Featuring: Lester Sinclair, Bo Sinclair, Vincent Sinclair
Word Count: 4.6k
Warnings: don’t trust strangers, implied drugging, pretty tame until the end, you crash your car, don’t text and drive, watch out for animals on the road, yandere-ish themes, may be ooc but i tried my best, southern accent source: born in alabama, edited but i make mistakes so let me know
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It was nothing but in character for your friend to ghost you for a few days—phone going straight to voicemail until the small device was filled to the brim with your annoyed messages. You hated when she didn’t reply, but she would always text back, hungover and begging for a ride back home from miles out of town.
This time, however, it had been almost two weeks with no sign of her. Sure, she made bad decisions, but you hoped that she would surface, maybe a little drunk but unharmed.
You slid your flip-phone back in your pocket after checking for messages, the device barely fitting into your high-waisted shorts. You would one day find and murder whoever made the sizings on women’s pockets.
Rolling your eyes, you continued down the road in your beat-up car. It wasn’t much, but it got you where you needed to go and that’s all you could ask for. You just prayed it wouldn’t break down out here—you had been following a winding country road for miles, trying to spot any sign of your missing friend. There was some kind of party going on way out in the country, and of course she just had to go.
It was stupid—you shouldn’t be so worried, and you definitely shouldn’t keep acting like her babysitter, but you couldn’t just not look for her.
Your eyes scanned the shoulders, checking for any mailbox or sign somebody actually lived out here. You’d never gone this way before—the highway was much quicker—but your friend couldn’t make it easy for you.
You closed your eyes for just a moment, letting out a sigh, before opening them again.
You screamed as you slammed on the brakes, seeing a dog wander out into the road. It wasn’t on your side, but you couldn’t live with yourself if something happened to it on your account.
You slid harshly as you veered off the road, tires squeaking on the rough asphalt. You felt yourself hit dirt, and finally came to a sudden halt—the front of your car firmly dented with a tree blocking your vision. Smoke emanated from the hood.
Luckily, you didn’t slam your head into anything, but you still felt the force of the impact, letting out a breathless sigh as you fell back against your seat.
You switched the car off, wincing just thinking about the damage. Still, as you exited your now ruined vehicle, your mind was on one thing—was the dog okay?
You scanned the road, spotting the black and white dog sitting on the other side of the road, tongue out as it looked at you.
“Oh, thank God,” you mumbled, clutching your head. You turned back to look at your car, not even bothering to attempt to open the hood. You’d need a tow, that’s for sure.
You pulled your phone out, popping it open. No signal. You groaned. This just wasn’t your day.
Stumbling to the edge of the road, you looked both ways before crossing. The dog had to have an owner somewhere—maybe they could help you out?
By the time you made it to the other side, the pit-mix was standing a few feet away, already trotting back into the woods.
“Wait!” you called after it, following the dog as best you could through the overgrown forest. Branches scraped at your bare arms and legs, and suddenly you wished you were in something other than a tank top and shorts.
Finally, you stopped at the edge of a precipice, looking down the steep hill where the dog was now trotting around a large pile of road-kill. You screwed your face up at the smell. You supposed it all had to go somewhere, but did you have to stumble upon it?
The dog sat patiently next to a beat-up truck, and you watched as a man exited the vehicle.
“Jonesy, there you are! Where d’ya think you’re runnin’ off to, huh?”
The man looked like you expected someone who hung out next to a road-kill pile all day would look. Not that he was ugly, but he just—he had the look of someone who was always working and nothing else. His jeans were ripped and the t-shirt he wore had too many stains to count. The flannel he had on top was fraying at the edges, but his attire suited him.
“Hey!” you called from the top of the hill, trying your best to work your way down without falling face-first into a pile of road-kill. “I wrecked a little ways away from here—anywhere you know that can give me a tow?”
The man met your gaze, a toothy grin on his face. He met you just before you got to the bottom of the hill, holding out a hand to lead you around the pile. You smiled back at him, taking it as he guided you back to his truck.
“Sure, I know a place. Just up the road. What’re you doin’ all the way out here?”
“One of my friends is missing—I’m trying to find her,” you replied, finally releasing his hand as you stopped in front of his truck. He smelled of dead animals, but you supposed that came with the job. You watched as he shut the trunk of his truck.
He gestured to his vehicle. “Well, come on, then. I’ll give you a ride. Can’t have you runnin’ around out here gettin’ lost.”
You hesitated only for a second but soon realized you didn’t have another choice. You took a deep breath, grabbing the handle and popping the door open. “Thank you, sir.”
“Oh, just Lester’s fine. I don’t look like much of a sir,” he said with a laugh.
Jonesy hopped in before you had the chance to slide in yourself. You smiled at the dog who was probably used to riding shot-gun. You climbed in next to her as Lester jumped into the driver’s seat.
You shut the door next to you, all the while trying not to startle the dog who seemed very much content with spreading out over the small seating space.
“Oh, don’t mind her,” he said, giving her a pat on her side as she lay against his lap. “She’s spoiled. Give ‘er a few pets and she’ll never leave your side.”
You smiled softly, reaching out to place a hand against her side. She lifted her head up, turning to look at you, tail wagging against your thigh.
“She’s a cutie,” you replied, beginning to pet her softly. For a dog out and about in the woods, she sure had some soft fur. You thought it was endearing she was better groomed than he was—what a kind guy, taking care of his dog so nicely.
“Oh, and she knows it, too,” he said, shaking his head as he laughed goofily. He gave her head a pet.
“So,” you started, looking up from the dog to look at the road—well, dirt path, you should say. “What’s this place? I didn’t know anybody lived back here.”
“It’s an old town—used to be pretty popular ‘til that highway was built. Still, Bo’s in town—he should get you all set. Think he’s still got his tow-truck runnin’.”
“Thanks again for driving me,” you replied, any anxiety soothed by the happy dog who had now turned to place her head in your lap. You gave her a scratch behind the ear causing her leg to start thumping. You laughed. “Must not get many strangers around here.”
“You’d be surprised,” Lester replied. “Every now-n-then some new city folks come around, all off-put by what we do out here. They never stay long. It’s a real shame.”
You shrugged. “Might not be the best job, but someone’s gotta do it,” you said, hand resting against Jonesy’s head. She let out a soft whine, nestling further into your shirt. “AT least you don’t deal with people much. I’d prefer hanging out with this sweetheart than dealing with customers any day.”
“Guess that’s true. Seems she’s takin’ a real likin’ to ya, too. Don’t steal her away from me now!”
You laughed. “D’aww, plans foiled,” you joked. She was a cute dog, but you’d never take a beloved pet away from its owner. Especially when he seemed like a genuinely nice guy who was trying to help you out.
You watched as he stopped in front of a rather large puddle in the dirt track, and you could spot the tire tracks running through it before submerging beneath the murky water.
“That’s not good,” you replied. “Can you get through that?”
He shrugged. “Lemme lock the hubs right quick and we’ll see. Might take a few minutes but it shouldn’ be a problem.”
You bit your lip, debating something. “Oh, it’s alright. The town is just up ahead, yeah? I’ll just walk. You’ve already helped me out enough. I don’t want to put you out any more.”
“You sure?” he replied. “I ain’t in any rush.”
“It’s nice out—some exercise will do me good anyway,” you responded. Jonesy whined, seemingly aware you were about to leave.
“Tell ya what. I gotta few things to do before I head in—why dontcha take Jonesy with ya—it’ll make me feel better that you’re not out here alone. I’ll meetcha at Bo’s shop in a few.”
It was your turn to protest. “Oh, you don’t have to—” you were interrupted when the dog nosed at your hand.
“See, she wants to come with, anyway. She’s a good girl—will even lead ya straight to the town.”
You nodded. “Okay, if you say so. You said Bo is who I’m lookin’ for?”
“Yup,” he said, hopping out and walking over to your side. He popped the door open before holding out his hand. “Tell ‘em Lester sent ya.”
You took his hand, hopping out as Jonesy stretched before following behind you. She stuck to your side, taking a seat.
Lester bent down, giving her a kiss to her forehead. “You take care of the lil lady, gotcha? Go straight to town. No more chasin’ rabbits.”
You smiled. “Thanks again. I’m (Y/N), by the way.”
“Nice to meetcha,” he said, tipping his hat goofily. “Now go on—just follow Jonesy.”
You did as he said, looking to the dog as she stood up, now trotting along the side of the washed out path.
You followed, making sure to stay out of the mud as much as possible. You would hate to slip and fall, and this time there was no sweet man to guide you.
Still, you managed to make it all the way to the town with no issue, tagging behind Jonesy as she pitter-pattered down the street, tail wagging behind her.
She looked like she was leading you straight to your destination, even now that you were within town limits.
Lester was right—it was quiet here. It was like a ghost town. Still, it was relaxing in a way. No traffic. No angry honking or screaming children. Just cute little shops and quaint houses.
You spotted a few sleeping puppies in a window of a pet store, but forced yourself to keep going. You had a wrecked car that might’ve been on fire by now—you didn’t have time to buy a dog.
Speaking of dogs, you noted Jonesy was now stopped in front of a body shop, paws scratching against the door. Music sounded from within.
You trotted up behind her, opening the door to let her in. She looked back at you before continuing deeper into the shop.
You cautiously entered, door shutting behind you.
“Hello?” you called, staying near the entrance as you paced around. You didn’t bother looking at the shelves—you knew damn well there’d be nothing you recognized. You weren’t a car person, but you knew when you needed a tow. So that’s what you hoped for.
“Is anybody here?” you called again, waiting in the now empty lobby. Jonesy had trekked off somewhere. Maybe to fetch your guy?
Sure enough, you heard the music shut off and the sound of boot steps coming closer, and you spotted a man come out from one of the back rooms.
He reminded you of Lester, though certainly more cleaned up. Clean shaven. Neatened hair that still fell messily against his face. A jumpsuit with a few stains on it zippered against him let you know he must’ve been working when you showed up. He still held a wrench in his hand.
“Hey, sweetheart,” he spoke, confusion in his words. “How’d you wind up all the way out here?”
“Umm, Lester sent me. Said to look for someone named Bo who had a tow truck. I crashed my car avoiding Jonesy here,” you said, reaching down to pet the dog who was now standing next to you. “But, she led me here so no hard feelings,” you joked.
“Well, you found ‘im,” he said, slipping the wrench in his pocket before taking off his hat, “And I did have a tow truck. As luck would have it, I’m tryna fix the damn thing right now.” He brushed his hair back with his hand before popping his hat back on.
You tried not to show your disappointment. Great. What the hell were you supposed to do now? “I see. . . Think it’s gonna be fixed any time soon?”
He gave you a half-smile. “Maybe—once I figure out what’s wrong with it. Thing just stopped on me.”
You weren’t sure what to do, hands resting nervously on your belt loops. “Well, uhh, think I could borrow a phone? I don’t have any signal out here.”
“Phone’s haven’t worked here in years,” he said, letting out a soft laugh. “Hell, this place ain’t even on the map anymore.”
You clicked your tongue. What now?
He noted your dismayed expression. “Hey—don’t make that face, honey. Have a little faith in me. I should have it good-as-new by tomorrow.”
You thought about your options—which weren’t many. The only thing you could think of was staying somewhere in this town until you could get your car towed, but who-knows how long it’ll be until it can be fixed, or if it can be. What then? Ask someone to drop you off at the nearest phone-booth? You were stuck. Still, you had to take it one thing at a time. First-things-first—”This town have a hotel?” you asked.
He stifled a laugh. “Sure—right next to the McDonald’s and the roller skating rink.”
So no. You shouldn’t have been surprised. You hadn’t seen but two people the whole time you were here—including the one you were talking to.
“There’s that frown again. Don’t worry about it. I’ve got a spare bedroom up at my place. Nothin’ fancy, but enough to get you through until I can get my truck runnin’.”
If you had a nickel for every time you met a kind stranger who offered you help despite not knowing you or having any reason for doing so, you’d have two nickels. Which wasn’t a lot, but it’s weird that it happened twice today.
That feeling of anxiety bubbled up again. “I don’t want to intrude—”
He waved you off, walking past you to open up the door. “What’d I say about worryin’ about things? C’mon. I’ll show ya. The room’s got a lock on it in case yer scared I’ll try somethin’.”
“No, that’s not what I meant, I just—” he cut you off, giving your head a gentle pat as you walked out behind him.
“Just teasin’, sweetheart. I ain’t gonna mess with ya.”
You let out an awkward laugh. You certainly didn’t feel safe staying in a stranger’s home, but followed him, nonetheless, listening as he described the few places you passed on the way. Jonsey trailed next to you, bumping your leg every once-in-a-while. At least you had another girl with you—sort of.
Another girl. . . A sudden thought struck you. If something happened to your friend around here, she probably ended up here at some point.
“Hey, sir,” you said, causing him to slow down and match your pace. He walked beside you. “Was there a woman here any time in the past two weeks? Long blonde hair, brown eyes, attractive and also probably drunk?”
“Two things, honey. One—just call me Bo. I ain’t yer teacher. And two—we haven’t seen anybody in at least a month ‘til you showed up. Sorry. I’ll keep an eye out, though.”
You nodded. “Thank you, sir—err, Bo. For all of this. I was an idiot coming out here alone.”
“‘S’not so bad? Ya ran into me, didn’t ya?”
You laughed. “I guess I did. Y’all are good people. Thank you.”
“You can quit thankin’ me—I ain’t even done anything yet.”
You didn’t reply and the rest of the short walk went in silence. You glanced beside you to look at him—Bo. This whole town was bizarre, and you wondered how he wound up here. You figured he had to be born here. You doubted this place was booming in the immigration industry.
Still, you didn’t pry, and before you knew it you reached a house. He reached into his pocket, grabbing a key and sticking it in the lock. You heard a click and the door swung open with a creak. Jonesy quickly trotted inside, vanishing behind a door frame.
“It’s dark in here—old house ‘n all. Lights don’t work like they used to. Just watch yer step.”
You nodded, but almost as soon as you entered, your foot clipped against a stray shoe, and you let out a gasp as you tripped forward, bumping into Bo. Luckily, he’d turned around to shut the door behind the two of you and he steadied himself in time, arms wrapping around you to stabilize you.
You were met with the smell of gasoline and oil as your face pressed against his chest. You quickly held your hands out, pushing against him as you backed up. Your face burned.
“Careful, now,” he chastised, hands moving to rest on your shoulders. He moved a finger to tuck underneath your chin, pulling your head upwards to look at him. He smirked. “Wouldn’t wantcha gettin’ hurt. ‘Specially that pretty face.”
“Sorry,” you stuttered out, eyes avoiding his gaze. “Didn’t mean to bump into you.”
“Never said you did,” he teased, winking before turning back around after shutting the door. The whole house was engulfed in darkness. “Now c’mon. I’ll show you the guest room. If you can make it there without killin’ yerself.”
Face burning from his teasing, you didn’t reply, too embarrassed. Your hands were out on either side, trying to feel for the walls. He carried on confidently, seemingly used to the dark hallways. Finally, he stopped at a room, swinging it open. Light flooded in through a window, and you spotted a few matching furniture pieces along with a small bed with floral bedding. It was cute. And also dusty. Like it hadn’t been used in years. You supposed they didn’t have many guests.
“Make yerself at home, sweetheart. I’ll be back. I’m gonna wash up. Want any coffee, tea?”
You shook your head. “No, thank you.”
“Alright. Bathroom’s down the hall if you need me.”
You nodded, watching as he turned and vanished down the hall. You took a seat on the cozy bed, bedding sinking underneath you. You felt a thin layer of dust coat your hands when you pressed into the fabric.
Deciding to do a little cleaning, you stood back up before grabbing the blanket and sliding it off the bed, shaking it off as you held it out in front of you. You watched the dust fly off, floating in the air as it caught the window light. You scrunched your nose. It was a solid minute of shaking before no more dust fell, and once you were content, you lowered the blanket back down, only to scream.
In front of you was a man—a tall and strange man, with long black hair and a pale mask covering his face, mimicking his features. He stared at you, a clay-working tool in his hand as he stood in the doorway.
He took a few steps forward, leading you to toss the blanket back on the bed and scramble away, shooting past him and running down the hall.
“Bo!” you screamed, spotting the door in which steam was cascading out from under. He must’ve been in the shower. You knocked on the door hurriedly. “Bo! There’s someone else in the house!”
You heard the running of water shut off, followed by the sound of the door creaking open.
You stared at the wet face of Bo, hair drenched and dripping down, splattering against his bare chest and shoulders. “What’s all the fuss?”
You almost forgot why you knocked before realizing the stranger still lurked just out of arm’s reach, standing down the hallway. You looked on the verge of tears.
“There’s a man,” you said, pointing a finger down the hallway.
Bo opened the door wider to peer out, spotting the looming figure, still clutching his tool. He rolled his eyes, frowning.
“Vincent! What do you think yer doin’, scaring her like that! She’s our company. Now get outta here and make yerself useful! Start dinner.”
The masked man didn’t reply, only tilting his head slightly. His shoulders were slumped like a child scolded. He began to lift a hand, but Bo’s glare stopped him.
“What are ya, deaf? I said get to makin’ dinner! And feed Jonesy, too.”
The lumbering man turned around slowly, making his way back down the hallway and away from you. You let out a sigh, hand on your chest.
“Didn’t think to tell ya about him—that’s my brother. Doesn’t get out much. Hell, I don’t see him most of the time—he’s always workin’ on something up in that house of wax.”
You had no idea what he was talking about but hummed in acknowledgement, anyway. As long as you weren’t in danger, you didn’t care.
“It’s okay, just scared me,” you said. You stepped away from the door. “I’ll let you get back to your shower. Sorry.”
“Don’ worry about it. Yer my company—I’m here to help ya. Need anything else or he becomes a pain in the ass, just holler.” With that, he shut the door again, though not enough to click it shut. “I’ll leave it open just in case,” he said with a wink.
You forced yourself to turn away from the slit in the door, instead nodding. You trotted back to the guest room, but spotted Jonesy turning a corner and decided to follow. You’d rather hang with her than be alone.
You wound up in a living area and kitchen, seeing the dog curled up on a well-used couch. You started to make your way over but paused when you spotted the masked man in the kitchen, large figure reaching to grab some spices from the cabinet. He carefully seasoned a pot of something on the stove.
You didn’t know if you should say anything, and so sat silently down next to Jonesy, giving her a few pets.
Without hesitation she clambered onto your lap, and though you couldn’t breath nearly as well now, you forced yourself to remain still as she made herself comfortable. You weren’t about to disturb her.
You absentmindedly combed through her fur, eyes closing as you leaned against the couch.
You hadn’t even realized you’d fallen asleep until you awoke to Jonesy clambering off of you, tail wagging as a metal bowl was placed down in the kitchen.
You opened your eyes, looking around. You spotted Bo and Vincent in the kitchen behind you, talking about something you weren’t close enough to hear. Lester was there, too, though he was preoccupied with feeding Jonesy, who was digging into some kibble.
The smell of warm spices filled your nose, and you stood up from the couch, slowly walking towards the kitchen.
“Hey, sleepin’ beauty,” Bo commented, leaning against the kitchen counters as he shooed Vincent away. “Have a nice nap?”
Your cheeks burned. “Sorry.”
“Don’ apologize, you didn’t do nothin’ wrong. In fact, Vince just finished cookin’ up dinner. Take a seat.” He pulled out a worn chair from the dining table, gesturing for you to sit down. You thanked him with a nod.
“You guys are the perfect picture of southern hospitality,” you said, watching as a plate of wonderful smelling chili was placed in front of you. “Glad I stumbled onto the good kind of strangers.”
The others took their seats, and you couldn’t help but wonder if Vincent would remove his mask. Maybe he was self-conscious about something? You’d been there.
Bo and Lester each let out a laugh. “We’re far from angels,” Bo quipped, sticking a spoon in his chili. “But it’s nice to have some company around. Well, company that’s not a douchebag.”
“Well thanks for having me,” you replied, lifting your utensil to your mouth. It was seasoned beautifully, and you had to stop yourself from slurping the whole bowl down, taste warm and homely on your tongue. “This is really good,” you complimented. “You’re a good cook, Vincent.” You nodded in the direction of the man.
He made no move to touch his food, mask still firmly on his face. You frowned. “Are you alright?”
“He’s a shy bastard,” Bo chimed in. “Hates to be seen without that mask on.”
“Is it because I’m here? I can go somewhere else if you’re—”
Bo cut you off. “You don’t gotta do that. He’s just a baby. He’ll get over it.”
You shot Vincent a sympathetic look. It seemed like Bo was the one in charge of things. You wondered if that contributed to his secluded attitude.
“He made the food,” you replied. “I’d just hate for him to not eat because of me.”
“He’ll live.”
You went back to eating, but occasionally looked to the quiet brother, still sitting frozen in his seat, fiddling with his long sleeves.
“So,” you started, “What’s this house of wax that you mentioned earlier? Like a wax museum?”
“Pretty much,” Bo replied. “The whole damn thing’s made a’ wax. Somethin’ of an engineering miracle. Not that anybody comes ‘round to see it anymore.”
“Could I see it sometime?”
“Vincent’s up there all the time. Sure he won’t mind if you tag along. Hmm?”
You watched as the pair stared at each other until Vincent finally nodded gently.
“It’s a little late for it tonight, but you can go up there tomorrow. I’ll see if I can get my tow truck up n’ runnin’.”
You nodded in agreement, pausing as a yawn left your lips. “Sorry. Been a long day, I guess,” you said, covering your mouth with your hand.
“Don’ worry about it. Go ‘head and get to bed. We’ll clean up, darlin’.”
You wanted to argue, but suddenly felt too tired to do so, barely able to support yourself as you stood from the table shakily. You wobbled only a few feet before collapsing onto your knees.
Lester got up, hand on your back. “‘Ey, you alright?”
With that, you slumped completely forwards, leaving Lester to pull you against him.
“That worked fast,” Bo commented, standing up from the table. He kneeled by you, hand sneaking into your back pocket to pull out your phone. He stashed it away in his own pocket. “Put ‘er in the spare bedroom. But don’ be rough with ‘er.”
Lester did as told, Jonesy whining behind him as he carried you down the hall.
Vincent remained seated, eyes glued to his brother’s back as he left with you in his arms. He turned to look at Bo, head tilted. He didn’t speak, but it was obvious he wanted an answer.
“What? I ain’ gonna kill this one. I like ‘er. ‘sides. Might be nice with a lady around here.”
Vincent sighed underneath his mask. Something about you intrigued him, but unfortunately, it seemed like his brothers had that same feeling.
He just hoped you’d stay with them willingly. He would hate for more drastic measures to be taken.
my favourite hotchniss trope/theme/whatever is Hotch having beef with Sergio.
y’know. Emilys cat.
And it’s coz Sergio is a cute, cuddly lovable cat to literally everyone even Hotchs son but with him vindictive, little bastard who does shit to piss him off. Piss in his shoes, tear up his tie you name it.
literally my fave @ hotchniss writers, write more Hotch v Sergio beef
hi! may i request some headcanons about julian's favorite hobbies? either when he was growing up or now
Ooooh I love this idea. I'll see what I can come up with!! (Sorry this got pretty long)
We know when he was younger he was always intrigued by tourists in Nevivon. I think maybe seeing so many people from different walks of life might have inspired him to be interested in acting and theatre. Maybe he became particularly good at telling tourists stories (usually ones that he heard from other tourists a while ago, but he was better at adding suspense and tension and, yknow, twisting the truth a little bit). Sometimes if he grew a crowd, some of the tourists would leave him small tips in the form of various world currency. He would keep it all in a bag tucked under his bed, and sometimes late at night he would look at the coins and study how they were different.
Also, Portia would LOOOOVEEEE to hear his stories while she was growing up. She would beg and beg and beg for him to tell her a new story every night before bed, and while Julian acted like he didn't like it, he actually loved spending the quality time with his sister. She was sharp as a tack even then though, so he had to come up with new stories fast or she would call him out on being "unoriginal".
Once Julian was able to join Mazelinka on her travels, he became the ship's sort of chore/scrub boy. He would handle anything that had to deal with cleaning or helping the crew out, like throwing out the cook's trash, tying down the masts, and most importantly, swabbing the deck. Julian actually enjoyed that last one a lot though, especially at night, because he could just stop and stare at the sea and take it all in. Being in the middle of the ocean always felt so right to him, maybe it was because of all the possibilities. When Mazelinka told him how to read the stars for navigation, she told him about a constellation that sat right above Nevivon -- he would always check on it those nights and think of Pasha.
While he was a battle medic, the only thing keeping him sane was to read. He would read any book he could get his hands on, and once he read them all he would read them again. There were a few nights where the camp was blissfully peaceful, and that was when he would go outside and stare at the stars and wish he was back in the middle of the ocean.
After adopting Brundle, his old dog, he used to try and play fetch with her. She was never very energetic though, and would just give him a look whenever he threw a stick for her. Eventually Julian gave up, but one day he came up with the idea of hiding treats for her around the house. She was a hound dog, after all, and she could sniff practically anything out. Julian loved to find a new place every day to hide a treat and watching Brundle sniff it out, usually within just a few minutes. He would give her the biggest hugs and pets once she found them!!
Julian writes letters a lot, he just hardly ever sends them. Not only is he the only one who can read his terrible handwriting, but it's more therapudic than anything. He's written the most letters to Portia, where he talked about his daily events, how he was feeling, asked her for advice... But he never sent any of them. He kept them all though, scattered around any desk he ever sat at for an extended period of time.
He loves to play card games at the Rowdy Raven. Everybody there cheats, including him, and it keeps everyone on their toes. Sometimes if he's lucky a fight will break out, and he just loves the chaos. Really gets the blood pumping! Don't worry though, he dips out before it gets too awful rowdy... much to his opponents chagrin. Julian is very slippery and somehow knows just how to sneak away when things start to get crazy.
Used to, when he, Nadia, and Asra were closer, Nadia would invite the two of them to afternoon tea. Julian would joke about it at first, but he actually loves the tiny teacups and saucers and figuring out where they came from, telling stories if he had ever been to their place of origin before, and just having a nice casual time with his friends. Plus he thinks tiny sandwiches are adorable.
Obviously he is a theatre nerd. He volunteers every once in a while at the community theater in South End, and auditions whenever he has the spare time. He doesn't ever expect to actually get a part, but whenever he does he gets super excited and motivated to be the best he can be. He loves performing and being loved by the audience, and he's sincerely touched whenever anyone he knows comes by to support him and the rest of the cast. Whenever he is in a show, he'll spend hours each night reading the script and deliberating on how certain lines should be delivered. He'll write notes to ask at the next rehearsal, like "what's my motivation when I'm talking to [xyz character]? Should I say this quietly to myself or should I project it to the audience?" etc etc etc. It's quite charming to see him so passionate.
After the events of the main story are over, he picks up reading again. He'll read practically anything, doesn't matter what. He still has insomnia sometimes and reading helps distract him from himself. He especially loves it if his significant other will brew some hot coffee for them to drink while they just spend time curled up together, his nose buried in a book. He won't admit it, but his favorite genre is those steamy romance books with the painted muscle men on the covers. Does he have reading glasses?? Yes. Does he look adorable in them??? Double yes.
Whenever he's at home, he ends up humming a lot of tunes to himself whenever it's quiet. If he realizes that his significant other is there, he'll break out into song and pull them into it. Sometimes it's old sea shanties he remembers from his time on Mazelinka's ship, sometimes it's folk songs the soldiers used to sing on the battlefield, sometimes it's just some pretty tune he heard however long ago. Around friends he acts as if his singing is terrible to get some laughs, but his voice is actually quite lovely and measured, he just only shares it with the person he cares for the most. If the song is more lively he'll pull them in for a dance around their home, spinning and spinning through each room... It's one of his favorite things.
Eventually he gets into writing and developing his own plays. It turns into a deep passion, where he longs to tell the stories he always told as a child to a greater audience. He feels like to some extent it's his purpose to be a storyteller, and his friends & family agree. He was always good at it, and playwriting is no exception. I'd like to think he becomes rather famous for it
Man absolutely does needlepoint and sometimes it looks awful but he's surprisingly adept at using the needle (he is a doctor / surgeon after all). Would love to teach you how to do it sometime.
