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notquitecanon · 8 months

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Call Me... // Matt Murdock x Reader

Summary: You're the Devil of Hell's Kitchen's favorite late night nurse, but he's been avoiding your fire escape since an unfortunate accident. You both miss each other just enough for some emotions to slip through the cracks. You don't even know his name, but you'll settle just to know he's alright.

TW: blood, canon typical injuries, kind of hurt comfort, Matt's a self sabotaging martyr as usual, kinda sunshine!reader??? maybe if you squint

Bolded line is from a prompts list from several months ago so I lost the link. If it's yours let me know and I'll link it!

"I haven’t seen you in weeks… I’m worried you’re in another dumpster somewhere. Just call me back…please?" You whispered harshly into the phone’s receiver, burner cell jammed between your ear and shoulder as you fumbled with your keys.

It was true. The Devil of Hell’s Kitchen hadn’t graced your apartment in weeks after three months of near nightly visits. At first it was serious stuff, stab wounds and splinted bones. It took two weeks for him to crack a joke. But once that stone cold exterior cracked, it was shattered. He was kind, sweet even. Every few visits, he’d bring by supplies to replenish your kit and, usually, with a bottle of wine in the bag. Emergencies turned to what he called ‘urgencies’- wounds just barely deep enough to justify stitches and dislocated joints. Which then turned into stopping by at the end of his nights for a ‘check up’, where he took advantage of your central heating, warm beverages, and warmer presence. Then, some Yakuza jackass appeared on your doorstep three weeks ago, fortunately your devil hadn’t been far behind. He took care of him, and you figured the thug, now minus fifteen teeth, would have a hard time telling anyone where to find you. Nevertheless, you found the ‘available apartments’ section of the newspaper taped to your seventh floor window. That had been the last night ’the devil’ had paid you a visit.

"Anyways… I guess I'm asking for a sign of life? Something? Please? Bye." You pleaded, voice kinder this time as you managed to finally unlock the door and slip inside. Locking the knob, deadbolt, chain, and newly installed jam that had been mysteriously delivered not too long ago. With a huff, you discarded your keys, and bag in the entry way before delving deeper into your dark apartment, flicking lights on as you went.

"You really need to start locking your windows." A deep voice sounded as you rounded the corned into your living room. Heart jumping to your throat and stomach dropping, you let out a yelp as instinct took over. The familiarity of the voice didn’t register as adrenaline flooded your system.

"SHIT!" You shrieked, flinching backwards so fast that the hallway runner rug caught under your feet, sending you careening into the wall. Without thinking, you put the Yankee’s starting pitcher to shame as you pitched your phone at light speed towards the voice. Of course, the shadow effortlessly caught it.

"Shit!" The intruder mirrored at your fall, and it was then that you realized who it was. As you collected yourself a slew of curses slipped out, looking into the dim living room to find the Devil of Hell’s kitchen slowly rising off the couch, he was already sans black shirt and mask, "I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to scare you."

"Yeah, well, mission failed." You muttered, pressing a hand to your chest as if that would still your pounding heart. Slowly, you finished your shuffled into the living room, flicking on the overheads as you went. "Shit, you could have called. Sit back down."

You could have used the heads up, the gash across his chest looked serious, and not in the cute excuse to see each other way ’serious’ had meant last month. He breathed a sarcastic laugh, tossing your phone back to you before producing a shattered burner cell with a… bullet hole?

"You have a funny way of saving my skin when I least expect it." He tried a cheeky smile. You rolled your eyes, picking up your pace as you retrieved your first aid kit from under your kitchen sink, "Consider this a sign of life?"

"A sign of barely alive, more like." You answered, rounding back around the couch to sit across from him. Harshly pulling on a pair of rubber gloves and splaying out an array of supplies both his lap and yours. "You’re unbelievable. Almost a month of no contact and then you just appear and leak blood on my couch."

"I’m sorry." He breathed, face angled to where your knees now touched. You rolled your eyes, ripping into a packet of gauze and setting to work dabbing the blood. And he sounded sorry, pitiful even, looked it to. His unseeing eyes stared straight past you and yet somehow straight through you at the same time, mouth settled in a puppy like frown. He told you once that he was catholic, and you now wandered if that’s why he was so good at looking guilty.

"If it wasn’t for the newspapers, I would have thought you were dead." You drove your point home, with a small voice, too angry to be a whisper and yet too concerned to be a hiss. The evidence of his activities was written across his bare torso in older cuts, new and fading bruises, and a couple of bandages that he’d obviously applied himself, "And you’ve obviously been busy."

"Figured out how the Yakuza found you. Handled it. Didn’t want to lead anyone else back here." His explanation was strained, pushed through gritted teeth as you applied antiseptic to the largest, freshest gash. You cooed small apologies, irritated as you were with the vigilante, you hated being the source of his pain. You picked up a suture kit, quickly threading the needle.

"Well, as far as excuses go, that’s not the worst." You muttered, half joking and half touched he’d go through this for you. You’d known he was a walking martyr from the moment you’d met him, but still. He’d taken the beatings so you’d sleep safe.

That was something else, "Lean back, gotta stitch you up."

He complied as you stood, using your shoulder to nudge the floor lamp so the light was better for you. Even then, you position on the coffee table wasn't cutting it as leaning forward cast a shadow over his chest. Neither was kneeling in front of him, as the gash was too far up his chest for your position to be adequate. You muttered a quick apology as you flitted around him, trying to find the best place to plant yourself. Beside him on the couch might work, but you’d be straining to hold yourself up at that angle and keep your hands steady.

Bloody-knuckled hands found your waist with amazing precision for a blind man, easily lifting you and placing you over one thigh after he spread his legs a bit wider. He held you steady, angling his eyes to the ceiling to give you the broadest view of his chest. One of your knees pressed into the couch cushion between his legs and the other pressed into the outside of his thigh, caging the his black-clad thigh between your own like a seat. If your weight bothered him, he gave no indication. He did however turn his ear ever so slightly towards you and smirk ever so devilishly, "How’s that?"

"Very convenient, thanks." You forced your voice to be flat instead of the breathlessness you felt. Stupid charming vigilante. To his credit, it gave you the perfect access without blocking the light. And if you got to feel ever twitch of his insanely muscular thigh between yours? Added benefit. The devil, even bruised and bleeding, was insanely warm and smelled like something out of a terribly sinful romance novel. The manly small of musk and sweat should have been revolting, but the way it mixed with a fading aftershave would have been distracting if you weren’t so focused on the drip of crimson down his toned abdomen. Before your train of thought could derail again, you gave a quiet warning watching your patient steel himself before you began running the needle and thread through the torn skin. Other than an initial hiss and the clenching of his fists against your waist, he went silent as you worked.

The two of you sat in an almost tense silence. He could feel how close your face was to his chest, the waves of breaths washing over his skin, the smell of shampoo in your hair faint enough to know you’d put off washing it, the sound of your heartbeat slowing back down after he’d gotten you excited, the slight sound of your teeth worrying the inside of your lip. He knew he shouldn't be here, Claire could have patched him up, probably would have if he asked really nicely. He probably could have if he really tried, but he’d just missed you. Between Fisk and the Hand and the law firm… everything was messy. You were still simple and sweet and far more caring than he thought he deserved, a balm just to be near you.

"Could you talk to me?" He asked, so quietly you almost missed it in your focus. You tied off another knot, seeing him wince.

"Hmm?" You hummed, pausing to look up from the half stitched wound. His eyes lowered to your face, his clenched hands at your waist loosening to rub the fabric of your shirt between his fingers. You always wore such soft things, he wondered if you’d be so soft underneath. You took opportunity in the pause to wipe some of the blood from his skin.

"I’ve missed your voice, even if you want to yell at me or be upset with me, just let me hear it." His voice was like a prayer, so sincere it made you shift on his leg. What was in the holy water at his church?

"I’m not going to yell at you, honey. I’m not going to kick a man when he’s stabbed." You shook your head, rearranging yourself to get that optimal view again, grazing a gloved finger over a purple bruise on his ribs, "Besides, someone beat me to it."

He chuckled at the lame joke, leaning his head back against the back of the couch again as you began stitching once more. Instead of scolding him, you caught him up on all the details and minor drama that he’d missed over the last few weeks. The funny things and annoyances from work, things your family had sent you, what your friends had been up to, your opinion on current happenings in the city. He listened to you like it was the most interesting thing he’d heard all year, chiming in with questions and quips of his own. You’d missed his voice too, not that you’d boost his ego by telling him that.

"There." You finally finished, tying the last stitch and taping a bandage over it. The vigilante under you didn’t make a move to leave, instead his hands kept you still on his lap. You breathed a laugh, moving on to everything else. You removed the old bandages, giving half healed wounds a thorough cleaning. You applied comical Disney bandaids to the more minor cuts on his hands and were even brazen enough to kiss his split knuckles. The vigilante seemed to preen under you attention as you cleaned and applied Vaseline to his busted lip. As if it was too good to be true, his lip twitched downwards as his eye brows furrowed. His face angled away from yours, his unseeing eyes falling on the window he’d come through.

"You know, the burner phone's been broken for two weeks now. Took the bullet not too long after the yakuza paid you a visit. Couldn't bring myself to throw it away, a little piece of you." He admitted, a pitiful smile twitched up before pulling downward again. He groaned, starting to shift you off his lap, “I shouldn’t be here, it’s not right.”

You allowed yourself to fall to the cushion beside him, but snatched the black shirt away from him before he could make a move for it. He’d been too busy letting his hands linger on your waist.

“Why not?” You asked sternly, tucking the shirt behind your back as if the vigilante in front of you couldn't probably drop you six ways to Tuesday if he wanted to. Not that he could ever consider raising a hand to you, “You got hurt, I patch you up. Seems right to me.”

The devil tensed, first leaning away and then leaning really close. His freshly bandaged fingers tapped your knee as if to emphasize his point, “I don’t deserve this kindness. And even if I did, if I could, if I was good, I would stop coming here so you could live in peace.”

You were a silent for a moment, wanting to make sure your response was exactly how you wanted it to come across.

“The third time you fell through my window, you told me that if I ever wanted to be left alone, all I’d need to do was change the candle I keep by the window.” You recounted his words. You hadn’t known about his senses at the time, he was still cryptic and mysterious. But you’d never changed the candle, buying new ones of the same scent when it would burn out, “You warned me what might happen. You gave me an out, one that I continuously chose to ignore. You did everything in your power to protect me when that choice had consequences. That was good, because you are good. And good people deserve kindness. You put too much on yourself, honey.”

As you spoke, you laid your hand over his on your knee, giving it a slight squeeze to convey your own point. The crimefighter listened to your voice, your heartbeat, the quickness of your breath, finding no deceit and even if he didn’t believe you words, it was nice to hear them. Your kindness washed over him, letting him relax for just a second before he shook his head, laughing sarcastically to deflect the dangerously sappy emotions you stirred. You called him honey like it was his name, and part of him wondered that if you knew his name if you would still call him honey.

“You barely know me, sweetheart.”

His own nickname slipped out by accident, usually just something he called you in his head when he allowed fantasies about telling you everything, coming home to you as the vigilante and the lawyer, seeing just how far your good grace could take him. His lips quirked up in time with the uptick of your pulse and the way your breath caught for a moment.

“I know enough to know you deserve some good.” You whispered earnestly, reaching up to graze the Star Wars bandaid you’d stuck across his the cut on his cheekbone. Almost instinctively, he leaned into the touch. You smiled softly, maybe you’d both missed each other a bit. The combined concern for the other and the time between his last visit making you both a little sappy, or at least more honest about it, So, you breathed a laugh, making another lame joke just to earn one of those chuckles you loved so much, “Besides, I know you well enough to have your blood on my hands.”

But he didn’t laugh, instead, he pulled his face from your palm, his own bandaged hands taking your bloodied gloved hands in his own. Gently, he pressed your hands together, your loose fists creating almost heart like shape as he pressed reverent kisses to each bloody hand. The vigilante was kind always, flirty and joking, occasionally flirtations bordering on something else. But this? This was different, it was new. Intimate. You’d almost feel like a voyeur for watching the scene if it you weren’t playing a starring role. Your mind flashed to those romance novels you’d thought of earlier, this put all of them to shame. So much so that your hands started trembling against his lips.

He held them tighter, but not in a constrictive, cage like way. More in a ‘let me hold you together’ kind of way before gently peeling the dirty gloves off and, again, kissing your clean hands underneath. His face angled to yours, nothing but sincerity lacing his features.

"You know my blood better than my own heart does.”

“God…” You whispered, letting your head fall against his shoulder, your nose nudging his collarbone and your eye lashes fluttering against his neck. His stubbled cheek fell to the crown of your head. You cleared your throat again, "I know your blood, but not your name. For someone I care so much about, that’s kind of sad.”

It was the first time you’d ever admitted it out loud in such certain words. The vigilante ran gentle hands up and down your arms, silent as a million thoughts went through his head. You heart was racing, not from lying, but in anticipation. Despite your racing pulse, you seemed almost totally at ease with you skin against his, one of your hands pressed to a bandage on his ribs and the other holding purchase at the waistline of his black pants. Nothing sexual, just the perfect place for your soft hand to land.

Despite the million thoughts, he really had two options. Keep his secret, and keep you at an arms length, to keep things sweet and simple and not too deep. Or. Let you in a little deeper, he'd swim oceans to keep you afloat. Enjoy your sweetness, even if things were complicated. He kept still, holding you as gently as you had touched him, a promise to himself that he could be gentle and soft, just as he could be lethal and ruthless. Two sides of a balanced scale.

Your heart had slowed down again, the soothing motion of his hands on your arm lulling you. You had been worried about his response. You’re confession had gotten too real, you were worried he’d jump out the window and disappear again. And you’d be left with nothing but bloody gloves and the thought that maybe you’d just imagined the Devil of Hell’s Kitchen.

"Matt.” His voice was quiet, just barely above a whisper, “You can call me Matt. Just don’t stop calling me."

#matt murdock x reader #Daredevil x reader #matt murdock x you #daredevil x you #daredevil x female reader #matt murdock x y/n

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punkshort · 2 months

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Come Fly With Me

Thank you anon for this request!

I'm double dipping and using this as an entry into my own AU August Writing Challenge ❤️

Pairing: pilot!joel miller x flight attendant!reader one-shot

Summary: You and Joel have a little fun in the cockpit.

Warnings: language, smut (18+ MDNI), competency kink, public sex (kind of?), unprotected piv sex, reference to blow job, light spanking

WC: 2.5K

Ladies and gentlemen, this is your Captain speaking. Welcome on board flight 1092, flyin' from Orlando to Austin. Our flight time today is 2 hours and 40 minutes, but I know a few shortcuts, I'll get us there a little quicker.

You smiled to yourself when you heard the familiar ripple of laughter cut through the plane.

On a personal note, this flight is particularly special for me. My wife is on board today, so if you see her, please don't listen if she tells you 'bout my drivin'.

Captain Miller just got married a few days ago and it was still strange to see the gold band around his finger. It seemed he was struggling with it, too, because you caught him fiddling with it every time you glanced inside the cockpit.

You listened from the galley, doing your checks and making sure everything was locked and secured as Joel announced the temperature, how to operate the systems installed in the seats, and how to call an attendant for help. It was a speech you heard a thousand times.

Finally, he wrapped things up with on behalf of myself and the crew, thank you for choosing us as your airline today. Have a wonderful flight.

You stood at your post with a smile plastered across your face as you watched Marissa and Brian explain to bored looking faces how to engage the floatation device and oxygen masks hidden around each passenger when you felt a tap on your shoulder.

You didn't even turn around. You knew who it was.

"Once we're clear, come and see me, sweetheart."

A thrill of excitement slithered down your spine and you tilted your face to the side so you could whisper, "you're a married man, now. We shouldn't be doing that anymore."

"A ring 'round my finger ain't changin' a goddamn thing here."

And then he was gone.

It took nearly an hour. A full hour where you had to do your first round of service, handing out snacks and drinks to people who mostly ignored you and rarely offered their thanks before you brought your cart back to the galley to clean up.

You heard the door to the cockpit open and Frank, the co-pilot, stepped out and stretched. He saw you and smiled, nodded his head, then asked if he could take ginger ale, like always. And your response was always the same.

"You don't need to ask, Frank."

He grinned and gave you a little salute before he did his rounds. Frank was very personable. He enjoyed meeting new people and hearing their stories. When an extrovert has a job where he meets new people every six hours or so, it's a match made in heaven.

And it's especially good for you and Joel because you both know he won't be back for at least half an hour, probably more.

Glancing around to make sure none of the other flight crew saw you, you tapped lightly on the door then slipped inside.

No matter how many times you saw it, and at that point it had to have been hundreds, the cockpit always left you breathless. When you first step in, you're instantly overwhelmed with lights, buttons, levers and monitors. The control panel was absolutely massive and intimidating. And it was one of the things that attracted you to Joel in the first place.

Watching him operate a plane with such ease, hardly even having to think as he went through the motions turned you on from day one. Part of you always thought he knew it, too. From the moment he saw you, he knew he had you in the palm of his hand.

And you loved every second of it, married or not.

"Captain," you said breathlessly, then grinned when he turned around and slid off his headset. The ache between your legs had been steadily growing for the past hour and you were at the point where if he didn't do something about it within the next five minutes, you would take matters into your own hands. Literally.

"C'mere, darlin'. Why don't you sit on my lap?"

He patted his thighs, clad in dark navy blue, same as your skirt, and you giggled before doing as you were told.

He hummed appreciatively and ran his big hands up and down your legs, which were spread wide and straddling him.

"Pretty little thing," he murmured. You wrapped your arms around the back of his neck and slowly, subtly, began to roll your hips.

"What if someone catches us one day?" you whispered before leaning forward to taste the skin under his jaw.

"Ain't no one gonna catch us," he assured you, dragging his hands up and over your hips to cup your ass and give it a firm squeeze.

You groaned and started to move your hips faster. You could feel his cock stiffening against his leg and you felt yourself clench around nothing. Fuck, you wanted him so badly. Every single time it was like this. Your need for him was never quenched. But still, you enjoyed teasing him from time to time.

"Didn't you just get married a few days ago?"

You felt his hands pause momentarily, leaving your skirt hiked up around your waist but your underwear still on.

"What's your point?"

You smiled and bit gently at his earlobe. "My point is, wasn't your wedding night enough to satisfy you?"

His hands resumed exploring your body and you felt a deep rumble vibrate from his chest.

"You know the answer to that."

And he was right. You did.

The answer was the reason he asked you to come see him in the first place.

Joel slid his fingers past the waistline of your panties, swiping them through your folds with a pained groan.

"Fuck, so wet, baby," he said. Your hips tried to chase his fingers, tried to keep him where you needed him most, but he was too fast.

"You gonna fly this plane and fuck me at the same time, Captain?" you murmured seductively. He smirked and nodded.

With your breath coming in quick little excited pants, you tugged on his zipper while he pulled your panties to the side.

"Need me that bad, huh?" he teased, and normally you might say something smart right back, but on that particular day you wanted him more than usual. Maybe it was the gold band that was catching the sun in just the right way, the thought of him being married now egging you on and making you needier, but whatever it was had the seam between your legs absolutely dripping for his attention.

"Oh!" you cried out, then immediately slapped your palm over your mouth when you first felt him breech your opening. He chuckled and continued to guide your hips down, watching in a trance as you took every inch of him deep within your walls while you whimpered in his ear and tried you best to remain quiet.

"Shh, darlin', I got you," he said softly, his own face pinched as he tried to hold back from slamming up into you. "I got you. Yeah, feel that? Feel how good you take me?"

You nodded because it was true. You could feel your body relaxing and opening for him, happily welcoming him back in.

He gave you a few minutes to adjust. He always did, and you appreciated that. You were always the one who ended up doing most of the work given the small space, so it was the least he could do.

With a sigh, you rested your head on his shoulder and gazed out at the clouds while he gently stroked your back. The view never got old. It felt so surreal every single time, to be staring out at such beauty while stuffed full of his cock. It didn't get much better than that.

He whispered your name, voice sounding strained, and you lifted your head.

"Who's needy now?" you asked with a grin. He bit lightly at your chin and gave one of your ass cheeks a quick slap with his palm, making you jump and giggle before you began to roll your hips over his lap.

Joel's fingers dug into your skin with a sigh, gazing up at you adoringly while you rode him just the way you liked. There was something so fucking hot about him having complete control over the aircraft, hundreds of lives in his hands every single day, but you were the one who had the power over him. You were the one he yearned for, ached for. Since the first day you were assigned to his crew, he couldn't keep his hands to himself. He began to request you specifically be assigned to his flights as much as your schedules would allow, then one day on a particularly long flight you had brought him something to eat without him even asking. You could see the exhaustion in his eyes and you just desperately wanted to take care of him, so you brazenly dropped to your knees and took him inside your mouth while his eyes fluttered closed, the only noises filling the air came from the back of your throat and the tinny voice echoing through his abandoned headset nearby.

The rest was history.

He wondered if getting married might dull his desire for you, but he was foolish to think his feelings could ever change.

"Fuck, baby, that's it," he growled when you picked up the pace and began bouncing in his lap, your tits jostling in your navy blue polo. He feverishly yanked the hem of your shirt up so it bunched up over your breasts and he made a pathetic little noise when he saw the white, lacy bra you had on underneath.

"Look at you, filthy thing," he murmured, squeezing at your covered breasts. "Fuckin' a married man like this. But I bet that just turns you on even more, don't it?"

You moaned and tipped your head back, chin aimed at the ceiling of the cockpit. His lips dragged down your throat, tongue shooting out to taste your skin, careful not to leave a mark. He was convinced at least Frank knew what you were doing in here but he didn't need to give the rest of the crew any reason to gossip.

Air traffic control crackled through the radio, checking in like they usually did when the plane reached a new zone.

"Hang on," he told you, so you gripped his shoulders while he leaned forward to pick up the receiver. His thumb hovered over the button to answer when he gave you a look. "Didn't tell you to stop, did I?"

You grinned and resumed fucking yourself on his cock while he pressed down on the button, dropping his voice to sound more professional when he answered the man on the other end. He confirmed his coordinates, his credentials and his flight pattern with ease, all while you circled your hips and ground yourself down, your clit catching on the coarse hair at the base of his cock. You had to bite back a moan when he was talking, the pleasure mounting low in your belly making it difficult not to make any noise.

Finally, he put the receiver back and you moaned his name, your face buried in the crook of his neck to muffle the sound.

"You fuckin' love this, don't you? Love gettin' fucked in here, love the thrill of it, huh?"

"Yes," you whispered, your eyes squeezing shut as you closed in on your release. "Oh, god, Joel - fuck!" you sobbed when he began to lift his hips from his seat, fucking up into you, matching you thrust for thrust, grunting like an animal in your ear each time your hips made contact.

"Lemme feel you, baby. Wanna feel you shake for me," he said through clenched teeth. You gasped and nodded, mustering every ounce of energy you had left to slam yourself up and down on his thick cock, so desperate to come you didn't care if the door flung open and the whole plane saw what you were doing.

"Tell me how it feels, honey," he said. He must have been close, too. You've done this enough times to know he likes hearing you talk dirty to him right when he's about to come.

"Feels so good," you began, "you always fuck me so good. No one else has - shit - n-no one else has ever... oh, god, Joel," you whined, losing focus when your vision began to blur.

"Don't stop," he begged, his thrusts becoming sloppy. "Keep talkin', baby, please."

"Will you come inside me?" you whispered, your teeth scraping against your lower lip, turning the skin raw. "Wanna feel you inside me the whole flight. Can you do that for me?"

"Yes," he gasped, forehead beaded with sweat, face flushed and jaw slack. "Yes, yes, yes... fuck! C'mon!" he groaned, slapping your ass a little harder than before.

You kept babbling, telling him how big he was, how badly you wanted him, how no one else has ever fucked you as good as he does when your voice caught in your throat and you came around his cock with a strangled moan.

He didn't hold back. He circled his arms around your waist and fucked up into you recklessly, your cunt pulsing around him while your chest heaved and your fingers clawed at his shoulders, trying to ground yourself through your high.

At the last second he pressed his face against the side of your neck, pinning you against his chest. He moaned, his mouth falling open when he came, not caring how loud he might have been. It felt too fucking good to feel himself fill you up, feel his hot spend pooling and dripping down his length while he weakly pressed into you, prolonging his orgasm as best he could before his limbs went weak and he sighed against your chest.

You were cooing in his ear, telling him how good he did, how full you were, fucking thanking him while his shoulders sagged and a shiver ran down his spine.

"Can't get enough of you," he whimpered. You grinned and kissed the top of his head before lifting yourself off his lap. He helped you slide your underwear back in place, the fabric immediately soaking with your combined release while you fixed your polo and stood up.

"Shit, my skirt's gonna be wrinkled," you muttered while he tucked himself away and zipped up his pants.

"Next time we'll just have to take it off," he teased, making you giggle and playfully swat at his shoulder.

"Next time? What would your wife have to say about that, Captain?"

He rolled his eyes and grabbed your left hand, bringing your knuckles to his lips. He silently appraised the two rings nesting on your finger with a pleased smirk before letting you go.

"I don't know, you tell me."

You leaned forward and placed a soft kiss against his lips, lingering for an extra moment before pulling away.

"She'd say she can't wait."

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hometoursandotherstuff · 2 years

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First, I apologize to all renters, but mostly those in New York City. This is the story of a beautiful Bavarian fairytale town, the world’s oldest housing complex, where the rent is still less than a $1 yr. Almost everything is the same as it was when it opened 500 years ago, including the annual rent. Welcome to “the Fuggerei.”

Located in the city of Augsburg, Germany, residents of the Fuggerei pay next to nothing for a lovely home. So, what’s the catch? In exchange for an annual rent of 88 cents, you must be an Augsburg resident for at least 2 years, be struggling to make ends meet, yet be debt-free, and prove your Catholic faith.

Residents are also required to pray 3 times a day and do some part-time volunteer work in the community, such as gardening, to keep the place nice.

The gates to this walled enclave close at 10pm every night, so if you want to step out after a hard day’s praying, no problem- just give the nightguard a small tip, and a swig of whatever you’re drinking.

The rules may seem old fashioned, but that’s because they’re so old.

Compared to the paperwork, credit checks and hoops you have to jump through to get a landlord to accept your earnings in return for a dingy little apt. in some cities, this is a breeze.

So what’s the story behind this 16th century subsidized housing community that lives on its own terms? For some context into it, let’s meet the Fuggers.

Jakob Fugger, aka Jakob the Rich, a banker, opened his purse, to those in need.

The Fugger family was a dynasty of German bankers, nobility and merchants, who controlled much of the European economy in the 16th century and owned land in and around Augsburg.

Devout Catholic Jakob the Rich had a social conscience. He founded and donated the Fuggerei to the city in 1521, on the condition that he would make the rules, and it would stay that way forever. By 1523, 52 houses had been built with a church, squares, fountains and more streets on the way.

The Fugger empire crumbled over the next 150 years, but luckily for Augsburg’s needy, the legacy lives on.

Even after WWII bombings heavily damaged Augsburg and the Fuggerei, it was rebuilt to its original style and even expanded to 67 houses with 147 apartments.

The Fuggerei was a stress-free safe haven for many war widows and struggling tradespeople to set up home and even shop on the grounds.

Today, all houses and apartments are occupied except one, that serves as a museum, reminding visitors of the importance of dignified and affordable social housing.

All profit from the museum goes back into maintaining the community.

The entrance fee is 6.50 €, which is over 7 times the yearly rent, and visitors have their own entry gate, for minimal disruption.

Of course, it has a long waiting list, with enquiries from folks far and wide who want to get in on the free weekly communal breakfasts. You could end up waiting up to 7 years to make it through the gates of this German fairytale town. (Actually, you wait longer here, for some apts.)

Except for a portrait of Jakob Fugger which hangs in all 147 apartments, the homes come unfurnished so residents can put their own stamp on the place.

Each identical apartment has an elaborate doorbell, uniquely shaped so residents could feel their way and identify their door in the dark, before the installation of streetlights. I guess social housing doesn’t have to be a broken system.

https://www.messynessychic.com/2021/02/23/rent-is-still-1-a-year-at-the-worlds-oldest-and-most-beautiful-social-housing-project/

#housing germany #$.88 yr. rent #social housing #long post #subsidized housing

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egelantier · 11 months

Text

rimworld, the addiction

i promised a post about rimworld somewhere an entirety away, and even if i did, by now i was playing it exclusively, a bit every day, for something like half a year, so i think it deserves some kind of an entry in my journal either way.

preface: usually when i describe games here, i put in some kind of a note how this or that game is very casual user friendly (because i am a casual user), and you can play it if you never played stuff, and so on. rimworld is not quite that game. it’s very much a gamer’s game, in a sense that its UI looks like an unholy cross of “hello, world!” programming and an excel spreadsheet, it’s incredibly counterintuitive, it takes from ten to twenty minutes to load on the average (and the loading screen looks like it crashed meantime), and it wants you to suffer. if you play any amount of time, you’re going to inevitably end up with hundred to two hundred mods, and to make the game move with all those mods you’ll have to follow the easily-accessible tutorials with advice like “install this handy Python program” and “Select "BC7 Texconv compressor" on the middle bottom.” and the complexity of the game’s inner system makes its own tutorial - well - it will tell you that you colony needs a freezer for food to outlive the winter, but you will have to intuit by yourself that to make this freezer you’ll have to build a double-walled room of just the right side, put in two air conditioner users set one degree celsius apart from each other to minimize the power load, don’t forget to build double-door airlocks to account for the temperature spikes when the door opens and adjust it by the variety in your biome’s climate. and don’t even get me started on killboxes! this is to say, you’re going to be watching youtube and reading guides. a lot.

(OKAY it’s not THAT bad and you mostly need to be able to know where the mod folder is and how to follow detailed instructions. but by the standards by today’s, increasingly mobile and under-the-hood gaming, it’s practically NASA. even minecraft is more user-friendly in comparison.)

and yet like i said: hordes of rabid fans, literally months of addictive playing, thousands of mods, active scene. why? and what the hell is it? let’s see.

rimworld as a setting is a procedurally generated world in a galaxy far, far away (that takes its setting inspiration from firefly, star wars, a bit of dune, and a general space opera vibe), with diverse climate biomes (from ice sheets to arid deserts, from temperate forests to tropical swamps), inhabited by a variety of friendly and unfriendly flora and fauna and a multitude of friendly and very unfriendly tribes, factions, empire remnants and such. they send each other (and you) raids and trade caravans, and overall just try to survive.

“you" is an unspecified entity (some speculate that you might be an orbital AI, but it doesn’t quite matter) in charge of a group of your “pawns,“ aka colonists - little blobby humanoid representations of either baseline or gene-modified humans that, in a variety of scenarios, find themselves on the unhospitable surface of rimworld either literally butt-naked or with a scant handful of resources, and have to survive and build their way up from a hovel and a campfire to the ultratech spacefaring colony. pawns have their own backstories, traits, needs and health condition; they form relationships, meet their relatives, get together, make up, break up, marry, divorce, make children, mourn their lost people, keep pets, suffer from mental breaks and so on. you can give them direct orders in some occasions, like the battle, but for most of the time you’re going to give them priorities based on their skillset, and watch them do their things on their own, which is alternately fun, touching and infuriating.

your colony’s experience in rimworld is governed by one of the (canonically) three “storytellers,” aka AIs, who’re in charge of sending you various events - enemy raids, wanderers joining in, solar eclipses, manhunting packs of rabid enemies, crop blights, weather anomalies and so on. each storyteller has several levels of intensity, from ‘peaceful’ (it’ll keep weather events and random angry animal attacks, but cut out everything related to hostile pawns, like raiders) to ‘death is inevitable,’ and also has their own style: phoebe just wants you to have a good time, cassandra provides a linear progression of difficulty and alternates ‘bad’ and ‘good’ challenges, and randy just doesn’t give a fuck and WILL get your colony attacked by mechanoids, manhunting yorkshire terriers and pig-human raiders on the same day your favorite melee fighter died and all the electricity cut out, just for the hell of it.

the intended (loosely) gameplay is to randomise your colonists, pick up a storyteller on a medium difficulty, set the game to ‘only save on exit, permadeath’ setting and let your colony tell its own history by surviving as much as it can, mourning its losses and celebrating its wins, and eventually succumbing to the entrophy (or, less likely, achieving one of the win conditions - building a spaceship and getting off the planet, decoding an ancienty mystery to join up with a techmegabrain, hitching a ride with the imperial ship after gladhanding the emperor and his escort in style for a set amount of days, etc.). but the beauty of rimworld is that between the granular difficulty settings and mods you’re able - and welcome - to finetune your experience to the exact specific level of challenge and/or chill you want. don’t care for the fighting at all and just want to build your colony and select the right shade of the carpets? put it on peaceful. don’t mind raiders but fuck those guys who airpod in the middle of your base or breach your walls? the turtle mod is your friend. raiders are fine, but you want to dig your way into the mountain without being afraid of giant insect infestations? turn those assholes off. want to min-max your experience and fight literal horders of enemies every ten minutes? either max out the difficulty or install one of the thousand of mods like combat extended or whatever, that add difficulties and mechanics.

and meanwhile the game - that looks deceptively simple on the outside, build this, harvest this - is stuffed with overcomplicated intersection of various systems creating weird outcomes. it’s a bit minecraft and a bit dwarf fortress and a bit sims and emergent gateways all the way. your little pawns follow the tenets of their ideoligions, get upset over seeing corpses or eating mushrooms, go into berserk rages after eating without a table one too many times, make friends, celebrate the defeat of their rivals and get attached to random squirrels. they can interact with other inhabitants of rimworlds by trading and diplomacy, or indulge in raiding, piracy, enslavement, ritualized murder, forced conversions, cannibalism or non-consensual organ and gene harvesting. a starved pawn on a frozen ice will eat somebody’s body and feel bad about it… unless they come from a society of cannibals, in which case it would be fine and dandy, but they might be upset about eating their human meat in an untidy room, you know? some precepts require the colonists to worship blindness; some of them make people hate the sight of the sun, and some require worshipping every tree and never kill an animal. it’s all, to put it simply, complicated.

and then, of course, mods. the game is created to be as mod-friendly as possible, and so there are literal thousands of them, and they reflect the multifaceted insanity of the world in the most hilarious ways. the most-downloaded mod overall is called wall lights and allows you, well, to put lamps on the wall. the other popular one is called “war crimes,” and you can probably infer its purpose from the title. there are mods that prettify, fully change or customise the chunky UI; mods that clean up or straight up rewrite the graphics; mods that make your little blobby guys look anime and sexy (it’s hilarious); mods that turn rimworld into warhammer 40k, or star wars, or mass effect, or lord of the rim, or a lovecraftian nightmare, or some combination thereof. my favorite of the moment is the collection centered around medieval overhaul, a clever and beautiful bundle that turns the gritty space opera into the fully realized medieval town builder - with smithies and bakeries and castle walls and knight plumages. it takes some time to cobble together a collection that works (and then make sure it all hangs together, and learn to use rimsql, and figure out what the hell defs are and why your log is giving you errors, and change the order of mods a thousand times, and make sure you did not accidentally turn your squirrels into unstoppable death machines while trying to add some prettier capes to your tailor bill), but on practice it means that pretty much every person playing will have their own unique copy of the game, vastly different from what somebody next to them is playing.

like i said above, the intended gameplay is the triumph and misery of playing through as is; but i’m having one of the shittiest years of my entire life, and so almost every day i would load it up and watch the progress of my little medieval towns from one lost person in the wood trying to figure out how to spin flax into thread into little blooming towns, with nothing to distract me. there’s something of bird-watching or flower-pressing to this experience: you set up the conditions and you set up your priorities (or install ‘free will’ and then tear your hair out over your pawns avoiding research and cleaning their floor while winter is looming ahead and they need to figure out how to make parkas) and then you watch how it all unfolds, and you can sprinkle in a bit of a challenge, or you can just watch them grow and mix up and change and misbehave and be silly and transform, and transform, and transform. it more or less saved my sanity. it’s a very specific kind of experience - i built a monastery with a winery and an apothecary’s dark corner in one map, and a small mountain hideaway for a runaway princess in another, and a rough-and-tumble tundra city in third, and so on - and i saw people building unstoppable war machines instead, or trying to survive specific unfair scenarios, or roleplaying, or multiplayering, or minmaxing with spreadsheets and calculators, or all of the above - and god, is it good. is it so goddamn good.

so! whether you want to play it or have ran away screaming by this time, i hope you enjoyed this silly writeup. and if you do want to start playing, don’t hesitate to ask me stuff! or like share my list of mods and so on.

#rimworld #rimworld rec #game rec #games to spend months in #everything is a story

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jedifighterpilot2727 · 1 year

Note

Not me thinking about Kara gently hooking her thumb in Lena’s open mouth, both gasping against each other’s lips as kara makes love to her 😭😭 yeah I’m all in favor of you writing this one first 🥹

I'll be perfectly honest, I can't remember the exact scenario that this ask is referring to, but this visual has been stuck in my head for weeks, so I had to do something with it! This is also in the spirit of some of the more . . . shall we say . . . salacious prompts and headcanons I've received, I hope it lives up to expectation!

FRIENDLY REMINDER that sexy times should always be safe, sane, and consensual! And you should also only have the kind of sex described here with someone you trust and who wouldn't actually hurt you or abuse you. Sex can be like a really vulnerable thing, and Kara and Lena have had plenty of previous discussions about hard and soft limits, and even thought they are VERY angry at one another, neither of them are in any real danger and they both know it. Also, AFTERCARE doesn't take place in the text of the story, but it is EXTREMELY important and does happen with Kara and Lena in this particular setting . . . eventually.

Anyways, I feel like this one needed a disclaimer lol.

Fragile

If the ride up the elevator to the penthouse takes forever, then the biometric scanner at the door somehow takes even longer.

When she built the damn thing, she built it for protection, not for speed, but as she waits on the iris scanner to process through the one million specific data points that make it practically unhackable - even by Lena herself - she finds herself rethinking her priorities.

Because right now she needs nothing more than to be inside her apartment, locked away from the world.

The penthouse was her one solace.

Her one impenetrable place.

Everywhere else had been invaded.

By the media, the DEO, Lex, Cadmus, you name it.

But here, here was safe.

Luckily, Kara will be held up at the DEO debriefing that Lena had run out on for at least another hour or two. By then, Lena will have had time to scrub Kara's biometrics from the apartment entry software and fully lock herself in her apartment.

Her own little fortress of solitude.

She almost laughs at the irony.

She's too angry to laugh, too hurt - too angry at being hurt.

How dare Kara - how dare Supergirl, for that matter- call her out for her 'reckless behavior' in front of Alex and the other DEO agents.

Her plan was well calculated, and she was very aware of the risks she was taking by going through with it.

Besides, she made it out with barely a few bruises.

Only because Kara rescued you. the traitorous part of her brain unhelpfully adds.

The locks on the door finally click open, and she lets herself in, fully re-engaging the security protocol behind her.

Lena is well and truly pissed.

She doesn't remember being this pissed in a long fucking time; and she's certainly never been this pissed at Kara.

How dare she?

Really!

Of all the nerve!

To try and publicly admonish Lena for something she herself would have done - has done - time and time over.

Just because she's Supergirl, she thinks she can be all self righteous and holier-than-thou and you know what?

Fuck her.

Fuck her and her stupid cape, and her stupid heat vision and her stupid flying and her stupid fucking hair and . , ,

"Yeahhughh!" Lena shouts, slamming the control panel of her security system closed. There, let Kara try to get in now.

Good fucking luck.

Unless she just decided to use brute strength and force her way in.

But Lena had just had to listen to a thirty minute lecture about how perfect fucking superheroes never do anything "unethical", so that would be a little out of character, now wouldn't it?

With a few quick switches, she brings down the bulletproof shades down over the floor to ceiling windows looking out over National City. After only a moment's hesitation, she also brings down the lead shades she'd installed.

Let Kara wonder what she's up to and worry about her.

Serves her right.

With one final look over everything to make sure she's locked in tight, Lena heads to to the kitchen. There's a bottle of Scotch with her name on it, and she thinks it's high time she indulges. She even goes for one of those fancy circle ice cubes that her chef insists make everything a 'designer cocktail'; but after she pours a couple of fingers into her favorite glass, something stops her.

It's Kara's voice in her head - because of fucking course it is - asking tentatively if maybe she should talk about her problems instead of trying to drink them away.

And you know what?

Fuck that, because the memory of Kara is quickly ushered along by one of her therapist - and she is not in any sort of mood to be thinking about therapy of all things. Without giving herself time for second thoughts, she pours the amber liquid down the drain with a scowl.

Damn it, if Kara can ruin a good glass of Scotch, then she can ruin just about anything

With a huff, she heads to her master suite, because if she can't self harm with alcohol then she can at least take a scalding hot shower. And maybe that's not exactly healthy either; but Kara's voice in her head is silent at least, and besides, she needs a shower. She knows that her hair is a mess and she's pretty sure Alex was crinkling her nose in disgust whenever Lena stepped upwind of her at the debriefing.

Guess entering the alien ship through the trash chute wasn't her most hygienic option; but hey, it got the job done at least.

She turns the shower nozzle on as hot as it will go, and then waits for steam to fill up the bathroom before she sheds her clothes and steps in.

It's only a few minutes before her skin is red from the heat but she feels marginally better; the smell of lavender and mint permeating the bathroom.

When she eventually becomes numb to the sting of the water, she turns the knobs in the other direction until she's being blasted with water so cold that it almost feels like she's doing one of Alex's ridiculous ice water plunges.

She washes her hair twice before she's satisfied enough to move on to conditioner, and she alternates the water temperature between the two extremes at least four times; that and the extra attention from her loofah leaving her skin feeling tingly and raw.

As she stands in front of the mirror drying her hair with a towel, she has to admit that the shower was definitely more productive than the drinking. Plus she still has a clear head and all of her faculties.

Faculties that she can use to plot petty revenge on her girlfriend.

The thought gives her pause.

Was Kara still her girlfriend?

They hadn't exactly broken up, but they hadn't exactly talked either.

Well, besides Kara having the audacity to call her attempt to save the world 'hare-brained' and 'borderline stupid'. But now Lena has effectively taken away Kara's keys to her apartment, and it's not like Kara has bothered to try and come by anyways.

Maybe they were over.

Good riddance, in Lena's book.

She didn't need Supergirl, or Kara Danvers. Or friends for that matter. Or the DEO, or game night, or Kara eating ice cream with her at three in the morning when she can't sleep or -

She doesn't need any of it.

She was doing just fine on her own.

Just like she was doing just fine on that alien ship before Kara came to 'rescue' her.

Angrily, she yanks a hairbrush through any tangles the conditioner left behind, and throws on a pair of sweat pants and a t-shirt.

But damn it if it isn't one of Kara's t-shirts that she accidentally pulls out of the drawer.

She doesn't realize it's Kara's until after she's pulled it over her head ,and even though tears sting her eyes at the realization, she doesn't take it off.

It's one of the plain white v-necks that Kara likes to hang around the apartment in, and it's slightly too big for Lena. Muscles and aggressive lounging have stretched it out, and it's soft almost to the point of threadbare.

Fuck it.

It's her shirt now.

She's claiming it.

Not in a 'steal it from your girlfriend to be cute' way, but in a petty theft kind of way.

Hows that for 'unethical'?

She'll just tell Kara to add that to her long list of crimes against humanity.

She pads into the living room, frowning when she sees the blinking light on her security camera monitor. Who could possibly be bothering her now?

A quick look shows that it's not the lobby camera but the balcony camera, and she flicks the feed over to see Kara - Supergirl - hovering outside.

She should have guessed, really.

Of all of Kara's annoying qualities, tenacity was certainly one of the top five.

Kara's gaze shoots to the camera, almost as if she senses Lena watching her.

"Lena, I know you're in there." Kara's voice is pleading, but Lena makes no move to answer; instead shifting her attention to her cuticles. She could really use a manicure, and she makes a mental note to text Jess later.

It's a long moment before the camera's speaker sounds again.

"You took my biometrics off of the balcony door lock."

. . .

"I'm going to assume that you took them off of the inside door as well, because you're nothing if not thorough." Kara spits the word out like it's derogatory, and Lena can't help but feel a spike of sinful pride.

The silence lasts a good five minutes this time before Kara speaks.

"Damn it, Lena! Let me in!"

There it is.

The anger Lena's been waiting for.

Normally Supergirl stays so calm and proper, but occasionally, occasionally, she lets that Kryptonian temper fly.

Lena allows a hint of an evil grin before she shuts the camera monitor off and walks to the refrigerator. Just because she can't use her fancy ice cubes for whiskey, doesn't mean she can't use them in a sparkling water; because nothing says 'gloating super villain' like a bottle of water that costs more than Kara makes in an hour.

So, she fixes another glass with ice and pours the water in until the bubbles almost spill over the top. Then she takes a long, refreshing sip - letting the hint of lemon-lime in the effervescence tickle her nose.

You're not a super villain. You're not a villain at all. the voice in her head reminds her.

The thought should bring her peace, but instead it only infuriates her more. Just because she chooses to do things differently than Supergirl doesn't mean that Kara gets to guilt trip her about it.

She does a lot of good for this world.

A whole hell of a lot more good than anyone in her family has ever done bad; despite Lex and Lillian's best efforts. She's more than made up for her family name, and she's more than proved herself an ally to Supergirl, and how dare Kara try to make her feel like anything less.

She drains the glass before slamming it down with a little more force than necessary.

Fuck.

Fuckity, Fuck, Fuck, Fuck.

She braces herself against the kitchen counter, staring blankly past the glass doors of the cabinets at the cups and bowls meticulously stacked inside.

She's not sure how long she stands there before a loud crack from living room snaps her attention away. She turns to see Kara standing just inside, the remnants of Lena's door lock dangling from her fingertips.

Lena clucks her tongue.

"Well, well, well; Supergirl breaking and entering, aren't you just the little deviant."

Kara's eyes are flaming with anger, and Lena's half surprised that she hasn't been melted into the floor with heat vision.

After a long staring contest, Kara walks towards Lena's work bench in the corner and tosses the pieces of door lock on it.

"Right, cause I'm just Miss goody-two-shoes."

"If the shoe fits." Lena smirks at the cleverness of her own pun, but Kara's scowl only deepens as she stalks into the kitchen.

Her gaze darts around before settling on the empty glass on the counter and then the still open bottle of Scotch. She gives Lena a hard glare.

"Really, Lena? You leave me outside so you can what? Get drunk and ignore your feelings?"

Kara's voice raises as she speaks, and the end of the question comes out in a bellow; Kara's face red and angry as she reaches for the bottle of Scotch and pitches it across the kitchen.

It shatters against the countertop, and once again Lena's finds herself grateful that she always invests in durable building supplies.

Normally, Kara would look petulant after any sort of outburst, but in this case it's seemed only to fan the flames of her ire. Her entire body is shaking so much that she's practically vibrating.

Years of dealing with the Luthor family drama is the only thing that lets Lena look unbothered, despite the discontent in her chest.

"I was drinking water, actually, but thank you for getting rid of the rest of the bottle, I'm trying to cut back."

Kara almost has the decency to look scolded, but it fades quickly.

"You are . . ."

"What?" Lena snaps.

"Completely infuriating."

"You just can't stand it that I can fix things without your help, can you? It really gets under your skin that I can do just as much good as you without parading myself as some sort of paragon of honor and justice."

Kara barks a laugh.

"That's what you think this is? You think I'm upset because you're trying to do good? Every time you go off on one of your hare-brained schemes -"

"There's that word again, you know you'd think for an ace reporter you'd have a broader vocabulary." Lena can tell by Kara's shift in posture that her words hit home, and she allows herself a moment to gloat before Kara's steely blue eyes settle heavily on her and she feels the breath seep out of her chest.

"If I didn't know any better, I'd think you were trying to make me angry." Kara's voice is dangerous and low, igniting something in Lena - a feeling she can't quite place.

In an odd sort of way, It feels good, to have Kara angry at her.

To have Kara expressing something instead of that stone cold facade she'd held at the DEO. Lena craves it, needs it.

Needs something to distract her from the aftermath of delayed panic and guilt that's starting to overtake her.

"Maybe I am."

Lena knows what she's doing is basically like dangling raw meat in front of a bear and daring it to chase after her.

Kara studies her for a long moment before lifting her gaze away. The silence floats around them like a fog as Kara stares off in the distance - her stare fixated on something that isn't really there. Her fingers drumroll heavy on the counter and the durability of the quartz counter top is tested for a second time that night.

Lena can see the muscles of her jaw clenching and unclenching, teeth grinding together so harshly that she briefly wonders if the creation of diamonds would be possible under such conditions.

After a few long, tense minutes, Kara's gaze settles back on Lena and she shifts under the weight of it.

"Do you think," Kara takes a slow step forward before repeating herself. "Do you think I do it for you? Do you think that when you recklessly throw yourself into danger that I just drop everything and rescue you, for you? Do you think you're so important that I just risk everything for you?" She's close enough now that her breathy laugh ghosts over Lena's face.

"I'm a very . . . selfish woman, Lena. All those times that I threw caution to the wind, that I risked the very fate of the universe in order to save you - I did it for me."

Kara's gaze is threatening to burn a, (quite literal), hole in Lena's skull and she can't help but take a step back. Only, Kara follows, and now Lena's boxed in between her and the counter. The exact definition of a rock and a hard place.

"Do you know why, I always rescue you, Lena?" Both her tone and the fingers tracing Lena's cheekbone are overtly tender, but right below the surface is an edge of sharpened steel.

"Because I have lost everything , and I will not lose you." Kara's hand drops to Lena's neck, thumb pressing harshly into her bottom lip.

It's some sort of animal instinct that has Lena tilting her head to the side, exposing her neck like a dog to its alpha.

Kara's eyes study her face for a long while, as if she's cataloguing every detail for her sketchbook later.

Lena uses the opportunity to analyze Kara.

Her blonde hair has been washed of the grease that had been streaking it earlier. and she smells faintly of ozone and unfallen rain, and Lena wonders how much time she spent circling in the atmosphere before she decided to stop by for a visit.

Long enough to get pissed, by the look of barely concealed rage on her face.

That's ok, Lena's pissed too; and she's never been one to back away from a fight.

"If you would just listen to me -" Kara starts but Lena's already heard enough.

"You mean if I would just shut up and do what you tell me."

"That's not what I said."

"But that's what you meant, isn't it? That your life would be easier if I would just fall in line and do things the Supergirl way. Spoiler alert, Kara; the Supergirl way isn't always the best way."

With one last, defiant meeting of their eyes, Lena sidesteps out of Kara's reach and uses a broom to start sweeping at the remnants of the broken Scotch bottle on the floor.

She can feel Kara's eyes on her, but she very pointedly ignores her, choosing instead to keep her back positioned to the superhero.

When the majority of the glass is scooped up and deposited in the trash, she reaches for a washcloth, wetting it in the sink before turning her attention to the shards of glass on the countertop, carefully wiping them onto the dustpan.

"Lena."

The plea in Kara's voice is evident, but Lena still ignores it, forcing herself to stay focused on the task at hand.

"Lena."

This time Kara is more insistent, and her hand reaches out to rest on Lena's shoulder, but Lena shrugs it off with grunt.

Before can even process what's happening, Kara is spinning her around; pressing Lena's hips hard into the counter with her own, bending her backwards until her head is trapped against the cabinets.

Kara's laugh is dark.

"Do you even realize how fragile you are?"

Lena can't deny that Kara's aura is a little frightening, and her hands scramble for purchase on the counter, looking for anything to give her leverage. She feels the fragment of glass under her finger like crumb a split second before she registers the prick of pain.

"Shit." she jerks her hand up, trying to examine the wound, but Kara intercepts it, closing her fingers around Lena's wrist in a bruising grip. Lena's tries unsuccessfully to snatch her hand back, but Kara doesn't relent; her tone mocking as she smirks.

"See? Fragile."

"Stop that, I'm bleeding."

"What, you don't want me to clean up your mess this time?"

Lena just thought she was mad before.

If looks could kill, then Kara would certainly be dead from the daggers that Lena is shooting into her skull.

Before she can voice a come back, Kara's lips close around the tip of her finger, sucking away the dark red droplet of blood so she can get an unobstructed view of the wound. It irritates Lena to know that Kara can hear the uptick in her heart rate just like she can hear the way Lena's breath catches in her throat at the intimate action.

Kara's eyes narrow as she examines Lena's finger, and Lena knows that she's using her x-ray vision to check for hidden injuries.

Hidden injuries.

On practically a fucking paper cut for gods sake.

She uses Kara's distraction to successfully jerk her hand away, but in less than a split second, she's been recaptured and whisked to the sink. The water is cold as Kara holds the offended finger under the stream, and Lena can't help but roll her eyes.

Just like Kara to be over protective and smothering - a fact that's even more evident when Lena feels the rush of wind as Kara super speeds to the hall closet where the first aid kit is kept and returns with a bandaid and antiseptic in hand.

Kara's look dares Lena to argue with her, and Lena chooses to pick her battles.

So Lena holds still as Kara cleans and dresses her wound, minor as it may be, green eyes attempting to bore a hole from one side of Kara's head to the other. Finally, the job is finished, and Lena turns her glare to the bright yellow bandage around her finger.

She huffs angrily.

"Kara this is fucking ridiculous, I'm more than capable of - "

The sound of a fist connecting with the wall startles her, and she looks up to see Kara hulking over her - eyes dark and cheeks red.

"You still don't get it, do you?" Kara glowers, and once again her hand settles on Lena's neck. This time, her thumb gently massages at Lena's pulse point.

Lena knows, knows beyond the shadow of a doubt that Kara would never hurt her; but her point is loud and clear -

If she wanted to, she could.

The realization sends a shiver down Lena's spine as her eyes shutter closed. She swallows against the pressure on her throat; and when her eyes reopen, Kara is closer than before - blue eyes harsh and glinting as she dares Lena to resist.

Lena doesn't exactly fight her, but she doesn't back down either. For a few long, tense moments, their breath mixes in the air between until Lena isn't quite sure if it's Kara's imposing presence thats leaving her weak in the knees or if it's too much carbon dioxide from their shared air.

"Do it." she dares Kara in a whisper.

"What?"

"Don't play stupid." Lena's voice is raw and broken with emotion, and again she swallows pointedly against Kara's grip; never breaking eye contact.

"We both know you want to hurt me."

Kara doesn't respond verbally, but her fingers flex against Lena's neck.

The tension between them is tight, like a bungee cord about to break; and Lena isn't sure if the resulting snap will bring them crashing together or send them falling apart.

"Do it. Show me you're the only one who gets to break me apart, Supergirl."

Kara's reaction this time is instantaneous.

She lifts Lena effortlessly onto the countertop, stepping between her legs as Lena's head and back slam into the cabinet.

"Fuck." The word is barely spoken before Kara swallows it - teeth clashing against Lena's as her tongue lays claim to Lena's mouth.

The kiss is hot and heavy and possessive, and if Lena thought she was low on oxygen before, she's running on fumes now; her breath panting at every split second of relief she's given from onslaught of Kara's lips. The hand on her hip is bruising, and the hand on her throat moves to fist in her hair. It's too much and not enough; and her own hands are against Kara chest - pushing her away or pulling her in, she isn't really sure which.

Before she can process what's happening, her sweatpants and underwear are yanked off and thrown across the room, and she's hissing as the coldness of the countertop meets her bare ass. Kara makes quick work of her stolen shirt, Lena's negligence at putting on a bra after her shower leaving her nipples peaked and aching as they're exposed to the air.

Then Kara is pressed against her, the material of the super suit rubbing against Lena's still tender skin. But, Kara is warm, so warm, the heat radiating off of her like a furnace; and Lena tugs her impossibly closer, ankles locking around her waist. She shivers as er cunt rubs agains Kara's pelvis, the one place of connection where Lena is hotter than Kara.

"Fuck." Lena repeats, only this time it comes out half slurred, Kara's tongue thick in her mouth.

She should really be careful what she wishes for, because Kara shifts and the hand that was on her waist is now inside her - three of the fingers, anyway, judging by the stretch. It hurts, but she wants more, something inside of her needing to feel Kara's raw power. Kara may need to see that she's the only one with the power to destroy Lena; but so does Lena. Whether she admits it or not, today's close call has left her frightened and vulnerable, and she needs reassurance that Kara will always be there to save her.

So she clutches at Kara, one hand gripping her cape and one on the elbow of the hand that's inside of her, the seam of material that loops over Kara's palm chaffing at her sensitive skin while Kara thumbs her clit. Kara's fingers slip almost completely out before they piston back in, knuckles slamming in so hard that Lena feels her pelvic bone jar with the force.

She's losing all aspects of higher brain function; the only sounds she's capable of making are keening half syllables of desperation. The hand in Lena's hair applies a steady pressure, pulling her back until Kara has easy access to her neck. Lena know as soon as those warm lips give way to teeth on her collarbone that she going to be relegated to high collars for a least a week to hide the bruising.

Kara leads a wet trail down Lena's chest, her fingers never slowing their violent rhythm. As her lips close around Lena's nipple, encasing it in a warm, wet heat, Lena feels her brain short circuit. There's nothing but white hot heat behind her eyes and down her chest, exploding out of her center.

She can feel the wave of orgasm cresting already, and tears prick at the corners of her eyes. Kara must feel her start to tighten because she pulls her head back from Lena's chest and releases her vice grip on Lena's hair. That hand moves instead back to Lena's neck, and this time the pressure isn't merely suggested - it's real - leaving Lena gasping helplessly for air as she chases her release. Her eyes roll back in her head and the rollercoaster is just about to come crashing down the hill when Kara's hand moves again to, (almost gently), cup her chin before her thumb hooks into Lena's panting mouth and pulls their foreheads together.

"Look at me when you cum." Kara growls, and Lena has no choice but to obey. Their eyes meet in a storm of blue and green, pupils wide with lust and fury. The sight is enough to send Lena past the point of no return and her body shakes uncontrollably as her cunt spasms around Kara's still thrusting fingers, her slick spilling into Kara's hand.

She might black out, she's not entirely sure; but when she comes back to her senses Kara's forehead is resting on her shoulder, and her fingers are still thrusting inside Lena - albeit at a much gentler pace.

"Kara." she chokes out in a strangled cry, her body shuddering with the aftershocks of her release.

"I've got you, I've got you." Kara promises fervently as she slowly withdraws her hand from its ministrations and scoops Lena up into a bridal carry.

It takes all of Lena's strength to wrap her arms around Kara's neck; but then Kara's lips are on hers, soft and gentle this time. It's easy to lose herself in the kiss, the emotion, the perfect bliss of Kara's embrace. At least until she feels Kara's lips curl in a smirk and she pulls back to see her girlfriend sporting a very self satisfied smile.

Something is triggered in Lena at the almost gloating expression on Kara's face.

Despite the emotional and physical high she just experienced, she can't help but feel a sense of wounded pride at the fact that Kara, in essence, won.

Yet again, Kara gets to play the hero, swooping in and 'rescuing' Lena at the last minute; carrying her distressing damsel off into the sunset.

Lena levels her gaze at the superhero.

Kara coming away from this feeling like the victor?

That, that simply won't do.

Luthors may lose, but Lena - Lena never does.

Whew! We all need cold holy water showers now! There will most likely be a part two to this if reception is good.

#supercorp #supergirl #lena luthor #kara danvers #fanfiction

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skuthus · 2 years

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Products I love

Seldom do you find an item or service that works so well, you don’t need to get another one. It’s a rarity these days to find anything of permanence, and it seems the concept itself has been eschewed by consumers and capitalists alike, both preferring a model of impermanent, infinite upgrades to a be all, end all product that lasts a lifetime.

However, for me, ownership matters. Being able to keep and reuse something without having to reactivate or repurchase it is essential to how I interact with the world around me. I find great pleasure in mastering an object, learning every way it can and cant be used, and once understood, using it like an extension of myself.

Many companies have spent lots of money convincing consumers that long-term ownership is antithetical to being wealthy, fulfilled, and productive. They of course have a vested interest in this position: If they can convince you they are right, they succeed in duping you into spending a lot more money on the latest products, or attaching yourself to an upgrade cycle that keeps you invested in their ecosystem, on their terms.

Their commitment to this position goes deeper and can be even more sinister. Some companies will even design their products with timed obsolescence, either with hardware that wears out or fails (batteries, backlights), with hardware checks or verifications (touchID buttons, processors) or most immorally, with software locks, like the inability to upgrade the product or inability to install a different OS.

If you think they do this for your benefit, you are a fool. Many arguments could be made: “the battery becomes dangerous after a certain amount of time”. Maybe so, but then why did the company *glue* the battery into the phone, and why isnt it easily replacable? “TouchID security has improved, its insecure to use a phone with the old system” Okay, but then why isn’t the consumer given the option to boot the phone with a different OS to use in a way that security isnt a factor? Such as a webcam or door bell or any number of infinite uses the phone still has. “We prevent the computer from being reused if its owner has not removed activation lock, rendering it into a brick” Sure, it might deter theft for now, but what about 10 years from now, when it sits in a closet, activation code and login long forgotten, and ends up at the local donation center? Will it never be reused again? all that goes into the trash?

I reject the notion that the company knows better than I do what to do with the product I purchased. I reject that I should essentially shackle myself to a product ecosystem for my own protection, and that I am somehow incapable of operating without the hand holding of some mega corporation who thinks of me as a number. I reject the condescending, hostile attitude companies have towards me, which makes them think kneecapping a products capabilities is in any way appropriate.

With all that being said, there is hope. Not all companies are as hostile towards users, though you still shouldn’t trust them farther than you can throw them. There are diamonds in the rough, that purposefully make products that last a lifetime, and treat their customers with the dignity and respect a paying patron deserves. Here is a small list of products I swear by, why I trust them, and how I use them.

1. Casio/G-Shock - I have owned Casio watches my whole life, some as long as 20 years. Between the two, G-shock has the more ‘lifetime resilient’ products, but standard Casio watches are so damn affordable, its impossible to fault them even if they arent as resistant to water or ballistic damage. Even their entry level watch, the F-91W, boasts 30m of water resistance, and is used by CEO’s and terrorists alike. Unbeatable for ~$10.

2. Leatherman - Leatherman tools have been a staple for tinkerers and handymen for 40 years. The tools they make are hyper functional, affordable, sturdy, and have a lifetime guarantee. For ~$100 you can get a tool that you will never replace, never break, and never regret. Any leatherman will do.

3. Gerber Shard. It’s $7, sits on my keys, and never fails to open boxes. I dont even think about it. It can go on the plane. It’s perfection.

4. Nintendo DSi - Probably not the nintendo product you expected to see on this list, but hear me out. The DSi is cheap (~$70 these days), its hackable, its very durable, and it can play GB, GBC, GBA, DS, DSi, and NES games with ease. The over/under on usability to price is insane. Get one, hack it, never get another one.

5. Kindle/Kobo - Whichever you choose, if you get the newer waterproof variants, you wont be disappointed. This is essentially a single use product, but it does that thing perfectly. Carrying my entire life of reading in my bag, to be accessible whenever I have a few minutes, is sublime. The screen, if you can call it that, looks like paper and once you get used to it, is superior to a book due to the backlight. If I died tomorrow, you would find this somewhere on my person.

6. Logitech Keyboard. Doesn’t matter the model, but choose carefully. The one you buy will literally never break. I have a K120 I bought in 2010, because it was $8 and I needed a starter keyboard. I used it until 2015, at which point I brought it to work, where it stayed in use until 2019, where it now sits in a box as a backup keyboard. It has far exceeded 10 million keystrokes and shows no sign of wear. It will outlive me.

7. Thinkpad X200/s - Thinkpad’s early ought compact server laptops remained a standard for infrastructure workers for a decade, which means companies around the world purchased millions of them. I purchased mine from a failed accounting firm in 2011 for $50. I upgraded the RAM and hard drive, disassembled the machine for cleaning, and rebuilt it completely in about an hour. To this day it powers on, works quickly, and runs modern operating systems. The resolution of the screen is 1600x900, which is more than enough to feel modern. Computers are often thought of as not being future proof, but Thinkpads prove that this is only true if the company building them doesnt give a damn.

8. Minaal Carry On Travel Bag. This one is on the expensive side (~$300) but I have never had a better experience with a product. Fits in carry on, carries 14 days of clothes and a laptop/tablet/ebook. Zips open like a suitcase, for packability. Comes with a rain jacket for the bag. Has a lifetime warranty, but is so incredibly durable that you probably wont need to replace anything other than the zipper pulls. I use it for every trip I have taken since purchased in 2013, and I will never stop using it.

9. Fisher space pen. The only pen I own, and it stays strapped in my bag for the occasional use. It was $15, is small, all black, and indestructible. Has a nice patina after years of sliding in and out of a bag. Ink is replaceable and cheap.

10. Doc Martens. These boots are legendary, hardly worth mentioning due to their absolute ubiquity. You probably already own a pair. If you don’t, get one. They are perfect, indestructible, fashionable, and affordable. Forget about Red Wing, forget about Timberland. This is all you need.

#essay #consumer #economics #america

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june52643 · 8 months

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Ford Key Replacement

You Can Trust Us With Your Ford! You may rely on us no matter where your road is in Kirkland, Washington, as we are reachable seven days a week. As a result, we can assist you with replacing Ford keys, VINs, battery keys, and even Ford extra keys as we are mobile. Our areas of expertise include emergency Ford lockout assistance and the replacement of misplaced Ford keys. our phone: 206-565-3877

#Transponder Car Keys #Car Lock Repair #Lost House Keys #Home Lock Rekey #Deadbolt Installation #Residential Lock Repair #Patio Door Locks #Master Key Systems #Safe Opening #Keyless Entry #Commercial Lock Repair #Emergency Lockouts

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thephoebeyates · 2 months

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Apartment 25a, Vermilion Court, Carmine Way, Cardinal Hill [ Task 003 - Home Showcase ]

Residents: Matty Foster ( @just-foster ), Phoebe Yates, Misty Foster-Yates

Bedrooms: One

Bathrooms: One ( combined shower bath )

Amenities: Separate kitchen space from main living room, own washing/drying unit, intercom system installed to allow visitors entry through main building doors, large windows that allow natural light, pet friendly.

On the fourth floor of a purpose-built apartment building in the heart of Blue Harbor’s downtown hub is a space aiming to be soft, safe and welcoming. Bright natural light highlighting the colorful decor, fresh flowers line available surfaces, along with books and a variety of knick-knacks. Clean and organized, but eliciting the feeling of belonging. Perfect for two people and their demon cat to feel at home with each other.

#musings #m.phoster #task.bh #task003

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bytes-and-blessings · 11 months

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Smuggling Hope - Inklings Challenge 2023

So I signed up to do a little writing challenge this year called the @inklings-challenge! Which you can read more about here: https://inklings-challenge.tumblr.com/about Basically, I've had story ideas in my head for as long as I can remember. Now I finally found something to give me a kick in the pants to write. Maybe this is the first draft to the first chapter of my first novel ever. Maybe I never touch this story again. Who knows? not me.... But without further ado, welcome to the first installment of what I currently call "The Beacon Universe" (Actual name TBD) -----------------------------------------------------------------------------

Captain Nia Twig woke up at the wheel her ship to the sound of a proximity alarm.

BEEP EEP EEP!

There was message from an incoming ship.

“This is gate border checkpoint Theta-Sigma-Alpha-5, please prepare for boarding with your itinerary, ship registration, and passenger manifest. Failure to cooperate with border patrol will be reported to Zytharian authorities and may result in fines or arrest. Thank you, and Glory to the Emperor.”

Nia groaned and scrambled out of her pilots chair to prepare for the inspection. As she walked through the ship she stashed away a box of stuff from back home and placed it under her bed, with a menstrual garment and some pain pills on top to keep any searchers from touching it. Looking around the area, there was a torn piece of paper that she though she had drunkenly thrown in the incinerator months ago:

The oath and way of the Beacons are as THE LORD once declared: “You are the light of the world. A city that is set on a hill cannot be hidden. Nor do they light a lamp and put it under a basket, but on a lamp stand, and it gives light to all who are in the house. Let your light so shin-”

Nia was interrupted in her distracted readings by the ship’s alarm system again:

~~~~~WARNING ~~~~ AIRLOCK ENGAGED ~~~~ INTRUDER ALERT~~~~~

“Computer! Stall’em!” She yelled out. The ship’s AI wasn’t anything fancy, but it could pretend to have just enough dysfunction to slow down anyone trying to board. (Or with any luck, kill anyone in a rush via asphyxiation so she could claim it was an accident. Technology sucks, right?)

She stuffed the paper in her pocked and climbed down to the hold. At the bottom, she reached behind the ladder and flipped a leaver.

A few of the crates started to lower into a hidden compartment beneath.

“Come on, come on, move you stupid thing” Nia slammed her foot against the floor.

Suddenly the mechanism squeaked to a halt.

She could hear the boarder ship’s airlock finish connecting to The Night’s Reverie. She’d have to greet the Inspector at any minute, or else the rest of his people’s fleet would show up and blow them both out of the sky.

She dove below the boxes, and started to hunt around. In the tangled mess of wires, there was a stray piece of jerky stuck between the gears. Nia couldn’t quite reach through the gap to catch it.

BANG BANG BANG

Someone was knocking on the other end of the airlock doors, trying to gain entry. If she didn’t let them it, it was going to be a firefight, but if the fuzz caught sight was what was in these crates, well, she’d have bigger problems.

The Captain pulled out a lighter with the symbol of a white bird in flight carved into it.

A small flame springs out with a flick of the flint, she barely has a moment to enjoy the feeling of the flames dancing in her control before she shoots it to knock the jerky out of place. She immediately threw the lighter up onto the main deck, then turned herself into a small flame and landed on the deck as the boxes almost crash into their compartment, crushing the area where she had just been an instant ago. The false floor slid over the contraband as the captain punched in the code to open the airlock for her unwanted guests.

“Still not going to be a Beacon, but Uncle’s old lighter trick is handy in a pinch.” She thought to herself as she punched the intercom button to speak to the visitor waiting in the airlock. “This is the Captain of the ship speaking, who is there?”

A posh voice responded, “Captain Glory Ashwell, are you in there? This is Inspector Zimri Klerk, of the His Greatness’s Most Noble and Important Hyperlane Border Inspections Agency. I am here to proceed with a random inspection of your ship. I assume you have your paperwork in order and are ready for inspection, Captain?” a

From the voice, Nia expected someone much taller on the other side of the airlock. Instead standing there was an short and fat man in a faded but finely pressed dress uniform. He stood proud before her not a piece of his balding silver hair was out of place. His mustache was curled perfectly at the ends, looking at it was almost like looking at a second pair of eyes. At his left side he held a bright red cane with the Empire dragon snarling at it’s head, like forgotten Celtic letterhead come to life. In his right hand he somehow managed to hold both a clipboard and a lit cigar.

Nia cleared her throat, and then addressed the man. “Ah yes Sir, as you can see here on my manifest, my ship, The Kobold is just on a routine courier run to the middle systems of the Empire. If we could make this quick, my clients are very important people with urgent business, Captain. They’ve waited long enough for these goods.”

“Very well Captain. Let’s keep this quick shall we.” He took a puff of the cigar and stormed past her onto the ship.

It may have been the longest inspection she had lived through in her entire life.

He poked in the flight room.

He tapped his cane all around her living quarters.

He crawled under the sink.

He licked the dust between the crates.

He even accidentally knocked out a fake wall Nia didn’t know the ship had.

By the end of it, he looked less like a man to her, and more like some cross between a relentless hound dog, and a relentless hound dog breathing tobacco smoke from his lungs. An evil, fire-breathing dog of war armed with a clipboard of wrath and health code violations.

Finally, it was almost over. Inspector Zimiri stood right next to the holds ladder and put away his pen.

“Well, everything looks fine here, as long as you don’t have any rebel contraband under here then I’ll be on my way.”

With a single motion, he flipped the hidden switch with his cane and stepped aside to reveal the contraband crates.

A moment pasted, then a second as the crates were slowly lifted by the traitorous mechanism. Neither person seamed to move or breath for a second. Finally Nia let out a long sigh, and pulled out a wad of bills from her inner coat pocket.

She faked a smile, and tried to approach the Inspector congenially,“Look here friend, there’s nothing harmful here. It’s just some luxury goods I need to keep extra protected for a client in Casino Monte. Some rich dude wants camping supplies to reenact some ancient survivalist U-tuber. Bear Gorillas or something? I don’t know man, can’t we just figure this out? It’s not like it’s weapons or anything, you know, right?” She said, holding out the bribe money.

The Inspector let out a deep sigh. He leaned his cane against the wall. Then he removed his glasses and began to methodically clean them. For a moment Nia could swear he tapped a button on his jacket. The little man straighten up to glare at her. The cigar smoke began to fog up his glasses once more and reflect the dim light of the ship. The Captain began to back away from the twin burning suns staring at her from his glasses.

“Do you take me for a fool?”

He walked over and opened the first crate to find a stack of water bottles, blankets, and food with single stuffed goose sat on top of the pile of goods.

“We both know that there’s no way a ship of this size has the fuel to get to the destination on your manifest.” He waved the faked papers in the air, “You’re more likely to drop out of the hyperlane somewhere above the Miser-Cordia system. Right where his Greatness’s Military has currently blockaded a group of those traitorous followers of the Beacon’s Path and the foolish civilians roped up in their little games. Do you think I didn’t realize from the moment your little star skipper left the hyperbridge that figured out that you were carrying the most dangerous weapon known to man inside?”

He dropped the cigar and waved the stuffed goose in the air, as if demonstrating his point.

“My good captain, it appears to me that you are smuggling hope.”

Nia whipped out her pistol and pointed it at him. “Listen, buddy, I don’t know who you are. And I don’t care. As I was saying, I’m not smuggling weapons, or drugs, or slaves, or any of the other fucked up shit that all of your friends turn a blind eye to every day for a couple of creds. So unless your sanctimonious pride and your thin wallet is more important than your life, maybe grow some brains out of that mustache. I’m not a Rebel. I just see a demand and I fill it. I don’t care about your stupid wars, buddy. This is just business. Just take your cut of creds like every other self serving sleaze bag in the galaxy, and let me go.” She insisted, probably too firmly. But Nia didn’t care, her pulse was in her throat and she could feel fire aching at her fingertips for the first time in years. This was about to go south, fast.

Still brandishing her pistol, Nia took in the sight of the little inspector. She had to keep her gun arm pointed down at an awkward angle to place the muzzle beneath his nose. When he wasn’t running around her ship, it was easier to see that this man only reached her shoulder. His mustache barely twitched at the sensation of cold metal. He dropped the goose back into it’s box. With it fell the clipboard. His fingers twitched for the cigar that had once been in his hand. Suddenly, the man before her wasn’t a robotic inspector of a dictator anymore. The cold glare in his eyes had softened into something still determined, but also seemingly defeated. Like the last blue flame of a dying fire. He reached down to pick up the cigar again.

“I have to say, I am quite disappointed in you, Miss Philomena Bryne.” He said, letting the smoke blow into Nia’s face. He grabbed onto a pin on his lapel, and broke it. Nia could see a few ripped wires leaving what she could now see had been a wiretap. “We both know you don’t need that toy to turn me to ash, so let’s drop the pretense, hm?”

“That’s not my name, that girl is dead. Who are you, and how do you know her?” She backed off, but kept the pistol high.

“Ah my mistake Captain,” He said, reaching up to scratch his lip. “Here I was, under the impression that I had caught up with a great Beacon of Old: A mythical group of people who could take flight in the stars without a ship, a Peace Keeper, a great Defender of the innocent, a living flame in the galaxy’s eternal night. I thought I was tracking a relic of a forgotten era of Crusades and Caped Heroes; one who was stuck in a universe that has progressed beyond, or perhaps, sunken below religion. And now l see that I have found a jaded business woman looking to profit off another’s misfortune, no? I had hoped that anyone with your flame, who could incurs such wrath of my employees and countrymen, could be nothing less than a saint. But if it’s business you want, then it’s business you’ll get I suppose. You can come out now, my dear.”

Zimiri Klerk tapped his cigar against the wall of the ship, and out of the embers emerged a young girl who could almost have been Philomena's cousin. But her hair soon changed from fire red to pale blonde. She was even shorter and thinner than the man next to her. Nia quickly realized that this was most likely the Inspector’s daughter. Her eyes were the same jet engine blue as his, and just as sharp.

“I will make a deal with you Captain. Get my daughter out of reach of the Empire's ashy dogs, and anyone else who would make her a living weapon. Then consider your bribe to be paid. Now I must go, my colleges will be looking for me. I’ll buy you what time I can. Good luck, my dear.” Then Zimiri Klerk walked to door of the Night’s Reverie.

“And remember Captain, even if you do not think of yourself a hero, to my daughter, and all of those people trapped on Miser-Cordia, you are the last light of hope.”

#inklings challenge #team lewis #genre: space travel #theme: food #theme: drink #theme: shelter #Bytes Writes

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