#Computer Kiosk

[perfectlywingedpost]

Queue Management System

A Queue Management System (QMS) is a solution designed to streamline and optimize the process of managing customer flow in service environments. It reduces wait times, enhances customer experience, and improves operational efficiency by organizing and prioritizing service requests. QMS typically includes features like digital ticketing, real-time queue monitoring, and automated notifications, allowing businesses to manage queues dynamically. Whether in banks, hospitals, or retail stores, QMS helps ensure a smooth and orderly service process, resulting in increased customer satisfaction and more efficient use of resources.

[ashifkh]

Top features to look for in a good charity kiosk system.

A self-service charity kiosk is an interactive digital terminal that allows people to donate quickly and securely to charitable causes without the need for staff or volunteers. These kiosks can be placed in high-traffic areas like malls, airports, hospitals, or religious centers, offering a convenient way for the public to contribute anytime. With touchscreen interfaces, multiple payment options, and customizable donation campaigns, they enhance donor engagement and streamline fundraising efforts.

Read the Full blog : Charity kioskKey Points: 24/7 donation access with minimal human supervision Accepts card, mobile, or digital wallet payments Can display impactful visuals and donor stories Reduces administrative costs and cash handling Ideal for high-footfall locations Customizable branding and campaign content Generates real-time donation reports and analytics

[mikecovers]

80. The image on this Deptford Mall directory kiosk is an accurate depiction of modern day malls.

[jhsharman]

Kinda direct

[chaddavisphotography]

The "Device and System Status Overview" screen on a Sun Country Airlines airport kiosk.

[sumantra12]

Everything You Need to Know About Kiosk Touch Screens

Sumantra Computer Trading LLC provides a comprehensive overview of kiosk touch screens, benefits, and their various applications across different industries. It highlights the advantages of using kiosk touch screens, such as enhancing customer experience, reducing wait times, and improving business efficiency.

[markthomas]

Efficient management is key to running a successful restaurant, and restaurant computer software is essential for streamlining operations. With eatOS, you get a powerful solution designed to handle everything from order management to inventory tracking and customer payments, helping you manage your restaurant with ease.

The eatOS restaurant computer software provides real-time insights into your business, allowing you to track sales, monitor stock, and manage staff all from one platform. Its user-friendly interface makes it easy for staff to navigate, ensuring quick onboarding and minimizing errors during service. Additionally, it integrates with online ordering and delivery systems, so you can handle both in-house and off-premise orders efficiently.

[metatemu]

Dude I do not understand a single thing happening in Homestuck right now.

I think it's all the technobabble. I really don't do well with technobabble.

[duskythesomething]

why would you hand me a receipt and NOT EVEN FUCKING READ WHAT WAS ON IT

[neopuppy]

Bestfriend Jeno who invades readers privacy and goes through her computer filled with videos of ykyk💀

warnings. errrhhmmm🤔 masturbation, yeah..

“Damn, he really did a number on your phone.” Jeno’s fingers drag down the shatter of cracks distorting your screen, neck ticking to the side. “I can definitely fix it though.”

“You can?”

“Yeah, I worked at one of those phone repair kiosks a couple summers ago, these screens cost a fortune to get fixed you know? I have a lot of leftover supplies, can probably find something in my stash that will fit.” He informs, patting your shoulder. “Means you’ll have to be disconnected all day though, is that okay?”

“I guess, have some lectures to get through and a group project to finish so I’ll be at the library most of the day if anything.”

“Alright, write down your passcode and maybe your apple log in just in case.” Jeno nods to a notebook, grabbing a pen to hand you.

“Why the log in?” You hesitate, eyeing your phone nervously.

Jeno shrugs, holding your phone out to you. “I only want to help, I know you’re kind of down on your luck right now. I understand if you want to be around when I fix it but today’s one of my only free days for the rest of the week, so..”

“No no, it’s fine.” You sigh, pushing the phone back toward him. “I might be back late, don’t know how long this meeting with my group will take. If you could leave my phone on DND? I’ll probably still be texting from my laptop.”

“Yeah, not a problem.” Jeno nods to his notebook, smiling as you scribble down your passcode and password. “I’ll get this all fixed up for you, free of charge.”

“I’ll have to repay you somehow..”

“What are friends for?” He laughs, motioning to the living room area scattered with your belongings. “Shit happens..”

“Thanks Jeno, everything you guys have done for me..” trailing off, you murmur shyly. “I don’t know how I’ll ever be able to repay you and Jaemin for helping me out like this.”

“Don’t worry about it, focus on school.”

After bidding you goodbye and good luck with your project, Jeno moves to his bedroom, whistling to himself as he traces down the largest crack on your phone screen. “Gosh, what a dick..”

He didn’t ask what the fight was about, the timing didn’t feel right with you sniffling as he and Jaemin helped you carry your belongings in. He never liked your boyfriend much anyway, or well, ex-boyfriend..

Jeno boiled it down to jealousy at times, whenever he’d have to witness the unfortunate public displays of affection between the two of you. It’s not that he likes you, not necessarily.. but your friendship hadn’t exactly stemmed from genuine interest in forming a platonic relationship. It just so happened that while he had one idea, your mind had already honed in and focused on another.

“Eh, I always knew he wasn’t right for you.” Jeno mumbles to himself, tapping your phone screen to the image of your now ex-boyfriend’s lips squished against your cheek. “Gross.”

Jeno gets to it, unwrapping a new razor to begin removing the old screen topper first and see the real damage. Lucky for you, he’d gifted you a durable screen protector when you’d gotten a new phone. Great for dropping, not so much for a crazy boyfriend hurling it at a wall though.

He’s pleased to see the damage is a lot more minor under the protector, mentally patting himself on the back for handling that for you in the first place. A text pops up lighting the bare screen. “Oh right, do not disturb.”

Jeno taps in the passcode, swiping down to turn off notifications only to come to a pause as another text comes in.

‘It’s easy money, I did it my first year of college to cover rent, and you're shit out of luck at this point if you think a dorm will open up this far into the semester.’

He knows he shouldn’t, but there’s no way you’d find out anyway..

‘Isn’t that prostitution?’

The last text sent from you has his eyes going wide, quickly reading through the chat between you and the name he recognizes as your best friends, the same one whose car Jaemin had found you using as a makeshift home..

‘It’s not illegal in our state, and it’s anonymous. You won’t get caught or anything. Trust me, I worked there for 11 months, best money I’ve ever made.’

Jeno mumbles a ‘what the fuck.’ To himself, opening his phone to copy down the address she sends in next.

‘Besides, what difference does it make? You were getting fucked by your asshole ex on stream for way less.’

“What?!” Jeno looks around in shock, covering his mouth in case someone else is home. An arsenal of unanswered questions race through his mind, swiping to put your phone on ‘do not disturb’ finally as he takes a deep breath to calm down.

“There’s no way..” he chuckles, licking his lips nervously as he taps open your photos and scrolls until a locked album named ‘delete’ catches his eye.

Jeno spent a year learning different ways to break into stolen phones with not even a passcode to assist, the thrill of unknown has his thumb punching away before he can even talk himself out of it. Not that he would..

Why wouldn’t you immediately delete photos or videos you wouldn’t want anyone to see anyway? You can’t be that stupid..

“Oh shit.”

You are that stupid.

Jeno groans, leaning back in his computer chair as he slowly scrolls through the album of over 1000 photos and videos, most consisting of topless shots. More scandalous as he reaches the middle and sucks in a deep breath reading the time on the first video he sees.

Eight minutes and twenty seven seconds..

Patting around for his headphones, he plugs them in and opens the video up to hit play, sinking deeper into his seat as your face appears half-fucked out with dreamy eyes and saliva wet lips.

The deeper familiar voice he recognizes as your ex’s comes through, making his stomach tighten. “Fuck.”

‘How can you ask me for more after I just fucked you full?’

‘Please daddy, n-need more.’

The camera runs down your bare body, laid back against dark sheets with your thighs hoisted up and open; panning down to where white streaks of cum paint your stomach and mound. ‘Feel that? My dicks still so hard.’

‘Keep fucking me, don’t stop fucking me. Fuck that cum deep inside of me.’

Jeno pants, short of breath as he digs the heel of his palm against his groin and groans. Fuck fuck fuck… he knew it. The past few years of having to pretend he valued your friendship more than his desire to fuck you, he always knew you were nothing but a pathetic sobbing whore. The sound of your sobs and aroused whines vibrating through his ears has him ready to make a mess, smoothing in past the waistband of his sweats to free his length, he’s thankful for the point of view shot; making it easy to tune out the masculine grunts passing between your pretty cries.

‘Fuck. I’ll breed you better than that.’ Jeno voices to himself, surprised your lazy ex didn’t make you get on top. The amount of cum covering your lower half has his hips jumping from the chair, eager to fuck into his fist faster.

One thought continues to pass through his mind as he grips around his cock and strokes to match the pace pushing you up and down along the screen.

He needs to fuck you.

[perfectlywingedpost]

With interactive technology, kiosks provide flexible digital solutions for a range of environments, enhancing user experiences. Digital kiosks in museums provide educational content and help with directions, while display kiosks in shopping centers are used for customer assistance and advertising. In public areas, information kiosks offer important information, and in facilities such as hospitals, queue management systems improve services by reducing down on wait times. These multipurpose areas are essential to modern consumer interaction because they provide easily accessible and user-friendly interfaces that improve customer happiness and service efficiency.

[ashifkh]

Easy Ways Bill Payment Kiosks Help You Save Time.

In today’s fast-paced world, convenience and efficiency are the cornerstones of modern living. As technology continues to evolve, the way we handle routine tasks such as bill payments has drastically changed. Among the most impactful innovations in this area are bill payment kiosks. These self-service machines have grown increasingly popular due to their ability to streamline payments and provide quick, easy, and accessible solutions to common billing challenges.

[saturnn127]

couldn’t make it any harder | LJN

pt. 4: premarital hand holding wc: 1.1k see masterlist for warnings and details :)

“it’s not like i wanted to yell in front of the whole restaurant.” yn rolled her eyes from where she was leaning against the host stand. yeonjun gave her a knowing look before going back to where he was cashing out his tips. “don’t lie, it felt good doing it.”

the older girl sighed and sunk her head down to lay on her crossed arms. “yeah, you’re right. it’s not like it wasn’t deserved, though. but i guess his apology was appreciated. and i’ll never turn down free coffee.” at that, her coworker laughed out a “valid” before lifting his head up at the sound of the front doors opening.

“hey wel-“ the sudden pause made yn lift her head up to investigate the cause, and her face blanked once she saw why. lee haechan, speak of the devil, was strolling in like he owned the place. beside him were huang renjun and lee jeno, both looking like they really didn’t want to be there.

with a sigh, yn kicked herself away from the counter and moved towards the menus. “for three?” she asked, her tone not the usual customer service one she wore during her shifts. “four.” haechan corrected, and she raised an eyebrow as her hand hovered over the stack. “if you can take a break.” renjun added, nudging his friend in the ribs.

yeonjun turned to the girl and gave her a concerned look. “i’m busy.” yn replied as she put back the fourth menu. right as she rounded the corner, the door opened once again and yeji, yeonjun’s girlfriend, walked in. “hey yeji.” the two girls exchanged smiles before yeji turned to greet yeonjun.

“make sure you open a new roll of quarters before you leave.” yn told the younger boy, and he gave her a noise of confirmation. “uh, i can stay longer if you need me to.” he quickly added, cocking his head over in the direction of the three college students waiting to be sat. yn chuckled, “‘s alright, go with your girlfriend. you were just complaining about not seeing her sooner.” the boy blushed before sharing a sweet look with said girlfriend. “if you say so.”

yn turned her attention back to the waiting boys and began walking towards an empty booth. she let them take their places before sliding their menus in front of them. “your server will be right with you.” she told them before wasting no time in turning on her heel and walking away.

“ynnieeeee” haechan whined, and the girl snapped her head around with a glare. “i’m on the clock. don’t make a repeat of last time.” he looked like he wanted to speak again, but renjun quickly slapped his hand over his mouth. yn nodded in an appreciative manner before continuing her journey back to the host stand.

she had been waitressing for the swing shift, and was now covering the host stand while waiting for the evening host to come in. it was slow like it usually was on the weekdays, so yn busied herself with some random side work. the familiar jingle sounded half an hour later, and the girl looked up with her nice face before dropping it. “oh thank god.” she sighed in relief, reaching around to undo her apron.

“why are you only excited to see me when your leaving?” lily giggled as she made her way over to the stand. “as much as i love you, my feet are killing me.” yn groaned, leaning down to grab her bag from its place beneath the kiosks. the two chatted while they continued to situate their things before yn gave her a hug goodbye. “have a good shift, lil.” the girl thanked her as she walked off, and yn made her way to the back.

she clocked out on doyoung’s computer before making her move to leave. “wait yn!” turning, she saw liz, another server, calling her over. “hey, my table was looking for you?” liz gestured over her shoulder, and yn followed her gaze to find haechan waving vigorously at her. sighing, yn turned back to her coworker. “i got it, thanks.” liz smiled at her before going back into the kitchen.

rolling her head, she debated whether or not she should just turn and walk back out the door. once she saw haechan begin to stand up, though, she quickly made a b line for their booth. “what do you want, haechan?” she asked exasperated. “for you to join us!” he smiled at her, reaching out to tug the sleeve of her black dress shirt.

she slapped his hand away before examining the rest of the table. renjun gave her a sheepish look, silently apologizing to the girl, while the third male was staring down at the table. huffing, she dropped her bag down into the empty seat beside the boy before sitting down. “this better be worth my time.”

haechan, who was sat in front of her, immediately perked up. “of course it will, i’m here.” he scoffed, and the blank stare he received made him waver slightly. “hey renjun.” she turned her attention to the art student, who picked up his hand in a simple wave. “hey yn, how was your shift?” the girl shrugged. “slow.”

she found her eyes wandering over the the boy beside her, and she quirked a brow at him. he was seemingly lost in space, so she cleared her throat. his eyes jumped to hers, and she saw the way his pupils slightly widened. “jeong yn.” she held her hand out for him to take, and his eyes darted down to it. “i-uh, i know. i mean, um, my name is jeno.”

his hand hesitated before grasping hers, and she could feel the slight roughness of his calluses. she figured he was a weight lifter, because johnny had the same ones. “cool.” she quickly tore her hand away, trying to ignore the awkwardness raidiating off him.

turning back to the boys across from her, she reached forward to snatch a fry off haechan’s plate. “so, are you going to just sit there or are you going to tell me why you’re bothering me for the second time today?” she looked up at haechan while pausing to chew. “cause i thought i was pretty clear when i told you to “leave me the fuck alone.””

the boy leaned back in his seat with a smug look on his face. “please, we both know that if you really meant that you wouldn’t be here right now.” the girl held his smug gaze for a few seconds before reaching forward for his drink.

“curiosity is one of my toxic traits.” she shrugged before taking the straw in her mouth. “now, i want a chocolate milkshake before dealing with your shit.” haechan grinned like he just won whatever game they were playing. “whatever you want, princess.” “i’ll kill you.” “okay i’m sorry.”

tracklist prev ▶︎ •၊၊||၊|။||||။‌‌‌‌‌၊|• 0:10 next

a/n: first written chapter! i tried not to make it too long, but i wanted to document yn and jeno’s first real interaction. i also wanted to show a little more of yn’s personality. and more new characters!

yeji, the coworker’s girlfriend: yeji is a second year like her boyfriend yeonjun. she visits the restaurant often and usually picks him up after his shifts. yn loves their relationship, and she always teases them about how “disgustingly cute” they are to each other.

lily, the hostess: another coworker, lily is a hostess for the restaurant. she goes to wvu like ten, but she lives right between both campuses. she’s in her second year like yeonjun.

liz, the waitress: oh wow, another staff member! liz is a freshman at ncu and barely started working at the restaurant. she’s on the jv dance team, and jihyo sings her praises with no doubt she’ll make varsity next season.

taglist! comment and ill add you to it <3: @kukkurookkoo @nosungluv @hoeingthefuckup

[blathannabeaga]

.☽༊˚ january writing; gone-cold tea

deacon kay x reader

feat. bodyguard!deacon, lawyer!reader, canon-typical threat, implied age gap, divorced!deacon, mutual pining, hurt/comfort (kinda)

At this height, only a couple floors from the very top of the office’s highrise, you feel further from the ground than you do close to it. The clouds hovering all around and the stars they mask feel more tangible than the vehicles dotting the streets below, innumerate sets of headlights reduced to pinpricks so small and vibrant that they might as well be the bright stars above.

As happily as you’d give the rest of the night gazing out the windows at the sights all around, the harsh glare of your computer screen is never far out of your peripheral. Having been working on this particular settlement document since eight o’clock of the past evening, the neatly-typed words and their meaning have lost all relevance to you - and as you lean away from your cluttered desk to dig the heels of your palms into your tired eyes, the serifs swirl against a black backdrop that you worry you’ll never stop seeing.

“Still in the trenches?”

“Fuck me!” 

At the sound of a deep voice emerging from right next to your desk, your heart lurches into your throat as you shout in surprise. Your hands fly to the arms of your chair, claw-like against the soft leather rests, as you push yourself back in fright - only for the source of the shock to be your annoyingly cool-headed protector for the day, a salt and pepper-haired sergeant who’s now trying admirably hard to conceal a smile as he balances two paper cups nestled in a holder one hand and closes your office door with the other.

“I know stealth is the name of the game and all, but wouldn’t giving me a fucking heart attack from creeping into the room be a little counter-intuitive?” You manage to get out, around a jagged breath as the adrenaline starts to ebb away. The heavy door closes quietly, and you rub a hand over your face to try and retain some bit of dignity.

“Well, I think the fact that I was halfway into the room before you noticed me is another reason why you need me here.” He - David, as he’s told you to call him - puts forward amicably.

From the cardboard holder in his hand, he takes one of the cups and sets it before you on the table like a peace offering. “Besides, I thought you could do with something to help you through the night.”

It’s a brown coffee cup, from the nice kiosk downstairs - and from the tag on the side, he must’ve sent for them himself. It’s the same as the two on the other side of your desk, one emptied and the other half-full and gone cold from all your attention having been poured into this document. The tea inside is piping hot, and just how you like it; another unsettingly attentive cop trick you’ve grown distasteful of.

“So you’ve got jokes now.” You murmur into the plastic lid. “Since when have you had jokes?”

He smiles, and it’s a sight. As muchas you enjoy, or tolerate, the spirited back-and-forths with his co-owner and their staff, there’s something about Sergeant Kay and his grounding presence that’s different. He’s been on your detail more and more lately, as the threat to your life has worsened with the nearing of the court date, and it wouldn’t be a stretch to say that you’ve grown fond of his company. Maybe in ways that don’t entirely befit your situation.

“I’ve always had jokes.” His tone is neutral - not sharp, not mocking, just calm in a weirdly patient way. Lifting one suited shoulder, humor undercuts his tone as he lifts his own cup. “It’s just taken this long for you to talk to me for long enough to hear them.”

“Yeah.” Swallowing thickly, you turn your gaze to your lap and drag your thumbnail over the ridges in the cardboard sleeve in lieu of having to look at him. “Suppose I’ve not been a wonderful client so far, have I?”

In the quiet of the office, his exhale rises like smoke to fill the silence. He shifts, leaning against the thick oak of the desk, and stretches out his free hand atop a strong thigh - which, you realise, is missing the gold wedding band he’d donned when you first met him all those months ago.

“Few people can honestly say they’ve experienced the kind of pressure you’re under at the minute.” He says, softening. Forcing your attention back to him, you’re shocked by just how bare you feel under his gaze - though given his standing in the LAPD, he was sure to be familiar with the details of the case, even if his private security firm wasn’t the one that your senior associates had rushed to hire to ensure your safety. 

From where you stand now, on the plateau of it all, everything just seems so ridiculous. The threats delivered every which way - to your personal phone, the PO box in your building, uttered to your face by seemingly friendly strangers - your tires slashed and windshield broken, and the gutwrenching night when you arrived home to find your apartment trashed. All done in warning, too; God knows what would happen when they decided they actually wanted to hurt you.

All because you were hired to after what was, unknown to both you and your client, a mob front for damages that seem so benign looking back. Shit that you’d blown through getting cold called over in school was what’d put your head squarely on the chopping block, and had already claimed lives it has no business in taking.

It feels as though he looks right past that, all through the mess on the surface and right down to where the overwhelming fear and fatigue this whole situation has kept you ensnared in for so long brews sourly in the pit of your stomach. You’ve known many a private security worker and many more cops, and it’s not a trait unique to them - no, it seems it’s just unique to him. To David.

“And hell, hearing Sanchez moan about the trouble you give him has been the high points of my days lately.” 

The spell breaks, then, but honestly you’re kind of glad for it. The tilt of his head in concession makes the light catch on the silver in his beard and, smiling, you lean back a little in your chair and cross one ankle over the other.

“Your days must be fairly bleak, so.” 

Kissing his teeth, he looks like he’s contemplating your words for a second before rebuking you in a thoughtful manner. “If yours had started getting any better, your bosses wouldn’t still have us around.”

“Guess there is that.” You nod, with no defence to hand, and he laughs. Forcing your eyes away from him and back to the ever-blinking cursor and where it remains, a surge of dread blooms deep in your chest and you shake your tired head. “Christ, I might as well be reading the manufacturer’s tags for this fucking thing at this stage.”

“You need to rest.” He tells you, almost right away. You bite your tongue as a comment about his age and authoritativeness rises to the back of your throat, but settle to just watch on as he places his coffee down on the desk and faces you with crossed arms and a softened brow. “How long have you been at this now? And I know you’re going out to talk with the lead on the Homeland team tomorrow, that’s gonna need a clear head.”

You can’t help but grin up at him, arching a brow as you drum your fingertips on the near-empty cup. “You pay that much attention to all your client’s schedules, even when you’re not assigned to them?”

“Select few.” He’s got an answer for everything, you’re quickly learning. Casting a look down at the face of his watch, he’s quiet for a moment before placidly presenting the idea to you. “Give it fifteen minutes. I’ll wake you, and you can get right back to- “ 

He waves his hand at the papers covering your desk, wrinkles forming around his kind eyes in his confusion. The sight makes you smile even wider, and with the hands of tiredness gripping ever-tigher at you, you’re more agreeable than you’d usually be.

“Fifteen.”

“Not a second more.” Your curtness has no effect on him, and he holds his hands up before him in defeat. “I know better than to try and argue with a lawyer, believe.”

“Alright.” You nod, and after a beat you make to push yourself up off the chair. 

“Alright.” You nod, and after a beat you make to push yourself up off the chair. 

Pangs of stiffness shoot up through your back, but you walk them off as you pad over to the largely disused sofa at the other side of the room. The windows stretch from the floor to the ceiling here, and you can see that the streets have grown quieter and darker since you examined them last. You’re not quite sure if this lessens your perpetual unease, or heightens it.

You toe off your shoes, half-clumsy from tiredness, which David has the good grace to turn his back to. Arranging yourself on the small sofa isn’t woefully easy but right now, it feels comparable to the lushest of king beds underneath your exhausted body and no sooner than you’ve tucked your legs almost comfortably half up to your chest and rested your cheek against the back of the sofa do you feel yourself start to drift off to sleep.

…

A soft creak of carpeted floor under heavy feet, and a shadow falling across your face.

“David?” You croak out, barely awake and yet his name is the first thing on your lips. A self-annoyed exhale follows, and the footsteps grow less careful as he stands before you.

“S’okay.” He promises quietly. Still trying to blink yourself awake, you can’t see what it is he’s at - but you can feel soft fabric against the bare skin of your folded arms as he drapes something across you that wards off the cool air. “You just looked cold.”

His suit jacket. Warm from his body, smelling faintly of his cologne. 

That perks you up, forcing you to look up at him through bleary eyes. You think he’s smiling down at you, but it looks too different a smile. Too… intimate. Too fond, for what you know you to be to each other. All that said, and you can barely look away.

In that haze of realisation, all you can dumbly muster up is this. “You’re gonna be broke up from sitting over there.”

At your stilted nod over to the creaky armchair and desk reserved for your many minders, his smile deepens and he frowns jokingly down at you. “I thought I was supposed to be the one worrying about you?”

“You can still do that from over here.” Shaking off the dregs of sleep, you shift under your borrowed blanket and nod down at the empty space at the foot of the couch. “What time does Sanchez relieve you?”

“He’s already downstairs.” David tells you, in that kind of aghast way he seems to reserve just for his partner. Your offer seems to have taken him by surprise, and his Adam’s apple bobs behind his pressed collar as he swallows deeply but continues on. “Think he’s a little more fond of that blonde night secretary than he lets on.” 

“So surely he won’t be so wrapped up in his courtship that he won’t let some masked murderer into the building.” “Sit. Rest up for a minute.”

He hesitates for a beat, casting a look over his shoulder, before accepting. The sofa dips under his weight, disused springs creaking their protests, and you’re thankful for his jacket to hide behind as the warm press of his wrought torso against your legs forces heat to your cheeks.

“Call me Deacon.” He says softly, like it wasn’t enough, adjusting the side of his jacket tighter around your back with a light hand. “Everyone does.”

Heavy eyes look out at him over the collar of his jacket, and he can hear the testing tone of your voice before you even speak. “Sanchez doesn’t.”

Resting his arm on the low back of the sofa, David - Deacon - smiles reservedly. “Jury’s still out on him.”

“And it’s in on me?” Sleep taints your words with a murmured quality as your eyes begin closing once more, but that lawyerly self-assuredness is never far.

“You could say.” Deacon soothes, sleep belying his own words as he settles back against the cushions. “Get some sleep, yeah?”

A murmured agreement goes understood, and you’re vaguely aware of a strong hand patting your knee affirmatively before you’re pulled back under.

…

Seven AM on the button, and the building’s sharply fluorescent overhead lights flicker to life. Many a time you’ve awoken to them - asleep in a boardroom after succumbing to late discovery sessions, head buried in your desk after trial prep ran into the small hours, even once where you arrived back in the afternoon after a gruelling court day, and awoke the next morning after the spent energy caught up with you - but none with your bodyguard’s jacket draped over your sleeping body, and with the man himself asleep next to you with his arm laid over your crooked knees.

Through the glass panel of your office door, a grey-suited frame sits in the hallway with his back to the door - and craning your neck as your personal cell lights up with a notification, a text from Sanchez with a picture of the both of you attached awaits. Along with a promise that he’ll only use this as blackmail to keep you in line for a couple months, at most.

Deacon’s still asleep beside you, broad chest rising and falling evenly. His arm is warm over your legs, heavy and protective, and your heart hammers behind your ribs. All the knowledge and wisdom imbued to you over the years, and you’re still not quite sure what to do with the knowledge that the measly few hours of sleep that you’d got with him by your side had been the first ones of real rest since it became necessary for him to come into your life.

[olomaya]

Shhh!! It's a Library (mod)

27 Sept Update: Found a better shushing sound so I replaced with that. Also added ITUNs for the non computer interactions. Thanks to @cs2te for the Brazilian Portuguese translation! Redownload (if you want these updates) at the link below.

(Note: This mod uses the Ticket Machine animations for the kiosk. If you don't have it, you can download it here. Honestly, it's not that important and without it, your Sim will just stand in front of the machine for a second, that's it)

I'm officially in my Streets era. I'm building out all the community lots in my town so you're going to be seeing a lot of community/town related stuff from me for the next few months. My Sims are trying to be outside!

First up! This is a small library mod that allows you to search for books at the library using this gorgeous kiosk object from @aroundthesims. If the book is in the library, it tells you where they are by panning the camera to the bookshelf that has the book and putting a blue outline around it for 10 Sim minutes. Pretty simple. 

Features:

Browse Catalog… pulls up all books in the library

Search by… Category | Title | Author - pulls up any book that matches your search entry

Request a Book to Order -  allows you to add more books to the library. 

You can only order the types of books that are allowed in community libraries so no books that are destroyed after you finish reading them (e.g. recipes, song compositions) and no academic textbooks.

You can order written books, including articles, as well as books from other worlds (e.g. Shang Simla, etc) though for the latter, there is a §35 “overseas shipping cost” added to order these books. 

Once you order a book, the mod will check whether the library has enough money to purchase it and then place the order. 

Ordered books are added to the library at 8am the next day and you’ll receive a notification that the books have been added.

Library Funding

In order to pay for the books ordered, library kiosks have a budget. Every kiosk, upon creation, comes with a §250 budget.

The library budget is the total amount of funds in all kiosks on the lot. Costs are deducted from individual kiosks even if that specific kiosk doesn't have enough money for the book so long as the library budget has enough money.

Support your Local Library

Sims can donate books (up to 3 books at a time) to the library using the book donation bin. The bin must be placed on the library lot (either outside or inside) and you need to have books in your inventory. Your Sim will get 500 Lifetime Happiness points for every book donated. (this is related to another mod that I’m working on. More on that at a later date!)

There is also a computer interaction that lets you donate money to the library. Sims that donate §2500 or more will get a 4-hour charitable moodlet. Donations are added to the library budget.

Finally, Bookworms and Proper Sims can shush other Sims at the library. Once shushed, all Sims in the same room doing social interactions or playing music instruments will stop. (You'll find, like in real life, people quickly go back to doing what they're doing so it's kind of useless but it was a low lift so I kept it in). If someone can think of a good "shushing" sound from the game, let me know!

Credits/Thanks: Both credit and huge thanks go to @aroundthesims for creating this beautiful library set and the kiosk which I used as the main object. I did recategorize it to Misc Electronics instead of Sculptures. If you already have it in your game, you may need to remove it or you can just change the script to “Sims3.Gameplay.Objects.olomaya.LibraryStuff.Kiosk”.  The donation bin is from Sketchfab created by TheLatestShit (that’s their name, thank you TLS!) and can be found in Misc Storage.

Read through everything below the cut before downloading please! Important instructions below!

Important things to note:

The kiosk must be placed on a counter. If it’s not, your sim will reset because they can only interact with it if it’s on a counter. If you are having issues with resetting, place it on an EA-made counter to confirm it’s not this issue first before you reach out for support. You can use OSMP counters provided they are cloned from a counter and place the kiosk on there and put it wherever you want (like I’ve done in my photo. the kiosk is actually on an OSMP counter, not the white table).

Pulling up the entire library catalog, depending on how many books you have on the lot, can take a few (or several) seconds. Or maybe it won’t, I play on a brick laptop so it does for me

Keyword searches are case sensitive so “raymundo” yields no results, but “Raymundo” will bring up the 85 copies of that 🤬 book that your library probably has

The search will only check books that are in bookshelves, it will ignore library books that have been taken out of the bookshelf and are being read or lying around.

Book requests and financial donations can only be made at public libraries and not privately-owned libraries. So if a Sim in your town owns the lot, these options won’t come up (it should be the owners’ responsibility to buy books). You can still donate books though.

You can have multiple kiosks on the lot. If you delete a kiosk, its funds (if it has any) will be transferred to any of the other kiosks on the lot so you don’t lose the money. 

There is a debug interaction on the kiosk that allows you to check the library budget.

You can order one book at a time but there’s no limit to how many you can do in a day but once the books are delivered the next morning, the mod will check whether the library has enough money and will only order the books there is money for

Download HERE | alt: HERE

@simstifulccfinds @kpccfinds @katsujiiccfinds @pis3update @wanderingsimsfinds

[casstheasswrites]

NO SAINTS, NO SAVIOURS (11)

pairing: frank castle x reader (female)

summary: wrong place, wrong time. he saved her life, she patched him up. that should’ve been the end of it. some nights, you survive. others, you change.

trigger warnings: canon typical violence including blood and death. ptsd, trauma, eventual smut. at times, you get soft!frank. at others, he takes no prisoners. we love the duality of man <3

chapter length: 4.5k

authors note: we are all caught up now! i'm now writing in real time and will post at the same time when chapters are ready, here and on AO3. i hope you enjoy and pls pls send me a message with your feedback or thoughts, if you have any! thanks a million.

archive of our own / feedback appreciated!

The library hummed with low noise— the soft rustle of pages, the occasional cough, the gentle clack of keys being tapped by fingers with nowhere else to be. Somewhere in the distance, a printer sputtered to life and coughed out a stack of paper before falling silent again. No one spoke above a whisper.

The first thing you found yourself grateful for was the heat within the library. Free and cranked as high as could be, you lavished in the change from the way you’d spent the last day and night. Oh how you suddenly realized all the things from your life you took for granted. The moment you stepped inside and felt the warmth clinging to the air, you stripped off your coat and sweater, hanging them over your arm as you walked a few circles through the library, scoping out the perfect spot to settle.

Around you, people moved without urgency— students dragging tired eyes across textbooks, seniors leafing through newspapers with a kind of practiced disinterest, children playing a silent game of tag across a multicoloured rug.

No one looked at you twice.

Still, your eyes scanned each face as you passed— quick, assessing. A flick of your gaze across the room. The security desk. The glass doors. The girl near the window with her earbuds in, head gently bopping to whatever beat played. A man with a thick beard and a backpack at his feet, who seemed to have been stuck on the same page of his book for several minutes.

You told yourself you were being paranoid. But that didn’t stop the knot in your stomach from tightening every time someone got up to leave or brushed too close to you.

The second thing you were grateful for was near the very front of the library on the first floor. Nestled just inside the main doors, there was a tiny coffee kiosk, complete with a case of freshly baked pastries. You couldn’t help yourself— couldn’t think of any reason not to buy something— so you waited a few minutes in line before ordering a coffee and a chocolate croissant. Once you’d secured your fuel for the afternoon, you continued on your way, searching for the perfect spot to settle.

Eventually, you found it.

You claimed a spot tucked away in a far corner of the main floor, your back nearly pressed up against a wall. Though there were people within your eyeline in all directions, you had this little nook of the library to yourself. And even better, with the computer screen tucked away in this back corner, there was no risk of anyone peering over your shoulder to catch a glimpse at what you were working on. A forgotten cart of returned books no one had bothered to shelve sat a few feet away, and your gaze was drawn to it, eyes caressing the spines of the novels, an almost-foreign sense of longing tugging within your chest. What you wouldn’t give, in those moments, to instead grab a novel you’d thought of reading and tuck away in a chair in direct sunlight, near the large windows, losing yourself in a world that wasn’t your own.

Instead, you nibbled at your croissant and took a few sips of the coffee. It was good— but not as good as Frank’s.

While you ate, your bag sat on the desk in front of you, untouched.

You hadn’t opened it yet.

The notebook was inside— Frank’s, filled with all-caps scrawls and clipped shorthand. Names. Companies. Connections, if you could even call them that. And pulling it out here, in a place full of strangers and eyes and open sightlines, felt… reckless.

But you hadn’t come here to sit still.

After another visual sweep of the room and a breath held too long, you finally unzipped the bag. Slipped the notebook out like it was something delicate. Dangerous. You didn’t open it right away— just let it rest beneath your palm, absorbing the warmth of your touch.

Then, finally, you flipped it open.

The first page hit like a slap of cold water: a dozen names with no context, some underlined, some circled, some scratched out completely. You scanned the list. Something in your brain whirred, gently, like an old computer booting up for the first time in ages. As a nurse, you didn’t have much time for research, for note taking, for throwing ideas at the board and seeing what stuck. Everything was well-practiced, well-documented, and usually? Not your decision to make.

You tapped your finger against the space bar of the computer before you, pulling the machine out of sleep mode. You signed into a guest account and then opened a few tabs— the libraries digitized records system, a search browser, Google Maps. Then you returned to your bag and drew out a pen, tugging off the cap and setting it aside.

And then you began to type out the names in the book, one at a time.

The first was a dud— nothing came back.

The second produced an outdated obituary from a town in Ohio. You read through it, lips pursed, knee gently rising and falling beneath the desk. It read as genuine—like something a grieving family member might write in the thick of loss. Just to be sure, you searched up a few of the names mentioned in it, and once you stumbled across a relatives Facebook page, you put that one to rest. You dragged your pen across the name in Frank’s notebook, marking it off as clean.

The third— maybe. The name came back assigned to a PO box linked to a tech startup with a blank website and a disconnected contact form. You scribbled it down, holding tightly to the pen, your heartrate slowly beginning to rise.

Little by little, the noise of the room faded. Your shoulders softened. The fear didn’t vanish, but it moved deeper inside— replaced by something sharper. A quiet kind of focus. Your world narrowed to screens and pen strokes and soft breaths fogging the edge of the monitor. It was the first time in days you’d felt truly useful. Like you weren’t just surviving or hanging on by a thread. Like you were working towards something. 

Every time you found something— an old tax document, a LinkedIn ghost account, a company address that turned out to be an empty lot on Google Street View— it felt like a win. Like you were taking something shapeless and dragging it into the light.

You could do this.

You were doing this.

Minutes shifted into hours, and as the sun began to set outside, a wave of unease began to rise in your chest. It started slow— like a burner set to simmer. And then, as the sky deepened from soft orange to a dim, star-speckled navy, the heat began to build.

Your eyes drifted to the edge of your computer screen, and the frown pulling at your mouth deepened.

Frank was late.

Very late.

You’d gotten so lost in the search— tracing lines between faceless companies and disconnected addresses— that you hadn’t noticed how fast the day had bled away.

But you’d made progress. Real progress.

For the first time since everything shattered, you felt like you were beginning to make sense of the mess your life had become. In the back of Frank’s notebook, you’d started your own list— a rough network of names, fragments of connections, notes scribbled in the margins whenever something struck you as off.

Whatever this was— whatever tied these people together, the ones who’d died in the hospital, even the men who’d come for you on the subway— it wasn’t random.

It was big. Overwhelmingly so.

With a shake of your head, you reached for your coat, slung over the back of the chair beside you. You dug into the pocket until finally, after a few seconds, your fingers closed around the cheap flip phone Frank had given you.

You snapped it open, the plastic hinge clicking too loud in the quiet. Your eyes jolted up, spanning the space around you, but nobody had looked in your direction. There was practically nobody left to look.

Navigating the ancient interface of the phone took a minute or two— arrow keys, clunky menus, soft button presses that felt like trying to speak in a foreign language. Eventually, you found the contact list. He was listed as simply F.

Your thumb hovered over the name. Then you selected “New Message,” squinting down at the tiny screen as you punched in the letters, one press at a time.

Is everything alright?

You hit send immediately, your breath held tight in your throat. The message vanished into the ether. You kept your eyes on the phone, willing a response to flicker across the screen.

Seconds passed. Then minutes.

Nothing.

You exhaled slowly, the sound almost a growl as you set the phone down beside the notebook. A cold weight settled in your gut.

You glanced around. The library had really thinned out— the kids were long gone, tugged home by tired parents. Most of the retirees had packed up, too. A few people lingered here and there, hunched over books or flickering screens, but even they were starting to gather their things. Jackets zipped. Backpacks slung over shoulders.

You looked back at the computer. The time in the bottom corner blinked up at you like an accusation.

And then, as if summoned by your dread, a voice crackled overhead through the library’s PA system.

“Your attention, please. The 53rd Street Library will be closing in fifteen minutes. Repeat, fifteen minutes. Thank you.”

The words echoed through the quiet like a countdown.

Another rough exhale slipped past your lips, and you gave your head a quick shake. The fear twisting in your gut was real— palpable— but now wasn’t the time to panic. You still had a few minutes. Maybe he’d show up right at closing— still late, but no real damage done. He’d offer a quiet apology, a half-grunted explanation. Something that would chase the cold from your chest. He’d have flicked on the seat warmer again, looking out for you in more ways than one.

But deep down, something sharp and insistent had begun to ring inside you. A warning bell.

Frank wasn’t coming. Something had gone wrong.

You tried to ignore it. Pressed it down, hard. He wasn’t just Frank— he was the Punisher. Untouchable. He’d disappeared off the radar more times than anyone could count and had always come back. Always.

So why had your heart shifted into a new, unsteady rhythm? Why did your hands feel colder now, even in the warmth of the library?

You clicked out of the browser, cleared your history, and powered down the terminal—but not before pulling up a map of the city. You leaned in, studying the route between the library and the rough area where the bunker was hidden. You traced it with your finger, mentally walking the distance. Your eyes scanned for landmarks, side streets, alleys. Anywhere you could cut through if you needed to.

The idea of taking back routes in the dark made your stomach clench. Nobody decent was out there now. Not at this hour. Not unless they had something to hide. You supposed that included you now, too.

Your reflection in the darkened monitor as it flickered off looked unfamiliar— tired, pale, tight-jawed. You pushed back from the desk, the legs of the chair scraping softly against the floor. Just as you’d begin to shove your belongings back into your bag, you heard the sound of heavy footfalls approaching you from behind. Your spine straightened, body going rigid. Your hand dipped into your bag, reaching for your gun— pure, unexpected instinct.

“Excuse me, miss?” a voice cut through your fear— polite, but final. You turned toward the security guard slowly as he approached, his coat already on, radio clipped to his chest. “We’re closing up now. I’m afraid you’ll have to go.”

Your entire body relaxed, fingers sliding away from the weapon in your bag, pushing it closer to the bottom. You nodded your head immediately and sent the man before you a tight, apologetic smile.

“Of course. I’m so sorry.” You said as you tugged your sweater over your head, rushing to throw your arms through your jacket and pull the zipper up towards your chin.

“No problem,” he said, with a brief nod. “Stay warm out there. Forecast is calling for snow.”

Of course it was.

“Thank you,” you replied as he walked away, turning his back to you. “Goodnight.”

You pulled your beanie low over your ears and slung your bag onto your shoulders, giving your workstation one last glance. Nothing left behind.

As you walked toward the exit, the lights behind you began to shut off, row by row, chasing you into the dark.

The door clanged shut behind you, locking the warmth of the library in place behind thick glass.

Outside, the city felt colder. Not just in temperature, but in mood. Like something had shifted while you weren’t looking— something essential. The kind of shift that didn’t show up in streetlights or foot traffic, but in the way the shadows stretched just a little too long. The way the air carried a hush that didn’t feel peaceful.

You drew your coat tighter around you, tucking your chin into the collar. Your breath fogged the air in short bursts, white clouds drifting upward before fading into nothing. The cold bit at your ears, even beneath your beanie, and the wind dragged a few stray strands of your dark hair into your eyes. You brushed it away with the back of an already chilling hand and then tucked them away in the pockets of your coat. You needed to protect whatever heat still lingered within you.

You started walking.

The sidewalks were thinning— rush hour long over, the after-school crowds dispersed, most of the shops starting to shutter for the night. The glow of the city dimmed as lights inside storefronts flickered off one by one. A dry cleaner with yellowed blinds. A closed bodega with sun-bleached candy displays. A bookstore with curling posters in the window— faded covers, forgotten bestsellers.

You passed a pizza place still open, its windows fogged from the heat inside. A few teenagers were crowded around a table, greasy paper plates balanced on their knees, laughing like the world wasn’t something to flinch from. It made you ache a little— how easily they existed in this city, at this hour, without fear wrapped around their ribs.

That had been you, not too long ago.

The snow started just past 9th Avenue.

You hadn’t noticed it at first, not until a flake landed on your cheek— soft, cold and unexpected, like a touch you didn’t see coming. You looked up. It wasn’t heavy yet, just a slow dusting, drifting down in crooked spirals, the kind of snow that coated everything without announcing itself. As you walked, the sidewalk turned slick. Car roofs wore a faint, silver crust.

Your fingers had been fiddling with the phone in your coat pocket until finally, you decided to pull it free. You opened it with a snap, the frustration you felt welling inside you beginning to wrestle itself free. Your thumb moved on autopilot now, pressing the arrow keys, selecting the only name in the contact list.

You lifted the phone to your ear, waiting for the sound that would anchor you— just one ring, one note of proof that he was still on the other end of all this.

But there was nothing.

No ringing.

The robotic voice said something about being unavailable, and you ended the call before it could finish. Your hand tightened around the phone, the plastic creaking beneath your grip. You stared at the dark screen, your pulse ticking up into your throat.

You told yourself to stop spiraling. That he’d said he’d be gone a few hours. That maybe the meet ran long. That maybe he was being cautious. That maybe—

But maybe didn’t help.

Frank was a man who had often been killed, but had never died. Like a ghost with a grudge. But deep within you, tonight felt different— off-kilter in a way you couldn’t name. The silence didn’t feel tactical— like he was playing the long game— it felt wrong. Empty. Like something had unraveled.

You kept walking. Faster now. Your boots caught against the uneven sidewalk, scraping through slush and half-melted ice. The snow clung to your lashes, your coat, the tops of your shoulders. You passed a woman huddled in a doorway beneath a thick blanket, her head bowed, a Styrofoam cup balanced on her trembling knees. She didn’t look up as you passed. You thought about stopping. You didn’t.

You told yourself Frank would’ve passed by her without blinking. But something about her posture stuck with you, lingered as you rounded the next corner. You knew what it was to be cold and alone. Your footsteps faltered for a moment, slowed. You peered back behind you over a shoulder, wondering if you should turn back. Hand her a few dollars, direct her to the pizza shop you’d passed. At least then, she could get warm, fill her stomach. Your feet had stilled against the sidewalk, your teeth digging into your bottom lip as you silently debated.

The sound of glass hitting concrete ripped you from your thoughts— jolted you, your feet immediately beginning to move again. But now, you were moving towards the sound.

There was a liquor store up ahead, its neon sign buzzing and blinking, the light fractured by moisture on the glass. Outside, a group of men clustered together, their voices thick and too loud. One was crouched by a stoop, cradling a brown-bagged bottle in both hands. Another leaned against the storefront, the smoke from his cigarette curling into the night. Glass was pooled around their feet and the scent of something strong filled your nostrils as you neared.

They spotted you before you could cross the street.

“Hey there, sweetheart,” one of them called, his voice slurred but sharp enough to cut through the snow. “Where you headed in such a hurry?”

You didn’t respond. Didn’t slow down. Just kept walking, head down, shoulders tight, mouth pressed into a thin line. Your hand dipped into the bag perched on your shoulder, fingers brushing aside items until they settled on that cool, familiar grip. Your hand locked around it tightly, letting it anchor you.

Your ears buzzed with the sound of your own heartbeat and you counted your steps—like that might keep you steady. Like it might stop whatever was ahead of you from pushing in too close.

The cold didn’t matter anymore. You couldn’t feel it.

“Aw, come on now, don’t be like that,” another called, louder this time. Closer. “We got room for one more.”

Their laughter circled you— fractured, jagged, too loud. It scraped across your skin like you’d stepped barefoot on the broken glass scattered across the sidewalk.

Out of the corner of your eye, you saw movement.

One of them stepped off the curb, moving in.

And that’s when the fear hit— hard and hot, slamming into you like a punch to the gut.

Your pulse spiked.

You suddenly jolted away, giving them a wide berth, your haste sending you out into the street. A car horn sounded behind you and your entire body locked up, eyes pressing shut, preparing for the impact that was sure to come. There was a loud squeal, tires sliding against slush, but no impact. As your eyes reopened, slowly, you watched the taillights of a bright yellow taxi fade off into the distance.

It was a near-miss. You could have been face down in the street right now.

The thought sent your heartrate spiking once more and you used the fear as fuel— you broke off into a steady run, boots working overtime to keep you upright against the slick sidewalk. You crossed to the far side of the street and then ducked into the first alleyway you saw— narrow, dark, hemmed in by two tall buildings whose windows were either boarded up or covered by newspapers affixed to the inside. You didn’t stop moving until you rounded the corner and saw light appear at the far end, the promise of another street, far enough away from the men who’d called out to you. Your movements slowed until you came to a stop, leaning back against the brick exterior of one of the buildings, the cold immediately seeping through your clothes.

Your heartbeat thudded in your ears, loud and uneven. Your breath came in sharp, shallow pulls. You counted silently. One. Two. Three.

It wasn’t the hospital. You weren’t cornered. The slickness beneath your shoes was slush and ice, not blood. But your body didn’t know the difference— all your bones could remember was the sensation of panic, all encompassing.

You stayed like that until the footsteps— real or imagined— faded behind you. Until the distant sounds of those men laughing dissipated, concealed by the sounds of the city. Car horns honking, dogs barking, the distant sound of a police cars siren. You focused on each of the sounds, pressing air in and out of your lungs until you could no longer feel the pressure of you heartbeat against your temples.

You pushed off the brick wall and began to walk again, heading towards the light at the end of the alley. Just as you parted the space between the two buildings, your shoulder slammed into something solid— someone— hard enough to jar your spine. Your breath caught. A scream knotted behind your teeth, but it never made it past your lips.

You heard the sound of something hollow clatter to the ground at your feet. A weapon? You reached for your bag, for the gun buried at the bottom, leaning back on the heels of your feet just as Frank had taught you.

But a hand caught your elbow, firm and gentle, and a voice followed quickly.

“I’m so sorry— are you alright?”

You blinked, heart in your mouth, and looked up.

He was tall, but not imposing. Dressed well— too well for this neighborhood— his dark coat brushed with snow, a red scarf tucked loosely at his collar. His jaw was sharp beneath a faint layer of stubble, his mouth soft, his hair neatly parted despite the wind. But what struck you most were his eyes— unfocused. Glassy. They didn’t track you as you moved, just stared into the distance. He wore tinted glasses, the lenses a deep crimson colour, though they’d fallen to rest at the end of his nose.

“I didn’t hear you,” he said softly, releasing your arm, stepping back just slightly. He raised his hands, as if the action itself was an apology. Meant to disarm. “The snow… it muffles everything.”

Your gaze took in the sight of him again, and then drifted to the ground at your feet— there, in the space between you two, was a long red and white cane with a silver end. Every so often there was a crease within its length, as if it could be folded and stored at a much smaller scale. Your brow furrowed, trying to make sense of all the pieces laid out before you. And then, like a match had been struck, confusion gave way to clarity in an instant.

He was blind.

Relief surged so fast it nearly knocked the breath out of you. You let go of the weapon in your bag, fingers falling slack.

You bent at the waist and retrieved the man’s cane, guilt lashing through you, hot and unforgiving. Your free hand reached towards him, slow and gentle, guiding the item back into his grasp. He nodded his thanks, though he didn’t speak. It seemed he was waiting for you to.

“No, that was my fault, I’m so sorry,” you said, voice low despite the loudness of the city around you. You gaze flickered away from his face, taking note of the area you were in now— just a block or two from the bunker. The home stretch. “I’m a little off my game tonight. I’m just grateful I didn’t send you to the ground.”

The man let out a quiet chuckle and brushed one of his hands down the length of his coat, some of the snowflakes melting away into nothing as he did.

“Ah, no harm done,” he assured you, lips curving into a gentle smile. You eyed him for a moment, taken a bit aback by the natural charm that seemed to radiate off of him— like he was a man who could always find his way with words. “You seemed a bit tense, lost in thought. I hope your night improves.”

It was an odd thing to say— so odd, in fact, that the furrow between your brows returned. You refocused your attention on the man, really looking at him for a second time. Nothing about him seemed threatening, in fact, he was quite the opposite. But there was a stillness to him, almost like he was too measured in his movements. Too practiced, too careful. But he’d reached for you, helped keep you on your feet, and then stepped away. And he had kept his distance since then. If he intended to hurt you, he hadn’t given himself away.

You were paranoid— you were sure of it. Your mind was still heavy with worry for Frank, so focused on returning to the bunker in hopes you would find him there, unharmed. You were seeing things that weren’t there; leaning into any possibility that might give way to an answer.

You gave your head a rough shake, then realized it was an empty, foolish gesture. You released a quiet, tense chuckle instead, and cleared your throat.

“Yeah, yeah… me too.”

He nodded again, and though his gaze didn’t track your movements, it was still aimed in your direction. You shifted a bit beneath the heavy, unseeing weight of it, simply because it was unfamiliar to you. He had yet to move, yet to take a step in any one direction, like he was in no rush to keep going wherever he’d been headed in the first place.

“I’m really sorry again,” you repeated, watching him with careful eyes as you began to move around him. You needed to go. “Take care.”

He nodded, an easy smile gracing the edges of his lips.

“You, too.”

He didn’t stop you as you brushed past him. Just turned his head slightly as you walked away, tracking you by the sound of your footsteps. And as you continued down the sidewalk and away from him, you felt his attention on your back like a weight.

Halfway down the block, you turned to look over your shoulder— instinct more than intention. He was gone. Not walking away. Not rounding a corner. Just… gone. But you still felt it. That eerie pressure between your shoulder blades, like his unseeing eyes were still fixed on you.