would be bringing over the bigger stuff tomorrow morning with Marco, and he was already grateful for the help. He doubted if he could haul his matress up five flights of stairs by himself without dying in the process. Thankfully, his best friend had loaned him an air mattress for the night, and Jean unloaded it from one of the boxes, plugged it in, and began blowing it up right there in the corner of the small living room.

While it inflated, he started hunting around for his blankets and the pillow he’d brought with him, muttering to himself the entire time for not taking the extra minute and actually labeling things before shoving it all inside the boxes.

Finally, he found a thin, ratty looking sheet, and decided that would have to be enough for right now, and he figured that his arm would work as good as any pillow. With a yawn, he got up, locked the door, got ready for bed, and settled in. He pulled up one of his playlists on his phone, set it beside his head, and closed his eyes, letting the music wash over him and help him drift off to sleep.

“Hello?”

“Can you hear me?”

“Hello?”

Jean snapped up at 2 AM, eyes darting around and looking into every inch of the shadows that he could see. He knew he heard something just then, and it was not part of the songs. He knew that for damn sure. He laid there for another moment, still trying to see if he could see anything, and when the idea of trying to sleep finally completely escaped him, he pulled the sheet back off of himself, and got up to flip on one of the lights. With the shadows gone, he did a sweep all the way through his house, not finding anything out of the ordinary, and shakily went back to his bed.

Half of the air had gone out of his mattress, and with a groan and knowing that he’d be on the floor in the morning if he let it go, Jean plugged the cord back in and started filling it all the way back up again. Goosebumps rose on his arms while he waited, and his skin was cold to the touch, so, while his bed filled back up, he started hunting through more of the boxes in search of his thicker blankets.

He thought he could hear cardboard scraping off to his left, but when he looked over, everything was still in place. He went back to rummaging, and heard it again. God, he hoped he hadn’t accidentally packed up his cat when he was in a hurry…

Jean ripped the tape off of the box, and, much to his relief, there wasn’t the little orange cat inside, but there was the blankets he’d been looking for. Saying a quick thank you to whoever could be listening, he pulled them out and dragged them back to his bed, pressing the heel of his hand down onto it and making sure it was firm enough for him to sleep on, before unplugging it from the wall again and settling in.

The thought entered his head again that he definitely heard something in his house, but he tried to will himself not to think about it for fear of freaking himself out to the point that he couldn’t sleep. He convinced himself, for the time being, that it was an ad on his phone, and that was all. Feeling a little better, he closed his eyes, and after about twenty minutes of uneasily laying there, he finally drifted back off to sleep.

When he woke up the next morning, all of the boxes, that he knew he closed back up, were wide open. His trashbags full of clothes were ripped, and several of his shirts were spilling out onto the floor. Puzzled, Jean picked all of his scattered things up and shoved them off to the side, knowing they’d only be in the way when his mom and Marco showed up later. He tried to convince himself that it was mice that did it. Mice, or very, very determined moths that wanted his sweaters.

It couldn’t have been anything else, could it?

The voice and the scratching from the night before crossed his mind again, and he could feel the hairs on his arms standing straight up at the thought that there was something other in his new home, but he shook his head, trying to clear those thoughts away before they took hold and freaked him out completely. He needed this apartment. He couldn’t freak himself out of living here already.

Moving had actually gone okay, considering it was just the three of them. Marco had taken a bad fall down the stairs towards the end, and both Kirsteins insisted that he take it easy and watch them move the rest and keep an ice pack on his head to manage the swelling. He protested, but when Jean threatened to kick him out completely, Marco finally ended up sitting on one of the chairs they’d just brought up, and settled in.

They had a quick dinner, and then the two left, leaving Jean there in his apartment alone again. He gathered up his sheets and his blankets from the floor and took them into his new room to put on his mattress. When everything was on his bed, he brought in a couple of the bags of clothes and started to put things away in his dresser and closet. Then he brought in his desk lamp, and a couple other small things and got everything set up how he wanted it for the time being, and then got started on the rest of the house. It was late, and he knew he needed to be getting to bed soon, but he was excited to get things set up, and he wanted to keep working until his body finally demanded rest.

Given the hour, he decided to wait and move the heavy furniture around in the morning, but he got his bookshelf set up, his movies put away, and even managed to put together the stand that would hold his vast music collection. Tomorrow, he’d dig out his radio and set it up on one of the stands near his window, so he could listen to music while he worked. That done, he pulled out his phone and went into his room, stripping down to his boxers, and climbed into bed.

Nothing happened that night that he could tell. Everything was still in the places he remembered shoving them the night before, and he hadn’t heard the voice again. Maybe it really was something like mice and a radio ad. Maybe he wasn’t dealing with something weird after all.

Maybe he’d just gotten lucky with this place.

Jean set his phone down on his kitchen counter for just a minute while he went to look for his small collection of plates, and when his back was turned, he heard a small thud. His heart sank when he didn’t hear his music coming from his phone anymore, and when he got back out into the kitchen, he was relieved to see that the back had just popped off the phone, and the battery had fallen out. Aside from that, the phone was in perfect condition. He popped it all back in, turned it back on, and everything went back to normal. He put his kitchen things away and sang gently under his breath as he did so. Though, in the back of his mind, he had to wonder exactly how his phone had fallen off. If he remembered right, he’d stuck it near the back up against the wall to avoid that very thing from happening.

His eyes went to his phone, but he shook it off after a moment. Maybe he’d just imagined sticking it back that far.

The next day, Jean left to pick up a few groceries, and upon returning, found that his stand he had his CDs in was knocked face down onto the floor, and several of the cases had been cracked. With an annoyed sigh, he picked it back up, and made a mental note to get some tape the next day so he could fix what was broken. When putting the stand back upright, a chill ran down his spine that he couldn’t explain, and didn’t go away for the rest of the afternoon.

Over the coming weeks, Jean kept track of all the weird things that happened in his apartment. He came home from classes one afternoon to find his bed completely unmade, the blankets and sheets bunched up into a ball in the middle of the mattress; a book had been removed from his shelf, and he found it two days later under his couch; food had gone missing a handful of times; lights would turn on and off on their own; more often than not, Jean would randomly walk into a cold spot in his apartment, that almost seemed to follow him for hours afterwards; and probably the most troubling of all, he was still hearing a voice.

The first couple times it happened, he’d been able to convince himself that it was an ad, or one of his neighbors above or below him, but the third time it happened, he was laying in his bed, trying to sleep, when he heard a soft call of his name, directly in his ear, which was followed by another draft that chilled him right to the bone.

Jean sat straight up in bed, completely freaked out, and ended up having to call Marco and talk to him for over an hour just to calm himself back down enough that he could attempt to sleep again.

By the end of his first month there, he had completely convinced himself that he was living in a haunted house. Once he got his wifi hooked up, he began looking up things about hauntings, and what to do if you thought your house was, in fact, haunted, and everything he was experiencing matched up almost perfectly. A couple times, he attempted to set traps for his suspected houseguest, but nothing ever came of it. Everything always remained exactly how he left it before.

Jean was exhausted, frustrated, and almost ready to start apartment hunting again. He hadn’t been sleeping well between the stress of his new job, college, and whatever the hell was happening in his house, and he knew that would only be a matter of time before his health started suffering as a result. That, and, no matter how many layers of clothes he wore, how many blankets he slept with, or how much he could stand to crank the heat up to, he was always, always cold. From the time he opened the door at night, to the time he left in the morning, a chill clung to him and wouldn’t let go for anything. He tried to tell Marco about what was going on, but the other man had just wrote it off as a draft, and told him that he should complain about it if it kept happening.

It happened near the end of October. Jean had woken up nearly two hours early on account of being so fucking cold in his room, and decided to try his hand at making oatmeal in hopes of it warming him up some. He was standing by the microwave, arms folded across his chest and hands running up and down them in hopes of getting a little blood flowing, when he saw it.

A face was peering in at him through the open wall that looked directly into the living room. Jean stopped dead, all of his remaining blood seeming to drain out of his body. There was someone in his house. Someone was staring directly at him. Jean swallowed, unable to look away from the intruder, and nearly jumped out of his skin when the microwave beeped suddenly. “What the hell do you want?” he asked, trying to keep the quiver from showing too much in his voice.

“Wait, you can see me?” the figure asked, excitement in its own voice. “You can actually see me?”

“Yes?”

A smile lit up the face, and Jean’s eyes followed it as it walked around through the doorway, and stood in front of him. It was a boy, no taller than 5’4”, with a mop of blond hair and blue eyes so big and bright that they would have put the afternoon sky to shame. “Can you still see me?”

“See you, hear you, I can do it all, buddy. Now who are you, and why are you in my house?”

“I’m… Armin. And this is my house. I can’t… I can’t believe you can actually see me! You’re the first.”

“No, this is my house. My name’s on the lease and everything. And what - what the hell are you talking about, I’m the first what?”

The smile dropped away from the boy’s face, and he let out a heavy breath. “This used to be my house. A long time ago. I, uh, died? About twenty years ago. And you’re the first person in twenty years who’s been able to see me. You have no idea how lonely it gets. Thank you.”

Jean blinked, his brain taking a minute to catch up with everything, and he felt the hair on the back of his neck begin to stand up. A ghost. There was an honest to god ghost standing right in front of him. His house was haunted, and he had a ghost in front of him. Oh, god, he knew there was a catch. There was always a catch. “Well… nice to meet you, I think?” He said, his voice smaller than intended.

“It’s nice to meet you too, Jean, is it?”

“Yeah.” He squeaked.

“Well,” the ghost named Armin started, holding out his hand, “I’m sure this isn’t how you intended to get a roommate, but…”

Jean stared at the offered hand for a moment before finally reaching out, and, much to his surprise, finding a solid - but very, very cold - hand gripping him back. With a shock, he pulled his own back, and stared between his and Armin’s, not knowing what to make of any of this. “I… this is gonna take some getting used to.”

“Ditto.” Armin agreed, giving him a bit of an awkward smile.

Jean thought about it for a moment while he finally pulled his breakfast out of the microwave and began to eat. “I guess… having a ghost of a roommate might not be a bad thing. You gotta help with rent, though.” he attempted to joke.

Thankfully, Armin took it the right way, and shot him another smile. “How about I just keep you company and promise not to make you think you’re going crazy anymore?”

Jean pretended to mull it over, pursing his lips for a second, and smiled. “I think I can live with that."

#jearmin #jean/armin #fictober #katie's writing #i don't even know what happened here i have no excuse

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