#and the new ones are all made on a cheap temporary phone

[dottyistired]

more of these, featuring klapollo-meet-uglies, the hawthorne twins being unhinged girlbosses and edgeworth having a terrible day

[unearthly-doting]

yandere farmer

a/n: smth smth i Really like people w southern accents smth smth so here's a farmer. im not 100% satisfied w this one but it's been in my drafts for so long so here it is.

warnings: mdni, not proofread, yandere content, gn reader, male yandere, idk how cars work so, overprotective behavior, obsessive behavior, reader has hair in this sorry if u dont, murder, brief mention of vomit, non-con kissing, mild depictions of gore, choking, i think that's it??

— maybe it's a bit cliché but life in the big city was exhausting, and all you wanted to do was get away from it all. it was a bit sudden, deciding you wanted to uproot your entire life and start somewhere new, but you knew that this is exactly what you needed.

— and it's not as if you weren't going into this blind. a friend of yours had a family vacation home in a small farm town that hadn't been used in years, and they were willing to let you stay there until you could find a place of your own.

— you had everything planned out. you had enough money on you for gas and food for the drive there, and you had already had some of your stuff shipped off to your new temporary home, so you didn't have to worry about leaving anything behind. you even kept a little extra money on you in case you needed to crash at a motel.

— the drive had started off fine. traffic wasn't too bad as you left the city, and there were no major setbacks until you were almost at your destination. when you were 20 miles out from the farmer town you'd be living in, your car just suddenly died on you. it still had gas in the tank, and there didn't seem to be anything wrong with the car itself, it just… died.

— what's worse is the fact that your phone had no service. you suppose that's not too shocking, considering how far out in the country you are, but it's a bit shocking, isn't it? you're not that educated on farming life or this small town, but surely they had modern technology, right?

— it's cliché, honestly. it felt like the start of some cheap slasher. or maybe a southern christmas romance movie. you're not quite sure which would be worse. the slasher, realistically. whatever, you're getting off track.

— the point is, your car is dead, your phone is useless, and it's starting to get dark. you could probably make it to that motel you saw a few miles back, but you didn't really feel comfortable leaving your car out here alone. not to mention you're not even sure if you have enough money on you to cover one night at a motel.

— the universe, in all her mercy, takes pity on you before you can get too upset over your plight, because not even 20 minutes after your car stops, a truck drives by. it's beat up, but it slows to a stop next to your car. the window rolls down, revealing the driver to be a man just a little older than you.

— he asked if you needed help, and offered to tow your car and drive you to town. you didn't have much choice but to agree, and the drive to town was… not as awkward as you thought it would be, actually.

— the man introduced himself as rigby shaw, a farmer that lives on the outskirts of town. you actually drove by his farm maybe 15 miles back, and he had been heading into town to pick up some medication for one of his dogs when he saw you pacing outside your car. in turn, you told him how you were moving into the small town because life in the city had been overwhelming.

— rigby didn't think you'd survive long outside of the city. city folk rarely ever strive in small, out of touch towns, away from modern technology. the small handful that made their way here always went back to the city not even three months into being here, so he didn't expect to see you last long either. you were nicer than most city folk, though.

— but you were determined to make a living out here, so when rigby dropped you off, you got to work immediately. you unpacked your stuff that had been there waiting for you, and in the morning, you got to work trying to fix your car. turns out, your fan belt had somehow come loose just enough that your car could no longer function. why? who knows, maybe the universe was in a silly mood.

— anyways, you settled into the small town life with relative ease, and rigby was very surprised when he returned to town a few weeks later, you were still there. the only thing you were struggling with was finding a job. maybe because he was fascinated by your determination, but rigby ended up offering you a job on his farm. he did need help taking care of the crops and feeding the animals there, but he mostly just wanted to learn more about you.

— you were a fast learner, and his dogs took to you fairly quickly. the cattle and horses were a little less trusting, though that was expected. he's sure they'll take to you soon enough, given how you respect their boundaries and go at their pace unlike his previous farmhands. you had no problem taking on any challenge rigby had set up for you, and maybe that's when he started finding himself thinking about you.

— if he's out in town while you're on the farm, he's worrying that you might get injured without him around. you can take care of yourself, but he can't help but worry. same for when you're in town while he's on the farm. you’re still an outsider there, and he knows that some of the townsfolk may try scaring you off. or maybe they'll try hurting you. or maybe you'll be completely fine and he's just overreacting.

— he starts hovering around you more often when you're on his farm, jumping in to help you whenever he thinks you might be struggling with something. you think he's just worried you might fuck his crops up or something, so you never really pay much mind to his behavior. it only struck you as odd when he insisted on helping you feed the dogs of all things. was he scared you would poison them? you wouldn't, obviously, so you don't know why he'd think that.

— his behavior only seems to escalate when you meet a guy in town one day and start going on casual dates with him. he was… shocked, when you asked to take the day off because of some guy. in the months that you've been living in town, you had never shown any interest in pursuing a romantic relationship with… anyone, truly. you had always seemed so dedicated to working on the farm and making a living for yourself, rigby had never even considered you could want anything other than that.

— at first, he felt disappointed. why would you prioritize dates with some guy when you could be working on the farm with him instead? it took him a bit to realize that disappointment he was feeling was jealousy. he hated when you'd step away from him to accept calls from your new boyfriend. he hated how you stopped eating lunch with him in favor of eating it with your boyfriend.

— your boyfriend wasn't even that great of a guy. rigby did some research on him–it's not stalking, he's just making sure it's safe for you to date this guy!–and he was not pleased with what he found. you could do so much better! you didn't understand why rigby was so interested in your boyfriend, always asking questions about how he treats you, if he's really what you're looking for in a relationship, if you actually loved him…

— you couldn't help but notice how touchy rigby has become as well, his hands always lingering on you far too long when he helps you with your work. you swear that you've heard him smell your hair a few times when he's close as well. he's been acting weird ever since you officially started dating your boyfriend. he's even going as far as to pile more work on top of you, leaving little free time for you to spend with your lover.

— it's gotten unbearable to the point where you decided you ultimately needed to find a new place to work. you liked rigby, he was a great guy with a kind heart, but his behavior was bordering on obsession and you didn't want to enable this behavior by ignoring it. your boyfriend agreed, and with his help, you were able to find a job at the local market in town.

— rigby was not pleased when he heard you on the phone with your lover, talking about how you'd tell him you were quitting after you finished work.

You're not really sure what happened. One moment, you were on the phone with your boyfriend and then the next, you were being hit in the head and everything had gone dark. The sun had only just started setting when you had been knocked out, but it was completely dark outside when you had woken up.

Your head was pounding as you opened your eyes, looking around in an attempt to figure out what the hell had happened to you. You were still on the farm, that much you knew. The first thing that worried you was the fact that your hands were bound to a wooden post, leaving you unable to move without injuring yourself. Your phone was broken on the ground, so it was completely useless.

Did a trespasser knock you out? It's not the first person people have trespassed on the farm, trying to steal the horses or ‘save’ the animals Rigby had. You had assumed that to be the case, because… what else could have happened for you to be tied up like this?

“Rigby?!” You shout his name, wincing at the throbbing in your head as you did so. Was he okay? Was he hurt? What if something happened to him? What if–

Your panicked thoughts get put on pause when a light blinded you, and you shied away from it as best as you could as you tried to figure out its source. It seemed to be a flashlight, and you only realized who was holding it when they got closer.

For a moment, you relaxed at the sight of Rigby, relieved to see he was okay as he approached, though there was something off about him. Maybe it was the fact that he didn't seem injured, yet there was blood on his hands. Or maybe it was the… borderline crazed look in his eyes.

Something wasn't right.

“Rigby…?” You hesitantly called his name, your relief bleeding away into a reluctant unease, “Are you okay? What happened? Why am I tied up?”

His silence did little to help you as he set his flashlight down on the ground and started undoing your binds. Your wrists felt raw as you gently rubbed them once they were free, standing up while Rigby retrieved his flashlight.

“Rigby, what the hell is going on?” You ask, growing frustrated at being left in the dark. You had been knocked out and tied up, so you think you deserve some sort of explanation as to what had happened.

“I have a gift for you.” Rigby says, completely dodging your question as he grabbed your wrist and pulled you after him. His grip was tight, almost bruising as he dragged you along, ignoring you when you asked him to loosen his grip on you. He refused to answer any of your questions, and you were starting to get worried.

You've never been scared of Rigby. Sure, his behavior lately had been concerning, but you had no reason to be scared. But right now, you couldn't help but feel a bit afraid as he led you in the dark. Your concern only grew when you realized he was taking you to the barn the pigs were kept in.

“Will you just tell me what's going on?” Your words fall upon deaf ears as he passes the flashlight to you, motioning for you to take the lead as he opens the barn doors. You hesitate before shining the flashlight in the barn, slowly stepping forward.

Most of the pigs were sleeping in their own separate stalls, a few were watching you and Rigby with indifference as you both stepped deeper into the barn. But two things stood out to you. One, a handful of pigs were nowhere to be seen. Two, there was this weird… squelching sound coming from the back of the barn.

“It's just back there.” Rigby says, his breath hitting the back of your neck and causing you to jump. You hadn't even realized how close he had gotten. You scurry forward just to get some distance. Truthfully, you didn't want to see this ‘gift’ Rigby was talking about, but you knew that you couldn't turn back.

Deep down, you knew something horrible was about to happen. The squelching sound grew louder, and you could hear the sound of chewing along with it. When you looked back at Rigby for some sort of reassurance, he just had this strange smile on his face. It sent a chill down your spine.

And when you hesitantly looked in the last stall at the very back of the barn to see the source of the noise, your ‘gift’, you dropped the flashlight in horror and let out a scream as you stumbled back right into Rigby's arms.

On the ground was your boyfriend's corpse, his face nearly maimed beyond recognition as several pigs chewed at his body. You're lucky you're able to swallow the vomit in your throat as you try to get out of Rigby's hold, looking away from the horrific scene in front of you as you cried.

“Let go of me!” You claw at his arms, but he just holds you tightly against his chest, gently shushing you as he forces you to watch the pigs eat.

“Do you like it?” He asks, completely ignoring your horror, “It wasn't hard getting him to come here. I just told him you had an accident, and suddenly, he was on his way. Isn't that sweet? It's a shame he wasn't stronger… he never would've been able to protect you if someone tried hurting you. But I can, see? I can give you what you deserve.”

You weren't even listening to his deluded words, trying to squirm out of his hold, “You're a fucking monster.” You spit out, a sharp gasp being torn out of your mouth when he shoves you against the wall of the barn, his hand around your throat as he lightly squeezes. A subtle threat, one that had you shutting up.

“I expect some fucking gratitude, you ungrateful brat.” Rigby’s voice is cold, his anger had never been something you'd ever been on the receiving end of, “I did this for you. For us. You should be thanking me.” His hand on your throat tightens, squeezing the air out of your lungs, his gaze hard as he stares at you expectantly.

Desperate for air, you're barely able to wheeze out a small, “Thank you.”

As black spots start to fill your vision, Rigby removes his hand from your neck, and you're able to breathe again. His anger was gone, replaced with delighted satisfaction.

“Of course, darlin’.” He sweetly says, a bloodied hand coming up to gently wipe the tears off your face, “I'd do anything for you. I can provide for you, so just be good for me in return, okay?”

And as he pulls you into a kiss, his lips pressing against yours with a heated desperation, you find yourself missing the city for the first time since you left it.

[johnbrand]

Call to Action

William was getting antsy in the airport, crossing his legs and kicking his feet anxiously as he awaited his flight. It had been nearly two months since he had last seen his long-distance boyfriend and the excitement was riling him up. William had been preparing for this trip for weeks now. Everything was packed, the shuttle from the airport coordinated. As soon as he landed he would quickly change from his plane pajamas to a fancier outfit to surprise his true love.

All of this made William bouncy with a child-like giddiness. The two had been lovers since their first year of college, but William’s boyfriend had made it clear early on that senior year he planned to study abroad. Even though this separation was planned and temporary, the young, romantic William had swooned since the day he left. He practically looked the part too, his average, lean build and mousy brown hair perfectly accompanying the lovelorn persona.

Doing his best to distract himself, William grabbed for his phone, surprised to find an unknown number trying to reach him. With nothing better to do, he decided to accept the call. William did not notice all the other men in the airport simultaneously reaching for their phones and answering the same number through their devices.

“Men!” a rugged, masculine voice exclaimed from the other end. “It is our time to rise up to save our country!”

William was not prepared for this sudden call to action, but curious, he remained on the line. He did not realize his decision was already made for him.

“Men should be with women! Men need to become fathers again!”

William’s eyes glazed over at the strong words as the masculine voice continued to spout even more offensive remarks. It was jarring, aggravating to a point that…aggravating to a…aggravating to his dick.

William let the man’s uproar of commands project on, unaware of the small boner that rose from his soft pants as insults were delivered at his masculinity. Each of the man’s statements were absorbed willingly into William’s innermost self, adjusting the poor boy to the expectations of a complete stranger. William’s height rose dramatically, a soft breeze tickling against his shins as his pants rode higher up. His thighs and calves began to fill the empty space as the pants became a starchy material, khakis functional either indoors or outdoors. His shoes too, once cheap sandals, grew larger into massive athletic sneakers that (thanks to his manly privilege) passed as "business casual."

“Straighten out those backs and puff those chests!” the voice urged, and William obliged. His muscles tightened beneath the worn-out tee, which was quickly thickening into a sporty-yet-still-professional polo echoing a more standardized hue. William’s chest, now supported by hard-earned bulk, began to cover itself with little hairs while his entire being broadened and squared. The changes crawled out from underneath the new shirt down his arms, leaving William with tanned, lightly dusted appendages and thick mitts begging for a game of catch on the front lawn. A single finger was graced with a simple silver band.

William’s manhood continually throbbed with the man’s words, pulsing larger with every new mandate ordered upon him. “Your role is to reproduce a spitting-image, not a spitting savage!” William felt himself agree, tightening the typical leather belt that had secured itself around his stronger base. His evolving cock protested the loss of freedom, now a machine for fertilization built for a purpose other than sheer pleasure. “You are a man, so act like one!”

“I am a man!” William repeated, his vocal chords deepening with maturity and testosterone. His jaw squared out with manly aftershave, years brutishly piling onto his body to make him better prepared for fatherhood. William's hair flattened out into a neatly combed shape, a long-practiced art form that matched his weathered, experienced eyes.

“Families and jobs are the priority.” the man signed off. “Father our children, father our country!”

Bill placed the phone down, noticing his flight had just arrived. The 30-something-father watched as the passengers got off, noticing all the proud men with their families. The thought aroused his massive paternal schlong, quickly forcing him to spread his legs to make some room. Bill had just finished a week-long corporate retreat, talking business, the home life, and politics with the other like-minded men out on the greens. Now though, he was excited to get home to the wife and kids. So excited in fact that he had to hear his voice one last time.

“Hey hun, boarding the plane now. Have dinner ready by the time I get home." Bill's command held the dominance and authority of natural masculinity. "Tell the kiddos I'll see them soon, love ya.”

[waywardsummoner46]

‧͙⁺˚*･༓☾ Sink Into the Darkness, My Light | Two | ☽༓･*˚⁺‧͙

──•~❉ ᯽ ❉~•──

"Join us, my Light."

Two centuries ago, the ruler of the Light disappeared, plunging the universe into chaos and disrupting the sacred, unspoken balance of the universe.

The eight rulers of the Darkness never stopped looking for her; their obsession never once waning since she vanished.

Recently, they've sensed something. Never around long enough to pinpoint but so euphoric that it sings within their veins. And since meeting you, well... slowly they begin to understand why.

"Sink into the darkness with us."

──•~❉ ᯽ ❉~•──

「✦」 PAIRING - yandere ot8!ateez x (?)reader

「✦」 GENRE - ancient gods!au, fantasy!au, magical powers!au

「✦」 WARNINGS - mind control, gaslighting, dom/sub, subspace (of a sort), temporary amnesia, manipulation, YANDERE AND DARK THEMES

「✦」 WORD COUNT - 4,863

「✦」 A/N - You're all so lovely. Thank you for the reception part one received. We meet another of the members in this chapter, enjoy.

「✦」 TAGLIST - Let me know if you'd like to be added :)

──•~❉ ᯽ ❉~•──

• one • two • three • four • five •

──•~❉ ᯽ ❉~•──

It was roughly 17:49 when you had another phone call. This time, it was Jee-Won’s caller ID that greeted you, not Ji-Ah’s. A picture of her kissing your smiling cheek and you with your eyes scrunched up. Funny how the picture held so much happiness but its motives caused you nothing but dread at whatever crazed things she wanted to discuss with you now.

  You sighed long and deep; your food was ready and you’d just sat down to begin digging in. How utterly stupid of you to assume that you could simply eat your food in peace. 

 “Hey, Jee-Won,” you said, masking your mild frustration. Speaking to her before you were going out was slowly tearing down the mental preparation you’d been working on. Dealing with her now was seriously reinforcing the recurring thoughts of simply not going… but you’d promised Ji-Ah. You couldn’t back out now (despite how much you wanted to).

  You loved Jee-Won dearly, you and her had been friends since you were very young. You knew basically everything about each other and could trust each other with everything. The fact that your personalities differ so greatly only made that friendship even stronger as one could offer outlooks and perspectives the other couldn’t. Through your care for each other, it was obvious you always had each others’ back.

  Doesn’t mean she doesn’t grate your nerves sometimes though.

  Jee-Won let out an ungodly squeal on her end of the phone and you had to pull the phone away from your ear, wincing. 

  “Happy birthday, my beautiful best friend! How are you on this gorgeous day?” Contrary to your mild vexation, her bubbly energy never failed to make you smile. This was something you could mirror, being practically all smiles yourself.

  Picking up your chopsticks, you began to twist the cheap store-bought noodles absentmindedly. “I’m wonderful, thank you. I’ve had a very… interesting day so far, but it has been genuinely good. How are you doing?” 

  Interesting was one word for it - neither Yunho nor Yeosang had left your mind all day. Thinking about them was natural and your best efforts were no match to their lingering effect on you. 

  Some selfish part of you wanted to go back to ‘Life Rose On’ right now just to see Yeosang again. Yunho you had resigned yourself to the understanding that you’d probably never see each other again (a fact that saddened you much more than it should’ve). Perhaps you were being childish in your hope that they knew each other. 

  It made sense; stumbling into two new pretty boys in the same shop on the same day. Couldn’t be entirely coincidental that they were in such close proximity with one another. Alas, the unknown was killing you and your unexplainable longing for the two handsome strangers remained. 

  And it was unexplainable. 

  Meeting and interacting with those two today felt so intense, so real. Somehow, talking to them was easy and could be done with the familiarity of long-time friends. After the initial hiccups (stumbling over your feet and words), when Yunho spoke to you it felt like every one of your senses was being stroked so sensually and lovingly that it made you shiver. When Yeosang had tucked that breathtaking purple rose behind your ear, that same shiver and unrestrained emotions of rightness returned. 

  … it bothered you. 

  Never in all of your years of living had you let anyone have such an effect on you. Nor were you one to be swayed by good looks alone so easily. Admittedly, both men were incredibly kind and friendly which enabled you to talk to them for longer, in addition to their angelic appearances.

  The effect that they’d had on you troubled you for a reason you couldn’t quite understand and, simply put, you were uncomfortable with it, especially after one meeting. 

  In conclusion, it wasn’t them that made you uncomfortable but rather the effect they had on you that did. Or did it? Oh, you didn’t know. These feelings confused you and only gave you a headache. 

  Realistically, you’d never see Yunho again and you’d probably see Yeosang once or twice more considering he worked in the florist you regulared. There you go, done. No need to dwell on it anymore. Nope. Not. At. All.

  “Hello? Are you still there?” Jee-Won’s mildly concerned voice startled you and made you realise just how far you’d sunk into the ocean of your thoughts. 

  You massaged your temples. “Sorry, Jee-Won. I didn’t sleep well last night, is all. What were you saying?”

  You practically taste her fond exasperation on the other end of the phone. “Are you sure you want to come out tonight? You know Ji-Ah won’t take it personally.”

  That snapped you to attention. 

  “I know that but I genuinely want to go, I promise.” Hoping your tone of false conviction was believable enough, you glanced at your watch. 17:54. Two hours and six minutes before you had to be there.

  “Mhm. Yeah, absolutely. I believe you one hundred percent.” Apparently, you were not as convincing as you’d once believed. “I won’t force you not to come because I know that despite how much you don’t want to go, you’ll go for the sake of other people. But please, if you need to go home early, please, please do. I know you don’t like it when everyone starts to get pissed.”

  Well, she wasn’t wrong there. The easy way out was like a weighted security blanket around your shoulders. A sense of grounding that you hadn’t realised you needed. Of course, Jee-Won noticed. Jee-Won, for all of her flaws, was a good friend. One that you wouldn’t replace for the world. 

  “Curse you and your eternal wisdom,” you said and laughed. Then in a quieter voice added, “And I will.”

  A muffled snap could be heard from the other end. “I know what will help.” Oh dear. “Getting our hair done together!”

  You supposed that the night was never destined to start on schedule; who knew that it would begin during your ramen?

──•~❉ ᯽ ❉~•──

 “Uh, Jee-Won I hate to burst your bubble but I think we’re in the wrong place. This looks like someone’s house, not somewhere where we can get our hair done.”

  “We are very much in the right place, my beautiful sunchild.”

  Your face twisted in immediate distaste. Sunchild? 

  You repeated it silently to Ji-Ah behind Jee-Won’s back and she mirrored your baffled expression. That certainly was a new one.

  Both of you turned to look at the building that was allegedly where you’d be getting your hairstyles for tonight. You didn’t necessarily see why Jee-Won had put so much emphasis on your hair in general, let alone praise this place to buggery and ultimately drag you two there against your will. Heck, you’d have been happy curling your hair or simply braiding it so at least it differed from your typical style.

  This place was huge. When she had said hair stylist, you expected a dainty little corner shop surrounded by similar establishments relatively close to ‘Life Rose On’. Everything was around there. The mansion that you beheld in front of you was on a whole new level.

  Never in your life had you seen a building like this, forget anything else. It was a truly impressive piece of architecture; there seemed to be multiple layers to the mansion and different areas with varying spires and towers. 

  The three of you stood on the entrance balcony. Beams of a rich brown supported the canopied roof and each were delicately hugged by the richest, healthiest clematis you’d ever had the honour of seeing in your life. Jung-Hee’s abilities to nurture plants was impressive but the owner of this fantastical building had powers akin to the Gods. Each beam seemed complimentary to the gold-lined, rectangular windows that were on either side of the main oak door, and the patterns on them made that of an intricate hourglass - one half stained a deep black and the other a blinding white, slowly being tainted by the darkness. Or at least, that’s how you saw it. Perhaps ‘The Hidden War Within’ was turning you into more of a poet than you thought.

  Removing yourself from the balcony temporarily, you strained your neck to ogle at the rest of the building. The roof the balcony on the ground floor was seemingly the foundations of the first floor as you saw that a set of glossy black rocking chairs and a dazzling coffee table sat atop it. This time, blood red roses wrapped around the fence bordering that area and worked as a nice contrast to the lighter purple of the clematis. 

  Of what you’d processed of the building so far, it was a double-layered abode with a relatively square shape. Then you looked to the right and it was more reminiscent of a castle than anything else for a circular tower merged into the rest of the building and had a spire at the top of it. It reminded you of a fairytale you read as a child. 

  Beyond that, there were two further layers to the house. Each topped with the traditional Korean dancheong roof, the building truly was like something out of a novel. 

  Quite peculiarly, there seemed to be… trees? Growing from some of the open windows? The picture it painted was exquisite but you wondered with unrestrained curiosity how on Earth the owner managed to achieve such a thing. 

  You’d have to tell Jung-Hee all about this mystical house next time you saw her. The fact that the mansion itself was well out of the way of the main road and surrounded by an incandescent forest was just feeding your slowly spiralling feelings of awe.

  As Ji-Ah and Jee-Won bickered by the front door, you took your sweet time to observe every sheltered nook and every single captivating cranny of the house’s exterior… when you caught a glimpse of something in the tower window. Squinting your eyes, they promptly widened once more when you realised it was a someone and not a something.

  Just as quickly as they’d come, they had disappeared. You blinked rapidly, trying in vain to see if you could catch a glimpse of the dark figure in the window. 

  From what little you had seen, whoever it was was male and looked relatively tall. His face was wholly covered by the shadow the lighting gave him but you could’ve sworn you saw the slightest hint of a smile.

    A shiver ran down your spine and you shook your head to recompose yourself. The day was catching up to you - getting to your head. You needed to breathe and stay grounded rather than let your head wander, especially in a place as isolated as this.   

  You were just about to go towards Ji-Ah and Jee-Won when something wet hit your nose. At first, the shock made you freeze momentarily but reaching up to touch the droplet you found it was only rain. Then, a booming clap echoed through the forest and then the rain began to pour down with a vengeance. 

  Running for the balcony, you avoided trampling the delicate pathway the owner had laid out. Ji-Ah and Jee-Won looked as though they were struggling to hold back their laughs and you raised a soaking finger at them.

  “Listen-”

  “Oh, you must be freezing!” A kind voice said from behind the two of them. All three of you looked at the mystery voice immediately and the breath left your lungs for the third time that day. “Please, do come in,” he said and gestured for you all to follow him through the front door.

  The man must’ve been a God because the urge to drop to your knees and worship him with everything you had was suffocating. 

  His hair was the first thing you noticed about him; silky raven locks lay gracefully across his forehead and framed his face perfectly, like a dark angel. You hadn’t had ample time to examine (appreciate) his face before he turned around but you saw his outfit.

  Long, dark tailored trousers hugged his legs. Flaring off towards his feet, you saw that the man wore glossy black heeled boots that only added to his intimidating aura. There was something so divine about a man confident in his appearance and this man was an example, not an exception.

  Embracing his torso was something akin to a black waistcoat except there were no sleeves nor were there any shoulder coverings; it came up to his chest and gave way to a bright white blouse whose sleeves hung from his muscular arms like decorations and a button up collar that gave the man an impression of elevated status. The cherry on top of the cake was the brief glimpse of an expensive silver necklace you noticed decorated his neck.

  You could basically hear the wealth and power screaming from his form as you followed dutifully behind him and through the mansion’s winding halls. Nothing around you was being processed, your attention wholly centered on the man you trailed behind.

  “You’ll catch flies if you don’t shut your mouth,” Ji-Ah’s smug voice said. Your attention was immediately directed at her, scandalised that she’d say something like that as loudly as she did.

  An inquisitive hum was heard from in front of you and your knees nearly buckled when seeing his face for the first time. 

  (Perfect, chiselled jawline. Perfect, sharp nose. Perfect, full lips. Perfect, piercing boba eyes and, undeniably, one of the most handsome faces you’ve ever seen.)

  One of his eyebrows were raised in question but lowered once he saw the two of you. “Ah, the architecture is rather impressive, isn’t it? This was built by my great, great grandfather during the nineteenth century.” 

  Letting out a subtle breath of relief at his misunderstanding, you subtly nudged Ji-Ah’s side with your elbow. She almost landed you in one of the most humiliating experiences of your life. You never would have forgiven her if he’d picked up on why your jaw was actually dropped.

  “Forgive me, I never did introduce myself,” he turned once more and bowed deeply. He straightened and made eye contact with you. 

  Perhaps you were delusional. Perhaps you were just seeing what you wanted to see. But the way he was looking at you made you feel like he was picking apart the very linings of your soul.

 “My name is Park Seonghwa, but you may call me Seonghwa.” 

──•~❉ ᯽ ❉~•──

  Eventually, Seonghwa led the three of you to what looked like a dining room.

  The walls altered between pink and white marble with streaks of gold complimenting the foundation colour. There were old sconces laid evenly across the walls of the gigantic room and they all lit up a long table, the key feature of the room. An impressive chandelier dangled from the ceiling and the scarce rays of light bounced off of it in a faint imitation of falling stars.

  What truly caught your attention was the painting on the opposite side of the room. It covered the entire wall; black and white paint entwining with each other to give the picture frame a misty effect and the same hourglass patterns from the windows lay in each corner of the frame. 

  Nine people were in the painting. Eight men and one woman. Each man wore an outfit straight from a fantasy novel, completely covered in black clothing. Some donned a cloak, others were clad in onyx medieval armour and one with a crown made entirely of black metal and dangerously glinting gemstones. Quite fascinatingly, the one with his hand on the girl’s shoulder wore a dark half skirt and black trousers that were connected to a torso of gold, floral patterns dusting a glossy tunic.

  In a certain light, it looked as though their eyes were following your slow movements around the space but you disregarded that thought as soon as it entered your head.

  The girl, on the other hand, well… the resemblance she bore to you was uncanny. She lay across the floor in front of the eight men and wore a white dress that could only be described as having the consistency of a cloud.

   “Hey, that’s kind of freaky,” Jee-Won said from behind you. She was also looking at the painting and was alternating her gaze from the painting girl and your face. 

  “Jee-Won, don’t be rude,” Ji-Ah scolded from her side. 

  “I am not being rude, I’m making an observation.”   “Could you try and be more polite about it next time then, please?” Ji-Ah returned, equally as sassy as Jee-Won had been. 

  You shook your head fondly at them. Since becoming a trio, it had been a constant battle between the two of which was right and which was wrong. Ji-Ah had a better understanding of social situations and standards whereas Jee-Won’s unfiltered opinions were something that both benefited her and were to her detriment - like right now. 

  Seonghwa entered your peripheral and placed a calming hand on each of your friends’ shoulders. “Now, now, there’s no need to argue, is there?” There was a power in his words that had the girls quieting down instantly. You were surprised at the look of sheer embarrassment that was on their faces; and you thought you were bad. 

  Seonghwa gave them each a pleased hum and crooked a pointy, gloved finger for you all to follow him. He sat down on a cream-coloured chaise longue, posture entirely straight, and patted the seat next to him as he made direct eye contact with you. 

  You gulped but did as he wished. Tension rendered your body immovable and prolonged eye contact was impossible. 

  Contrary to Yunho and Yeosang, Seonghwa had an effortless motherly energy to him and a deep part of you didn’t want to risk tarnishing that with any hesitance or inclination to disdain. Because you were very much not disdainful of Seonghwa, the exact opposite actually. 

  Watching as Ji-Ah and Jee-Won sat down on the two individual lounge chairs opposite you two, you remembered that you’d all come here to get your hair done. Nothing in this mansion seemed equipped to give you those services nor did you think that you’d have enough time between now - 18:40 - and when you had to be at the night club - 20:00. 

  Seonghwa might look like a miracle but you doubt he could perform them. 

  A clap and all three of you snapped to look at him. He held his entwined hands to his chest and smiled softly at you all. 

  “Firstly, I would like to welcome you to my home. I trust you’ll respect it as it will you during your time here.” The three of you nodded.

  “Excellent. Now, I understand each of you are here to have your beautiful hair styled to perfection for the birthday girl’s night out,” he gave you a wink and you felt your heart stutter in your chest. “Unfortunately, due to the late hour, my… colleagues will be taking two of you whilst I give my undivided attention to another.”   You all seemed to have a silent conversation with each other. His words and logic made sense but his implication that you would all be separated had you grimacing mildly. There wasn’t an issue, you were all grown women - you’d just thought that you could enjoy each others’ presence before the night out when you’d be swarmed by drunkards and junkies. Much fun. 

  The conspirational smile he gabe you all made you aware that he was privy to your mild displeasure. “My sincerest apologies, ladies. I simply wish to maximise time and efforts.”

  “It’s no trouble at all, thank you so much for even accepting us in on such short notice. You’re a lifesaver,” Jee-Won practically gushed. You raised your brow, short notice, huh? She’s acting as though she hasn’t had this planned for the better part of a week (you’d overheard her and Ji-Ah talking).

  Seonghwa raised a hand. “No need to thank us. We’re always happy to help, aren’t we, Yongbokie-dear?”

  A short man with pretty silver hair entered the room. He looked young, only mildly younger than you. “Of course, we are.” His deep voice contrasted his innocent features, much like Yeosang’s had but to a milder degree. He met Seonghwa’s eyes, “We’re ready now, Seonghwa-hyung.”

  “Have the three of you decided who will stay with me?” Seonghwa questioned, looking rather intensely at you. 

  You got so caught up in his eyes that you nearly missed Ji-Ah’s comment. “Jee-Won and I will leave you two to it. Thank you again, Seonghwa-ssi.” The look of unbridled horror on your face caused her to stifle a laugh and you prayed to whatever god was listening that Seonghwa didn’t pick up on it. 

  Seonghwa merely smiled in goodbye as they followed Yongbok out of the room… leaving you alone with a man who compromised your ability to talk.

  Being alone with Seonghwa was worse than being alone with Yunho or Yeosang. You didn’t know why but you genuinely felt as though words were beyond you right now. 

  As though approaching a frightened deer, he extended his hand slowly for you to take. Your eyes darted rapidly from his own and his hand, struggling to comprehend what he was asking of you, why you were reacting like this and just what was going to happen now. 

  “Shall we, darling?” Is it possible to melt into the floor? Because that’s how his voice made you feel. 

  With a new found determination, you took his hand and allowed him to bring you over to a window seat you hadn’t noticed on your way in. Lengthy, silk curtains obstructed it from the dining room’s view but once Seonghwa guided you through them, it was like being embraced by shadows. 

  Very little light penetrated the area for the curtains were dark enough to block the sconces from the dining room and where a window should have been there was only dark marble.

  Seonghwa gently sat you down on a chair in the centre of the area. You remained as silent as he while he rummaged through whatever was behind you. 

  Despite how many times you reflected on the whirlwind that was today, you still couldn’t completely comprehend any of the turns it had taken.

  An hour glass was placed on a previously unseen table in front of you and you jumped at the unexpected movement. Dark sand dominated the most of it and only a slither of white sand sat atop it. It seemed to be some form of bioilluminescant sand as it was glowing in the darkness. How, you did not know. You didn’t question it though, it was beautiful. 

  “Seonghwa-ssi? Excuse me if this is rude but I was wondering how you were going to style my hair in this lighting?” Your meek voice permeated the blanket of silence that had settled over you two. 

  His rummaging halted momentarily as he chuckled lowly. “Not rude at all, little one. A perfectly sound question.” You jumped slightly when you felt his hands in your hair, removing any accessories you had in and detangling the biggest knots. “I work better in the darkness, you see. I find home in its existence and security in its embrace.”

  Your gaze remained fixed on the hourglass in front of you as you absorbed his words. You couldn’t understand how anyone could prefer the darkness to the light. The darkness was stifling and clung to you like a parasite, always had done, always will do. The hourglass was a direct representation of that; it was practically crushing the white sand and reducing it to the thinnest grains possible all in order to rid its presence entirely.

  Seonghwa began to part your hair, separating the top of your hair from the bottom. “What do you think of the darkness, dear?” He asked, and you could sense the genuine curiosity behind his words.

  “I don’t dislike it. I just prefer the light,” your words gained a few ounces of strength with every sentence you spoke. It shouldn’t be as substantial as it was but having been rendered speechless so many times today, the ability to talk was relieving to have once more.

  “How fascinating,” he whispered. Both hands were focused on the top half of your hair now; you felt two pieces of hair tickle your cheeks in what you assumed was him using them to structure your face. He parted your hair down the middle once more except this time it felt as though he was going to braid them. Going off of that assumption, you followed his hand movements as best as you could without actually seeing them as he begun to manoeuvre the right side of your hair. 

  “If I may ask, why do you prefer it?”

  It was a good question. The answer was as natural as breathing. “It’s… safe. It’s hope, it gives everything life and through that gives them happiness.”

  His hands finished the plait he was working on and he rested them tactfully on each side of your head, gently stroking the soft locks as he thought of an answer. “Wouldn’t you agree that without the darkness, there is no light? Similar to without death, there would be no life?”

    You hummed, digesting his words. Secretly, you were rather entertained by this turn in conversation. It was very reminiscent of ‘The Hidden War Within’ with the discussion of dark and light and their codependency on each other to survive but also how they consistently defy the other’s existence. 

  You started off slowly, choosing your words. “Alright, well… take a flower, it is inevitable that they will fall to the darkness and death that swallows it. But there’s always a light that shines down on it and through that light there will be a new bud that will be protected and nurtured by the light until the darkness once again claims that life.” 

  The white sand seemed to glow brighter all of a sudden and you paused in your words. How ironic. 

  “Finish what you were saying, dear. I am enjoying this immensely.” The sand dimmed and you found your head tilting at its loss.

  “Right, um. I think through the existence of light, darkness must consequently exist too. They need each other to balance the other out, that’s simply the way of the world. Too much of one thing - like overpopulation or war - can have a detrimental effect on that balance and that’s why the world is in so much discord today. Because that balance hasn’t existed for a long time. So to answer your question,” you could feel how your gaze was glued to the hourglass.

  For reasons you couldn’t explain, it was magnetic and you were hopeless to resist its pull. The more you spoke, the more the sand looked fluid; it began to twist and weave through and around one another until it mirrored the universe, stars filling in its vastness and only reminding it of its mortality. It was morbidly beautiful. 

  “I believe that without the darkness there would be no light. And I believe that, somewhere, there is a place where light and darkness meet and the distinction between good and evil is no more because there is only existence where morals and nature don’t have a sway.” 

  You reached for the hourglass and turned it over, watching as the sand glided across itself. Nature’s river, caught in a glass prison. “That is how we will find true peace. When war is over, when selflessness works alongside selfishness, when the line between love and hate isn’t so thin after all and instead becomes one.”

  Seonghwa had finished styling your hair minutes ago. He simply stood behind you, hands gently caressing your locks of hair as he listened intently. Even after you finished, slightly breathless, he remained silent as though taking in every last one of your words to heart and committing them to his memory.

  The curtain was ripped open and light spilled in the dark space you’d settled into. Inquisitively, you turned to look at him and your mouth dropped when you saw there were tears in his eyes.  

  “Oh, my - are you alright?”

  He burst into sobs, and hid his head in his hands as collapsed onto the chaise longue from earlier. You stood frozen, completely baffled at the turn of events and even more reluctant to approach him since you were sure you had caused it.  

  “Seonghwa-ssi, I am so sorry. I really-”   “No,” he raised his hand, stopping your apologies before they became ceaseless. He seemed to be struggling to compose himself if his long, deep breaths were anything to go by. 

  You stood, fiddling with the hourglass absentmindedly as you waited tensely for him to make the next move. 

  Seonghwa took one final deep breath and stood on shaky legs. He began walking over to you with such intent you stumbled back slightly. Before you realised what was happening, he grabbed your face in his hands - his teary eyes meeting your wide ones.  “You… are perfect.”

[aloysiavirgata]

Prompt: Scully caught Mulder buying condoms. Thank you😊

Dana examines the coupons in her little vinyl pouch, squints at the price of the Paul Mitchell conditioner. It’s a splurge and she has med school debts, but what the hell?

She catches her reflection as she passes a display of hand mirrors. The temporary brown rinse is rapidly fading from her hair and she feels an itch to do something new. Blonde? Something short and sporty? Bangs?

She must call her sister first. Melissa always knows the right thing here.

Dana puts a jar of Noxzema in her basket, a tube of Evyan White Shoulders lotion. There’s a Cosmo in there too, an occasional cheap thrill, which promises to analyze her seasonal color palette. She rounds the corner to peruse the lipsticks and walks face first into someone’s tie.

“Scully?” Mulder says, as though HE isn’t in HER Rite-Aid on a Friday night.

She notes him switch the basket to his other hand. Sees a box of Trojans peeking out from a heap of Slim Jims and bags of his stupid sunflower seeds.

Dana does not smirk, though she’s heard salacious things about him from Holly and a few other women. “Hey,” she says.

They stand there awkwardly, Friday-night colleagues with dirty little secrets.

Mulder coughs. “Gotta go home and get my curlers set,” he says at last, patting his hair. “Otherwise I won’t be able to do a thing with it.”

She smiles up at him, grateful for the effort. Neither of them wants to be the first to unpack their private lives in front of the other on the speckled Formica counter.

Dana remembers she has a coupon for two pints of Ben and Jerry’s, another splurge, but ice cream and her trashy magazine sound like heaven tonight.

“Forgot something,” she says, relieved for a real excuse. “See you Monday, I guess.”

“See you Monday,” he echoes.

She heads for the frozen section and watches him in one of the security mirrors. He’s good looking, Fox Mulder, in an assholish professorial way. He has nicer clothes than her and maybe he does put curlers in his damn hair. He has lashes like a fawn.

In the reflection he piles his items on the counter, chats with the clerk as his snacks crinkle. Dana blushes when she realizes she’s squinting to make out the size of the condoms. She’s seen him in the pool before.

Mulder pays and exits, leaving her staring at Wavy Gravy and Cherry Garcia.

Holly made it sound like he had Bond Girls lining up at his door all weekend, like he fucked the way he swam and ran, like a matter of simple physical exertion. If there’s a serious girlfriend no one has made her aware.

But Dana thinks back to his hotel room a couple of weeks ago, knows he could have gotten her terrified ass in his bed if he wanted to. Jack Willis hadn’t had to do much, and that makes her blush again. But Mulder was a gentleman and told her about his baby sister instead. Or maybe she isn’t his type, she thinks.

She takes two pints of Cookie Dough from the freezer and adds them to her other items. She pulls her cell phone from her coat pocket, enters speed dial number 14.

“Holly?” she says, when her friend answers. “Guess what?”

[robotslenderman]

Cultural Quirks:

You're expected to chill on the left and overtake on the right, except when you're not, but the rules about when you do and don't are (socially) strict. Do not overtake someone on the left when you're driving. Do not stand on the left side of the escalator.

Australians will stand in the middle of the walkway having a family reunion and you're expected to just deal with it. In the UK, if a parent sees their child standing in a direction you happen to be looking at, they will full on crash tackle their offspring and drag them away, apologising the entire time. Here it is perfectly socially acceptable to stop just in front of someone standing in the way and, instead of going around them, frown at them until they move. I have been on both ends of this and I fucking love it.

Having said that Australian drivers will stop if you sneeze near a crossing but so far in London it's been a bit of a coin toss, pedestrians and drivers are very much every person for themselves. With those insane streets it's no surprise.

I haven't had a good shower since I got here bc the water pressure on every shower I've used has been lousy. But one was an old building and another was a cheap closet hotel room so as far as I know this isn't the norm. Also the hard water is murdering my skin.

I don't know if Brits hate vegetables or if Australians love them but there's a lot of meals here with little to no vegies at all. They just straight up sell rolls with meat on them and no salad.

"Huh, this mince pie has sugar on it. Maybe it does something to the flavour, I'd like to tr - WHAT THE FUCK WHY IS THERE JAM IN THIS???"

Constantly forgetting crossings generally don’t make noise here and getting tripped up because I was distracted by my phone.

Having said all that, London zebra crossings are a lot more obvious because the ones I’ve seen so far all have these flashing yellow lights. Makes it easy in the dark.

When I was on a bus tour the tour guide pointed out a building he said was “brand new.” It was made of solid brick. In Sydney our building standards are garbage and bricks aren’t cheap enough so you don’t see them in anything built this century. Remember that video of the dude sending his hand through the wall to pick up a drink? Yeah.

My window has double glazing and I was so happy I took a picture.

A lot of what I thought was my mother's social anxiety turned out to be just her being British.

Was wondering why so many people were triggering security alarms in Oxford St. That’s how I discovered some crossings do, in fact, make noise. They sound EXACTLY like the anti shoplifter alarms at home.

There are SO MANY FLATCAPS TO BUY. I wanted one but the shopkeeper was weird bc my vagina means I'm assigned no flatcaps at birth. So I didn't get it. But I did get other cool hats! London is superior to Australia in hat related matters.

Pret-a-Manger is still stalking me but I accept their offerings of sustenance so I have come to tolerate their existence.

It's weird. The cold is a lot colder here, and far more biting, but also weirdly pleasant. At home, though, the cold just seeps into your bones and sits with you all day. I've had British expats tell me they felt far colder in Aus than the UK and I get it now. Cold is temporary here in the UK because everything is heated, and it's SO cold it's actually invigorating. At home... it's just cold. Inside is as cold as outside. You can cool down but in winter you can't warm up. At work everyone sits with heaters under their desks going full blast but the room stays cold. It's not as cold as the UK and yet somehow it's worse. In the UK the cold doesn't have a chance to seep in. In Australia you can't get it out. The cold isn't as cold but it's so much stronger.

I see why people prefer cold now, it's because they genuinely don't *get* cold, because they're moving from heated building to heated building so they carry heat with them always and by the time it fades they're somewhere warm again. That doesn't happen in Sydney.

I've always felt like a mutant bc at home I always turned the heating right up, like I'm a cold blooded lizard, but they actually do that here too so now I'm convinced my lizardry is from the British side of my family.

[umichenginabroad]

Prague: The First Few Days of Czech-ing Out the City

Hello everybody!

I still don’t know how to say ‘hi’ in Czech… we’re working on it.

My name is Rachit Khandelwal, a junior studying computer science, and I’ll be one of your bloggers for the IFSA IPE Tech Accelerator program in Prague. You’ll find my tone in the future to be pretty blunt and conversational, trying to give you the real deal on wherever I go and whatever I see. Over the course of the next few months, I'm planning on taking you along my journey where I hope you immerse myself in a brand new culture and overall, just live more in the moment. We often forget to make everyday a highlight will at Michigan with all the schoolwork and external stress but in Prague, I hope to take my life back off autopilot and explore as much as I can. Along the way, if I make lifelong memories, learn a new language, eat some fire food, and explore. bunch of new countries, I can't complain.

It's been a whirlwind of a few days since I landed in Prague, and boy, do I have stories to tell! Let's dive right into the rollercoaster that has been my initial encounter with this stunning city.

The Jet-Setter's Journey

My trip to Prague was a classic mix of excitement and the usual travel hiccups. After a long flight, which I spent mostly trying to contort into a semi-comfortable position, I had a stop in Paris, which sounds cool, until you realize you’re waiting there for 4 hours. When I finally touched down in Prague. I felt like a character in a spy movie, navigating through a place trying to read a language I barely understood.

Weather Whiplash

The weather greeted me with a brisk, refreshing air – around the same temperature I left behind. The setting however, is a refreshing change, though, seeing people bundled up in coats, scarves fluttering in the wind, against a backdrop of historic buildings.

The Gastronomic Gambit

Ah, the food! My first meal was at a Kebab restaurant near my dorms. For some reason, every street has a Kebab place… don’t ask me why. Oh and let’s not forget the pastries for dessert – Trdelník might just become a staple in my diet. People did say that Prague was a pretty cheap destination for food, but so far, it’s lowkey as expensive as the US. The kebab ran me back like 10 bucks and the dessert ran me 6. Not complaining because it’s still relatively cheap but the way people were describing Prague, they said I’d be living like a king here.

The SIM Card Saga

Connecting to the world here was... interesting. The quest for a SIM card was a mix of charades and guesswork. It was a little confusing on what to exactly do even after getting help from the advisors. Eventually, through a combination of broken Czech and hand signals (on my part) and English (on theirs), I emerged victorious, phone connected to the Czech network.

Unpacking Adventures

Unpacking was like reliving packing, but in reverse. I've managed to transform my room from ‘luggage explosion’ to ‘organized chaos’. My sneakers have found their temporary home, and my dirty clothes have found the floor (yes, I forgot to bring any type of laundry bag. Add it to the list of random stuff I have to buy).

Orientation Odyssey

Orientation was a blur of faces, names, and a whirlwind tour of the campus. I’ve learned two key things: where the restaurants are (priorities!) and that my sense of direction needs some serious work. I foresee a few accidental detours in my future.

The Social Scene

Meeting my fellow students has been a highlight. Everyone’s in the same boat – excited, a bit overwhelmed, but ready to dive into this experience. We’ve already made plans to explore the city together and have even started making plans to go to other countries, and I have a feeling some lifelong friendships are on the horizon.

So, there you have it – my first few days in Prague have been nothing short of an adventure. Stay tuned as I continue to navigate this beautiful city, from the cobbled streets to the classroom, and everything in between. And just to treat y’all, I’m throwing some photos for you to look at Prague through the eyes of my camera.

^ Yes, this is a real photo. I can't believe it either.

^ Breakfast at our orientation.

^ This is the hallway outside of classrooms.

Catch you in the next update,

Rachit Khandelwal

[pantherazuredevil]

Japan Trip 2023 - Day 4 (From Izu to Kyoto) Part 2

Continued from Part 1

Yeah giving me two beds is a bad idea I'm not the kind of person to want to sleep on either or both, though I did make temporary use sometimes of the second bed.

I got off at Kyoto and the very first thing that hit me was "my god the number of foreigners". I had booked a hotel very near the south of the station and found it almost immediately, a mere stone's throw away. I checked in with some computerized system that was new to me and pretty advanced, though the staff were on hand to help just in case. I got to my room, which you can see partially as well in Part 1, and it was pretty modern and a nice place of stay, or so I thought at first. This was when I could finally sit down and update my journal.

I chilled for a while in my room exploring the amenities. The biggest surprise was that the TV could connect to Youtube, and also had the nice function of checking both the hotel's restaurant and laundry congestion status. I later found out a lot of hotels have these functions now (excluding Youtube apparently). I was planning on doing my laundry at the hotel for the first time since coming to Japan, so that was pretty convenient.

I decided to head out to Kyoto Tower after finding out it was nearby, somewhere north of Kyoto Station. I found the place with a bit of trouble due to the route Maps gave me, and the entrance was itself a little out of the way. It was ￥900 just to go up the tower wow, that was a little too pricey for simply going up to see a bird's eye view of the entire city, which ended up being nothing much for me anyway.

The admission ticket for the tower. They were having a collaboration with Hibike! Euphonium so the girls from that series were all over the tower.

Here are 4 videos I took of the view from the tower, each of a cardinal direction. Excuse the shitty video-taking skills please.

Video 1 / Video 2 / Video 3 / Video 4

I spotted this Buddha statue from far away and decided to try to maximize my zoom to try and take a shot of it. Using a phone proved to be a futile attempt for such an endeavor.

I had been given recommendations to go to a famous ramen chain known as 天下一品 (Tenka Ippin) by Japanese acquaintances so I found one near where I was at dinnertime. I took a look at the menu while outside and decided to go for the ￥1200 set of chahan (fried rice) and ramen.

It was great stuff, the chahan might not be as good as what I might be able to find back in SG, but the cheapness of this entire set combined certainly made that a moot point. The ramen and dashi were both excellent. It was in a form called にっとり, which apparently means thick and full of broth according to an explanation I was given by my JP acquaintance. I highly recommend trying this set from 天下一品, it's worth the price.

Right after that I immediately scouted out the route to Fushimi Inari Taisha, another highlight of my trip and the whole reason I came to Kyoto for. Seeing as it was just 2 local train stations away, I decided to simply recon the place and took the train there.

Getting off, anyone would be immediately be hit by "This is Fushimi Inari Taisha Shrine" vibes. The pathway to its entrance you see above was practically right outside the station. They knew what they were doing building the station here.

It was obviously a little late when I went in, but I was simply here to look around and scout the place a bit before my formal entry and climb tomorrow. I also took pictures of the map of the area that I ended up not using because I disliked having to zoom to see the map clearly. It was also of little help in what would be my toughest day throughout the 12-day trip for reasons that are a little unexpected.

Even with the rather late hour at evening time, there were still a lot of people milling about, mostly tourists of course, coming out of Fushimi Inari. There were some school kids as well, like those you would see going for their school trips to Kyoto. At this time, I could only imagine what a crowd it would be the next day for me.

The picture of the map. Looks rather simple to follow right? Well, it ended up being useless for me.

I returned to Kyoto Station and looked for a 7-11, and finally found hot milk tea for sale there. Bless the hot drinks section of 7-11, it was rare as hell to find honestly, and vending machines that vended hot drinks too. Hot drinks are so much easier to find back here in SG. I also decided on buying a slightly more expensive tiramisu dessert instead of pudding just to give it a try.

I had both back at my room and damn their milk tea is something else! So nicely blended together, and it being warm certainly helped in the cold weather. By this time I no longer complained about the cold since it was something I got used to and enjoyed compared to the blazing oppressive heat of SG. The tiramisu was very nice as well, and I made it a point to buy more of it through the trip when I could.

Then it was the grueling wait of 2 hours and 5 total attempts to try and get a turn at the washing machines to do my laundry. My god, this was the entire reason I blacklisted the hotel - too many foreigners here and everyone trying to use the same things together. When I finally got my turn, I discovered I had run out of 100-yen coins to operate the machine with because I didn't know they only accepted 100-yen coins, and was saved only by a random guy who came in looking to use the machines. I changed my 50-yen coins with him and started the washing before going back to my room where I could finally have a shower.

Once the laundry was done, I didn't even dry them since I was using the machine without a dryer, as the combined weight of my clothes would have been too much for the ones with a dryer. I resolved to save up 100-yen coins for this sort of situation from here on. I had to hang the laundry all over the room in all sorts of weird places and positions, but part of the reason I was fine with that was because I had another night at the hotel.

During one of the attempts I had a chat with a woman who mentioned they were checking out Japan because her daughter might head on over to the place to study. There was also a time when I saw what I assumed to be a school trip group of high school students, and one JK thanked me when I signaled to her that the lift behind her, which she hadn't noticed opening, had arrived, lmao.

Upon my final return to my room for the day, I relaxed and updated my journal before sleeping, finally ready for the climb tomorrow.

[dustyro0m]

confessions

Jason Todd x reader. My first time writing for Jason! Title doesn’t make too much sense, I’m aware-

Slight angst with a happy ending.Mentions of crying, bad relationships (not Jason or you) and there’s a small fight. 

Reader and Jason are both adults and reader is gender-neutral. 

Please excuse any spelling or grammatical errors. It is proofread, but I do miss things. Thank you and enjoy!

(My borders might be messed up lol, I’m sorry abt that)

                                      ༻✦༺ 　༻✧༺　༻✦༺

You weren’t sure how you fell for Jason. 

He was the boy next door. The all American handsome boy scout. You scoffed when you realised the exhausted fiction troupe was playing out in your very life. 

It was a small apartment complex on the outskirts of Gotham. Maybe six flats in total in the two story building. It was cheap in a bad neighbourhood. It was only temporary, you told yourself. Someplace where you could stay until you got enough money. Someplace you could stay until you got a better life. 

You weren’t sure how long it would be until you got enough money. You weren’t sure how long it would be until you got a better life. 

You share the floor with two other people. One spent their time getting high on drugs and screaming into their phone to whomever they were dating. You felt bad for them and whomever they were with too.

And then there was Jason. The man who came back noisily at all hours of the night, bumping into the walls and groaning. You didn’t know what he was doing, and you didn’t pry, as much as you wanted to. He was the only neighbour that you had met, he had helped you with moving in, while music blasted from the other flats walls. You appreciated what he did, it was hard moving into a new place, especially with many boxes of things that were all very heavy, even for him. 

After he had helped you, he had invited you into his apartment. He had art scattered around the thin walls, and classical music playing softly from one corner of the room. Books lay littered around every flat surface. It was warm, and welcoming much like as he was. He offered you tea, and biscuits and you two had talked well into the night. It turned out that you and him had a lot in common.

It was nice having a friend in this part of the town. Gotham had gotten colder and colder in the past few months, and your neighbourhood was in the bad part of town. He was filled with witty remarks, bounding intelligence and repressed anger he was oh so bad at hiding.

You felt better when Jason walked you to your car, or installed a security camera in your shared hallway or locks on your feeble door. He was sweet. He was nice to you. He made living in that hell-hole bearable. 

You and him had gotten closer since the first time you had met. 

Walks outside turned into movie nights and face masks. Or walks in the park to try out a new cafe in the better parts of Gotham that he found himself in g doing much against his better judgement. You made a friend, and it didn’t feel forced or awkward. You weren’t worried that he was going to stop hanging out with you, or start treating you any differently. Friendship felt nice.

But it never ever really was only friends right?

He made you feel good. The feelings you felt for him progressed from platonic, and you felt so guilty for feeling so. He had told you about so many things, his childhood, his death, his nighttime activities that caused all his bruises. He had opened up to you to show you he was vulnerable, and falling for him felt like you were taking advantage of him in some sick twisted way. 

You felt like a child when he made your cheeks warm up, or when he made you feel giddy. The infuriating part was that he wasn’t even trying. He just made you feel better about yourself. 

You hoped that he would feel it too. You hoped that every time your hands brushed as you walked, he felt the sparks too. You hoped that every time that your movie nights ended in cuddling and you were sleeping over, he would crave your body heat just as you craved his. 

You had hoped that he wanted something more than what you two had. You had hoped that he liked you as much as you liked him. 

Every time you looked at him, you thought about telling him. Telling him how he makes you feel. 

How he makes your day better and brighter. How you crave intelligent conversations with him, or conversations where you both can talk about your feelings safely. Where you can feel at home in a city and place that screamed unwelcoming. He made your house a home. He made this city a little bit brighter. A little more...human.

Every time you looked at him, you thought about telling him how you felt. And so this was the day that you did. The day when you came over to help him make cookies for whatever reason.

“I think I love you Jason”

The words slipped out of your mouth. You didn’t really mean to say it, but he looked angelic standing in his kitchen, flour on his hands, and the sun peeking from the clouds shining on his face. He was heaven himself, and it baffled you how people had it in themselves to dislike him. 

He stopped dead in his tracks, and you knew that you had made a mistake. He looked as if you had told him he was dying, not like you had professed your feelings for him. You could feel your heart break in your chest, and drop to your stomach. Oh god no. You ruined whatever perfect relationship you had with him. 

You got out of there as fast as you could, running out of his flat and into yours, locking the door behind you. Though it would not matter, Jason could pick the lock if he really wanted to. And get into your flat at least six other ways if he really tried. 

You tried to block him from your mind, so you crawled up on your couch, trying not to cry and trying to distract yourself with some TV. 

It didn’t work. 

And it didn’t help that he could probably hear you cry through your shared wall.  

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Jason Todd is obtuse.

He very well was the valedictorian of his class in high school. His intelligence very well mirrors Bruce and Tim. He was a genius. He very well may be one of the smartest people you have met. 

Except when it came to you. 

He likes to think that he thinks rationally. There is and there isn’t, nothing in between. And he thinks that you fall neatly in the categories “is and isn’t” 

He is attracted to you. Irrevocably and unconditionally so. But there isn’t anything he could do about it. You were his friend and his friend only. He didn’t know how you felt about him. And he wasn’t going to say anything rash to change your relationship status. 

And then you told him how you felt. The words still ring in his head. 

”I think I love you Jason”

And him being as obtuse as he was just stood there, mouth gaping open because he felt like all his dreams were coming true. But he didn’t act fast enough, and now he can hear you trying not to cry because those god-awful walls in your flats were paper thin, and because he didn’t tell you he liked you too. 

What was he supposed to do? He couldn’t just break into your house. He could but he wouldn’t. That would just be wrong. He could just try knocking on your door and hoping you didn’t hate him enough so that you would answer. Yes, that sounds good. 

He walked a few short steps to your apartment. The room across the hall was irradiating noise. Jason could pick up at least two people talking and some classical music from the cacophony of sounds. He tried to ignore that, and he knocked lamely on your door, hoping that you could answer. He heard shuffling from the other side of the door, and slight metal clinking as the door creaked open. 

Your eyes were puffy as you looked at him, and back at the floor. Embarrassment flooded every inch of your body and his too. 

“y/n i-”

“No- it's okay Jason, we don’t have to talk about it. Just ignore that I said that.”

“I can’t ignore it y/n. We have to talk about it.” he tries to plead with you. 

“So you can rub salt in my wounds? That's why we have to talk about it?” you said snarkily. Anger started to take the sadness's place. 

“So I can tell you I like you y/n” He said softly. 

Now it was your turn to stand still, flabbergasted at what the other had said. He…liked you too? 

“Don’t screw with me Jason-”

“I’m not! I’m being genuinely serious. I like you.”

You pause, looking at his face expecting to see him lie, but you can’t see it. He genuinely likes you. 

“Oh. Oh” 

“Yeah.” 

You both face each other for a second before you speak.

“So…what now?”

“I mean…i could take you out on a date?”

“Now?!” you say confused. 

“Well after I botched up that amazing confession of yours, I think that i owe you.” 

You smile and take his hand. 

“Hm. Maybe.. let’s see how you do” 

You weren’t sure how you fell for Jason. But nonetheless, being with him was like being at home.

                                    ༻✦༺ 　༻✧༺　༻✦༺

[the-witty-pen-name]

The Nanny Pt. 1

Lee Bodecker x Nanny!F!Reader

18+ 

Word Count: 3k

Warnings: mentions of alcohol, implied age gap (reader is in her 20s), cursing, Sandy and Carl being bad parents, 18+ content in later chapters 

Summary:

Based on this Request: The reader moves to Meade/Knockemstiff while answering an advertisement for a nanny in the paper. We learn that the ad was posted by Sandy, who has the reader watch her child whenever she and Carl leave to do their secret thing. After one of these trips, Sandy and her husband never return, so the reader is left caring for their baby. With the new investigation into these events, she meets Sandy’s brother Lee, the older, out of shape, alcoholic bachelor, and they are suddenly thrown into each others lives as he begins looking into his sister’s disappearance. Through it all, Lee starts to fall for her, and they slowly become a family.

A/N: Here is the first part of my newest series and I want to thank the anon who reached out to me with this idea! 

If I missed anything I should include as a warning that I missed please let me know!

Taglist Form is in my bio and should be updated to now to include this fic! (If for some reason it isn’t working send me a message and I’ll make sure you’re added!!)

“Damn it, Sandy, can’t you handle that?” Carl yells from his dark room as the baby starts crying again.

“Fuck you, Carl,” Sandy shouts back, hurrying to put out her cigarette before heading to the nursery.

Their little girl was just about a year old, and neither one of them knew what they were doing. Carl was incredibly indifferent and despite her honest attempts at motherhood, Sandy’s maternal instincts never kicked in like she thought it would happen. Carl was annoyed that it cut into their time they would be on trips. They weren’t able to photograph models with the baby on the road, so he’d been itching to get back on the road.

“Is she hungry?” he shouts back, not even bothering to take his eyes off of the most recent photographs he had been developing.

“I just fed her!”

“Then why is she crying?”

“Fuck if I know,” Sandy shouts back exasperated. She scooped up the baby from her crib and started to rock her back and forth in her arms. Sandy also tried burping her, humming a little lullaby she made up on the fly… no luck. She walks around the house with the baby on her hip, trying to rock her back to sleep.

“We haven’t able to get back on the road in a year,” Carl says, clearly frustrated.

“That ain’t purely my fault,” she spits back, “Takes two to make a baby, Carl.”

“Fuck I know,” he groans, “But I need new inspiration. If I take one more picture of nature…”

“If she’s such a hindrance, pay for a damn sitter like I suggested months ago,” she counters.

“We can’t have no stranger walking around the house Sandy,” he points out.

“Just keep your damn room locked, it’s not a huge deal,” Sandy sighs. “Besides, no one is gonna snoop around if you pay ‘em enough. You damn well produce your own incriminating evidence; you should always have that room locked anyways.”

“We only have to worry about your damn brother,” Carl points out, “We hire a fucking sitter that’s two people we need to worry about.”

“You’re just to goddamn cheap to hire somebody,” Sandy states, moving back towards the nursery, the baby now snoring softly.

“You know what? Fine,” Carl says defeated. “But you’re in charge of putting the ad out and hiring somebody.”

“Thank you,” she says in a sing song tone, happy she got her way. But the moment of quiet that follows is short lived as they baby starts crying again.

“Please for the love of God can you just take care of that?” Carl yells, and the argument circles back to the beginning.

You had sat in the small dinner in the corner booth hunched over the newspaper and nursing your now cold cup of coffee. You had just arrived in Knockemstiff and were looking for work. “Any leads?” Julie asked as she topped off your coffee. Julie was your roommate. You had found her the same way you were currently looking for a job. You must have answered at least ten terrible Roommate Wanted ads until you had found Julie. The two of you now share an apartment- the top floor of a three-family owned by a sweet older couple.

“Thank you,” you say without looking up from scanning the ads. “Maybe this one?” You say pointing to one of the ads. She looks to see her manager stepped out for his smoke break before sliding in the booth across from you. You slide the paper over to her and she reads the ad out loud.

NANNY NEEDED Knockemstiff, Ohio

Couple that travels for work in need of a nanny for one-year-old daughter.

Temporary live-in position for several weeks at a time. Pay negotiable.

Call Sandy Henderson at the below number.

“I can sublet the room temporarily while you stay there,” Julie offers. “It’s a pretty vague offer,” she continues. “I wouldn’t commit until you call and speak to that Sandy woman.”

“Oh, I’m sure I’ll need to be interviewed,” you agree. “What kind of people are comfortable just leaving their baby for weeks at a time with a perfect stranger?”

“Paul is still out back I think,” she chuckles, “I’ll let you use the wall phone.”

You take a seat at one of the stools at the counter, and she dials the number for you and then passes you the receiver. You mouth a thank you and she waves her hand in dismissal as she heads over to take someone’s order.

“Whaddya want?” the woman on the other end answers abruptly.

“Oh, I’m calling about the ad in the paper regarding the nanny position. Is it still available?”

“Oh, shit. I’m so sorry, hun,” the woman says, now in a much nicer tone. “Thought it was my brother calling. Yes, it is, and we need it filled as soon as possible. When are you available?”

“For an interview?” You ask.

“Yeah,” she says mumbled, like she is dangling a cigarette from her mouth. “Can you come today?”

“Oh, wow. Yes, I can,” you reply.

“Great, um, you got a pen? Take down this address.”

About two hours, a change of clothes and a cab ride later, you were standing outside a house towards the end of town. It was a little run down, but what building in this town wasn’t? You were a little nervous of course, but it was also the most unconventional way you have gotten an interview. Part of you was relieved, because the woman on the phone sounded real, not phony, but the circumstances still made you uneasy. Julie had the address and said you’d call when you got back to the taxi dispatch.

“Welcome, welcome,” Sandy smiled, opening up the door for you. She had one hand on the doorknob and one of the cutest babies you’d ever seen in the other. “Come on in, make yourself comfortable.”

“Who is this?” you coo, leaning down to the baby’s eye level. “She’s darling.”

“This little sweetheart is Valerie,” Sandy smiles, passing the baby to you. “She’s so well-behaved. Hardly ever cries.”

“She’s adorable,” you smile, as the baby cuddles up close, resting her head on your shoulder. “I didn’t properly introduce myself on the phone. (Y/N) (Y/L/N).”

“I’m Sandy,” she introduces herself. “Please take a seat on the couch, get comfortable. I hate things that are so formal. Bleh.”

You take a seat on the couch, and readjust the little girl in your arms so she’s sitting on your lap and her back is resting against you so she is supported.

“So, my husband and I are on the road a lot, usually,” she begins, “We took some time off when we had Valerie, but we really need to start working again, you understand.”

“Of course, what do you both do?” you ask politely.

“We’re photographers,” she beams, “Mostly nature and landmarks- which reminds me! We have a darkroom in the house, but that door will be locked when you’re staying here. We don’t want any damage to any of the negatives we have stored in there you understand. Everywhere else in the house is yours to explore! And of course we gotta spare bedroom you can call your own.”

“Fair enough,” you joke.

“So, tell me about yourself, honey,” she smiles, crossing her legs in the armchair where she sat.

“Well, I just moved here a few weeks ago actually,” you begin, “I just recently finished school, and now I’m looking for work. I just got my degree in early childcare from the state college.”

“Oh, that’s wonderful,” she says with a clap of her hands. “So, you’re local?”

“Yes, I live in town.”

“Excellent! We’d also love for this to be like an on-call thing as well, you know for date nights and things like that for times when we’re home. Like for a few hours here and there. And of course, we’ll always live money for groceries or whatever you need on top of your pay for emergencies incase Valerie needs formula or diapers or anything.”

“Perfect,” you smile, surprised how well the conversation was going. Sandy was easy-going and nice to talk to. The two of you sat and talked for a little under an hour, her asking all the standard questions you anticipated. You also were able to ask her some more of your own questions as well. It was the most effortless interview you had been on easily.

“I’m sorry you weren’t able to meet Carl today,” she says when she is showing you out. “But hun, I feel confident to offer you the job. We haven’t had many applicants and you’re the most qualified one I’ve spoken to. The job is yours if you want it?”

“When can I start?” you smile, making her laugh.

“Your number is on the resume, right?” she says, scooping up the baby. You nod, waving goodbye to the baby and then saying goodbye to Sandy.

“I’ll call you when I speak to Carl, but I think once he knows he’ll want to head out as soon as we can. Plan for Sunday,” she says as you get into the cab.

Just like she had promised, you get a call from Sandy on Saturday afternoon asking you to show up the next morning at 9. You spend the day packing up your clothes and anything else you’d need for a few weeks. Sandy said they’d be back in two weeks but you pack for three just in case. Julie was also nice enough to help you. You didn’t need to do much. Ever since you had settled in Knockemstiff, you had been pretty lazy with unpacking and for once procrastination played out in your favor.

Julie insisted on taking you out to celebrate that night before starting your job tomorrow. There was a small little bar, a little shack of a place just on the outside of town you went to. Julie had a car and you drove, anticipating she’d have a lot more to drink than you. It was a hotter summer night, so you drove with the windows down and the radio playing a little louder than you normally would.

The outside was decorated with string lights of primary colors and the wooden awning looked like it was one more storm away from collapsing. But the atmosphere inside was to die for. The jukebox was playing loud dance music, and the place was crowded. Empty recycled glasses lined the walls on a high shelf as decoration along with weathered posters of anything Americana. A row of motorcycles and trucks were parked outside the little place and it looked like a pileup from how crowded the lot was. People lingered outside as well, and you both hoped you’d find seats inside.

The two of you found a high-top table and Julie made her way up to the bar, skillfully maneuvering through the crowd to grab you both some drinks. You let your eyes wandering, surveying the room and just people watching. Couples were dancing closely to the music that was rattling the jukebox, and a group of people were sitting at the bar huddles in to watch the little black and white portable television. You also noticed a group of men in uniform several tables down, local police. They weren’t paying any attention to anyone but their own conversation, except one.

He just so happened to have looked up just as your eyes landed on their table. Steel blue eyes cutting across everything and just staring right back into yours. It was a fraction of a second and his gaze was broken by Julie taking her seat across from you. You cleared your throat, and finally allowed yourself to exhale. You felt her raise an eyebrow at you but she didn’t press, just gave you a knowing smirk you brushed off. You still felt his gaze on you even if your view was now obstructed.

Sandy and Carl were in a rush when you arrived in the morning. Sandy ran you through the details of where everything was kept and told you that she would call to check in when she could when they made stopped. She helped you carry your bags in from the trunk of the taxi while Carl packed their bags in their car. He was polite enough, but you felt in your gut to just keep your distance. Sandy led you upstairs to the guest room she told you she worked to clean out for you. It was simple, a bed and a dresser with a small closet. She said it mostly had been storage and her weekend project had been clearing it out for you. It was simple, but good enough for you for sure. You thanked her and she dismissed it saying you were the one doing her a favor, making you laugh.

The whole ordeal was very hurried. Carl was rushing to get on the road as soon as possible and you could tell he was clearly irritated at how long Sandy was taking showing you around and explaining things about Valerie. Carrying the baby in your arms, you finally were settled in to your new role and Sandy gave one more big hug and a kiss on Valerie’s head before rushing down to the car. You waved to the pair of them from the small front porch, Sandy looking back and waving to the baby from the passenger seat until they were out of your line of vision.

The first day was a little daunting. New space, living in a house that isn’t yours and a baby babbling in your arms. She was a sweet thing, and she already had taken a liking to you. Heading over to her nursery, you saw that she had a little play pen folded up in the corner of the nursery and you quickly set it up in your room so you could unpack while keeping an eye on her. She babbled just happy utter nonsense to you while you navigated around the space and her big eyes just followed you, just watching you was entertaining for her for now. You were a new face and she was entertained just by that for now.

A few hours later, Valerie had settled down for a nap in the early afternoon. She was sleeping soundly in her crib and you were getting formula ready for when she woke up. It was quiet, the only noise in the house was the small sounds of your own rustling in the kitchen. You wondered when you would hear from Sandy, if it would be later tonight or in a couple of days. You just were lost in your own thoughts when you were startled by a loud knocking on the door. Instantly, Valerie began to cry. You wiped your hands quickly on the skirt of your dress before grabbing her. You rested her on your hip and rocked her gently, shushing her to calm down while you went to grab the door.

The first thing your eyes saw were the same blue eyes who was looking at you at the bar last night. The man’s eyebrows furrowed and he looked really confused. He had one hand rested on his hip and the other against the doorframe, but he stood up straight when he saw it wasn’t who he expected. Your eyes then went down to the shiny Sheriff’s Badge fixed in place on his uniform.

“Who are you?” he asks abruptly. “Where’s Sandy?”

“Sandy and Carl left this morning,” you explain, not sure if he recognizes you. “I’m their nanny.”

He laughs and shakes his head as he looks down, almost like he doesn’t believe you, or he just doesn’t believe the situation. “Carl? Carl Henderson hired a nanny?” he scoffs and you nod, holding Valerie a little closer. The little girl rubs her eyes and yawns, when her eyes flutter open, she looks at the stranger in the doorway and immediately reaches out to signal she wants to be held by him. You ignore her resistance to wanting to be in your arms until you get more information about why the Sheriff is at their doorstep, though she obviously knows him.

“I’m Sandy’s brother,” he explains, “Did she say when they were coming back?” He doesn’t try to hold the baby yet, just holds out one of his fingers and her little hand holds onto it tightly.

“Two weeks.”

“They hire a complete stranger to watch my niece and live in their house unsupervised while they drive around?” he scoffs, shaking his head again in disbelief.

“I’m more than qualified…”

“It’s not a jab at you, sweetheart,” the man tries to explain, “More so a reflection on my sister and her husband is all. They are… fairly selfish people and I wished this situation surprises me more than it does.”

“Should I tell her you came by when she calls?” you ask.

“If she calls,” the man chuckles, “Sure, let her know Lee stopped by to visit.”

“You don’t think she will?” you ask, tilting your head.

“We’ll see,” Lee shrugs, “Do I know you from somewhere?” He rests his arm back up on the doorframe and looks down to the baby again, extending out his free hand to her again and scrunching her cheeks.

“I don’t know,” you shrug, not wanting to admit you remembered seeing him last night. He purses his lips together and nods, not pressing further. He pushes off from the doorframe and puts his hands into the pockets of his leather jacket.

“Must’ve been in a dream then,” he smirks, and you feel your cheeks flush. He walks down the steps and back towards his cop car. “What did you say your name was?” he asks, turning back around.

“I didn’t,” you chuckle.

“Hmm,” he nods, and raises his eyebrows, waiting for you to fill in the blank. You tell him your name and he repeats it back to you like he’s thinking about it, trying it out to see how it sounds.

“Well,” he says, standing behind the open driver’s door, “Good luck, and I hope Sandy proves me wrong. Let me know if she calls.”

Taglist: 

@adelaide-walker @thedepressolit @samanthadegaro​ 

[sergiovinazzi]

Stolen - Lando Norris x Reader (Chapter Two)

2.9k words, rated E for everyone :)

Lando’s voice, amplified by the TV speakers, echoes around the humming Red Bull garage. “I’m fine but I’ve been better. I can say that I’m not in perfect condition, I’m not gonna lie. Some work to do mentally of course. I talk about that a lot, and mental health and mental strength is very important. I’ve not been sleeping that great and so on… not ideal and I’m feeling a bit sore, but I’m not the guy in the worst position after Wembley. I’ll work on it, I’ll make sure I’m in the best shape possible, and I feel like I can still go out and focus on what I need to do, and that’s the main thing.”

Your mind races as you listen to the boy plastered across the many screens revisit his experience at Wembley. He sounds awful; something about his cadence making it even more obvious that he is really, truly shaken up. The wavering pitch, awkward pausing, fumbling for words; everything about the way he presents himself is serving as a brutal reminder that being physically unscathed is no indicator that harm was not dealt. Even as the interview moves past the topic of last week’s Euro Final, you notice the shift in demeanor and your heart aches. You worry that bringing the watch to him is a bad idea, that it could prompt unbidden memories and disquieting feelings. You understand how big of an event Silverstone is from your dad’s tangents alone, especially for an English team with an English driver, so you reevaluate whether your decision to come was selfish, one made solely to alleviate your own sentiments of guilt rather than to verily right your believed wrongdoings.

On the journey to Silverstone, your dad had made multiple attempts at lessening your stress, even opting for variations of the if he steps out of line I will put him right back in his place father speech. Unfortunately fruitless, your father’s attempts mean you remain just as anxious as when you had first discovered that you managed to obtain a stolen wristwatch.

You’re not sure whether it’s the crisp morning air or your nerves that sends chills across your flesh, but your attempt to ground yourself subtly doesn’t go unnoticed by your dad as he passes you in the garage.

“Time is ticking,” he informs you, a smirk playing on his lips. “No pun intended.”

You roll your eyes in an attempt to downplay your apprehension, but your voice gives away any and all signs of the false confidence you hope to portray. “Can you do it for me?” you plead.

“I can’t just stroll on over to the McLaren garage without an invitation or proper reason, especially not a couple hours before free practice starts. It doesn’t look good.”

“It’s not like me walking in there instead would look any better,” you retort, gesturing to the Red Bull logo plastered across the chest of your black polo. “Your branding isn’t what I would call subtle.”

“Look, the McLaren team are a good sort. They’ll help you out if you just explain the issue and show them the watch. I’m sure Lando will understand too, he seems like a pretty nice bloke,” your dad reassures you.

Sighing, your eyes meet the floor, fingers intertwined with each other as you fidget incessantly. Before you can speak up in further defiance, however, an additional set of footsteps grow nearer and you freeze at the voice which speaks up.

“Christian, how much longer until our media slot?”

You lose your breath momentarily, locking your gaze onto your shoes as you wait for the person to pass by.

“About five minutes, Max,” your dad replies. “We were just about to head over.”

When you hear the footsteps grow fainter, you risk looking up, thankfully being met with only the observance of your father. You don’t even realize that you’ve tensed your body until your dad points it out.

“Relax,” he says. “He’s not going to say anything here, especially not on a race weekend.”

Nodding, you feel your shoulders ease up but you remain quiet.

“Anyways, like I said, our media briefing and interviews start soon and we’re after McLaren this weekend so they should already be back in their garage,” he says, realizing that you still appear troubled by the task ahead of you. “I promise you, everything will be fine. Just go over there and I’ll meet you back here when we’re done. The quicker you head over, the quicker you’re done with it and we can all move on." With that, your dad walks away and you reluctantly leave the Red Bull garage, adjusting your shirt as you straighten up.

You take a brief glance at your phone, turning it off after you try one last time to keep the picture of the boy imprinted in your mind. Eyes darting rapidly, you attempt to scan the paddock for anyone looking remotely like him while you make your way towards the bright orange and blue indicators of the McLaren garage.

The frequency of orange-clad individuals grows the further you stray from the safety of Red Bull’s garage, and you feel your heartbeat begin to increase. Worried that someone would stop you before you could approach the one person you had traveled all the way to Silverstone for in the first place, you quicken your pace.

You’re mere meters away when you spot him. Pushing past a few people while trying to keep your eyes trained on him, you watch as he turns around to talk briefly with the woman next to him.

Huffing, you muster up the little confidence you have and tap him on the shoulder.

His confusion is evident and the blonde woman next to him does not look pleased to have been interrupted. The silence is palpable as they stare at you, expecting an explanation for the abrupt ending of their conversation.

“Hi,” is all you can deliver. You’re at a loss for words while the woman next to him seems to lose what little patience she has with you. Everything you had rehearsed beforehand, gone. Your mind is foggy and your mouth feels dry as you try to compose yourself. “Um, can I talk to you for a second? It won’t be long, I promise.” Your voice breaks at the end and you wish you had never agreed to get on that stupid red-eye to Silverstone in the first place.

Lando offers a look of sympathy and then turns to the woman next to him. “Charlotte, could you just give us a second?”

Pursing her lips and turning on her heel, the woman walks away, heading towards the mouth of the McLaren garage. She’s far enough away that you’re out of earshot, but close enough that you feel her gaze linger as Lando turns back to face you.

“Hey, don’t worry,” he tells you with a smile. “We can take a picture if you want or I can sign some stuff for you.”

“What? No.” You shake your head, mentally slapping your palm against your forehead and forcing yourself to get a grip. Idiot. “Fuck, sorry, that sounded so rude! It’s just-” you rush to explain.

“Oh no, it’s okay!” he stammers. “I should’ve guessed from the Red Bull shirt anway.”

You both share an awkward laugh before you compose yourself and reach a shaky hand into your bag.

“This is going to sound so weird, but I was online shopping for a new watch the other day because I lost mine, and I’m pretty sure I bought the one that was stolen from you. I didn’t know anything about it, I swear. I just...well, here,” you say, offering the watch and its temporary box to Lando.

He looks at you, taking the box only to go wide-eyed at the contents inside.

“I have all the information that I was able to get, but the ad was taken off of eBay and I really wanted to do the right thing and give it back to you. Please don’t be mad.”

“What the hell?!” he exclaims, earning a few looks from people passing by and catching Charlotte’s attention once more. “Sorry, sorry. How did you get this?”

Amused, you laugh quietly while he studies the watch intently. “That was my dad’s reaction too. Basically there was a listing for it on eBay and it was sort of an impulse buy,” you explain. “I didn’t see the news coverage of what happened until afterwards and I felt awful. I’m really sorry you had to go through that, I genuinely had no idea.”

Shrugging, he plays it off. “Nothing I can’t handle.” It’s hard to miss his sudden change in attitude from the interview you watched moments ago and you can’t help but wonder whether he has your or the watch’s presence to thank.

There is a brief moment of silence between you both before he continues. “How much did you pay for it?”

“It was so cheap, honestly,” you say. “Nothing compared to the original price, I’m sure.”

Charlotte, alerted by Lando’s attention-grabbing reaction to being reunited by his watch, returns to where the two of you are standing. “Oh wow, did you find a replacement watch for him?” she asks you, clearly impressed by the apparent likeness.

“No, Charlotte”, he corrects her. “It’s my one. Look.” He hands the watch to his PR manager, who receives it so gently you think she’s afraid it might shatter in her hands. Flipping the watch between her fingers, she studies the small engraving on the underside of the face.

“Oh my god,” she whispers.

Lando nods. “It’s the exact date it was given to me, there’s no way anyone else could know that and make a copy of it.”

You feel the need to justify yourself to her. “It was listed online and I bought it before I knew anything about the situation. I didn’t even really know who Lando was until I saw what happened on the news, I swear.” You anticipate her anger or disapproval, preparing yourself to withstand the lecture you’re about to receive and mentally promising that, as soon as it’s over, you can run back to your dad and tell him you just want to go home.

But it doesn’t come.

“I can’t believe it!” she exclaims. “We all thought we’d never see it again and you found it on accident.” The smile she gives you sets your mind at ease. “Technically, this is a police matter now, so I’ll have to hand it over to the right people, but this helps us tremendously. Did you get any information about the seller?”

You explain the situation to her, about how the listing was taken offline but you have a printout of the messages and address the seller gave you, which you hand her from your bag. She lets you know that someone may get in touch soon to ask questions but not to worry, that it’s only a formality. Eventually, she asks if you’d like to watch free practice from a spot in the mobile hospitality unit, but you politely decline, explaining that you needed to get back to your dad in the Red Bull garage instead.

Charlotte smiles fondly at Lando and presses the brim of his cap down over his eyes. “Come on, you, we have to go and get ready now anyway.”

He takes off his hat, cheeks flushing as he makes an effort to quickly brush the curls lining his forehead, placing it back on and dismissing Charlotte with a wave of his hand. “Okay, just give me a minute.”

Once the two of you are alone, he pulls out his phone. “Do you have Venmo? I’ll pay you back, it’s not fair that you had to waste your money.”

“Oh, don’t worry about it.”

Lando seems unconvinced. “It’s really not a problem.”

“Seriously, it’s all good.”

“Well,” he continues awkwardly. “I have to go, but are you here for the whole weekend or...?”

You shake your head. “Just today. I’m not into Formula 1, I find it a little bit boring.”

“Seriously?! The fastest cars in the world and you’re calling it boring? Why even come to something like Silverstone if it’s so boring?” he feigns offense, doing air quotes as he imitates your apparent disdain for the sport.

Laughing quietly, you shrug. “I have family at Red Bull, so it was basically just luck and convenience that you were in the U.K. this weekend,” you clarify. “I don’t really understand Formula 1, that’s all.”

“Fair enough, it’s not for everyone I suppose,” Lando replies. “So who in your family works at Red–” The end of his question is drowned out by the sound of his name called by an evidently disgruntled, impatient engineer.

He sighs. “I’m sorry, I’ve really gotta go, but, um,” he exhales with a nervous laugh. “I still feel like I need to repay you in some way. Do you want to go get a drink after the race on Sunday? I’m busy for the next few days but Sunday night I’ll be free. Only if you want to, of course, I don’t want to, like, pressure you or anything.”

You laugh, appreciative that the nervousness was shared. “That– Yeah, that sounds fine. I’ll give you my number.”

He types your details into his phone before apologizing once more, thanking you again, and rushing off into the garage.

——

On Sunday, you let your dad believe he’s the one who convinced you to stay for the entire race weekend, but it’s the promise of Lando’s company later that night and the endearing text messages on your phone that prompts the desire to see this weekend through. You had spent the previous nights on your phone, going through driver and team Instagram accounts, as well as the F1 website, to get an idea of what to expect. Typically, it would pain you to look through motorsport news pages, especially with so many of the reports centering around Max and his vie for the championship as of late, but you manage.

You notice almost immediately while settling into your spot at the back of the garage that the energy does not match your own. You are enthusiastic and eager, while the rest of the team is stressed and rushes around you. Presumably, it’s because race day impacts their livelihoods and paycheks whereas it only dictates your family’s dinner topics, but, nevertheless, your excitement refuses to simmer.

Unfortunately, if it was weird for you to be seen at the McLaren garage before the first free practice, it would be infinitely more suspicious for you to be lingering around on race day, so you were not able to catch Lando at all since your initial meeting on Friday. However, you made sure to message him good luck beforehand, to which he thanked you and expressed excitement for your upcoming night.

“If you need anything, just ask. I’ll be on the pitwall,” your dad says, snapping you out of your whirring mind. He notices your obscure behavior, quick to comment on it. “Is it weird? Being here after so long?”

You nod, shrugging. “Unusual, for sure. So much has changed since the last time I came and watched, but I’m excited, though.”

“Well, it’s always good to have you here.”

Reciprocating your dad’s grin, you silently send him on his way. He exits quickly and leaves you to your own devices. Though, your own devices look to consist of impatiently waiting for the race to start and scrolling absentmindedly through your phone. Ironically, your boredom with pre-race antics appears to create quite the dichotomy against the chaos exuding from the garage you find yourself encompassed in.

Regardless, your attention is regained when frequent cuts are made to the drivers in their cars, and you recognise that the race will be starting soon. You are temporarily startled when the cars begin moving without hearing an official announcement, but quickly realisee that it is merely a formation lap and no one else around you seems to be paying all too much mind to it.

When the cars return to their positions on the grid, you watch eagerly as the lights flash and the announcers begin yelling. You keep your eyes trained on the orange car towards the front of the grid, watching Lando so intently that you almost miss what happens to the cars in front of him.

Your eyes go wide as you watch the events unfold: the Red Bull car out front collides with what you identify as a Mercedes, spinning and slamming into the barrier. Gasps chorus across the garage as the screens replay slowed clips of the crash as an announcement states that the safety car has been deployed. They replay it from every conceivable angle, your astonishment at the severity is present upon your first viewing, but it’s only after the sixth clip that it clicks in your head that the person in the car is Max.

“For the second time this season, Hamilton and Verstappen clash and tangle on the opening lap, but, this time, it is ending in dramatic consequences for the championship leader.”

If you had perceived the pre-race behavior in the garage as chaotic, this was a whole new level of absurdity.

People rush around you while orders are shouted and frustrations are verbalised.

Your dad is angry.

The last time you recall him behaving like this was when your younger sister had broken the wine glasses he had bought for your mother on their honeymoon. You, however, ignore his yelling and remain encapsulated by the TV, releasing a breath you didn’t know you were holding as the events unfolding finally, finally register in your brain.

Car number 33 is in the wall and out of the race, and your ex-boyfriend is inside, silent and unmoving.

____________

tag list @lovebynorth @its-astrotea-love

[tobiosmilktea]

nom de plume — bokuto koutarou

1.6k words | genre/s: barista!au, fluff | warning/s: — | pairing: bokuto x gn!reader

↪︎ in which bokuto gives you a fake name every time he comes to the cafe you work at. you’ve been dying to know the handsome stranger’s real name, but here you are scribbling “captain america” onto his stupid caramel macchiato

a/n: here’s something short and sweet to quench my need to write a fic after writing boring essays all week for school. not the most original content either but i needed something simple :p

there were four types of regulars you would see walk through those doors of the cafe you worked at. either to spend as little as five minutes to the entire day inside the shop just to breathe in the serenity of light jazz music humming in the background. you’ve been working at this establishment long enough to relish how different every single person’s life was as they stood in front of you and ordered their special pick-me-up for the day.

you could easily tell what a person was like based on what they order—like that middle-aged office worker with a receding hairline that always entered the cafe in the midst of an angry phone call with a client, disrupting in the calm mornings with bickering. he usually orders an iced americano, bitter and dark enough to match the dark circles under his eyes and wrinkles adorning his forehead. not entirely your favorite, but he tipped well.

then there was the occasional university student, overworked trying to finish three different essays while cramming for an exam. they usually come in small study groups that end up messing around half of the time or they trickle in as individuals, eyes all red and glued to their laptop screens as they try to chug the remaining contents of their cappuccinos with three shots of espresso.

then there were the soccer moms with their obnoxiously specific drinks, ranging from the different flavors of frappuccinos with extra, extra caramel drizzle.

and then there were guys like him—the one with alabaster hair and darkened roots who just walked inside the cafe—your favorite. the door swinging opening and causing the bell right above the threshold to ding. the tall, hot, and beefy regular with a smile so intoxicating that he catches you off guard each time he walks in exactly at two-thirty in the afternoon.

you didn’t know his name, but you recognized his face, all chiseled and annoyingly handsome. this time he was accompanied by his friend again, akaashi with dark frames resting on the bridge of his nose.

unlike his companion, you actually knew his name as he would actually give it to you, unlike the latter who preferred giving out a new nickname each time he comes around to visit. hell, you knew a lot more about akaashi despite seeing him far less often.

to say you were a bit peeved of this fact was beyond question.

the only thing you truly knew about the man you were inexplicably interested in was that he always ordered an iced caramel macchiato with almond milk. he was very particular about the non-dairy part of that order.

“what can i get you two?” you ask the two towering figures before you. though, it wasn’t much of a question when you already knew what they would order.

“a flat white for me,” says akaashi.

the usual, you think. he says he likes the foam art designs you make.

“and an iced caramel macchiato for me,” says the other, giving you that infamous toothy grin.

god, he was so cute. if only i knew your name, stranger.

you input their orders into your screen quickly, the total popping up on the smaller screen in front of akaashi and his friend as he takes out his card. he inserts the chip in for a few seconds, waiting for the beep to emit from the machine before taking it out in a swift flick.

once the payment goes through, your fingers pull the black sharpie clipped onto your apron off as you grab a cup.

akaashi didn’t bother mentioning his name as you were already scribbling it down in cursive—swift, yet satisfyingly neat. on the other hand, you waited for the white-haired boy to mention what new moniker that piqued his interest today. your eyes met his with patient intent.

“captain america,” he mutters with the corners of his lips tugging up into an amused smile. as if he was proud of himself for saying such, you couldn’t help melt into his contagious grin. like a ray of sunshine that would immediately melt away your troubles, you swore your heart skipped a beat.

the brunet flicks his eyes back and forth from you and his friend, temporary intrigue setting in as he holds back a smirk. “sorry about him,” akaashi pats his friend’s shoulder, “we’ve been rewatching the entirety of the mcu and just finished captain america before coming here.”

“oh, no worries, i’m used to it.” you wave it off, “it isn’t the first time he used marvel superheroes as nicknames. just two days ago he used vision after i reminded him that he had already used thor twice in the past week.”

“i’m surprised you remembered them in the first place,” akaashi’s friend confesses.

“how could i forget? i always look forward to whatever name you give me next.”

you thought you saw a hint of red blush dusting his cheeks when you flick a look over to him, but you weren’t too sure.

perhaps it was just your imagination.

noticing that you were only holding them up by making useless conversation, you clear your throat, muttering almost incoherently, “i’ll have your drinks ready in a few minutes.”

you dipped back towards the coffee machine before they could even thank you. their cups were gripped tightly in your hands as you placed them down next to the machine. the ground up coffee beans cascaded down the dispenser and into the portafilter. carefully, you compressed it tightly into the container before brewing the espresso into a small shot glass.

“is that the guy you were talking about?” your coworker, mitsuko, pops up from behind you and asks. you jolt a bit, almost spilling the piping hot, steamed milk in your hands when you give her a look, “you weren’t wrong when you said he was a complete hunk!”

playfully rolling your eyes, you continue making their coffees, careful not to spill anything that could possibly garner more attention towards you as you could see his towering figure over the barrier.

mitsuko’s eyes cast down towards one of the cups, grabbing at one of them to read the name. “captain america, huh?” she reads before glancing at him, “he fits the name well, at least. you think he’s an athlete?”

you shrug, “not sure, but i heard he’s a big marvel fan. he used quicksilver, vision, and thor in the past week.”

“aren’t you ever curious about his real name?” mitsuko asks as you smile contently at the foam art before snapping the cover atop akaashi’s flat white.

“of course i am,” you say, setting the ready-made drink to the side to start the other. “i suppose the guy likes his privacy. who knows, maybe he’s famous or something.”

you say that partly as a joke, but something inside of you thinks that perhaps that this was that one in a million chance. how would something of such a high caliber as him not be inherently well-known, even if it was just a little bit?

mitsuko snorts at your vehemence, slapping the meat of her thigh as if that was the funniest thing she has heard all day. “as if any famous person would ever come into a random cafe in a small city, (y/n).”

you didn’t answer for a few beats as you completed the white-haired boy’s drink, capping it properly. you weren’t ignoring your coworker’s statement, yet rather simmering in the thought of how ridiculous it actually sounded.

maybe this guy just wanted to have some cheap amusement. nothing more nothing less. it was just a name after all.

you let out a sigh, “as much as i would love to know his real name, it’s none of my business. speaking of which, has he ever given anyone else random nicknames when he comes by?”

mitsuko shrugs, “he only ever comes by when you work.”

“seriously?” you’re quite surprised.

“yup, this is the first time i’ve ever seen the infamous regular who only gives out fake names.” she mused, “maybe he does it to get your attention.”

you roll your eyes, scoffing at the thought. how ridiculous. you never wanted to wipe that smirk off of your coworker’s face as you wave her off, approaching the open end of the counter as you readied yourself to hand them their drinks.

they had been patiently waiting at the other end of the counter for a few minutes now, grateful they didn’t complain at your discrete chatter with mitsuko as some patrons would. instead, they smiled at your approaching figure with their coffees in your hands.

“here’s your flat white,” you hand the cup over to akaashi.

he flicks you a charming look of appreciation before making his way towards the cafe’s entrance. you couldn’t exactly pinpoint if he was in a hurry or not as he left you and his friend alone.

you didn’t entirely mind, though, as you shook it off.

you handed the man his drink, “and to the dude whose name that i shall never know.”

he mutters a brief thank you as he takes it from your hand, fingers brushing against each other and causing your heart to rush.

“aren’t you curious?” he asks suddenly.

your brows furrow, “about what?” you replied as you feign innocence.

“my name,” he clarifies.

“well, unless your name is actually captain america, why wouldn't i be curious?” a smirk was slowly appearing on your lips, “besides, with the dozens of people i see almost everyday, i have to say that you’ve caught my attention, stranger.”

he grins, hand fishing through his pocket, “well, since you’re dying to know,” he hands you a tiny slip of paper, making sure the tips of his fingers linger feather-like touches on the palm of your hand. “come and find out for yourself.”

he sends you a wink before walking out of the cafe, leaving you absolutely dumbfounded. your shaky fingers unfold the creases of the paper, eyes scanning the contents of his messy handwriting.

000-000-0000

the name’s bokuto — call me! :)

general taglist: @yongboxerrr @crybabbicus @rosepetalhaven @tvwhoresblog @tanakaslastbraincell @kellesvt @kitsunetea @milktyama

[nothoughtsonlynat]

Human (Natasha Romanoff)

Human: Chapter 1

A/N: Troyes, France is 6 hours ahead of NYC so 7pm there is 1pm in NYC. For the sake of this fic we’re going to pretend that the Battle of New York lasted quite a few hours.

*This is my first ever fic and I wrote it at 3am so bear with me

WARNINGS: swearing; mentions of weapons; violence; panic attack; anxiety; my crappy writing; and I think that’s it (lmk if there’s anything I should add)

Barcelona, Spain; January, 2012:

The repetitive ticking of the clock registered in my brain before my eyes even opened. I didn’t need that clock to know what time it was, of course. It was 4:30 am— the same time I've woken up everyday for the past twenty-five years of my life. I no longer need to wake up this early, yet it’s a habit so deeply engrained in my framework that it’s seemingly unbreakable. I roll out of bed and make my way into the dingy kitchen with light footsteps. With some quick math I figured that I got barely two hours of sleep last night, but that’s more than usual. I started the coffee machine and asked with a sigh, “Would you like some coffee or are you just going to lurk in the corner?”

The leather-clad stranger with an eyepatch stepped up to the kitchen island opposite of me and responded, “I wouldn’t mind a cup. I suppose I shouldn’t be surprised that you knew I was here.”

“Well, you know what they say about old habits. You got a name?”

“You can call me Fury. We have a lot to talk about, Eight.” I slid him a mug of cheap coffee and gestured for him to take a seat. 

“Then we’d better get started so you can get the hell out of my apartment.” He simply chuckled in response and I could already feel my patience wavering.

Two Hours Later:

“Strategic Homeland Intervention, Enforcement and Logistics Division? Really, dude?”

“Yeah, it’s a mouthful. Trust me I know.”

“I’m sorry that you came all this way for nothing, Fury, but there’s no way in hell I'm working for some government spy circus.”

“It’s technically an extra-governmental spy agency-“

“Doesn’t matter. I’m not joining,” I said, cutting him off.

“So, you’re just gonna hop from one shitty apartment to the next until you die? That doesn’t seem like a great life.”

“Better than the one I lived before.”

“You aren’t the person to live in hiding. You’re the person who thrives in the action and lives to kick ass, and we both know it.” When I didn’t respond he continued, “I’ll leave you my card. When you change your mind, which you will, you’ll know where to find me. You don’t have to be the bad guy anymore, Eight.” With that he slid off the stool and left my apartment, leaving me with nothing but my rapidly spiraling thoughts and a black business card.

Troyes, France; May, 2012:

It had been four months since Director Fury came to my apartment in Barcelona. We’d kept in contact and he hasn’t given up on me joining S.H.I.E.L.D.. I'm living in my third apartment since then. Wow…those landlords must really hate me. I was watching the seven o’clock news when I saw something that made me choke on my Cheerios. “An alien invasion?! What the fu-” My Cheerio-muffled exclamation was interrupted by the ring of my burner phone. “Hello?”

“Eight, you watched the news recently?”

“Uh yeah, I'm watching it now. You fighting aliens now, Nicky?”

“Okay first of all, I told you to stop calling me that. Second, yes… aliens. I’m forming a team of…extraordinary people to help protect against these threats and they could really use a hand to finish off this fight.”

“I may be weird as hell but I ain't ‘extraordinary’, Fury. I don’t wanna join your band of misfits.”

“Alright, how about a compromise? You fly your fancy jet here right now and help them out and if you still don’t wanna join once the battle is over, you can go right back to France and I’ll stop bothering you about joining.” After a few seconds of silence I agreed. 

“Fine, but I’m not gonna change my mind. Wait, how do you know about my jet?”

He gave a hearty laugh and said “I know everything, Eight. You should know that by now.”

New York, New York; 96 Minutes Later: 

I flew my jet into the city, making sure to take out a few flying Chitauri in the process. We don’t need to talk about how I got my hands on a German jet that can fly 2100mph. I saw a few interesting characters standing in a circle fighting off an endless sea of aliens. I maneuvered the jet and— wait…is that guy wearing blue tights? Is this what Fury meant by extraordinary? Whatever. I landed in the street about 20 yards away and killed the engines. I hopped out and started jogging towards the group. A couple of them turned around, probably wondering who the hell the chick in the black uniform is and— whoa that’s a beautiful woman. After realizing my steps had literally faltered in a mini gay panic, I slowed to a walk and said “Y’all need a hand?”

“Depends on whose hand it is,” replied the redheaded source of my panic.

“I’m a friend of Fury’s. He practically begged me to come save your asses.”

“Fury doesn’t beg,” she said in a doubtful tone.

“Not typically, but I'm just that awesome. If you don’t believe me then call him up but I’m gonna go kill some aliens.” With that I took off down another street where there was a group of the repulsive bastards. After unloading all of my magazines into Chitauri bodies, I switched to my swords and daggers. After another hour or so of fighting, there were no more aliens in sight. I started jogging toward the rich dude’s tower when I saw said rich dude falling through the rapidly-closing portal. I stopped next to Mr. Blue Tights and the buff blonde guy with the hammer when the big green dude grabbed Mr. Rich Dude from the sky and landed next to us. The green guy yelled, waking Mr. Rich Dude up with a start. “What the hell? What happened? Please tell me nobody kissed me. Except for her, she’s pretty hot,” he said nodding toward me. Just then the redhead jogged over to us and eyed my blood-soaked form from head to toe. 

“See something you like, Red?”

“No. I’m pretty sure I'd be classified as a sadist if I liked the sight of that much blood,” she said with a raise of her eyebrow.

“Yeah that’s fair.” She shook her head at me with a small smirk. There was barely a second of silence when Mr. Rich Dude spoke up. 

“Anybody want shawarma?”

Three Hours Later:

I had gone to the Triskelion after the band of misfits apprehended Loki. Agent Hill showed me where to park my jet and directed me to a room so I could shower and stay the night if I wanted to. I had put on black jeans, a white tee, and a black jean jacket, all of which had been in a to-go bag in my jet. I was toweling off my hair when someone knocked on the door. I opened the door to see none other than the one-eyed-wonder standing there. “What can I do for you, Nicky?”

“The Avengers are being debriefed in Conference Room 6B in ten minutes. You should come.”

“The Avengers? Is that what you’re calling them? That’s cute. But I'm not an Avenger and I don’t want to be an Avenger, so no thanks.”

“You should come anyway.”

“I don’t actually have a choice, do I?”

“You know me so well, Eight,” he said with an amused grin.

I walked into the conference room and the Avengers were already there. Steve Rogers, Clint Barton, Tony Stark, Bruce Banner, Thor, and Natasha Romanoff—whose names I learned from Hill— were scattered around a large table, along with Fury. Romanoff eyed me from where she was standing and arched a perfectly sculpted eyebrow at me. I squinted my eyes and wiggled my eyebrows in response, and I could see her stifle a laugh. “What’s your name?” She accompanied the question with a blank expression, which made me feel oh-so-special. 

“That’s a very personal question, Miss Romanoff. Let’s slow the pace, please.”

“You know my name but I can’t know yours? That doesn’t seem fair.”

“The world isn’t fair, Miss Romanoff, and I love a good mystery.”

“If you two are done flirting, we have business to attend to,” interjected Fury.

“Right, my apologies, Nicky.”

“Don’t call me that, Eight.”

After an excruciating 43 minutes and 27 seconds, Fury finally let us leave. I was so close to freedom when that unbelievably sexy voice called to me. “Eight!” Romanoff hastily walked towards me in an effort to catch up.

“Yeah?”

“Is your name actually Eight?”

“If you want it to be.”

“Why are you so damn stubborn?”

“It amuses me, Red.” There was a brief silence during which both of us were trying to figure out if the conversation was over. 

I was about to leave when she continued, “So that’s it? You’re just gonna leave?”

“Well, no. I’m going to stay the night, steal some really expensive jet fuel, and then leave in the morning before Fury can get up my ass about joining his little team.”

She rolled her eyes and responded, “Why won’t you join the Avengers? And why won’t you tell me your real name?”

“It’s just not my style. I’d rather fly solo.”

“You ignored my second question.”

“Then maybe you should take the hint and stop asking.” With that I turned around and started walking away, but a hand on my arm stopped me dead in my tracks. Alarms started going off in my head, and I'm pretty sure Romanoff was saying something to me but I was too caught up in the memories of beatings, punishments, and psychological conditioning to register it. After a few of the longest seconds of my life, the white of my vision cleared up and the voice telling me ‘physical contact is strictly forbidden’ faded into the background. My heart was still hammering in my chest and I was trying to keep my breathing steady despite the inevitable panic attack trying to drag me under, I regained my neutral expression and said. “Sorry, did you say something?”

“Are you okay?” She had a concerned expression and if I wasn’t so blinded with anxiety, I would’ve appreciated how cute the furrow of her eyebrows was.

“Yeah, I’m fine. I’m just gonna turn in. It’s been a long day.” I turned around and walked back to my temporary room at a brutal pace. As soon as the door closed behind me, hot tears raced down my cheeks and I lost the ability to breathe. It was gonna be a long night.

3:21 am:

I finally managed to calm myself down and stop the panic attack after almost four hours. Well, I passed out because I couldn’t breathe but it did calm me down. Trying to sleep would be pointless, so I decided to leave before anyone woke up. I didn’t really have much to pack so I grabbed my duffel bag and left the room. I made it to the corridor attached to the landing pads and ran into the one person I really didn’t want to see. “What are you doing out and about, Red?”

“I’ve got places to be and things to do. Were you just going to sneak out in the middle of the night like a teenager with a rebellious streak?”

“Yes, that’s exactly what I’m doing, actually. Do you need a ride? Where are you going?”

“Madrid. Fury said I could hitch a ride on another plane that’s headed for Germany.”

“Well I’m going to France if you wanna ride with me. My jet will get you there a lot faster.” She studied me for what felt like way too long, probably debating if I would try to kill her or not. You know how spies are with their trust issues.

“What the hell, why not?”

And that is how I ended up in a jet with “Candy Shop” playing over the speakers and Natasha Romanoff in the copilot seat yelling at me to, and I quote, ‘slow the fuck down.’ “Why would I slow down, you psycho?! That’s the whole damn point of this thing!”

“Where did you even get a German jet this fast?”

“Germany.”

“No shit Sherlock. How did you get it?”

“I went to Germany, stopped in at the local speedy-jet dealership, and walked out with this beauty.”

“Sarcasm is a defense mechanism, you know? You’re only being like this to keep me from seeing the real you. You built walls. You want everyone to think you’re fine when in reality, you’re falling apart.”

“Okay…um…there was no need for that, Dr. Romanoff. I can find my own therapist, thank you very much. And don’t go pretending you’re all healthy in the head, Miss Assassin.” It was quiet for all of five seconds before we both burst into laughter.

Madrid, Spain:

I landed the jet at the local S.H.I.E.L.D. base and killed the engines. Romanoff and I removed our headsets and I stood to help her get her bags. “Welp, I’ll see you around I guess.” I really wasn’t good at this type of thing. Or any social interactions, really. Twenty-four years in a cell will do that to you.

“Will I? See you around, I mean?”

“Um, I don’t really know, honestly. I’m not part of S.H.I.E.L.D. so we won’t just run into each other or anything but…”

“Why won’t you join S.H.I.E.L.D.? I mean what else are you doing?”

“Ohhh, I see. You just love me so much that you don’t want me to leave. You’re gonna miss me so much-” I was cut off when she threw her backpack at my head. “Hey! You’re lucky I caught that! Freaking crazy woman.”

When our laughter died down she said, “Well I should probably go. Thank you for the ride.”

“Of course. Hitchhikers are always welcome aboard my beloved jet.” A small smile appeared on her face and she stepped forward to give me a hug but she must’ve seen my body go rigid because she stepped back. She might’ve said something but the voice in my head was too loud for me to understand her. I don’t know how long it was before I unfroze but when I did, she was gone. I walked to the front of the jet and started the journey to France.

[pinkoptics]

AU-gust 2021 Prompts

3. Hipsters / 16. Hippies

Erik detests hipsters and hippies and, to be honest, isn’t even sure what the difference is, nor does he particularly care. The things he will do for Charles…

Modern AU. Still have powers. Grumpy Erik. Adorable Charles. Meet Cute. Silliness.

3392 Words

*

Erik hated everything about this place.

Absolutely everything.

He could write a dissertation on its failings, which were abundant.

Its first sin was being directly across from his apartment building. When he looked out his window, he saw it. When he stepped out of the lobby doors, he saw it. When he pulled his car out of the parking garage, he saw it. It was an unavoidable part of every single day of his life.

Its second sin was what it had replaced. Previously, there had been a diner. A kosher diner. A diner that had tasted like his childhood. It had been a hole in the wall, never looked quite clean, but the coffee had been strong enough to caffeinate an elephant and the food almost as good as his mama’s. Most people had passed it by. Just another slightly dingy New York eatery that you didn’t give a second thought. Quiet. A refuge for those in the know. Then came the hipster gentrification, ruining not only his precious diner, but the neighbourhood in general.

Its third sin was its name. Plant. In and of itself the name ‘Plant’ was harmless, inoffensive. Just a word. It conjured images of a vegan eatery, bistro, restaurant, or maybe if taken 100% literally, a store that sold plants. All of which would have been fine. He had nothing against plants and, sure, he ate meat (kosher meat), but happily ate vegetarian dishes as well. But no, it was not a plant store or even a vegan eatery, it was a vegan coffeehouse. Coffee came from plants, Erik knew this, so the name passed on that technicality, but it did not scream ‘coffee.’ Why not ‘Bean’ if it needed to conform to the trendy one-word-naming that had for reasons unknown come with the gentrification. It was couched between ‘Table’ (a restaurant) and ‘Sweat’ (a boutique gym). Plant did not equal coffee, and that knowledge crawled under his skin every time he saw the stylized lettering.

Its fourth sin was the coffee. Erik wasn’t particularly picky about his brew, whether at home or out. Cheap diner swill, the finest Italian espresso, the Keurig at the office, the ridiculously expensive machine that produced the perfect cappuccino at Emma’s apartment, whatever. Plant’s beans were fine as beans went, the roast satisfactory, but then ruined with its accompaniments. They carried a variety of ‘mylks.’ Yes, with a ‘y’. He preferred lattes, and would have been fine with oat or almond— if only it was spelled with a fucking ‘i’. Every time he saw the pretentious letter, he felt the urge to take a sharpie and commit as many acts of misdemeanour graffiti as necessary until all the ‘y’s were gone.

Its fifth sin was its staff. He could have tolerated their always sunny dispositions (even if it were literally impossible for any customer service employee to be that happy all the time). He could have tolerated their ridiculous hipster (or was it hippy?) apparel, moustaches, beards and hairstyles (what was even the difference between the two?). What he could not handle was the way they called him ‘friend.’ Every. Single. Time. He could count his friends on one hand and none of them worked at Plant. Their ‘peace, love and joy’ vibe made him grind his teeth and wish he had a mutation that would allow him to send them back to the 1960s.

And yet…

“Good morning friend! Amazing day, right?” It was, in fact, pouring so hard the streets were borderline flooding. “Usual? Or do you want to try—”

Erik had long ago learned to immediately tune out the suggestions, but was sure he caught the word ‘sage.’ Who in their right fucking mind wanted sage in their coffee? Yes, he was inside the loathed establishment wasting precious brain cells wondering why anyone felt the need to mess with the simple perfection that was coffee and milk. Yes, he was there often enough that the employees knew him on sight. Yes, he had a usual order.

It wasn’t his fault.

It really wasn’t.

It was the fault of a pair of the bluest eyes he had ever seen.

This shouldn’t have been the case. The whole thing was ridiculous, utterly ridiculous. The entire story more at home on the W Network or Hallmark, than in his very real, not-a-rom-com, life. And yet, here he was, having his 24th latte with mylk in a row and questioning his very sanity.

It had all started, just over a month ago, directly in front of Plant. To this day, Erik wasn’t sure whose fault it had been. He’d been on his phone, eviscerating a junior partner for a monstrous fuck up, and so livid that he was not at all paying attention to his surroundings. The blue-eyed man he’d run into, however, had claimed equal distraction, so perhaps the blame rested on both of their shoulders.

They had crashed into each other— papers flew, his phone flipped through the air and they ended up in a heap on the sidewalk, Erik atop the smaller frame beneath him. Already late for work, already pissed off with the junior partner beyond reason, Erik had been ready to re-direct his anger and tear whoever it was a new one, when the aforementioned blue eyes had arrested the words in his throat. He had admitted this to no one. Hell, he barely admitted it in the sanctity of his own mind because he was not a 12 year old girl, but a senior partner in one of the most prestigious architecture firms in New York. He did not go soft over a pair of gorgeous eyes (except, apparently, that he did), particularly when he hadn’t even seen the face that went with the eyes, which could have been grotesquely unattractive (it wasn’t).

The mouth that went with the eyes was absurdly red and absurdly kissable. The face angelic. To his eternal, internal embarrassment he had thought that exact word— angelic. He wished he could have blamed his temporary insanity on hitting his head, but having fallen on top, he couldn’t. If anyone had a concussion it was the ocean-eyed, ruby-lipped angel man. The ruby lips had spluttered apologies in a gorgeous British accent (not something Erik had until now found to be a turn on) as they scrambled off each other, righting clothes and belongings.

“Your phone!” the man had moaned. “Is it all right?”

The screen did appear to have a crack, but in another moment of lunacy, Erik pocketed it before the Angel could see and muttered something about it being fine. Instead, Erik helped him to collect the papers that had fluttered every which way, including the road, where they were already being demolished by a steady stream of vehicles.

“I hope those weren’t important.”

The man laughed, it was a very nice sound. “Not as such, no. I’m sure my students will be delighted to hear that their papers were torn asunder. They already mock me for printing them at all. I could mark them on my laptop like a proper 21st century individual, but there’s something about the feel of paper and pen that I just cannot let go of. It’s— and, as I go on and see your expression, I realize a simple ‘no’ likely would have sufficed.”

What did he see in Erik’s expression? A man besotted? Enamoured? Smitten? Any other number of words he had never used in regard to himself or anyone else in his entire life? Fuck. Erik tried to school has face into its usual disdain for the world and ninety-nine percent of the people in it, but if he was as in control of his facial muscles as he was of his thoughts, he knew he was failing miserably.

Erik handed him the last of the papers they could possibly retrieve. “I agree— about the pen and paper, I mean.” He did. As incredible as design software was these days, he always started on paper. The precision needed to draw the perfect straight lines and angles of a new building gave him a feeling of immense satisfaction in a way little else did.

“Oh, well, glad I’m not the only one who hasn’t forsaken the old ways.”

His smile.

Fuck fuck fuck.

Erik cleared his throat. “Let me buy you a coffee.”

Had he just said that?

Traitorous voice.

Was he gesturing at Plant?

Traitorous body.

He’d never been inside. On principle. Apparently, principle flew out the window for charming British men with cornflower (cornflower?!) blue eyes. The man blinked those eyes, as though not expecting the kindness.

Erik gestured at the papers. “I’ve clearly set your work back and I’ve ruined your—” cardigan. Erik blinked as his clothes came into focus. The man he was suddenly, desperately, attracted to was wearing a baggy, grandpa cardigan. Erik began to wonder if he had never woken up that morning. Maybe he was still in bed, across the street. Maybe this was a fever dream.

“Oh! I’ve dozens more just like it. It’s nothing.” He swatted ineffectually at the dirt covering one sleeve.

“Please.”

The man cocked his head. “Well… all right.”

So Erik had. In the end it had been a tea, not coffee. Earl grey with mylk. The interaction had ended there, awkwardly. Most likely his own fault. He didn’t do flirting with random strangers he’d just plowed into on the street. He didn’t generally do flirting at all. Moreover, he was now very late and had the junior partner’s fuck ups to fix before this afternoon’s meeting with their client. So, he’d left, stumbling over his goodbyes.

The day that followed hadn’t afforded much opportunity to think on the chance encounter. Not with employees to castrate and clients to placate. It wasn’t until he was home, looking out the bank of front windows at Plant that his thoughts drifted back to Blue Eyes. Which was, unfortunately, what he had christened him in his head because he’d never gotten the man’s name. Erik had gone to bed, mind clouded with thoughts, dreamt of him, and woken up with those same thoughts. Emma had always said his was one of the most disciplined minds she had ever encountered.

So much for that.

It was only a complete loss of that discipline that could possibly explain why he’d unnecessarily crossed the street the next morning and entered the obnoxious establishment for a second time, without even a moment’s hesitation. His eyes had immediately scanned for a mop of just overlong brown hair (yes, he’d noted that too, as well as just how much he wanted to run his hands through it). When they’d landed upon said hair, curling delightfully upon Blue Eyes’ forehead, Erik had been genuinely surprised. This clearly made the man a Plant regular, which should have been a point against him — a massive point — yet here Erik was, seeking him out regardless. Blue Eyes had looked up at him then, gifting him with a smile and acknowledging him with a nod, before returning to a set of what Erik had to guess were re-printed term papers.

Such was the story of how Erik had become a regular customer with a regular order.

Most days Blue Eyes was there before he came in, sometimes working on laptop or in a notebook, other times reading a book or a journal. Erik had caught a title once — The Oxford Journal of Genetics — which led him to conclude, that along with clearly being a professor, this proved the man must have a brain to back up the looks. Another point in his favour, as Erik had no patience for stupidity, no matter how pretty a package it came in.

Erik’s day was such that he usually needed to take his order to go. The few days where he could scrape together a few extra minutes, he grabbed his own table. He hadn’t once attempted to kid himself that it was because he enjoyed the ambience— that level of denial would have been absurd. No, it was clearly so he could spend a few extra minutes trying to stare, in a way that wasn’t blatantly obvious, at his… crush. Crush. He might as well think the word because that’s what it was. Only days after meeting him, Erik had caught himself, pen poised, about to doodle hearts on his notepad at a meeting. The mental pinch and knowing look Emma had sent his way had made him extra testy for the rest of the day. The wide berth everyone but Emma had given him was a testament to that.

And yet…

He never approached Blue Eyes. They exchanged nods, occasional hellos, but never anything more. Out of all of his out of character behaviour — and there was a lot of it at this point — this rattled him most. Erik had a reputation in professional and personal circles. He was confident, forbidding, occasionally arrogant, and brazen in pursuing designs no one else thought possible to execute. Erik went after what he wanted in life with borderline fanaticism.

He did not sit and observe from afar, mentally warring with himself, while also berating himself, for not having the balls to ask to join him, or buy him another tea, or inquire as to what he was reading. There were any number of conversational openings, but 24th latte in, he still hadn’t taken any of them. With each passing day the side of him that decided against it (or ‘chickened out’ as the nastier part of his mind supplied) became stronger and stronger. Blue Eyes hadn’t engaged with him either. Maybe he wasn’t gay. Maybe Erik wasn’t his type. Maybe he was already in a relationship. The chances that he was being just as melodramatic as Erik was being in his own head seemed slim. So, Erik continued to act foolish — alternately wondering how long he would continue to do so and how good a kisser Blue Eyes might be with lips like that.

It was on latte #26 that everything changed— no thanks to Erik.

He had decided to sit at a table that day and engage in his usual ‘I’m staring but I’m not staring’ routine. He was in the ‘not-staring’ portion, scrolling through his emails without really paying attention to any of them, when he was startled out of it by the chair across from him suddenly becoming occupied.

Blue Eyes.

“I can’t take it anymore.”

“Wha—”

“You come in here every day. Every day. Sometimes you stay, sometimes you don’t. It’s baffling because there is one thing I know for certain— you hate it here. No, you loathe it. And, there are literally dozens of other coffee houses within walking distance. You clearly don’t belong—” Blue Eyes gestured up and down at what was likely Erik’s three piece suit, then at Plant in general, where there wasn’t a single person so much as sporting dress pants. Erik counted at least two man buns, one head of dreadlocks and a form of baggy pants Erik didn’t even have a name for. “—and I am fascinated by things that don’t belong. Things that don’t make sense. Puzzles. You don’t make sense. There is no way the coffee is that good. And yet, here you are. Oh! Where are my manners? I’m Charles.”

Blue Eyes — no, Charles — extended his hand across the table and, reflexively, Erik took it, shaking it gingerly.

Charles laughed. “I don’t bite. I entirely talk too much, ask anyone, but I don’t bite.”

Erik rather wished that he did.

“How did you— my suit?”

Thankfully, Charles seemed to follow his meaning. “Oh no, the suit is only corroborating evidence. As is the way you look down your nose at everything in here. It’s your mind.” Charles tapped his temple. “Telepath. I swear to you I haven’t dug any deeper than the surface swirl of utter distaste for this establishment. Then I’d know, wouldn’t I? Wouldn’t be here asking.”

Telepath. Blue E— Charles was a mutant. Erik was fairly certain his knees went a little weak. Good thing they were sitting. However… what on earth could he say? ‘I’ve essentially been stalking you’ hardly seemed like an opener that was going to get him where he wanted to be. Erik cleared his throat, buying time, as those keen eyes continued to look at him expectantly. While Erik wasn’t verbose, he also never found himself at a loss for words, except for here and now, where the truth was exceptionally embarrassing.

His pause, it seemed, went on too long because Charles jumped back into the fray. “Good lord, I’ve ambushed you, haven’t I? Clearly, you don’t have to answer the mad man who mowed you down on the sidewalk and then ambushed the peaceful solitude of your morning coffee. I apologize and will bugger right off if you tell me to. However, if it helps any, I don’t like it here either. It’s trying too bloody hard to be ‘on trend,’ isn’t it? For a cultural subset who pride themselves on not being pretentious they’ve entirely failed, haven’t they? And, I’m English, I know pretentious.” He laughed self-depreciatingly at that.

A beat for his mind to catch up to the second verbal barrage and Erik finally had a response. “If you like it as little as I do, then why are you here?”

Charles’ mouth formed a perfect little ‘o’ of surprise. He scratched the back of his neck and, for a moment, looked everywhere but Erik. “Blast. I’m caught, aren’t I?”

His cheeks reddened adorably. Since when did Erik find anything adorable? Since now, apparently. This man broke all of his rules.

Charles gave an adorable (christ) little shrug of his shoulders. “I suppose I best come clean.” He looked Erik squarely in the eye. “You’re gorgeous. You bought me tea. I came back thinking I’d ask you out. But you’re so… I lost my nerve. Have been doing the same daily ever since.”

“I’m so… ?”

The cheeks reddened further.

“Entirely too gorgeous for me.” Charles gestured at today’s grandfatherly cardigan. “Besides that—”

“You’re perfect.”

Fucking hell. When had his mind decided to say things without his permission?

It produced another, adorable, surprised little ‘o’. “I’m sorry— What?”

In for a penny…

“I had never set foot in Plant before we crashed into each other. Never would have because I do hate everything about it. Everything except you, who I thought were a regular—”

“I thought you were a regular.”

“— and wanted to ask you out.”

“I’d never been here before ei— you wanted to ask me out?”

They stopped, collective words sinking into respective minds.

Charles threw his head back, laughing. “If I didn’t know better—“ He tapped his temple again. “— I’d think you’re having me on.”

His laughter was infectious and Erik found he was smiling despite himself. He gave his own little shrug. “I don’t lie.”

“No, you don’t, do you? I can’t believe we both—”

“Me either.”

“This is too much. Wait… Why are we still here?”

“I’m sorry?”

Charles leaned forward and plucked Erik’s latte with oat mylk from his hand. “Can I buy you a coffee? A real coffee? Where they know how to spell the word milk? At the cafe I actually frequented before I began co-starring with you in a romcom so terrible my sister wouldn’t even watch it?”

He was already standing up, as if assured Erik would say yes, which every single bone in his body was blaring loudly for him to do. It didn’t seem to matter to any part of him that he would be blowing off work, a thought he discarded as quickly as it appeared. Just another out of character thing to add to the list. He followed. “I’m Erik, by the way.”

Charles looked back, as he collected his belongings, and grinned sheepishly. “I know.”

That was the last time Erik set foot in Plant until exactly a year later. He ordered latte #27 with Blue-Eyed Charles on his arm, after having crossed the street from their apartment, to celebrate their first anniversary. As Charles smiled at him over his Earl Gray with mylk, Erik found he couldn’t quite hate the damned coffee shop as much as he had before.

[miceenscene]

'tis the damn season

frankie/reader | childhood friends to lovers | pre-canon

wc: 1.8k/2.5k

summary: At one point in your lives, you knew Frankie better than anyone else on earth. When did that change?

warnings: none

an: don't let anyone tell you that second person doesn't work from another character's perspective, least of all yourself while editing

Masterpost | ao3

Chapter 2: Who am I Related to?

December 8, 2012 18:57

Hudson’s was a shitty bar just up highway 210 outside of Fort Bragg, the nearest watering hole to the base as the crow flies.

As a result, it served pretty damn near exclusively military personnel. When it changed ownership about four years back, the new management decided to reflect that and so the place looked like the Fourth of July and Top Gun had thrown up on it. Never mind that Fort Bragg was an Army base. Still, they had cheap booze and greasy food that was far better than the commissary, so it was always busy.

Pope had texted the usual suspects a few hours ago that he was heading to Hudson’s that evening, making Frankie immediately ditch his plans of drinking alone for drinking with Pope and whoever else showed up. Most likely just Benny and Ironhead now that Redfly had semi-retired down to Florida. It was a short drive to the bar from the dorms on base, but it was enough to make Frankie groan and press hands to his lower back as he got out of his car and made his way inside.

Pope was sitting at the bar and didn’t look up from texting on his phone as Frankie gingerly eased into the stool next to him.

“Hey, Fish,” Pope said, rereading the email.

“Hey.” At the bartender’s attention, Frankie pointed to Pope’s beer before daring a slight back stretch.

Pope sent his email and then looked over. “You alright?”

“Yeah, just finished PT.”

He chuckled once. “Back still fucked?”

“More tired than fucked anymore,” Frankie managed, shaking his head and wincing. The bartender delivered his beer, and Frankie took a swig. “When did we get old?”

“¿De qué estás hablando ‘nosotros’, viejo?”

Frankie jabbed an elbow and grinned slightly down at his next swig. “Culero.”

“Hey, before everyone gets here–” Pope looked at him, an oddly serious expression on his face for their usual bar. “I found out today you haven’t re-enlisted yet.”

Frankie immediately dropped his gaze to the suddenly very interesting glass in his hand. “Ah, no. No, I haven’t.”

“I’m trying to pull strings to get Benny into our unit full-time. I think he’d fit well with the team. Then Simmons tells me you haven’t signed your new papers yet. So what’s up?”

Frankie glanced over to see Pope still focused on him. “Nothing, nothing. I… I’m still thinking about it.”

He chuckled. “What’s there to think about?”

“We all want out someday, right? If we’re lucky enough to choose when we leave.”

“Yeah, but there’s thinking and thinking.” Pope smacked his shoulder. “What – are you gonna become a real estate agent like Redfly?”

No. Definitely not. Even just the idea of shilling condos was enough to make Frankie’s eyes glaze over. But still–

“Real estate agents make more money than we do.”

Pope made a considering face for a moment then brushed it off. “Yeah, but you’d miss it. You’re like me. We like the rush.”

Frankie nodded slightly. This is why he was still just thinking about it. It wasn’t a small thing to walk away from fourteen years with the Army. Especially since everyone knew the retirement benefits were absolute shit until you hit twenty. But he could already tell, he didn’t have another six years in him. He wasn’t even sure he had another deployment.

“You know the deadline’s New Year’s, right?” Pope said, cutting through his thoughts.

“Yeah, I know. I have some leave I have to take before the year’s out anyway.”

Pope nodded. “Good. Clear your head, get some perspective. See how fucking boring civvy life is, and then come back Jan 2 and join my team.”

Frankie smiled wryly; Pope always could make anything sound easy. “Something like that.”

“You have holiday plans then?” he asked, leaning an elbow on the bar.

Frankie sucked in breath. “I guess I’ll go back to my parents’. My mom’s been wanting me to visit for a while now.”

“How long’s it been?”

“I saw them in DC last summer, but I haven’t been back home… since I joined Delta.”

“Remind me where they’re at.”

“Up north. Little town in the middle of nowhere. Still in the same house I grew up in.” He could picture the wreath on the door, the twinkling lights his dad always strung across the front fence every December. A matching set used to be hung on the fence exactly opposite across the street. Who lived there now, he wondered. Would they put the tree in the front window too?

“Soldier coming home for Christmas. Sounds like a Hallmark movie.”

“Fuck you,” Frankie replied as the others finally arrived.

--

Frankie got his answer as he ducked out the front door of his parent’s house about a week later. His breath immediately fogged as he sucked in a few calming breaths of night air, the pressure in his head slowly levelling. Out in the still darkness, the noise level coming from the living room was finally manageable. Inside, with all of his cousins and his aunts and uncles and the music and everyone talking over each other and the heater set far too high for the number of people inside– he… he just needed a break.

Seven hours was a decent stint for his first day. He’d be around longer tomorrow. Wading in. That was the key. Because he was now the kind of person that had to treat time with his family like running a marathon. Apparently.

He walked down to the twinkling front fence, making a mental note to shovel the front walk tomorrow, and stopped. The house across the street – your house, as it would forever be in his mind – was completely dark. A small sign posted in the front yard announced some sort of home refurbishment company was going to be arriving soon. No doubt they would come in, strip away wallpaper and old tile and heart to paint it all beige and granite for the quick resell.

He hadn’t had the heart to ask his mother yet how long the house hadn’t belonged to your family. No need for another reminder of how much time had passed, how much he’d missed. He had more than enough already.

The front door opened behind him, casting a temporary warm glow across the dark snow, and his dad stepped out, pipe in hand. He meandered down the front steps to join Frankie at the gate, puffing a few times before speaking.

He shook his head. “It’d break his heart to see it so empty, but I understand why she sold,” he said, looking at the forlorn house with him.

“How long ago?” Frankie asked.

“Few months. Not too long after the funeral.” Dad looked his way for a moment. “I’ll give it ten minutes before I tell your mother you left.”

“I… thanks,” he replied weakly.

“Will you be back tomorrow?”

“Yeah, yeah. I’ll be back.”

Dad nodded slowly, leaving just the pipe smoke wafting between them for a minute. “Take it slow, no need to rush.”

“Thanks.” He stepped through the gate, fishing in his pocket for his car keys.

“Francisco,” he said, making Frankie stop and look at him. “We’re glad you’re back.”

Frankie just nodded and went to his car. Even though he couldn’t bear another minute in the noisy press of his loved ones, the idea of going back to his lonely hotel room was truly abysmal. So after some finagling with the ignition, he started the engine and headed to the one bar he’d ever been to in his hometown.

--

There were Christmas lights in the window and a dancing Santa on the bar as Frankie walked in. Some sort of forcibly cheery holiday classic played over the speakers tucked between quirky memorabilia that hung over every square inch of wall space. And even though public smoking had been outlawed by the state well over a decade ago, cigarette stench had sunk into the very foundation of the place.

It was nothing like Frankie remembered. But it would do.

Eyes automatically sweeping across the moderately busy room for a Thursday night, he headed for a stool at the far end of the bar, ordering a beer when the bartender came by. It was just one step up from swill, but comfortably numbing in its mediocrity. He looked across the room again, checking for familiar faces this time and finding none. No surprise there. A decade was a long time, and really he hadn’t been around too much for the years before that too.

There were couples on dates here, friend groups, some sort of girls’ night happening in the corner, a few loners like him hovering at the bar. Most everyone was smiling, talking, laughing so hard their whole bodies shook. A whole world of Normal. And Frankie was a tourist.

Pope was right. He couldn’t go back to this. He couldn’t make it through one whole day with blood relatives anymore. What was he thinking? That he could just settle into a normal life like the last decade of his work was nothing? Get a 9-to-5 and a mortgage and a girl – not that he’d ever had too much luck in that department. Especially when there was one girl that eclipsed all others, and he didn’t even know her phone number any more.

The door opened, making the Santa on the bar dance, and every thought in Frankie’s head immediately stopped. His eyes drew wide as he stared, jaw barely restrained from slapping against his chest. Was it really – course it was, there wasn’t anyone else it could be. A whole century could pass, and he’d still know that face.

It was you.

Live, in the flesh you. Cheeks pinked from the wind, haloed by the street lights outside, wrapped in a truly astonishing number of woolen layers. Not a half-remembered fantasy, but Real and breathing and even more beautiful than his memory had claimed.

He watched you shake a few flurries out of your hair and stomp the excess snow off your boots, shutting the door behind you as you waved to the bartender. Your gaze swung across the bar, completely skimming past him, and landed on the girls’ night in the corner. You smiled. He stared.

You began to head over to the people you were obviously here to meet. On nothing but pure instinct, he immediately got out of his stool and followed you. Falling into step behind you, he stretched a hand forward to hook a few fingers inside your elbow.

You looked back at him, and for a heart-breaking breath there was no recognition in your eyes.

Till he gave you a half-smile and said, “Hey Bo.”

You blinked, mouth dropping open. “Frankie?” you asked.

He nodded.

Your astonishment ballooned so wide it froze your whole face solid for a moment. Then you laughed, out of far more shock than amusement, and gave him a smile all his own. “Oh my god!! You’re here!”

You immediately wrapped him in a hug. And though it took him a moment to return it, for the first time in ten whole years, he was home.

Chapter 3: Not my Homeland Anymore

taglist: @kelenloth ; @darnitdraco ; @gracie7209 ; @616wilsons ; @icanbeyourjedi ; @astroboots ;

[ofendlesswonder]

ah so exciting! would love number 25

25. “I need a place to stay.”

A shadow falls over Kara’s desk, and she pauses her proofread of her latest article to glance up at the person hovering by her shoulder, jaw dropping open when she gets a glimpse of messy blond curls.

“Carter?” It’s been months since she’d thought of him, longer still since she’d seen him, but the face is unmistakable, his bottom lip caught between his teeth. “What are you doing here? Is your Mom here?”

She hasn’t seen Cat in months, either, not since she left to ‘dive’ into pastures new. No one has seen her recently, in fact—she’s effectively disappeared off the face of the earth, is only mentioned in gossip columns when they’re speculating her whereabouts.

Not that Kara has a Google alert set up for her name, or anything.

“No, she’s in Washington.”

“D.C.?” What on earth is she doing there? And what on earth is Carter doing here, backpack slung over his shoulder, eyes red-rimmed and cheeks blotchy like he’d been crying.

“Yeah. She took a new job there.”

Kara feels like he’s reading from a script she isn’t privy too, has no idea how any of this has led him to be here, standing by her new desk and scuffing his converse along the floor. “Okay…”

“But I don’t want to live there. I didn’t want to leave here, but she said it would be temporary. That we’d come back. Only now she wants to work in the stupid White House and she’s looking at apartments and a new school and I—I don’t want it. We had a fight.” He sniffs, rubs the back of his sleeve across his cheek like he’s scrubbing away the remnant of his tears. “And I said I wanted to come back. Live with Dad, if that’s what it took.”

Kara can only imagine how Cat would have taken that.

Not well, by any means.

“She sent me back, only I don’t want to live with my Dad, I want to live with her, but here in our old apartment. He wouldn’t even meet me at the airport. He said I was old enough to get a cab.”

Kara’s jaw tightens—she knows Chris is an asshole, but this seems like a new low, even for him.

“So, I got a cab, but not to him.”

“You came here, instead.” Here, to some semblance of stability, of familiarity. The apartment is gone—Kara had helped Cat list it for sale, and it had been snapped up in no time, and she wonders if Cat had ever really considered a move back to National City. The apartment is gone, but CatCo. is not, and Kara remembers countless afternoons where Carter had come by after school, curling up in Cat’s office with his homework. Sometimes, Kara had helped him with a particularly stubborn math problem, or talked to him about his favorite anime, keeping him entertained until his mother was off the clock.

“I need a place to stay,” he says, voice small, eyes glued to his shoes. “Can I come home with you?”

Yes, she wants to say, without hesitation, recognizing the small, scared child he so desperately tried to hide, the one who felt like he had nowhere else to go. Yes, of course you can—but it’s never that simple, is it?

She has a secret identity to protect, and he’s supposed to be with his father, and Cat might kill her, and—

Wait.

Does Cat know where he is?

“No,” he says, when she asks. “I didn’t tell her. And I turned off my phone, so she wouldn’t track me.”

“Carter.” She can’t help the admonishment, because she knows how much Cat cares about him—she’d do anything for him, and she imagines her pacing up and down a hotel room in the capital, already on the phone to the police. “You should call her.”

He makes a noise of discontent.

“At least let her know you’re safe. She’ll be worrying.”

“Can you call her?”

“I…I don’t know about that. I think it would be better coming from you.”

“Please?” He peers down at her with eyes so like his mother’s that Kara aches.

“All right,” she sighs, and makes the mistake of glancing across the bullpen. Snapper is glaring at her, his face red. Great. Someone else who wants to kill me. Could this day get any better?

“Kara?” Cat answers the phone sounding harried, and Kara recognizes the faint note of panic in her voice. She lets herself bask in the familiarity of it for one long moment—months, since she’d heard Cat’s voice, months, since she’d last felt the comfort of it. Months of missing her, in a way she knows she isn’t allowed to. “This isn’t a great time.”

“Uh, I know.” She looks at Carter, who avoids her gaze. “Something about a missing fourteen year old?”

“How…how do you know that?”

“Because he’s standing right in front of me.”

“Carter’s with you?”

“Uh, yeah.”

“Why?”

“Good question. Should I let him explain it for himself?”

Carter shoots her a sharp look, but Kara forces the phone into his hand anyway, pointedly turning away like she’s not listening as he lifts it to his ear. She stares at the blinking cursor on her computer screen as he talks, trying to summon the will to finish her work.

No such luck.

“Could you…could you keep an eye on him for me?” Cat asks, when Carter gives her back her phone. “I’m going to fly out as soon as I can, but it’ll be a few hours before I can get there. I know it’s an imposition, and he’s supposed to be with Chris, but he said he’d be more comfortable with you.”

Her gaze flickers to Carter, to the hopeful expression on his face, to the pleading note in Cat’s voice, thinks of the opportunity to see her again, even if for just one more day.

“Okay,” she says, and knows it’s the right decision when Carter lurches forward to wrap his arms around her neck. “I’ll watch him.”

“No runaway trains this time,” Cat says into her ear, and Kara laughs, remembering her last ill-fated babysitting attempt, a lifetime ago.

“I’ll try my best.”

 ***

The knock on her door comes at nine thirty, not quite loud enough to wake the sleeping teenager stretched out on her couch.

She pulls open the door, comes face-to-face with the woman she’s been trying so hard not to think about for the past few months, and Kara thinks, as their eyes meet, her heart thudding painfully in her chest, that she’s been fooling herself, because it all comes rushing back the second their eyes meet.

There was only ever one reason why things would have never worked with James, one reason why Kara hasn’t been able to so much as think about dating since they’d ended things, one reason why her life has felt so empty these past few months.

Only one person who could make her heart pound, set butterflies free in her stomach, make her palms—physically impossible though it may be—feel damp.

And that person is the woman standing in front of her now, her eyes as wild as her hair, mussed from the wind, a faint flush on her cheeks and Kara wonders if she’d raced up the stairs in those three inch heels, desperate to set eyes on her beloved son, to see for herself he was safe and well.

“Come on in,” Kara says, standing aside to let her past. It’s the first time Cat has been inside her home, and the gravity of the moment isn’t lost on her.

She’s glad she had the foresight to tidy up a little, while Carter had been in the shower.

If he’d noticed that the amount of cleaning she’d done shouldn’t have been possibly in such a sort frame of time by human hands, he’d had the grace not to mention it.

“I, uh, didn’t want to wake him up,” Kara says, pitching her voice low, when Cat gravitates toward the couch, gazing down at Carter with such open affection she feels like she has to look away. “Seeing as he’s had a hard day.”

She’d tried to distract him as much as possible, enlisting his help with the fun of filing while she’d been at work, and then with food and games once she’d taken him home. He looked like he’d needed it, lost in his head, spiralling over the choices that had been made for him, bits and pieces of his life over the last few months spilling out over the course of the afternoon.

“Thank you for looking after him.”

Kara shrugs. “It wasn’t any trouble.”

“Still. You don’t owe me anything. Not anymore.”

“On the contrary, Ms. Grant. I owe you a lot.” She’d forgotten how hard it was to think, with Cat’s eyes weighing heavy on her face. “My job, for example. I wouldn’t be a junior reporter without you.”

“Nonsense. You got that job on your own merit. Otherwise you wouldn’t be doing so well.”

“You read my articles?”

“Of course.” Cat looks offended she thought otherwise. “Is Snapper still giving you hell?”

“I think he likes to torture me.” Her nose wrinkles, and Cat laughs, some of her worry ebbing away now Carter is within her sights.

He’s still sound asleep, and Cat doesn’t look like she wants to wake him. Bathed in the glow of the lamp on Kara’s coffee table, she’s breath-taking, and Kara looks away before she’s caught staring.

“Do you, um, want a drink or anything?”

“I wouldn’t want to impose any more than we already have.”

Panic seizes her heart at the thought of Cat leaving so soon, because when would she see her again? Would she leave right away, ushering Carter back to the CatCo. jet and across the country before night truly fell? Or would she linger, perhaps let herself remember all the things she loved about this place?

Not that that would include you, you idiot.

“Please,” she says, trying not to listen to the voice in her head. “I…It would be nice to hear what you’ve been up to these last few months.”

For a moment, she doesn’t think it’s enough. Thinks Cat is going to leave anyway, slip away even though Kara only just got her back.

But then she blinks, and her lips curve into the smallest of smiles, and she says: “Very well. What have you got?”

Good question, Kara thinks, because probably not a lot. Whatever Alex and Maggie had left over last game’s night, which turns out to be a bottle of cheap whiskey Cat turns her nose up at. Kara doesn’t blame her—apparently it left a killer hangover.

“I’m trying to cut down on drinking,” Cat says, and her gaze flickers over to the back of the couch. “I’ve been told it’s not very healthy. Apparently it’s bad for my liver.”

A sentiment she’d never once shared before, but Kara bites her tongue. It’s none of her business, the ways in which Cat has changed. None of her business, to wonder if Cat’s been throwing down scotches to try and chase away the memories of the city she’d left behind.

“How about a tea?” Cat suggests, and Kara blinks at her.

There’s a request she’s never made before.

“Regular, peppermint or camomile?”

“Regular is fine.” Kara brews a pot, wonders why she feels so jittery, but she knows the answer. It’s because Cat is here, in her space, after so many months away. Here, in a place thus far untouched by her, and Kara knows when she’s gone she’ll feel the imprint of her, remember the way she’d stood, leaning against her kitchen counter, looking out of place and like she was exactly where she belonged at the same time.

“So,” she says, once she’s handed Cat a steaming mug. “Washington, huh?”

“Carter told you.”

“Only a little. He didn’t say what you were there for.”

“I was offered a job. White House Press Secretary.”

Kara nearly chokes on a sip of her own tea in shock. But then, she thinks, it makes sense. She could see it—Cat, at the front of a room full of reporters, tearing them apart if they dared ask her the wrong thing. She could certainly think of no better person to have fighting your corner than Cat Grant.

“Is that what you want to do? Get into politics?”

“It’s something I’ve considered.”

“That’s not what I asked.”

“My, my,” Cat says, clutching her mug between long fingers and throwing Kara a lazy smile. “Look at you. Am I being interviewed, Ms. Danvers?”

Kara ducks her head, feeling her cheeks warm. “Sorry. Force of habit.”

“It’s all right.” Cat’s voice is gentle, her eyes unguarded when Kara dares to look her way. “To be honest, I don’t know what I want. I thought getting away from here would bring me clarity, inspiration for my next big thing, but…instead I found myself wandering without purpose. Less a shark stuck in a tank and more a tiny goldfish, lost at sea.”

“Then why not come back? It...it’s not the same without you.” Too much, probably. Too close to spilling the truth, maybe, but it’s too late to take the words back now.

“Because my reasons for leaving haven’t changed.”

What reasons, Kara wants to ask, because the ones she’d been given had never made any sense. Cat handing over the reins to her beloved company just didn’t seem like something she’d do, especially without so much as a glance back. What reasons, Kara wants to know, but the line they tread is so thin—she thinks of Cat’s razor-sharp voice saying strictly professional and never wants to feel an ache like that again.

“And what about Carter?”

Cat glances toward the couch again and sighs. “I hadn’t realised he was so reticent until today. I know he struggles with change, but…I thought this would be a good one. He could go to a better school, have more opportunities. I didn’t know he was so attached to this place.”

“Of course he’s attached. It’s his home. It’s all he’s ever known, and you—no offence—are yanking it away from him.”

“I suppose you have a point.” Cat’s lips purse. “When did you get so wise?”

“Learned it from the best,” she says, and Cat’s smile is tight. “Are you…are you going back there tonight?”

“No, I don’t think so. I think Carter and I need to have a discussion, first. One where I listen to him instead of making the decision for him. I just…I thought I was doing the best thing for him. For both of us.”

“So you might stay?” She can’t quash the hopeful note in her voice, watches a shadow pass across Cat’s face and wonders what it means.

“I don’t know. I don’t know if I can.” Her fingers tremble, the tiniest amount, as she sets down her empty mug, runs them through her hair.

“Why?” Just do it, she thinks, because when she wakes up tomorrow, Cat might be gone, and there are too many unanswered questions for her to be left with. “What’s so bad about being here? What are you so desperate to get away from?”

“Oh, Kara.” Cat’s eyes close, a sigh rattling through her chest. “You wouldn’t understand.”

“Then help me to.” She knows she’s being obstinate. That there’s a reason Cat doesn’t want to tell her, that she has no right to know.

But she remembers Cat saying goodbye, Cat’s arms wrapped around her, heart beating so loud it was impossible for Kara not to notice, the shimmer of tears in her eyes before she’d blinked them away. Remembers the countless times Kara had reached out, over the past few months, only to be ignored, like she meant nothing when she knew she’d meant at least something.

“Please, Cat. I just want—”

She’s cut off when Cat surges forward, settling one hand on the counter beside Kara’s hip and wrapping the other around the back of Kara’s neck, drawing her down into a kiss. Kara freezes, brain short-circuiting as Cat’s lip brush against her own, soft and warm, but when she feels Cat begin to pull away, her bravado failing, she snaps into action, discarding her mug on the counter and splaying a hand at the small of Cat’s back to keep her close.

It’s been building for years, she thinks, as Cat parts her lips for Kara’s searching tongue, nails digging into the base of her skull. Years of working closely together, a spark igniting but neither of them willing to give it space to grow, too terrified of what might happen, if it grew into a fire they could no longer control.

“That’s why,” Cat breathes, when she pulls away, heart hammering almost as fast as Kara’s.

“Seems like a pretty good reason to stay to me,” Kara says, leaning in to kiss her again, but Cat stops her with a shake of her head.

“It’s not. Kara, you shouldn’t want this. Shouldn’t want me.”

“I know,” she says, and when Cat flinches, she doesn’t let her pull away. “I know there are a dozen reasons why I shouldn’t, why we shouldn’t be together, but I also…don’t really care. I’ve spent the past few months missing you like crazy, and it hasn’t diminished the way I feel about you. Doesn’t that mean something? Doesn’t that mean it’s worth trying?”

“I…” Cat trails off, meets her gaze and traces the pads of her fingers across Kara’s cheek, looks at her like she barely believes she’s real. “I don’t know. I don’t know how to.”

“You start by letting me in. By not running away when—” She hears movement on the couch, hopes to Rao Carter hasn’t heard any of their hushed conversation. “Carter’s waking up.”

Cat is quick to slip from her arms, and Kara feels the loss of her like a physical ache, chilled to the bone in the places she’d just been burning with warmth. “I don’t want this to be the end of it,” she says, knowing Carter’s not yet fully conscious, knowing they have a few more stolen moments. “I don’t want you to go to your hotel room and talk yourself out of it.”

“Kara Danvers, are you asking me to spend the night?”

“No, because I know you’d turn me down.” She can sense it, in the nervous energy radiating from her. Cat isn’t a person who lays her heart on the line, is someone guarded and careful, isn’t reckless the way she had been tonight. She needed time to process, time to think it through, and Kara would give her that—as long as she wasn’t going to slip away without saying goodbye. “But we should talk. Tomorrow.”

“Before five.”

Kara frowns. “Why five?”

“Because that’s how long the Press Secretary job is on the table for.”

“You haven’t accepted it?”

“Not yet,” she says, and Kara feels hope bloom in her chest. “I told them I had some things I need to consider first.”

“And now?”

“Now I have even more things to think about.” She reaches out, catches Kara’s fingers with her own and squeezes, and Kara’s heart thuds in her chest. She wants to lean down, wants to kiss her again, already misses the heat of her mouth, but a head pops over the back of the couch, Carter rubbing at his eyes.

“Hi, Mom.”

“Don’t you ‘Hi Mom’ me,” Cat says, eyes narrowing until Carter gulps. “Do you have any idea how worried I was, young man?"

“I’m sorry,” he says, his head hanging. “But I wanted to stop you doing something stupid, and this was the only way I know how.”

And thank Rao he had. Her day would have shaken out very differently had Carter not arrived in the bullpen, she knows. She’d have finished her article and gone to hang out with Alex and Maggie, probably, tried to ignore the ache seeing the two of them so happy seems to incite, lately, craving something similar for herself.

“Hm. Well, we’ll talk about it later. For now, I think we’ve taken up enough of Kara’s time, don’t you?”

Not enough of it, Kara thinks, but she bites her tongue. Space. Time to process. Not snuggling up together on the couch with a movie.

“Thanks for today, Kara.” Carter looks only a little sheepish as he gathers his things, slinging his backpack over his shoulder.

“Any time, buddy,” she says, meaning it more than he’ll probably ever know. The urge to kiss Cat goodbye is so strong she can barely stand it, and she balls her hands into fists at her sides so she doesn’t reach for her. “I’ll, uh, see you tomorrow?” She asks, before Cat slips through the door, dizzy with the feeling of being on the cusp of something she’s wanted for so long.

“Tomorrow,” Cat agrees, looking like it pains her to say it, looking like she doesn’t know how she’s possibly going to muster the will to leave, green eyes so heavy on Kara’s face it feels like a caress, feels like the ghost of her kiss, makes her feel like she’s burning from the inside out. “Goodnight, Kara.”

Goodnight, and not goodbye, and Kara hovers in the doorway, watches them go down the hall.

“You are in big trouble,” she hears Cat say as they turn the corner, slipping out of sight. “What were you thinking?”

And she shouldn’t listen, she knows, but she catches her name, as they start down the stairs, and can’t help but tune in to a snippet of conversation.

“I was thinking I missed home, and that I was sick of you moping after Kara for the past eight months, and it was time someone did something about it,” Carter says, then: “Ow!” as Cat must smack him over the head.

“Don’t ever pull a stunt like that again.”

“But did it work?”

“None of your business.”

“It totally worked.”

Kara shakes her head, unable to bite back a smile as she steps back inside and lets the door shut behind her.