coffee display

Philly comic shop awarded $50,000 to open more doors

Comic book stores, like their retail cousins record shops, are often drawn to tight quarters. Even the “Android’s Dungeon,” the comic shop out of The Simpson’s fictional landscape, occupies only a thin slice of imagined real estate, squished between a barbershop and a diner. But Amalgam Comics & Coffeehouse, the brainchild of Philly resident Ariell Johnson, is spread out, light-filled and roomy –– the sprawling comic displays, coffee bar and plush couches are the first visual cues that the Kensington comic emporium is not like its peers.

This week, the Knight Foundation selected Johnson out of more than 4,500 applicants to receive a grant of $50,000. The eighteen-month old comic shop aims to open the world of comics to an “amalgamation” of audiences –– this grant will help the store reach even more.

Johnson’s proposal, “Up, Up and Away: Building a Programming Space at Amalgam Comics & Coffeehouse” will expand the shop into “Amalgam University,” where hopeful writers and illustrators can take classes on drawing, writing, pitching and publishing.

Johnson has already made waves in the comic world. When she opened the store in December of 2015, Johnson became the first African-American woman to own a comic book store on the East Coast. In addition to the largely white-male-authored mainstream staples, Amalgam stocks many works written by people of color, women and members of the LGBT community, as well as those by independent creators.

Because Amalgam sells self-published works, Johnson gets a lot of amateur submissions –– and many of them don’t meet the standards for retail.

“Often, the ideas are there, but they haven’t studied the craft,” Johnson explained. “It’s a comic book, but it’s also literature. Just like there are good writers of literature, there good writers and illustrators of comic books.”

Johnson wanted to find a way to equip aspiring comic creators, particularly those from disenfranchised communities without the means to go to art school, with the tools to compete with mainstream comic books.

Amalgam has already started on this mission –– they run children’s workshops, and partnered with RUSH, Danny Simmons’ arts philanthropy foundation –– an effort which Johnson said is made possible by their spacious venue.

“We do a lot of these programs in our space,” Johnson said. “But the building is actually much bigger. There are rooms behind the bathroom, which we haven’t renovated. This grant will allow us to open up those rooms to the public and create a permanent programming space. We’ll use it to its full potential.”

When the construction is finished sometime next year, Amalgam will be almost twice its present size, and Johnson hopes its impact on the Kensington and comic communities will follow suit. But the store has already influenced the area.

“I actually found out about the grant from a customer named Annie,” Johnson said. “She and her husband had recently moved here. They came in, introduced themselves and encouraged me to apply. Apparently, Amalgam was one of the reasons they moved to the neighborhood.”

Some of Amalgam’s patrons are like Annie –– devoted fans who factor comics into major life decisions –– but others have never read a comic before in their lives.

“We get a lot of newcomers asking for advice.” Johnson explained. “We listen to what people like, and we direct them into their lane. But once they get comfortable, they usually branch out.”

Amalgam, it seems, is doing the same.

Look what I got today, my dudes


etsyfindoftheday | 4.30.17

vintage finds by kibster

sometimes i like to think of etsy not only as a place to discover rad makers of new products, but also as the world’s largest curated thrift store. srsly … there are SO many vintage shops on etsy with amazing found vintage goods to swoon over. kibster’s bespoke collection is full of mid-century modern, dansk, and other cool styles!

biloganecholls  asked:

my super power is coming online right when you've opened for prompts and i LOVE IT ~ how about stiles and derek bumping into each other like five or so years after derek left beacon hill with out so much as a word (i haven't seen s5 but i feel like that's how derek leaves i love him) like angst me tf up please

i was about to go to bed but bc it’s you i decided to stay up and write this really quick. only bc it’s you and facebook is showing me a lot of old memories that involve you and it’s been nostalgic <3

No. It can’t be. That cannot be Derek Fucking Hale sitting across the coffee shop. 

Stiles ducks behind a display of coffee cups so Derek doesn’t see him. Not yet at least. Stiles needs a plan of action, how to go about this. He thinks for a minute and nothing comes to him. His brain is jumbled and all it’s spouting is, “DEREK DEREK DEREK” it’s a wonder that the man himself doesn’t hear it.

It has been at least five years since Derek left Beacon Hills. Stiles hasn’t heard a word from him since before he left. There wasn’t even a goodbye. And Stiles really thought they had….well…something. There was that one summer spent trying to find Erica and Boyd where there was a lot of tension and unsaid words and feelings. There were feelings. Stiles is pretty sure they were reciprocated too. 

There was enough feelings to warrant a goodbye before Derek left, but nope. What did Stiles get? A not goodbye. Nothing. Nada.

Should he say something or just walk out? He should just walk out. If Derek had nothing to say to him five years ago then he has nothing to say to Stiles now. 

He is about to turn around and walk out when Derek looks up and catches his eye. And then the weirdest fucking thing happens. Derek smiles. At Stiles. He actually smiles at Stiles. What in the actual fuck.

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The Eldritch Bunker

***Collaboration Welcome. Add Your Headcanon Too***

…because we are going to continually expand these characters
                   -Jerry Wanek (thanks, @hazeldomain, for the production shorts!)

@chiisana-sukima (that’s me!) wrote, in a post that didn’t work for adding, because reasons:
I think the Bunker is a Good Puppy, and loves Dean, Cas, and Sam all. But because it is a Smart Puppy, it tries really hard for each of them, but sometimes the outcomes aren’t quite what a Human might expect.

Cas and the Bunker understand each other the best. Cas understands about the Bunker being a deeply, weirdly inhuman creature whose existence is too large for mortals to fill. And the Bunker knows Cas gets bored and lonely at night while his human friends are sleeping. So when Cas wanders through the Bunker at night, the Bunker lets him explore its maze-like recesses and dimensions full of wonders and magic that Dean and Sam will never see. When morning is approaching, Cas has to gently remind the Bunker that it’s time for him to go back up to the surface levels where Sam and Dean live, so that the Bunker can lead him out, because even Cas can’t find his way back on his own.

For Dean, there’s an alcove off the garage, full of tools and parts for all the classic cars. And sometimes when its in an especially helpful mood, the Bunker leaves parts for Baby around too, or a better brand of oil than Dean usually buys, and Dean feels suspicious, because how could the MoL have had any of those things, but maybe Sam picked them up, but Sam’s not really into cars…. sometimes it’s best not to question. 

And also for Dean, the way to the dungeon is a little straighter, the corridor a little wider, the locks a little stronger, the soundproofing perfect. The holy water is always well-stocked and the salt never runs out. In the shooting range, the targets are far enough back that they’re right on the edge of Dean’s ability, so he doesn’t just keep getting useless bullseyes over and over. The bunker makes no judgements; it was built for war.

For Sam, one might think the library would be perfectly organized, all the information Sam could want catalogued and easy to find. But the Bunker knows Sam better than that. Sam likes a challenge, and the Bunker likes to learn. It scatters things around for Sam. There are always cluttered new storerooms, another archive, more magical tools to sort. That way Sam will have things to occupy his mind. He’ll make new connections, figure out things the Bunker didn’t know itself. 

And Sam’s room- the Bunker is still angry that Lucifer managed to find it. It’s the best warded room the Bunker has, radiating a false nonexistence so strongly, that from the outside it’s barely there at all. But Cas had been to it too many times already before Lucifer occupied him, and Lucifer was determined.

The Bunker is determined too though. It won’t happen again. When Sam walks through the library, sometimes books fall off the shelves and land open to pages on complex warding patterns. If he’s not paying attention as he walks to his room, there will occasionally be an ancient clay jar of holy oil in the hall that he’ll somehow fail to notice until he’s already kicked it over and broken it. By now there’s a solid wall of holy fire soaked into the floorboards outside Sam’s door, just waiting to be set alight, and a fire spell has etched itself into the wood of the door frame.

@trisscar368  wrote: Sam’s room - yes PLEASE, because your idea of it being warded like that works perfectly with the fact that it keeps changing location.

The Bunker decided not long after the boys moved in that Sam would be safe when he slept; there were too many nights when Sam would still wake up breathless, the names of lovers and lost friends and tormentors alike all dying unspoken on his lips.  Too many nights where he refused to sleep until it was almost dawn, choosing to distract himself because the memories are just a little too close at hand.  So the Bunker cocoons his room away every night in the depths of the maze; it makes sure to have him back before morning, though it doesn’t always quite put him back in the same place, not after Dean snuck in that one morning to play music on full blast.

It hasn’t quite forgiven Dean for what happened under the Mark.  Oh, it doesn’t blame him particularly for destroying doors when he was a demon; he was a demon, he was barely the same creature.  The Bunker treated him as such - it has no eyes after all - trying to protect Sam by weaving extra passages between the two of them, only letting Dean find Sam when Castiel was close enough to help.  But since that last day with the Steins, with what happened in the library, Dean’s room has a habit of being slightly… misplaced in the morning.  Dean hasn’t said anything.  He still hasn’t forgiven himself, so why would the Bunker?

It wishes Cas would stay more.  It quite agreed with Kevin (oh, the Bunker tried to commune with Kevin’s ghost, but he just couldn’t hear the Eldritch being the way Cas can) that Winchester pity sessions are annoying.  Dean tends to be happier when Cas is around, and, well, the Bunker grew rather attached itself when Cas stayed those few weeks when he was ill.  It tries to feel more like home, this weird amalgamation of ideas and memories of all the people who’ve stayed inside its walls, but it doesn’t quite know what Cas wants; austere hallways of light?  Or dimly lit rooms smelling faintly of whiskey and leather and gunpowder.  Cas doesn’t know what he wants either.

The six weeks when the boys were gone were hard on both Cas and the Bunker.  He had a habit of forgetting the lights, wandering the halls in pitch black, losing himself in the grief and the guilt, trying to hide from the shadow of Lucifer.

Lucifer, now it hates Lucifer.  It hates the scent of rust that trails in his wings.  It hates how Sam stopped sleeping again when the boys knew Lucifer was free.  It hates how Cas sometimes wanders into the kitchen expecting to see a television on the counter, and stands there staring while he remembers where he is.

@floralmotif  wrote: Follow me below if you want to engage with headcanon speak dabbling in the idea that the bunker is an eldritch abomination. It’s just fun:

I’m actually not sure if it would like people in the same sense as a dog would. It would probably allow Cas a bit more reign just cause he can perceive it a little better and may be able to handle the concepts it presents without his brain shorting out. He may also be unaware of its nature on a conscious level. If this thing were actually a being, it would be pretty powerful even as presented. Amara needed Cas to find Dean in the bunker. This would mean that the bunker theoretically is more powerful than Chuck or Amara or is at least capable of hiding from them. It is no creature of creation. It just kind of settled there, perhaps drawn by the MoL or maybe it manifested on its own and they found it. They may be the only perception of human things its ever experienced. The Winchester’s found it after and it still had the same appearance. It’s possible it looks that way because the MoL were the first to meet it and the Winchesters don’t do anything to tell it any different. It may just be a void in reality with no perception that there is an outside at all. It’s like a computer display. It can display coffee as much as it wants but it doesn’t know what coffee is.

That being said, it’s a lot more fun to imagine it has a personality that can enjoy things and can create easy passage for sleepy Winchesters when it’s 3am and they have work to do. So Dean can find the kitchen easily even when it took him 3x as long when he was a demon. He doesn’t question it, neither of them do. It’s weird sometimes but they wave it on and the Bunker doesn’t mind that its unknown. It’s rather glad of it. No one has ever known it. The closest is maybe Cas but if Chuck didn’t notice the massive being of the cosmos, he probably wouldn’t either. Sometimes though, the bunker opens places for him. It wants to see how far it can go and Cas is a calm and curious being himself.

Perhaps it can sense intent or longing, or fear. It carefully arranges itself for whatever situation feels comfortable for it. The emotions of humans are perplexing but it isn’t a violent creature, it tries to avoid it.

                       (some shorter headcanons below the cut)

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Sweet talk and open hearts

Chapitre ½ : Avoidance

Summary : “Kuzuryu breathes deeply and when he speaks again, he is very calm and his face stone-like. “Sorry Komaeda, but I can’t let you walk away like that. You know too much and I don’t trust you not to be a blabbermouth”.”

In which Kuzuryu doesn’t want to admit that he is brave, and Komaeda is good at demolding chocolates but that’s pretty much it.

Pairing : Komaeda/Hinata ; Kuzuryu/Pekoyama

Words : 5,929

AN : First part of this fanfiction made for Valentine’s Day. Probably not as sweet as I thought it would be, but I love these pairings enough to respect them. It’s the first time writing KuzuPeko for me, and I’m satisfied with it for now. See you in two days for the second part !


“Again” Komaeda asks, more demanding than he would be the rest of the time. But Hinata and him have been on the beach for more than an hour now, enjoying the warmth of the morning sun, letting the purple and pink shadows turns to orange to yellow, and the atmosphere is so peaceful that he almost forgets who he is, what he has done, and how he is really not in position to requires anything, especially from Hinata.

Hinata is laying on the sand next to him, eyes closed, almost like he is going to fall asleep any second, but Komaeda actually enjoys being able to look at him all he wants without worrying about being weird or scaring his friend - they are friends, right ? Hinata said they were - away. This morning specifically, he has the hardest time tearing his eyes away from the little stretch of golden skin between the edge of his pants and his T-shirt. He is almost mesmerized by it, both fascinated and a little scared by the want it creates in him.

“Alright” Hinata replies, without opening his eyes. “Go on, I got one.”

Komaeda nods, even if the other can’t see it. He pretends to focus, though it has nothing to do with logic. It’s all about luck, and that’s why it’s so important. He licks his lips and says :

“Two thousand and two”

“More” Hinata doesn’t miss a beat and the answer comes right away.

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Coffee Break (PT 1)

 this is so so so shit, i’m sorry. i might delete it. 

10th February 2016, 10:38am

Shawn’s 9am meeting had over-run, meaning he wasn’t able to get his usual 10:15am coffee. He hurried down the two flights of stairs, desperately craving the rush of caffeine.
(Y/N) had been paying close attention to everything Helena had been saying since 8:30am, the morning of her first day at the office. Her brain felt fried and her hand was numb from writing everything down; she needed a boost. If Shawn’s meeting hadn’t over-run, or if (Y/N) had listened to Helena when she first pointed out where the coffee machine was - their lives wouldn’t have collided.
“So it’s just on the left?” (Y/N) asked as she continued walking straight, with her head over her shoulder as she looked back at Helena; who nodded in response. (Y/N) had her arm out, pointing to her left; but it was soon knocked by Shawn’s towering figure. Shawn grabbed (Y/N) with a tight grip to stop her from toppling over herself. “I am so sorry,” she began to say frantically, brushing the hair from her face. She froze, her mouth slightly agape as she finally saw Shawn’s face. He used his middle finger to push his glasses up his nose, and looked at her with concern. “Are you alright?” he asked. She nodded slowly, being absorbed into her daze. He revealed his dashing smile, causing his glasses to rise slightly. “I guess you need a coffee as much as I do,” he said confidently, removing his hands from her arms and standing straight. (Y/N) casually looked him up and down, being impressed by his tall stature rather than intimidated. “It’s my first day, and I didn’t have one before I arrived” she said quickly, her throat and lips dry. He looked surprised, “Welcome!” 
(Y/N) felt her cheeks toast as she smiled back, “Thank you.” 
He touched her shoulder lightly once again, before heading into the Delhi. (Y/N) approached the coffee machine, and examined the small screen which displayed several coffee options. She finally picked one, Black Americano, knowing she needed a strong coffee. She tapped her feet anxiously as the coffee slowly dripped down into the paper cup. She reached across the counter for a lid, her fingers dragging down more than one; with the others scattering on the floor below. She let out a sigh of irritation as she crouched down and scooped them up in her hands. 
“Woah,” she heard someone gasp, feeling a strong hand on her shoulder as she quickly stood up. Once again Shawn appeared in front of her, “We need to get you a little bell or something” he said, his handsome smile appearing again. (Y/N) let out a nervous laugh as he removed his lingering hand from her shoulder, and walked away; jogging up the stairs.

14th February 2016, 15:19pm

The catering team had placed a stall near the coffee machine; consisting of Valentine’s Day treats. (Y/N) didn’t really like the lunch options she had had so far, during her first week, so she would become peckish in the afternoon. She stood perfectly in the centre, staring at all the different cookies and chocolates which were displayed on the stall. She jingled the loose change in her hand, having been stood there for at least five minutes now.
“Well, they’ve certainly captivated you” a raspy voice snapped her out of her focus. She glanced to her right to see Shawn stood by her side, as he scanned over the selection. “More than the lunch menu’s have so far, yes.” To her surprise, a gentle laugh left his lips, which made her smile. “Which is better in your opinion, chocolate or cookies?” he asked, placing one hand in his pocket. “I’m more of a cookies girl,” (Y/N) said confidently. Shawn nodded before leaning forward, and grabbing a couple of cookies, placing them in one of the paper bags provided. “These will do for my Jennifer, I think she’ll like them” he smiled as he twisted the top of the bag. For some unknown reason, disappointment spread over (Y/N). Shawn shook his head, smacking his palm lightly against his forehead. “I haven’t even asked your name,” he smiled. “(Y/N)” she replied. “I’m Shawn,” he said, sticking his hand out. She hesitantly took it in her own, before he shook it vigorously. “See you around,” he said as he walked away to pay for his treats. (Y/N’s) smile faded before she glanced back at the stall, and picked up a small bag of heart shaped chocolates, suddenly fancying those instead.

14th February 2016, 16:57pm

(Y/N) was gradually making her way down the stairs, knowing she’d reach the bottom as the clock struck five. She was two steps away when the high pitched squeal of a little girl, echoed in the lobby, stealing her attention. She watched as Shawn crouched down, with his arms wide open for the little girl to run into. A tall woman, dressed perfectly from head to toe, followed swiftly behind. “There’s my favourite girl,” Shawn announced, squeezing the girl until she laughed in his ear. “Look at what I got for you,” he smiled, as he pulled out the bag of cookies. The little girl snatched them from his grip, the biggest smile spreading across her small face. “What do you say?” the woman said, standing behind the girl as her hand laced through her little curls. “Thank you Uncle Shawn,” the high pitched girl said shyly as she peeked into the bag.
Suddenly, (Y/N’s) assumption of the woman being his wife and the kid being his daughter vanished; and were overtaken by feelings of attraction after witnessing how he had been with the little girl. She shook her head, knowing she was being silly, and walked out of the side door; purposely avoiding crossing paths with Shawn.

22nd February 2016, 8:42am

Shawn was late for a meeting, and hadn’t printed off the charts in time. There was only one printer which was working in the entire building, and (Y/N) was further up the queue from him. She was about to go next, but Shawn barged in front. “Hey, I was next” (Y/N) retorted. “You’re only going to print off copies of that stupid poster, this is more important” he snarled, not even looking at her. “Says who?” she said under her breath, not expecting him to hear. In one sharp motion, he was now facing her. “One of the Directors of this company, and that happens to be me. Anything I do is far more important than whatever it is you do” he said sternly, his cheeks blushed. His eyes were dark, his expression showing no softness or likeness, like it had done before. (Y/N) swallowed the lump which had formed in her throat, and stormed off saying the word “jerk” clear enough for him to hear this time.

22nd February 2016, 13:05pm

(Y/N) was sat at her desk, about to force herself to see what crappy food they were serving for lunch that day when an email popped up in her inbox. It was from Shawn. She was hesitant about opening it, wondering if it was worth reading. She clicked open anyway, and her eyes soon scanned his words.

‘ Dear (Y/N)

I don’t know how I can show you just how sorry I am for how I treated you and spoke to you earlier this morning. I promise you I am not usually like that, especially to lovely people such as yourself. The only way I can think to thank you, and even this is a lame attempt, is to treat you to lunch. I recall you mentioning that you did not like what the company has to offer for lunch, and therefore I would like to take you out for lunch. How’s tomorrow at 1?

Kind Regards

Shawn - the jerk with the big glasses. ’

mydaytimemusings  asked:

Michael Scofield Prompt: I love you mike

Michael’s brow furrowed as he looked down at the paper, searching around the field, counting each speckle, the sun beating down on him.  A particularly muggy day had left him sweating in his long sleeve shirt, but the task at hand too important to give up now.

He thinks of his son, the sweet boy sitting in school, unaware of what’s going on right now, his head buried in a book, expanding his already ridiculously smart mind, likely to surpass both of his parents in that area.

Having taken on the role of proud dad, he saw his son’s accomplishments as something extraordinary, displaying his artwork on the fridge, and marveling at the fact while not in his life physically for the first seven years, he was still so much like him.

His looks, that he got from his mother, the auburn-ish hair, the dark eyes, but every once in a while he’d squint a certain way when he was concentrating, and suddenly the Scofield in him would make itself known.

It’s those big brown eyes that have him back to focusing on why he’s out here in the first place.  He checks around him, making sure no one’s around to see, old habits of watching his back dying hard when it came to this.

But when he sees what he’s looking for, when it clicks, a conspiratorial grin comes to his face, spending a few moments to secure the package before making his way out of the diamond and back home.

It’s only when he’s safe in the comfort of his home, that he spreads out his legs underneath the coffee table, a display of pencils lining the table, his baby girl settled in his lap, squawking at him, slamming down her hands covered in her own slobber.

“What do you think, Isla?” He whispers into her soft hair, the dark locks falling into her eyes that look oddly familiar whenever he looks in the mirror.  A sea of swirling blue that take on a green quality in the right light.

She slams down her hand again, getting the edge of the page wet and sticky.  Setting his pencil down, he takes her little hand in between his thumb and pointer finger, the girl having wrapped him around her fingers since her birth and having refused to let her grip loosen even a little bit on his heart.

Sara comes to sit down by him, lowering herself to the floor.  Her hands comes out to smooth the girl’s hair away from her eyes, and Isla throws herself back at Michael’s chest, his hand steadying her around the middle.

“Wild child, today,” she says with a grin, before pulling her own hair back behind her ears.  “So were you successful?”  She asks, meeting her question with his own grin.

“He’s going to have to start dumbing them down for me,” he says with a laugh.

A closed mouthed laugh, sounding more like a snort comes from her, her dimples peeking through.

“He’s good,” he proudly admits, his ego not even slightly bruised, so much as complimented that he helped create.  “Like this,” he says, grabbing the paper from his pocket.  “What do you think that is?”

Sara picks up the paper, twisting it around, before giving up.

“Yeah, good luck with that,” she says with another laugh, holding up her hand, stealing an M&M from from the little jar he has sitting on the table, raising a brow at him, and standing back up.

“Want me to take her?” She asks, but he shakes his head, determined to finish his work with his little helper.  “Okay,” she acquiesces, leaning down to run her hand over his short hair, before placing a soft kiss to his head.

Mike walks in through the door ten minutes later, throwing his bag down, before rushing into the living room.

“So…did you find it yet?” He asks, immediately moving to crouch in front of Isla, reaching for his baby sister, before carefully putting her in his own lap.

Michael makes a show of digging in his pocket, producing half of the missing puzzle, a key, setting it on the table before them.

“Ahh, you’re halfway there,” Mike exclaims, eyes alight at the chase he’s sent his dad on.

Michael can’t help but see the irony of him searching for a key, once again, this time unable to figure out where and to what it belongs to.

Over the past year and a half, the maps had become more intricate, leading to multiple finds, and extending the search by days, secrets hidden in every line of the drawing, fake outs and designs disguising the answers.  

Michael had thought for sure that Mike would’ve given up on the idea by now, wanting to quit in favor something else, the allure and new shine of having his dad around sure to fade eventually.  But it hadn’t yet, instead, bringing them even closer.

It was their special thing.  Even after Isla was born, he set time aside to not only figure out Mike’s maps, but to design his own, stretching muscles of his brain, keeping him fresh.

“You want me to show you?” Mike asks, his little face taking on the quiet, eager look that he often had when he looked at him, as if he’d stayed the dragon and hung the moon all at the same time.

“How about just a little hint…” He says in a quiet whisper, pretending he didn’t want Sara and Isla to hear that he needed help.

“Okay,” Mike says with a toothy smile, scooting closer with the baby to see the drawing he’d made.  “See this right here,” he points, describing one part of the drawing, being careful not to give it all away.

As Michael listens to his son explain his masterpiece, one that he couldn’t figure out for the life of him, he can’t help but stare at the little boy.  A gift he hadn’t been afforded for so long, but now had been given the privilege for the rest of his days.  It was the one thing he’d thought about in solitary, what his son was like, what his interests were, was he like him or Sara or a mixture of the two, would he ever forgive him for being away so long?  The questions had built up in his mind until the chorused on repeat over and over in his head.

And now, here he was, a couple years later, still mesmerized, still fascinated with a million questions about this boy.

The same boy now holding his baby sister, Michael’s heart only multiplying with love for another Scofield in his life.

“Dad?” Mike interrupts him, and bringing him out of his reverie, the title still giving him butterflies even after all this time.


“Are you even listening?”  Mike asks with a raised brow, the gurgling baby reiterating his question.

“Every word, buddy,” he assures him.  “I’m proud of you.”

“You always say that,” the boy admits with a smile and a shake of his head, resting his chin on Isla’s head.

“Because it’s true.  I love you, Mike,” Michael says, not for the first time today, the codes ceasing to apply anymore, especially when it came to the love of his family.  He reaches out and placing his hand on the back of his son’s head.

“I love you too, Dad,” Mike says with a laugh, like a given, no doubt about it, before going back to what he was saying about the map.

A flicker in Michael’s peripheral has him looking back, catching Sara standing in the doorway, resting her head against her hand balanced on the wall, an almost dreamy look on her face, waving to him with only a finger.

And Michael can’t help but nod in agreement, the disbelief over this being their life, having the ability to just be with his family more than he could’ve ever dreamt of, let alone expected to find.

Leave the first sentence of a fic in my ask box and I will write the next five sentences.

The Party (20 Different Pairings #4- Dean x Jo X Reader)

Summary: Your friend Charlie convinces you to go to a very special party, where you meet two strangers and have a much better time than expected.

Word Count: 3000ish

Warning: smut, threesome, sex with strangers, sex party?

A/N: I had fun writing this one. I hope you enjoy it too! Let me know what you think!

“Come to the party with me,” Charlie had said.

“It will be fun!” She had said.

So you had showered, taking the time to shave and then put lotion on after, slipped on your sexiest bra and panties, and squeezed into your black dress that left very little to the imagination. Charlie was encouraging you the whole time you got ready, telling you that this was exactly what you needed- to have some fun, blow off steam, get back in the game after your break up with Chuck. And you supposed she was right, so you let her talk you into going to one of her “parties”.

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#3: barba/carisi

morning after coda to this fic.

Rafael wakes to the obnoxious blaring of an alarm that isn’t his. The bed isn’t his either, he realises when he shifts, trying uselessly to get away from the noise– the sheets are all wrong, a little thicker than his own, not quite as smooth. Someone moves beside him, a stretch and a twist to shut off the alarm, and– oh, right. Carisi.

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