#So I was trying to make a mug slogan that was kind of both

[imagines-hoarder]

House Warming - Bucky Barnes

Summary: Hopping through some standout moments in making Bucky's apartment a place worth coming home to. (This definitely could have been a headcanon but I refuse to do headcanons at this time.)

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x reader

Word count: 2.6 k

Warnings: fluff with a lil angst

A/N: I have finished all the assignments left for my degree and decided to sit down and write today. This is probably trash but idc because it has been written and therefore I may as well release it. It's been a while since I've written and years since I've truly tried dipping my foot into a different fandom, but I figured I'd give it ago. Please don't forget to leave comments, I love interacting with y'all. Thank you @bwbatta​ for the dividers! xoxox

Masterlist

It all started with a damn candle. A ‘sandalwood & vanilla orchid’ candle tucked away in a reused cyan jar.

“I found it at the art market down the street last weekend,” you said as you placed it in the corner of the living room window. “You know we have to support local business.”

“And I shouldn’t assume this is your way of telling me my place smells, right?” Bucky quipped from the kitchen island, a cup of coffee in his hand and a lazy smile on his face. He’d just gotten back from a 12-day mission with Sam, and the last thing he had on his to-do list was to buy candles.

The smile grew firmer as you put yourself into his arms. “Complete opposite, actually. I bought it cause I thought it smelled just like you.” You hid your face within his chest, and he thanked the stars that you couldn’t see the warmth rising in his cheeks. His barren apartment felt a little bigger with a candle in the windowsill.

From there it became decorative pillows… and a couch to hold them. The small living room had quickly become a mess by the time you both had brought it up to his fourth-floor apartment, furniture wrap and packing peanuts strewn everywhere.

“I still don’t know why you needed to buy a sofa this big,” Bucky grumbled as he leaned over the back of the beige three-seater, looking down at your splayed out across its cushions.

“Don’t get me wrong, babe. I love the transient bachelor look you’ve got going on here, but you need more furniture than an armchair,” you mumbled between heavy breaths as you tried to regain control from maneuvering the couch into the apartment.

“And the pillows?” A laugh fell from your lips as you watched him look at the indigo cushions with a remarkable amount of disdain. Who buys pillows made just to look nice on a couch?

“They add character.”

“I didn’t think character was an area we were lacking in. Transient bachelor, remember?” He walked around the couch and shifted you over so he could lay beside you. You instinctively curled into him as you both closed your eyes. For a second the place felt like home. “I also don't know how you plan for us both to fit on this couch every day along with the pillows.”

“Don’t worry about it,” You looked up from his chest with a mischievous glint that made his heart skip. “It’s a pullout bed too. I’m sure it’ll be firm enough even for you.”

The home improvements didn’t stop there, but Bucky refused to admit how much he enjoyed them.

He liked having a place and person to come home to. After you had bought neutral bedding for his room, you’d spent an evening putting together ‘his and hers’ trestle bookcases for either side of the bed. He’d try to keep up his crabbish demeanor as you argued that ‘you needed a place to set your books for when you slept over,’ and a side table could no longer contain the small collection you had spilling over. Even still, he couldn’t find it in himself to banter much about the minor changes you made to make the place feel lived in.

And God, did he love living with you around. Between missions, his continued therapy, and trying to find his place in a world that had tripled in opportunity since his youth, he knew that he never had to question who he was and where he fit in when he walked through that door. You still occasionally slept at your own apartment when he was away, but he could always count on you being asleep in his bed by the time he came home.

One toothbrush in a glass became two, and from there, hand creams, face masks, and cotton pads cluttered the bathroom counter, packed away in their clear containers. You had made sure to keep lavender bath salts on hand for the late-night baths you took together when he woke up in a panic, unable to close his eyes again for fear of falling back into a nightmare.

It took time and working through plenty of hesitation before Bucky could progress from sleeping on the pull-out sofa to the bed, but ever since, you found your nights attended by restlessness whenever you weren’t wrapped in his arms.

Once your lease was up and you had a lengthy conversation about your inability to rest without him, you quickly filled the apartment with brown boxes. Bucky had been no less than astounded by how much you fit into them. From then on, no nook or cranny was without a vase or shelf.

“How many mugs does one house need,” Bucky asked skeptically while he continued to carefully pull them from their paper wrappings.

“Oh, come on! They’re fun!” You exclaimed, wrapping an arm around his waist as you took the Charlie Brown mug from his metal palm. “Plus, we go through enough coffee around here to justify some extra mugs.”

After you put the mug into the lowest shelf of the cabinet, you busied yourself with filing away the spices one cabinet over. No matter how much he tried, Bucky couldn’t pull his eyes away from you, lost in your own world as you chipped away at unpacking your belongings, making yours his, and vice versa. The domesticity in the little things you did was something he could get used to, and he wanted to return the feeling of normalcy as much as he could. He was far from the average boyfriend, but you remind him that could be a good thing. You never wanted to be average, but in these small moments, as you both did what normal couples do, he felt that he could create a new normal with you.

“So your Christmas gift came in already, and it’s too big to hide.” Your awkward tone carried over the phone as he exited a station ten minutes away from the apartment. Even though his neck ached and the cold nipped at the top of his ears, he couldn’t stop himself from releasing a breathy laugh.

“I thought you said you were good at this gift-giving thing, doll,” he teased you as he maneuvered his way to your shared apartment.

“Oh, don’t you fret, baby. I am the best gift-giver in all of New York City. I just slightly miscalculated how big this thing was and have realized it won’t fit into our closet.”

He tsked with a smirk on his face. “If you say so.”

“Hey, you gave me my Christmas gift a week ago.”

“Yeah, that’s because I didn’t know if I’d be back before Christmas.”

“Well, you will be, and I’m glad you are,” your voice softened lovingly as he pulled out his keys to the front of the building.

Bucky had gotten used to your love, but he’d vow to never take it for granted. All the pain he’d endured had somehow led him to you, the person who didn’t see his broken pieces as a burden or a project but as a potential to be whatever he desired.

When he hung up the call and unlocked the apartment, his brows furrowed into one; the apartment was pitch black. It was only when he heard your soft footstep walking towards the entrance that his face relaxed.

Before he could even kiss you, you had your palms firmly placed over his eyes. “No peeking; your gift is in the living room.”

The uncertainty in what you could have got him made his stomach clench. “Is it an animal?”

You slowly dragged him through the front hallway, making sure to avoid crashing into the entryway storage table. “I’m sorry to say it’s not alive.”

“Is it a nice welcome-home spread with candles, fruit, and the pullout bed all set up?”

He could feel your eyes roll to completion. “Easy there, sergeant. That’s for later.” You pulled him down to sit on the couch, and he kept his eyes closed as you pulled your palms away, moving to turn on a lamp. “Okay, Buck. open up.”

When he opened his eyes, it took him a moment to understand what he was seeing nestled against the wall; when he did recognize it, he could only form two words “Holy shit.”

“Holy shit indeed.”

He was quick to stand up and cross the room, eager to get a good look at the walnut centerpiece. “Does it work?”

You scoffed as you moved to kiss his cheek. “What kind of girlfriend would get her ancient boyfriend a broken phonograph console?”

He didn’t even attempt to answer as he bent down to wrap his arms around you, his lips eager to find yours. “A fucking Magnavox radio and phonograph,” he mumbled against your lips.

“A working Magnavox radio and phonograph, you mean.” When you pulled away and saw that his face held a glow reserved only for special occasions, you knew you had made the right choice. “I’ve got some records wrapped up if you want to open those now too.”

You yelped in surprise as he picked you up and made his way towards your bedroom. “I’ve got something else I’d like to unwrap first.”

Bucky Barnes had grown up in a period when the average family could seldom afford nice things or much of anything at all. The Great Depression has resulted in the slogan ‘Make it do or Do without,” being ingrained into what memories he still had, and 'doing without' had become commonplace for the Barnes household.

That’s why every gadget and gizmo you added to your household left him in awe. For much of his life, including the decades he spent as a weapon for Hydra, he hadn’t been allowed to call anything his own; he was still getting used to living so plentifully, both in love and in life. But now, he could barely move and he thought it had all been taken away from him.

The attack was supposed to have been contained, at least three miles away from the apartment. Anything less, and he would have made you visit your family upstate instead of just suggesting it. By the time Sam had told him that there’d been some confirmed damage within a block of the apartment, Bucky was already on his way home. He couldn’t think of anything but the worse: you trapped in a collapsing apartment building or pulling up to find no building there at all.

He felt his lungs fill with air again as he pulled up to your building, completely intact regardless of the severe damage less than a five-minute walk away. It felt like both seconds and hours between when he parked his outside and unlocked the front door.

“He doesn’t have his phone on him, mom. How am I supposed to…” you trailed off from your call as he walked into the living room, turning your head away from the Breaking News report you’d been glued to for the last hour. “Wait, I’ll call you back. Yeah, I’m fine. I’ll call you back.” Your eyes never left his as he walked over to you, hanging up the phone with worry in your eyes. “Buck, are you oka-”

You couldn’t even finish your sentence before he pulled you off of the couch and into his arms. His grip was less reserved than he usually kept, but he made sure not to hurt you, eager to keep you in his arms, where he knew you were safe. A single tear fell from the corner of his eyes as he realized the real possibility that he could have lost you if you lived even 5 minutes closer to the attack. You stayed like that for a while, gathered tightly in his arms as you both settled onto the floor You didn’t push him to verbalize his fear; you already understood it. And it took this occurrence for him to realize he never wanted to experience this feeling again.

Bucky was quiet for the rest of the evening, and while it worried you, his fear had been evident enough not to require questioning. The city-wide cleanup had lasted all hours of the night; for the first time in all the years you had lived in the city, the sounds of the whirring of vehicles clearing debris off the street had been too close to ignore. The sun was rising before a single word was said between you and Bucky, tangled together on the sofa as the first ray of light made itself known.

“You’ve spent so much time piecing this place together, doll.” His voice was raspy. You know he hates when you see him cry, but his pain was always evident in his voice. “And it could have been all wiped away in seconds.” You let a heavy silence settle between you as you traced a pattern into his shoulder. He couldn’t bear to say it, but you knew what he meant: You could have been gone within seconds. “I just… I don’t ever want to feel like this again.”

You’d both gone through so much to make your relationship work. Nearly normal was as close as you would ever attain to being an average couple. The distance, the days without contact, and the ever-present fear that anything could pull you away from one another was something that had taken time to work through.

You looked around the living room and saw the place you had built together. There were photos and books scattered on any flat surface, a leftover mug half-filled with cold tea, and a record left out on the phonograph. The apartment looked like what love felt like; a messy combination of everything you and Bucky. But this apartment could not contain everything that ‘home’ was; only Bucky could do that.

The words fell from your mouth before you could restrain them. “Maybe we should move.”

Your eyes found each other, and you both sat in silence, though it felt lighter, invigorated with the new proposition.

Before he even responded, you could see tension dissolve from his shoulders. “Where do you want to move?”

You hadn’t thought that far ahead, only being able to provide him with a shrug. “I don’t know… maybe upstate, maybe somewhere else.”

“Your mom would like you being Upstate.”

“My mom would love us living next door too, but I don’t see that in the cards anytime soon.” You got a ghost of a smile for that.

“We could probably afford a house if we moved out there,” he said as he moved his lips to meet your forehead.

“Buck, I’d move anywhere with you. As long as we have each other, then we have all we need to rebuild this place.”

He pressed soft kisses to the crown of your head, and you swore you felt his chest flutter. “Tomorrow, I’m gonna look for some places, bigger ones too.” He tilted your head up to find your eyes, and you were sure that all of the love you carried for each other was incredibly visible at that moment. “You have made this apartment something worth coming home to. Now let me give you a house to make a home.” Your skin tingled with adoration as you pulled him as close as possible, burying your face into his neck.

You didn’t want to let go. You wanted to lay in this room, in this bed, and in this moment until the end of time, but you knew that something bigger and better was on the horizon for you and Bucky.

“All I heard is that you’re buying me a house.” His laugh was music to your ears.

[amazingphanisnotonfire-imagines]

Sweet Pea and Fangs//Mission Accomplished

Request: If you're busy you can ignore this. I really like your poly! Fangs and Sweet Pea and I was wondering if you could do another one. Maybe about what being a family with them would be like. (You know like what kind of fathers would they be.) Thanks!

hey!! this was super cute to write! i hope you like it! 

- Okay, so lets just say right now

- They would be the best dads in the world 

- And you can bet that they both have mugs with ‘best dad in the world’ written on them

- Which they of course use literally every day 

- So much so, that you have to replace them every couple of months 

- Usually because Sweet Pea puts his down on a table to aggressively 

- Or because Fangs doesn’t stir coffee, he bashes the spoon from side to side until he breaks the mug, the spoon, and occasionally himself. 

- Anyway

- So lets say you got pregnant at like 24/25ish 

- All three of you had moved out of Riverdale 

- Because I mean lets be real, its not the safest place to start a family 

- With the murderers and the cults and the gangs and literally everything else 

- Plus, it had been Sweet Pea and Fangs’ dream to get out of the southside and riverdale and to have a better life than their parents did 

- So all three of you have stable jobs that you love 

- And a cute little apartment

- Filled with photos of the three of you 

- And so many memories of your life together 

- Including some random dog statue that Fangs found in the skip behind the apartment complex 

- To this day you and Sweet Pea have no idea why he was there in the first place 

- But you think the scratches on his hands, face and neck had something to do with it

- And so many plants 

- So basically you’re parents already...right?

- Anywayyyyyy

- So, you guys were doing pretty good

- Vey, very happy together 

- And you’d just come back from visiting Toni and Cheryl and their new baby girl

- Who is adorable by the way 

- So you’d be chilling at home

- You and Sweet Pea watching something on Netflix 

- While Fangs cooks dinner (its his turn and he’s the best cook)

- And you’d notice Sweet Pea and Fangs exchanging looks 

- So you’d be suspicious

- And eventually, after the two of them giving each other very odd looks all throughout dinner, you’ve had enough. 

- ‘okay. what’s going on?’ 

- ‘we wanna have a baby’ Fangs would blurt out and you and Sweet Pea’s eyes would both go wide. 

- ‘what?’ you’d look between the two of them 

- Fangs is pushing the last bit of food around the plate 

- Sweet Pea is refusing to make eye contact with either of you, finding the ceiling fascinating 

- While you’re tapping your foot against the floor 

- ‘hello? anyone care to expand?’ 

- And Sweet Pea would sigh, and tear his gaze from the ceiling, settling on you. 

- ‘fine. we’ve both been thinking about it for a whil-’ 

- ‘and then we went to see toni and cheryl and their kid is so cute and they look so happy and we want to start a family with you’ Fangs would interrupt. 

- Of course you’d also thought about having kids.

- Sweet Pea and Fangs are the love of your life 

- They’re who you want to spend the rest of your life with

- Plus you’ve been dating since you were like 16, so it makes sense 

- But it was difficult enough for Toni and Cheryl to have a baby

- This is going to be complicated 

- Both of them will obviously be this kids dad...

- But what if when its born the other gets jealous?

- What if they feel like they’re not properly apart of it? 

- Would you even find out who the biological dad was? 

- Or would you just leave it?

- What about when the kid is older?

- There’s already enough stigma about kids having two moms or two dads

- What about one with two dads and one mom?

- So, you’d all sit down after dinner and talk about everything 

- The possible problems 

- How you would raise it

- If you’re all ready

- And you’d finally figure it out 

- Well, the best that you could anyway

- But in the end you’d figured that you’d all be alright because you had each other

- So then the fun bit ;)

- You’d be trying for a few months 

- Much to the happiness of Fangs and Sweet Pea

- They weren’t complaining 

- And then when you do get pregnant 

- Holy fuck are they happy

- Like literally jumping around, hugging each other, hugging you

- They’re literally the happiest people ever 

- The first thing they do is call Toni

- Because well, they have to tell their best friend that she’s going to be an aunt. 

- And a few minutes later, Cheryl texts you a video of Toni on the phone, jumping up and down as they tell her. 

- Anyway, so once they’ve calmed down they instantly go into protective mode. 

- Like

- ‘oh, sit down. standing up is not good for the baby.’ 

- ‘what?’ 

- ‘do you need a drink? food? a nap? a hug?’ 

- ‘i’m good’ 

- And you think this is just going to last for a few days 

- But no

- This continues all through the pregnancy 

- And afterwards tbh

- They are so protective 

- You always sleep in the middle so they can both keep you two safe 

- Even if it is a nightmare when you need to pee

- Fangs did suggest a bucket by the bed but you and Sweet Pea both agreed that was too far

- They go to all the scans 

- And cry

- Every. Single. Time

- Sweet Pea’s suggests going to the baby classes

- Even though you’re kind of unsure of what people will say

- But you go

- And its surprisingly, okay

- You get a few strange looks 

- But who the hell cares 

- And Sweet Pea and Fangs both have their own little notebooks that they’re furiously scribbling notes in 

- And they always take turns to practice on the fake babies 

- Plus, before you all go to bed the three of you will read baby books, occasionally swapping them every so often. 

- ‘did you know that new-borns are short sighted’

- ‘ha, four eyed loser’ 

- ‘i’m sorry. how old are you sweet pea?’ 

- So they’re just the sweetest 

- And every time they come back from work they aways have something for the baby 

- Literally. Every. Time 

- No matter what.

- ‘how many shoes do you think this baby is going to need?’

- ‘i don’t even think babies need shoes, at least not for the first few months’ 

- ‘no baby needs this many leather jackets.’ 

- ‘yeah, but its got a snake on the back! how could i just leave it there?’ 

- ‘where did you find a leather jacket for a baby with a snake on the back?’ 

- ‘...the serpents made it for us.’ 

- And they buy the most weird stuff 

- Like you’re getting amazon packages every other day

- The neighbors think you guys are doing something illegal 

- Sweet Pea buys a baby grow that has labels for where the arms and legs go 

- And when you ask him why

- ‘its for fangs. i’m just helping him out’ 

- So in retaliation, Fangs buys one with instructions of where to feed the baby and where to change it

- Also this doesn’t stop when your baby is born, they’re still buying stupid t-shirts with stupid slogans on well into its 20s 

- Your favourite thing they’ve bought is definitely the fake tattoo sleeve 

- So, you’re keeping the gender a surprise 

- Because who cares 

- So you’re going for like a yellow or gray nursery 

- And Sweet Pea and Fangs are insisting on doing it all them selves 

- The painting 

- The furniture 

- The little accessories 

- Everything

- Needless to say you hear a huge crash within five minutes of them starting 

- So you do it together instead

- You start painting while they put the crib together 

- There’s some left over screws at the end but they decide against telling you that

- It looks stable enough 

- And just to make sure, Fangs tested it out...and got stuck

- They make sure to take tons of pictures throughout the entire pregnancy 

- Much to your annoyance 

- ‘I’ve just thrown up for the third time in five minutes...stop taking my damn picture.’ 

- ‘i want to capture every moment’ 

- ‘why!?!?’ 

- But you love the majority of them 

- There’s some of you by yourself 

- Some of them with you and one of them 

- Others with the three of you together 

- Both of them looking at you like you’re their entire world 

- (which you are) 

- And there’s a few pictures of just the two of them with fake pregnancy bellies on, in the style of a professional photo shoot 

- Another late night Amazon purchase 

- Which when you opened you were...confused to say the least. 

- When you’re nearing your due date they make sure at least one person is with you at all times, just in case you go into labour 

- And that works, until the day you actually go into labour and you’re alone 

- Fangs is at work and Sweet Pea had to run to the store to get ice cream and snacks

- And then it happens

- You’re panicking but trying not to, but its not working 

- Sweet Pea comes back and then he sees your panicked face and he drops the food and almost himself to be honest 

- He’s running around trying to find your bag and his bag and Fangs’ bag

- And you’re trying to ring Fangs but he’s not answering 

- Sweet Pea eventually gets through to him when you guys get the hospital and you can hear Fangs screaming down the phone

- He makes it there in five minutes, even though he works at least fifteen minutes away

- They’re on either side of you 

- Both panting and telling you to breathe

- Basically they are being ridiculous 

- And very unhelpful 

- Especially when the breathing is mainly to calm themselves down

- And then Sweet Pea gets distracted, blows a rubber glove up and it pop’s 

- And to be honest the fright it gave you, you thought you’d given birth

- But when its time for you to start pushing they’re right next to 

- Holding your hands 

- Saying so many nice things 

- Being so sweet and supportive 

- And they also take a moment to hug each other while they watch 

- Like they’re crying 

- At one point Fangs just screams 

- ‘i told you not to look down there’ Sweet pea scolds 

- ‘does it go back to normal?’ Fangs would ask

- ‘god, i hope so’ You’d groan in pain

- But then your daughter is born and they’re smitten

- This tiny little life is theirs 

- And it relies on them for everything 

- And they’re so proud of you

- Literally they’re heart is going to burst with love and pride for you

- They love her so much 

- And instantly take their roles very seriously 

- The first night they let you sleep because well you’ve just given birth, you need a rest

- And it gives them a chance to bond 

- They take turns holding her 

- And feeding her 

- And just talking to her

- ‘we’re you’re dads’ Fangs would whisper

- ‘i’m sweet pea. nice to meet you.’

- ‘what are you doing?’ 

- ‘introducing myself. i have to make a good impression, and we need to teach her manners’ 

- ‘shit, you’re right. hello, i’m fangs, your other dad...do i like, shake her hand?’ 

- ‘hmmm, yeah. i think she’s too young for a high-five’ 

- ‘thats your mom over there. she’s asleep at the minute so we have to be really quiet, but she loves you so much...and so do we. you’re our entire world’ 

- They’re so gentle with her

- And with you 

- When you get home, the three of you show her around her new home 

- And show her all the pictures on the walls, explaining the memories behind each of them 

- You also make sure to introduce her to her siblings (the houseplants) 

- When she’s a little older Sweet Pea starts teaching her how to defend herself 

- ‘she’s three sweet pea, she doesn’t need to know how to karate chop someone’ 

- ‘yes she does. i’m always going to be around to keep her safe...but just in case. which reminds me, do you know how to karate chop someone?’ 

- Fangs teaches her how to cook 

- Like she knows everything by the times she’s 10

- Both of them teach her stupid (and sometimes inappropriate) jokes

- Out of the two of them, Fangs is usually the one to tell her off

- Actually, its you...you’re the one to tell her off if she’s done something wrong because they both can’t bring themselves to shout at her 

- Its difficult for you too (so its a blessing that she’s actually pretty well behaved, unlike all three of her parents) 

- Fangs is definitely the most over protective 

- He follows her around when she starts to crawl, literally if she moves a centimeter, he’s up and following her around. 

- Sweet Pea is always the one to cheer her up when she’s sad

- And you’re the one she always goes to when she’s hurt herself or if she just needs a hug

- She loves all of you so much 

- And you love her

- They still insist of taking pictures of literally every moment 

- It actually increases after she’s born 

- You really don’t know how thats possible 

- Even she gets annoyed at it

- ‘really dad? another one??’ 

- ‘hey! when all three of us are dead and buried you’re going to look back at these and wish we’d taken more’ 

- They make it their life mission to teach her every single thing they know about the world 

- And all three of you make it your life mission to make sure she knows how loved she is 

- Which you definitely accomplished

[askroahmmythril]

Reference List for amiibo Fighter Names (Set 3)

25) Mario : Gonzales - This is a reference to Paper Mario : The Thousand Year Door.  While at the Glitzpit, Mario ends up taking up the role of a prize fighter, going under the stage name “The Great Gonzales.”  Admittedly, I’ve never played TTYD, so this name idea came from Neo I believe.  The baby Yoshi and the champion belt shown in the card are both, from what I gather, actual references to that area of TTYD.  So, uh... not much context I can provide from personal experience!

26) Mega Man : Retro Rock - Given the music theming a lot of Mega Man classic has, going with a music theme to this card just made sense.  Plus given his name is Rock, it just works.  Originally I was going to call him ClassicRock, but alas, that was too long.  The names for amiibo figures are limited to 10 characters.  I used the light panels from the background of Top Man’s stage for the setting, and kind of themed the stage itself as the blue field Robot Masters tend to show up in during their intro poses.  And of course, we have a Sniper Joe on keyboard, and Met on drums.  Neo added extra details of course, such as the name of the Mega Man composer on the keyboard, and a GutsMan.EXE symbol on the drum kit.

27) Meta Knight : Dueloscuro - This one’s just a play on how Meta Knight often seems to be given a Spanish sounding accent.  Dueloscuro is a portmanteau of “duelo oscuro,” Spanish for “dark duel.”  “Tomad la espada!” meanwhile is “Get the sword!”  Basically it’s all a reference to Meta Knight’s frequent sword duels with Kirby, with a Spanish flair.

28) Mewtwo : MasterMind - Given Mewtwo is the most famous of all Psychic types most likely, I’d say he qualifies as a mastermind.  Plus how many of us really DIDN’T just chuck a Master Ball at him...?  Anyway, the various codes in the background refer to various Pokémon mechanics, such as catch rates, damage calculation, and IV calculation.  In Neo’s version, he also had the calculation for shiny chances, and made the binary in the background (mine was just random 0 and 1 gibberish) actually mean something, it translates to a speech Mewtwo gives in the first Pokémon movie, if memory serves.

29) Mii Gunner : Coverfire - When trying to figure out what to do with the Mii Gunner, it came to mind that since she was wearing orange (at least the Smash 4 one did, the Ultimate Mii Gunner wears yellow), I could make it an Advance Wars reference and have her as a soldier for Orange Star.  Neo added some slogans to make it look a bit more like a recruitment poster or such.  I think it worked out rather nicely.

30) Mii Swordfighter : RentAHero - So.... I may have played a little too much Find Mii.  Thus the reference to go for with Mii Swordfighter seemed pretty straightforward.  I had the idea to fill out the cast with the summonable party members, the rabbit, dog, and cat knights.  The play coins in the nameplate refer to the two play coins you had to pay to indeed basically rent a hero.

31) Mr. Game & Watch : PRIMETIME - Mr. Game & Watch is basically the start of Nintendo’s venture into video games.  Thus, the prime point of the timeline.  I went with a bit of a timeline structure here, showing his position between Nintendo’s start of making Hanafuda cards and before Donkey Kong first showed up.  His Judge sign being 1980 is the year he actually debuted.  As for the sun in the upper part of the image, that’s actually a reference to Neo himself, who previously went by “MrGandWatch.”  The “Weird Sun” as it’s been dubbed was sort of a logo of his of sorts.

32) Ness : Psi Cadet - This one’s a reference to Psychonauts.  Man, I love that game.  Ness being a psychic kid would fit right in at Whispering Rock Psychic Summer Camp.  The area shown here is the Collective Unconscious, basically the “world hub select” area where you can quickly get into the other stages of the game through various doors.  The nameplate is styled after the certificates you get each time you earn a merit badge in the game.

33) Olimar : Zen Garden - Pretty much a centralized reference, given how frantic Pikmin life can be, I just wanted to give the captain and his friends a little down time, relaxing in their own private zen garden.  While technically Olimar does not use Rock Pikmin anywhere in his Smash moveset, it just felt weird to not include them with everyone else.

34) Pac-Man : NOMCO7650 - Also a self contained reference, this parodies Namco, the company responsible for Pac-Man.  Of course, he likes to eat things, so NOM.  Here he’s sampling the various pixel bonus fruits from his home game.  It was kind of fun, trying to draw them all with pixely bites taken out of them.  The 7650 comes from an important number Namco places in a lot of their games.  The Japanese pronunciation of this series of numbers, na-mu-ko-o, sounds like their company name.

35) Palutena : TheLightFM - Of all things, this came from a Mystery Science Theater line.  At least the name itself.  During “This Island Earth,” there’s a scene where someone enters an empty aircraft, and a gentle sounding voice says “Welcome.  Please be seated!”  Mike then says “You’re being kidnapped by The Light FM!”  Basically like it’s an easy listening radio station.  Given Palutena is a light goddess, and she basically uses her telepathy like radio contact to guide Pit through his adventures, for some reason this just worked to me.  Neo again added some fun easter eggs, like a Hades styled mug on the desk, along with one of the actual Smash 4 soundtrack CDs.

36) Peach : Lady Luck - I went with a bit of Mario Party referencing here, which then turned to casino style.  Basically Peach in some of the earlier Mario Party games, for one reason or another tended to be one of the most difficult AI opponents to deal with.  When items became a thing, reasons for this became all the more apparent as she would prioritize grabbing the Plunder Chest, an item that let her steal items from other players.  She was always a thing to deal with.  I’m not sure if it’s viable for the numbers on a real die to be positioned as they are here, but I wanted to show a 6 and a 4 since Mario Party debuted on the N64.  Due to the Luck theme, I went with an overall casino motif as I just really like that style.  Like, I actually collect playing cards, and if I had more access to them, I’d probably collect poker chips too.  Just always liked how they looked and felt.

[ob-seth-ed]

Seth Route: Part 6

*DISCLAIMER: All translations are pulled and translated from the JP app using EverTranslator and Google Translate, along with a variety of other translation sources. Translations may be modified to fit better phrasing and comprehension in English, as well as using context clues. Some information may be translated incorrectly.*

6.1

Seth and Sirius met at the training grounds. Seth asks Sirius why he asked him to meet out here and before Sirius can start telling him why, Seth cuts him off and gives him a confident smile, saying that there was only one thing that he must want on a romantic night like this. Sirius responds in confusion, asking if Seth thinks this is a confession of love. Seth says that it’s no good because Sirius is also a man and their relationship will never last long. Sirius folds his arms and says that he didn’t call Seth out there for a joke. Seth laughs and says he was trying to soften the mood. He sighs and gets serious, asking Sirius what he wanted. Sirius says to tell him straight where he’s been going out at night. Seth asks if he’s referring to three nights before and doubles down on the reason he had first given Sirius, that he had dropped something in town while out with Alice and had to go find it. They both fall silent before Sirius asks who he’s been meeting. They both fall silent again and watch each other as the night breeze blows between them.

Cut to inside headquarters. Despite training all day, MC can’t sleep. She decides to go to the kitchen to get a hot drink to help her. As she walks down the hall, she runs into Ray.

6.2

Ray and MC go to the kitchen together. Ray hands MC a mug and she asks what’s in it. He smiles as he says that it’s citrus tea. She looks in the mug to see slices of lime and lemon in the steaming tea, along with some marmalade spooned at the bottom. She mixes it, saying it looks good and tasted it, expressing how much she liked it. Ray took a sip and asked her why she couldn’t sleep. She doesn’t answer immediately, unsure how she should say that thinking about Seth potentially being a betrayer is keeping her up. So she answers his question with one of her own, asking why he was up in the middle of the night. She says that everyone knows that it’s unusual for Ray to stay up late. He asks her who told her that and she deflects by drinking more of the tea. He says that he was just thinking and she says she was just thinking too. She thinks back on what Loki had said about watching out for the Magic Tower and a betrayer in the army. She wonders if Ray is staying up thinking about the same thing she is, since she had eavesdropped on him talking with Sirius about a potential traitor the night before. She grips the warm mug tighter and gets Ray’s attention.

6.3

MC confesses that she had heard him talking with Sirius about a traitor. Ray is surprised, obviously having not known they had been overheard. She says that Loki had also mentioned there being a betrayer, so she’s worried. Ray thinks about what she said and sets his cup down, looking out the kitchen window. He tells her about the Black Army slogan, “freedom soars on raven wings.” He tells her because of this, they allow anybody to join the Black Army, unlike the Red Army who are based on bloodlines. He looks at her and says that he doesn’t want to doubt any of his soldiers because they are all friends. Because if you doubt your friends, you cannot trust anybody. He tells her that in order to protect what matters most, he will continue to trust them, even if they have another side to them. MC thinks that even if there are traitors in the army, Ray will still trust in them, which she believes to be true from the serious look he wears while saying it.

After finishing her tea, MC goes on her way back to her bedroom, thinking about the power of trust. While she’s thinking, Seth calls out for her attention from behind her, running up to her saying that it’s not a good idea for her to leave her room at night without her knight. 

I’m sorry. [+4, +2]

I met Ray by chance.

I’m tired.

[MC apologizes, saying she was going to be fast and Seth apologizes for making her feel like she had to apologize.] Seth offers to walk her back to her room. As they walk, MC glances at Seth and thinks back on what Ray said about accepting people no matter how many sides they have. MC thinks about how she wants to get to know all sides of Seth, to know and trust him fully. Seth takes her to her room and she asks him to wait, grabbing his shirt sleeve when he turned to leave. 

6.4

MC grabs Seth’s shirt to keep Seth from leaving her room. He asks her what’s wrong and she hesitantly asks again if she can really ask him anything. Seth is a bit surprised, but nods slowly. They settle on the couch and she tells him she wants to know about him. Seth says it’s kind of thrilling she wants to get to know him and tells her to ask her questions about him, putting a hand to his shoulder as though subconsciously. He plays it off saying he’ll let her know his very skin, acting as though he was going to unbutton his shirt. MC gets flustered and Seth tells her it was a joke and she’s cute when she’s blushing. They divert from the topic for a little bit as MC tries to play off her blush. MC steers the topic back around and debates on what she wants to ask him first. She asks him what he did before he joined the Black Army four years ago. Seth thinks for a second and says that he supposes he was sick and tired.

6.5

MC asks what he means. Seth says that he lost his parents when he was young and he was left with his sister, who was still a baby at the time. MC is shocked by him having a sister. He says that her name is Rapunzel. He says she is fifteen years younger and has the same hair color he has. He says in order to keep his sister from starving, he wandered around doing things here and there, doing anything he could in order for them to live, even some unsavory things. Seth smiles and says that the details will remain a secret, his eyes swimming with sadness. MC thinks that she can’t even imagine what it would have been like to be in that situation. MC says that it’s hard to think that Seth had a story like that where he was now. She thinks about how happy he seems with the others. Seth continues saying that even though Central seemed peaceful, war was coming, just like how every person has light and shadow, that it’s not an unusual thing. A short silence falls on the two of them. MC thinks about how the more she learns about Seth, she wonders more about who the real Seth is.

Suddenly, Seth reaches out to touch the spot on MC’s neck where he had left the kiss mark, tracing it with his fingertips. He apologizes for the night before. MC loses her train of thought, the feeling of his touch on her neck taking all of her attention. Seth slowly slid his finger up toward her chin, tilting her head up. Her heartbeat was beating out of her chest and she thought that he must be able to hear it. Seth met her gaze, his face close. He asks if she’s afraid of him. 

[fics-not-tragedies]

Memories to be made: Chapter 1

one - two - three

I was quite anxious to post it at first, because, compared to my other fics, this is a totally different thing, but @ladyreapermc, @toomanystoriessolittletime & @solariumss​ talked me into doing it nonetheless. Hopefully it will be something worth reading!

SUMMARY: Emelia sees a handsome man on a street outside a cafe where her best friend works and she decides to run after him. Words:  3861; Warnings: none;

Readers tag list:

@spookier-than-u; @sparrowsparrow; @oreofenyloetyloamina; @derangedcupcake; @geostarr; @catsmieow; @wickedlangdon; @bodhi-black; @bugalouie; @onebatch--twobatch; @fandom-lover-4; @mikaneonox; @drunkonyellow; @spadesandaces2342; @harrisongslimited; @a–1–1–3; @hhighkey; @lunilate; @i-cant-remember-my-old-login; @sgt-morgan; @coloursunlimited; @childrenofthegun; @weminiaturestrawberry; @silverlambcaptain; @scarletmoon83; @howtoruin-someones-perfect-day; @krazycags01; @charlottebonnie; @moonlit-raven-haven; @girl-at-the-verge; @boopdedoop; @jardani-jovonovich-bitch​;

The rain that was pouring all over London finally decided to stop, at least for a while, the sun desperately trying to shine through the heavy black clouds that swarmed the sky that not-so-long-ago was in an enchanting shade of pastel blue.

Everything felt better and much easier when the sky was just simply blue, with few fuzzy white clouds sliding through it here and there. They were almost identical to those small herds of sheep, unaffected by anything, bleating loudly, moving little by little and eating out the grass from the Cardiff’s cliffs.

The sky was the prettiest at nights, those ones spend alone or with someone you love, away from the city. Cloudless nights were the most impeccable moments when you could spend your time by gazing skyward. Their brightness was remarkable, making every constellation easy to see.

At times, when the night wasn't enough and the darkness was too consuming, it felt like all of those striking stellar phenomenons hide somewhere deep or every single one of them was sucked into a black hole leaving only the absorbing obscurity of the starless night.

Too early? Give Tea a Chance.

The slogan on the wide billboard right across the street caught her eye. She flinched in her sit closer to the window that was still covered in the droplets of rain, doing her best to focus on the advertisement and power-off her restless mind just for a moment.

There were two cups filled with tea and a teapot standing in the middle between them, the image printed on thin paper glued to the advertising board. The edge of it was peeling off slightly, flapping freely from side to side when wind blew in the right direction. She could imagine how the teapot, as well as the pair of cups, rips entirely from the board and flies away in an unknown direction, somewhere far from this gloomy city, to rise up the sales of tea elsewhere. Only though London was the perfect city to advertise a new brand of tea that was supposed to work as a coffee equivalent for those that cannot drink the stronger beverage.

Even not being a strong fan of tea she already wanted to buy the advertised brand and just simply drink it. She was curious if the tea was made from the tea leaves only or maybe it had those tiny pieces of dried fruit and edible flowers mixed in between them.

New brand of tea. Something fresh to occupy her mind.

At least for now.

When she’d be back home she would once again rummage through all of her stuff trying to search for the chunks of her mind she’s lost. She will look at those old Polaroid pictures still not remembering any single thing that was happening in the moment they were taken, nor any person that was posing on them with her.

“With your feet on the air and your head on the ground

You try this trick and spin, yeah

Your head will collapse, there is nothing in it

And you ask yourself?”

The subwoofer was placed somewhere around her seat and she could feel how the basses were thudding in her chest now, filling her whole body with a somehow pleasant feeling, she could swear was remarkably familiar.

“Where is my mind? Where is my mind?

Where is my mind? Where is my mind?

Way out, in the water see her swimmin'”

“This one exceptionally fits now, doesn't it?” reaching for her mug filled with icy coffee she turned towards the couple of her friends, who are eyeing her with concerned look on their faces.

“We were just saying that, Lia...” the red haired woman leans over the small coffee table, “A-are you okay?” she touches her hands, closing them around hers that are still gripping the mug, when she places it back on the marble surface of the table.

���Yes love, perfectly fine. My mind just got lost around this new tea” she points to the billboard, tapping on the glass with her short nail that’s painted in the shade called Russian Red.

It’s easy to recall, the name of the crimson varnish she has now on her every nail, the two coats neatly spread everywhere, without any missing spots or parts that are peeling off; yesterday she went to the beauty salon with the intent of making an usual choice, but this time, the name caught here eye and she opted for this classical color.

She never really had her nails painted red, but she knew that somehow she was a different person now and the change required a new varnish shade, the one she never used before.

They turn their heads to the side where her finger was placed against the cold glass, gazes following its direction.

Few things changed when she looked away for a moment; the wind stopped now, the peeled off edge of the advertisement wasn’t flying from side to side any more; and there was this man...

Standing too far from her to see his face, that was also covered with a pair of black sunglasses, he was simply standing by the fence, taking another drag from his cigarette. The white shirt he was wearing partially tucked into his pants, the black jacket probably miss-matched from a fancy suit.

There was something magnetizing about the way he casually ran his fingers through the fluff of his brown, near shoulder-length hair.

It didn’t seemed like he noticed her heart-shaped face pressed close to the window, eyes glued to his figure, breathing in his every movement. He looked like he just got out of some kind of business meeting, the black jacket of his suit comfortably unbuttoned now, squeezing the muscles of his arms, complimenting the whole look.

She was enchanted by him.

Since the accident she wasn’t really thinking about men, except for her dad and her close friend, that was now joking about something with her bestie. Still stuck on him, unable to look away now, move on and pay attention to anything else except for him, she was almost frozen in time, admiring the view of the smoking man.

Her hand wandered unconsciously to her neck, making her head tilt to the side, so she could have a better access to it, before she pressed her own fingers to it.

“Don’t scratch it!” she was scolded by her friend and even though she almost shouted, her loud voice interrupting everyone in the café, it this wasn't stopping her from sliding slim fingers back under the black turtleneck and rub them harshly against her scarred neck.

The weather was lovely, well except from the rain that was pouring down from the dark clouds from time to time, and she wore the knitted piece of clothing only with the purpose of covering her dreadful scars.

“Not scratching, just stroking them” her hand stopped moving and she just kept it pressed closely to her neck, feeling how the vein in it was pulsing, becoming more aware of her presence in the wicker chair and her face that was practically pressed against the wet window.

“Both means the same in your dictionary now” the blond man that was sitting silently next to the red haired woman finally spoke, standing up from the chair he was comfortably huddled in, “snap out of it babe” he walks over to the brunette and takes her hand out of the hem of her turtleneck, “ooooh... A GUY... he caught your eye, hasn't he?” She turns her head to look at her friend, giving him the death stare.

“Shouldn't you be working Jimmy? Bet your break already ended” she scans his apron dressed figure and raises her eyebrow, feeling how it begins to twitch slightly, the rapid movements of her body being unable to control sometimes.

Hoping that neither of them noticed the rapture motion happening on her face she quickly turned her head back to the window.

The fluffy guy was now gone from the spot where he had a quick smoke few minutes ago.

She outstretched her neck, pressing her forehead to the glass, only to catch a glimpse of his back dressed in the black suit jacket.

Tiny gasp left her mouth when she knew she wouldn't ever see him again.

Ever.

In her whole life time.

“Is it okay to run after a guy I haven’t met yet?” Her own question echoed in the café. The fiery haired female just rolled her eyes, while Jimmy walked to the door and opened them widely, the bell hung above them ringed, filling the place with its metallic tone, gesturing for her to just go for it.

“Emelia-Grace, if he caught your eye just grab your bag and run after him. He’s probably walking on the London Bridge now. Just fucking run babe!” She threw the bag onto her lap and waved her hands showing her to get up and go.

“You've got a point Macy, love you boooth!” Emelia shouted, putting the shoulder strap of her bag across her body and she immediately took a sharp right turn after running out of the café.

Her auburn locks were jumping around her face when she was sprinting through the sidewalk, bumping onto random pedestrians that were just passing by. Heartbeat raced up, breathing close to panting now, she kept stomping with her leather boots again and again, keeping a steady pace, trying to catch up with the guy she just saw.

Emelia noticed him at the beginning of the London Bridge, where he stopped for a moment to have another cigarette. Slowing down a bit, she tried to regain her breath, trying to calm her raced up pulse before even opening her mouth with the intent of speaking to him.

Sauntering closer she was able to notice all of his features and as he turned around, facing her now, and she couldn't help but smile. He somehow reminded her of a poet, that became fed up with his creativity and got out for a walk across London.

She approached him carefully, like he was a wild animal that needed to be tamed, smiling at him when he noticed her and took the glasses off his nose, hiding them inside the pocket of his jacket. His eyes were scanning her up and down, flicking between her face and the curves of her body, when she realized that corners of her mouth raised, she felt the courage kicking in, spring in her step making her move swiftly towards him.

“This might sound too upfront, but I noticed you while you were having a smoke right in front of the café one block away from here” she stopped there for a moment, taking a deep breath before speaking again, “and you caught my eye. E-especially the hair, so soft and fluffy” gesturing closely to the side of his head she made him giggle a little.

He scrunched his nose, rubbing it with his fingers, looking away from her, but only for a moment, his eyes wandering back to her face almost immediately.

“Yeah, apparently there’s summat about it that catch girl’s attention” smiling at her, the upper row of his whitened teeth exposed in the wide grin that appeared on his face, she took one step closer to her and reached out with his hand offering her a handshake, “I’m Keanu, Keke, Ke, whatever you like to call me, really.”

Then, she hesitated, stopping her hand from moving, before she extended it fully and pressed it into the warmth of his palm. It felt awkward at first, until he hasn't moved even closer, lifting her hand up to his face and pecking its soft skin with his chapped lips.

“A true gentleman, what a surprise in this times...” a giggle left her mouth when Keanu bowed down again to press another kiss onto her hand, “Quite an unusual name, for a gentleman like you, Keanu… I’m Emelia, Em, Emmy or Lia, pick the one you fancy the most” after telling him her name she unexpectedly became silent, thinking if she got it right and didn't just made it all up along with the nicknames.

But her name was the first thing she noticed on the plastic bracelet that was wrapped around her wrist when she woke up in the hospital, the painkillers numbing everything and clouding her mind, even though somehow she still remembered her full name printed on the thin band she had carefully attached to her limb.

It wasn't just the creation of her mind which was still missing few major pieces. Her name was real and so is she now, standing in front of the most handsome guy she ever met.

On the other side of the sidewalk Keanu was taken aback by the softness of her distant gaze, revealing the fact that her thoughts were somewhere far from the spot on London Bridge where they were standing now. He still held her hand in his, caressing its top with his thumb, feeling the roughness of the scar she had inside her palm pressed against his skin. Parting his lips he almost spoke, asking her about it, but only a gasp left his mouth and he closed it shut.

Her curly hair was falling onto her shoulders, tangled under the strap of her bag. The sun decided to surprise them with peeking from behind one of the heavy clouds, highlighting all of the different bronze and gold hues she had hidden in her locks. The glance of her emerald eyes still stuck in a distant place, it seemed like she got lost somewhere along her memory lane and this tad bit of reality, with him right in front of her.

Emelia pouted her lips, blinked few times and her eyes focused back on Keanu’s gently freckled face.

“Glad to have you back on Earth” he rubbed her hand once again before finally letting go of it, “good memories or bad ones?” the huskiness of his voice was too pleasant for her ears, making her heart beat faster.

“The ones I can remember” only one side of her mouth raised, the crooked grimace she gave him forced, like she was angry at herself for not being able to remember everything she needed to keep locked safely in her mind.

“What?” His both eyebrows raised, eyes wide open, mouth agape, he slightly tilted his head like he didn’t really understood what he just said, blinking quickly few times and furrowing his brows.

“I-It’s too complicated...” she gasped, her hand shoot upwards and onto her neck, the urge to scratch the scarred skin too strong to simply avoid, it felt like her own body was making her do it unwillingly.

With the last bit of consciousness kicking in, she simply brushed the skin with her fingers, putting them under the turtleneck, like she was doing it in a way of flirting with him.

She wanted to avoid drawing any type of attention to her safely hidden neck, but mimicking flirting seemed more rational than just simply scratching roughly her already reddened skin, showing him that there’s something wrong with her unnatural behavior.

Noticing her gesture and how she moved her palm away from her body, squeezing her fingers with her other hand and rubbed them together; Keanu just smiled, partly to himself, partly to her and Emelia noticed the way his eyes were hooded now, not because of the sun that was shining too brightly now, blinding him, his sunglasses tucked inside his pocket and not on his face, but because he was focused on her, waiting for her another reaction, a barely noticeable rise of the corner of her mouth, twitch of her eyebrow or a head tilt mixed with usual puppy eyes.

He met many girls that had green eyes, but there was something diverse about hers.

They weren't just simply green. When he saw their color when she was slowly but surely approaching him they looked like the fields outside of L.A. in the spring. Juicy grass swinging from side to side, bent by the warm wind.

Now, when she was close to him, in the reach of his arms, something about them changed. Maybe it was the brightness of the sun reflecting in them that now made the green hues look similar to the shade of a potion, or rather a poison, the one a person can find in the lab of a mad scientist.

She swayed in the place where she was standing, lifting the heel of her boot off the pavement and then making it click while placing it back onto the concrete tile.

Smiling back at him widely she curled up the corners of her mouth so high, that the dimples in her cheeks decided to show.

“So cute...” Keanu breathed out, the words a mere whisper, but they reached her ears, making her face flush with a shade comparable to the one she had on her nails now. Her palms were all sweaty now, maybe because she was still pressing them tightly together or maybe rather of how fresh and new this situation was.

A drop of sweat left a trail on her back, sliding all the way down from the back of her neck. The turtleneck was a bad idea after all. It was too thick for this partly lovely weather, she had to buy few thinner ones, because she’s gonna boil herself in a minute.

“Sooo...” he started, his Adam’s apple bobbing up and down in his throat, like he had a lot to say and really wanted to do it, but was stopping himself from spilling the tea.

She changed her position, standing now diagonally in front of him, shielding his face from the sun with her own figure, having a better look at his posture.

His arms were big, the difference of their size compared to his other body parts actually visible. Looked like he was doing some workout in his free time, the kind that was mostly involving his arms. Boxing maybe?

He was only a tad bit taller than she, but it wasn’t a problem, at least for her. She never fancied any guy that was incredibly tall and had a six pack. Neither she had any specific type, when it comes to men, but Keanu, on the other hand, was something... extraordinary; with the fluffy hair, doe eyes and his gloomy poet look he was an exquisite view.

She had to admit: she fancied him.

Keanu swallowed hard the lump that formed in his throat, intimidated by the intensity of her stare, unable to give his sentence a proper ending. Entangling his fingers in the fluff of his hair he scratched his scalp like the gesture was supposed to help him with coming up with the right words. Playing out a written script in his case was a lot easier than talking to girls.

Especially the ones he liked, because well... he had to admit: he fancied her.

Even though they barely knew one another, except for their names and faces, they both could have swear that there was something in the air, not simple another downpour, no; something that made them gravitate towards each other. The indescribable feeling of being close to somebody and the wanting of getting even closer.

Emelia’s mind was now occupied with him, a pleasant change for once. She felt the urge to hug him, wrap her arms around his neck, squeeze him tightly and smell the fumes of his cologne mixed with the smoke from the cigarettes, but it would be too random and awkward now.

Eyes glued to his face, not leaving it even for a second, noticed how his plump lips were parted, still, red from all of the many times he pressed them tightly together. The words he wanted do say out loud stuck in his throat, like there was anything clever to say in that moment.

They just kept staring deep into each other’s eyes, in silence, disturbed only by the birds chirping above their heads or by the passers by that were speaking on the phone too loudly.

Thoughts wandered off the right tracks and for the first time since the accident she thought about someone in a different way than just simply being his friend.

The fuzzy brown hair of his. What kind of shampoo was he using? And those strong arms. Flushed cheeks, the innocent smile he had on his reddened lips. He’s not the type of guy that breaks your heart, he’s too... soft for that. Yes, soft, the perfect word to describe him.

Soft.

Slowly he flicks his tongue across his lower lip before opening his mouth to speak again.

“Wanna go on a date” his gaze mellow, absolutely not trying to force any answer out of her, “with… me?” Keanu adds quickly, like the question was wrongly stated, not fully giving the hint that the date, in fact, would be with him and not with someone else, “Emelia?” He feels the urge to wave his hand in front of her face, she’s so lost in her thoughts she doesn't notice that he steps closer.

Then, the touch of his hands squeezing her arms gently makes her come back to Earth from the depths of her restless mind.

“Keanu” Emelia blurts out, stunned by his gesture, her heart pounding, face turned pale, hand ever sweatier than before. She actually wanted to take a step back, move away from him, move away from his body that was stuck too close to hers, but the browns of his doe eyes and the tenderness of his gaze stopped her from doing it, “d-date sound great!” Fishing out her phone from the pocket of her jeans she handed it to him, “J-just save me your number” and he did, removing hands from her arms, taking a step backwards, he stopped invading her private space and took the phone from her hand.

Few presses of its buttons later he gave it back to her, another wide smile on his face.

“Just... don’t forget to call me, please” Keanu added the last word, stressing out the fact that indeed he wanted to see her again, not only once, but again and again; he wanted it all to be something else. Not just a random meeting on the London Bridge.

He squeezed her arm saying goodbye without actually saying anything and moved slowly towards the bridge, turning around few times just to look at her again, like he was afraid he’d forget her face, smiling and waving his hand.

She just simply stood there, wiggling her own palm funnily, grinning like a high-schooler that just got asked about going to a prom with her long time crush. 

When he stopped turning around to glance at her again and again, and just kept walking straight ahead, Emelia looked down at her phone, curious to see how he saved his own number. The new contact was simply named as Keanu, but with a smiling emoji right next to it.

A smile.

Sincere gesture worth more than a thousand words.

[golden-redhead]

Oumota Week 2019 - Day #4 || Fake Dating

Summary: Kaito tries to do the right thing. It backfires. Kind of. 

Read on AO3. 

---

It’s a day like any other typical day, the sun shining over people’s heads, trees throwing long shadows over the pavement, birds twittering charmingly and everything seems to go just as it’s supposed to do. That is, of course, until Momota enters a coffee shop he had a habit of visiting after his classes when he was in a desperate need of some caffeine in his system and all and any traces of normalcy go out of the window with the speed of a soaring bullet.

He pushes the door of the coffee shop open, breathing in the rich scent of freshly ground coffee and sweet pastries which were lined up behind the glass. He taps his shoulder bag where it rests against his hip, feeling the hard covers of his books poking out through the thick material. Nothing like studying in his favorite coffee shop. He had approximately three hours before he had to leave for his training session with Shuichi and Harumaki and with finals quickly approaching he had no time to waste. 

He heads for the counter, not sparing even a single glance at the menu, knowing exactly what he wants based off the many times he’s been here before. He’s about to order but just as he opens his mouth to do so, he gets distracted by the hushed voices of two girls huddled behind the counter, partly obscured by the display of muffins and decorative mugs with motivational slogans that sound just like something out of Momota’s endless stock of inspirational speeches reserved for his sidekicks and anyone who would listen.  

“Poor guy,” one of them shakes her head solemnly, the long ponytail bouncing around her shoulders with every shake. “He’s been here for over an hour now…”

“I know,” the other girl sighs in agreement, biting her lip with visible distress. “I feel so bad for him. This is so unfair. I wish we could do something, you know.” 

She looks sympathetically over Momota’s shoulder, staring at someone behind his back. Curious, he turns his head, following her gaze over the heads of all the other customers seated in the small coffee shop until at last it lands on a suspiciously familiar nest of dark, nearly black hair, tainted with little specks of purple at the tips. 

“Oh,” he exhales, eyes going round and wide when the sight finally registers. “You’ve got to be kidding me…”

Kokichi Ouma got… stood up? 

Momota’s brows screw in a surprised scowl as his brain goes into an overdrive, trying to make some sense out of the scene before him. 

It’s somewhat bizarre to see Ouma in a non-school habitat, his clown-like costume replaced by a black shirt adorned with little white buttons that makes him look uncharacteristically fancy when compared to his everyday clothes. He occupies a small round table and steals occasional glances at the wall hanging on the wall opposite of him and at the door, his childlike face pulled in a frown that looks weirdly out of place on him. Or maybe Momota is just too used to his shit-eating grins.

He and Ouma never really got along well but it doesn’t change the fact that he still feels a painful tug at his heart when he thinks about how shitty it must feel to get stood up in a public place by some asshole with no common courtesy or manners. 

The girls at the counter continue to talk but their voices fade into an indistinguishable murmur as he tries to process this new piece of information.

No matter what there was between him and Ouma, the guy certainly didn’t deserve to be stood up like that. As much as Maki insisted that the little gremlin has no heart to speak of  Momota finds this theory very unlikely, especially from the scientific point of view. 

Besides, Ouma or not, he’s a hero. 

He’s Kaito Momota, Luminary of the Stars! He won’t let anyone be pitied like that.  

With a new-found resolve, he turns to the two girls and beams at them, interrupting their discussion as if he’s been a part of it from the start, not even bothering to pretend he hasn’t been eavesdropping.

“Oh, this guy?” he asks with pretend nonchalance, gesturing to Ouma with his thumb, his voice booming over the quiet noise of the conversations and machines of the coffee shop, startling both girls. “I’m with him.”

One of the girls stares at him with something that could only be described as stunned scepticism, visibly taken aback by the sudden interruption, but the other girl’s eyes grow wide and she turns to stare at him, hopeful. “Eh? Really?”

“Really,” Momota beams at her, “I am a bit late ‘cause I had to help my grandparents but I’m here now.”

The girl seems to be so overwhelmed with happiness that she bounces in place and clasps her hands happily, forgetting herself momentarily. 

“Oh, thank goodness,” she lets out a small giggle and then seems to remember that she’s talking to a customer. “Ah, I’m sorry. I shouldn’t… I don’t…I’m so sorry, it’s none of my business,” she stammers, a bright blush flaming her cheeks as she raises her eyes, looking at him bashfully. 

Momota waves his hand dismissively, smiling at her encouragingly. “Nah, don’t worry about that.”

“It’s just… I was stood up once,” she confesses quietly, her voice dropping to a quiet hush, barely above a whisper. Her face scrunches up in discomfort at the memory. “I… I never want to go through something like that. So when I saw your date I felt really sorry for him. I even thought about bringing him some cake. On the house, of course.”

Momota almost protests when she refers to Ouma as his date but manages to bite his tongue in time, masking the grimace of pain with a shaky smile, one that the girl hesitantly reciprocates. 

“No worries,” he reassures her confidently. “It just means your heart is in the right place!”

The waitress fidgets nervously, blushing harder. She reminds him of Shuichi from their early days at the Academy.

“Oh… Um, if you say so?”

“Anyways, I’ll just have some coffee and then I’m gonna join him.”

He places his order and moments later he marches through the length of the coffee shop, mug in hand and a grin plastered on his face.

“Hey,” he greets Ouma unceremoniously once he finally reaches his table and then plops on the chair across from Ouma without waiting for a response. With one quick glance to confirm that no one’s listening, he leans in closer, voice dropping conspiratorially: “Don’t worry, I’ve got you covered. The girls at the counter said you got stood up, so I told them I’m with you. No need to thank me.”

Now, Momota knew that technically Ouma never asked for his help but he still feels perfectly justified when instead of expressing his undying gratitude, Ouma lets out a loud overly dramatic sigh and drums his fingers on the table, nose wrinkling in irritation. 

“Of course Momota-chan would ruin my plans,” he complains grumpily, shooting him the dirtiest glare and slumping in his chair with a deep pout.

“Uh…” Momota blinks at him dumbly. “What?” 

“Nothing, Momota-chan. You’ve done enough.”

“What the hell, dude? I’m doing you a favour here!”

“My hero,” replies Ouma dryly. 

Momota huffs through his nose, crossing his arms over his chest and leaning against the small plastic chair that squeaks beneath his weight in response.

“Seriously, what’s your deal? I just tried to be a nice fucking person.”

“Your favour means no dessert for me,” Ouma sniffs loudly, wiping his nose in the long sleeves of his shirt, an action that makes Momota shudder in disgust. “And I was reaaally looking forward to it, too!”

The astronaut’s frown deepens, lips pressed together in a thin line. “The hell are you talking about?”

“I wanted that dessert, Momota-chan!” wails Ouma, slamming his small fists against the table. Briefly, Momota thinks that it’s hard to take him seriously when he acts like a child throwing a goddamn tantrum over a piece of cake that’s probably not even as good as it looks on the promotional picture.

And then it finally clicks.

“Wait...” he starts carefully, the realization dawning on him slowly. He directs an incredulous stare at Ouma. “Wait, so what you’re trying to say is that you pretended to be stood up on just to make those girls at the counter feel sorry for you and get… a free cake?!”

Ouma pouts, jerking his head in a quick nod. 

“You deprived me of my dessert so now you have to pay the highest price. I’ve already contacted my assassins and they are getting ready for an ambush as we speak. I’d say bye to my loved ones if I was you. Oh, wait,” he pauses for a second, eyes growing theatrically wide as if he’s just realized something and then he giggles gleefully, batting his eyelashes at his classmate flirtatiously. “You have no loved ones. Wow, tough life, Momo-chan.”

Momota throws his arms out into the air in a giving up gesture, a deep scowl etched on his features. “Fine! I’ll buy you that damn dessert, geez.” 

The tears vanish from Ouma’s eyes as if they were never there and he tilts his head to the side, blinking at Momota innocently.

“Ooohh? Momota-chan will buy me a cake?”

“Yes, Mo-mo-ta-kun will buy you a cake! If that’s what it takes to shut you up then I’m gonna get you that stupid cake.” Momota reaches for his wallet and wrestles it out from his bag and then strides to the counter without another word. Minutes later he’s back with his order, a considerable piece of strawberry cheesecake, mousse flowing down the delicate cake, little strawberries perched on top of it.

With a smug expression he puts it right before Ouma. “Happy now?”

Ouma’s eyes gleam on the other side of the small round table, transfixed on the sugary treat before him as if it’s some kind of insatiable rarity and not one of the most common cakes that you can buy at literally every corner. He reaches out for the dessert greedily, pulling the small plate closer impatiently. With an almost devout caution he cuts into the cake using his fork. However, before he could bite into it, he squints at Momota suspiciously, pointing an accusatory finger at him.

“How can I know that you didn’t poison it?”

“Oh, for god’s sake,” Momota snaps at him, no longer in the mood to entertain Ouma’s nonsense. “Eat the goddamn cake, you asshole!”

“Nishishi, now I know that you poisoned it,” informs him Ouma cheerfully and finally takes a bite, shoving it into his awaiting mouth with so much force that Momota winces at the sound of his teeth clinking against the fork. He swallows it all at once, too, a pleased expression dawning over his face. Momota’s pretty sure he didn’t even taste it. 

“So?” he asks after a moment, letting Ouma take another bite and eyeing him curiously. ”How is it?”

Ouma’s busy stuffing his mouth with more cake but he pauses to look up at him, swallowing the piece already in his mouth and smacking his lips obnoxiously. He gives him a small shrug.

“Eh. Could have been better.” 

“What?! Come on, you are practically gonna choke if you keep up eating like that and you tell me that it could have been better?” 

“That’s exactly what I said, Momota-chan,” observes Ouma, amused.

Momota grits his teeth and without thinking reaches out to grab Ouma’s arm, fingers wrapping around his thin wrist.

“Hey! Eww, Momota-chan, keep your dirty gross hands away from me.”

Ouma’s protests fall on deaf ears. Momota simply pulls his hand closer over the table and directs his fork to his mouth, stealing a bite of his cake. 

“Hmm,” muses Momota, swallowing, the sugary taste spilling over his tongue. Maybe a bit too sweet, he decides eventually, but it’s not bad. 

Not bad at all. 

“You’re just acting like a little shit, it’s really goo— Uh. Ouma? What is it?”

He stops mid-sentence when he catches sight of Ouma’s expression, his dusted with an angry blush pink cheeks and glassy, unblinking eyes, staring at Momota in mute surprise. 

“Ouma?”

Before he could respond, a new voice chimes in.

“Um… excuse me?”

Momota raises his gaze only to see the girl from before.

“I’m so sorry for interrupting, I just wanted to say that you’re a lovely couple,” declares the girl, pulling the tray closer to her chest and averting her gaze shyly. 

“Oh?” Asks Ouma sweetly, finally snapping out of whatever trance he was under seconds before her arrival and raising one of his eyebrows in a perfect arch. There’s a dangerous glint in his eyes and when he reaches out his arm over the table to intertwine their fingers together, Momota briefly realizes that he’s never been more scared in his life. “We are, aren’t we?”

The girl nods her head enthusiastically. 

“Again, I’m sorry for disturbing you. I hope you enjoyed our cake? I’ve seen you share it.”

Ouma flashes her a brilliant smile, the one Momota’s seen way too many people fall for before, blissfully unaware that beneath his inconspicuous mask lies a ruthless monster that’ll stop at nothing to get whatever he wants. 

“Oh, it was absolutely delightful,” his voice drips sugar. “Best cake we ever had, isn’t that right, Momota-chan?”

Momota fidgets in his seat. “Uh.. yeah, sure. What he said.”

“I’m glad to hear that. Enjoy your cake.”

The girl graces them with one last warm smile, bowing quickly before she hurries back to the counter. 

“Momota-chan really is cruel.”

Momota scowls, crossing his arms over his chest, feeling defensive. “The hell are you talking about, dude?”

“Lying to this poor girl,” Ouma licks his fork, cleaning it from the traces of cake frosting. “I bet it’d break her heart if she knew we’re not a thing.”

“Oh, shut up. I really hope you at least enjoyed that damn cake ‘cuz I definitely didn’t sign up for that.”

“Eh, I told ya already. It’s fine. A free one still would have been better, though.”

“Oh my… oh my GOD! Are you seriously still gonna b—What the hell is wrong with you, dude? I paid for it!”

Ouma nods his head vigorously, planting his hands at the back of his head and sending Momota a shit-eating grin that never fails to make his blood boil. He doesn’t know why he even still bothers with coffee when he can always count on Ouma raising his blood pressure. “Exactly! I don’t need anything paid by Momo-chan’s dirty money.”

“Great ‘cause I’m not planning to spend even a cent more on you, ever!”

“Then I guess I can keep it, right?” questions Ouma, pulling something out from under the table. ”Maybe Momota-chan isn’t as useless as I thought.”

It takes him a second too long to realize that what he’s waving before his eyes tauntingly is his own wallet. 

“What th—? When did ya—?! You just said you don’t want my dirty money!”

Ouma bares his teeth in a smile that looks way too predatory for Momota’s liking.

“You know, you should be more careful, Momota-chan. It’s irresponsible to just leave your wallet like that in the open, someone could take it.”

“You little—!”

“Oh my, look at the time!” Ouma makes a show of stealing a look at his watch-less wrist. “Gotta go! Buh-bye!”

And with that Ouma bolts out of the coffee shop, leaving Momota staring at the empty space occupied by the purple gremlin barely a few seconds ago. It takes a few more seconds for his brain to catch up and then he jumps to his feet and rushes after him, nearly colliding with Akamatsu and Harukawa who enter the coffee shop at the same time, his roaring voice startling some of the customers, heads lifting in search of the source of the noise. 

“Woah, careful ther—Wait, wasn’t that Momota-kun?” Akamatsu blinks after his quickly moving away figure, startled by their near collision.

Harukawa shrugs simply in a typical Harukawa fashion, not even sparing a single glance at Akamatsu and heading straight to the counter, asking for the blackest coffee they have to offer.

“And I think I saw Ouma-kun…” continues Akamatsu, still staring at the door and gnawing at her lip nervously. “I hope they aren’t doing anything stupid. Again.” 

“Let them be stupid,” murmurs Harukawa, reaching for her wallet. “That’s what they do. You want cake with that coffee?”

“Ah… I suppose you’re right,” agrees Akamatsu, turning to smile at her. “And yes, thank you.”

They both settle down in the far corner of the coffee shop to enjoy a quiet moment while halfway across the town a very breathless trainee astronaut finally catches up with a midget supreme leader and pins him against the wall only to find out that he lost his wallet during the chase. 

[thefiresensei]

Fic Update!

The next chapter of my fanfic Hana is here: https://www.fanfiction.net/s/13277868/6/Hana

Or read below: 

Chapter 6: Reveal

Ringo sat herself down on the stool Pixal had pulled out for her, nodding thanks to Zane as he pushed over a fresh mug of something hot to her. She looked around wide eyed and blinking as the team silently gathered, pulling and scraping themselves onto the various stools and chairs around the lengthy wooden table, accepting brightly coloured mugs filled with the steaming tea from the nindroid.

All of them except Kai, who stood, leaning back on the fridge, arms folded, brows knitted as he stared up into the galley kitchen's panelled ceiling. Ringo looked up, trying without success to catch the still ninja's eye.

Lloyd leaned forward, his gloved thumb kneading his mug handle. "We need to know a bit more about your… family history." His green eyes glimmered apologetically, mouth turned up in a gentle half smile. Ringo released the breath she hadn't realised she was holding, looking around at the assembled team.

"Ummm, okay. You want to know about my uncle?"

"You said your uncle was James." Kai's head slowly turned to survey her. "James and Karin, who live by the lake at Ignacia's edge." One eyebrow rose as he pushed himself off the fridge slightly.

"I… they are!" Ringo's cry turned more bewildered as Kai finally might her eye, his dark expression confusing her more.

Nya leaned back, sending an elbow jabbing into her brother's side behind her. "You can have more than one uncle you know, Kai."

"Thanks for the genealogy lesson, Ny'." Kai unfolded his arms, grabbing the nearest sheet of paper that happened to be a bill stuck to the fridge with a little green ninja magnet, the speech bubble coming off of it filled with the slogan "Saving the City". He flipped the paper over onto the table, pushing it forward to the student, quickly twisting himself round and yanking open a kitchen drawer, muttering under his breath as he rummaged, more magnets, random screws, buttons and other paraphernalia spilling out.

"What do you want me to do with-" She paused as Kai let out a triumphant a ha!, pizza and other takeout menus flying out alongside the pen he pulled out and tossed over to her.

"Write down your family tree." He paused, his eyes softening slightly as she looked up at him, the confusion welling in her eyes. "Please." She nodded, taking up the pen and scribbling quickly in the corner of the sheet to get the ink flowing. They all leaned in as she started to write her name in her flowing, slanted script, drawing a box around it and stabbing at it with the pen nib.

"Ok, so here's me. My parents are Megan and Sota," she added them to the sheet above her name. "…and I'm an only child." Her eyes flicked up briefly, seeking only Kai's who nodded, his features set in concentration. She drew a line from her mother's name, her neat cursive scribing the name of another.

"Megan is the sister of my uncle James, who you both know." She gestured the pen at Nya and Kai then quickly added on James' wife's name, Karin.

"Karin is my aunt." Ringo drew another line coming up from her aunt's name, arching out to the left. "She has an older brother, who is my other uncle, Dr Saunders. So I have two uncles." Ringo sat back, her eyes flicking from the sheet in front of her to Kai.

Jay rubbed at his neck. "Well...technically, three."

Zane placed his mug back down, appraising the blue ninja. "Technically, Jay, only one. They are not Ringo's uncles. There is no blood link there."

"What?" Ringo placed the pen down, her arms folding defensively. "I beg to differ! Blood or not he is my family! And who do you mean by 'they'?"

Zane's eyes floated back to Ringo's, softening. "I apologise Ringo, I did not mean any offence."

She shrugged, pushing her glasses back up. "None taken, although he is blood to me. He was always around when I was growing up; he was really fun. Quirky, eccentric… my fun uncle…and I'm getting really worried about him." She looked around at the awkwardly shifting team, her wistful eyes hardening as she folded her arms.

"Right, you lot need to spill. What's going on? Do you know where he is?"

Seven pairs of eyes turned to look at Kai, Ringo's turning to him a split second after. He blinked from his refuge against the fridge, mouth dropping open. "Who, me? You're going to leave this one to me?" He looked around the group, groaning as he was met with shrugs and averted eyes. "Seriously? Urgh." Running a hand through his hair, Kai shook his head, frowning before tipping a yelping Lloyd from his chair and throwing himself down into it.

"Okay, where to start…" He tapped his chin, sighing as he looked back at his friend. "So…what do you know about the Time Twins?" Ringo, sitting opposite the red ninja, cocked her head slightly, her feet jigging nervously under the table.

"The two who you guys banished? The elemental masters of time?"

Kai nodded slowly, a hand carding through his hair. "Well, not quite banished. Or by us..." Ringo narrowed her eyes, looking beyond him as she racked her brain.

"They were bad; they were in control of those snake warrior thingys but you guys fought them and averted some crisis or other and got rid of the snakes. That's about it."

Jay rolled his eyes. "Talk about the long and short of it…" he muttered as he looked around the room. It seemed like an age before Kai spoke again, his voice soft as he grabbed Ringo's hand in his.

"Yeah. That kind of summarises it… But I'm guessing you don't know their names? The masters of time I mean."

"Uh, no… Kai…? What exactly are you getting at…?" He responded by gripping her hand a little tighter taking a breath.

"Their names were, are, Krux and Acronix. But you know Krux by a different name, his alias-"

"No." She ripped her hand from Kai's, her stool knocking abruptly to the floor as she stood. "No. I don't want to hear this."

Kai pushed on, his eyes locking with Ringo's, heavy with regret as he looked at the raw agony spilling into hers.

"Krux was Dr Saunders."

"No. No... you're wrong."

"I'm sorry Ringo…" Kai looked down at his hands, heavy on the table where Ringo dropped them. Nya rose, quickly scooting and picking up where Kai had left off.

"Oh sweetie, Dr Saunders was not… who any of us thought." The water elemental stroked her hands down Ringo's arms, the student looking at her with wide, aghast eyes. "No, I don't believe you. He couldn't be."

Zane tapped into his arm control pad, projecting two images, one of Dr Saunders, one of a painting of Krux which Ringo vaguely recognised from somewhere but couldn't place, above them all. He gently tapped on the panel, the two flickering images twisting and merging together as one, the key features of the two undeniably matching together. "I am sorry Ringo, but they are one and the same."

Ringo collapsed back down on her stool, her eyebrows pinching. "But he, he was an elemental master? And he had a twin?" She looked around, bracing her elbows onto the tabletop, head in her hands as she wailed, "And they were evil?" She threw her head down, heavy coils and spirals of her hair cascading around her, fists working.

The next murmur from under the wild head of curls was barely audible but it resounded around the room clearly, each of the ninja looking to each other.

"So what does that make me?"

[mara-lune]

Ch. 1 Welcome to Lake City

Smith walked through the crowded, noisy streets of Lake City, her hands stuffed in the pockets of her oversized gray hoodie. Her blonde hair was pulled up in a messy bun, out of her face, as it always was. Despite the smoggy, gray weather, she wore her sunglasses and a pair of large headphones. This, plus her big, black backpack was typically her outfit of choice. She didn’t like making eye contact, or even worse, having people talk to her. Most people, anyway.

It was the end of the work day, and people buzzed past her, in their own worlds that barely extended beyond their own faces. Most were eager to get home from work, others were eager to get to their vices. A wretched few of them were looking for someone to chat up, usually with a sales pitch. The downtown plaza Smith waded through was what she considered “old-modern”. Stores, businesses, and restaurants lined the street level floors of the old buildings the city was founded on. There was always something under construction, but not always in a progressive way. The trend for the past twenty years or so was to make anything new as bright and sleek as possible, giving the urban city the ‘modern’ part of the ‘old-modern’ style, even though that modern feel was already a couple of decades old.

Lake City was also noisy. And not just the noise of traffic, construction, and people. Everywhere you looked was filled with lights, advertisements, and sometimes the bizarre art installation. The city had pumped some money into trying to make the walking streets more cultured and friendly, without really doing much else to help the area. This meant that you would often see panhandlers getting ignored underneath a giant neon light installation instructing passersby to love one another.

Smith slowed down and took a long gaze up at a two story billboard screen as it switched to an ad for SugarBaby Jean Co. The model in the ad smiled brightly behind a pair of tinted glasses, and a cheesy slogan declared this “The Summer for Sugar, Baby”, even though it was already fall. After a few seconds, the ad switched to an animated image of a fantasy city in a torrential storm, promoting the latest blockbuster movie, and Smith picked up her pace again. She turned the corner and finally made her way to the only place in town she actually liked, a tea shop called Lake and Leaf. Inside was white, bright, and quaint, but still warm and friendly. She took off her backpack as she made her way to her regular spot - the last stool at the end of the long counter. She pulled her tablet out of her backpack, and hung her bag on the hook under the counter at her knees. She took off her sunglasses, but kept her eyes straight on her screen in front of her.

“Hey, Smith. Reading more police reports?” asked a friendly voice from behind the counter. It was Rolly, one of the shop owners, and a friend of hers from when they were kids. He was built like a grizzly with the temperament of a golden retriever, and the tea shop was his passion. “The usual?” he asked, knowing that she wouldn’t look up until she was satisfied with her scrolling. Smith nodded, almost imperceivably. He shuffled off to his tea tins that lined the wall and began making her the usual cup.

Smith scanned the headlines: robberies, shootings, muggings - the usual, daily crime in their metropolitan city. She switched her app to a map of the city and pinned the places of the crimes. She added notes from the reports - time of day, victims, weapons - anything she could. Then she started reading the local news sites. Some of the news reported on the crimes and offered vague details, of which she also noted. Nothing was too insignificant.

Smith finally set down her tablet and looked up. She glanced around the shop. It was slightly busy. Most people liked going to bars around this time, but Lake and Leaf had its usual crowd. She reached into her backpack and pulled out her wallet. She pulled out a five dollar bill, and then stashed her wallet away as she saw Rolly head toward her with a cup of tea.

“Earl gray with milk, and a scone. I thought I’d try something a little different for you this time. The tea has lavender in it.”

Smith pulled off her headphones and discreetly set the money under the saucer as she picked up the cup and took a sip. “Oh damn, that’s good.”

“Can I get you anything else?”

“Nah, just this. What’s new around here?”

Rolly leaned on the counter. “You’ll never guess who came in here the other day.”

“Who?”

“That model you like, Ellis Jones.”

Smith nearly spit her tea. “No fucking way! Did you talk to her? What’s she like?”

Rolly chuckled. “I didn’t see her, Nate did. He said she asked for coffee - I guess she didn’t realize we don’t serve that here.”

“So what did she do? Did she get something else?”

“I don’t know! I wasn’t here!”

“Well, why didn’t you ask Nate? Is he here? Let me talk to him.”

“No, it’s his day off.”

Smith sat back in her stool, daydreaming. “Man, she’d be perfect…”

Rolly tilted his head at Smith. “Perfect for what?”

Smith sighed. “Well… I don’t know. I haven’t really told anyone yet.”

“What?”

“Nevermind, I shouldn’t have said anything.”

“Smith Kelley, we’ve been best friends since we were kids! We went to the prom together! We practiced kissing on each other. Tell me, girl!” Smith reached over the counter and slapped Rolly several times on the shoulder.

“Fine! You know how I like to read police reports and stuff?”

“Nooooo.”

“Shut up. Well, I was thinking. The cops around here… could maybe use my help.”

Rolly chuckled. “Okay.”

“I just keep thinking… I could do a better job.”

Rolly scoffed. “You? You’re a shrimpy little weakling who hates running.”

“Well not me-me, but I still think I could do something about it.”

“You mean you want to be a cop? I don’t know how you’re going to do that, being… well, all those things I just said.”

“I know this city inside and out. There are patterns and certain people who keep doing things and getting away with it.” She showed Rolly her tablet with the map. “See, there was a robbery six blocks from here a month ago.”

“But you’re a shrimpy…”

She swiped to another view of the map. “And then two nights later, another one a block away from that.”

“Little weakling…”

“And it’s more than just robberies. I mean, they were both robberies, but they were in and out of there so fast.”

“Who hates running…”

Smith put down her tablet and gave Rolly a look.

“I’m sorry, babe! I just don’t think it’s a good idea for you to be chasing bad guys. The police are decent. I mean, sure, they’re not perfect, but they’re good enough.”

“They’re not good enough when there’s still so much crime in this city!”

“But really, what were you thinking of doing? And what does Ellis Jones have to do with it?”

Smith paused for a second. “Okay, can I let you in on a little secret?”

Rolly sighed. “I don’t know. Your ideas are kind of out there. A lot of people think you’re just a conspiracy theorist.”

Smith lowered her voice and leaned in. She picked up her tablet and changed some settings on the map that showed an overlay of sewers, passages, and tunnels. “Whenever I freelance for the city government, I get a lot of access that I probably shouldn’t have. I know the city’s infrastructure - it hasn’t changed in the past ten years, and any time anyone tries to change it, it takes months, if not years of government bureaucracy to actually take effect. I know how to move around quickly, without getting caught.”

“Have you ever actually seen these tunnels and passages yourself?” Rolly asked.

“No, but I’ve seen big proposals get shot down because it’d be too expensive to build around them. And they don’t want to remove them or fill them in, because that would require a lot of inspections and restructuring. Redoing the underground infrastructure under one city block would affect, like, the next dozen around it.” She pointed to a city block on the map. “Remember when the old Elysian Hotel wanted to update and basically rebuild the whole building? Lake City put it on the ballot to make it look like they were trying their best to make it happen, but even when it passed, they decided to slap a historic landmark status on it so they wouldn’t have to bother with it.”

Rolly furrowed his eyebrows with a small realization. “Is that why they did that? It is a pretty neat, old building.”

“But have you also noticed that the tallest buildings in this city are only thirty stories?”

“Yeah, they passed laws to not build any higher than that so as to not obstruct the view.”

“The view of what?”

Rolly shrugged. “You know, the city. It’s kind of nice to look at.”

“But why not improve the city with taller, more impressive buildings?” Smith stared up at Rolly with a bit of a crazy glint in her eyes.

The two froze in an awkward standoff until Rolly finally broke the silence. “Babe, what is your point?”

“My point is that I could track the criminals. They show patterns. I’m sure some of them are even using some of these passages. Just imagine beating them at their own game. Following them, or even getting ahead of them. As, like… a superhero would.”

“A superhero!” Rolly shrieked.

“Keep your voice down, butthead!”

“A superhero!” he quietly shrieked. “Smith, you’re smart, but you’re also the clumsiest person I know. There’s no way you’d ever be able to do that, much less as a superhero.”

Smith looked up at him with a mischievous glint in her eyes. “Not me, but someone like Ellis Jones could. Do you see the workout routine videos she posts on her Lookit? She can move.”

“Mm-hmm, you sure do like that.”

“Shut up.” She picked up her cup and finished off the tea. The little bell above the door jungled, and they both looked over to see a couple walk in and sit down around the corner at the other end of the counter.

Rolly stood up straight. “Mkay, girl. Well, you find Ellis Jones and train her to be a superhero. Let me know how that goes.” He moved the saucer on the counter, and slid the money she placed there back to her. “You’ll need this to get your superhero project started.” He turned to the couple and made his way down the counter.

Smith placed the money back onto the saucer and set her empty cup on top. She nibbled at the scone as she opened up her tablet and buried her face in the screen again. The tea shop buzzed with light conversations, clinking dishes, and tea tins being opened and closed. Smith put her headphones back on and drowned out the world around her. She didn’t hear the shop bell jingle again, and the excitement that filled the air when Ellis Jones walked in.

The statuesque model was as exquisite as they come. She had smooth, caramel skin, and her short, fiery orange hair was perfectly coiffed. Ellis’ long, graceful figure practically floated into the shop as her delicate dress fluttered around her. A couple of teenage girls in the shop approached her and asked for a selfie, to which Ellis happily agreed. After a couple of shots with a couple of phones, the girls thanked her and excitedly went back to their table, eagerly sharing their pictures on their Lookit accounts. Ellis went to the counter and sat at the corner, directly down from a still oblivious Smith.

Rolly put on his usual, friendly customer service smile, despite the fact that in his head, he was screaming his face off. “Hi there! Welcome to Lake and Leaf. I’m Rolly. What can I get you, love?”

Ellis scanned the shelves of tea tins that lined the long, side wall. “Um, I’m not much of a tea drinker.” Down the counter, Smith absent-mindedly picked up the empty tea cup that was still in front of her. She paused when she realized there was only a small drop left, but still tipped it up as far as she could to get the last bit. Ellis pointed at her. “I’ll have that. Whatever it is, it must be good.”

Rolly winked at her. “You got it!” He turned from the model, and squealed quietly as he bounced his way back over to Smith. “Um, excuse me, dear, what was it you ordered again?” he said in a loud, obvious voice.

Smith looked up at Rolly and gave him an incredulous look. “What?”

Rolly glanced down at Ellis. “Can you tell me which tea you had?”

Smith pulled her headphones off. “What?”

Rolly sighed heavily. “Which tea was that?”

Smith glared angrily at him. “You made it!”

“But maybe you can remind me what you had. That young lady down there would like to know what tea you had.”

Smith turned her glare down the counter. She nearly jumped out of her skin when she saw one of the most famous faces in the country smiling at her.

“Um. The usual?”

“Oh my god, ” he muttered, rubbing his hand into his forehead. He picked up the cup and saucer. “Oh yeah, this was an earl grey with milk and lavender.” He winked at Ellis again. Ellis smiled back at them. Rolly stuffed the cash back into Smith’s hand while she was distracted. He took the empty dishes and walked to the back kitchen, still smiling. “I’ll get that for you right away!”

“Sounds great!” Ellis grinned at Smith. “He’s really sweet.”

Smith tried her best to regain her composure. “Yeah. He’s an old friend of mine.” She realized she was holding the money and put it in her pocket. “He doesn’t let me pay for anything here.”

“I actually came in here a few days ago and I tried to order coffee. The guy who was here at the time was not as sweet.”

“Yeah, that’s Nate. He’s pretty much the opposite of Rolly,” she chuckled, awkwardly. “So do you, um, come here often?” Smith winced as soon as the words came out of her mouth.

“No, this is just my second time. I kind of felt bad after that first encounter, so I thought I’d try something different this time.”

“Yeah! You should!”

Ellis laughed. “Yeah, I will.”

Smith cautiously got up out of her seat. “Do you, um, mind if I sit closer to you? Join you? Do you mind if I join you?”

Ellis gestured at the empty stool next to her. “Please.”

Smith started to move closer, but then quickly turned back and gathered her things. Her arms full, she sat down on the edge of the stool next to Ellis. “Hi. I’m Smith.”

“Nice to meet you, Miss Smith.”

“No, it’s just Smith. Well, Smith Kelley.”

“Oh, I’m sorry! Nice to meet you, Kelley.”

“No, Smith is my first name.”

“Oh my gosh! I’m so sorry!”

“It’s okay, it happens to me all the time.”

“Well, it’s nice to meet you, Smith. I’m Ellis.” Ellis extended her hand and Smith shook it just a little too enthusiastically, dropping her headphones on the floor.

“Yeah, I know! You’re really cool. I mean…”

Ellis laughed. “Um, thank you.”

“Sorry,” Smith groaned. She put her tablet and sunglasses on the counter and reached down for her headphones. Her stool tipped out from behind her, and clattered loudly on the floor. “Shit, sorry. I mean, shoot. I didn’t mean to say that. Sorry.”

“You apologize a lot.”

“Sorry.” Smith scrambled under the counter in search of a hook to hang her backpack on, and took a moment to silently berate herself for her awkwardness.

Ellis leaned over and looked at Smith’s tablet on the counter. It was open to the police reports. “Are you a cop?”

Smith stood up quickly, holding her headphones and the stool that had fallen, with a bit of a deer-in-the-headlights look. “No.” Ellis looked at Smith’s reddening face. “I just like to read police reports. That’s kind of weird, sorry. A lot of people think I’m crazy.”

“I don’t think you’re crazy.”

“Really?” Smith was still awkwardly standing with her hands full, and her messy bun had become even messier.

Ellis reached for the tablet. “May I?” Smith nodded. Ellis started to scroll through the police reports, her brow furrowing. “This isn’t even half of what happens in this city.”

Smith finally put down the chair and sat down next to Ellis. “I know! The police--” she lowered her voice. “The police are basically useless.” She set her headphones on the counter and reached over and swiped the tablet to the map. “I’ve been tracking the crime in this neighborhood alone, and it’s pathetic how little actual policing goes on.”

“You’re telling me. My cousin was killed a few years ago, and the police couldn’t figure it out, so they gave up the case.”

“Oh shit! I’m so sorry.”

"They said it was a random, unprovoked attack, and he was an unfortunate casualty. They won't reopen the case, and the worst part is, there’s nothing we can do about it.”

Smith hesitated as she read Ellis’ devastated face, scanning the reports.

“Um, listen,” Smith finally said, taking the tablet from Ellis. “I’m sorry that I even brought it up. You just wanted to have a nice, relaxing cup of tea, and I had to ruin your afternoon with all this talk about crime.”

“It’s okay,” Ellis said, with genuine gentleness.

“No, it’s not. I’m just Captain Bring-Down over here. I’ll let you get back to your tea,” she said, looking around for Rolly. “Which still isn’t here. Why did he even go to the back to make it? All the teas are out here.”

Just at that moment, Rolly came around from the back with a hot cup of tea with a sprig of lavender placed across the top. “Here you are! So sorry about the wait!”

Ellis smiled at Rolly. “Wow, thank you so much! It’s beautiful!”

“How come I didn’t get a flower?”

“Because I didn't want to have to go all the way upstairs to get you one,” Rolly playfully snipped back at her.

Ellis chuckled and removed the sprig from the cup and handed it to Smith. “Here you go.” Smith took the lavender and blushed. Ellis took a sip of the tea. “Hm, not bad!”

“See, who needs coffee?" Rolly beamed.

“Better than what I had last time. My assistant wanted to try this place, but I didn’t know what to get, so I just ordered the ‘Special-Tea’ that was on the menu.”

“The one that was basically all anise? Oh girl,” Rolly sucked through his teeth. “I tried that one. It was not good. My partner likes to come up with new brew combinations. Usually they're good, but that one was not. Can I get you anything else, Miss Jones?”

“No thank you, I’m fine.”

He turned to Smith. “How about you?”

Smith flushed. “No, you’ve gotten me plenty.” She looked down at the lavender in her hand. “Plenty…”

Rolly smirked. “Hm, I bet I can think of one more thing I can get you.” He turned to Ellis. “Miss Jones, my stupid friend here really likes you. Been a huge fan of yours for a long time.” Ellis chuckled and Smith turned even redder. “Of course, you are more than welcome to say ‘hell no, fuck off, creep,’ but what do you think about maybe meeting back here with Smith another time for more than just tea?”

Ellis raised her eyebrows behind her cup. “More than just tea? What else do you have back there?”

“Pastries and gayness.”

Ellis finished her tea. “Well, I’m not that big into pastries, but I like the rest of that idea.” She smiled at Smith, who had somehow gone from bright red to completely white. She turned back to Rolly and reached for her handbag. “How much do I owe you?”

“No no, let me!” Smith managed to stammer out.

“But you said you aren’t allowed to pay for anything here.”

“She’s not.” Rolly turned to Ellis. “Four eighty five, please, dear.”

Ellis reached into her handbag and pulled out her credit card. Rolly presented a card reader for her, and she settled her transaction. She turned to Smith. “I guess I’ll see you here…?”

“Tomorrow! If that’s okay with you. After work? I get off at five.” She set the lavender down on the counter and quickly gathered up her belongings and stuffed them into her backpack.

“Perfect! It was nice meeting you both.” Ellis got up from the counter and left the shop.

Rolly picked up the empty teacup from the counter. “You’re welcome,” he tossed at her over his shoulder as he headed to the back.

Smith reached deep into her backpack, pulled out a fifty dollar bill, and threw it at Rolly. She started to head out the door, but then turned back and grabbed the lavender sprig off the counter.

Smith sat on her unmade bed in her small studio apartment. She pecked away at a work project on her laptop. Normally, she would let herself get so engrossed in a project that she wouldn’t even notice the sun go down… or come up. This time, though, she eagerly watched the clock, waiting for 5:00.

The sun was starting to get low, but it was hard to tell with the usual smog that hung in the air of Lake City. The afternoon sunlight that did manage to penetrate through fell onto her bed next to her, where her tabby and white cat, Mat, lay snoozing. The sun crept along her bed until it reflected off of her laptop and into her eyes. She adjusted slightly on the bed, but couldn’t keep her attention on the computer anyway. She had spent the day working from home, as it was slightly closer to the tea shop than her current office, and she didn’t want to waste any time getting there. Of course, that also meant that all she could think about all day was five o’clock.

At 4:46, Smith got up from the bed and walked over to the mirror over her small dresser. The sprig of lavender she received the day before was taped to the mirror so it could dry out. She inspected her reflection and took the ponytail holder out of her hair. She fluffed and smoothed her hair out with her hands, and put it back up in her usual bun. She really wanted to look nice, but nothing but her typical style made her feel comfortable. The least she could do was make sure her messy bun wasn’t quite as messy. She checked her teeth, put on some deodorant, and smoothed her hair again before looking back at her computer. It was 4:47.

She flopped back down onto the bed, disturbing Matt, who let out a little ‘prrrp’.

“Sorry, Mat.” Smith leaned over and gave him a scritch and a kiss on the head. He yawned and stretched a paw out in return. She turned back to her computer and typed a few more things, unaware that she was shaking her foot like it had a flea in it. Mat stood and stretched, very much bothered by the vibrations Smith was causing, and jumped off the bed. After two more minutes dragged on, she finally shut her laptop with a deep sigh.

“You want your dinner early?” she asked Matt. “I might be out late after all.” She chuckled to herself, imagining the best case scenario of how the evening would go. Mat perked up and started rubbing along Smith’s legs at the sight of the cat food can.

Smith set Mat’s dish on the floor at his placemat and topped off his water bowl. She grabbed her gray hoodie from off the bed and put it on, and then picked up her tablet and headphones off her small kitchen table. The table had one chair at it, and was covered with junk mail, dishes, note pads, and other random odds and ends, which meant she didn’t have room for actual work there. The other chair was pulled close to her bed, where it had been serving as a makeshift table for a couple of old water glasses.

Should I take my backpack with me? She wondered to herself, as she packed up her essentials. Probably not. She reached into the backpack and pulled out her wallet, and tucked it into her hoodie pocket. She dug through her backpack again for her keys and chapstick and phone… and then put her wallet back into her backpack and slung the whole thing over her back. She slipped on her sneakers and headed out the door.

Smith hurried the five blocks from her apartment to Lake and Leaf as quickly as her little legs could take her - without running, of course. She hated that. As she stopped at a busy corner a block from her destination, she paused and admired a motorcycle parked in a lot. She had always wanted to be able to ride a motorcycle, if only she were a little taller to reach the ground. The 1200 cc sportbike was sleek, white, flashy and, in Smith’s mind, very sexy.

The traffic light changed, and Smith made her way into Lake and Leaf. As her usual habit, she started to remove her backpack once she got inside. She scanned the people seated at the counter, and started to head to her usual spot at the back of the shop, until another familiar voice caught her ear.

“No, green tea and black tea come from the same plant. They’re not different varieties. I mean, well, they are, they’re different types of tea, but it’s not like there’s a green tea plant and a black tea plant.” Nate was being his typical, know it all self. It wouldn’t be long until he would start being condescending to the poor person he was holding captive with his conversation.

“So which one is better?” Ellis asked, looking over a menu card.

Nate sighed. “Neither one is better. That’s like asking what kind of dog is better, although we all know that chihuahuas are the worst.”

“Okay, what do you recommend?”

Nate sighed again - his favorite thing to do. “I don’t know, what do you like?”

Ellis shrugged and gave him an apologetic smile. “I’m sorry, I’m new to tea. But I’d like to learn.”

Smith walked up to the small table in the corner where Ellis was seated. “Black tea tends to be stronger, and sometimes bitter. It’s a pretty standard tea, like English Breakfast, or the iced tea you get at restaurants. Green tea can be kind of nutty and smooth.”

Nate’s eyes went wide as he turned to Smith. “Oh. My. God. You think you can just walk right up to Ellis Jones and Smith-splain my job to her?”

“Well, you were kind of being rude to her, and Ellis is really nice.” She sat down at the table across from Ellis and placed her backpack on the floor under her chair.

“Wooowww,” Nate taunted. “You’re just making yourself right at home. Bold.”

Smith tried her best to ignore Nate. “I’d recommend the green tea, if you want something lighter. Or if you liked the one you had yesterday, that was an Earl Gray with milk and lavender.”

Nate’s eyebrows nearly hit the ceiling.

“What are you going to have?” Ellis asked Smith.

“I think I’m just going to get an iced tea.”

“You want your scone?” Nate asked, anticipating Smith’s usual order.

“No, just the tea this time.”

Ellis turned to Nate. “I’ll have the same.” She held the menu card up to Nate, who plucked it from her hand and slowly spun around on his toes.

“Baaaasic.”

Smith gave Nate a glare as he left their table. Ellis gave Smith a wincing smile. “He’s… a lot.”

Smith waved her hand in apology. “Yeah, this place is always a little less busy when he’s here.”

“I definitely prefer Rolly.”

“Everyone prefers Rolly.” They both laughed. “Sorry I’m late, though. I tried to get here early.”

“Don’t apologize. I got out of a photoshoot early and there wasn’t much traffic at the time.”

“Oh, you were working. No wonder you look so nice.”

Ellis looked down at herself. She was wearing a black leather jacket and a loose, champagne pink top with two long, delicate, rose gold chains. “No, these aren't my work clothes. I changed before I came over.”

Oh, Smith thought to herself. Even when she’s in everyday wear, she still looks like a model.

“But thank you,” Ellis said. “You look nice, too.”

Smith scoffed. “Hardly. This is all I really feel comfortable in.”

“I think that’s what’s nice about it. You’re comfortable and effortless.”

Smith laughed nervously and clutched her hands together on the table in front of her. Her thumbs twitched together involuntarily, as she was so used to having something in her hands, which was usually her phone or tablet. “So what was the photoshoot for?”

Ellis pulled her phone out of her pocket. “Do you want to see? They let me take a couple photos with me after the shoot for my portfolio.” She swiped her phone on and handed it to Smith.

Smith’s eyes went wide. “Oh, yeah, that’s definitely not your work clothes.” In the photo, Ellis was crouched down and turned sideways, and wearing nothing but a pair of stiletto heels and some elaborate jewelry and makeup. “So it’s a shoe ad?”

“Perfume.”

“But… where’s the bottle? Are you even wearing the perfume?”

“That’s the industry.” She reached over and swiped to the next photo, a closer shot from the same session of her from the hips up. A pop of greens and yellows swept across her eyelids like comets across the sky, and her soft pink lips reflected a coppery shimmer. She was holding her right hand up, delicately framing her face, and her other arm crossed over her breasts. The heavy jewelry she wore dripped with emeralds and diamonds. Smith resisted the urge to keep swiping through her album, but instead stared intently at Ellis’ photo.

“Wow, those are great. You look ama-- you look great. Really cool.”

Nate came back up to the table behind Smith with their drinks on a tray. “Hm. I wouldn’t have gone with green. Clashes against your hair.”

Smith jumped and turned the phone over - a natural reflex whenever someone approached her while she was on her phone.

“You know, I had the same note for the stylist, but we had to go with what Josephina Bell wanted for her new fragrance label.” Ellis was starting to get the hang of handling Nate’s attitude.

Nate sat an iced tea down in front of Ellis. “Then maybe tone down the hair. Make it more golden than orangey.” He waved his finger around her hair. Ellis rolled her eyes up toward his hand.

“God damn it, Nate, keep your opinions to yourself,” Smith seethed.

Nate set the other tea down in front of Smith. “Anything else, honey?”

Smith was about to snap at Nate again, but Ellis interjected. “We’re fine, thank you.”

Nate gave them a sassy little wave. “Love you,” he beamed, before heading off again.

Smith took a long sip of tea as she thought of some sort of small talk to make. After what seemed like forever (but was really more like a few seconds), she finally spoke up. “Sorry, I don’t really go out that much. I don’t know what to talk about.”

Ellis laughed. “Well, you’re honest. But that’s okay. Tell me about what you do.”

“Oh, I do freelance stuff, programming, cybersecurity, data encryption, things like that. I get hired by the city a lot. It’s pretty boring stuff.”

“That doesn’t sound boring at all. That sounds impressive. You must be really smart.”

Smith shrugged. “I guess so.” She never knew how to take compliments, or even how to recognize them sometimes.

“But I’m guessing that’s not what you’re passionate about, right?” Smith thought for a moment. She wanted to tell her about her actual passion; she wanted to just blurt out that she wants to recruit a superhero, and she thinks it should be Ellis. But the idea sounded ridiculous. She couldn’t form the right words in her head to make it sound like it was, first of all, a feasible idea, and second, something that Ellis would even be on board with. They were virtual strangers at this point, and all they had in common so far was tea.

That, and their view on the police in Lake City.

“No, it’s not,” Smith said. “I like reading police reports.”

“Yeah, I remember.”

“Right.” Smith reached for the phone in the middle of the table, but stopped when she realized it wasn’t hers. “Oh, uh. Hang on.” She reached under her chair and grabbed her backpack. Setting the bag on her lap, she dug out her tablet and put it on the table. She opened up the police reports and scanned the day’s entries. “Here, look. A new robbery last night.” She switched to the map of the city and pinned the place of the robbery, a mom and pop restaurant. “Three nights in a row, and three robberies. They’re all along the same line, but not on the same street. They all happened around 3 am, and they were all in and out in about five minutes,” she explained, unable to hide the excitement in her voice. “And the places have nothing in common: a small restaurant, a big box chain store, and a corporate office.” She looked up at Ellis with a glint in her eyes. “Somebody is moving quickly around the city, undetected.”

Ellis drew a line with her finger along the three points. “So that means that the next place they’d hit would probably be… this hotel?”

“I don’t know. These robberies all happened late at night when the places were all closed. But hotels are usually staffed around the clock. I’d say, maybe the restaurant connected to it.”

“What could they rob from a restaurant in the middle of the night?” Ellis asked. “Most businesses deposit their cash at the end of the day.”

“They were able to take a little bit of money from the small restaurant last night, but they made off with goods from the store, and some small electronics from the corporate office. They basically just take whatever they can get their hands on in a short amount of time. And whatever they can easily carry.”

“Why, though? What would they have to gain from such small crimes?”

Smith smiled. She couldn’t believe that someone was not only listening to her crazy interests, but actually seemed to be invested as well. “I don’t know. But they’re so frequent and they follow a pattern. It has to be the same people each time, and they’re probably counting on it to pay off in the long run.”

“I can’t believe the police haven’t noticed the similarities.”

Nate came back to their table. “Oh lordy, is she going on about her crime conspiracy theories? You don’t have to get sucked into her craziness, darling.”

Ellis smiled at him. “I know, she’s completely bonkers, right?” Smith closed her apps and set down her tablet, a little dejected that she couldn’t share her excitement with her crush anymore.

“Mm-hmm. You ladies good?” he asked, placing a check down next to Smith.

“Yes, thank you.” Ellis started to reach for the check, but Smith quickly grabbed it.

“I got it.” She reached into her backpack and pulled out twelve dollars from her wallet.

“Let me guess, Rolly doesn’t let you pay, but Nate does?”

“Yes, Nate sure does,” he said, snatching the cash from Smith’s hand. He picked up their empty glasses and headed to the back.

“Well, uh, I guess we should go,” Smith hesitated, disappointed that the date was over. “Sure. I have an early morning session with my personal trainer tomorrow.”

Smith nodded, attempting to look nonchalant. “Cool. That’s cool.” She stowed her tablet into her backpack again and stood to put it on. She paused when she saw Ellis reach under her own chair and pull out a black motorcycle helmet.

“Shall we head out?” Ellis said as she stood from the table.

“Y--yeah,” Smith squeaked, still trying to retain her nonchalance.

The two left the tea shop in the same direction.

“You know that I don’t actually think you’re bonkers, right?”

Smith gazed down at her feet as they walked along, side by side. “It’s nice to hear you say that.” They walked together a little further in silence.

“This is me,” Ellis said, and they stopped at the lot next to the red sportbike Smith had admired earlier. The sun had sunk low, and the streetlamps had turned on against the dusky sky. The light right above Ellis’ bike highlighted the glittery paint job, making it sparkle like fresh snow.. She set her helmet on the seat and zipped up her jacket, transforming her cool elegance into what almost looked like a mysterious… superhero.

“I had a nice time. Thanks for indulging me, Ellis.” Smith had a hard time looking Ellis in the eye, so she just admired her motorcycle.

“I did too,” Ellis smiled back at her.

“Well… drive safe.” It was the only thing Smith could think to say.

Ellis mounted the motorcycle and put on her helmet. “Thanks, I will. Good night.” She closed the visor and started the engine. Smith gave a small wave as she stood and watched Ellis pull out of the lot and speed off down the street.

“Oh damn!” she exclaimed aloud. I didn’t think to get her number. She pulled out her phone and opened up her Lookit app. She typed in Ellis’ name in the search and started scrolling through her photos and videos. Probably for the best. Would she even want me bothering her?

Smith slowly started to shuffle back to her apartment, still scrolling through Ellis’ pictures. Her thumb hovered over the ‘add friend’ button, as she nervously contemplated the idea of reaching out to the famous model that she happened to have a short date with.

Suddenly, two men jumped out from between a couple of parked cars. One of them punched her in the back of the head, knocking her to her hands and knees. Her phone flew out of her hand and disappeared somewhere in the dark street. “Just leave it!” one of the men said. They started kicking her in the ribs. Smith fought for some air to enter her lungs so she could scream out, but all she could manage were some hoarse gasps. One of the men started to pull her backpack off of her. Instinctively, she wrapped the strap around her hand and grabbed onto it for dear life. The only thing she could think to do was scream “No!” Smith curled into a tight ball on her left side around her backpack, as the one man kept trying to pry it away from her and the other one had gotten onto the ground and was punching her anywhere he could.

Smith opened her eyes as she heard a loud engine revving, and caught a glimpse of a white rocket hurtling toward them. The men also saw it, and took off. The rocket screamed past Smith and barreled toward the men. The rider leaned hard, making sparks fly along the pavement as the sparkling sportbike fell and slid toward Smith’s attackers. The rider had managed to let go of the bike before it hit the ground, and tucked into a tight roll. The motorcycle hit one of the men hard in the leg, and he let out a yell as he fell to the ground, pinned under the bike. The other man kept running. The rider got up and sprinted toward the man trapped under the motorcycle. He struggled to get out from under it, but the rider put her foot down on the wheel, holding him in place.

Ellis glared down at him through her helmet. To him, the dark, mysterious figure looked like a spectre in the night. The man trembled. “Pl--please! Don’t hurt me! I’m sorry! I’m sorry!!”

Ellis pressed down on the wheel again, and the man screamed out in pain. “You’re pathetic.” She let the bike go. He whimpered as he struggled to wriggle out from under the wheel. “Get the fuck out of here.” The man managed to get himself free and limped off as fast as he could. Ellis watched as he slowly vanished into the darkness.

After he was gone, Ellis turned and ran toward Smith. Smith groaned in pain as she struggled to sit herself upright.

“Don’t move.” Ellis knelt down beside her and took off her helmet. She helped Smith lie back down on her back, and looked her over. Smith had a large bruise on her right cheekbone, a bloody lip, and scrapes all over. Her clothes were dirty and torn from being kicked and knocked onto the ground. “Where does it hurt?”

Smith groaned again as she tried to gesture to her ribs, but her right arm was just as bad.

Ellis unzipped her jacket pocket and pulled out her phone. “I’ll call for an ambulance.”

As she was about to dial the phone, Smith reached up with her left hand and pulled Ellis down and kissed her, grateful to her savior. And she felt Ellis kiss her back. At that moment, Smith thought that maybe her plan wasn’t so crazy after all.

[imagineclaireandjamie]

 @outlandishthoughts  said: Those scenes with Millie and Jerry made me wish Claire had a close female friend when she was married to Frank. Can you do a one-shot where she has a friend like that? Maybe someone she could at least partly confide in (even if she didn't tell them the whole story)?  

Modern Glasgow AU

Claire set down the bruised apple, frowning, and searched over the pile for one in better shape. She found two – with a small smile – and added to her basket.

 Just a few quick things from the Co-op on her way home – she’d seen a tasty yet simple recipe for shepherd’s pie (Jamie’s favorite) in the Sunday newspaper, and had been planning to make it all week. A string of unexpected late nights at school meant she hadn’t had the time to make them a proper dinner.

 But it was Friday now – and while most of her classmates had been chattering all day about which club or party they’d be visiting that night, all Claire could think of was a quiet evening with her husband of seventeen months, cozy in their kitchen with a homemade dinner and bottle of wine and Fleetwood Mac on the stereo.

 And then dessert, and bed – but maybe not in that particular order…

 “Claire?”

 Startled, Claire almost dropped a bag of carrots, and whirled to her right.

 “It *is* you!”

 The woman’s face – kind, blue-eyed, dark-haired – came into focus.

 “It’s me – Vi. Don’t you remember, we used to live down the hall from each other…”

 Claire blinked, then came back to herself. “Yes – yes of course. Hello. How are you?”

 Viola Baird shifted her own shopping basket over her elbow. “I’m doing well – but how are *you*? I haven’t seen you since you moved out.”

 Claire paused, careful. “You mean – since I left Frank.”

 Vi tilted her head, just a bit. “Aye – I suppose. I didna want to come out just like that, but I do remember, ye have always spoke yer mind!”

 Claire nodded absently. “Well – I’m doing quite well, thank you. I’m in my first semester of medical school, actually. Been a busy week – just picking up some groceries on the way home.”

 “Medical school? Well that’s grand! Are ye rushing home, or do ye have time to chat over a cup of tea?”

 Truth be told, it was the last thing Claire wanted – but Vi had always been kind to her. A few years older than Claire, she had always said hello in the hallway, and had had her and Frank over for dinner a few times. Her husband was a professor of biology, and she had made her own career in the city’s tourism office, of all things – she personally took credit for the People Make Glasgow slogan plastered all over the city.

 “Of course – I’ll be finished in just a few minutes, and then I’m all yours.”

 --

 Claire removed her mittens and wrapped icy hands around the steaming mug.

 “Smells delicious,” she remarked, watching Vi stir three sugars into her tea.

 “Aye – I don’t come over to this neighborhood very often, but when I do I always stop here. All the coffee is roasted right in the back of the shop, and the tea is mixed here, too.”

 Claire sipped her coffee. Just as she set down the mug, the screen of her phone flashed.

 The text from Jamie was short – *take ur time mnd, ily* – and, not wanting to be rude, she turned the phone face down on the table.

 Vi chatted for a while – updates on her, and her husband, and their three dogs whose barking had always driven Frank mad.

 Claire nodded, polite – her mind far away, wondering what Jamie was doing.

 “What happened between you and Frank, Claire?”

 Claire startled – and met Vi’s kind eyes. She wasn’t prying – just honestly curious.

 “It’s…where do you want me to start?”

 “Weel, the two of you always seemed to be so close, and you were engaged to be married, is that right?”

 “Yes – though to be honest, we never set a date.”

 “But Claire – I come home one day and your name is off the mailbox in the lobby. With no word. And when Frank is home, he refuses to even say hello.”

 Claire sighed. “Do you remember how he took that sabbatical, in New York?”

 Vi sipped from her tea. “Aye – verra prestigious, if I recall.”

 “Yes. Well, I went to visit him – as a surprise. I got to his flat just in time to see him kissing one of his students goodbye.” Absently she swirled the half-empty coffee cup, watching the grounds cling to the white porcelain sides. “So I flew back to Glasgow, and I moved out. Left his diamond ring on the kitchen table.”

 It all seemed so far away now – but just speaking about it brought back incredible pangs of shame, and anger, and disappointment.

 Vi reached across the table. “I’m so sorry, Claire. What a cad.”

 Claire shrugged. “That’s a polite way to put it, I suppose. I – I felt like such an idiot, that I didn’t see it coming. Things hadn’t been perfect between us, but I had no idea…”

 Vi didn’t let go of Claire’s hand – and reached down to touch her wedding ring.

 “You’re married now?”

 Claire nodded, taking another sip of coffee. “Yes. He works in publishing. He – well. He’s everything that Frank is not.”

 Vi withdrew her hand. “And what is that?”

 Warmth flooded Claire’s body, mind, heart. “Selfless. Generous. Doesn’t take himself too seriously. Loving, and kind, and thoughtful. Loyal. And committed to me, and to us, without question.”

 She pursed her lips and turned her head, watching the pedestrians and cars and bicycles flood by on Argyle Street.

 Jamie would like this café – the coziness of it, the countless varieties of tea, the spiced scones. The nook in the corner where they could curl up and share an afternoon of books and snacks and conversation.

 “So I guess that’s why you’re in medical school now? Because he encouraged it?”

 Claire smiled. “Encouraged it? He printed out all my applications, proofread my essays, helped me study for the entrance exams. Yes, you could say he encouraged it.”

 “Frank never would have done that?”

 Claire turned to face Vi. “No. I don’t want to sound unkind – but no. He was happy with me being the way I was – he himself was happy with the way he was.”

 *You’ve got a perfectly fine career as a nurse, and the expense from schooling would set us back. I support your decision, of course, but we’d have to think carefully about what that would mean for us both. Would you even be able to get a surgery job in Glasgow?”

 *We’ll make it work, Claire. Ye follow yer dreams, and we’ll make them happen.”

 “And you weren’t happy with the way things were?”

 Claire thought for a very long time before answering.

 “No. My ambition was never his ambition. It wasn’t until I left – until I married Jamie – that I realized what…true partnership is. How love is generous. And selfless.”

 Vi swirled a biscotti in her tea. “You love him very much – your husband?”

 “Yes. With everything I am.” She didn’t even have to think how to answer.

 “Then I’m so very happy for you, Claire. And I don’t want to keep you from him any longer – what are your plans for tonight, if you don’t mind me asking?”

 “Homemade shepherd’s pie – his favorite. Then an apple crisp, if I have the time. Wine. And music.”

 “I don’t remember you cooking very much when we were neighbors.”

 Claire finished her coffee. “Because, Vi – I didn’t particularly care. But with Jamie, I want to try. And God bless him, he’s patient with me.”

 She stood, and gave the older woman a quick embrace. “I’d like you to meet him, if you’d be open to that?”

 “Of course. It would be my pleasure.”

 Vi pulled back, smiling. “I’m so happy for you, Claire. You are just radiant.”

 Claire sighed, and smiled, and buttoned up her coat, and pushed through the door.

 Fifteen minutes later when she turned her key in their front door, Jamie was there to pull it open, darting in for a quick kiss.

 “I got to cutting up the beef and defrosted the crust – all we need is the vegetables and we’ll be set.”

 She set down the grocery bag, and kissed him properly, and silently thanked Frank Bloody Fucking Randall for his carelessness.

[kpopfanfictrash]

The Dean

Author: kpopfanfictrash

Creative Content Contributors: @daegusoftboys  (her moodboards for the series are perfection)

Pairing: Reader / Seokjin

Rating: 18+ (explicit sex)

Word Count: 5,342

Summary: 

The very handsome dean of Bangtan University keeps coming into your bar. You know you should stay away - but then, that’s what everyone says before they fall.

"Women, men, students of all ages and genders, thank you for coming here today." Kim Seokjin pauses to look out at the crowd. "It is with deepest pride and greatest pleasure that I welcome you here tonight. For many this is your first time in our hallowed halls. To you, welcome. To the rest, welcome back. Our university strives to create individuals who go on to one day make this world a better place. We believe we have the best faculty to achieve these results - though I won't bore you with an introduction tonight." Seokjin pauses at the crowd's laughter. "You’ll meet them all very soon. No, what I wanted to do is thank you. To thank you for putting your faith in us, choosing us from amongst dozens of Universities you were undoubtably accepted into. Bangtan University prides itself on being at the forefront of education. As always, we look forward to assisting your growth in every area. As I always say," Seokjin adds, flashing a smile, "I aspire to inspire. If I help just one of you figure out what you want to do in life - I'll consider my job well done. Of course," he adds, laughing amiably. "I would ideally like to inspire everyone. My job is somewhat dependent on that."

"Above all else," Seokjin continues, meeting the gazes of several individuals in the crowd.  "I hope you grow not just as students, but as people. Education is much more than just the sum of your classes. Now, I won't take up any more of your time. Let's all turn and give a warm welcome to Dean Johnson!"

"I'm just saying," Seokjin protests, taking a sip of wine. "It's unreasonable for the board to expect we raise graduation rate by so much in such a short period of time! It’s unconscionable!"

Namjoon snorts, shaking his head. "I don't envy your job, Jin. On the one hand, everyone needs to graduate. On the other, everyone can’t get straight A's," Namjoon laughs, shaking his head as he raises his glass to his lips.

Seokjin sinks lower in his seat. "I know," he bemoans. "I’ve basically given up on meeting any of my quarterly goals."

"You? Give up?" Namjoon looks at the ceiling. "Heaven forbid."

"I could give up if I wanted to," Seokjin insists, swirling his glass. "I could go on a vacation, maybe. Take a nice nap."

"Jin," Namjoon says, looking amused. "You basically live at that office."

"Untrue." Seokjin frowns.

"You have seven sets of clothing in that closet of yours, each of which includes a matching tie and shoes."

Seokjin stares. "First off, weird that you know the number. Second, wrong! I only have six ties - I spilled pasta on one last week. It's currently at the dry cleaners."

Namjoon opens his mouth to reply when a refill is placed before him. "Thanks," he nods, glancing up and freezing. "Thank you, Y/N," he stutters, reading the nametag on your all-black uniform.

Seokjin grins at Namjoon’s expression - then glances up and freezes himself. You must be new, since he and Namjoon are here every week and he knows he’s never seen your smile before.

"Not a problem," you nod, setting wine before Seokjin. "Let me know if you boys need anything."

You walk way. On your way to the bar you’re well aware they’re watching you go. Of course they are - it’s all part of the act. Wear all black, tight fitting clothes. Smile and flirt with the patrons. All of which adds up to tips at the end of the night.

You recognize the two sitting at that table - Kim Namjoon and Kim Seokjin, professor and dean of Bangtan University. Back when you first started your Masters degree, you took Professor Kim Namjoon’s literature class. That was a long while ago though -  you’re now near to the end of your degree. Just a few more weeks until graduation.  Just a few more weeks of waiting tables and serving drinks until you’re out in the real world.

Normally you work at the bar’s other location, up on the far side of town. A girl called in sick this morning though, and your boss asked you to cover. It's odd, seeing people you know from University here but at least it’s only for the one night. As you return to the bar you can feel eyes lingering and looking up, you spot Seokjin. He blushes, quickly looking away.

You smile. Kim Seokjin is cute, you have to give him that. Okay, fine - he’s gorgeous. Every girl in both undergraduate and graduate thinks so. His speeches at orientation are the only bearable part, mostly because of how his throat bobs and laughs at his own jokes.

This thought makes you smile, so you turn quickly away. Kim Seokjin is a dean, it's completely inappropriate to think these things about him. Even though he’s only a few years older than you are and even though when you look up, he's still looking your way. This time he doesn't look down. Catching your gaze and holding it before turning to Namjoon.

Your heart thuds in your chest. A piece of brown hair falls as he nods at something his colleague said. Seokjin is young. Very young and very hot, and - no, no. You turn to replace the wine bottle you’re holding on the top of its shelf. Wiping your hands on your pants to return to the register. Work is too busy to think of Seokjin, though you want to. His face flashes through your mind as you pour, even as you push them across the counter. The lift of his lips, that quirk of his brow. It's enough to make a girl crazy.

And after three hours of work though, you almost feel like you are. Tonight was busy and the very bones of your body ache. Rubbing your neck with one hand, you make a final round of the bar. Picking up leftover glasses and receipts, placing them behind the bar when the front door opens. The bell tinkers, soft over continued background music.

"We're closed," you call, not bothering to look up and see who it is. "Come back tomorrow."

"Sorry,” a voice answers - male, definitely male. “ I think I left my keys in the booth, could I just - oh, I’m sorry."

You look up. Seokjin stands with his blazer open, tie loosened as he skids to a stop before you. You've already turned off the lights up front, so his face is cast in shadow as he walks forward.

"Sorry," Seokjin repeats, slightly lower than before. "I think I left my keys here. Could I take a look around?"

His gaze is sincere, dark and you try not to blush when you nod. "Sure," you allow, turning around. "Take a look."

Busying yourself behind the counter, you pointedly don't look up. Your heart is pounding, even as you force yourself to look away. You can’t get too friendly with him. You can’t flirt. Especially not now. Not when this bar is at closing, the two of you are all alone and the lights are this low.

"You're new here," Seokjin announces, and when you look back up he’s standing before the counter. His keys are laid flat on surface, a slight smile on his lips. "Found them," he says.

"I can see," you respond.

At your expression, Seokjin raises both eyebrows. "Ah, I see. Okay," he shrugs, turning to walk away.

He only makes it a few steps before curiosity gets the better of you. "What do you see?" you call out, watching him stop in his tracks.

Slowly, Seokjin turns. "Right," he flips his keys in his hand. "You don't date patrons of the bar. I get it," he explains, gesturing. "Which is why I was going to wait outside. Spot you on the street - completely random - and then ask you out."

Flushing, you find yourself at a loss. "I," you start to say, then stop. "Smooth."

Seokjin laughs, pushing a hand through his hair. "I'm glad you think so, because my legs are shaking."

This admission eases your comfort, and you end up setting your rag down on the counter. "You wanted to ask me out?”

Seokjin nods.

"Hm." Looking him up and down, you pretend to think things over. Arching a brow as you turn away. "I'll tell you when I get outside."

Seokjin laughs. "Touche. I'll wait."

He does.

When you leave the bar twenty minutes later, he's leaning against the side of his car. Something vintage that you don't know the name of. Tugging your purse higher, you walk over. Trying not to think about how happy you are he’s still here.

Seokjin watches you come closer. "Did you drive?" he asks, searching the lot for your car.

You shake your head, "No. It's not very far to my apartment."

Seokjin scoffs, already clicking the unlock button on his car. "I'll give you a ride home," he says.

Raising both eyebrows, you don’t move from your spot. "Are you asking I get in a car with a total stranger? I think not."

"Oh, right." Seokjin smiles, leaning over the car door. "I'm Seokjin. And you’re Y/N, it’s written on your name tag. Now will you get in?"

Though you fight it, you can't help your smile. He's just so cute - grinning and eager over the side of his car door. "Fine," you say, walking around to the passenger seat. "You can give me a ride."

Seokjin smiles, ducking into his car and buckling his seatbelt. "So. Where to?" When you say the address, his jaw drops. "That's literally a block away."

You laugh, buckling your own seat. "I know. I told you that it wasn't far."

Seokjin shakes his head as he puts the car in reverse. Placing one hand on your seat as he pulls out of the parking spot. When music comes on it's classical and though you look over in surprise, you don't object. You've always liked classical music. You saw a performance arranged by Professor Kim Taehyung the other semester which was absolutely magical.

Seokjin drives in silence, glancing over every now and again - a fact which makes you smile.

"So," you say, glancing sideways. "Tell me about yourself."

He nods. "I'm Seokjin, dean at Bangtan University. I, uh prefer Hemingway to Faulker, drink a lot of wine and have an extensive collection of coffee mugs with witty slogans."

"Oh?" you ask. "What kind of witty slogans?"

Seokjin blushes. "Er, well. The one I use right now is, 'Sorry, my books make me a little bit shelf-ish.'"

There's silence, before you say, "That is one of the absolute worst things I've ever heard."

You laugh until Seokjin joins in. He nods, tapping his hand against the steering wheel. "I know. There are other, far worse ones though. Want to hear them?"

"I would," you nod, smiling. "But this is my place."

Seokjin looks up, realizing that yes - he's nearly missed your building. He turns abruptly to enter your parking lot. "Alright," he says, parking in the closest spot to Number 19 - your apartment.

"What are you doing?" you ask, alarmed when he starts to unbuckle his seatbelt.

"Walking you to the door," Seokjin says, as though it should be obvious. He gets out, letting the car door fall shut behind him.

You exit too, waiting until he's beside you before walking up the path. You glance over. "You said you wanted to ask me out. Here we are though, at my apartment and I’ve seen no asking."

Seokjin smiles, remaining silent until you reach the front door. You fiddle with your keys, staring straight back at him.

"Well," Seokjin replies. "I thought you lived farther away. I thought I could impress you with my charm during the drive over, until it was impossible for you to say no."

"That's the thing, though," you say. Not looking away from his eyes. "I wanted to go out with you the moment you walked into the bar."

Seokjin's eyes widen and he exhales, lips parting. “Really?”

You nod, the gesture shallow. “Really.”

Seokjin takes a step forward, tentatively sliding his hand to the base of your hair. He tilts your head up to look at him. The light from the street hits his face, making him appear both closer and more alien.

Seokjin's gaze finds your mouth. "How about this," he breathes. "I’ll give you my number and you call me for an actual date. Wherever, whatever you want."

You nod. You’re distracted by the way his thumb brushes against your skin, by how close his body is to yours. He’s intoxicating, you can’t look away and when he bends, you do nothing to stop him.

When your lips touch, the gesture is light. Seokjin hovers once before tilting your head up again. His hands slide into your hair this time, opening your mouth while you melt into him. At some point you’re backed against the wall, his knee sliding between yours. You curve into him, actually sighing when his lips find your neck. Seokjin’s hand slides around your waist, pulling you closer - and then freezing.

He stills, slowly letting go. Dropping both hands from your body to pull back, wide-eyed. Seokjin pushes one hand through his hair. “I, uh,” he says, still staring. “I'm sorry.”

Not trusting yourself with a response, you hold out a hand.

Seokjin looks first at this, then your face. “I don't understand.”

“Your phone number,” you remind, trying to hide your smile.

“Oh! Right.” Digging through his pocket, Seokjin hands you his business card. “Mobile is on the back. Please, please call.”

Sticking this in your pocket, you open the door. Stepping over your threshold and raising both eyebrows before shutting yourself inside. Safely alone, you lower your head to the surface. Listening to the sound of Seokjin leaving and once gone, you remove his card from his pocket.

Staring at it briefly before placing it on your table. As you enter, you shrug your jacket from your shoulders. You can still feel the press of his lips, the touch of his hands on your body. The memories make your head spin, and you slowly lower your elbows on your kitchen counter.

He’s the dean. Seokjin is the dean of Bangtan University, which means you absolutely cannot see him again.

The rest of the week drags by. Every day you look at Seokjin’s card when you leave and every night you see it when you return. You aren’t asked to cover any more shifts near the University campus, which means Seokjin must not know where to find you. You don’t see him any night you work this week.

Part of you is relieved by this - it means you don’t need to worry about this troublesome attraction you have to him. Another part is frustrated. You wonder why you’re keeping him at arm’s length, just because he works at the University. Then your heart plummets, as you realize these thoughts and you know you can’t see him again. Know you can’t, because apparently you can’t be trusted around him.

Seokjin’s card still sits on your front table though, so distracting that when your friend calls to go out on Friday night, your answer is yes.  “Okay,” you say, switching your phone to your other ear. “I’ll go out. No need to yell at me.”

Sam just laughs. “I wasn’t yelling,” she protests. “Merely suggesting there’s only a few weeks until you graduate and then you’ll leave me all alone.”

“Yeah, well,” you sigh, standing before your mirror. Turning this way and that to see the back of your dress. “Just give me a half hour and we’ll meet at the bar?”

“Club,” Sam corrects. At your groan, she says, “Nuh-uh! You promised me a fun night - this is my choice. See you in a half hour!”

Sam hangs up before you can protest and though you grumble, you toss your phone in your bag. A short while later you leave, hovering by your front door to wait for the cab. When it arrives you hesitate, unsure what you’re doing when you grab his business card. Stuffing the item in your purse as you hurry outside, sliding into the backseat. A moment of insanity you decide, lowering your head in your hands.

Of course you won’t actually text him.

The club is dingy, so loud you can barely hear over the sound of the music. Sam texted that she’s already at the bar so that’s where you head, leaning on top of the counter to survey her face. “Hey,” you yell. “It’s so fucking loud in here!”

“I know,” Sam yells back, stirring the drink in her hand. “Why did you choose this place again?”

“Me?” you gasp, laughing. “This was all you!”

Sam grins. “Yeah, I know. I got you a drink,” she announces, pushing a vodka tonic your way.

“Thanks.” As you accept it, you glance around the place. While scanning Sam starts to talk, telling you a story from her work where she’s an assistant, up  in the admissions office.

At the end of the drink you’re feeling slightly buzzed and when Sam announces she’s moving towards the dance floor, you agree. When a song you love comes on you cheer, moving your hips while more and more people crowd around you. “This is fun,” you call out, grinning as you whirl. Spinning once, stumbling slightly - and landing against the chest of a stranger.

Nope - not a stranger. You look up into the eyes of Kim Seokjin, who seems just as shocked and surprised to see you as you are. “Y/N,” he breathes, arms awkwardly holding you to him.

You’re still frozen, locked against his chest though you quickly push yourself away. “I- Seokjin, hi,” you manage.

He frowns, watching you step away. “You never called.”

“No,” you blush, looking into your drink. “I was... busy this week.”

Though you don’t look at him, you see him take a step closer. You’re looking at chest level, noticing he’s dressed in a button down shirt, his tie loose around his collar. You raise an eyebrow. “Did you come straight from work?” you ask, looking up.

“No,” Seokjin meets your gaze, shrugging. “This is just how I dress.”

“A tie?” you blurt, before you can stop yourself.

The corner of his mouth lifts. “Of course. I’m a classy man.”

You laugh, unable to help yourself. Of course you laugh - Seokjin is funny, smart, gorgeous. He’s everything you’re looking for - which is exactly why you need to leave. Looking into your half-empty cup, you say, “I’m going to get another drink. I’ll see you around, okay?”

Without waiting for a response, you brush past. Heading towards the bar and ignoring the sudden sinking of your stomach. Halfway there, you stop. Gaze hardening as you tip the rest of your drink back and open your purse. Seokjin’s number is there and, stepping to the side the dance floor, you text a message.

Y/N: You were expecting me to call? [11:45 PM]

It doesn’t take long before Seokjin responds.

Seokjin: Expecting? No. Hoped? Yes. [11:47 PM]

Your heart pounds in your chest.

Y/N: I wanted to call. [11:48 PM]

Seokjin: Then why didn’t you? [11:49 PM]

Seokjin: By the way, I like your dress. You look beautiful [11:49 PM]

Seokjin: You also don’t look like you normally come to places like this [ 11:50 PM]

Y/N: What, and you do? Need I remind you of the tie? [11:51 PM]

Across the dance floor, Seokjin’s screen lights up. A smile crosses his lips and you watch him start to type, distracted by the sight of him across the room.

Seokjin: I’ll take it off, if you like [11:52 PM]

Seokjin: I can think of a few other things to do with it [11:53 PM]

Staring at his words, you find yourself rereading them. Mind forming semi-tipsy thoughts while your blood heats in your veins. “Shit,” you whisper, under your breath.

“What was that?”

When you look up, Seokjin stands before you.

He raises both eyebrows, staring at the phone in your hands. “I’m beginning to get mixed signals of what you want from me.”

The room is spinning. Not with alcohol - you’ve barely had two drinks, but with his presence. With the sight of him and, unable to stop yourself, you take a step closer. “Kiss me,” you say, barely a whisper.

Seokjin doesn’t move. Then, slowly he lifts his hand to your jaw. Bending, hands sliding into your hair while he captures your lips with his. It’s not gentle. His kiss is insistent, demanding - echoed on your end, since you’ve been thinking about his touch this whole week. The second his lips touch yours, you arch upwards. Twining your fingers in hair, pulling his body closer. Seokjin responds eagerly, body pressing to yours until you suddenly break away. “Let’s go,” you announce, grabbing his hand.

It doesn’t take long to leave the dance floor. Then the club. Outside, Seokjin pulls you to a stop. Backing you against the alley to open your mouth with his. His tongue finds yours, hips pressing until you can barely stifle your moans.

Every nerve in on edge, filled with this need - with wanting - which makes you pull him closer. You slide your hands beneath his shirt, feeling the flat panes of his stomach before realizing where you are. An alleyway outside a club and you reluctantly pull away. “Not here,” you say, watching him nod.

Seokjin takes your hand in his, tracing your wrist with his thumb while leading you towards his car. “I haven’t been drinking,” he offers as explanation, unlocking the vehicle. He opens the passenger door for you, pausing for a moment before sliding his hands around your waist. Then he freezes.

“What?” you exhale, gaze moving between his lips and his eyes. “What’s wrong?”

“Nothing,” Seokjin groans. “I want to kiss you but I can’t. If I do, I’m going to want you in the backseat of my car. And I don’t think you want that.”

A light sparks in your eyes. “Don’t tell me what I want,” you smile.

Seokjin exhales, somewhat shakily. “Okay,” he allows, bending to kiss the side of your neck. “Fine. You and I both want to fuck in the backseat of my car but we won’t, because I don’t want anyone coming by and seeing you. That’s not fair.”

Your laughter dies when his thumb brushes your nipple, teasing the same pattern his tongue is tracing. “Oh,” you gasp. “Seokjin.”

He pulls back. “Okay. Car. Now.”

He walks deliberately over to the other side, getting in to shut the door behind him. The entire ride to his place, his hand is on your knee. He refuses to even look at you though, for fear he’ll be distracted while driving. When you arrive at his apartment building, you fairly gape out the window.

“You live here,” you gasp, exiting the vehicle.

“Uh, yeah,” Seokjin says, running a hand through his hair. “It’s not that nice, come in.”

He grabs your hand, leading you up the front walk. Entering the lobby and waving to the front desk before quickly moving to the elevator. As soon as the doors shut, his lips are on yours. Backing you into the wall, running his hand down your side. You arch upwards, pushing against him. “Seokjin,” you manage, as his lips slide down your neck. “Isn’t there a camera?”

“Let them see,” Seokjin mutters, hand tracing your thigh. “It’s only for a few seconds.”

Sure enough, the elevator dings and Seokjin very quickly pulls you into the hall. When he pushes open his front door, you’re momentarily stunned. The apartment is large, much bigger than yours - there’s an entry hall leading towards a main kitchen and living area. To the right is his bedroom, to the left his study.

There are stacks and stacks of books, piled high in slightly messy clutter. Seokjin wasn’t lying about the coffee mugs - you spot one with a picture of a carp and the word diem written beneath it. “No,” you laugh, wandering over. Almost picking it up before Seokjin’s hands slide around your waist. Lips finding your neck and then you forget all about the mug, turning around in his arms.

Seokjin’s eyes are dark looking at you, hair messy from where you were running your fingers through it earlier. When you kiss him, you feel his arms wrap tightly around your body. Then he’s pulling you backwards - bringing you down his hall. Outside his bedroom you yank him against the wall, arching up to kiss him while dragging your hands down his back.

Seokjing stills. “My room,” he says softly. “Bed. Now.”

You follow him, sitting on his bed to stare up at him. Framed by the light from his window, Seokjin walks forward. He runs a hand through his hair before slowly, undoing the knot of his tie. You watch his fingers brush silk, pulling free before coming to a stop before you. Seokjin looks down, stance casual as he smiles.

“Scoot back,” he gestures with his chin.

You obey, scooting until you’re flat against his headboard. Though he’s barely done anything, your heart is pounding.

“Raise your arms above your head,” he explains, voice quiet. When you do it lifts your chest, and Seokjin’s eyes darken. “Good.”

He kneels, first one leg then the other on his mattress. With his one hand he pushes the straps from your shoulders, freeing your arms before raising them higher.

Your breath hitches, Seokjin’s body is close but not touching. His one hand is on your wrists, the other sliding over your thigh. Stroking before looking back up. “If it’s too much, just say so,” he says. Then he takes his tie and wraps it around both wrists. Your back arches, legs framing him on the bed and when he’s done tying you to the headboard he pauses.

Seokjin kisses you. Mouth slow, purposeful and though you move, he doesn’t. Smirking before pulling back to sit gently on his heels. Seokjin’s gaze travels your body, starting at your hands to end between your legs.

His shirt is messy, untucked and Seokjin raises both hands to unbutton it. He removes this entirely, not giving you a chance to admire before bending. His hands circle your thighs. Sliding back and pushing you apart, core already throbbing at the action. Your dress bunches around your waist, panties already wet and when Seokjin sees this he looks up.

Watching you while running a finger over the outside of the fabric. You groan, pulling against your restraints but the tie holds. Keeps you captive while Seokjin pulls your panties down to your ankles. Then off your body entirely, thrown aside to wherever his shirt is. Pushing your skirt higher, Seokjin bends. You barely have the opportunity to prepare yourself before his mouth is on you, hot and wet.

His tongue teases, tracing with the kind of patience that makes your legs weak. Explicit noises fall from your lips as your entire body tenses. You pull harder on the restraints, relishing the silk against your skin while his tongue traces your sex. When you can’t take any more, when the ache between your legs is too much - he inserts a finger. It feels both overwhelming and not enough and you cry out, pulling harder against the headboard.

Seokjin just chuckles, dropping a kiss to your inner thigh before coming back up. He unties you from the headboard, though your wrists are still locked together as he tugs your dress down around your waist. Now your breasts are free, legs open and he stares in awe before removing the dress entirely.

Seokjin pulls you forward, setting you on his lap as your tied hands fall around his neck. His kisses you this way, groaning when you grind your hips over his erection. “Ah,” he moans, pushing upwards. “You’re so incredibly hot.”

You kiss him again. Moving your hips in a slow, torturous circle until he moans. “Fuck me,” you whisper, bending your lips to his ear. “Please?” you add, biting down for good measure.

Seokjin starts to unbutton his pants, lifting you higher before pulling a condom from his pocket. He rolls this onto himself, hands grabbing your hips to slowly lower you on top of him. You moan at the touch, pushing down as he fills you, wanting every inch of him inside you. Then - fuck. He lifts your hips higher, thrusting up into you.

Your toes curl, elbows tight on his shoulders while you balance yourself. Allowing Seokjin to push upwards - again and again. You roll your hips, circling to sink back down. Pressing your chest to his, unable to stop from saying his name.

Seokjin yanks you closer, thrusting harder and then lifts you off of him entirely, allowing you to fall onto his bed. You protest at the lack of him inside you, arching against the sheets but Seokjin is already kicking his pants off all the way. He leans forward, yanking the tie from your hands before entering your body in one, swift thrust.

Your head falls back, breath catching at his new angle. He’s so large, deep this way and when he starts to move you can barely focus. His speed increases, relentless but you like it. Every stroke brings you closer and closer to your edge. His lips find your neck, sucking as his hand drifts between your thighs and it becomes suddenly too much. Your entire body tenses, coming apart while you orgasm around him.

Seokjin follows a few thrusts later, shuddering before gradually slowing. Your arms remain wrapped around him, thighs around his waist until you move. Slowly, gently until his gaze finds your own. “Ah,” he sighs, closing his eyes. “That was amazing.”

You smile, watching Seokjin remove himself and fall onto his side. His arm circles your waist, pulling you forward. “It really was,” you breathe, staring back at him.

The moment is so perfect you almost don’t see his eyes darken. Seokjin looks down, then away for a second. “Why didn’t you call me?” he asks, his voice soft. As though able to feel your panic, Seokjin’s arms tighten. He pulls you closer to him, leaning his head on the pillow.

He looks so perfect, so calm and serene that you can’t find it in yourself to look away.

“Seokjin,” you hesitate. Your heart pounds and you feel slightly nauseous. “I don’t know how to tell you this.”

“What?” he asks, gaze concerned. “ You can tell me anything.”

“I’m… well, a Masters student. At Bangtan University.”

Seokjin stills. “Oh. Fuck.”

“I mean, I’m almost done with my courses,” you ramble. “Only a few more weeks until I graduate. I just - I didn’t want to put your job in jeopardy or anything. I’m so sorry for not saying anything - I was trying to stay away from you because of it. That’s why I didn’t call.”

“Ah,” Seokjin sighs. Slowly, he pushes his hand through your hair. You look up, surprised by the touch. “I guess that explains why you avoided me.” Pulling you closer, Seokjin nuzzles his face into the side of your neck. “Are you done avoiding me now?”

“But Seokjin,” you protest, eyes widening. “What about -?

He looks up. “The way I see it,” he murmurs. “Tonight never happened. You graduate in three weeks, you said? I can wait that long,” he grins, lips trailing your collarbone. “That is… if you can.”

“Hm,” you smile, lacing your arms tightly about his neck. “Three whole weeks, huh?”

He nods, light entering his eyes.

“Then we better make tonight count,” you mutter, before pulling his lips to yours.  

[ask-me-about-datlof]

Thank you, Friend - Chapter 2

No points for guessing who a certain character is moulded off in this chapter!

You can read this chapter and all previous chapters on AO3

“So guess who I met last night.” Lewis said to Lalnable and Simon as the three strolled along a busy main street.

It was midday and although the air was hot and humid, the sun was hidden behind thick grey clouds. Traffic was almost at a standstill along the hectic roads and the air was filled with the sounds of engines idling and horns blaring. The pavements were no better, with the men and women of Datlof hurrying to and fro with barely a glance up, most talking on their phones or listening to music through headphones. Those that were in the company of others were discussing work, or complaining about the weather. It was a typical day in the city.

Lalnable, Lewis and Simon were walking along together close to the shop fronts, moving at a much slower pace than the crowds around them. They almost seemed completely separated from the rush, like they were viewing it through a screen. Like most people out on the streets, they were on their lunch break and the nearby coffee shops and cafes were even more crowded on the inside than on the outside as people filled into the small spaces to order food and drinks before they had to head back to work. Lalnable, Lewis and Simon were taking more time than the others on the streets; being your own boss meant you could take a slightly longer lunch break.

“Who?” Simon asked, looking up at Lewis. Lewis grinned.

The trio rounded a corner in the road and came face to face with the ancient crumbing castle, the centre of the city. The old building had been abandoned for years and it was in a state of disrepair. The castle belonged to whoever was the current mayor of Datlof, but for many years the mayors of the city had left the building alone, preferring not to spend the time or money for its upkeep or in latter years renovation. It was also rumoured that there were a couple of resident ghosts in the castle, which kept most but the bravest away from it. The land surrounding the castle was churned up dirt and mud with what looked like a building site, with pre-fab buildings, steel beams and bricks lying around the site, that had also been abandoned to time. Overall, the place was a sorry sight to see.

There were posters, old and new, plastered onto the castle’s old stone walls, and the most recent of these posters had pictures of three people; a man with strangely orange skin like a spray tan gone wrong and blond hair that almost looked like a wig; another man who was very well trimmed with black hair and pale skin who made a very striking appearance; and finally a woman who had brown hair that reached to her shoulders and freckled skin with a friendly smile on her face. These three people were running to become Datlof’s new mayor; an exciting and rare event for once a mayor was elected, that person remained as mayor until they resigned or someone decided to challenge them. The old mayor had decided that it was time for him to retire, and as such an election was in full swing. It was impossible not to know about the election. Lalnable, Lewis and Simon paid the posters no attention as they walked by the castle. They hadn’t been in Datlof long enough to have gained much of an interest in the election.

“I met Lomadia.” Lewis smirked and Lalnable raised his eyebrows, the bags underneath his eyes more pronounced than normal as he had pulled an all nighter with multiple cups of coffee to keep him going.

“Lomadia? As in the vigilante, Lomadia?” Lalnable asked. Lewis nodded.

“Yep.”

“So she finally called you out for your sword you carry around with you all the time.” Simon said, grinning as he elbowed Lewis in the knees. Lewis stumbled and began blushed slightly.

“I bet you couldn’t talk your way out of that one, could you?” Lalnable said, poking fun at Lewis for the number of times he’d managed to convince police officers that his sword was a fake.

“No, no, it wasn’t like that.” Lewis said, waving his hands and trying to hush his friends’ laughter.

“Then how come you two ended up meeting? Were you breaking some law as you walked home last night?” Simon asked, grinning up at Lewis again.

“No, I actually got mugged last night.”

“What?!” Lalnable and Simon called out in unison as they stared at Lewis. Lewis waved his hand in the air nonchalantly.

“Well, I should probably say that some men tried to mug me. They weren’t very successful.”

“Did Lomadia swoop in and save the poor damsel in distress?” Simon asked, wiggling his eyebrows. Lalnable tried to choke back a laugh and failed.

“I actually managed to scare them off with my sword, so some thanks are in order, Simon.” Simon swept a mock bow for a moment.

“You’re very welcome, spaceman.” Lalnable was looking impressed.

“So you fought off a guy with your sword?” He asked, looking over at Lewis.

“Three guys to be exact.”

“Jesus christ, Lewis, no need to brag or anything.” Simon said, looking up at his friend. Lewis grinned.

“So where does Lomadia come into this? Looks like you didn’t need her help at all.”

“Yeah, she told me she’d been watching me fight and that she was pretty impressed.”

“Must’ve been entertaining for her.” Lalnable said. Lewis smiled slightly.

“She said something along those lines too.”

“I’m starting to think you made this whole thing up.” Simon commented as he eyed Lewis closely.

“No, no, no, no, no! I’m not making it up and I can prove it!”

“Did you take a selfie with her?” Simon grinned. Lewis rolled his eyes and chuckled slightly.

“No, I didn’t take a selfie with her.” He pulled up his shirt slightly, revealing the red and tender skin where he’d been stabbed and healed the night before. “See? I got stabbed, but she healed it for me!”

“Holy shit.” Lalnable said as the trio came to a stop and he leaned in for a closer look.

“It wasn’t serious, but she healed it for me anyway.” Lewis eyes’ were glowing with excitement as he remembered Lomadia’s magic from last night. “It was amazing! I’ve never actually seen anyone use magic before and it was just so amazing! She could do what scientists have been trying to do for years, just with a natural ability!”

“Careful, Lewis, your science is showing.” Simon said, grinning up at Lewis. Lewis looked down at the dwarf and let his shirt fall and cover up the mark as they began walking again.

“It was just so amazing! It only took a few seconds as well!”

“Yeah, magic is something else. It’s crazy. I never had enough magical ability to really do anything. Although I did some experiments with some magical substances.”

“You mean like that weird purple goop you brought with up from your home?” Simon asked, remembering a strange vat of a viscous purple liquid that seemed to behave with a mind of its own.

“Yeah, flux. I only brought it here with me because I’m still kind of interested in it but I’ve no idea if I’ll actually do anything with it.”

“Well as long as it doesn’t escape from its tank, or anything weird like that.” Simon said as they turned down a quiet alley, heading towards their favourite cafe, a small independent business that was usually rather quiet due to it being tucked away from the main street.

A loud commotion towards the end of the alley caused the trio to stop their conversation and look up. There was a large group of men harassing a woman who had tripped over some bins and fallen to the floor, causing the loud noise. Lewis took a step forwards and called out angrily towards the men.

“Hey! Leave her alone!” The men looked up towards Lewis and stepped back from the woman.

“Don’t worry. We’re done here.” One of the men called out. The group began to turn and leave, but before he left, the speaker spat in the woman’s face.

“Hey!” Lewis shouted angrily after the man and he was about to chase after him when he felt Simon’s hand on his arm holding him back.

“It’s not worth it, Lewis. They outnumber all of us and besides, they are leaving.” The dwarf said. Lewis let out a long exhale before he shook Simon’s hand off his arm and ran over to the woman.

“Well we’ve got to at least make sure she’s ok.” He said just before he ran over to the woman. “Are you alright?” Lewis asked gently as he knelt down in front of the woman. She had shoulder length brown hair and her pale skin was freckled. She looked familiar, but Lewis couldn’t think of where he’d seen her before. He could see she her hand shaking slightly as she reached up to wipe the spit from her face. Lalnable and Simon caught up with  Lewis and stood by as he helped the woman to her feet.

“I can’t do it any more.” She said softly, her voice trembling as tears began to fall from her eyes. “I’m pulling out of this stupid election.” It suddenly clicked in Lewis’s mind.

“Amanda Turner?” She exhaled loudly as Simon and Lalnable exchanged a look.

“That’s right. It’s me. Amanda Turner, here to make Datlof a better place.” She grimaced as she said her slogan for the election.

“I don’t understand. Why were they attacking you? Don’t you get bodyguards or anything like that?” Lewis asked, a steadying hand on Amanda’s shoulder as she continued to gather herself. She pulled a face.

“You haven’t been in Datlof long, have you?” She asked, looking up at Lewis. Lewis was taken aback and his hand fell from Amanda’s shoulder.

“No. How could you tell?”

“Because nearly everybody in this godforsaken city is racist, or sexist or both.”

“Surely not everyone is like that?” Lewis was horrified at this revelation.

“Of course there are some exceptions. You. Your friends.” She glanced towards Simon and Lalnable for a few brief moments who both gave her a friendly smile. “But most people are downright horrible. I thought I could make a difference, running for mayor. It was my chance to make a difference for me, for everyone. I was going to make Datlof a better place…” Amanda trailed off and stared dejectedly down at the ground. “But I was a fool, Datlof isn’t ready for a woman mayor and I doubt it will ever be.”

Lewis was frowning as Amanda drew in a deep breath and straightened her back.

“Well. I gave everyone in Datlof a chance but I know what their answer is. So that’s it. I’m pulling out of this stupid election.” She gave a small smile to Lewis. “Thank you for stepping in then, I’m sure that if you hadn’t turned up, things would’ve got a lot worse. And I’m sorry for ranting like I did. I’ll be on my way now.” Amanda turned and walked away down the alley.

“Wait, you can’t…” Lewis’s words faded in his mouth as he watched her leave, a frown still on his face. Lalnable placed a hand on Lewis’s shoulder.

“This stuff happens, Lewis. It’s just life.”

“Well it’s fucking stupid!” Lewis replied angrily. “How close-minded and ignorant do people have to be to make someone pull out of an election because of something stupid and petty like sexism?!”

Lalnable and Simon looked at each other with raised eyebrows. This was the first time they’d ever seen Lewis so animated about something. Lewis turned and looked towards Simon and Lalnable.

“You know what? I’m going to take her place in the election.”

“Wait, what?” Simon asked, staring up at Lewis incredulously.

“You heard me. I’m going to take her place in the election. If this city’s not ready for a woman mayor, then they’ll have to make do with me because I’m sure as hell going to fight for equality!”

It only took a couple of days for Lewis to be accepted into the election as a replacement third candidate, as late as it was with the election day in only a couple of months. He was so determined to make it happen that nobody had been able to say no to him. And being as charismatic as he was, it was no trouble for him to gain a mass of supporters and followers within a matter of days. A number of his supporters were people who had previously supported Amanda Turner, people who had disliked either of the other candidates. And aside from them, Lewis had managed to steal some supporters from the others.

And now Lewis was live on TV, engaged in a three-way debate between the other candidates to become mayor. The studio was brightly lit, Lewis and the other two candidates, the man with orange skin and the man with black hair, standing by podiums wired up with microphones so they could be heard. There was a live audience facing the candidates on some tiered seating so everyone could clearly see the people in front of them. The debate was in full swing and the audience had been rather rowdy, shouting out, cheering and clapping and sometimes even booing the candidates. Right now the studio was relatively quiet as the presenter was reading out the next debate topic.

“One of the most frequently asked questions by the general public is, what are you going to do about sustainable, green and clean energy? There are rising complaints throughout the city about the levels of pollutions and the rising prices of energy bills from companies that are using unsustainable methods of generating power and electricity and people want answers to what you are going to do about these concerns.” As the presenter drew to the end of the introduction to the next topic, voices in the audience began calling out, wanting answers from the candidates. Without missing a beat, the man with black hair, James Black, spoke up, his powerful voice cutting through the studio air. James was just as charismatic as Lewis, and almost just as intelligent and Lewis viewed this man as his main rival.

“The topic of clean energy is an important one, and my suggestion would be to put solar panels on the roofs of every tall building in the city; they would be able to gather light from the sun all day,” Some members of the audience had started nodding their heads.

“I’m sorry, I’m sorry.” Lewis cut across James a small smile on his face. “Solar panels only work if there’s enough sunlight. And as everyone knows, the sun doesn’t shine in Datlof.” Lewis comment caused a quiet ripple of laughter to spread across the audience. “While I’m not saying your idea is a bad one, certainly, solar panels would be very beneficial to turning Datlof towards cleaner and greener energy, it’s not sustainable as the only source of clean energy of the city. Datlof needs a combination of things generating clean energy, like wind energy coupled with solar energy.” Lewis received a couple of claps from a few members of the audience as he finished speaking. James smiled a cold smile towards Lewis.

“Well, if you hadn’t interrupted me, you would’ve discovered that I was going to suggest other methods for clean energy along with solar panels.”

“Now you both claim to be really clever people,” The third candidate, the man with the suspiciously orange skin, Doug Drumpf, spoke up, his voice loud, but nowhere near as charismatically commanding like Lewis or James. Yet people listened to him, partially out of politeness and partially because you could never tell what this man was going to say before the words came out of his mouth. James and Lewis patiently turned to face Doug. “But what you don’t seem to understand is that solar energy is bad, and unsustainable.”

“Care to explain yourself, Doug?” James asked.

“Yes, please do.” Lewis leant onto his podium and settled down for what he assumed would be a wild ride.

“So the sun’s up in the sky, giving us warmth, and if you put solar panels down they suck the warmth from the sun.”

“Yes… that’s how solar panels work…” Lewis said slowly as he tried to comprehend what Doug was saying.

“And the more solar panels you put down, the quicker they’ll take warmth from the sun and eventually the sun won’t have any warmth left and we won’t have a sun any more.” There was silence in the studio as everyone processed what had just been said. Almost simultaneously, James and Lewis placed their heads in their hands as the audience became loud with noise, all trying to shout over one another to be heard. “My IQ is one of the highest! And you all know it! Please don’t feel so stupid or insecure; it’s not your fault.” Doug called out over the shouting audience, looking like he truly believed what he was saying.

“That’s not, solar panels don’t…” Lewis’s hand slid down his face as he tried explaining exactly why Doug was so wrong, but the man’s stupidity had rendered him speechless as he stared, almost in awe, at Doug.

“You utter moron.” James said, finally speaking up. “You absolute utter moron.”

“The solar panels will suck up all the sun’s energy and stop plants from being able to grow. They’ll be all brown and dead. There’s also firm evidence that solar panels cause huge cancers and are hugely dangerous to people living near them.” The audience were getting louder and more angry, despite the presenter’s best efforts to keep things under control.

“I need to excuse myself for a moment.” Lewis said, before he disappeared offstage. A moment later a scream echoed through the speakers in the studio, effectively rendering everyone silent. Lewis reappeared onstage and was caught off guard by the overwhelming silence. A technician ran up to Lewis and whispered in his ear.

“Your mic was still on when you were screaming, the entire studio heard.”

“Oh…” The technician ran off and Lewis awkwardly walked back to his podium as some of the audience members began to laugh. James was smirking slightly and only Doug hadn’t seemed to figure out what had just happened. The presenter coughed to stop himself from laughing too, and also to draw the attention of the studio.

“I think we’ll move on from that topic, some people seem to be getting rather stressed by it.” Lewis held his head in his hands as the audience laughed. “The next question is from a member of the audience, Hannah Rutherford, on equality.” A woman with long blonde hair, wearing a blue tank top and jeans stood up from the audience, and was handed a microphone by a technician.

“I want to know what each of you plan on doing to make Datlof a place of equality. How will you tackle the rampant racism and sexism that fills the streets? After all, it’s no secret that Amanda Turner pulled out because of the intense sexist remarks and hate she was getting.” Hannah’s eyes moved over to Doug. “I’m aware where some of you stand on this topic, so this question is for the others.” Her eyes moved to Lewis, who had recovered from his highly embarrassing moment, and it became clear she was directing this question at him.

“As I’m sure some of you already know, I stepped up in Ms Turner’s place when she pulled out. This is because I highly disagree with what she had to go through and I hope that I’ll be able to enact the change she wanted; to make Datlof a better place.” The audience began cheering and clapping as Lewis finished speaking.

“That’s a fantastic sentiment, but what I want to know is exactly how you’re going to enact this change.” Hannah’s voice spoke up, having not relinquished the microphone back to the technician.

“Well my first plan is to fix the problem of the wage gap, women deserve equal pay for the same job, and,” Lewis wasn’t able to finish his sentence as the cheering and clapping from the audience grew again. James motioned for the audience to quiet down and as soon as the noise levels reached acceptable standards he began speaking.

“What Mr Brindley is saying, is excellent, but he’s focussing solely on the sexism, whereas I believe Miss Rutherford’s question,”

“That’s Ms Rutherford to you, mate.” Hannah cut across James, causing a couple of people to laugh.

“Apologies, Ms Rutherford. But as I was saying, Ms Rutherford’s question was not solely about sexism, although I’m sure that was one of the significant points of her question. If I’m not mistaken, she wanted to know how you’d be dealing with making Datlof an equal place for everyone, not just focusing on sexism.”

“I’m assuming you’re talking about things like the huge racism and barriers that the werewolf population of Datlof face.” James nodded. “Well, for a start I’d treat them like humans. And besides what I would do, what would you do, Mr Black? I don’t believe I remember you talking about werewolves, or other minorities before in your election campaign?” The crowd murmured in anticipation as Lewis fired back at James.

“Of course I care about every citizen of Datlof equally and I want them all to have equal opportunities,”

“But what are you going to do, Mr Black? You’re not answering. Do you not want to help the minorities, like the werewolf population?” James frowned slightly as some of the audience began taking Lewis’s side and shouting out at James.

“I’ll put laws in place about discrimination,”

“There are already laws in place about discrimination, and they’re flaunted on a daily basis!”

“Obviously I’ll want to make an example of these law-breakers and I’d encourage the victims of these crimes to go to the police and report,”

“Go to the police who, despite being a collection of fine men and women, frequently use racial profiling on those who come in for help and are often ignored and given second class treatment, by the police themselves!” The audience were shouting along with Lewis now, although not all the shouting was in his favour; a number of audience members had taken offence at what he had said about the police force, and some were angry at the idea of werewolves being given the same rights as them.

“Mr Brindley, you’re trying to support these minorities, but I think what you don’t realise, something that I and the audience realise is that these minorities are the ones who are contributing to the large numbers of crime in Datlof.” Doug was almost shouting to make himself heard over the noise in the studio as Lewis turned to look at him. “These minorities, especially the werewolves, are people who have lots of problems. And they bring their problems into Datlof. They’re bringing drugs. They’re bringing crime. They’re rapists… and some I assume are good people. But the majority of these werewolves are criminals.” The noise in the audience had begun to die down as Doug kept speaking. “I will build a great wall, and nobody builds walls better than me, believe me, and I’ll build them very inexpensively. I will build a great, great wall all around Datlof, and I’ll make the werewolves pay for that. Mark my words.” The audience once more erupted into noise; cheers and boos filled the air of the studio as the three candidates began bickering among one another and the debate descended into chaos.

It wasn’t long before the debate was called off and the cameras were cut as reporters in studios on the other side of Datlof began discussing the events of the night; paying particular attention to the points that had been raised and how each candidate had dealt with them. In the studio where the debate had taken place, Lewis, Doug and James were brought offstage and their microphones were taken from them before they were allowed to leave. Doug and his two burly intimidating bodyguards left almost immediately afterwards, almost like he was expecting an attack from someone in the studio building. James left not long afterwards, leaving through the back door where a car was waiting to pick him up. This left Lewis as the last candidate to leave the building. He took his time getting his things ready, picking up his sword, which he hadn’t been allowed to have in the studio, and putting on his jacket. After all, he wasn’t keeping anyone waiting.

Eventually Lewis left the building through the same back door that James had left through, smiling at the people he passed by before stepping out into the fresh air of the night. There was still quite a lot of light left in the sky from the setting sun and it was surprisingly quiet around the back, although he could hear noises from a large crowd from the front of the building. If he listened closely, he could hear Doug’s loud voice ringing through the crowds. ‘So that’s why he had those big bodyguards with him…’ Lewis thought to himself as he curiously peered around the corner of the building and caught sight of the crowd with Doug in the middle, people swarming around him. It was difficult to tell if they were angry or happy with him, but they were making a lot of noise. Lewis shook his head before he moved off. He hadn’t got far when a familiar voice called out to him and made him stop and turn around.

“I see you’ve got your sword with you again.” Hannah was sitting on a low wall as she smirked over at Lewis. “I didn’t see it on you in the studio, I suppose they didn’t let you have it in there?” It didn’t take long for Lewis to connect the dots and realise that Hannah and Lomadia were the same person.

“And where’s your owl tonight?” Lewis replied as he smiled at Hannah.

“Oh don’t worry, she’s not far.”

“So how come you go by Lomadia when you do your vigilanteing stuff? And how come you’re not busy at it now?” Lewis asked. Hannah smiled slyly.

“It keeps the angrier people from knocking on my door all the time. And who says I’m not doing it now?”

“Well you’re here talking to me, rather than running about chasing down bad guys.” Lewis smirked as he spoke; it sounded so stupid what he was saying. Hannah laughed.

“I was chasing down the bad guys in that studio tonight. Weeding out the ones who were sexist, racist pigs.” She looked pointedly over in the direction of the large crowd where Doug Drumpf was still talking. Lewis glanced behind him and thought back on the debate.

“Well, I hope I’m not one of those sexist, racist pigs.” He said, half joking, but half terrified that she thought he was and that she’d lay into him about it. Hannah smiled.

“No, you seem alright. Considering you’re a man, you seem like a decent replacement for Amanda Turner.” Lewis wasn’t sure if that was a compliment or not, but he decided to take it as one.

“Thank you.”

“You’re welcome.” Hannah was still smiling at Lewis and he was beginning to feel a little nervous.

“So, uh,”

“I was wondering if you wanted to get a coffee with me some time.” Hannah said, cutting across Lewis.

“Coffee?” He asked, slightly stunned at the sudden change in the conversation. She smirked.

“Yes, coffee, at a coffee shop. You and me. Just to get to know each other a little more.” Lewis blinked. “It’ll be nice.” Hannah added, smiling slightly more gently at him.

“Yeah, yeah, that’d be great.” Lewis eventually replied. Hannah smiled at Lewis again as she stood up from the wall.

“Alright. Meet me at the Bean Bag at eleven tomorrow? It’s near the castle.” Lewis nodded.

“Yep. Alright.”

“I’ll see you then.” Hannah smiled again before she began transforming; feathers growing down her arms and becoming wings before she took off into the night. “Don’t be late!” She called down before swooping away, her owl coming to fly beside her as they vanished into the dark skies.

“I won’t be.” Lewis said, grinning as he watched her fly away before he began heading back to his flat.

He was in a cheerful mood as he walked back, unable to keep a small grin off his lips, and even Lalnable and Simon teasing him about his screaming during the debate couldn’t damper his mood.

Fun fact: Doug Drumpf was created long before Donald Trump arrived and when we first decided on Lewis being in the election, we wanted a candidate who was completely stupid, completely racist and completely sexist. No joke. And then Donald Trump arrived and all we had to do was modify the character ever so slightly and find the best quotes and things to have arisen from Trump's election campaign. So I'd like to say thank you to Donald Trump for giving me some quality content to work with here. And thanks to Hat Films for his 'modified' surname ;)

(Yes, I know that Trump hasn't ever said those things about solar panels, we got the idea from that from a town that rejected solar panels for that exact reason and we decided to include it because we thought something like that would drive Lewis crazy)

[ravenwritesstuff]

Repetition (2/?)

Fandom: Timeless - Set during episodes 1x11-1x12 Pairing: Lyatt (Lucy x Wyatt) Rating: Very M (SoooOoooOOooo not for kids. Go away, children.) Warnings: M (just see the warning on the first part. It is basically the same) A/N: I am absolute TRASH for this couple. I will probably write one or two more parts for this. Maybe. I don’t know. I just - whatever.

[ first part ]

He offers to drive her back to her car, but she calls a cab instead so he offers to make her a cup of coffee while she waits. She is already jittery as hell but she accepts because she needs something to do with her hands besides remember how his skin felt beneath her fingertips. She hovers in the doorway of his small kitchen as he scoops the grounds and measures water. Her eyes go to the little red light above the carafe and she just stares because she cannot look at him.

She cannot speak to him.

She can hardly breathe.

A clock ticks on the wall above his table for two (even though there is only one chair) and she tries to sync her racing heart to its steady rhythm - to the rhythm of time - and a hysterical chuckle chokes in her throat. A dark part of her heart wants to take down that clock and smash it to bits. It reminds her too much of David Rittenhouse, his son, a gun pointed at Wyatt’s head - and she has made a mistake.

She has made an awful mistake.

He pours the black, steaming liquid into two mismatched, military-sloganed mugs.

“Cream or sugar?” He asks, and the sound of his voice startles her.

“What?” She looks at him and feels her face heat. He side eyes the mugs on the counter. “Oh. Yes. Cream please.”

He goes to the fridge and pulls out a carton of milk. She tracks him as he doctors her drink.

“More?” He holds the plastic handle of the jug and looks at her with eyes sharp enough to cut diamonds, soft enough to fall into - wait. He had asked a question.

“That’s perfect, thanks.” It doesn’t really matter. She doesn’t plan on drinking it - they both just really need a way to fill the time.

Time.

The damn reason she is here in this kitchen where the fluorescent lights aren’t doing anyone any favors. Her mind races.

Time.

History.

Rittenhouse.

Rottenhouse.

Flynn.

Flynn and her journal.

Amy.

Amy.

The name alone is a stab to the gut.

Had she really does this for her? Would it make a difference? Would anything ever make a difference? It seems like everything they try to do to fix the situation only makes new, worse, more complicated problems.

He hands her a mug. It says ARMY on the side in bold black letters. His hands don’t shake. Hers do. She wonders if he has done this before - if that is why he is so calm - if she is just another girl in the long line of hookups he has used to replace Jessica. She probably is and that is the most humiliating part. He probably will forget about this and she never will and -

“We don’t have to talk about it.” He folds himself against the counter a safe distance away but she knows there is really not such thing as a safe distance when it comes to Wyatt Logan.

“O-Okay.” She bobs her head and looks at her coffee. It is just how she likes it, but the idea of drinking it makes her nauseous.

“...Unless you want to?”

He’s putting out feelers, aiming for tact instead of his usual take-no-prisoners approach and she supposes she should be grateful, but it uneases her. Somehow it would be easier if he was brusque. It would be easier to throw up her walls and deflect, but now he is looking at her with blue eyes wide and cautious like he cares and that is not fair. It is not fair at all because she does not want to talk about it. She has no idea how to talk about it - especially if he is going to pretend like it matters.

What if it does matter?

She cannot.

“You said it was for - history. And after we - after you said that now we have to wait.” He presses into her silence, prompting, and crosses his arms over his broad (t-shirt covered - thank goodness) chest. She’s tasted that chest and suddenly she needs to drink her coffee because she realizes he is still stuck to the back of her tongue. “What did you mean by that?”

She gulps two deep swallows from her mug and doesn’t taste it. All she can taste is him. She wonders how long that will last.

She’d spend longer lamenting that truth, but there is a question to answer and to be honest she has no idea even where to begin.

“I don’t know I just -” She looks down at her shoes. “I had a theory.”

“What theory?” He prods, but it is not demanding. Something curious scratches behind his words and she wonders just what kind of answer he is expecting from her.

Her eyes come back up to him, and she wants to tell him that it doesn’t matter - that this had all been some sort of fluke brought on by stress and insomnia and - you know - her life as she knew it being altered beyond seeming repair, but she knows that is not the truth. She doesn’t do anything, say anything, without knowing the reason and the cause behind it. She knows just why she suggested this but that does not mean she is ready to admit it.

“It’s just -” Her cell rings and she jumps like a gunshot (except at this point a gunshot may be less startling than her phone ringing) and she drops the mug. It falls and shatters, the rest of her coffee splatters all over the bottom of her jeans and the linoleum floor. “Shit!”

She flutters between answering the phone and picking up broken pieces.

“Answer it.” Wyatt tells her, always so cool under pressure, as he reaches for a roll of paper towels.

She obeys. The conversation lasts all of two seconds.

“My cab is here.” She says and hesitates as he kneels and begins mopping up her spill. “I have to go. I could - I’m so sorry about the mug.”

He does not look up from his work. “It was free.”

“I should stay. I’ll get another cab. I should stay and help clean up this mess.” She thinks to move, doesn’t.

He rocks back on his heels and sighs. “What’s done is done. It’s fine.”

She still doesn’t move.

“Lucy.” He says her name and that gets her attention. She did not expect that. Her eyes flash to his. “It’s okay, you know. All of it. We’re good.”

Her throat works, but she can neither swallow nor speak. She just stares.

He gestures with his head towards the entryway with his head. “Your cab is waiting.”

It is all the dismissal she needs but she still hesitates. His head falls and they both look at the ceramic pieces scattered across the floor. The juxtaposition of both Wyatt on his knees and the shattered ceramics at her feet is enough to make her heart leap to her throat and she does not want to dissect the reason why.

She all but runs out of his door and counts it a victory that she does not cry until she makes it to the cab.

What in the hell had she just done?

….

Amy isn’t at the house.

She doesn’t know why she thought she would be.

All she did was make a shitty decision and sleep with someone inappropriate in the current timeline. That wouldn’t bring her sister back. That wouldn’t change the fact that somewhere, out there, Garcia Flynn is already planning another way to make her life impossible while she is (apparently) trying to beat him to it.

She drops her purse on the kitchen stool and heads to the freezer. With any luck, her mom will have left some of the Ben & Jerry’s she bought on the last trip to the market. She needs it. Either that or a shot of whiskey, but she is making enough poor decisions without being inebriated so she’ll stick with icecream for now.

No sooner had she found the Phish Food and turned to find a spoon then she sees him. She jumps, but manages to keep a hold of the ice cream carton which makes her one for two tonight.

“Noah.” He is in the breakfast nook, but it isn’t breakfast time. Actually she has no idea what time it is, what day it is, what year it is. “What are you doing here?”

He frowns. “You haven’t returned any of my calls. Your mom says you disappear at all hours for work and don’t come back for days. I’m worried about you, Lucy.”

He comes from where he had been sitting, hands in his pocket, and she acknowledges that he is handsome. He is kind. He is thoughtful and if they were as in love and engaged as those scrapbooks would have her believe then he is probably in quite a bit of pain as well. Guilt rises up to choke her but she screams against it. His pain is not hers. He is not hers. No matter what this timeline would have her believe, but she proceeds with caution.

“I know. I know.” She sets the ice cream on the counter and braces herself. How do you explain the inexplicable? “I’m so sorry. I wish I could explain - I do.”

He stands on the other side of the island looking like he is going insane. “Then do it. Lucy - dammit. I love you and you’re acting like I’m a total stranger.”

But you are. She thinks, barely able to stop herself from saying it, and she looks at her hands gripping the edge of the counter top to keep herself from running out of the room.

“There is a lot going on right now that I can’t explain to you - or to anyone. I wish I could, maybe someday, but now…” Her head spins. This is the last thing she needs right now.

“When are you coming home?” He asks and she immediately flashes to images of Wyatt’s condo, nothing on the walls - only the most basic creature comforts, and how that had felt more like a home than all the time she spent with her fiance in their ‘home’.

She thinks of this place with Amy in it.

She thinks of everywhere except the place to which he refers.

She shakes her head. “I don’t know.”

Noah shows himself out.

….

She goes for a run. It is raining, but she doesn’t care. She just needs to feel something that isn’t the pulsing need she has to go back to Wyatt’s place and clear the air or jump back in his bed or something. It really didn’t matter to her exactly what they did so long as they did it together because she is slowly realizing: she has no one else.

Not now.

Not after what they did.

She has single handedly managed to both create and destroy the only relationship she has in the world in one fell swoop.

She slows to a walk about two blocks from her house and lets the rain wash her tears.

….

She doesn’t even jump when her phone rings this time. She has set a special ringer for blocked numbers (the only blocked calls she ever gets is from Mason Industries) so she always knows when she needs to start preparing for corsets and polyester. This time, however, she just stares as the phone rings to voicemail. She’s playing Rummikub with her mother and she is letting her mom win and somehow that seems like way more fun than going back in time and seeing him right now.

Her phone rings again, another blocked number, and she knows she should answer it but she stays still.

“Lucy. Your phone is ringing.” Her mother gives her that I raised you better than this look.

“It’s work.” She replies and her mother’s face hardens at the corners of her mouth, her eyes.

And as badly as Lucy wants to keep ignoring it - she knows that she cannot. Mason Industries will send a car of scary men to make sure she does as they say and she is not about to try to explain that to her mother.

She answers on the last ring and hangs up on a sigh.

“They need me at the office.”

“Of course they do.” Her mother starts cleaning up the game without even asking. “Should I keep dinner warm for you?”

Lucy smiles. She wishes….

“Leave me a plate in the fridge.” She stands and kisses her mom on the top of her head and breathes in deeply, not taking any of this time for granted. “I love you, mom.”

….

She knew this moment would be awkward but she hadn’t known just how awkward. Wyatt is there, his slouchy energy magnified by a restless quality previously unseen. She doesn’t want to credit their encounter to his updated body language in her proximity but she is not naive enough to write it off. Still - there is something else there too. Something a bit too raw to just be about their lapse in judgement.

She glances at him when he isn’t looking her way and looks away the second he catches her. His eyes hold questions she is not brave enough to answer, not yet.

Agent Christopher talks to her. Somehow Lucy manages to access the fact storage part of her brain long enough to regurgitate enough useful facts about the time period and completes her report without stuttering because she is fucking capable, okay? That, however, does not stop her from dreading every step she takes towards The Lifeboat after wardrobe.

Wyatt comes up alongside her and she refuses to admit how good he looks in his period duds. It is thoughts like that that got her into this mess in the first place. Instead she becomes preoccupied with the maneuvering of her skirts, balancing her hat.

“You okay?” His voice is low and just for her and she is transported back to his bed.

Tell me what you like. He had said and she knows the answer. She likes him, hell, probably loves him, but is nowhere close to being ready to deal with the implications of that.

“Yeah. You?” She asks, but it is time to climb in.

He goes in first like he always does so he can offer a hand, help her up, and she never knew that taking someone’s hand could be such sweet torture. He pulls her up and they are a breath away. He is scruffy as usual and she remembers just how that stubble felt rubbing across her throat, her breasts, and lower.

“Better now.” He says, holding her three beats longer than necessary, and she has no idea what to make of that.

Before she even has a chance to consider it, Rufus clears his throat.

“Don’t know about you all, but I’m pretty ready to get going because the sooner we leave the sooner we get back and that sounds pretty damn fine to me.”

They break away and go to their seats, her legs trembling from proximity. Her eyes find his as they buckle and don’t leave until they touch down in 1882.

….

Better now? Better now, how?

Better because he was on a mission?

Better because being on a mission meant being closer to her?

Better because now he had added reasons to be a reckless hothead just to piss her off?

She can think of a lot of things that this situation is, but none of them have the word ‘better’ attached to them.

It is April 2nd.

She’d heard it in the briefing. She’d seen it on the calendar on the wall of her mother’s kitchen, and yet it hadn’t registered to her for even one instant that she had missed her sister’s birthday.

Amy was born on April 1st a hundred years from where she currently is, except that she wasn’t. Amy was never was born. Not anymore, and Lucy does not know how that makes anything better.

He doesn’t make her better.

In fact, he only makes it worse because if she hadn’t been so damn sidetracked by What She Did With Wyatt (The Thing She Did In Attempts To Bring Back Said Forgotten Sister) - she may have remembered Amy in the first place.

Mason says that time is linear, but she is ready to write a thesis statement that is just one big, horrible loop.

She walks by a mirror in the saloon they are in searching for leads and looks at herself. It is warped, imperfect, as was common for the time but she cannot find anything she knows to be true about herself in that reflection. She blames the mirror, but she knows it is more than that.

….

She wants out.

This isn’t fun anymore, not that it was ever fun but there have been certain perks (meeting Abraham Lincoln and George Washington - are you serious?!) but none of that matters any more. She can see the strain it is taking on Rufus, on herself, and on Wyatt.

She thought that maybe she was the only one coming unhinged, but it is clear her entire team is slowly coming apart at the seams. And Flynn Garcia is not helping the issue. In fact he is actively doing the opposite. He is pressing down on them and as much as Lucy hates to admit it - they are cracking.

She’s always been aware of Wyatt’s skill set, apprehensive of it at times, but she’s never been afraid of it. Never until now, sitting at a campfire, listening to him weave a case for something that could only be described as a God Complex and realizing that she has done the same thing. She, the protector of history, is fully and completely willing to do anything to change it. She knows better than to assume that changing one life doesn’t make that much of a difference.

Changing one life changes the world.

So when Wyatt looks at her and asks her for back up, she thinks she is going to be sick. She is no sounding board, no paragon of time virtue. She doesn’t deserve to be trusted with this much responsibility, this much power.

No human does.

….

How far would you go to preserve time?

She used to ask herself this question even before taking this job, even more so now that she has, but never did she think that she would give the answer of murder.

She did not want to kill him.

She never wanted to kill anyone.

She did not sign on for this. Any of this. She knows she’s maintained the continuity of history by eliminating Jesse James in the proper time-frame, but she’s never killed a man before. She never wants to again, hero or villain. She never even wants to be put in the position where she has to choose.

She just wants to go home, but she doesn’t know where that is anymore.

Amy is gone. She isn’t ever going to get her back. She isn’t ever going to get any of it back.

She cannot stop shaking. Tears burn the backs of her eyes. It wasn’t supposed to be like this. None of it was supposed to be like this. She wants to go back to her old job with its normal hours with its safe predictability and normal boundaries. She wants history to go back to the past, untouched - untouchable, because she cannot take it another second.

She’s in the woods behind the cabin, trying to pull it together, when he finds her. She must look a fright because he eyes her warily at best.

“You did the right thing.” He doesn’t ask if she is okay, knows that she isn’t, and choked laugh breaks from her throat.

“The right thing? Right by whom?” She presses the heels of her hands against her eyes. “I feel like I don’t know which way is up - or if there even is an up”

“He needed to die. He was supposed to die.” Wyatt comes close and grabs her arms. His touch sends electricity through her and she pulls her hand from her eyes. “You did the right thing.”

“How can you be so sure?”

“The guy was a maniac. He’d go on and kill more people than he already had. Sometime in order to prevent a greater evil you have to get your own hands dirty.”

And suddenly she knows they aren’t talking about Jesse James anymore. She looks at him. He is so close, still holding her arms, the dim light from the cabin illuminating the edges of his face in the cold night. Despite it being spring, the night air is still cold enough that she can see heavy puffs of air coming from his lips.

Lips she has kissed.

Lips she wants to, against all sound judgement, kiss again.

“You said you had a theory.” His hands tighten. “What was it?”

“It was nothing.” She shakes her head, eyes not leaving his face. “It doesn’t matter. It was stupid.”

“Tell me.” He says and she knows he is not asking. There is something too raw, too desperate in his voice, and she can feel him losing grip the same as she.

She supposes after all they have been through - after all the lies and confusion - she owes him this truth. No matter how ridiculous.

“I thought that - uh - I thought that maybe if I did something that I would never do then maybe, somehow, it would change - something. Like Amy.” She cannot make out his expression in the shadows but can feel embarrassment heat her body. “See? I told you. Stupid.”

He is quiet for a few deafening heartbeats. Then:

“You tried to take your life into your own hands. You tried to get back someone you love.” His voice holds gravel, but not cruelty. “I can’t fault you for that.”

It’s easier to talk about this in the dark, easier when she cannot make out his every expression. When she knows he cannot see the hope shine in her eyes.

“Are you going to do it? Are you going to try to save Jessica?” She asks, lips tremblings and not just from the cold.

“I don’t have a choice.”

“Wyatt…” She wants to tell him he has a choice. She wants to tell him that they all have choices. They don’t have to just take orders anymore - they can make their own. Set their own path like Emma had. Run away and be lost in time, in space, and forget that any of this ever happened, but she cannot.

Because he kisses her.

She melts into him without a struggle. For the first time in days it feel like she is standing on solid ground because he is holding her. There is no time for gentleness. They fight tongue and teeth against a world that is all too unfair. A world that is just as eager to put them together as it is to tear them apart.

He groans against her mouth and she hushes him. Rufus is close. Bass is close. They are tending to James and Grant’s bodies, are digging through the piles of modern paraphernalia abounding in the bullet-riddled cabin. This is complicated enough with just the two of them. She doesn’t want an audience.

He steps and pushes her back against the nearest tree. This is a different side of Wyatt than she had seen the first time. There is something dark, something final, about the way he holds her, kisses her but she is not giving up without a fight. She claws into his shoulders, his back, and holds him that much tighter. He answers by grabbing one of her thighs and hiking it up so her foot hooks around his knee.

And this is war.

But she doesn’t know who is fighting.

She is so tired of fighting.

Her hands go to his neck and pull him closer, her body arching up against his. That familiar ache mounts deep inside of her, begging for release. The corset and heavy trappings of clothes feel too small, her skin too exquisitely sensitive with him so near. She wants to feel him. Her fingers go to the buttons on his coat, his vest.

“Lucy.” He whispers against her lips when small hands slip under his shirt to touch warm skin and the sound of it sends a new shock of pleasure through her system.

She is doing this. He knows that it is she. He does not pull away. So no matter how fucked up this situation may be - she will hold onto that till her dying day.

They don’t have long.

He hikes her skirt up around her waist as she works loose the buttons on his fly. She can feel his hardness even before it springs up between them. He presses up against her center, thrusting a few nowhere strokes, hitting the oversensitive peak at the top of her sex, before he lines up and drives home.

She thought she would be used to this. She thought that maybe, after the first time, he wouldn’t feel so big. But he does. Oh - gods - he does, and she sees stars.

She didn’t think, ever in her life, she would be turned on by something like this. But then again until recently the idea of having primal, urgent, absolutely necessary sex up against the trunk of a tree in 1882 Missouri had never really been an option so she is willing to make an exception because - holy shit - she is not going to fight this.

His breath comes in harsh pants against her cheek. She grips his shoulders, tries to pull her leg up over his hips to draw him in closer. Despite the cold she can feel sweat break out down her spine, along her hairline. Maybe it is the adrenaline from almost dying, from killing a man, but it only takes a few moments before she is clenching hot and rippling around him. She cannot make out his expression but she can tell from the change in his breathing that he is just as surprised as she is when she clamps around him and everything goes white.

When she comes back to earth his hips stutter against hers in hard, short thrusts until he collapses against her. His mouth moves against her neck, but it is not a kiss. He is saying something, but she cannot make it out above her hammering heart. She doesn’t know if she wants to because if she does, she may have to acknowledge what just happened.

They stay there frozen, unwilling to face the fallout, until:

“Lucy?” It’s Rufus calling into the night. “Wyatt?”

They jump apart. Her skirt tumbles back into place as he does his best to fasten his pants, his vest. The proof of their encounter runs down the insides of her trembling legs and she guesses that unprotected sex is something she else does now on top of murder.

“I’m clean. I’m on the pill.” She says at the same time as she cringes that that is the first thing she thinks to say in this moment.  

“Me too.” His voice has that husky quality she remembers from the first time. She squeezes her legs together. “The clean part.”

“O - Okay.” She cannot move away from the tree. Her legs shake too badly.

“Wyatt!” It is Rufus again. “Lucy!”

He probably thinks they’ve been kidnapped or killed or -

“We’re over here!” Wyatt calls back.

He turns to her and she can see the faintest glint of his eyes in the moonlight. “You head back first. I’ll follow in a bit. It’ll be less suspicious that way.”

She’s not sure how it will be less suspicious, but she is in no place to argue - to think. So she locks her knees and moves. She finds Rufus backlit from the cabin where Bass is still sorting through things he will never understand.

“Hey.” Rufus greets her. “Where’s Wyatt? Is he okay? Are you okay?”

She gives him a half smile and hopes to whatever powers existed that she does not reek of sex as much as she thinks she does.

“I don’t think any of us are okay.”

[ previous part ] [ next part ]

[if-weshadows-haveoffended]

As the World Falls Down- Part 2

A/N: This is just a continuation of my Bickering Professors AU! that was requested a while ago. You can read that absolute delight here. But brace yourselves for the X-kids wearing the Worst™ Best™ that 1980s prom fashion has to offer.

And if none of you haven’t seen Labyrinth, this is the song both pieces were inspired by. {here}

Also, are ya’ll aware that there’s a website that lists all these condom slogans? It’s simultaneously the best and worst thing I’ve read all my life. (x)

Word Count: 2081 Prompt List: (x) Masterlist: (x)

Part 2- As the World Falls Down

You managed to drag yourself down the mahogany staircase on the way to the first floor, admiring the sunlight drifting through the stain glass windows and warming your tired face. Did you care that your hair resembled a bird’s nest? No, not particularly, with the bright red scarfed tying back the strands it probably looked closer to the Madonna-inspired look you were going for. To be honest, you were faking the sense of being alive with bright red lipstick.

A few of the older students were already awake, upon seeing you they pointed towards the general direction of the gym and pool, you nodded in permission, deciding you were way too tired to deal with any of this. Either way your feet carried you down the empty hallways, students only beginning to emerge and enter the breakfast hall, to the heavy carved door of the staff room.

Professor Xavier sat at the head, Mystique to his left and Erik to his right, all three nursing ridiculously large mugs of coffee. Several of the other teachers from various faculties took their seats at the table on their swivelly-plastic chairs, conveniently leaving a space beside Professor McCoy.

Wait- you did a head count.

McCoy, Xavier, Mystique, Erik, mathematics teacher whose name you weren’t entirely sure of, Logan, Frost-

Shit, Peter wasn’t here yet-

No you take that back, as you sat down, a small breeze by your arm notified you that the speedster had indeed arrived and taken the seat beside you with a cheery wave. Clearing his throat, Professor Xavier began to hand out sheets of stapled paper regarding small details about the senior ball. You remembered with a shudder of terror the previous years of senior balls, of angry teenagers nearly killing each other because salmon was not the trending colour and the balloons should most definitely be rose-gold. You guessed with a fair amount of certainty that the final straw for the Professor had been the fact two senior students last year succeeded in imploding the lake, effectively draining it and displacing the current occupants of ducks and geese and decimating the fish population.

“I wasn’t entirely sure what was ‘hip’-“

“To be fair Professor, no one says ‘hip’ anymore,” Peter interrupted with a smile, you shook your head fondly, smiling at the Professor to continue despite his mutterings of how old he had gotten.

“What do you say then, ‘rad’?” He sounded exasperated before turning the page and bringing everyone’s attention to the choice of theme colours (cobalt blue and gold), food (you supposed they’d be alright with it) and according to the paper, Xavier had the students democratically vote upon the music to be played by the band. “Anyway, this final meeting is just to determine that we don’t have any potential problems- yes Frost?”

“I see we’ve removed the open bar?” Emma Frost raised her hand, tucking loose strands of hair back into her sleek bun before glowering at the Professor.

“They’re children-“

“Not for the children Charles,” Erik stated with a sip of his coffee “It’s for the faculty.”

“Dad’s got a point, other dad, if we all have to deal with Scott and Jean shoving their tongues down each other’s throats, I’m going to need something to bleach my mind with.” Peter piped up from beside you, however you too also grimaced from the image of several hormonal teenaged-couples viciously making out on the dancefloor while Careless Whisper played in the background. No, the open bar was definitely a faculty requirement.

“Alright, there’s no need for all of you to imagine hormonal students simultaneously. As several of our students are adept at telekinesis it may be worthwhile if we were to have you, Erik in charge, wearing the helmet and just to double check, did you call me ‘other dad’?” Charles added to Peter, every head at the table turning to face him.

“Maybe you’re imagining things, sir.” Peter smiled what could only be described as a shit-eating grin, you choked a little on your coffee, trying to supress a dying-whale laugh. “Have you even got a date to the ball?”

“I hear Moira’s free,” McCoy slyly suggested beside you with a wink.

“I’m also free as a pity date, Charles, it’s not 1963.” Mystique added in a playfully condescending manner. “We all know you’re finding it harder to get back on the dating market.”

“So’s my dad, he’s also conveniently here.” Peter pointed over to Erik.

“You don’t even have a date, Peter, let alone a suit to wear.” Professor Xavier fired back. You kept your mind blank. Don’t give the game away, don’t give the game away, don’t let Professor Xavier make a dad joke about having Peter as a date-

Shit.

“No, don’t be ridiculous Peter, I can’t have Charles as a date; he hasn’t any hair. I can’t be seen in public with a bald man. Think of my image.” Erik snidely remarked, earning a round of raucous laughs from the teachers. Charles rolled his eyes before continuing down the list, shuddering progressively as he went further down the finalised music playlist.

For now you were safe. All you had to do now was avoid Charles Xavier for the next few days until the ball.

Wonderful.

“You look beautiful,” Peter held out a small corsage of baby’s breath and small asters wrapped in a sheer silver ribbon, your gaze travelled from the corsage as you took a step back to take a good look at him. No, he didn’t own a suit, but he wore his silver jacket and silvery leather jeans in a charming enough manner that it was almost an improvement to the suits everyone else surely must be wearing. “I mean it’s a usual for you, but wow,”

“You don’t have to try too hard, Peter,”

“No I mean it, babe,” He said in all earnest, fumbling with your left wrist to tie the corsage onto it with his goofy, lopsided grin. “Now, off to the ball, Cinderella?”

“I don’t have a pumpkin, but I suppose you’ll do,” You teased gently, taking Peter’s proffered arm. His other hand moved to support your neck and he sped you to the converted auditorium. While you weren’t entirely fond of speeding about (see: running late, terrible nausea and the senior chemistry exam of 1982), you had to admit it was pretty damn cool.

The senior ball was as you’d expect it to be. Chaotic, energetic and with terrible choice in music. But the kids seemed ecstatic to be wearing their new suits and dresses, running around arm-in-arm to the punch bowl or to the dance floor as they excitedly greeted each other and complimented their friends. It seemed that electric blue was very en vogue this year.

“Summers, get your tongue out of Grey’s throat.” Peter cleared his throat at the couple who immediately vacated with red faces, scuttling away to find the rest of their trouble-making friends. “My lady, your throne,” He dramatically swept a grovelling bow and with a laugh, you took the chair and Peter following.

“So I suppose we’ll be stuck here all night?” You asked your ‘date’.

“I guess, whole part of the teaching gig, you feel?” He folded his arms at an attempt to look stern at a pair of giggling teens who were about halfway to getting into each other’s pants in public, “Kiddos, just remember, always wrap it before you tap it.”

“Don’t be silly, wrap your willy.” You added with a conspiratorial smirk, watching the kids’ mouths fall open in horror.

“Sex is cleaner with a packaged weiner,” Peter pointed out. You bit back the most ungodly snort.

“Ew, Professor M, that’s just gross,” They winced before levitating away to the other side of the dancefloor, presumably where there were teachers who were too deep into their alcoholic cups of denial to care.

“Wow, so apparently; I can’t even take an active interest in preventative measures.” Peter scoffed lightly. “Kids these days, what’s going on with the world?”

“I’m not sure, but apparently it’s the latest fashion to wear sashes and frilly shirts to a formal event.” You added in disgust, not entirely sure how Scott or Warren were managing to strut their egos in their flamboyant suits. But all the power to them, you supposed.

“So, I think you’re meant to ask people to dance at these kind of things,” Peter offered an outstretched hand as you recognised the opening bars of that song from Labyrinth. You were surprised that he even offered his hand, having given you every sad indication of taking his job seriously and sitting some wonderful songs out. “Okay, I don’t sing as good as David Bowie, but c’mon, a dance?”

“Yeah, alright Maximoff.” You were pulled flushed to him, wrapping your arms in a languid manner around his neck while his moved to your hips, swaying gently to the music as the crowd began to move closer together in a slow-dance. Well, it was better than Lady in Red, you supposed.

The proximity to Peter was enough to make you weak in the knees, his soft silvery hair falling against your cheeks and making you feel as if there was nothing else in the world in that moment. Just you and the ever-intoxicating Peter Maximoff. You were closer now, if such a thing were possibly, practically flush against his chest as he hummed the song under his breath.

“What? What are you thinking?” He asked softly, a gentle smile pulling at his pink lips. Your eyes flickered towards them, your mind already half made-up. “C’mon, tell meeeeee.”

“I can’t say,” You said gently, staring up at him through your lashes, quite unable to meet his gaze.

“No? Please babe?”

“No, I’ll show you,” Gathering your courage you leaned into the speedster, finally moving at your pace for once in his chaotic life, fully shutting your eyes.

His reaction was instantaneous; a gasp caught in his throat as your lips met his, melting and moving together. His hands tightened upon your hips, one of his teasing hands pleasurably drifting towards your waist and settling there, warmth seeping through cool silk. Your own hands gently traced patterns at the nape of his neck, feeling smooth skin and then tangling in thick locks of silver hair that you had so carefully matched your dress to.

“So,” he finally exhaled, pulling away, resting his forehead against yours. “Where do we go from here?”

“I think we both know, and it’s certainly not making sure these kiddos leave room for Jesus.”

“I gotcha babe,”

“And so as we observe the need to maintain moderate pressure and heat as a result of the equilibrium- Yes Mr Summers?” You asked tiredly, staring at the usually smug bastard with the same tiredness you usually showed.

“I can’t believe you and Professor Maximoff had the audacity to tell me and Jean off for making out when he was practically eating your face on the dancefloor.”

Once again you winced, watching as your class descended into a chaotic riot of shouts and hi-fives and dollar bills being handed about before settling a little at your well-honed ‘teacher glare’.

“Man, I hope you guys didn’t bang because I got twenty bucks riding on that.” Summers’ final statement had you ready to fling yourself out of the window. But you composed yourself with a couple of deep breaths, calmly collecting your things as your ridiculous class prepared itself for the final bell, clearing up two minutes early.

“Summers?” Your voice rang through the hum of student prattle.

“Yes Professor Y/N? Sorry about that, I didn’t mean offence.” He had the contrite look of a sinner in confession, it almost made you double-think what you were about to do.

“None taken but,” You’d moved to the doorway, ready to dismiss the class, “I hope you accept my apology.”

“Why?”

“You’ve just lost twenty bucks,” You grinned evilly at the sight of your Senior Chemistry class, for once, shocked into silence, Jubilee even dropping her designer Chloe handbag upon the dusty floor. The atmosphere was thick with the impending storm and with a hearty laugh, you sprinted out of your designated classroom, halfway-down the corridor before you heard the roar of the class.

You found out on Monday’s first period Chemistry class that Kurt Wagner was now in possession of Michael Jackson’s Thriller album, funded by a won bet.

[erraticfairy]

Social Contagion: You Are Unique, Just Like Everyone Else

“If your friends jumped off the Brooklyn Bridge, would you do it too?”  That was my mother’s favorite reply when teenage me would say things like “All the other kids are wearing…” or “Nobody else has a curfew” or “My best friend’s mother lets her…”.  My mother was unimpressed. She was right. I probably would have jumped off that bridge — at least some of the time. Chances are, I would look at what my friends were doing and follow along.

We may like to see ourselves as individuals, free to follow our own minds and hearts and determinedly able to follow a “different drummer” when our friends are doing something we don’t particularly agree with. But studies show that is more illusion than fact. What everyone else is doing is more seductive than we’d like to think.

Social psychologists call the spread of information, attitudes and behaviors among friends, relatives and communities “social contagion.”  There are numerous studies that confirm that people tend to do pretty much what people close to them do.

Little kids often want to dress or behave “just like” their new best friend. In their search for identity, teens start to define themselves by being “different” from their parents. Ironically, they assert their difference by trying to dress, talk, and act like their particular group of friends. They join clubs, develop interests, or even experiment with risky behaviors in line with what the group is doing.

Social contagion doesn’t stop in adulthood. Studies by social psychologists and behavioral economists show that we are more likely to “follow our crowd”. It’s not at all unusual for peers to marry and start families around the same time. Friends often pursue the same level of education or share the same political beliefs. One huge study even showed that we are 75% more likely to divorce if a friend does.

Sometimes the tendency to take the lead of others is helpful and pro-social. One study found that energy customers were more likely to conserve if they were shown that their neighbors’ use of electricity was less than theirs. Sometimes, people get caught up in antisocial behaviors, chanting racist slogans at a rally, for example, even when it violates their personal values. And sometimes we walk in step with arbitrary and even pointless behavior — like when we decide what brands we buy. We’re more likely to purchase what we think is more popular. If everyone else is buying it, it must be the best, right?

The statement “You are unique as everyone else” is on t-shirts, mugs, and bumper stickers. Although meant to be funny, there is truth to it well beyond adolescence.

Why Social Contagion Occurs

We are social creatures. We want to fit in, to be accepted, to be seen as one of us, not one of them. Quite unconsciously, we adopt internal ideas and attitudes and external habits and dress that are in line with the people we want to associate with. Shared experience increases intimacy and support among a social group.

We’re in this together feels much better than going it alone. When everyone else is getting married, joining a gym, buying a new car, having a baby, or getting divorced, we often feel compelled to consider whether we should be doing the same.

Whatever is familiar has a powerful influence on us. We tend to choose friends who are much like others who are close to us, even when it is uncomfortable in some way. Almost everyone knows someone who seems to find the same kind of partner again and again even if on the surface the new love looks different. Chances are any new person in our life is close to similar people. The result? The new people we meet are more of the same.

Our closest associates also model options for our life. An extreme example is that friends of people who suicide are more likely to suicide. It’s not because suicide is “contagious” like a disease. No. It’s thought to be because a friend’s suicide makes the option for doing so more real to friends who may be also struggling with depression or overwhelming setbacks.

On a more positive note, studies show that optimism is also likely to spread in a group. If we hang around with people who are optimistic and who have a problem-solving approach to life, it increases our own resilience. Instead of jumping into despair with us when we are having a hard time, such people listen compassionately, but then provide us with practical help and advice and support for moving forward. We then know how to pass it on.

Empathy may be another factor. When we listen empathetically to a friend’s positivity or negativity, it causes us to think about what is positive or negative about our own situation. Hearing about the romantic high a friend is experiencing may cause us to want to find the same thing. Listening to a friend complain about her spouse may highlight our concerns about our own marriage. It’s why both marriages and divorces seem to happen in friend clusters. Happiness as well as misery loves company.

Social contagion is not an irresistible force. We are not all robots, marching in step with the people closest to us. The push to maintain individuality is also strong. How we resolve the tension between the two poles, being alike and being different, being true to ourselves vs. doing what wins group approval, this is what in fact makes us unique. The question we all address as we mature is how to retain membership in a social group we like and admire while fostering our independence.

from World of Psychology https://ift.tt/2IHS6uG via theshiningmind.com

[psychotherapyconsultants]

Social Contagion: You Are Unique, Just Like Everyone Else

“If your friends jumped off the Brooklyn Bridge, would you do it too?”  That was my mother’s favorite reply when teenage me would say things like “All the other kids are wearing…” or “Nobody else has a curfew” or “My best friend’s mother lets her…”.  My mother was unimpressed. She was right. I probably would have jumped off that bridge — at least some of the time. Chances are, I would look at what my friends were doing and follow along.

We may like to see ourselves as individuals, free to follow our own minds and hearts and determinedly able to follow a “different drummer” when our friends are doing something we don’t particularly agree with. But studies show that is more illusion than fact. What everyone else is doing is more seductive than we’d like to think.

Social psychologists call the spread of information, attitudes and behaviors among friends, relatives and communities “social contagion.”  There are numerous studies that confirm that people tend to do pretty much what people close to them do.

Little kids often want to dress or behave “just like” their new best friend. In their search for identity, teens start to define themselves by being “different” from their parents. Ironically, they assert their difference by trying to dress, talk, and act like their particular group of friends. They join clubs, develop interests, or even experiment with risky behaviors in line with what the group is doing.

Social contagion doesn’t stop in adulthood. Studies by social psychologists and behavioral economists show that we are more likely to “follow our crowd”. It’s not at all unusual for peers to marry and start families around the same time. Friends often pursue the same level of education or share the same political beliefs. One huge study even showed that we are 75% more likely to divorce if a friend does.

Sometimes the tendency to take the lead of others is helpful and pro-social. One study found that energy customers were more likely to conserve if they were shown that their neighbors’ use of electricity was less than theirs. Sometimes, people get caught up in antisocial behaviors, chanting racist slogans at a rally, for example, even when it violates their personal values. And sometimes we walk in step with arbitrary and even pointless behavior — like when we decide what brands we buy. We’re more likely to purchase what we think is more popular. If everyone else is buying it, it must be the best, right?

The statement “You are unique as everyone else” is on t-shirts, mugs, and bumper stickers. Although meant to be funny, there is truth to it well beyond adolescence.

Why Social Contagion Occurs

We are social creatures. We want to fit in, to be accepted, to be seen as one of us, not one of them. Quite unconsciously, we adopt internal ideas and attitudes and external habits and dress that are in line with the people we want to associate with. Shared experience increases intimacy and support among a social group.

We’re in this together feels much better than going it alone. When everyone else is getting married, joining a gym, buying a new car, having a baby, or getting divorced, we often feel compelled to consider whether we should be doing the same.

Whatever is familiar has a powerful influence on us. We tend to choose friends who are much like others who are close to us, even when it is uncomfortable in some way. Almost everyone knows someone who seems to find the same kind of partner again and again even if on the surface the new love looks different. Chances are any new person in our life is close to similar people. The result? The new people we meet are more of the same.

Our closest associates also model options for our life. An extreme example is that friends of people who suicide are more likely to suicide. It’s not because suicide is “contagious” like a disease. No. It’s thought to be because a friend’s suicide makes the option for doing so more real to friends who may be also struggling with depression or overwhelming setbacks.

On a more positive note, studies show that optimism is also likely to spread in a group. If we hang around with people who are optimistic and who have a problem-solving approach to life, it increases our own resilience. Instead of jumping into despair with us when we are having a hard time, such people listen compassionately, but then provide us with practical help and advice and support for moving forward. We then know how to pass it on.

Empathy may be another factor. When we listen empathetically to a friend’s positivity or negativity, it causes us to think about what is positive or negative about our own situation. Hearing about the romantic high a friend is experiencing may cause us to want to find the same thing. Listening to a friend complain about her spouse may highlight our concerns about our own marriage. It’s why both marriages and divorces seem to happen in friend clusters. Happiness as well as misery loves company.

Social contagion is not an irresistible force. We are not all robots, marching in step with the people closest to us. The push to maintain individuality is also strong. How we resolve the tension between the two poles, being alike and being different, being true to ourselves vs. doing what wins group approval, this is what in fact makes us unique. The question we all address as we mature is how to retain membership in a social group we like and admire while fostering our independence.

from World of Psychology https://psychcentral.com/blog/social-contagion-you-are-unique-just-like-everyone-else/

[positivepsychologyinterventions]

Social Contagion: You Are Unique, Just Like Everyone Else

“If your friends jumped off the Brooklyn Bridge, would you do it too?”  That was my mother’s favorite reply when teenage me would say things like “All the other kids are wearing…” or “Nobody else has a curfew” or “My best friend’s mother lets her…”.  My mother was unimpressed. She was right. I probably would have jumped off that bridge — at least some of the time. Chances are, I would look at what my friends were doing and follow along.

We may like to see ourselves as individuals, free to follow our own minds and hearts and determinedly able to follow a “different drummer” when our friends are doing something we don’t particularly agree with. But studies show that is more illusion than fact. What everyone else is doing is more seductive than we’d like to think.

Social psychologists call the spread of information, attitudes and behaviors among friends, relatives and communities “social contagion.”  There are numerous studies that confirm that people tend to do pretty much what people close to them do.

Little kids often want to dress or behave “just like” their new best friend. In their search for identity, teens start to define themselves by being “different” from their parents. Ironically, they assert their difference by trying to dress, talk, and act like their particular group of friends. They join clubs, develop interests, or even experiment with risky behaviors in line with what the group is doing.

Social contagion doesn’t stop in adulthood. Studies by social psychologists and behavioral economists show that we are more likely to “follow our crowd”. It’s not at all unusual for peers to marry and start families around the same time. Friends often pursue the same level of education or share the same political beliefs. One huge study even showed that we are 75% more likely to divorce if a friend does.

Sometimes the tendency to take the lead of others is helpful and pro-social. One study found that energy customers were more likely to conserve if they were shown that their neighbors’ use of electricity was less than theirs. Sometimes, people get caught up in antisocial behaviors, chanting racist slogans at a rally, for example, even when it violates their personal values. And sometimes we walk in step with arbitrary and even pointless behavior — like when we decide what brands we buy. We’re more likely to purchase what we think is more popular. If everyone else is buying it, it must be the best, right?

The statement “You are unique as everyone else” is on t-shirts, mugs, and bumper stickers. Although meant to be funny, there is truth to it well beyond adolescence.

Why Social Contagion Occurs

We are social creatures. We want to fit in, to be accepted, to be seen as one of us, not one of them. Quite unconsciously, we adopt internal ideas and attitudes and external habits and dress that are in line with the people we want to associate with. Shared experience increases intimacy and support among a social group.

We’re in this together feels much better than going it alone. When everyone else is getting married, joining a gym, buying a new car, having a baby, or getting divorced, we often feel compelled to consider whether we should be doing the same.

Whatever is familiar has a powerful influence on us. We tend to choose friends who are much like others who are close to us, even when it is uncomfortable in some way. Almost everyone knows someone who seems to find the same kind of partner again and again even if on the surface the new love looks different. Chances are any new person in our life is close to similar people. The result? The new people we meet are more of the same.

Our closest associates also model options for our life. An extreme example is that friends of people who suicide are more likely to suicide. It’s not because suicide is “contagious” like a disease. No. It’s thought to be because a friend’s suicide makes the option for doing so more real to friends who may be also struggling with depression or overwhelming setbacks.

On a more positive note, studies show that optimism is also likely to spread in a group. If we hang around with people who are optimistic and who have a problem-solving approach to life, it increases our own resilience. Instead of jumping into despair with us when we are having a hard time, such people listen compassionately, but then provide us with practical help and advice and support for moving forward. We then know how to pass it on.

Empathy may be another factor. When we listen empathetically to a friend’s positivity or negativity, it causes us to think about what is positive or negative about our own situation. Hearing about the romantic high a friend is experiencing may cause us to want to find the same thing. Listening to a friend complain about her spouse may highlight our concerns about our own marriage. It’s why both marriages and divorces seem to happen in friend clusters. Happiness as well as misery loves company.

Social contagion is not an irresistible force. We are not all robots, marching in step with the people closest to us. The push to maintain individuality is also strong. How we resolve the tension between the two poles, being alike and being different, being true to ourselves vs. doing what wins group approval, this is what in fact makes us unique. The question we all address as we mature is how to retain membership in a social group we like and admire while fostering our independence.

from World of Psychology https://ift.tt/2IHS6uG via IFTTT