#< there's 5 as far as i'm concerned

[reyno-solis-real]

Rey kept eye contact with Marcellus, stern.

“Well, then you gotta try harder. I was the centurion of cohort one before I had to spend more time at the other camp. Over there, in the first cohort, we had to practice the entire day. Be glad you only got a few hours, pup.” his ears flicked, gripping his spear harder.

OPEN STARTER: DEMOTED.

Ah, Camp Jupiter. Such a peaceful place where Roman and (as of recently) Greek demigods get to live their lives, serve in the 12th Legion Fulminata, go to university, retire and generally be at peace. Except today, there's a commotion.

Around ten minutes into a training activity, everything is stopped as a centurion marches towards a child, they can't be older than 13. Taking off their helmet, the centurion looks utterly furious. If anyone knows their way around the camp, they'd recognize the demigod as the centurion of the 2nd cohort.

"MARCELLUS!" They scream at the kid, who seems to have wolf ears and a tail. Their ears pin down when they get yelled at. There's a bunch of weapons laying around the general area they're standing, and a couple knocked over demigods. "WHAT WAS THAT?!"

"I- I didn't mean to, I swear-" The kid tries to defend themself and puts their hands up in surrender. Looks like they know they're in trouble. They're not even wearing any armor, which is strange to see during drills. "I was just-"

"Enough, I don't want to hear your excuses. I can't have you in my cohort- we've tried to right you for YEARS. With zero effects. That's it. I'm done." The centurion turns towards Reyna, the praetor. "I kindly ask that Marcellus be demoted, at least two cohorts down, and have him excluded from activities for today. I feel like everyone around here agrees with me-" And they do, people start nodding and murmuring quiet agreements.

Reyna nods, and with that, the kid is shoo'd away.

Taglist (ask to be added or deleted!!!): @the-great-emperor-commodus @vinny-trespassing-detector @reyno-solis-real

[elizabethrobertajones]

ooh I see, in Pyramids of Mars pt2 the Doctor takes Sarah Jane to look at 1980 if they don't stop what happens in 1911, and it's an apocalyptic wasteland, so when you're watching the Beatles episode in 2024 you're supposed to go like "hey just like in Pyramids of Mars!" and then you're thinking about the exact right episode.

You know, if you already had watched all of Doctor Who before this year instead of say, hitting the current plot twist related episode today. :P

[fisheito]

did you hear about yakumo's new rooms yet? or seen it?

sir i just got here please have mercy

[2-d-rogue]

Finished Brothers: A Tale of Two Sons (Remake)

[mobius-m-mobius]

sometimes i rewatch just the moment of Loki stumbling and tripping all over himself when he tries to approach Don!Mobius father of two at his home just to relive the moment of my jaw slowly dropping to the floor as it unfolded on my screen. truly there have been few moments that took me out with complete startled befuddlement so entirely as that. NOT because it wasn't perfectly in character I just hadn't in a million years expected a Disney/Marvel joint would let us SEE it.

You and me both anon, you and me both 🙏💖

There are some moments in life that really will last forever and what a pleasure it is to say the God of Mischief being canonically down for a single dad from Cleveland is now one of those, lmao. Honestly even to this day it's hard to wrap my mind around Loki's fit check, like there's poor Don literally just off work struggling with some trash and a chaotic household while an actual god lurks around wishing for a mirror in case he's not personally up to standard 😅

And like you said it's all COMPLETELY in character!!! Loki's never had to approach Mobius *needing* to impress before (because Mobius could never not be impressed with him) and because of it everything kind of hits in that moment how desperately he actually does want Mobius/Don to know how much he means and the difference he's made and if the only way that could be communicated is through some of the most obvious flirting any of us have ever witnessed then so be it. Still can't believe a full season of a Disney/Marvel show from start to finish gave the stuff dreams are made of, it's definitely a fluke but I'm running with it and never looking back lol.

[girljeremystrong]

i have to be awake in 3 and a half hours to drive for an hour to go to school the least they could have done for me was win

[inkblackorchid]

With the next one of Aki’s stories being a long one, is it something you are planning on finishing before you start publishing chapters, or publishing as you go along? Just curious what your approach is for the longer fics

Ok so as I've said on tumblr (and I think maybe also in the author's notes on ao3?? I forget) before, I at the very least want to finish the first portion of this fic before I start uploading anything. (That portion's end being marked by a particular duel.) From the way my outline is looking right now, that means I'd probably write until chapter 5 or more before I might consider publishing a chapter (there are currently a total of 14 chapters planned). And as of right now, I'm about to finish the first draft of chapter 3.

...But. But. See, the thing is, this fic, due to being extremely plot-heavy, needs to be super tightly written. Like, this thing needs to work. And all the duels in it (yes, multiple) really need to hit the mark, or else this story loses some of its emotional impact. In other words, I'll definitely be extra thorough when it comes to editing this one, too. So at least where this particular fic is concerned, I'm kinda shying away from the "publish as I go along"-approach, because there are too many moving parts here and I want this to be as coherent as possible. So it's a bit of a tossup atm. If I feel confident enough in how fast I'm progressing with the story by the time that first portion is written out, I may start publishing before all the chapters are done. But if there's a chance that I might deviate from the outline later in a way that would require me to go back to a previous chapter to add some setup there? I'll hold off and wait until at the very least the first draft of the whole story is done.

As far as longer fics in general go, though, I'm always more the type who likes to write a bit in advance before publishing. Even with To Be of Use, which had little to no plot and was the only work I've genuinely published as the chapters got done so far, I didn't feel entirely happy throwing the chapters out as I had them. I'm a huge fan of setup and payoff, and callbacks, and foreshadowing, etc. and the thing is, even if you're a very practiced writer, as soon as you're writing a plot-heavy story, you'll encounter moments where you come up with an important thing you want to happen a little later in the story than you meant to, and suddenly need to go back to actually set that up, because you didn't in the first draft of an earlier chapter. (At least this is my experience, your mileage may vary, writing styles differ, etc.) So to write the best thing I can, I usually like to give myself the time to write the entire first draft, then revise that first draft, then do the final edit of each chapter just before publishing it. (This was also my modus operandi for basically all my 5Ds fics prior to Fields of Arcadia. Even if I didn't have the entire story edited and polished yet, the first draft was always complete before I ever started publishing. It's only now that my backlog of pre-written first drafts has caught up to me and I'm forced to keep y'all waiting as I prepare the next big thing completely from scratch in real time.)

[red-revival]

A system scan was enough to fix it I love old tech

[layton-heritage-posts]

Layton Heritage Post

yeah

[searchingwardrobes]

I have been debating sharing this for some time, but with the new year weight loss ads amping up, I feel it's something I have to say. I'm worried for people's health.

Unless you've been living under a rock, you probably already know about people taking the diabetic drug ozempic for weight loss. You've probably heard the debates about the ethics of taking needed drugs away from diabetes patients and maybe even the side effect of "ozempic face." However, there is one side effect of taking these drugs that, in my opinion, people are not being warned about.

If you carefully pay attention to the television ads, you will hear them mention "pancreatitis" as a possible side effect. If you're like me a decade ago, that word probably means nothing to you. Let me warn you, however, it is no minor thing. My husband suffered from chronic pancreatitis for five agonizing years. The pain is beyond comprehension. Doctors who specialize in the pancreas describe it as the worst pain a human can endure. There is no actual cure. Little is understood about the disease, so treatment is difficult. Doctors who understand it are few and far between. It took my husband forever to get diagnosed. He went through multiple surgeries and procedures, but nothing worked. He had to go on an extremely limiting diet. If he varied from it in any way, he would have an attack. The only way to recover from an attack was to not eat at all for days, then slowly add in broth and jello. Did he lose weight? Yes. As a matter of fact, one day he stepped out of the shower, and I burst into tears at the sight of him. He was skin and bones - I could count every rib. Was it worth it to be thin? If you even ask that question, I'm concerned for your mental health.

They couldn't figure out exactly why my husband got pancreatitis. At that time, they thought only alcoholics and drug addicts got pancreatitis. This made it difficult to get compassionate medical care, unfortunately. Now they know that prescription medication (particularly diabetic medication) and high cholesterol can also cause it. Then there is another group - where they just don't know. But you better believe I would hesitate to take any medication that could cause pancreatitis. I would weigh my options carefully to assess if it was worth the risk. In my opinion, weight loss is not worth that risk.

My concern has been heightened seeing the Hers commercials for these drugs (under different names, but rest assured, it is the same thing). These commercials brag that you can get these drugs from Hers with just a simple virtual call, no questions asked. I wonder if people are fully aware of the risks of these drugs. I also wonder if we even know all of the risks yet. I also fear that the culture around these drugs could develop into an us vs. them mentality. That if it's so easy to be thin, why wouldn't you be? And some are getting dangerously thin on these drugs.

I know some diabetics who are on these drugs, and necessarily so. They tell me that it causes nausea when they eat. That's why they don't eat much. Again, that doesn't sound like a pleasant way to live. If you need it to regulate your blood sugar, that's one thing. But if you don't? Why would you do this to yourself?

My husband is now healed of pancreatitis. It was a miracle. You may not believe in that sort of thing, but I'm telling you, there is no other explanation. We had exhausted every medical solution, then the pandemic hit. We were concerned because hospitals were only taking life or death cases. What if he had a bad attack and needed an iv of pain meds? What would we do? Weeks passed - no pain. A month passed - no pain. Six weeks passed - no pain. He decided to grill a steak - something he hadn't been able to even take a nibble of in 5 years. I watched him take a bite, holding my breath. Nothing. He ate the whole thing. No pain. Five years later, still no pain. The doctors can't explain it, either.

So our story has a happy ending. Not everyone else's does. I hope people take the time to read this. If you do, please, please share it. I don't want anyone suffering needlessly.

[bohemiandeer]

You know what hits me hard? When 5 to 6 year old children, all the way in Southeast Asia, knows about what's happening in Palestine right now. That children their age is getting bombed, that they're starving to death, that they're getting shot at, and sniped in the head. Because, just this past 2 or so months, I heard some of the little ones in the Kindergarten classes I'm TAing in as an Intern talk about it. Hell, one of the little boys downright said he didn't like Israel, because Israel is bad, because they do scary things. Another was questioning whether Palestine was bad too, because, "why else would they shooting at them?". A little girl in one of my classes doesn't want to finish her food at all, because she wants to save at least half her meat and rice for kids in Palestine, because she heard that, they don't have food. And that's just the ones I remember. Namely the inciting cases before their classmates slowly follow suit. The littles are fricking SCARED. We had to sit these kids down, and tell them that the topic is too mature for them at the moment, that they shouldn't even be concerned because they're KINDERGARTNERS, they're not even old enough to properly understand. The one teacher I was TAing for had to make a class announcement saying that. What gets me is, these are 5 to 6 year olds, the youngest I've worked with in this specific age group is 4. 5 years old on average, and they've already been exposed to the worst horrors genocide has to offer through the news and snippets of conversation among adults and hell, considering how many of them say they like to play games on Mama's phone, or their IPad, even from fricking social media. And the fact that, these literal babies, from all the way in Cambodia, has more empathy in their entire body and soul, than full grown fricking adults have in the nail of their pinky finger, gets me. FFS we as adults could LEARN from them I feel sometimes. I honestly don't know what to feel about it anymore. On the one hand, this is the next generation I'm working with. And if the next generation's default response to a tragedy such as Palestine, is what I've seen come up on occasion so far? Perhaps there's some bloody hope for this world after all. At least in this country. Especially since a majority of them already come from families who survived a genocide. These are the 3rd - 4th generation descendants of those who survived the Khmer Rouge. They've got grandparents at home, who no doubt are more than intimately familiar with what Palestine is going through right now. And it shows.

But on the other, it makes my heart sink because these are CHILDREN, these are LITTLE KIDS, they should be playing with their toys and watching cartoons and talking to their friends about everything from Spiderman to Speakerman to Kuromi and her friends, and be worried about whether or not they can go to playground that day, guranteed they're well behaved, or if Mama remembered to pack in their costume for swimming lessons that week. NOT JUST MY KIDS. But the little ones in Palestine too. They deserve better. They all deserve, so much better. Hell, it's come to the point that whenever I look at my kiddos right now, whether they'd be working in class, playing, doing something as mundane as eating lunch or getting ready for their nap. I think of the children their age in Palestine that didn't even get the chance to survive. I think of the ones whose memories from this age, is nothing but absolute horror and pain, rather than what has slowly become my normal, who never got to experience what my littles do on a daily basis right now.

Children shouldn't even be concerned about "War", about a Genocide. The last thing that should be on a 5 year old's mind, is pain, and suffering, and the worst horrors imaginable ever to be inflicted on a human being. ESPECIALLY WHEN IT'S INFLICTED, ON OTHER CHILDREN THEIR AGE. And for that alone, the world has failed them. Especially the kids in Palestine who didn't ask for any of this. They just wanted to carry on with life as kids do, the same way as my littles do on a daily basis no doubt, learning, playing, chatting with friends over their favourite cartoons and characters, worrying about whether they'd get to go to the playground or not that day.

I apologize for talking about this on this blog. I know my blog tends to be lighter in feel, a lot more unhinged and light hearted typically. I mean, I'm just a fricking nerd who likes to draw and write, and lurk about her favourite fandoms to consume and support what is shared among other nerds who also like to draw and write. But I couldn't stop thinking about it. About contemplating it, especially since I'll be back on a roll tomorrow, working with my kiddos again after not seeing them for 5 days straight because of Holidays. And, I just had to talk about it. This is something I felt I couldn't keep to myself this time, I don't think my soul'd be able to carry it. I had to talk about it.

FREE PALESTINE. Our children deserve better.

[alteredphoenix]

My kingdom for a long-running fantasy/sci-fi yuri series.

[brazenskald]

If elves max out as 750, and the rough ratio is 1 human year = 7.5 elf years, that would mean that at 39 Astarion was the equivalent of a 5 year old, if not physically then developmentally.

the only contribution I have when posts point out that Astarion was 39 when he died which is, admittedly, very young for an elf but not as young as some of you seem to think it is

[theorphicangel]

a thought of shy sukuna...who spends new year's eve trying to stir up the courage to kiss you at midnight.

it's the norm for most couples of course but your relationship with sukuna is far from normal as he strays away from pda. not that you mind, it makes his affection in private even more special.

but now that the two of you are at this new year's eve party he's thinking about the classic kiss at midnight, for good luck of course.

he's hesitant on asking you, hoping that you would make the move first.

in trying to get the courage to ask you he keeps downing glasses of alcohol to the point where you get concerned.

'Are you okay, 'kuna? you don't even like that brand of alcohol.'

'i'm fine.'

you nod at him with a smile, rubbing his arm for comfort. when he gets...tipsy, you do notice the blush on his face which starts from his cheeks and leads all the way up to the tips of his ears. he avoids eye contact with you for the rest of the night until there's two minutes until midnight.

everyone's outside waiting to countdown and for the firework ceremony, you're standing next to sukuna who looks in the opposite direction, fiddling with the glass of champagne in his hand.

'are you sure you're okay-'

'yeah.'

you stare at him up and down, his face heating up all over again. sukuna bites down on his lip, waiting for the final countdown.

10

'I have something to ask you...'

9

'what is it?'

8

For the first time in your life you see Sukuna struggle to get the words out.

7

'are you going to ask to kiss at midnight?' you ask

6

'no.'

5

'oh.' you raise a brow, surprised that you thought wrong. 'what is it then?'

4

Sukuna takes a deep breath, hesitant on his words.

3

'marry me.'

2

'sukuna-'

'that's not a yes' he interrupts.

1

you lean in for a kiss on his lips, taking him by surprise. Cheers of people exclaiming 'happy new year' surrounds the two of you, fireworks setting off all around you.

blue, red, gold, purple fireworks reflect around the two of you. the taste of alcohol on his lips is sour but now you know why he was so nervous the entire night.

pulling away, sukuna's gaze is full of nothing but anxiety as he waits for your response, his face now entirely red.

maybe you didn't hear him right, maybe you're going to say no, maybe you're annoyed that he had to get shitfaced drunk just to ask-

'yes I will, you idiot.'

[gguk-n]

Silent Connections (Oscar Piastri x Reader)

Summary- In a world where soulmates exist. Some people can hear their soulmates thoughts, but only when they think. Oscar isn't sure he has a soulmate.

Oscar Piastri wasn't even sure he had a soulmate. His mum would talk about how she could hear his dad's thoughts and how they met for the first time but Oscar had yet to hear a single thought from his soulmate. He even voiced his concern once; "I don't think I have a soulmate" he told his mum when he was 5. His mother consoled him and tried to cheer him up.

Oscar was shocked, he skid his kart in the middle of the race and almost crashed out when he heard it. A giggly voice, he wasn't even sure what she said but he was sure, it was her. Maybe he didn't finish that race but he knew now that he had a soulmate. He told his dad as soon as he hopped out of the kart. But he didn't really hear her after that, not for a while. He doubted himself again, maybe he hallucinated that. But as if on cue, he heard it loud and clear; she's a meany. I hate her. It made Oscar laugh out loud; he was 9 and meany was a pretty bad thing to call anyone.

With time, Oscar would hear some parts of his soulmate's thoughts. That's how he learned what she sounded like since his mum said he would hear her thoughts in her voice. Oscar loved his soulmate's voice, he was sure he would love her too; the moment they met. He couldn't wait to meet the love of his life.

Y/N knew she had a soulmate. She knew since she could form thoughts. She could hear him, in her head. It would get chaotic and annoying at times. She couldn't think properly. She could recognise her soulmate's voice even in her sleep since that boy didn't stop thinking. The first thoughts of his that she remembers are about some cars. She wasn't sure what they meant but she did learn a lot about cars from him. She was practically a natural when it came to driving and she only had her soulmate to thank for it.

Even if her soulmate's thoughts were chaotic and annoying sometimes, there were time when she was happy to have his voice in her head, especially on shitty day's like today. She failed her test, her car broke down and she had an assignment to submit in 12 hours with a blue screened laptop. She had started bawling when his smooth voice cut through her. It's fine. I can do it. I've come this far. I'll achieve my dream. I have to keep going. Y/N was glad for his constant reassurance even if it was not for her. Thank you soulmate. I hope you get whatever you want because your thoughts comfort me everyday. Oscar heard it. His brain stopped working, this was the first time they had had a conversation of any sort.

Y/N had pursued a career in cars, she wasn't sure what she would do but she did automobile engineering since her soulmate rubbed off on her. She knew she should've done some research on the company she was joining but she forgot and right now she was standing in a room full of her new colleagues when her eyes landed on a man in a orange shirt and black shorts. He's fucking hot. She thought but Oscar heard it loud and clear. Who's hot? He thought, face visibly annoyed. He's so cute annoyed. She couldn't help but swoon over the orange shirt man. Hey! you have a soulmate you know Oscar huffed. Y/N giggled Sorry Mr Soulmate, I'm sure you're hotter she reassured. Oscar smiled. I wanna make him smile like that. Y/N thought looking at the orange shirt guy smile. Oscar was getting annoyed by the second with who ever his soulmate found attractive.

Y/N was called by her team to introduce herself to the drivers who they would be building the cars for. The first man introduced himself as Lando Norris with a smile. Y/N smiled back and then the other spoke, "I'm Oscar Piastri" making Y/N's eyes bulge out. That voice, she could recognise it anywhere and he was an athlete. How long ago would they have met had she known? My Soulmate's fucking pale. was the first thing Oscar heard making him quickly scan the room. Y/N smiled at Oscar looking for her, his soulmate. "Hi, I'm Y/N Y/L/N" she introduced herself. Oscar's eyes landed on her before muttering, "soulmate" a small smile playing on his lips.

The two of them were able to slip away from the team; "I can't believe this is how I meet you. If I knew you were famous, I would've stalked you years ago" Y/N rambled. "No wonder I couldn't hear your thoughts. You don't think" Oscar laughed. Y/N caught herself blushing, embarrassed. "You're cute though" Oscar stated. "If it's any consolation, the guy I thought was fucking hot was you" she bit her lips. It was Oscar's turn to blush. "As long as I'm the only man you find hot, I have no problem" he said. "Maybe, we should exchange numbers?" she suggested. "Yeah" Oscar smiled. This was the start of a forever the two of them had been waiting for, for a long long time.

[burningembers91]

On Display - The Salesman x Fem!Reader

Follow up piece to Freak of Nature

Synopsis: When you break your routine, the Salesman is forced to break his.

A/N: I'm still not sure how dark I want this to be. I mean, he's obviously certifiably insane, but I also want him to retain some likeability.

Warnings: 18+ only, The Salesman is a stalker, the MC has been crying.

Something was off. He sensed it the moment he sat down and spied the empty chair that was usually occupied by your perfect frame. You were never late, and today it was 4:08pm and you were nowhere to be seen. The muscles in his jaw tightened, his molars grinding together as his temples twitched. He didn’t like it when things didn’t go as expected. It was one of the reasons he liked you so much; you were predictable. He knew exactly where you’d be at all times, but today you’d thrown him off his schedule.

You always finished work at 3:30pm sharp. You took 15 minutes to have a catch up with your colleagues, 5 minutes to freshen up in the staff bathroom and then 10 minutes to walk from the school to the coffee house. He’d seen you through the staffroom window, had seen you smile as you spoke to your colleagues. Cursing himself, he adjusted his position on the park bench, smoothing down his grey blazer as he tried to abate his rising anger. He’d had such high hopes for you. You’d done everything exactly the way he'd wanted until today. Of course, you had no idea what it was that he wanted because you had no idea he existed, but that was the beauty of it. He could test you out from afar before deciding whether to approach you. You were so nearly perfect, but today you’d let him down.

He took another look at his watch: 4:11pm. He was a patient man, but even he had his limits. He knew you didn’t have any other plans today. The handy little tracker he’d implanted in your phone one day at the coffee house when you’d been in the bathroom gave him full access to your phone. Your diary was clear, as it always was on a weekday. So where were you? He checked again, staring at your blank calendar as seething rage consumed him. Why, why did you have to break your routine?

His hands began to shake, and he closed his eyes, taking deeps breaths as he counted to ten. Therapy hadn’t been a complete waste of time; he’d learned a few coping mechanisms to help when he felt himself losing control. There had to be an explanation for why you weren’t here. Something must have changed.

Reaching 10, he opened his eyes. And there you were. Your eyes were red, your makeup smudged with tears. You’d been crying. He’d never cried before, could never understand why people did. Nothing in life was worth crying over as far as he was concerned. But something had obviously upset you. Was it your boss? He knew from your work emails that he’d been giving you a hard time. Maybe he needed to pay the man a little visit…

He watched through the window as you dumped your belongings in your usual seat, haphazardly wiping your eyes with the backs of your hands, which only smudged your mascara more. You looked beautiful like this; so vulnerable and soft. He wondered what you sounded like when you cried, whether your sobs were soft and gentle, or whether your body wracked with the tears you shed. He hoped you weren’t an ugly crier; it would be such a shame if you were. He needed to get to the bottom of this, needed to find out who had done this to you.

Picking up his briefcase, he marched into the coffee house. He needed to be careful about how he approached you; the last thing he wanted to do was scare you off. Not after he’d worked so hard to learn everything about you. You were the next in line to order, and he slotted himself behind you with a quiet ease. This was the first time he’d been this close to you, so close he could touch you. The familiar scent of your perfume wrapped him in a comforting blanket. Of course, he’d tracked down the scent and bought himself a bottle, spraying it whenever he couldn’t be near you. You were shorter than him, as he’d expected, but perfect in absolutely every way. He chastised himself for the anger he’d felt for you earlier. Someone else had made you late, had made you cry, and whoever it was would pay.

“One latte please,” you said to the barista, your voice hoarse with tears. He clenched his fist at the sound of your voice, the usual melodic tones now scratchy and gruff. This wasn’t right, this wasn’t right at all. “Please.” He stepped forward without thinking, his default smile plastered to his face. “Let me pay.” You looked up at him, your red rimmed eyes filled with confusion. He watched you take in his appearance, watched the tip of your tongue dart out to wet your lips. He fought to control himself as he watched you, wondering how it would feel to for him to do it, to run his tongue over your lips before biting down until you moaned at him to stop.

He coughed, ridding the overly erotic image from his mind. He’d pictured you in a thousand positions, in a thousand different scenarios, but somehow the simple act of you licking your lips had put him into overdrive. He was struggling to concentrate, losing control of himself. He didn’t like to lose control.

“Thank you,” you finally said, your perfect eyes meeting his. “That’s very kind.” He smiled at you, brushing past you to pay for your coffee, adding his own order. The smell of your perfume was overwhelming, memories of long nights spent inhaling the scent he’d sprayed on his pillows as he pleasured himself to thoughts of you.

What was happening to him? He could feel his stomach dropping, feel a wave of nausea pass through him. Is this what panic felt like? “Would you like to join me?” you asked, taking your coffee from the barista. “Yes,” he managed to say, beads of sweat collecting on his forehead as he followed you and that damned perfume trail to the seat by the window. He was in over his head. He needed to get away.

“I’ve seen you before,” you said to him, as you sat down. “You like to sit on the bench.” You pointed to his usual vantage point, eyeing him curiously. “Yes,” he smiled, “I like to sit and watch the world go by.” He hadn’t realised you’d noticed him; you were always so engrossed in your work. There was that stomach dropping feeling again, but this time it was accompanied by the most delicious feeling, like his stomach was fizzing. His shirt felt too tight, his tie a little too snug around his neck. What the hell was happening to him? Was he losing his edge?

“You like to people watch?” you smiled, “so do I. It’s why I sit here. I find people fascinating.” He was trying to concentrate on what you were saying, but your mascara-streaked cheeks were such a distraction. He wanted to wipe them clean, to remove the inky black stains that spoiled your perfect skin. He wanted to lick away the tear streaks from your face, to tie you down and fuck you until the tears you cried were for him.

You watched him, maintained eye contact as you waited for him to speak. He was so lost in his thoughts that he couldn’t remember what you’d said. “You’ve been crying,” he observed instead. “Why?” You laughed nervously, wiping at your makeup-stained face. “Oh, just ex-boyfriends,” you laughed, “nothing serious.”

Nothing serious?! In all the meticulous research he’d done, there had been no mention of an ex-boyfriend. How serious had it been? Was he still in the picture? Evidently, he was, if he was still able to make you cry. “I’m sorry to hear that,” he managed to say, barely clinging to his polite persona. He wanted to tear this man apart, whoever he was. He wanted to make him feel agonising pain in every inch of his body. You were his, and his alone. He managed to maintain his composure for the rest of your chat, his mind drifting between your perfect features, thoughts of fucking you until you begged him to stop, and thoughts of ripping apart the man who had made you cry. The time was approaching 6:00pm. You’d be heading home soon, to cook some dinner and watch some Netflix, or read a book. He’d have to be content to watch you from the restaurant across the road, your figure outlined in your cream curtain against the soft glow of your lamps.

“You know,” you turned to him as you pulled your coat on, “you don’t have to watch me from the window. If you wanted to talk to me, you could just come and sit down.” You smiled slyly, and left the coffee house without a further word. Never in his life had he been left speechless. He thought he knew you, thought he had you all figured out. He’d spent months learning all there was to know about you. He knew the names of your parents, knew how much money you had in your bank account, knew the name of your first-grade teacher, but you’d blindsided him in a single sentence. You knew he’d been watching you at the coffee house. You knew and you chose to stay in that same spot and let him stare at you every day. You knew what you were doing when you sat in front of the window at 4:00pm each afternoon. You were enticing him. You wanted him to play with you. You put yourself on display for him.

As he followed you to your apartment, a good few meters apart so you didn’t catch on, he couldn’t help but smile. Maybe, just maybe, after all this time he’d finally met his match.