#we need to coin these for all the new attraction types coined recently tbh

[radiomogai]

Acannispec, Acannixspec, & Acannixual

quick coining three terms that we need

Acannispec: the acannibalistic spectrum, or, a spectrum of orientations where one does not experience cannibalistic attraction. an aspec term for cannibalistic attraction

Acannixspec: the acannixual spectrum, or, a spectrum of orientations where one does not experience cannixual attraction. an aspec term for cannixual attraction

Acannixual: an orientation describing one who does not experience cannixual attraction

feel free to make flags, just let us know if you do

@webby-mogai @horrorgores @the-cannibal-archive @tertiary-attraction-archive

[hazandholland]

Cafe at the Corner of the Block

Written by Christina

Category: Fluff

Word Count: 1986

A/N: Hey guys! It’s been a long time since I’ve written, and I’m sorry. University life has been kicking my butt, tbh. I just finished finals week, so I’m hoping to get some more writing in over winter break. I’m sorry if this is crap. I got the idea while watching “Numb3rs”, which I’ve recently become obsessed with, so I decided to write a Detective!Tom AU. Enjoy!

Tom growled and slammed the file down on the desk. The smack of the papers hitting the flat surface made his best friend jump. The tan-skinned man jumped, nearly spilling the coffee he held. He sighed when his nerves settled down, shaking his head.

“Come on, man,” He said, exasperated. “Don’t do that. You know that scares me.”

Tom jabbed a finger at the board that was littered in pictures, maps and red string. He was in a small briefing room in the middle of a New York City precinct. He was with his detective buddy, working on a recent mafia case. It was proving to be a tough one to crack. And it was driving Tom crazy.

“I can’t figure out where in the world they are,” he growled, clenching his jaw and putting his hands on his hips in frustration. The motion made one of the sleeves that was rolled up to his elbows slip and fall down to his wrist. He growled again and jammed the sleeve back up to his elbow before yanking a photo off the board.

“Rigelletto was here,” Tom said, shaking the photo of the dock in his hand. “That’s what Urich said. 12:03pm. That’s when he called us.”

“Yeah,” The man’s best friend said, taking a swig of his coffee. He made a face and glanced at the drink. “Did you make the coffee?”

“Yeah, why,” Tom snapped, yanking off another photo. “Then Urich said they were supposed to meet here, at Mel’s Diner at 12:30pm.”

“It’s really weak,” The man said. He set the cup down on the table.

“Shut up,” Tom said. “If I made it the way I like it, you would complain anyway.”

“Yeah,” The man said, as if it was obvious. He stood up and waddled to Tom. “Because I’m not a weirdo who likes a whole can of coffee in my cup.”

“It’s not a whole can!” Tom snapped.

“Well, it certainly tastes like it.”

“Shut up, man,” Tom groaned. He ran his fingers through his brown curls, messing them up even more. One of them fell over his forehead. He stopped and stared at the board, scanning over the information again. The other man stood next to Tom, crossing his arms and staring at the board as well.

“Maybe Rigelletto just decided to bail. Wouldn’t be uncommon. Mobsters do it all the time.”

“Yeah, but we know that Rigelletto always meets Urich,” Tom argued. “He’s never just not shown up before.”

“First time for everything,” The man said. Tom sighed.

“Where are they hiding the money,” Tom whispered, scanning the photos for the umpteenth time.

“My guess stays the same,” The other man said.

Tom groaned in irritation. “It’s not in a secret underground tunnel!”

“I got rid of that theory a long time ago. It’s obviously hidden in plain sight but the only way you can find it is if you crack the cipher hidden on the back of the Constitution.”

Tom stared at his friend.

“Jacob,” Tom said, licking his lips. “How did you become detective?”

“They liked my dashing good looks and killer wit.”

Tom snorted.

“Don’t laugh,” Jacob said, smacking Tom on the arm. “It’s rude.”

“Whatever, man,” Tom said, shaking his head. He glanced at the photos again. A moment of silence passed before Jacob nudged Tom in the arm.

“Why don’t you get some lunch or something?” Jacob suggested nonchalantly.

“I’m fine,” Tom snapped.

“Man, just take twenty minutes,” Jacob insisted.”Get something quick from the deli down the block and come right back here.”

“Why don’t you get it?”

“I’ve gotten lunch the past three weeks. Your turn.”

Tom sighed. “Give me twenty and I’ll go.”

“No,” Jacob shook his head. “It’s the deli on the corner, Tommy. Five bucks is enough for what I want.”

Tom glared at Jacob. “Don’t call me Tommy.”

Jacob rolled his eyes before fishing in his pockets to find a five dollar bill. He found one and held it out to his friend with a bright smile. “A number two with extra mayo, please.”

Tom sighed and grabbed the bill. He pulled the suit jacket off the chair next to Jacob, where Tom had been sitting earlier, and slipped over his shoulders. He checked his pockets to make sure he had his wallet and phone. He clipped the gold police on his belt buckle and walked to the table where his gun was sitting. He pushed the gun into his shoulder holster, instantly feeling better when the heavy, cold metal pressed against his ribs. He pulled the jacket over the holster and slipped on his aviator sunglasses. He gave Jacob a half-hearted salute before opening the door and stepping out.

“Thanks, Tommy!” Jacob shouted gleefully as soon as Tom was about to close the door. Tom stopped and wheeled around, pulling his glasses off and jabbing a finger at Jacob to make a cutting remark.

“Detective Holland,” A crisp voice said. “Out to lunch, are we?” Tom stopped and straightened immediately. He adjusted his jacket.

“Yes, sir,” Tom said politely, nodding. He glanced at the police chief. The man’s trim dark goatee outlined the smirk the man had on his face. “Do you want anything, Chief Downey?”

“No, I’m good. Thanks, kid,” The police chief answered, smiling. He walked toward Tom and clapped him on the back. Tom grunted at the impact. “Ah, Detective Balaton. How are you?”

“Doing very well, Mr. Downey, sir,” Jacob answered brightly. The chief smiled.

“We’ve been over this. Call me Robert, Jacob,” The man said, smiling.

“Right, sir. Sorry, sir. I mean, Mr. Robert,” Jacob said cheerfully. Tom bit back a groan at his friend’s politeness.

“Whatever floats your boat, kid,” The chief said. He slapped Tom on the back one last time before walking down the hallway to the main area. “Avengers! Assemble!” The police chief’s voice rang throughout the large space. Tom heard a low chuckle from the other officers.

“All due respect, sir,” A voice said. “I don’t think calling ourselves The Avengers is a good idea.”

“You’re the one that came up with it, Evans.”

“In my defense, sir, I drunk.”

“Well, Commissioner Lee liked it, so we’re sticking with it.”

Tom rolled his eyes, waved again to Jacob then set out to the diner at the corner of the block.

—————

You sighed, pushing back the strand of hair that fell over your eye. You flashed a bright smile.

“That will be $27.74,” You said cheerfully, eyeing the man and his family. The man gave a small smile back and handed you his card. You quickly ran the payment, reading the card before handing it back. “Thank you so much for your time, Mr. Faucher. Have a good day!” When the man and his family left, holding the plastic number tab indicating their order, you glanced around, seeing if anyone needed help. There wasn’t anyone in sight, so you scurried through the swinging metal doors to the kitchen, knowing there was a large pile of dirty dishes waiting for you.

The cafe was small, but it was a decent job. Paid well, hours were good and your boss was nice. You dealt with weird people, but that came with the territory of being in New York City. And besides, you didn’t really want to make a career out of this job, anyway. You just needed something to pay the bills until you could do what you truly loved to do. You began to wash the dishes, trying to get all them spotless. A few plates in, a loud dinging rang through the kitchen. You quickly finished washing the plate you were on.

“Be right with you!” You shouted towards the front as you dried the plate. You darted through the swinging metal doors. What you saw took your breath away. It was a man. A very, very attractive man in a suit. He had brown curls that looked as if he had constantly running his fingers through them and rich brown eyes. He was leaning against the counter, his suit jacket tugging against his large biceps. You gulped, forcing a smile on your face despite the butterflies flying in your stomach.

“Hi,” You said, stepping to the register. “What can I get going for you today?” The man quickly scanned you before smiling a little.

“An order to go. For me and my friend,” He answered, with a slight accent.

You nodded. “Okay. And what would that be?”

He rattled off the order, and you almost forgot to put it into the register because he was just so good-looking. You frantically typed in the order and pushed the button to run the payment.

“That would be $10.35,” You said politely. You risked gazing into his eyes and instantly got lost. They were so rich and warm. He stared back. There was a few moments of silence before you were able to take the cash from his hand, sorted out the change and held out the coins in a shaking hand. The man shook his head, gently closing your fingers. His fingers were a little calloused and rough, but smooth and soft at the same time. They were also very warm. You felt electricity shoot up your arm at the contact.

“Keep the change,” He said, smiling a little. You smiled back and nodded, dropping the coins into the small tip jar. The coins clattered loudly.

“Thank you,” You said.

“You’re welcome,” The man paused as he scanned you again, his gaze stopping at your chest. You stiffened a little. “Y/N.” Oh, he was just reading your name tag. You relaxed a little.

“Well, you know my name,” You said. “Do I get to know yours?”

“Tom,” He answered, his accent getting thicker.

“I have to ask,” You said, instantly feeling embarrassed about what you were going to inquire.

“My accent?” The man asked, smirking.

You smiled sheepishly and nodded.

“I was born and raised in London,” Tom answered. “Never could quite shake off the accent.” He dropped his gaze and focused on the counter, running his finger in imaginary patterns over the surface.

“You were born in London?” You asked. An attractive British boy was talking to you? To you?! Oh, no way.

Tom chuckled. “Yes.” He glanced at you again. “What about you? If you don’t mind me asking, are you from here?”

You shook your head. “Just moved here a couple years ago. Decided to go to school here.”

“School?” Tom asked. You nodded. Before you could say more, the chef called out Tom’s order. You hurried to the pickup window and grabbed the brown bag holding the man’s food. You walked back to Tom, making sure to keep both hands on the bag so you wouldn’t drop it.

“Here you go!” You said cheerfully, sliding the back across the counter. Tom smiled and nodded his thanks. He grabbed the bag and his fingers brushed yours again. The touch made a shock go through your arm. Your fingers lingered there, both holding the bag, fingertips touching ever so slightly. Eventually, the two of you withdrew, albeit reluctantly.

“Actually,” Tom said, running his finger over the bag. “Do you mind if I call my friend and have him eat here with me?”

You nodded. “Yeah, do whatever you want. Fine with me.” You smiled.

Tom smiled and shook his head, a blush rising to his cheeks.

“I meant, would you be okay if I had lunch with you?” He asked. He gave you a textbook puppy-eyed look. Your heart melted. “My friend would have to join us though, since I have his food.” You blinked a few times, unsure whether you heard him right.

“You want me to have lunch with you?” You repeated.

Tom nodded. “Yeah. I’m kind of having a rough day at work and I, just, It’s been nice talking to you.”

You smiled. “Sure.”

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