#Blocks of land for sale

[verdanthill]

Buy New Land for Sale Melbourne West

Verdant Hill Tarneit offers new land for sale in Melbourne West. Checkout our 145 acers masterplan and book your blocks of land now. Lots selling fast!

[ksodirty]

[brewscoop]

Discover the remarkable story behind Tennessee Brew Works' dedication to local communities and Tennessee State Parks. From their hit State Park Blonde Ale to a new variety pack, see how they blend craft beer with a cause. Learn about their inspiring contributions and find out how you can support the Tennessee State Parks Conservancy. Cheers to making a difference!

[townpostin]

Land Sale Dispute Leads To Police Complaint In Potka Block

Seller Alleges Non-Payment For Ancestral Property Sold In 2019 DSP directs Potka police to investigate following family’s plea for intervention. JAMSHEDPUR – A land sale dispute in Potka block has escalated to a police complaint after the seller alleged non-payment of a substantial portion of the agreed amount. Sameer Kumar Bhakat of Shankarda village sold 119 decimal of ancestral land to Kamlesh…

[magscornerstore]

Hard Launch

Spencer Agnew x Reader

Summary: You and Spencer have been dating for a couple months, what better way to reveal it than during a game on the Pit channel?

A/N) First time writing for Spencer! i saw today's pit video and immediately got inspired to write something for the resident gamer. the spence community has been eating GOOD recently♡

Working at Smosh was fun! You basically got paid to hang out with your friends and post to social media, your two favorite things to do! You started at the company a year ago, fresh out of college with degrees in communications and marketing, new to L.A, and an excitement to leave your mark somewhere. You had interviewed with Smosh, with their growing popularity, they needed more hands available. You landed the job and quickly became a part of the family, helping manage their social media accounts. You got to post sneak peaks of upcoming videos, silly videos of you and your coworkers behind the scenes, and the members of Smosh attempting the latest trends and challenges. 

You easily fit in with the family, their charm and wit immediately making you comfortable, almost like you’ve always had a place there. You became quick friends with Angela and Chance, Courtney and Shayne, Tommy and Trevor…and Spencer. Spencer was different, something about his wild and out-of-pocket humor masked by the shy nerdy guy he was immediately intrigued you. You two hit it off right away, a shared love for video games and movies quickly turned into movie and game nights at each other’s apartments. After about three months of dancing around each other, Spencer finally asked you out. You two agreed to keep the relationship on the downlow, not wanting to experience the craziness from both the internet and the people in the office you love so dearly. You loved the Smosh family, but what you and Spencer had was soft, quiet, yours. A love between two people that belonged to only you. Lazy mornings, movie nights, cuddling on the couch with his cats, cooking adventures. It was amazing.

Which brings you to now, you two had discussed the idea of going public, about announcing your relationship to the world. You were both okay with it, you just needed to decide when and how. It was your idea to do it through one of the many games played on the channels, and what better game than Phone It In, the game about guessing who’s phone it is by the images provided. The game was simple, each person submitted a screenshot of their latest google searches, a text message exchange from a person of their choosing, and a picture from their photos. The three people playing, today it’s Spencer, Amanda, and Trevor, then had to guess who’s phone it is from a list of potential options of people in the office. 

The game was going smoothly, Spencer currently in the lead as the three crack jokes and use their detective skills to get the most points. “Alright, lets see the next Google search,” Tommy prompts as the next round begins. An image pops on the board. Spencer immediately writes his answer, it’s you, and he knows your brain like it’s his own. “So, we have ‘Sushi near me’, ‘Converse sale’, and ‘Pokemon A to Z release date’. Whoever this is, is a gamer.” Tommy continues to commentate as Amanda and Trevor struggle to decide. Many people in the office play Pokemon and wear converse. They both abstain and wait for the text messages to be revealed. The contact picture and name are blocked out as Tommy reads out the exchange. Spencer smiles softly at the picture, the conversation had happened only a couple days ago, you had asked him to pick up sushi for dinner despite just getting some the other day, he obviously had given in and gotten you the sushi. Amanda writes down a name she thinks could fit, not confident in her answer. Spencer catches your eye as you sit behind the camera, watching your reaction. You flash a grin at him as he raises an eyebrow, the final clue is revealed at Trevor’s request. A picture of Spencer laying on his bed in his apartment, lipstick marks littered across his neck and face as he grins up at you with a lovesick smile. Who took the picture isn’t obvious, the only clue being a small portion of your hand visible on his chest. 

The studio goes silent before a combined gasp and scream of surprise goes through everyone. Spencer sits there, cheeks flaming as he hides his face in his hands. “SPENCER!” Amanda shouts, gripping his arm, trying to form words but left speechless. Trevor too struggles to express his thoughts, mouth opening and closing, “Wait! I think I know!” Trevor grins as he quickly writes down a name. “Can I change my answer?” Amanda whines, “It’s so obvious now!” Tommy denies her requests as he has them reveal their guesses. He has Amanda go first, she had guessed Ollie, her reasoning being that they’re a Pokemon nerd and wear Converse...before the third picture had been revealed obviously. Trevor was next, he flipped his board and there in big letters was your name, “those two are always together, honestly, I thought they were dating for the longest time,” he reasons. It comes down to Spencer, “well, I think I know this person pretty well,” he jokes as he flips his board. Your name. “The Converse and sushi gave it away for me, but I guess that third picture jogs my memory a bit.” 

Tommy smiles as he turns to the board, “let’s see who’s phone it is, is it Y/N?” Your name and picture flash on the screen, confirming that it’s your phone. Screams echo around the studio at the confirmation of it being your lips on Spencer’s neck. “Wait! Wait, wait, wait, wait!” Amanda holds out her hands. “Are you two…dating?” She questions Spencer as all eyes fall on him. He glances at you as you watch with a grin, “a second Smosh couple has hit the office," he confirms with a goofy grin.

[michaela-o]

Hey ya all! Here's a thing i had in mind about how a tutorial written by decepticons on how to capture a human would look like :D

Enjoy!🧡✨️

Decepticon Recommendation: How to capture a human

Objective:

Humans are physically fragile but resourceful and quick to flee when threatened. A successful capture requires precision, intimidation, and a deep understanding of their weaknesses. The objective is to immobilize them efficiently while instilling fear, ensuring no damage that might render them unusable or dead unless necessary.

1. SCOUT AND ISOLATE THE TARGET

The first step in capturing a human is separating them from their support systems and escape routes.

• Identify solitude opportunities: Humans are most vulnerable when alone or in small groups. Wait until the target is isolated—walking in the dark, separated from a crowd or traveling in a vehicle through a remote area.

• Cut off communication: Humans rely heavily on their communication devices (phones, radios). Disable these devices first, either by emitting an electromagnetic pulse jamming their signal ir straight up crushing the device. With no way to call for help, their panic will increase.

• Block their escape routes: Humans are agile in confined spaces but slow in open terrain compared to a Cybertronian. Use the environment to your advantage by cornering them. Block off exits with your size, speed, or tools like energy barriers to force them into a limited area.

2. INSTILL FEAR AND CONFUSION

Humans respond predictably to fear. A frightened target is less coordinated and more likely to make mistakes.

• Make a show of power: Land heavily, crush nearby objects, or generate loud, reverberating sounds to assert your dominance. The more you appear as an unstoppable force, the quicker they will give up resistance.

• Use sudden movements: Humans are startled by abrupt changes in their environment. Appear out of nowhere, shift from stillness to speed instantly, or make sudden lunges to disorient them.

• Speak in a threatening manner: Use their language, but distort it to sound mechanical or predatory. Tell them what awaits if they resist, ensuring your tone conveys inevitability.

3. IMMOBILIZE THEM WITHOUT LETHALITY

Humans are painfully fragile. Overestimating their durability could render them unusable for sale or other purposes.

• Deploy restraints: Use non-lethal restraints like energy nets, magnetic tethers, or adhesive traps to immobilize them quickly. Avoid physical contact unless absolutely necessary, as their unpredictability can lead to unnecessary complications.

• Target mobility first: Humans heavily rely on their legs for escape. Immobilizing their lower body—through stunning their legs or pinning them to the ground—will neutralize their primary means of escape.

• Minimize struggle: If the human resists, use tools that apply pressure without causing harm. For instance, magnetic cuffs or a localized stasis field will incapacitate them without lasting damage.

5. ENSURE SECURE TRANSPORT

Once the human is captured, the transport phase is critical to ensure no escape attempts.

• Enclose the target: Humans are adept at exploiting even the smallest weaknesses in containment. Place them in an energy field, sealed pod, or reinforced cage to ensure they cannot interfere with your systems.

• Suppress movement: Even restrained humans can be disruptive. Induce a state of stasis by muzzling them, covering their helm or sedation to keep them docile during transport.

6. IF RESISTANCE PERSISTS

Should the human continue to resist, escalate your methods to assert dominance and ensure submission.

• Induce pain: Humans are highly sensitive to pain. A brief, non-lethal application of pressure or energy can quickly deter further resistance. For example, an electrical shock or tightening restraint will subdue most individuals.

• Make an example: If capturing multiple humans, ensure the others see the consequences of resistance. This will discourage further defiance.

• Break their will: Use psychological tactics such as threatening their loved ones or showing them the consequences of defiance through holographic projections or live displays of power.

KEY REMINDERS

• Avoid unnecessary damage: As stated above, dead or severely injured human is less useful for experimentation for they will last much less and are hard to sold on the black market for solid fortune.

• Control the narrative: Ensure the human understands their helplessness and that resistance will only lead to greater suffering.

"A human’s strength lies in their fragile belief in survival. Crush that belief, and their submission will follow." - decepticons

( lemme know if you would like me to make an Autobot version aswell !! :DD )

[hometoursandotherstuff]

See that big red rock formation? Well, the owners decided to attach their home to it. This is The Rock House (how original) and it's a stucco home built into the side of this monolith (the listing's word). Built in 2000 in Larkspur, CO, the 2bd, 2ba, 2,432sqft home is for sale for an even $1m.

They attached the house to it, but it's also part of the interior.

As soon as you walk in, you see the rock. The house is simply built around it. The architecture is very interesting. Look at all the stairs and levels and boxes. There's also a beautiful floor.

Look at how the wall paint seamlessly matches the rock.

Whoever designed it was very creative. I like all of these shapes and planters.

Beautiful windows and door going out to a deck.

There's a small terrace that leads down to this larger deck.

Then here they put in a regular, but still architecturally interesting, living room.

You can still see the rock, and this open area includes the spacious kitchen.

Very earthy tones tying in the terra cotta with greens. Love the green cabinets.

Nice airy kitchen with great views. The way it's situated doesn't allow the rock to block the view.

The rock actually looks like it's meant to be part of the wall.

The primary bedroom is located in a large loft with a fireplace and room to sit.

It has a very stylish ensuite.

And, around here, the laundry room is conveniently hidden.

And, here's an office tucked in the corner.

Across the way, there's the lovely 2nd bedroom.

It also has a stylish ensuite.

As well as its own office. I actually like this office better.

Here's another deck between the house and the rock. The outdoor area has to center around the house, b/c while the land is beautiful, the terrain is rocky.

The rocky and uneven land would be costly to develop, but it would also ruin the natural beauty.

There's a path to a shed and a large hot tub.

The drone shot shows how the muti-level decks fit in.

The lot is .86acre.

https://www.realtor.com/realestateandhomes-detail/6619-Apache-Pl_Larkspur_CO_80118_M12016-46265

[yourlocallgothamite]

The Demon Spawn Surveillance Strategy (The DSSS)

Chapter 5: The One In Which Everyone Spirals Except Damian, Who’s Busy Being in Love AKA DAY ONE (part one)

⸻

A.N: buckle up, this is a very, veryy, long chapter. I'm talking 15.9k words long. I suggest you take a seat for this.

⸻

previous chapter - next chapter

⸻

Note: This is Damian's weekly class schedule: (in bold are all the classes he shares with you)

Damian Wayne's Class Schedule Monday: (in bold are all the classes he shares with you) Biology - English - Math - Physics - LUNCH - Geography - Arabic - FREE

Y/N L/N's Class Schedule Monday: (in bold are all the classes she shares with Damian) FREE: Weekly Student Council Meeting - English - Biology - Physics - LUNCH - Math - Arabic - Georgraphy

⸻

You’re not sure what’s worse—the principal’s fifteen-minute monologue about funding reports, or the Treasurer’s third attempt to propose a “spirit-boosting bake sale” like it's a revolutionary political movement. You scribble the suggestions into your color-coded notebook anyway, resisting the urge to roll your eyes.

The Student Council meeting drags. Your fingers drum quietly along the edge of your clipboard while your mind drifts, and the moment the bell finally rings, you’re up before anyone else can even close their folders.

He is already there.

Damian stands near the administration office, perfectly composed as always, school ID clipped to his sweater like it actually matters. He doesn’t smile, not really—but there’s something in the way his gaze softens when it lands on you. Something only you ever seem to catch.

You spot him before you see anyone else, right where he always is—leaning casually against the wall near the admin office, arms folded, eyes scanning the hallway like he's a guard on patrol duty.

But when his gaze softens as it lands on you, that softness hits harder than it should. You tell yourself it's nothing.

 Just Damian being Damian.

But your heart doesn’t get the memo. And neither does your blushing, smiling face.

He takes your clipboard from you without asking, flips it so the notes aren’t visible, and tucks it under his arm. A subtle barrier between you and the world. You don’t comment. But your fingers brush his as you hand it over. Just for a second.

“You survived,” he says, falling into step beside you as you walk toward your shared English class.

“Barely. They want another fundraiser.”

His lips twitch. “God help Gotham.”

You don’t hold hands in the hallway—no need to draw attention—but he walks a little closer than strictly necessary. His shoulder brushes yours. It feels like gravity, subtle and constant. Neither of you says much. You don’t need to.

When a group of students rushes by, loud and careless, Damian subtly shifts. His shoulder angles in front of yours—not enough to block, just enough to guide. Like muscle memory. Like instinct. Like saying: I saw them before you did. I’ve got you.

By the time you reach your English classroom, neither of you has said much. But when you glance up, he's already looking at you. And for just a second, it feels like the hallway disappears. Just you, him, and the space between your shoulders brushing like a secret no one else gets to know.

In English, you sit beside him, listening as the class analyzes a poem about isolation. When the teacher missays ‘hyperbole’, you glance sideways just in time to see the slight twitch of Damian’s eyebrow.

He corrects the teacher without hesitation, his voice calm and clipped. No one argues. They never do.

You bite your lip to hide a smile, nudging his ankle beneath the desk. He nudges back.

By the time the bell rings, he’s already collected your book with his and is walking you to your biology class.

You fall into light conversation about your next class, you being excited about dissecting a flower in the biology lab and him mentioning the boredom he will experience in his Math class, grumbling something about “I’ve learned all this information when I was 7.” And you laugh it off.

No one says anything about you two. People notice, obviously—but no one’s brave enough to comment. Not about him. Not about the way he always seems to know your schedule. Not about the way he hands you your lab notebook before you even reach for it.

When you reach the science wing, he pauses. His hand ghosts your lower back before he murmurs, “Text me when you’re done.”

But just before you step inside, you glance back.

He’s already looking.

And for one second, it’s like the hallway doesn’t exist. Just him. Just you. Just that invisible, unspoken thing in the air between your shoulders brushing.

Like you’re both in on a secret the rest of the world hasn’t noticed yet.

Biology passes in a blur of petals, chloroplasts, and another classmate begging for your notes.

Then, fifty minutes later, like clockwork, Damian is waiting outside the classroom door.

You don’t ask how he always manages to be outside the right classroom at the right time. He doesn’t explain. He just holds out your Physics book like it’s always been his job to carry it for you.

In Physics, you’re lab partners. You race each other through the equations. You tie. He says nothing. You call it a win anyway.

When the bell rings for lunch, you both start heading to the cafeteria.

You sit at your usual table by the east-facing windows. The spot is quiet, tucked just out of sight but flooded with sun. Damian doesn’t sit until you do. Damian’s presence brings you comfort, his tray perfectly portioned and untouched while he waits for you to steal a bite first.

Jon shows up five minutes later, loud and beaming, armed with two juice boxes and a half-squished bag of chips he claims are “cafeteria contraband.”

Damian breaks off half a chocolate croissant and places the bigger piece on your tray without a word. He does this every Monday. You pretend not to notice. You always do.

Some things don’t need to be said.

⸻

DAY ONE: AGENT: A-01 CALLSIGN: Nightwing OBJECTIVE: Reconnaissance and Relationship Confirmation TIMESTAMP: 08:00 – 12:10 HOURS LOCATION: Gotham City – Various Civilian Hotspots

Dick Grayson had three goals by noon:

Befriend everyone who’s ever handed Y/N a latte.

Casually gather intel without setting off alarm bells.

Not look like he was spiraling over his baby brother’s secret love life.

He was currently failing at all three. Time to change that.

At 08:00 AM sharp, Dick Grayson stepped onto the sidewalk with a mission and a smile.

No rooftops today. No grappling hooks. Just him, a casual hoodie, charming dimples, and a growing suspicion that his little brother was hiding a life-altering romantic situation from the family. Which, frankly, was just rude.

If Damian was emotionally compromised, the least he could do was fill out the proper paperwork.

So, Dick had taken it upon himself to go old-school, an approach he was sure the other agents wouldn’t take.. which was exactly his reason for choosing it. No satellites. No drones. Just good, old-fashioned in-person recon—plus a few planted trackers for flavor.

08:07 AM – Café Recon

First stop: Le Petit Noir, the cozy Gotham café Y/N was known to frequent. Dick stepped inside, adjusted the collar of his jacket, and smiled at the barista like he’d just invented charm.

“Morning,” he said, voice warm. “First time here. This place always smells like cinnamon and regret, or is that just Monday?”

The barista, a college-aged guy with a nose ring and an eyebrow scar, snorted. “You nailed the vibe.”

Dick ordered a black coffee and a slice of cake (‘research purposes’), then leaned casually on the counter.

Dick smiled. “Trying to become a regular. My brother recommended the place. Brooding tall guy, olive skin tone, dark hair, Gotham Academy uniform? Always sits by the window?”

“Oh. Yeah. Him,” the barista said, nodding. “He and his girlfriend come in sometimes. Kinda intense.”

Girlfriend. Girlfriend. Dick added mental red alert sirens to his internal soundtrack.

“Totally chill,” he said aloud. “Love that for them.”

He chatted with the barista a bit longer, gave a charming smirk, left a generous tip, memorized the layout of the café, and walked out knowing he’d be back before sunset.

08:59 AM – Caffeine Intel

Dick wasn’t done. Not yet. Not when the truth might be hiding one latte away.

So, with the casual determination of a man on the verge of losing it, he crossed the street to the café directly facing Le Petit Noir. It was less aesthetic, more fluorescent, and the barista behind the counter looked exactly like someone who’d rather be asleep. Perfect.

He ordered a latte he had no intention of drinking, and leaned against the counter like a guy with way too much free time. “Busy morning?” he asked lightly.

The barista shrugged. “Not really. Just a few of the usuals.” She glanced out the front window, toward the rival café across the street. “That place gets all the weird ones, though.”

“Oh yeah?” Dick said, like he wasn’t already mentally sharpening his spiral knife. “What kind of weird? Couples and PDA?”

She nodded, gesturing with her chin. “There’s this one kid. Always dressed like he’s on his way to a funeral, even at 7 A.M. Real serious. Sharp jaw. Good hair. Definitely thinks he’s the main character.” Dick’s stomach dropped. “And he pulls out chairs for his girlfriend. Every single time. Same table. Doesn’t even sit down until she does. It’s like watching a black-and-white romance movie play out in 4K.”

Dick blinked. “He… pulls out her chair?”

“Yeah.” The barista blew a bubble with her gum, unimpressed. “Old-school. Makes the rest of us look bad.”

Dick laughed, but it sounded strangled. He took a sip of his mint tea. It tasted like betrayal. “She has a coffee routine,” he muttered. “And he pulls out her chair? What is this—pre-marriage courtship?? I swear if I see a napkin doodle with both their initials, I’m defecting.”

He glanced out the window again. The table was empty now. But the implication lingered like a ghost.

He added a mental note to the growing evidence wall in his mind:

POSSIBLE EVIDENCE PIECE – THE CHAIR RITUAL Routine table. Consistent location. Subject D.W. performs romantic gestures without hesitation. Possible courtship behavior = dangerously high commitment levels. Status: Pre-Honeymoon Behavior. Immediate concern. Priority: CATCH THEM IN THE ACT

He thanked the barista, left an absurd tip out of guilt and spiraling, and walked out feeling haunted by the image of his 17-year-old brother performing emotional grand gestures like some tiny Victorian husband.

This was worse than he thought.

And he was only just getting started.

09:31 AM – Pet Store Sweep

Next stop: Paws & Whiskers, a tiny shop with cracked tile floors. The moment he walked in, a dog barked, a cat hissed, and Dick felt right at home.

He struck up a conversation with the store clerk while pretending to browse chew toys he definitely didn’t need.

“You guys ever get volunteers from Gotham Academy?”

“All the time. There’s this one girl—h/c hair, always in a rush? She comes in with her Animal Welfare Club and talks to the animals like they’re her coworkers. I swear I saw one of the cats bow once. Kind of adorable.” The clerk said.

Bingo.

“She’s always nice,” the clerk added. “Tells the kittens they’re doing great. I didn’t know cats could be motivated.”

Dick laughed, tucked that info away, and smiled like his heart wasn’t unraveling. “Aw. Kids these days.”

He then bought a suspicious amount of organic dog treats. Just in case. Alfred’s going to be confused.

10:22 AM – Art Store Charm Offensive

By the time he entered Graphite Dreams, the art supply store tucked between a laundromat and a tarot shop, Dick was in full-on casual mode: hoodie sleeves rolled up, messenger bag over the shoulder, low-stakes flirting with the tired college girl behind the register.

“I swear I’m not just here for the fancy pens. Okay, maybe I am.”

She smiled faintly. “Let me guess—graphic design major?”

“Close. Night-shift philosophy.”

She laughed. Progress.

They chatted. He mentioned an “artistic cousin” who was into mixed media. The girl started speaking about the regulars and the weird ones. Dick mentioned teenagers and their art. The girl rolled her eyes affectionately. “We have this regular, Y/N, she’s like that. She’s always here, buys those mechanical pencils in bulk like they’re going extinct. She totally has a favorite shelf.”

“Y/N L/N?” Dick said innocently.

“Yeah. You know her?”

“Oh, my cousin might. Small world.”          

Dick made a mental note to check said shelf later for souvenirs evidence. He paid in cash and left with a sketchbook, several suspiciously sharp pencils, and three names to file under Known Civilian Hotspots of Suspect Y/N L/N.

EVIDENCE PIECE A: Y/N L/N: KNOWN CIVILIAN HOTSPOTS: 🔹 Le Petit Noir Café: Barista (college student, nose ring, eyebrow scar) confirmed repeated visits. She has a usual order. This implies routine. Intimacy with caffeine. Often accompanied by subject D.W. (see: suspect Damian Wayne) Quote: “He and his girlfriend come in sometimes. Kinda intense.” Status: Suspected Regular Threat Level: Mochaccino-Adjacent Romance 🔹 Paws & Whiskers Pet Store: Known member of Gotham Academy’s Animal Welfare Club Allegedly motivates kittens. Who does that?? “She talks to the animals like they’re her coworkers. I swear I saw one of the cats bow once.” — Store Clerk Status: Cat Communicator. Possibly Snow White in disguise. Threat Level: Unreasonably Wholesome 🔹 Graphite Dreams Art Supply Store: Known shelf-loiterer. Buys mechanical pencils in bulk. Has a favorite bookshelf. A shrine? A secret passage? Cashier called her “one of our regulars” and smiled like that was a fond memory. Status: Pencil Hoarder. Suspected Artistic Overachiever. Threat Level: Artsy. Probably emotionally well-adjusted.

By 11:30, his charm offensive was complete. Gotham’s local businesses were softening. His civilian web was forming.

11:46 AM – Safehouse Spiral

Dick Grayson had been in love before.

He knew what it looked like.

That’s why he was starting to sweat.

He sat cross-legged at the safehouse terminal (not the DSSS agents’ allocated safehouse, his own safehouse), coffee going cold beside him, eyes flicking across the network of traffic cams, school feeds, and public security loops he’d quietly tapped into over the last three hours. Tim was busy obsessing over drones. Jason was doing something morally grey. And Dick?

Dick was following the receipts. Digitally.

He was here to confirm suspicions, not feed them.

A few keystrokes later, he was into multiple different camera networks.

He started with the street cams near Gotham Academy—just to “check morning traffic,” he told himself. Totally normal. Totally casual.

It didn’t take long.

▶️ 07:57 AM – Traffic Cam Footage | South Gate | Gotham Academy

Two figures. Damian Wayne and Y/N L/N. Walking side by side toward the school entrance. Same stride. Matching pace.

Damian’s head tilted slightly toward her as she talked. She carried her bag on one shoulder. He held her coffee.

Dick froze the frame.

He zoomed.

Then zoomed again.

Her face was lit up mid-sentence. Damian had that look—neutral but listening, all sharp lines and unsaid things—but there was ease in the way they moved. Familiarity.

Like they’d done this a hundred times.

He printed the frame.

EVIDENCE PIECE B: SYNCHRONIZED ENTRY He Walked Her There, Didn’t He?

Dick blew out a breath.

Okay. Fine. Maybe it was coincidence. They could’ve just run into each other. No big deal. This didn’t mean anything yet. He still had plausible deniability.

Then he opened the classroom footage.

▶️ 08:56 AM – Classroom Feed | Room 3C | English

There they were again.

In their seats. Side by side.

She leaned toward him at one point, just a little, like she was hiding a smile. He handed her a highlighter without even glancing. The teacher mispronounced hyperbole. Damian corrected her.

And then—

She nudged his ankle under the desk.

Dick blinked.

No. No, no, no—

Damian nudged her back.

Dick choked on his coffee.

It was so small. So subtle. So domestic.

Dick’s soul left his body.

 He paused the feed. Stared. Rewound. Watched it again. And again.

“This is flirting. This is strategic. This is emotionally synchronized ankle flirting. This is calculated emotional sabotage!”

He paused the footage again. Stared at the screen like it had personally betrayed him. Then he dragged his hands down his face and muttered:

“This is... this is illegal. This is weaponized intimacy.”

He printed the footage.

EVIDENCE PIECE C: CLASSROOM SEATING – THE HYPERBOLE AND ANKLES INCIDENT™ EYEBROW FLIRTING = ROMANTIC CODE LEVEL 9 PHYSICAL CONTACT!! REPEATING BEHAVIOR!! ANKLE FLIRTING EXISTS!!! HE DIDN’T EVEN LOOK DOWN. THIS IS A WELL-OILED MACHINE OF ROMANTIC NONSENSE. IF THIS ISN’T LOVE, I’M CANCELING ROMANCE

Dick sat in stunned silence. The room buzzed with the low hum of the computer. The croissant he bought earlier stared at him from the counter like it knew.

“They’re in sync,” he whispered.

It wasn’t just the shared classes. Or the textbook handoffs. Or the synchronized arrival. It was the looks. The muscle memory. The comfort.

It was the softness.

They were soft with each other.

He hated it. He loved it.

He was spiraling.

“Okay,” he said aloud, standing up and pointing at the evidence wall forming in real time. “Okay. So. He walked her to school. They sit together. They flirt. With ankles. Which is apparently a thing now.”

Dick inhaled deeply. He was fine. He was calm. He was not overreacting.

He exhaled.

He stared at the screen.

He was fine.

He was calm.

He was going to plant a tracker on her by the end of the day.

For her safety, obviously.

And also for evidence.

But mostly her safety.

⸻

DAY ONE: AGENT: A-02 CALLSIGN: Red Hood OBJECTIVE: Infiltrate Gotham Academy and (not so) covertly monitor subjects TIMESTAMP: 08:00 – 12:10 HOURS LOCATION: Gotham Academy & Vicinity

Jason Todd had done a lot of insane things in his life. Infiltrating a prep school before noon wasn’t even Top Ten.

But tailing his demon brother’s maybe-girlfriend? That was… a new low. Or a high. He hadn’t decided yet.

He didn't want to be here.

He also didn’t want to be emotionally invested in his demon brother’s mysterious maybe-girlfriend, but here they were—him, outside Gotham Academy, and Damian, somewhere in this building committing either a crime or a deeply inconvenient romance.

So. Yeah. Monday.

At exactly 08:00 AM, Jason strolled past the front gates of Gotham Academy wearing a fitted black turtleneck, charcoal slacks, and his Wayne Enterprises Head of Security badge clipped to his belt. He looked sharp. Official. Slightly homicidal. Perfect.

He made it two steps into the main building before someone flagged him down.

“Uh—sir? Can I help you?”

Jason stopped, offered a half-smile that said ‘I know things you don’t’ and flipped his badge.

“Jason Todd-Wayne. Wayne Enterprises. Head of Security.” He paused for dramatic effect. “Bruce wanted a quick sweep of the premises. Can’t be too careful. What with all the… high-profile legacies enrolled.”

“Oh! Right. Of course!” The assistant flustered. “Would you like a student liaison—?”

“No need.” Jason waved her off, already walking. “I’ll manage.”

He didn’t need help.

He needed answers.

08:07 AM – Operation: Hall of Honor: Initiated

Jason wandered the halls like he belonged there—which, technically, he didn’t, but he also didn’t care.

He passed several classrooms, paused near a hallway display titled “Academic Excellence at Gotham Academy”, and—

Bingo.

There they were.

Framed and polished, gleaming under a spotlight like Gotham’s most delicate secret:

Nine medals. All with Y/N L/N etched into their nameplates.

🥇 Academic Decathlon Champion 🥇 State Science Olympiad Winner. 🥇 Regional Mathletes Gold Medalist. 🥇 National Youth Essay Contest Winner. 🥇 Top Score – Gotham City National Exams 🥇 Gold Medal – International Linguistics Olympiad 🥇 Best Research Paper – Gotham STEM Fair 🥇 1st Place – National History Day Competition 🥇 State Champion – Academic Pentathlon

Jason stepped closer, hands in his pockets, squinting at the engraved labels like they personally offended him.

“Of course she has medals,” he muttered, tilting his head and smirking faintly, "Overachiever. Probably alphabetizes her notebooks.”

He snapped a picture with his burner phone.

ITEM ONE: MEDALS THE GIRL WINS THINGS. WHY. could be a cult leader. or worse—valedictorian material.

He paused. Took another picture. Then one more. Just to be dramatic. The reflections were different in each. It felt important.

Then he added another sticky note to his notebook:

What is she trying to prove?? (Other than being perfect??)

Then Jason glanced a few feet down the display, curious.

Another set of medals—smaller, only three. He stepped over and squinted.

Damian Wayne.

🥇 Gotham Academy Debate Finalist 🥇 Inter-School Chess Tournament Runner-Up 🥇 Gotham Prep Fencing Invitational – First Place

Jason blinked.

Then blinked again.

A slow, evil grin stretched across his face.

He leaned in close, lips twitching as he whispered to the glass: “Oh my god. She has more.”

He turned back toward Y/N’s section, then toward Damian’s.

“His girlfriend has more medals than him,” he snorted, pulling out his burner phone again. “Oh, this is delicious.”

Click. Click. Click.

He zoomed in on the nameplates and jotted down another note under the medal display log:

ITEM ONE: SUBSECTION: RIVALRY – COMPARATIVE MEDAL DATA Y/N: 9 🥇 | Damian: 3 🥇 Conclusion: She wins. At everything. Sticky note: Demon Spawn = academically outmatched?? (He’s going to need therapy. Again.)

Jason snickered. This was prime teasing material.

Jason turned to leave the medal display, muttering something unprintable under his breath, when—

He stopped.

Took three slow steps to the left.

And stared.

Another case. This one taller. Glass a little smudged.

And packed—packed—with trophies.

Seven.

All proudly engraved with the same cursed name: Y/N L/N.

Jason stepped closer, squinting at each one like it was a personal attack.

🏆 1st Place – Gotham Regional Debate Tournament 🏆 Grand Prize – Gotham Academy Art Showcase 🏆 Varsity Track Champion – 100m Sprint 🏆 Top Speaker – National Public Debate Finals 🏆 Best Floor Routine – Gotham State Gymnastics Meet 🏆 First Place – Biotech Innovation Challenge 🏆 Top Scorer – Gotham Girls’ Archery Invitational

Jason stared.

Then stared harder.

“Okay,” he whispered. “She does genius things. She runs. She monologues people into submission. She paints. She flips. She invents biotech. She shoots arrows.”

He took a slow, deep breath.

“This girl’s a one-woman Batfamily.”

He stared at the case like it had personally wronged him.

“This is a threat,” he muttered. “This is absolutely a threat.”

Click. Click. Click. He snapped three pictures, then dropped into a crouch and added them to his evidence file like he was handling nuclear codes.

ITEM TWO: TROPHY PARADE OF DOOM Is she planning to become mayor? Or a vigilante? Or queen of Earth? Who needs this many skill sets?? Conclusion: Threat Level = Unholy. Possible vigilante material. Or president. Or both. Damian is dating a goddess. I need to lie down.

He scribbled on another sticky note and slapped it onto the page:

Plot twist: Damian is the side character.

And with that, Jason walked away from the case like it might explode.

He snickered all the way down the hall.

But twenty-nine steps and one vending machine detour later—

He stopped.

Brows furrowed. Feet frozen.

A second trophy case stood near the fencing wing—larger, older, and clearly reserved for one specific student. Polished brass plaque at the top: “Gotham Academy: Distinguished Athletic and Academic Excellence”

Inside?

Thirteen trophies.

Thirteen.

Each engraved with the same smug little name: Damian Wayne.

Jason squinted.

🏆 1st Place – Gotham Prep Fencing Invitational 🏆 Top Scorer – Regional Chess Circuit 🏆 MVP – Interscholastic Martial Arts Tournament 🏆 Grand Prize – Gotham Youth Robotics Showcase 🏆 First Place – National Latin Exam 🏆 Gotham History Bowl Champion 🏆 State Archery Gold Medalist 🏆 Gotham Academy Art Competition – 1st Place 🏆 Best Short Story – Citywide Literary Fair 🏆 Gotham Academy Debate MVP 🏆 Biology Research Showcase Winner 🏆 Top Score – Tactical Logic Assessment 🏆 Gotham Philosophy Club Symposium Champion

Jason just stared.

“…Are you kidding me?”

He counted again.

Thirteen.

He leaned forward until his forehead lightly tapped the glass.

“Okay. Fine. Fine,” he muttered, pulling out his phone like it betrayed him. “Demon spawn can’t let his girlfriend win anything, huh?”

Click. Click. Click. He snapped three photos and slapped a fresh sticky note into his notebook with way too much aggression.

ITEM TWO: SUBSECTION: DEMON SPAWN’S TROPHY HOARD – COMPARATIVE TROPHY DATA Y/N: 7 🏆 | Damian: 13 🏆 Conclusion: She has more medals. He has more trophies. They definitely bicker about this.

Second sticky note:

Relationship dynamic = Competitive Nerds™ Theory: they probably race each other to class. This is their foreplay. I hate it here.

Jason stepped back, shook his head, and muttered under his breath as he walked away: “They’re both insane. That’s why it works. They deserve each other. God help the rest of us.”

Operation: Hall of Honor: Notes: Subject exhibits overwhelming dominance in academic, athletic, and artistic fields. Possible cult leader. Or valedictorian. Possibly both.

09:47 AM – Operation: Eyes on the Asset: Initiated

The bell would ring soon, he had to act.

Next goal: locate the subjects.

It wasn’t hard.

Jason had shadowed enough missions to know how to walk without being seen. Even in a crowded school hallway, he moved like smoke—eavesdropping from the corner of doorways, listening for that familiar low-pitched growl that could only belong to Damian freaking Wayne.

He found him outside the biology lab around 09:49. Damian was waiting casually, back against the wall, arms crossed, looking like the grumpiest Victorian ghost in a modern-day prep school.

No phone. No book. Just… waiting. For her.

Jason blinked.

Y/N appeared, beaming about “chromoplast distribution” and “the dissection was perfect” and “the pollen was so fluffy.” She bumped his arm with her elbow.

Damian tilted his head slightly, listening like no one else existed in the hallway.

Jason blinked again.

“Okay,” he said under his breath. “We’re doing this now.”

Damian did the impossible: he smiled.

A small one but a smile nonetheless.

Jason felt something in his ribcage collapse.

“I’m gonna be sick,” he muttered, pulling out his phone and discreetly snapping a picture of them standing together—her mid-ramble, him mid-listen, that faint softness haunting his face like he didn’t know how to stop looking at her.

ITEM THREE: POST-FLOWER DISSECTION FLIRTING

He slapped multiple sticky notes onto in his notebook:

EMOTIONAL LOITERING. He was waiting outside her class. Just waiting. He holds her book. Like some sort of… soft-boy assassin. They share air?? WHY DO THEY SHARE AIR??

He hated (loved) how synchronized they looked.

Hated how quiet they were around each other. How effortless it was. Just how long had this been going on?

Operation: Eyes on the Asset: Notes: Subject appears emotionally compromised. Observation includes hallway proximity, mutual softness, and suspicious synchronization. Recommend emotional extraction team. Or a nap.

10:24 AM – Operation Locker Recon: Initiated

Jason had a sixth sense for emotional vulnerability. It was practically a gift.

So when he passed a row of lockers, he didn't hesitate to look for hers. No one was nearby. They were all in class

He found her locker. It wasn’t hard—he’d already memorized the floor plan.

He took out a pin and got started on picking the lock, which was one of the easiest things he had ever done. Click. Click. And it was open. Perfect.

Her handwriting was visible on a binder label inside. A hoodie, too. Folded neatly and tucked in. Clean. Organized.

He saw it before he meant to: a sticky note. Yellow. Carefully folded. Wedged beneath her day planner.

Quick glance left. Quick glance right.

Swipe.

Stole it.

Unfolded it.

Damian’s handwriting. Small, sharp, clean:

“Don’t forget your scarf. It’s cold today.”

Jason stared at it.

Then stared harder.

“I’m going to throw myself into traffic.”

He took it, closed the locker shut, and stormed off.

ITEM FOUR: THE DOMESTIC THREAT NOTE

Sticky note added:

This is violence. This is criminal levels of thoughtfulness. Why does he know the weather?? Is he checking?? Does he have apps?? evidence: he’s thoughtful. she kept it. we are in hell.

He didn’t take a picture. He kept the original. He had plans for it. Hopefully she wouldn't realize it was missing.

Operation notes:

Operation Locker Recon: Notes: Subject Y/N's locker accessed. Intel retrieved: handwritten note from Damian Wayne. Contents emotionally destabilizing. Classification: Domestic Threat, High Impact. Agent A-02’s morale: severely compromised.

11:54 AM – Operation: Croissant Protocol – Initiated

Jason didn’t sit.

He stood just inside the cafeteria entrance, blending in near a half-broken vending machine and pretending to read a fire evacuation map like his life depended on it.

(It kind of did. If Damian saw him lurking near his girlfriend during lunch hour, Jason would be forced to fake his own death again.)

But he could see them. Perfectly.

There, in their usual spot—tucked beneath the east-facing windows, sun slanting across the table like something out of a sentimental indie film—sat the crime.

Y/N and Damian.

Not facing each other like normal teens. No. Side by side. Same pace. Same tray movements. Mirror reflections of teen domesticity.

Jason clenched his jaw and focused.

Damian didn’t sit until she did. Typical. Always dramatic.

His tray sat untouched in front of him—perfectly portioned, like Alfred made it himself.

He didn’t take a single bite.

Not until she stole the first one.

Jason saw it.

She leaned over. Took a forkful of something from Damian’s plate without asking.

Damian didn’t flinch. He just handed her the water bottle cap like they were a two-person machine.

Then came the kicker.

A few minutes in, Jon Kent appeared—sprinting over with all the subtlety of a dropped piano—two juice boxes, a wrinkled bag of chips, and zero self-awareness.

Damian broke off a chocolate croissant and—without a word—placed the bigger half on Y/N’s tray.

Like clockwork. Like ritual. Like he did it every single Monday.

Jason’s left eye twitched.

He raised his phone, zooming in, he snapped a quick photo.

ITEM FIVE: THE CROISSANT CODE He saved her the bigger half. It’s always the bigger half. This is… premeditated romance.

He scribbled on a sticky note and slapped it next to the photo:

CHOCOLATE = COMMITMENT?? MONDAY ROUTINE = LONG-TERM BEHAVIOR. SEND HELP. Emotional routine established. Comfort level: Dangerous. Looked like love. I’m unwell. Croissant routine = domestic intimacy = code red = someone please sedate me

From a few feet away, Jason caught the way Y/N bumped her knee lightly against Damian’s under the table. He didn’t even look up. Just adjusted his tray slightly, like they were communicating in Morse code via knee contact.

Jason sighed. Loudly. Then immediately silenced himself and pretended to read the fire map again.

This was psychological warfare.

And he was losing.

He pulled back before the bell rang—quick exit through the courtyard, just in case—but not before jotting down one final observation in his notebook:

Note to self: Damian is in deeper than we thought. He’s croissant-deep. That’s at least a 7 on the Emotional Entanglement Scale.

And with that, Jason slipped out of the cafeteria and into his next round of bad decisions.

Operation: Croissant Protocol: Notes: Subjects engaged in synchronized domestic behavior. Tray synchronization confirmed. Food sharing observed. Emotional entanglement: Severe. Analyst note: We are now croissant-deep. May require extraction.

12:10 PM – Emotional Damage Acquired

Jason backed off just as lunch ended. Watched as Damian picked up her book bag like it was instinct.

Watched as she leaned toward him, whispered something, and made him smirk. Actually smirk.

Jason turned away before he had to witness anything worse.

Like feelings.

Or forehead kisses.

He messaged the others:

GROUP CHAT MESSAGE: THE DSSS AGENTS [AGENT A-02]: He’s in deep. Possibly whipped. Evidence pending full spiral. [AGENT A-03]: What kind of evidence? [AGENT A-02]: Sticky notes. Croissants. Flower dissection aftermath. And that’s before 1 PM.

He took a look at his notebook filled with evidence, he stared at it for a long second.

Jason Todd had been dead before. He had lived through Lazarus madness. He had fought assassins, demons, and billionaires with god complexes.

But this?

This was worse.

Damian Wayne was in love.

It was the end of times.

And Jason was going to gather every bit of evidence before the whole world collapsed.

He took a long breath and then whispered, “You poor, dangerous idiot.”

⸻

DAY ONE AGENT: A-03 CALLSIGN: Red Robin OBJECTIVE: Deploy Drones and Gather Evidence on Suspect Y/N L/N TIMESTAMP: 08:00 – 12:10 HOURS LOCATION: Wayne Manor (Command Post Alpha)

At exactly 08:01, Tim Drake slipped into Gotham Academy's internal servers like a whisper in the dark. 

Firewall? Bypassed. Security protocols? Please. School database? His.

He barely sipped his black coffee.

“Honestly,” he muttered, typing with one hand and spinning a flash drive between two fingers, “this is insulting.”

On Monitor 1: a clean scroll of Y/N L/N's academic record, locker combo, attendance logs, scanned ID badge timestamps, assignment history, and digital footprints so detailed it would make a privacy lawyer cry.

On Monitor 2: a live top-down map of Gotham Academy, classroom names updating in real-time.

On Monitor 3: the drone feed from Birdwatcher-2, now disguised as a standard-issue smoke detector and nestled in the top corner of the principal's office in the administration floor. It locked in place, invisible to the untrained eye. The live feed popped open.

Monitor 4 blinked to life. Tim stared at a live multi-feed grid of strategically placed security cameras throughout Gotham Academy’s common areas — classes, hallways, cafeteria, courtyard, and stairwells — with AI-assisted motion tracking highlighting Y/N and Damian’s movements. Red blip: Y/N. Blue blip: Damian. The feed is overlaid with discreet timestamps, subtle heat-mapping to show crowd density, and a digital log recording all interactions Y/N has with other students and staff, cataloged by facial recognition software.

8:02 AM - Student Council Meeting + Aftermath

Tim’s eyes flicked up from the scrolling academic records to the live drone feed on Monitor 3 just as the student council meeting dragged on below. The AI-highlighted figure of Y/N shifted restlessly in the principal's office feed — clipboard clutched, fingers tapping a quiet rhythm on its edge.

The principal’s voice droned on about funding allocations. He barely registered the bureaucratic babble—his focus was on the bored figure of Y/N L/N, captured by Birdwatcher-2’s tiny lens perched inconspicuously in the ceiling corner.

The feed showed a cluster of students around a polished oval table, Y/N among them, her fingers tapping along the edge of a clipboard. Tim zoomed in, noting the subtle tension in her posture, the occasional glance away from the treasurer who was persistently pitching bake sales like a crusade.

Tim continued observing, occasionally going back to monitor 1 to continue his task of hacking and finding anything and everything related to Y/N L/N's standing at Gotham Academy. He also occasionally glanced at a camera feed on monitor 4, checking on Damian's stoic behavior in his biology lab.

08:47 AM - What The Hell

Tim’s fingers paused on the keyboard as his eyes flicked over to Monitor 4, watching the crowded hallway near the administration offices. The bell was still three minutes away from dismissing the next period, but there — unmistakably — Damian Wayne stepped away from his classroom, moving with quiet purpose.

Tim zoomed in. Damian’s usual stoic expression was there, but something softer flickered as he made his way toward the principal’s office. The AI motion tracker picked up on Damian’s deliberate pace, focused and unhurried, unmistakably headed towards the administration floor.

Tim paused. Screenshotted. Labeled.

Exhibit A – Early Exit Behavior: Timestamp: 08:47 AM Source: Monitor 4 – Hallway C-6 | AI Motion Tracking Overview: Captured Damian Wayne exiting his classroom three full minutes prior to the period’s end bell. No hall pass was issued. No external summons. Movements indicate premeditated timing — his trajectory leads directly toward the administration wing, intercepting Y/N’s location moments before she exits the principal’s office. Analysis: - Behavior suggests anticipation of Y/N’s release from the Student Council meeting. - Confirmed routine: coordinated link-up between both subjects during class transition windows. - Indicates elevated level of familiarity, pre-established pattern, and discreet synchronization. Conclusion: Damian’s willingness to leave class early—risking faculty notice—is significant. For someone obsessed with punctuality and discipline, this deviation implies emotional priority override. He’s choosing her over protocol. Subject Damian is actively seeking Subject Y/N during transition periods. Behavior implies emotional attachment and pre-planned coordination. Status: Logged to Y/N_Masterfile_v12_FINAL_FINAL_REAL.zip Classification: Behavioral Evidence – Category: Prioritized Engagement Commentary: Excuse me?? This man LEFT CLASS. Ditching biology. Voluntarily. This is not the Damian Wayne I know. This is a man on a mission, and that mission is apparently called ‘escort duty.’ He doesn’t even look stressed about it. Just cool and collected and walking like a knight on patrol. He probably calculated the exact second he needed to slip out without getting marked absent. I hate how smooth this is. I’m both impressed and personally offended.

The real-time motion tracker on Monitor 4 pinged as Y/N rose the instant the bell rang. Tim watched as she moved swiftly, efficient and purposeful, the clipboard now tucked under Damian’s arm. His gaze softened at her, something the cameras could never capture but the algorithms marked as a slight slowdown in his otherwise hawk-like attention scan.

The faint brush of fingers as she handed over the clipboard was a microscopic moment Tim caught, zooming in on the frame for analysis. “Noted,” he muttered, snapping a quick screenshot and saving it.

Tim stared at the high-resolution screenshot capturing the brief, almost imperceptible brush of fingers between Y/N and Damian as she handed over her clipboard. The contact lasts less than a second but is framed perfectly by the drone’s camera angle.

He added it to the “Y/N_Masterfile_v12_FINAL_FINAL_REAL.zip", labeling it and adding his notes:

Exhibit B – Subtle Physical Contact: Timestamp: 08:50 AM Source: Monitor 3 – Birdwatcher-2 (Principal’s Office Exit Feed) Overview: Captured a 0.7-second fingertip contact between Y/N and Damian during clipboard handoff. Seemingly minor, but framed perfectly by the drone’s camera feed. Occurs in a crowded hallway environment, yet neither party hesitates or adjusts course—implies pre-existing comfort with casual proximity. Analysis: - Physical Cue: Skin-to-skin contact indicates a form of intimate nonverbal communication—deliberate in timing and context. - Public Awareness: No flinch, glance, or nervous body language post-contact. They're used to this. - Emotional Signal: Suggests closeness and familiarity. Not accidental. Definitely not platonic. Conclusion: Subtle, quiet intimacy. This is not just a “we’re lab partners” situation—this is a "you can hold my soul and my clipboard" kind of moment. The precision of the gesture and the context imply emotional connection and daily practice. Status: Logged to Y/N_Masterfile_v12_FINAL_FINAL_REAL.zip Classification: Physical Evidence – Category: Low-Key Romance Commentary: Oh, come on. They’re doing secret hallway hand-holding disguised as clipboard passing now? What is this, an indie romance movie? It’s the microsecond stuff that gets me. This wasn’t some accidental graze—this was practiced. This was rehearsed. This was muscle memory. If I have to look at one more slow-motion close-up of Damian’s fingers doing the world’s most subtle pinky tap, I’m going to lose it. Also, Damian?? YOU HAVE A FACE. YOU’RE ALLOWED TO SHOW EMOTION. STOP LOOKING AT HER LIKE SHE’S THE LAST STAR IN THE SKY AND GET BACK TO THE DISSECTION OF FLOWERS.

08:54 AM – Subtle Shielding Protocol

Tim watched the hallway feed on Monitor 4 like a man waiting for an asteroid to hit. The moment Y/N and Damian merged into the stream of students flowing through Corridor C, the AI tracker locked onto them—red blip and blue blip, side by side.

They weren’t holding hands. Of course not. That would be too obvious. But that didn’t matter.

Because Damian didn’t need to hold her hand to make his point.

Tim narrowed his eyes as the blue blip shifted ever so slightly. Onscreen, Damian angled his body—not directly in front of Y/N, just ahead and to the side. Enough to intercept the shoulder of a football player barreling by, to block a swinging backpack, to steer her away from a puddle of spilled coffee with a half-step pivot.

It was automatic. Smooth. Precise.

Tim muted the ambient mic feed, watching the scene unfold. Y/N said nothing, didn’t react visibly—but she adjusted her steps just enough to sync with him, like this was muscle memory.

Tim sat back slowly in his chair and typed a few lines into his log:

Flagged Notation For Review (Not Quite Exhibit Worthy) – Subtle Shielding During High-Traffic Transit: Timestamp: 08:52-08:58 AM Source: Monitor 4 – Corridor C - Overhead Cam Overview: Subject Damian Wayne is observed subtly angling his body ahead of Y/N during hallway travel, placing himself between her and incoming pedestrian traffic. Contact with obstacles is deflected through calculated micro-positioning—no verbal coordination required. Behavior consistent across three separate crowd incidents in under 30 seconds. Analysis: - Reflexive Protection: Timing and consistency suggest ingrained behavior pattern—possibly subconscious. - Familiar Response: Y/N adjusts to Damian’s positioning without resistance or surprise, implying repetition. - Social Discretion: No verbal acknowledgment exchanged; behavior appears casual to bystanders but is functionally protective. Conclusion: This isn’t performative chivalry. This is habit. Protective instinct baked into their interactions. The kind you don’t develop overnight. Status: Logged to Y/N_Masterfile_v12_FINAL_FINAL_REAL.zip Classification: Behavioral Evidence – Category: Instinctive Guarding Commentary: What is this? The human shield maneuver?? Is he tanking hallway damage for her now? What’s next, jumping in front of vending machines so they don’t eat her change? I swear, he walked her past a group of football players like he was scanning for snipers. And she didn’t even flinch. Didn’t even blink. This is normal to her. Which means this isn’t new. I knew it. I knew something was up. You don’t just build hallway instincts like that with your lab partner. Not unless your lab partner is also your secret girlfriend and apparently the literal center of your gravity.

He then started a new file and went over all of their behaviors so far, analyzing their expressions and body language, noting their psychological implications.

Psychological Observations – Subject Y/N L/N & Subject Damian Wayne

Y/N L/N:

Behavioral Efficiency: Quick to exit meetings and transition to next objective. Displays task-oriented mindset, especially under institutional tedium.

Self-Controlled Presentation: Shows restraint in public—does not engage in overt emotional displays despite visible affection cues to and from Damian.

Social Intelligence: Adapts her behavior based on environment—knows when to blend in, when to lead, and how to manage attention subtly.

Emotional Regulation: Keeps physical affection minimal in public, suggesting conscious boundary-setting. Protects the relationship dynamic from exposure.

Trust Response: Easily hands over clipboard and shares brief physical contact; implies long-term trust and quiet emotional reliance.

Damian Wayne:

Protective Instincts: Uses body language (shoulder positioning, walking angle) to shield Y/N in high-traffic areas—instinctual, not performative.

Routine Disruption: Leaves class early with precision timing to escort Y/N—breaks his usual adherence to structure.

Softened Demeanor: Facial recognition algorithms detect slight gaze softening when focused on Y/N—uncharacteristic deviation from baseline stoicism.

Nonverbal Priority Indicators: Assumes position beside her without verbal prompting. Acts as physical barrier (clipboard under arm, corridor shielding).

Emotional Suppression: No overt displays, but micro-behaviors point to deeply rooted affection and possessiveness.

09:03 AM – English Class, Unverified Incidents

Tim’s eyes flicked across the classroom camera feeds as the second period began. English, Room 1C — outer hallway view only. The interior cameras were motion-triggered only when students passed directly beneath them.

Y/N had taken the window seat. Damian sat beside her.

Monitor 4 pinged with activity as red blip and blue blip took their seats side-by-side.

Tim zoomed in.

"Alright," he muttered, adjusting his headset. "Let the ethically gray monitoring begin."

At 08:08, she passed Damian a highlighter without looking. At 08:12, their ankles touched under the desk.

Tim blinked slowly. Then typed:

FLIRT_LOG_001 Subject D & Subject Y: synchronized object passing. Under-desk contact. Ankle-based. Repeated. Possible courtship behavior.

He toggled to a closer camera in the ceiling corner of the hallway. It gave a partial reflection in the wall-length window—just barely enough to confirm Damian and Y/N were sitting in close proximity.

Tim leaned forward slightly. A few passing students momentarily blocked the view.

Then—nothing. Just shadows moving. He saw her hand go up once to tuck her hair behind her ear. Damian tilted his head minutely. They weren’t talking. But they were… in sync. He saw some movement beneath the desks but his sleep deprived brain didn't quite register what it was.

He stared at the feed like it might blink first.

The AI tagged “mutual focus behavior” but didn’t register any anomalies. No PDA. No gestures he could catalog.

Tim tapped his pen rhythmically against his coffee cup and made a quiet mental note:

Possible contact beneath desk. Unverifiable. Will revisit if further evidence appears. Camera angle too distant for foot-level clarity.

He didn’t catalog it. He didn’t log it. But he didn’t forget it either.

On Monitor 4, the class continued. Notes. Discussions. Another ankle nudge.

Tim didn’t flinch.

He just… minimized the window.

He had six tabs open and thirty more things to do, and he was not going to babysit his younger brother’s love life like a live-action teen drama.

Instead, on his fifth monitor, he opened a 3D model of the Gotham Academy building.

📍 “Deploying Micro Recon Bot: Pocket Gremlin v2”

A mini bot with tank treads and robotic claws zipped down the floor of Tim’s room, launched itself into a shoebox-sized carrier drone, and zipped out the manor skylight like a missile of judgment.

He watched its POV for two seconds.

Destination: Gotham Academy locker hallway.

Objective: collect any item Y/N dropped, touched, or breathed near.

"Go steal me a napkin or something,” he muttered.

By 09:10, the bot returned with... nothing. That's fine. He still had time.

10:10 AM – Academic Record Scraping

Tim slid back into his chair and returned to the task he’d left hovering on Monitor 1: data pull from Gotham Academy’s internal awards and academic history systems.

A quick script did most of the heavy lifting—student awards, commendations, extracurriculars, leadership roles, peer feedback, GPA trendlines, standardized test percentile scores, and faculty memos.

The results filtered through in less than 30 seconds.

Tim stared.

Then blinked.

Then slowly leaned in.

28 awards. Academic. Athletic. Arts. Debate. Language contests. Leadership. Community Service. Music. Twenty-eight.

His fingers hesitated over the keyboard.

“Okay, overachiever,” he muttered, then clicked ‘save’ and tagged the newest entry.

Exhibit C – Subject Y/N L/N: Gotham Academy Awards: Timestamp: Pulled from Records at 10:10 AM Source: Monitor 1 – Gotham Academy Internal Database Overview: Subject Y/N L/N has been officially recognized with 28 separate awards and commendations by Gotham Academy since enrollment. Awards span across five major categories: Academic Excellence, Creative Arts, Athletic Participation, Community Service, and Peer-Selected Honors. Analysis: - Cross-Disciplinary Achievement: Indicates strong time management, social skills, and an intrinsic motivation structure. - Perceived Standing: Recognized not only by faculty but also by peers (Student Council leadership, student-nominated awards). - Comparative Analysis: Statistically outpaces 98.4% of student body in cumulative performance metrics. On paper, she's perfect. Conclusion: This isn’t just “the girl Damian’s into.” This is the girl. If Damian has a “type,” apparently it’s Gotham’s top-performing unicorn with a moral compass, three leadership roles, and an extracurricular resume that reads like a college brochure. Status: Logged to Y/N_Masterfile_v12_FINAL_FINAL_REAL.zip Classification: Profile Evidence – Category: Overachiever Alert Commentary: So she’s not just cute. She’s insanely competent. Fantastic. No wonder Damian’s out here risking detention to carry her binder. Do you know how hard it is to win this many awards without selling your soul to the yearbook committee? This girl is terrifying. She’s perfect. She’s too perfect. I need to know her flaws before I start spiraling. …Wait. What if she recruited him? Oh no. She’s the Damian in this relationship.

10:50 AM – Between Periods: Biology Handoff

Monitor 4 blinked.

Y/N exited the science wing hallway—shoulders loose, expression focused. Damian was already there. Right on time.

Again.

Tim muttered, “How does he do that?” under his breath. He tapped the desk, switching between hallway cams. No sign of rushing. No sign of running. Damian just… appeared. Like he knew.

Onscreen, Damian held out a Physics book before Y/N even reached for it.

Tim zoomed. Watched. Analyzed.

Clipboard handoffs were one thing. This? Preemptive academic provisioning? This was dangerous territory. The kind of behavior that said “I’ve memorized your schedule, your needs, your locker code, and maybe your birth chart.”

Tim didn’t have anything new to log—but he took notes and stared at the screen a second longer than necessary. Just long enough to mumble:

“He’s giving her books now. She didn’t even ask. He’s a walking predictive model for her class transitions. What is this.”

Tim muttered, "Predictive object handoff confirmed. Telepathy imminent."

He added it to the behavior profile.

He minimized the feed again.

Then ran a voice isolation algorithm through the drone's mic, filtering their hallway whispers.

"You dissected that flower like a surgeon." "You’d be a good war general." "You’re too smug for someone who couldn’t ID xylem." "You told the kittens they deserved a raise."

Tim paused. Stared.

He slowly lowered his forehead to the desk.

"They flirt in science metaphors. I… I hate it here."

12:00 PM – Operation Lunch Surveillance

Tim leaned forward in his chair, fingers hovering over the keyboard as Monitor 4 adjusted its focus on the Gotham Academy cafeteria. AI crowd density heatmaps pulsed yellow across most of the room—except one corner.

East-facing windows. Quiet zone. Low-traffic quadrant. That’s where they were.

Red blip. Blue blip. Side by side.

He toggled the camera view. Then again. Then enhanced. The overhead lens zoomed until the sun-washed corner table came into full, annoyingly peaceful view.

There she was. Y/N. Tray in hand. Composed. Calm. Smiling at something just offscreen.

Then Damian stepped into frame.

He didn’t sit.

He just stood behind the chair across from her, arms folded, gaze scanning the lunchroom like he was preparing for an assassination attempt. His tray was untouched—carefully curated, of course. Knife and fork perfectly aligned. And he didn’t move until she sat first.

Tim rolled his eyes. “Oh please.”

Then Damian sat. Slowly. Like this was a chess game and not a sandwich break.

And then—Jon Kent showed up. Loud, awkward, sunshine-in-human-form Jon Kent, holding two juice boxes and a squished bag of chips like he was smuggling black market goods.

The camera’s ambient mic barely picked it up, but Tim caught fragments:

“You’re lucky I’m even sharing, man—this is vintage snack contraband—” “They still sell those.” “Not this flavor, they don’t. This is Retired Lime Chaos. Limited run.”

Tim didn’t laugh. (Okay, he smirked a little.)

He was about to switch feeds when something moved in the corner of the frame.

Damian, cool and casual as anything, tore a chocolate croissant in half with surgical precision.

Tim blinked. Watched. Zoomed in.

One half was clearly bigger.

Damian placed the larger piece silently on Y/N’s tray.

She didn’t say anything. She didn’t look like she noticed.

But she took a bite a second later.

Croissant Transfer. Zero words exchanged.

CROISSANT_LOG_001 Monday pattern: 100% repetition. Croissant Distribution: 60/40 (Subject Y favored) Emotional weight: high

Tim stared at the screen for a full three seconds before muttering:

“I’m going to need… a minute.”

He noted the exchanged and tried to stop the incoming freak out.

By 12:10, Tim had collected the following:

Her class schedule

Her locker number and combination

Exhibits A, B and C

One freeze-frame of a shared smile

Audio clips of mutual mocking affection

A time log of every interaction from 08:00 to 11:58

He dumped them into a folder labeled:

LOVEBIRD.EXE

Then replied to Jason's messages on the group chat:

GROUP CHAT MESSAGE: THE DSSS AGENTS [Agent A-03]: Confirmed. He’s in deep. We’re looking at croissant-tier affection.

He stared at the last still-frame of Damian holding Y/N's books.

Then sighed.

"Damian Wayne is in love."

He updated the file.

EMOTIONAL STATUS: TERMINAL. RECOMMENDATION: Prepare backup folder titled WEDDING_VOWS_DAMI/N.DOCX

Mission: Active.

Surveillance: Live.

Investigation? Far from over.

⸻

Lunch wraps up, and you reluctantly peel yourself away from the warmth of the cafeteria, the last bite of croissant still tasting faintly buttery and sweet in your mouth. Damian walks beside you, as he always does when the bell signals the end of lunch. You feel the steady cadence of his footsteps next to yours, calm and deliberate, but there’s something different today—a hesitation you catch in the tilt of his head or the way his gaze lingers just a moment longer before he finally pulls away to head to his next class. It’s subtle, almost imperceptible, but it makes your chest tighten. Like there’s an invisible thread holding you two together, even when you’re about to be apart.

Math class is a blur. The teacher drones on about equations and formulas, but your mind drifts. You already know all this stuff. You find yourself doodling small, absentminded sketches—curled-up cats, delicate tulips—in the margins of your notebook. Your eyes drift toward the classroom door every few minutes, half-expecting to see Damian’s familiar silhouette, even though you know he’s long gone to his geography class.

You’re aware of a quiet smile tugging at your lips at the thought of him. Maybe it’s because of the croissant—how he always saves the bigger piece for you, no words needed. It’s a small thing, but it feels like a secret language between the two of you. Or maybe it's the way he always seems to make the simplest moments feel special. Or maybe it’s the tiny seconds where you catch the softening in his eyes when he thinks no one’s watching. But one thing is for sure: You absolutely, completely love that man.

The bell finally rings, and you pack your things quickly. Outside, Damian waits as usual, leaning casually against the lockers with that slight smirk that makes your stomach flutter. He falls into step beside you like a shadow, silent but present. His silent footsteps a steady comfort as you make your way to your next class

Arabic is next. You signed up for it mainly because it’s Damian’s mother tongue, and you wanted to understand his world better—even if it means stumbling over words and feeling your tongue twist in ways it’s not used to. You are getting better at it though. If you keep up your daily studying, then you will probably be fluent in the next couple of months. It isn't an easy language for you, but you take it for him anyway.

Sitting next to him in class, sharing the same tablet open on your shared digital textbook, you feel a quiet connection that goes beyond words. He corrects your pronunciation under his breath, a teasing smirk tugging at his lips, and you gently nudge his knee in retaliation when he mocks your struggle with a particularly tricky phrase.

At one point, you accidentally say “رمان” (pomegranate) when you meant to say “زمان” (time). His quiet laughter is unexpected and infectious, making your cheeks flush a little. You trade notes and doodles on the digital textbook, writing little jokes and silly comments on the lesson that only the two of you will ever see.

When you try to write his name in Arabic, the letters come out a little crooked and uneven. He takes your pen gently and fixes it, his handwriting elegant and neat, curling at the ends like a secret signature. Next to it, he writes your name, smaller and equally beautiful, a tiny mark of something only you both understand. You tuck the note safely into your notebook, a small treasure.

After class, he walks you down to geography, his presence a steadying anchor. He doesn’t say where he’s headed next—his free period is his own, and you don’t pry. You give a small wave when he slips away through the school gates, your heart tugging a little at the absence of his usual quiet company.

Geography is slow. The teacher drones on about maps and climates, but your mind drifts elsewhere. You doodle birds on the corner of your page, unaware until you glance down. The minutes tick by, each one slower than the last. You glance at the clock—2:58. 2:59. The bell finally rings, and you hurriedly pack your things.

Outside the school gates, you expect to see him waiting, maybe leaning casually or checking his phone. But the spot is empty. For a moment, confusion bubbles up—where is he? He’s never late.

You linger, pretending to scroll through your phone, fingers twitching with impatience. After a moment, you start walking toward the sidewalk, the sounds of the afternoon crowd buzzing around you.

Suddenly, you feel a jolt—a bump, shoulder to shoulder, quick but enough to knock you off balance. You stumble back slightly, your bag shifting against your back.

“Oh—sorry!” you blurt, stepping back to steady yourself, even though it was the other person’s fault.

The man looks apologetic, eyes wide behind a sheepish smile. “Wasn’t looking where I was going. Sorry about that,” he says, voice casual but smooth. You feel him quickly help you steady yourself.

You nod quickly, brushing off the moment, eager to move past him. But something niggles at you—a tiny, unshakable feeling that someone is watching you.

You glance back.

He’s already disappeared into the crowd, slipping away like smoke. Too fast, too clean.

You shake your head, trying to push the odd feeling aside.

Then, just as you’re about to cross the street, a familiar voice calls your name.

“Y/N!”

You turn, heart lifting as you see Damian jogging toward you, breath slightly ragged but eyes sharp and alert. He apologizes quickly, mentioning traffic and how he got held up.

You smile and tell him it’s okay.

But as you stand there together, you notice the way his gaze darts over the street, scanning the area with the precision of a soldier on alert. You don’t question it—you just lean in a little closer, feeling the quiet strength that always makes you feel safe.

And somewhere in the back of your mind, you wonder if maybe, just maybe, there’s more going on here than simple chance.

But for now, you just enjoy the moment.

⸻

DAY ONE: AGENT: A-01 CALLSIGN: Nightwing OBJECTIVE: Infiltrate Gotham Academy and Place Tracking Devices TIMESTAMP: 12:15 – 15:05 HOURS LOCATION: Gotham Academy (Main Office and Grounds)

12:14 PM — Smooth Operator Enters the Building

Dick pushed open the heavy glass doors of Gotham Academy’s main office with a confident ease, already anticipating the small game he was about to play.

The receptionist looked up immediately, a spark of recognition lighting her eyes. "Dick Grayson. Fancy seeing you here again."

He grinned, flashing that charming half-smile that had earned him way more favors than he deserved. "You know me — just making sure the family’s future scholars are getting the VIP treatment."

She laughed softly, clearly enjoying the attention, and handed him the latest brochure without missing a beat. “Always with the charming excuses. You always did have a way with words. You could sell sand to the desert.”

Dick leaned casually on the counter. “Only the best for the family.”

While was busy with a phone call, Dick’s eyes zeroed in on a thick yearbook resting on the front desk. dated last year. His fingers twitched with curiosity. The temptation was too good to resist.

He didn’t even hesitate. He grabbed it, flipping through pages with faux casual interest — but really, he was on full detective mode. He scanned the pages, flipping through them like a man on a mission, which he was.

And then. Jackpot.

He reached the section GA MEMORIES.

There it was —Y/N and Damian, caught in moments that spoke louder than words:

Y/N in full-on debate mode, mid-pose and fiercely commanding attention. Damian sat beside her, clearly tuned in and hanging on every word she said—his focus locked on her like she was the only person in the room.

On the next page, a candid snapshot from a school field trip. There they were, side by side, eyes fixed on something off-camera. Damian’s stance was relaxed, arm almost brushing Y/N’s. The kind of photo that said “we’re together, no matter what.”

Dick grinned and pulled out his phone, clicking rapid-fire pictures.

EVIDENCE PIECE D: THE YEARBOOK CHRONICLES She makes him pose. He lets her. That’s love. They do school trips together?? I never did that with anyone. I’m not jealous. I’m FINE. This was last year. They have definitely been together, or at least crushed on each other, since last year. HOW COULD DAMIAN DO THIS TO ME??? HOW COULD HE HIDE THIS??

He felt a tap on his shoulder and looked up to find the receptionist watching him with a teasing smirk.

“Doing some research, huh?” she said playfully.

“Just keeping tabs on the next generation,” he replied with a wink before slipping the yearbook back into place.

When she looked away, he stole borrowed the yearbook, taking it quietly and leaving, his heart beating a little faster. This was more than a crush. This was a timeline, a history, a quiet unfolding romance documented for all eternity.

3:01 PM – The ‘Accidental’ Bump & Tracker Drop

Outside the school gates, Dick shifted into stealth mode—his version included a bit of suave.

He spotted Y/N leaving, calm and unaware, her bag swinging lightly at her side. She looked like she was looking for something— or someone — but most importantly, she looked like she was alone. No sight of Damian anywhere near.

Perfect.

Closing in, he expertly bumped into her shoulder—casual, smooth, 'accidental'.

“Oh—sorry!” she said, stepping back to regain her balance.

He flashed her an apologetic look, widening his eyes and creating a faux sheepish smile. "Wasn’t looking where I was going. Sorry about that,"

As she was distracted, Dick’s hands moved deftly:

A tiny tracker slipped under the strap of her bag, almost invisible to the naked eye.

Another was clipped inside the hem of her jacket, hidden beneath the fabric folds.

He pretended to help her steady herself and slipped two tiny trackers into place.

One slipped under the strap of her bag, almost invisible to the naked eye.

Another was clipped inside the hem of her jacket, hidden beneath the fabric folds.

Mission accomplished.

Y/N glanced back once, a flicker of suspicion in her eyes, but Dick was already melting into the crowd, leaving only the faintest trace of a smile behind.

Status Report: - Evidence Piece D secured: yearbook photos showing long-term closeness. - Trackers deployed: bag and uniform, undetected. - Subject unaware, mission progressing smoothly.

⸻

DAY ONE: AGENT: A-02 CALLSIGN: Red Hood OBJECTIVE: Gather More Intel and & Monitor Subject Y/N L/N TIMESTAMP: 12:15 – 15:05 HOURS LOCATION: Gotham Academy Supply Room + Rooftop Recon Post

13:10 — OPERATION: DUMPSTER DIVE: INITIATED

Jason didn’t want to stay inside.

He knew it was risky. He’d already infiltrated the school for a few too many hours. Any more and someone would start asking questions—maybe even notify Bruce. Or worse… Damian.

But reason had long since fled the premises.

While Damian and Y/N sat side by side in Arabic class—probably whispering softly, probably brushing knees beneath the desk, probably making memories they’d tell their future kids about—Jason crept into the dimly lit staff hallway with the desperation of a man on the brink.

He got started on quietly picking the lock to the teachers' lounge with the ease of someone who once infiltrated a black site in Budapest.

The room was small, cramped, and smelled like printer ink, dust, and broken dreams. Filing cabinets lined one wall. Teacher’s junk was everywhere. Old posters, confiscated keychains, expired snacks.

Jason was home.

He didn’t find love letters. He didn’t find hearts carved into desks.

He found something worse.

A stack of returned quizzes and worksheets.

Sloppily rubber-banded together. Mostly random and useless. Until they weren’t.

Because halfway through the pile, Jason found it— A page labeled: "ENGLISH PRACTICE: DUAL RESPONSE WORKSHEET" Two names at the top: Y/N L/N and Damian Wayne

He froze.

They had co-written a worksheet.

Their handwriting danced side by side across the sheet—her rounded script, his controlled strokes. They had answered the same questions, in back-and-forth format. The assignment was full of commentary, corrections, even… jokes.

And in the corner, doodled like it was nothing— A small, hand-drawn heart.

Jason dropped to his knees like he’d taken a sniper shot to the chest.

He stuffed it in his jacket's huge inside pocket with trembling hands.

ITEM SIX: COLLABORATIVE LOVE-LANGUAGE LITERACY. Shared worksheets. They share worksheets now. What’s next, a shared future?

But it didn’t stop there.

He kept digging and uncovered a folder labeled “STUDENT COUNCIL FEEDBACK.”

Bored, numb, and bleeding emotionally, Jason flipped through them until a familiar scrawl caught his eye.

Wayne, D.

“Y/N is effective, principled, and intimidating. I approve.”

Jason clutched the paper like it was radioactive.

ITEM SEVEN: PROFESIONAL CRUSH CONFESSION Professional Admiration = Emotional Obsession HE ADMIRES HER WORK ETHIC. HE’S DOOMED. WE’RE ALL DOOMED. Respect? In this economy?? He's her biggest ban (This is official documentation) He Called Her Intimidating. That’s Love.

He staggered out of the room and back into the shadows, clutching both forms like war trophies.

14:57 — OPERATION: ROOFTOP ROMANCE RECON: INITIATED

Jason couldn’t risk reentering the school building. He couldn't brood sulk quietly mission debrief in the vents either. So he did what any emotionally unraveling older brother would do.

He climbed the roof.

It wasn’t even that tall—just a good vantage point, hidden enough from the student view but open to the courtyard and the gates. He lay flat on his stomach, binoculars in hand, half-eaten protein bar next to him like a sad soldier mid-mission.

He told himself it was for surveillance purposes. Definitely not emotional masochism.

At exactly 3:01 PM, students began filing out like clockwork.

And there she was.

Y/N.

Alone.

Alone.

“Where is her guard dog?” Jason whispered, eyes scanning the perimeter. “Where is my emotionally constipated baby brother?”

And then—bam. Some guy. Tall. Smiley. Bumped into her.

Jason sat bolt upright.

"WHO IS THAT?? WHO IS HE?? WHO SENT HIM?? WHO LET HIM BREATHE NEAR HER—"

He dropped his protein bar. Fumbled for his binoculars. Couldn’t get a good look.

By the time he zoomed in, the man was gone. Gone. Vanished. Like a ghost. A charming, criminally smooth ghost.

Y/N shook it off.

Jason nearly threw himself off the roof.

Just as he reached for his comm—just as he prepared to leap into whatever ridiculous protection-mode this required—Damian arrive, jogging across the sidewalk like the world owed him an apology for the traffic.

Jason stared.

He pulled his notebook near him and his pen moved before his thoughts could catch up:

Damian ran. He RAN. He would run through fire for her. He would abandon a mission for her. He’s already abandoned us.

They talked. Smiled. He scanned the street like a hawk. Like a boyfriend. Like a partner.

Emotional Stability: Crumbling. Conclusion: They are in Stage Five Romance. Possibly eloping. Possibly already married. Damian visibly sprinting for her = endgame-level love. IMPORTANT NOTE: Unidentified male civilian interaction = active threat to operations. Notify other agents ASAP.

He opened a blank page and began drafting a letter to Bruce.

“Dear Bruce, I regret to inform you that your youngest son is in love. Terminally. There is no cure. He’s not coming back. Regards, Jason.”

Jason closed the notebook and stared up at the sky.

⸻

DAY ONE AGENT: A-03 CALLSIGN: Red Robin OBJECTIVE: Surveillance Expansion + Digital Intercept Recon TIMESTAMP: 12:15 – 15:05 HOURS LOCATION: Wayne Manor (Command Post Alpha)

13:05 PM – Digital Textbook Extraction

If Damian was going to keep parading around with his secret girlfriend, Tim was at least going to uncover the digital receipts.

He didn’t need to chase anyone across rooftops today. He had a keyboard, six screens, and a growing list of grudges. He also had access.

While the others stomped through campus like emotionally compromised disaster spies, Tim stayed planted in front of a six-monitor array with coffee in one hand and a stylus in the other. Quiet. Efficient. Mildly judgmental.

After syncing into Gotham Academy’s cloud portal on his sixth and final monitor, he accessed the digital Arabic textbook used by Class 3A – Section B. Multiple users had recently entered their own copy, seatmates shared the same encrypted copy.

Two names linked to the same digital textbook: L/N.Y and Wayne.D. Shared login history. Shared annotations. Shared content edits.

That was all the invitation Tim needed.

Using custom scripts, Tim isolated their joint activity: shared highlights, margin scribbles, and embedded annotations. What he found was… horrific.

Exhibit D – Secret Code in the Margins Timestamp: 13:07 Source: Class 3A – Section B – Arabic Textbook | User Collaboration Metadata Overview: Digital textbook marked by two users, showcasing ongoing academic interaction and personalized engagement. Messages flagged include: (With translation) "💬 😊جربي هذا النطق" ("Try this pronunciation 💬 😊") "!أحسنت" ("Good job!") "ممارسة الفرض الليلة؟" ("Homework practice tonight?") And, of course, a literal "❤️!عمل عظيم" ("Great work!") Also notable: Damian corrected her verb usage… with a tiny digital heart next to it. Analysis: Data suggests direct academic collaboration, paired with personalized encouragement. Tone is soft, encouraging, and increasingly flirt-coded. Emoji usage = casual familiarity + emotional intimacy. Their use of the comment feature is… tender. Interactive. Intimate. Damian added a heart. A heart. In the textbook. This is not educational—it’s emotional warfare. Estimated number of inside jokes = 12. Estimated number of flirt-coded comments = 9. Estimated number of times Agent A-03 wanted to slam his laptop = 21. At one point, Damian wrote “You’re getting better.” with a smiley face. That alone violates 3 unspoken Wayne family laws. Conclusion: Subject Y/N has infiltrated the linguistic perimeter. Subject Damian has allowed this. Subject Damian is not just helping her study. He is digitally caressing her sentence structure. This is intellectual intimacy. Possibly the worst kind. They are communicating in a language of emoji-coded affection and textbook flirtation. Subject Y/N is teaching him how to be soft. Also, the heart emojis are in red. RED. THE DESIGNATED COLOR FOR ROMANCE. Either way: I hate it here. Status: Logged to Y/N_Masterfile_v12_FINAL_FINAL_REAL.zip Classification: Digital Evidence – Category: Flirt-Based Academia Commentary: They’re annotating their love in shared study materials. They are building emotional intimacy over vocabulary practice. Who does that? Who makes "ترجم" ("translate") sound romantic? I hope they fail the pop quiz. This is either a modern fairytale or the beginning of my villain arc.

14:59 PM – Late Arrival and Unknown Male Contact Alert

Everything was stable until 14:59.

Tim had already checked Damian’s location twice. He should’ve been three minutes early. That was the pattern. He’d been next to Y/N's class three minutes before the bell all day.

He had been operating like a Swiss clock for every other class transition.

So where was he now?

A quick triangulation with traffic cams, street sensors, and Google Maps confirmed minor congestion on Gotham Boulevard. Estimated delay: 2.8 minutes. Barely acceptable for mortals. Concerning for Damian.

Still, it was enough to trigger a proximity flag.

Tim deployed Birdwatcher-3, his latest drone prototype disguised as a mildly depressed pigeon, from the rooftop of a nearby building. With micro-optics engaged and flight path cleared, the drone flapped its way into position above the Gotham Academy gates.

And that’s when the screen blinked red.

Subject Y/N – EXTERNAL CONTACT DETECTED.

A man bumped into Y/N.

Not just a passing graze. Not a crowd jostle. A targeted, shoulder-to-shoulder collision.

Flagged Notation For Review: IMMEDIATE ALERT – Mysterious Bump: Suspicious Civilian Contact Timestamp: 15:01:14 Source: Birdwatcher-3 | South Gate Aerial Feed Overview: Unknown adult male made physical contact with Subject Y/N while Damian was absent. No identifying features captured. Baseball cap. Hoodie. Clean maneuver. Smiled. Vanished. Facial recognition = inconclusive (baseball cap + strategic angle). Y/N appears startled but recovers quickly. He helps her straighten up. Man leaves frame in 3.4 seconds. No trace. No follow-up contact. Disappeared into crowd. Analysis: - Zero facial recognition hits. - Disappeared too quickly. - Confidence of movement suggests training. - No GA uniform = Not a student. - Y/N visibly startled, then resumed walking. Subject looked back once—possibly sensing something off. - Could be: rival agent. - Could also be: someone she knows. That might be worse. - Drone zoom was slightly delayed. Still reviewing frame-by-frame. Status: Logged in Y/N_Masterfile_v12_FINAL_FINAL_REAL.zip Classification: Civilian Contact – Category: Suspicious Behavior Video Clip: Labeled “Unidentified Operative or Flirt???” | Facial Recognition Pending - Previous Facial Recognition was Inconclusive Threat Level: Medium-to-High Suspicion Level: Off the charts Conclusion: Potential threat. Possible operative. Infiltrator. Or worse: flirtatious stranger. Who was that man? Did he plant something? A bug? A note? A candy heart?? We’ll never know. He’s GONE. Like a flirtatious phantom. Drone was within range, but visual data was corrupted by sun glare and micro-wind disruption. Note to self: recalibrate feather sensors on next model.

But just before he could engage Birdwatcher-3 for zoom pursuit, another blip lit up his screen: Damian Wayne, arriving at a jog. Slightly winded. Alert. Eyes scanning. Guard mode: activated.

Tim pulled up biometric overlays. Heart rate elevated. Posture tense. Protective instinct: triggered. Birdwatcher-3 picked up sharp lateral eye movements and automatic repositioning between Y/N and street.

Flagged Notation For Review – Emergency Arrival: Damian’s Guardian Protocol Timestamp: 15:02:16 Source: Drone Feed | Biometric Sync Overlay Overview: Damian arrives within 62 seconds of Subject Y/N’s interaction with Unknown Civilian Male. Immediately scans area. Body angle oriented defensively. No external alert was issued. No communication was traced. And yet, he appears—calm on the surface, but posture, pulse, and micro-expressions all signal one thing: DEFENSE MODE Shoulders squared. Gaze tracking full perimeter. Body angled subtly but unmistakably in front of her. Movement: fluid, purposeful. Not rushed—tactical. Analysis: - This wasn’t just "showing up." This was a calculated deployment. - His response was biometric. Instinctual. He sensed a disruption in her space and repositioned himself accordingly. - He didn't need to know what happened—he just felt it. That’s either advanced training… or a boyfriend who’s 300% tuned into his girl’s threat levels. Conclusion: Subject Damian is not only emotionally invested—he’s actively deploying himself as a personal security perimeter. He usually doesn’t just show up. He arrives. This time? His instincts were activated. He ran. RAN. Seemingly not just because he was late. Because he felt something was wrong. This wasn’t coincidence—it was protective patterning. The boy’s in love. And he’s on high alert. Whatever just happened? He sensed it. Likely scenario: Subject Damian recognized a shift in Y/N’s emotional state (based on posture and residual tension) and executed a rapid proximity-claim to reestablish security control over the environment. Also known as: “Where is she? Who touched her? I’m going to kill them.” Status: Logged to Y/N_Masterfile_v12_FINAL_FINAL_REAL.zip Classification: Physical Evidence – Category: Civilian Threat + Behavioral Evidence – Category: Protective Behavior Commentary: Damian’s internal defense system is synced to her nervous system. That’s not security. That’s love. I’m gonna need to rewatch a documentary about nuclear weapons just to feel normal again.

Tim stared at his monitors.

Then he stared harder.

He forgot he was holding a bowl of cold noodles—until it slipped from his hands and hit the keyboard with a wet splat.

He still didn't notice.

The soy sauce slid off the desk and landed on his pants.

He flinched.

"Shit."

⸻

You’re still thinking about the bump when you feel it.

You don’t have to turn around to know it’s him.

You hear the familiar rhythm of his footsteps behind you—calculated, calm, precise. Then his voice, quiet and steady, even though you can still hear the last threads of a sprint in his breathing.

“Y/N.”

You turn, already smiling, and there he is.

He seems breathless but composed in that way only he can pull off—like he’s been running a marathon but still looks like a prince in a storybook.

Damian doesn’t waste time with excuses. "I’m sorry I wasn’t there right away. Traffic."

You don’t question it. You never really do. You just tilt your head toward the sidewalk and start walking. He falls into step beside you immediately, the space between you barely a whisper.

Jon joins you both a block later, waving from across the road with a bag of snacks and his usual bright grin. "Took you guys long enough. I’ve been waiting forever. You two walk like old people."

Damian scowls. You snort.

"We had to fight traffic," you say with a teasing glance toward Damian.

Jon snorts. "You? Sure. Him? He probably stared at a red light until it turned green out of fear."

Damian doesn’t respond. You don’t expect him to. But you do notice the faint twitch of his mouth—the one he gets when he’s trying not to smile.

It feels good, familiar. The three of you slip into rhythm as you make your way toward the café—your usual Monday hangout. Corner booth by the windows. A worn-down booth that creaks on one side. The table with the slight coffee stain no one ever manages to wipe clean. It’s a ritual now. You don’t talk about it like one, but it is.

The café bell jingles as you enter. Damian holds the door. You slide into the booth first. He takes the seat beside you, Jon across from you both.

The barista doesn’t even ask anymore—she just nods and disappears behind the counter. Two minutes later, the tray arrives: your usual chocolate frappe, Damian’s black Americano, Jon’s hot chocolate with too much whipped cream and extra marshmallows. You wrap your hands around the cold cup and take a sip.

And the moment is so quiet, so perfect, you forget the world outside.

Outside the window, the sun dips low behind the skyline. Everything glows.

You catch Damian watching you over the rim of his cup. You raise an eyebrow. He says nothing. Just passes you the extra sugar packet without you having to ask. It’s one of your rituals now—he knows you’ll like your drink sweetened after the first sip, and you always do.

The conversation drifts between half-jokes and real thoughts. Jon is doing most of the talking, which is typical. You and Damian mostly listen. Sometimes you lean into each other, shoulders brushing. Sometimes you look across the table at Jon and then glance back just in time to catch Damian already looking at you.

He doesn’t look away. He doesn’t need to.

You admire his face.

He is so handsome.

You are sure you face is fixed on a look of complete adoration, and that would make you embarrassed. Except, it doesn't because it's Damian. And his usually stoic face softens.

At some point, when Damian and Jon both look at each other, deep in conversation, you reach for a napkin. Your pen is already in your hand, though you don’t remember pulling it out. You write something quickly:

"You look really good today. You look amazing everyday actually."

Then pause. You press your lips against the edge of it in a burst of reckless affection and fold it twice.

But when Damian glances away to take a sip of his coffee, you hesitate. The words suddenly feel too loud in your chest.

'Is this too cringey?' you think

You scribble out the words and crumple the napkin. Toss it toward the center of the table like it was nothing. You don’t see where it lands.

Later, you’ll probably wish you’d kept it.

Jon throws a crumpled straw wrapper at you when you tease him about the marshmallows. You throw one back. Damian doesn’t join the mini battle—he just watches you. His eyes stay on you longer than they need to.

Eventually, Jon perks up. “Wait, we need a picture.”

You groan. “No, we don’t.”

“Yes, we do,” he insists, already pulling out his phone. “This is peak Monday energy.”

Jon slides onto your side of the booth and leans in close too Damian. You feel Jon’s laugh vibrate through the bench.

Damian leans towards you, his arm brushing your back. You’re very aware of the warmth where his shoulder touches yours.

You smile.

Click.

Jon checks the photo, then shows it to you.

Damian’s smiling. Barely—but it’s there.

You stare at it for a second longer than you mean to. You don’t say anything. You don’t need to.

You don’t know it’ll be captured forever. You just know that in that moment, you’re happy.

And you’re not ready to let it end just yet.

When the drinks are drained and the sky starts to dim, you gather your things slowly. Damian’s hand brushes against yours as he helps you with your bag. Outside, Jon waves goodbye and jogs toward the bus stop, disappearing into the evening rush.

You and Damian stand outside the café for a few moments longer. Neither of you say it, but it feels like something you don’t want to end.

He clears his throat. "Felix is waiting."

You nod, but you don’t move.

He opens the door of the car for you like he always does. You get in slowly, but just before the door closes, he ducks down and leans in—his forehead brushing yours for a second too long.

"I'll call you later."

You just smile and kiss his cheek in response. "Please do."

⸻

DAY ONE: AGENT: A-01 CALLSIGN: Nightwing OBJECTIVE: Infiltrate Café, Charm Staff, Retrieve Physical Evidence (aka trash and receipts) TIMESTAMP: 15:02 – 17:30 HOURS LOCATION: Le Petit Noir Café

17:07 – Casanova on a Coffee Run

Dick strolled into the café like he owned the place—well, at least he owned the charming half-smile that had gotten him out of trouble more times than he could count.

The bell above the door chimed as he stepped in, tousling his hair for dramatic effect. His jacket swished behind him like it had a life of its own. He glanced around once—no Damian, no Y/N, no Jon. They’d already left. Of course.

The morning barista was gone. Replaced by a new face: a cute girl with bright eyes and an easy laugh. She clocked him the second he walked in.

She smiled. He smiled back. Sparks.

Game on.

He didn’t waste time.

He leaned on the counter with casual charm. “Hey. Slow afternoon?”

She blinked once. “You’re Dick Grayson.”

He did the sheepish-laugh-hand-through-hair thing. “Guilty.”

“You’ve been here before, right? This morning?”

“I have. But I think the vibe’s way better now,” he said, dropping his voice half a register.

She blushed. Dick mentally high-fived himself.

He ordered coffee and a cake and stayed leaning against the counter as he ate and sipped.

“You get any cute couples in here today?” he asked casually, flashing his signature grin.

The barista giggled. "Uh, yeah. There’s this one pair. Table by the windows. They're always here on Mondays. Super cute. Tall guy, dark hair, kinda intense? He never told me his name and I can never, and I mean never, get a good look at his face. Kinda sketchy if you ask me. But the man likes his privacy. I respect that."

Dick blinked. "Always?"

"Yeah. Every Monday afternoon. Same orders, same table."

"Monday ritual, huh?" Dick teased, leaning casually on the counter.

She handed him a small paper bag with a smile. "You want a cookie? It’s part of a new promo."

He smiled back, even softer this time. "Sure. And hey, you don’t mind if I grab the wrapper off their table, do you? I like to compare these things."

She gestured to the booth with a shrug. “Knock yourself out.”

Dick made his way to the table like it was a sacred crime scene. Booth: still warm. Two empty cups, two crumpled napkins, and one fortune cookie wrapper.

He pocketed the receipt still sitting under a plate, scanned it with a flick of his phone camera, then delicately unfolded the fortune slip left behind.

It read: “Someone special is closer than you think.”

Dick stared at it.

Then stared harder.

He felt like the air conditioning had just kicked on inside his soul. He put it in an evidence bag (pre-labeled "EVIDENCE PIECE E", of course—he came prepared this time).

EVIDENCE PIECE E: Fortune Cookie Paper The fortune inside was unmistakably Y/N’s: “Someone special is closer than you think.” The universe really was shipping them.

17:21 PM – The Great Receipt Robbery (With Feelings)

Dick sauntered back to the counter, cake plate now empty, confidence intact.

Dick leaned casually against the counter again, letting the barista’s smile wash over him like a warm breeze. She was cute, bubbly, totally into him—and completely distracted as she refilled the sugar jars behind the counter.

His eyes drifted lower.

There, right beside the register: a small clear organizer, half-stuffed with backup receipts. Neatly stacked, rubber-banded in clusters, sorted by hour.

Bingo.

While she turned her back to grab more napkins, Dick��s fingers slid over the top of the organizer with the grace of a magician palming a card. One smooth motion. A small stack—maybe ten, no more—lifted cleanly and disappeared into the inside pocket of his jacket.

“Thanks for the cookie,” he said with a wink as she turned back around.

She grinned. “Anytime.”

And just like that, he was out the door.

17:26 PM – Parked Car Panic (ft. A Glovebox Full of Receipts)

Dick sat in his car, door shut, A/C running, the stolen receipts fanned out on his lap like an unholy tarot reading.

His fingers moved fast, scanning names, timestamps, drink orders. Most of them were nothing. “Hazelnut latte.” “Chai with oat milk.” “Hot chocolate”

Then he found it.

Order Name: D.W. Drinks: - Americano – no sugar - Chocolate Frappe - Hot Chocolate, extra whipped cream Time: 15:09 Booth 4 – window

His breath hitched.

He stared at it like it had personally betrayed him.

This wasn’t just a coffee run. This was a ritual. This was documented evidence of a routine. Damian was the kind of customer who had a designated booth.

Dick slumped back in the seat, still holding the receipt like it was radioactive.

He sat up straight, about to drive away, when he paused.

He looked down at the other receipts. Innocent civilians. Collateral damage. People just trying to enjoy their Monday lattes without getting dragged into whatever spiral his life had become.

He sighed.

“I’m not gonna sabotage a small business for evidence. Again.”

17:33 PM – Casanova Returns (Criminal Intent: Neutralized)

Dick pushed open the café door once more, slipping in with an easy grin and a wave. “Forgot something.”

The barista looked up. “Your ego?”

“Ha! No. Just…” He gestured vaguely to the counter and wandered back over.

As she turned to help a new customer, he leaned over slightly—just enough to slide the extra receipts exactly where he’d found them. Top of the stack. No one would even notice.

All but one.

Damian’s stayed in his pocket.

Because Dick Grayson may have morals now.

But he still had priorities.

EVIDENCE PIECE F: Coffee Receipt Notes: regular booth, americano (black) = likely damian's drink Hot chocolate, extra whip = definitely Jon's Therefore, SHE DRINKS CHOCOLATE FRAPPES THAT DAMIAN PAYS FORR Damian and Y/N are regulars. REGULARS. This is a Monday ritual. Why do they have rituals?? They have a booth. A booth that’s theirs. They don’t just drink coffee together. They have history with this booth. This isn’t flirting. This isn’t new. This is settled. Domestic. Terrifying. I can’t believe I’m losing my baby brother to routine-based romance. What’s next? Joint taxes?? Note to self: I stole sixteen receipts. I returned fifteen. I’ve evolved.

GROUP CHAT MESSAGE: THE DSSS AGENTS [AGENT A-01]: update they’re basically married i’m not joking i may have committed a minor felony for proof but also i returned the extra receipts so -technically that’s character growth?? [AGENT A-02]: WHAT WHAT FELONY WHO GOT MARRIED WHERE WAS MY INVITE

[AGEN T A-03]: Wait. Wait wait wait. What did you steal Do I need to wipe surveillance again Do NOT make me drone-wipe a coffee shop

[AGENT A-01]: calm down i returned them i only kept damian’s it is a receipt with the name “D.W” booth 4 black coffee no sugar and she has a chocolate frappe every MONDAY they have a booth. a routine. a system. a shared caffeine bond. i’m spiraling. [AGENT A-02]: A designated booth?? What is this? Marriage counseling?? WHY DO THEY HAVE TRADITIONS DID YOU KNOW HE GIVES HER THE BIGGER HALF OF HIS CROISSANTS TOO? [AGENT A-01]: WHAT!!? WHEN DID THIS HAPPEN??? [AGENT A-03]: Cross-reference: Lunch Segment. He splits his croissant and gives her the bigger half. It's a food-based love language. [AGENT A-01]: I CAN’T DO THIS THEY HAVE A BOOTH THEY HAVE A FORTUNE COOKIE THAT SAYS “SOMEONE SPECIAL IS CLOSER THAN YOU THINK” THE UNIVERSE IS SHIPPING THEM THE BARISTA SHIPS THEM I SHIP THEM BUT ALSO I’M HAVING A BREAKDOWN [AGENT A-03]: Not to be that guy but I just recovered a napkin with a kiss mark and a crossed-out love note from the trash so yeah [AGENT A-02]: I’m gonna set something on fire probably emotionally maybe physically I don’t know yet [AGENT A-01]: i can’t keep doing this my little brother is in a monday-croissant-booth-committed relationship and i’m out here robbing cafes for evidence of his love life [AGENT A-03]: Logging this whole conversation as “Emotional Collapse of All Involved Parties” Caption: “Booth 4 was the final straw.” Status: Terminal.

⸻

DAY ONE: AGENT: A-02 CALLSIGN: Red Hood OBJECTIVE: Emotional Evidence & Facial Analysis Recon TIMESTAMP: 15:02 – 17:30 HOURS LOCATION: Le Petit Noir Café

15:20 – Operation: Booth Surveillance: INITIATED

Jason slipped into the café, hoodie up, blending into the background like he belonged to the shadows. The smell of coffee and pastries did nothing to distract him—this was business.

He sat at a table facing their booth.

Agent A-02 scoped out the usual suspects: Damian, Y/N, and Jon, settled into their corner booth by the windows. Damian’s usually stone-faced demeanor was cracked by soft laughter, and that was new.

He pulled out his phone, camera app ready, pretending to scroll through music playlists as he kept a low profile.

Observations: - Damian’s shoulders relaxed. - Y/N’s smile was bright, genuine, unguarded. - Jon was the usual goofball, hands animated, cracking jokes and gesturing wildly.

Jason’s lips twitched into a smirk.

He watched as Y/N tossed a crumpled straw wrapper playfully at Jon. Jon dodged with a laugh. Damian’s eyes didn’t flicker toward Jon—they were locked on Y/N like she was the only thing that mattered.

He took it all in. The casual touches. The shared glances. The way Damian let his guard down just enough to smile. Smile.

Then it happened.

Jason caught Jon suggesting a photo—he wanted proof, or maybe just a memory. Jon fumbled with his phone and snapped it. Damian smiled with teeth showing, a rare sight, a crack in the armor.

Jason’s internal monologue screamed: He’s compromised. Totally compromised.

He fumbled with his phone, pretending to be on a call as he snapped pictures of them

ITEM EIGHT: Photo Evidence – Group Selfie He posed for a selfie. Smiled with his teeth. Emotional recklessness confirmed.

Jason shook his head and chuckled darkly. This is not what I signed up for.

16:50 – Operation: Emotional Overload (Bonus Intel): INITITATED

Jon cracked a dumb joke and Y/N playfully threw another straw wrapper at him. Damian’s gaze never left her.

Jason noted coldly: His eyes don’t move. She’s his entire visual field.

He added another note: Sticky Note: The brooding prince has been dethroned. Love wins. Damian Wayne smiling in public? What’s next, him wearing a ‘#TeamY/N’ shirt?

⸻ DAY ONE AGENT: A-03 CALLSIGN: Red Robin OBJECTIVE: Garbage Recon, Tech Surveillance, Behavioral Sync TIMESTAMP: 15:02 – 17:30 HOURS LOCATION: Wayne Manor (Command Post Alpha) / Le Petit Noir Café + Outside Trash Bin

17:16 – Claw & Order

Tim’s eyes flicked between multiple café security camera feeds. He caught Y/N pulling out a pen and scribbling something quickly on a napkin while chatting with Damian and Jon, then she brought the napkin up to her lips. Tim's eyes widened as he realized what was happening. Then, without hesitation, she crumpled the napkin and casually tossed it onto the table, pretending to be distracted by Jon’s antics. Later, a waiter came by to clean their booth, gathered the trash—including Y/N’s napkin—and took it outside to the café’s garbage bin. Tim’s claw-bot drone was already en route to intercept.

Tim’s focus turned the live feed from his tiny claw-bot robot, which was currently navigating the café’s outdoor trash bin. The bot’s pincers delicately picked through discarded napkins and wrappers like a high-tech raccoon on a mission.

He watched closely on his monitor, fingers poised over the keyboard, ready to log any significant findings.

There.

Tim had the bot pick up the napkin and open it.

He was NOT ready for what he saw.

Exhibit E – Napkin (aka the Almost Love Note) Timestamp: 17:19 Source: Café Trash Bin / Claw-Bot Retrieval Overview: Faint lipstick kiss mark on the corner of a white café napkin. Scribbled out handwritten note in black ink. AI text recognition and photoshop editing later revealed the writing to be: "You look really good today. You look amazing everyday actually." before heavy strike-through marks. Analysis: - Note was clearly intended as a compliment but retracted before delivery. - The kiss mark suggests an almost-gesture of affection. - Clear evidence of hesitation and emotional turmoil. - The note was meant as a compliment or confession but was second-guessed and discarded. Conclusion: Subject Y/N nearly confessed her feelings, aborted the attempt, but left behind the physical trace of that vulnerability. Y/N came incredibly close to confessing something personal, but retracted at the last moment. The napkin remains as a physical trace of that emotional hesitation. Emotional evidence at peak subtlety. Heartstrings pulled. Mission impact: Critical. Emotional intel: high impact. Status: Logged to Y/N_Masterfile_v12_FINAL_FINAL_REAL.zip Classification: Emotional Evidence – Category: Behavioral Hesitation Commentary: She almost told him. She kissed the napkin. She kissed the idea of telling him. This is so close to an actual love note it hurts. I’m emotionally wrecked just reading this. Need a break. I think I need to lie down now.

Just as Tim was about to retract the bot, he caught sight of something barely visible on the bot's lens feed.

Her frappe cup.

He had his bot retrieve it immediately.+

Exhibit F – Coffee Cup: Evidence of Subject Y/N’s Presence Timestamp: 15:23 Source: Café Trash Bin / Claw-Bot Retrieval Overview: A single disposable coffee cup with residual lip gloss found inside the café’s outdoor trash bin. Lip gloss analysis cross-referenced with Y/N’s personal products confirms a match with 99.8% certainty. Saliva swab for DNA extraction pending. Analysis: - Lipstick pattern consistent with Y/N’s gloss color from napkin and from AI analysis. - Cup rim shows faint coffee stains matching her known drink preference (chocolate frappe). This cup was definitively hers. Conclusion: Physical evidence corroborates her presence and drink choice during the afternoon session. Validates Bartender’s receipt evidence collected by Agent A-01. Routine confirmed. Status: Logged to Y/N_Masterfile_v12_FINAL_FINAL_REAL.zip Classification: Physical Evidence – Category: Behavioral Signature Commentary: Yes, I am proud of having this level of detail. No regrets. I know this is weird but tracking lipstick patterns on trash coffee cups feels like my life now. Am I proud? Absolutely. Am I normal? Absolutely not.

⸻

next chapter

A.N: couldn't finish day one in just 1 chapter, it was getting too long

[meadowfics]

the lamp

kang dae-ho x f!reader

a perfect world for dae-ho and you.. right?

warnings: mentions of death, post squid game au, ptsd

everything is perfect.

you sit on the couch, cradling your newborn daughter in your arms, her tiny body warm against your chest. 

byeol’s little baby hands rest on the bottle as she drinks, her eyelids fluttering every now and then as sleep tries to pull her under. she’s only two weeks old, and already she looks like dae-ho’s twin…his nose, his soft lips, even the way she furrows her brows in concentration as she drinks. 

you can’t help but smile, smoothing a gentle hand over her barely-there strands of dark hair.

she has your cheeks, and your eyes, but she is dae-ho’s twin.

in front of you, in the middle of the living room, your husband is fully engaged in a very serious transaction with your three-year-old daughter, seo-ah. 

the toddler’s chubby little hands press buttons on the toy register with the utmost concentration, her lips pursed like she’s handling the most important sale of her life.

“that’ll be five dollars, appa!” seo-ah exclaims, holding out her tiny hand.

dae-ho gasps dramatically, patting his pockets. 

“five dollars? oh no, i think i forgot my wallet!”

seo-ah giggles, shaking her head. 

“no money, no food, appa.”

you watch the interaction with pure adoration, your heart full, almost too full. 

seo-ah has always been so full of joy, radiating happiness like the sun, just like her father. 

she has his energy, his optimism, but she’s all yours in looks…your same eyes, your same small nose, your same round cheeks, your eyebrows. she’s a perfect mix of you both, but in personality, she is her father’s daughter. 

hopeful, warm, a little bit mischievous.

“what if i pay you in kisses?” 

dae-ho bargains, reaching out to tickle her sides.

seo-ah squeals, laughing so hard she tips over onto the floor, her little feet kicking in delight. 

“appa, nooo! you need real money!”

you chuckle softly, shifting byeol in your arms as she finishes her bottle. the infant’s small body relaxes against you, full and content, her breathing slow and steady. 

you press a kiss to the top of her head, inhaling her sweet newborn scent, then look up to find dae-ho watching you.

your husband’s smile is soft, filled with something deep and unwavering. love. the kind of love that makes your stomach turn into butterflies, even after all these years. 

the kind of love that has never wavered, never dimmed.

“what?” you murmur, feeling a little shy under his gaze.

he shakes his head, still smiling. 

“nothing, love. ‘m just thinking about how lucky i am.”

your heart flutters. 

“me too.”

before he can respond, seo-ah scrambles to her feet. 

“i need more stuff for my store! appa, wait here!” 

she declares, already dashing off toward her bedroom.

dae-ho salutes her playfully. 

“yes, ma’am.”

you giggle, shifting your gaze around the room, taking in the home you’ve built together. 

your living room is cozy, perfectly lived-in, with framed pictures of your little family lining the shelves. toys are scattered everywhere…seo-ah’s dolls, blocks, stuffed animals…but it just makes the space feel warmer, more real.

your eyes land on the blue lamp beside the television. 

for a second, it looks fine.

then, something flickers.

you blink. the lamp is blurry, fuzzy, like static on an old tv screen. 

you frown, confusion creeping up your spine.

that’s strange.

your chest tightens. 

something feels... wrong.

you look back at dae-ho, but he’s still smiling at you, completely normal, completely real. 

you swallow, trying to shake the unease creeping into your bones. maybe you’re just tired.

maybe—

then the world tilts.

the warmth, the laughter, the love…everything shatters. the edges of your vision blur, your living room dissolving like smoke in the wind. 

no. no, no, no!!!

you snap awake.

the cold air bites at your skin, seeping through the thin blankets wrapped around you. 

you’re not in your living room. you’re not holding byeol. you’re not hearing seo-ah’s laughter.

you’re alone.

your chest tightens, and for a second, you can’t breathe. 

the reality slams into you like a freight train, like a fist to the gut, like the sharp edge of a knife twisting in your ribs.

it wasn’t real.

your family…your perfect, beautiful family…was never real.

your hands shake as you press them against your face, a sob breaking free before you can stop it. you squeeze your eyes shut, but it doesn’t stop the tears, doesn’t stop the way your heart feels like it’s splitting open, breaking into pieces you’ll never be able to put back together.

dae-ho is gone.

he sacrificed himself for you in those death games, the squid games, just so you could live. 

after the failed rebellion, all he wanted to show you was that he was not a coward. he wanted to prove to himself that he was strong, something that you’ve always known that he was.

however he didn’t. he sacrificed himself in the marbles game so you could have a future. swapping the bags so he had the rocks. 

this is so you could have a chance at something better, something more than what those cruel games would have left you with.

he should have been here.

he should have been with you.

you should have been the one to go.

these torturess daydreams have been in your head everyday since his death. he died in the games two years ago.

your sobs wrack through your body, uncontrollable, unstoppable. 

you curl into yourself, arms wrapping around your torso like they could somehow hold you together, like they could somehow stop the unbearable ache hollowing out your chest.

you wanted that life. you wanted seo-ah, with her bright eyes and endless giggles. you wanted byeol, small and soft and perfect. 

you wanted dae-ho, with his warm hands, his kind eyes, his steady love.

you’ll never have it.

you will never have that perfect family with the only man you’ll ever love.

your hands claw at the blanket, gripping it like it’s the only thing keeping you from falling apart completely. 

its cold, 4am and its lonely. dae-ho should be here. he should be holding you, should be kissing your forehead, should be telling you that everything is okay.

it’s not okay.

it will never be okay.

you don’t know how long you cry. time loses meaning, drowning in the grief that wraps around you like a vice, suffocating, endless. 

your body shakes, exhaustion weighing down on you, but sleep won’t come. 

not again. not when you know the moment you close your eyes, you’ll see them. you’ll see him.

you’ll see the life you’ll never have.

eventually, the sobs fade into quiet sniffles, your body drained, eyes forced to be dry, your throat raw. 

you stare at the ceiling, empty, hollow.

dae-ho wouldn’t want this for you. he wouldn’t want you to be stuck in this cycle of grief, unable to move forward. 

he gave up everything so you could live, but how are you supposed to live without him?

how are you supposed to live when the best part of you is gone?

you take a shaky breath, wiping at your wet cheeks. you don’t have the answer. 

maybe you never will.

I'm sorry

masterlist

[mostlysignssomeportents]

What’s a “public internet?”

I'm in the home stretch of my 24-city book tour for my new novel PICKS AND SHOVELS. Catch me in LONDON (July 1) with TRASHFUTURE'S RILEY QUINN and then a big finish in MANCHESTER on July 2.

The "Eurostack" is a (long overdue) project to publicly fund a European "stack" of technology that is independent from American Big Tech (as well as other powers' technology that has less hold in Europe, such as Chinese and Russian tech):

https://www.euro-stack.info/

But "technological soveriegnty" is a slippery and easily abused concept. Policies like "national firewalls" and "data localization" (where data on a country's population need to be kept on onshore servers) can be a means to different ends. Data localization is important if you want to keep an American company from funneling every digital fact about everyone in your country to the NSA. But it's also a way to make sure that your secret police can lay hands on population-scale data about anyone they might want to kidnap and torture:

https://doctorow.medium.com/theyre-still-trying-to-ban-cryptography-33aa668dc602

At its worst, "technological sovereignty" is a path to a shattered internet with a million dysfunctional borders that serve as checkpoints where thuggish customs inspectors can stop you from availing yourself of privacy-preserving technology and prevent you from communicating with exiled dissidents and diasporas.

But at its best, "technological sovereignty" is a way to create world-girding technology that can act as an impartial substrate on which all manner of domestic and international activities can play out, from a group of friends organizing a games night, to scientists organizing a symposium, to international volunteer corps organizing aid after a flood.

In other words, "technological sovereignty" can be a way to create a public internet that the whole public controls – not just governments, but also people, individuals who can exercise their own technological self-determination, controlling crucial aspects of their own technology usage, like "who will see this thing I'm saying?" and "whose communications will I see, and which ones can I block?"

A "public internet" isn't the same thing as "an internet that is operated by your government," but you can't get a public internet without government involvement, including funding, regulation, oversight and direct contributions.

Here's an example of different ways that governments can involve themselves in the management of one part of the internet, and the different ways in which this will create more or less "public" internet services: fiber optic lines.

Fiber is the platinum standard for internet service delivery. Nothing else comes even close to it. A plastic tube under the road that is stuffed with fiber optic strands can deliver billions of times more data than copper wires or any form of wireless, including satellite constellations like Starlink:

https://pluralistic.net/2021/03/30/fight-for-44/#slowpokes

(Starlink is the most antifuturistic technology imaginable – a vision of a global internet that gets slower and less reliable as more people sign up for it. It makes the dotcom joke of "we lose money on every sale but make it up in volume" look positively bankable.)

The private sector cannot deliver fiber. There's no economical way for a private entity to secure the rights of way to tear up every street in every city, to run wires into every basement or roof, to put poles on every street corner. Same goes for getting the rights of way to string fiber between city limits across unincorporated county land, or across the long hauls that cross national and provincial or state borders.

Fiber itself is cheap like borscht – it's literally made out of sand – but clearing the thicket of property rights and political boundaries needed to get wire everywhere is a feat that can only be accomplished through government intervention.

Fiber's opponents rarely acknowledge this. They claim, instead, that the physical act of stringing wires through space is somehow transcendentally hard, despite the fact that we've been doing this with phone lines and power cables for more than a century, through the busiest, densest cities and across the loneliest stretches of farmland. Wiring up a country is not the lost art of a fallen civilization, like building pyramids without power-tools or embalming pharoahs. It's something that even the poorest counties in America can manage, bringing fiber across forbidden mountain passes on the back of a mule named "Ole Bub":

https://www.newyorker.com/tech/annals-of-technology/the-one-traffic-light-town-with-some-of-the-fastest-internet-in-the-us

When governments apply themselves to fiber provision, you get fiber. Don't take my word for it – ask Utah, a bastion of conservative, small-government orthodoxy, where 21 cities now have blazing fast 10gb internet service thanks to a public initiative called (appropriately enough) "Utopia":

https://pluralistic.net/2024/05/16/symmetrical-10gb-for-119/#utopia

So government have to be involved in fiber, but how should they involve themselves in it? One model – the worst one – is for the government to intervene on behalf of a single company, creating the rights of way for that company to lay fiber in the ground or string it from poles. The company then owns the network, even though the fiber and the poles were the cheapest part of the system, worth an unmeasurably infinitesimal fraction of the value of all those rights of way.

In the worst of the worst, the company that owns this network can do anything they want with its fiber. They can deny coverage to customers, or charge thousands of dollars to connect each new homes to the system. They can gouge on monthly costs, starve their customer service departments or replace them with mindless AI chatbots. They can skimp on maintenance and keep you waiting for days or weeks when your internet goes out. They can lard your bill with junk fees, or force you to accept pointless services like landlines and cable TV as a condition of getting the internet.

They can also play favorites with local businesses: maybe they give great service to every Domino's pizza place at knock-down rates, and make up for it by charging extra to independent pizza parlors that want to accept internet orders and stream big sports matches on the TV over the bar.

They can violate Net Neutrality, slowing down your connection to sites unless their owners agree to pay bribes for "premium carriage." They can censor your internet any way they see fit. Remember, corporations – unlike governments – are not bound by the First Amendment, which means that when a corporation is your ISP, they can censor anything they feel like:

https://pluralistic.net/2022/12/15/useful-idiotsuseful-idiots/#unrequited-love

Governments can improve on this situation by regulating a monopoly fiber company. They can require the company to assume a "universal service" mandate, meaning they must connect any home or business that wants it at a set rate. Governments can ban junk fees, set minimum standards for customer service and repair turnarounds, and demand neutral carriage. All of this can improve things, though its a lot of work to administer, and the city government may lack the resources and technical expertise to investigate every claim of corporate malfeasance, and to perform the technical analysis to evaluate corporate excuses for slow connections and bungled repairs.

That's the worst model: governments clear the way for a private monopolist to set up your internet, offering them a literally priceless subsidy in the form of rights of way, and then, maybe, try to keep them honest.

Here's the other extreme: the government puts in the fiber itself, running conduit under all the streets (either with its own crews or with contract crews) and threading a fiber optic through a wall of your choice, terminating it with a box you can plug your wifi router into. The government builds a data-center with all the necessary switches for providing service to you and your neighbors, and hires people to offer you internet service at a reasonable price and with reasonable service guarantees.

This is a pretty good model! Over 750 towns and cities – mostly conservative towns in red states – have this model, and they're almost the only people in America who consistently describe themselves as happy with their internet service:

https://ilsr.org/articles/municipal-broadband-skyrocket-as-alternative-to-private-models/

(They are joined in their satisfaction by a smattering of towns served by companies like Ting, who bought out local cable companies and used their rights of way to bring fiber to households.)

This is a model that works very well, but can fail very badly. Municipal governments can be pretty darned kooky, as five years of MAGA takeovers of school boards, library boards and town councils have shown, to say nothing of wildly corrupt big-city monsters like Eric Adams (ten quintillion congratulations to Zohran Mamdani!). If there's one thing I've learned from the brilliant No Gods No Mayors podcast, it's that mayors are the weirdest people alive:

https://www.patreon.com/collection/869728?view=condensed

Remember: Sarah Palin got her start in politics as mayor of Wasilla, Alaska. Do you want to have to rely on Sarah Palin for your internet service?

https://www.patreon.com/posts/119567308?collection=869728

How about Rob Ford? Do you want the crack mayor answering your tech support calls? I didn't think so:

https://www.patreon.com/posts/rob-ford-part-1-111985831

But that's OK! A public fiber network doesn't have to be one in which the government is your only choice for ISP. In addition to laying fiber and building a data-center and operating a municipal ISP, governments can also do something called "essential facilities sharing":

https://transition.fcc.gov/Bureaus/Common_Carrier/Orders/1999/fcc99238.pdf

Governments all over the world did this in the late 1990s and early 2000s, and some do it still. Under an essential facilities system, the big phone company (BT in the UK, Bell in Canada, AT&T and the Baby Bells in the USA) were required to rent space to their competitors in their data centers. Anyone who wants to set up an ISP can install their own switching gear at a telephone company central office and provide service to any business or household in the country.

If the government lays fiber in your town, they can both operate a municipal fiber ISP and allow anyone else to set up their own ISP, renting them shelf-space at the data-center. That means that the town college can offer internet to all its faculty and students (not just the ones who live in campus housing), and your co-op can offer internet service to its members. Small businesses can offer specialized internet, and so can informal groups of friends. So can big companies. In this model, everyone is guaranteed both the right to get internet access and the right to provide internet access. It's a great system, and it means that when Mayor Sarah Palin decides to cut off your internet, you don't need to sue the city – you can just sign up with someone else, over the same fiber lines.

That's where essential facilities sharing starts, but that's not where it needs to stop. When the government puts conduit (plastic tubes) in the ground for fiber, they can leave space for more fiber to fished through, and rent space in the conduit itself. That means that an ISP that wants to set up its own data center can run physically separate lines to its subscribers. It means that a university can do a point-to-point connection between a remote scientific instrument like a radio telescope and the campus data-center. A business can run its own lines between branch offices, and a movie studio can run dedicated lines from remote sound-stages to the edit suites at its main facility.

This is a truly public internet service – one where there is a publicly owned ISP, but also where public infrastructure allows for lots of different kinds of entities to provide internet access. It's insulated from the risks of getting your tech support from city hall, but it also allows good local governments to provide best-in-class service to everyone in town, something that local governments have a pretty great track record with.

The Eurostack project isn't necessarily about fiber, though. Right now, Europeans are thinking about technological sovereignty through the lens of software and services. That's fair enough, though it does require some rethinking of the global fiber system, which has been designed so that the US government can spy on and disconnect every other country in the world:

https://pluralistic.net/2023/10/10/weaponized-interdependence/#the-other-swifties

Just as with the example of fiber, there are a lot of ways the EU and member states could achieve "technological sovereignty." They could just procure data-centers, server software, and the operation of social media, cloud hosting, mobile OSes, office software, and other components of Europeans' digital lives from the private sector – sort of like asking a commercial operator to run your town's internet service.

The EU has pretty advanced procurement rules, designed to allow European governments to buy from the private sector while minimizing corruption and kickbacks. For example, there's a rule that the lowest priced bid that conforms to all standards needs to win the contract. This sounds good (and it is, in many cases) but it's how Newag keeps selling trains in Poland, even after they were caught boobytrapping their trains so they would immobilize themselves if the operator took them for independent maintanance:

https://media.ccc.de/v/38c3-we-ve-not-been-trained-for-this-life-after-the-newag-drm-disclosure

The EU doesn't have to use public-private partnerships to build the Eurostack. They could do it all themselves. The EU and/or member states could operate public data centers. They could develop their own social media platforms, mobile OSes, and apps. They could be the equivalent of the municipal ISP that offers fast fiber to everyone in town.

As with public monopoly ISPs, this is a system that works well, but fails badly. If you think Elon Musk is a shitty social media boss, wait'll you see the content moderation policies of Viktor Orban – or Emmanuel Macron:

https://jacobin.com/2025/06/france-solidarity-urgence-palestine-repression

Publicly owned data centers could be great, but also, remember that EU governments have never given up on their project of killing working encryption so that their security services can spy on everyone. Austria's doing it right now!

https://www.yahoo.com/news/austrian-government-agrees-plan-allow-150831232.html

Ever since Snowden, EU governments have talked a good line about the importance of digital privacy. Remember Angela Merkel's high dudgeon about how her girlhood in the GDR gave her a special horror of NSA surveillance?

https://www.bbc.com/news/world-us-canada-24647268

Apparently, Merkel managed to get over her horror of mass surveillance and back total, unaccountable, continuous digital surveillance over all of Germany:

https://www.hrw.org/news/2021/06/24/germanys-new-surveillance-laws-raise-privacy-concerns

So there's good reasons to worry about having your data – and your apps – hosted in an EU cloud.

To create a European public internet, it's neither necessary nor desirable to have your digital life operated by the EU and its member states, nor by its private contractors. Instead, the EU could make Eurostack a provider of technological public goods.

For example, the EU could work to improve federated social media systems, like Mastodon and Bluesky. EU coders could contribute to the server and client software for both. They could participate in future versions of the standard. They could provide maintenance code in response to bug reports, and administer bug bounties. They could create tooling for server administrators, including moderation tools, both for Mastodon and for Bluesky, whose "composable moderation" system allows users to have the final say over their moderation choices. The EU could perform and/or fund labelling work to help with moderation.

The EU could also provide tooling to help server administrators stand up their own independent Mastodon and Bluesky servers. Bluesky needs a lot of work on this, still. Bluesky's CTO has got a critical piece of server infrastructure to run on a Raspberry Pi for a few euros per month:

https://justingarrison.com/blog/2024-12-02-run-a-bluesky-pds-from-home/

Previously, this required a whole data center and cost millions to operate, so this is great. But this now needs to be systematized, so that would-be Bluesky administrators can download a package and quickly replicate the feat.

Ultimately, the choice of Mastodon or Bluesky shouldn't matter all that much to Europeans. These standards can and should evolve to the point where everyone on Bluesky can talk to everyone on Mastodon and vice-versa, and where you can easily move your account from one server to another, or one service to another. The EU already oversees systems for account porting and roaming on mobile networks – they can contribute to the technical hurdles that need to be overcome to bring this to social media:

https://pluralistic.net/2024/12/14/fire-exits/#graceful-failure-modes

In addition to improving federated social media, the EU and its member states can and should host their own servers, both for their own official accounts and for public use. Giving the public a digital home is great, especially if anyone who chafes at the public system's rules can hop onto a server run by a co-op, a friend group, a small business or a giant corporation with just a couple clicks, without losing any of their data or connections.

This is essential facilities sharing for services. Combine it with public data centers and tooling for migrating servers from and to the public server to a private, or nonprofit, or co-op data-center, and you've got the equivalent of publicly available conduit, data-centers, and fiber.

In addition to providing code, services and hardware, the EU can continue to provide regulation to facilitate the public internet. They can expand the very limited interoperability mandates in the Digital Markets Act, forcing legacy social media companies like Meta and Twitter to stand up APIs so that when a European quits their service for new, federated media, they can stay in touch with the friends they left behind (think of it as Schengen for social media, with guaranteed free movement):

https://www.eff.org/interoperablefacebook

With the Digital Service Act, the EU has done a lot of work to protect Europeans from fraud, harassment and other online horribles. But a public internet also requires protections for service providers – safe harbors and carve outs that allow you to host your community's data and conversations without being dragged into controversies when your users get into flamewars with each other. If we make the people who run servers liable for their users' bad speech acts, then the only entities that will be able to afford the lawyers and compliance personnel will be giant American tech companies run by billionaires like Elon Musk and Mark Zuckerberg.

https://pluralistic.net/2020/12/04/kawaski-trawick/#230

A "public internet" isn't an internet that's run by the government: it's a system of publicly subsidized, publicly managed public goods that are designed to allow everyone to participate in both using and providing internet services. The Eurostack is a brilliant idea whose time arrived a decade ago. Digital sovereignty projects are among the most important responses to Trumpism, a necessary step to build an independent digital nervous system the rest of the world can use to treat the USA as damage and route around it. We can't afford to have "digital soveriegnty" be "national firewalls 2.0" – we need a public internet, not 200+ national internets.

If you'd like an essay-formatted version of this post to read or share, here's a link to it on pluralistic.net, my surveillance-free, ad-free, tracker-free blog:

https://pluralistic.net/2025/06/25/eurostack/#viktor-orbans-isp

[angelnoe9]

Love beyond Deepspace

Chapter 6: Underwater Serenade

Summary of the chapter:

A peaceful day. Shopping with friends, laughter echoing through the streets, and a visit to the aquarium, where the world feels calm and serene. The colors of the ocean swirl around you, and everything feels perfect.

Then, out of nowhere, a warm hug from behind—a surprise in the midst of tranquility. It feels like the start of something beautiful. Could this be the beginning of an aquarium date?

𓇼🐚𓇼🐚𓇼🐚𓇼🐚𓇼🐚𓇼🐚𓇼🐚𓇼🐚𓇼🐚𓇼🐚𓇼🐚𓇼🐚𓇼🐚

The soft click of your suitcase wheels follows you as you make your way through the airport terminal, the sterile lighting and distant chatter oddly comforting. You're back. Really back.

After collecting your luggage, you step out into the open air, the city greeting you with the bustle of taxis, honking cars, and people on the move. It’s jarring—this contrast between the quiet intensity of Skyhaven and the grounded, ordinary chaos of the real world.

You slide into the back seat of a taxi, giving the driver the name of your hotel. As the car pulls away from the curb, you take out your phone and dial your friends.

“Hey!” one of them answers almost immediately, her voice bright with excitement. “You finally landed?”

You smile. “Yeah, just got in. On my way to the hotel now. You guys there already?”

“Yep! Room’s amazing. We were just waiting for you to start the real fun.”

A flutter of excitement warms your chest—shopping, sightseeing, food hopping—it all feels like a welcome distraction. Something simple. Something normal.

“Good. I need a change of pace,” you laugh, watching the city blur past the window.

But as much as you try to ground yourself in the moment, a part of you lingers elsewhere—in a gravity-defying world, where a certain colonel still lingers at the edge of your thoughts.

The taxi rolls to a stop in front of the hotel—modern, tall, and glass-paneled, reflecting the fading light of day. You thank the driver, grab your suitcase, and make your way through the rotating doors into the lobby.

Cool air hits your face, scented faintly with something floral. The lobby buzzes with soft conversation and the occasional ring of a bell. After checking in and getting your room key, you head toward the elevator, your heart picking up a little.

A ding, sliding doors, a short ride up—and then you’re standing outside your friends’ room. The moment the door swings open, you're pulled into a flurry of excited voices and warm hugs.

“There she is!” “Took you long enough!” “Okay, spill—how was your flight? Did you sleep the whole way like you always do?”

You laugh, wheeling your bag into the room. “Yeah… something like that.”

They’re already sprawled across the beds and armchairs, half-unpacked bags, a pile of snacks on the table, and shopping brochures scattered around. The room is cozy, the kind of place that promises fun and memories.

“We’ve got a whole list of places to check out tomorrow,” one of them grins, waving her phone. “There’s a street market a few blocks away and a mall with crazy spring sales.”

“Plus,” another chimes in, “we found a café with the cutest latte art. We’re going today.”

You nod, already feeling the buzz of excitement. “Let me freshen up, and I’m all in.”

This was what you came for—new places, spontaneous plans, and time with the people who made everything fun.

After settling into your room, you grab a quick shower, eager to shake off the exhaustion from the flight. The warm water helps clear your mind, but you can’t shake the excitement buzzing inside you. It’s been too long since you’ve had a trip like this—just you and your friends, exploring new places and living in the moment.

You step out of the bathroom and slip into comfortable clothes, then sit at the vanity. Your suitcase is open on the bed, filled with clothes you can’t wait to wear. But first, a little bit of makeup to put some life back into your face.

You start with a lightweight foundation, blending it smoothly across your skin, and then reach for the blush, giving your cheeks a natural flush. You swipe on a bit of mascara to make your eyes pop and finish off with a soft pink lipstick, something casual yet fresh. You glance at the mirror, satisfied with the results, your reflection looking just the right amount of put-together without feeling overdone.

With a few final touches, you gather your things, ready to step out into the city. The buzz of your phone vibrates on the dresser, a message from your friend: "Hurry up! We’re starving over here!"

You laugh to yourself and grab your jacket, throwing it over your shoulder as you head out the door.

The hotel lobby is bustling with activity, and you can feel the energy in the air. Your friends are already waiting for you in the lobby, chatting excitedly about the day’s plans. One of them checks their watch. “Finally! We were about to send a search party for you!”

“Sorry, sorry,” you laugh, “I had to make sure I wasn’t going out looking like I just got off a plane.”

They nod approvingly, eyeing your outfit and makeup. “You look great! Now, let’s get some coffee.”

You all step outside into the warm, bustling street, the city’s charm drawing you in instantly. The sun is setting, casting a golden hue over everything as the sky deepens into soft shades of pink and orange. A slight evening breeze ruffles the leaves in the trees, carrying the scent of freshly baked bread and distant flowers through the air.

“It’s perfect,” one of your friends comments, taking in the beauty of the evening as you all walk down the street.

As you make your way toward the café, the streets come alive with the warm glow of streetlights flickering on. The hum of evening chatter, the distant sound of music from nearby stores, and the occasional honk of a car make the city feel alive in a way that’s almost magical. It’s as though the whole place is winding down from a busy day, settling into the relaxing pace of night.

After a short walk, you arrive at a charming little café tucked between two shops, its exterior decorated with colorful flower boxes and ivy. The sign swings gently in the wind, a handwritten menu on a chalkboard outside. You can already smell the freshly brewed coffee and pastries wafting from inside.

“Let’s grab a table by the window,” one of your friends suggests, leading the way into the cozy café.

Inside, the atmosphere is inviting—low lighting, soft music playing in the background, and the comforting smell of roasted beans. You order a cappuccino and a croissant, settling into the window seat with your friends as the world outside continues to move at its usual pace.

As you take a sip of your drink, the warmth and comfort of the moment settles in. This is exactly what you needed.

The conversation flows easily—catching up on old times, swapping stories, and laughing about the little things that only friends can understand. Outside the window, people stroll by, but for now, you’re content just being here, in the present, with your friends, enjoying this quiet moment before the next adventure.

The evening breeze slips in through the open window, carrying with it the soft hum of the city. Laughter fills the air as you all exchange stories, each one more ridiculous than the last. The familiarity of it is comforting, grounding you in the warmth of friendship.

"I can't believe it's been so long since we were all together like this," one of your friends says, sipping their drink. "Feels like just yesterday we were planning this trip."

You nod in agreement, the weight of the words settling in. It's easy to get caught up in the rush of life, but moments like these remind you to appreciate the simple joys of being with people who truly understand you.

For a brief moment, your mind drifts to your best friend—the one who couldn’t make it because they’re still in rehab. You hope they're doing okay, but the thought brings a quiet sadness. You wish they were here with you, sharing in the laughter, the sights, the little moments.

The barista brings over a tray of desserts, setting down a plate of chocolate croissants and a selection of cakes. You reach for a slice, savoring the delicate sweetness. It’s the kind of indulgence that feels earned after a day of travel and excitement.

"You know, we should totally hit that market tomorrow," another friend suggests, pulling you out of your thoughts. "They’ve got all these handmade goods, and I heard they’re selling these gorgeous scarves. Perfect souvenirs."

You grin at the thought of spending tomorrow exploring. “Count me in. Shopping, sightseeing, all of it. We’ve got to make the most of this trip.”

The conversation shifts to the itinerary, and as you listen to your friends, a sense of excitement fills you again. Tomorrow is another day of adventure, another chance to explore, and you can’t wait to dive in.

The rest of the evening passes in a comfortable haze of laughter, good food, and light conversation. As the last rays of sunlight begin to fade, the café starts to empty, the evening crowd giving way to a quieter, more relaxed atmosphere. The gentle hum of conversation is replaced by the soft clink of dishes being cleared and the faint jingle of a passing bicycle bell.

You glance at the time and realize that it’s getting late, though you’re reluctant to leave the cozy ambiance of the café. Still, the thought of exploring more of the city tomorrow keeps you energized.

“We should probably head back soon," one of your friends suggests, glancing at the time. "We’ve got an early start tomorrow, and we don’t want to miss out on anything."

You nod, a small wave of reluctance washing over you. The city feels so alive at night, the streets glistening under the glow of streetlights, and you’re not quite ready for the day to end. But there’s always tomorrow, and the excitement of what’s to come pulls you forward.

You all stand up, stretching and gathering your things. The cool evening air greets you as you step outside, the streets now alive with the vibrant pulse of nightlife. The city feels different at night—more intimate, somehow, as if it’s drawing you in, showing you a side of itself that’s hidden during the day.

The walk back to the hotel is filled with chatter about plans for tomorrow. The promise of new adventures makes it feel like the night is only just beginning.

Back at the hotel, you all head up to your room, the anticipation of tomorrow’s shopping spree and sightseeing making your steps lighter. You unpack your things, setting your clothes out for the next day, and settle in for the night.

As you lie in bed, the quiet hum of the city outside the window lulls you into a peaceful state. You think about how grateful you are for this trip—the opportunity to reconnect with old friends, explore new places, and create memories you’ll carry with you for years.

For now, you close your eyes and let the promise of tomorrow fill your dreams.

You wake up to the soft glow of the morning sun filtering through the curtains. Stretching, you feel the warmth of the day already reaching into the room. Your friends are already up and excited, talking about the day's plans. You quickly freshen up, eager to begin the next adventure.

After a quick breakfast, you head out with your friends. The city streets are full of life, with locals going about their day and tourists like you, wandering in search of new experiences. Today, it’s all about shopping, and the boutiques and stores are bustling with energy.

You find yourself trying on new clothes—bright, colorful tops, stylish pants, and a couple of cute accessories that make you feel like a local. There’s so much to choose from, and the excitement of it all makes you feel a little more connected to the city. Laughter fills the air as you pose for photos with your friends, capturing moments of joy. You even pick out a local souvenir for your best friend, hoping they’ll love it when you finally get to see them again.

After shopping, your stomach growls, reminding you it’s time for lunch. Your friends lead you to a cozy restaurant nearby. The pizza is perfectly cheesy, and the spaghetti is a comforting blend of rich flavors. You chat about everything and nothing, enjoying the moment and each other's company.

Feeling full and content, your friends suggest going to the beach. You hesitate for a moment, remembering that you can’t swim, but the idea of the beach sounds relaxing. So, you agree to just sit by the water and enjoy the view while they splash around in the waves.

As they rush toward the water, you settle on a spot by the shore, letting the cool breeze wash over you. You pull out your phone and start browsing nearby attractions, trying to find something to do while your friends enjoy the water. A few minutes later, your eyes light up as you discover an aquarium just a ten-minute walk from the beach.

Excitedly, you tell your friends about it, and they agree to head over there after their swim. The walk is short and refreshing, and soon enough, you find yourself standing in front of the aquarium. The moment you step inside, it’s like entering a different world. The lighting is soft and magical, and the tanks are filled with vibrant sea life. You lose yourself in the exhibits—mesmerized by the jellyfish floating gracefully, the playful penguins waddling around, and the dolphins swimming in perfect harmony. The sharks and whales make your heart race, but there’s a serene beauty to it all.

You walk through the aquarium, lost in awe, until you suddenly feel a warmth press against your back. Before you can react, a hand covers your mouth, silencing the surprised gasp that rises in your throat. You freeze for a moment, your heart racing.

"Cutie," a familiar voice whispers near your ear—low, smooth, and laced with affection. "I’ve been thinking about you."

Your breath hitches. You turn slowly, heart pounding.

“Rafayel?” you whisper.

He’s right in front of you—soft eyes, a tender smile, the kind of expression that says he’s been holding onto the thought of you for far too long.

Your mind races. “H-How…?” you murmur, eyes darting around.

But something’s off.

The lighting, the layout—this isn’t the same aquarium you were just in. The displays are different. The people are gone. Even the air feels strange—almost unreal. That’s when it hits you.

You’re not in your world anymore.

You’re back in his.

Rafayel chuckles gently, his hand brushing a stray hair from your cheek. “I had this sudden urge to visit the aquarium today,” he says, almost in disbelief himself. “Didn’t think I’d find you here… but maybe I was hoping I would.”

He takes a slow step closer, his gaze never once leaving yours.

“I’ve missed you so much,” he says softly. “It’s been driving me crazy. You have no idea how hard it is to look away from you now that you’re here.”

And just like that, the world narrows to this moment—just you, him, and the quiet pull that brought you together again.

Rafayel extends his hand to you, palm up, eyes warm with unspoken emotion.

“Come on,” he says gently. “Let me show you around.”

You hesitate for only a moment before your fingers slip into his. His touch is cool but grounding, and the moment your hand finds his, everything else blurs into the background.

The soft lighting of the aquarium casts a surreal glow as you both walk side by side. Rafayel doesn’t rush—he moves slowly, like he’s memorizing every second, every step you take with him.

“This place… it’s one of the few spots that calms me,” he murmurs, glancing toward a glowing tank filled with floating jellyfish. The bioluminescent lights reflect in his eyes, painting them with an otherworldly hue. “It feels like time stops here.”

You both pause in front of a wide tunnel tank. Sharks glide overhead, and schools of silver fish move in perfect unison around you.

“You look like you belong here,” he says softly, still watching you. “Among beauty. Peace. Magic.”

You laugh under your breath, your heart fluttering at the unexpected compliment. “You’re just saying that.”

“I never just say anything when it comes to you,” he replies, voice low, sincere.

A pod of dolphins swims by in the next exhibit, and Rafayel tugs you gently closer to the glass. One dolphin presses its face near, and Rafayel leans toward it with a grin. “See? Even they like you.”

You roll your eyes with a smile, and Rafayel watches you like he’s never seen you smile before. His fingers tighten slightly around yours.

“I didn’t know how much I missed this,” he admits. “Just being with you. Just… us.”

The aquarium continues around you, full of shimmering lights and the gentle lull of water. But none of it shines quite like the quiet moment you’re sharing now—with Rafayel, hand in hand, in a place that somehow feels like it was made just for the two of you.

As you move deeper into the aquarium, the soft sounds of flowing water and distant whale calls create a tranquil symphony around you. Rafayel never lets go of your hand. If anything, his grip grows more secure—as if afraid you might disappear again.

You pass through the dimly lit corridor where glowing tanks of deep-sea creatures pulse with bioluminescence. The surreal light dances across his features, painting his face in hues of blue and violet. He looks almost ethereal like this—like he belongs to another world.

“You know…” he starts, his voice barely above a whisper, “I didn’t come here expecting to find you. I just… had this sudden urge to visit the aquarium. I thought I needed a distraction.” He turns to look at you, his gaze steady. “But maybe it wasn’t random at all.”

“I’ve been thinking about you too much,” he says quietly. “So much that it’s like the universe brought us back together just to ease the ache.”

Your heart skips.

You watch him for a moment longer, then tug him toward another exhibit—the penguins. They’re waddling around, some swimming, others slipping and tumbling across the icy terrain.

Rafayel chuckles, eyes lighting up. “They remind me of you.”

You raise a brow. “Excuse me?”

He smirks. “Cute. Always stealing attention. And absolutely chaotic in the most endearing way.”

You elbow him playfully, but your cheeks are already warm.

As you both wander deeper into the aquarium, it feels less like you’re in a public place and more like your own quiet little world. Every soft laugh, every lingering look between glowing tanks, carries a strange magic—like the kind that only exists between people who have missed each other more than they’re willing to admit.

Eventually, you reach a final exhibit—a huge cylindrical tank filled with glowing blue fish, slowly rotating like stars in an underwater galaxy. Rafayel stops, gazing up at it, then looks back at you.

“Next time,” he says softly, “don’t wait so long to come back to me.”

You open your mouth to respond, but you’re not sure what to say.

Because somehow, it doesn’t feel like you came back to him.

It feels like he’s the one who found you.

You’re still lost in the moment when Rafayel suddenly shifts beside you, his hand tightening slightly around yours. That playful glint returns to his eyes as he turns to face you, a spark of excitement lighting up his features.

“There’s something I want to show you,” he says, voice soft but tinged with excitement.

You blink. “There’s more?”

He grins, then gestures toward a hallway roped off to the public. The lights are dimmer here, and the sound of water echoes more clearly. As you follow him, you notice something strange—there’s no one around. Not a single staff member, no other visitors. Just you, Rafayel, and the distant shimmer of blue light ahead.

He leads you to a room dominated by a massive tank stretching from floor to ceiling. Through the glass, an underwater world glows, peaceful and untouched. Coral reefs, soft rays of sunlight piercing the water, schools of fish darting between rocks—it’s breathtaking.

“Beautiful, isn’t it?” he murmurs, but he’s looking at you, not the tank.

You nod, unable to look away from the scene before you. “It’s like another world.”

He turns to you then, his expression shifting to something more tender. “I want to take you there.”

You blink, startled. “What?”

Rafayel steps closer, his hand brushing your cheek. “You can’t swim, I know.” His voice is gentle, reassuring. “But you remember, don’t you? If I kiss you… you’ll be able to breathe underwater.”

Your breath catches.

His eyes search yours. “Will you trust me?”

You nod before your brain can catch up.

He leans in slowly, like he’s giving you every second to pull away—but you don’t. His lips meet yours in a soft, deep kiss, and the world tilts. Warmth blooms through your chest, your skin tingling as something shifts inside you—light, weightless, like you’ve been pulled into a dream.

When he pulls away, his forehead rests against yours. “You’ll be okay,” he whispers. “I’ve got you.”

He guides you to the edge of the tank and, still holding your hand, steps in first, effortlessly pulling you with him. The moment you sink beneath the surface, your panic rises—only for it to vanish the instant Rafayel wraps his arms around you.

You can breathe.

Not just breathe—feel. The water doesn’t choke you. Instead, it embraces you like silk. Your hair floats around you, the light catching on every strand. Rafayel smiles and brushes a strand from your face, his hands never straying far from you.

The sea life seems to notice your presence. Fishes swirl around you, curious and gentle, like they’re welcoming you. Jellyfish drift by in slow, hypnotic pulses. A stingray glides just inches away, and tiny bubbles rise around you like stars.

You laugh in awe, the sound soft and airy in the water, and Rafayel watches you with clear adoration in his eyes.

“You look like you were born to be here,” he says, voice echoing through the water directly into your mind.

You shake your head, wide-eyed. “This is insane.”

He leans closer, smirking. “Insanely romantic?”

You roll your eyes, but your smile gives you away.

And as he leads you deeper into the heart of this glowing dream, his hand never letting go of yours, you realize this—whatever this is—feels like magic. Not just because of the wonder around you…

But because it’s with him.

The deeper you two swim, the more at ease you become. The water is calm, the world above a distant memory as you float alongside Rafayel. Every moment feels surreal, like you’re caught in a beautiful dream that you never want to wake up from.

Rafayel’s eyes glint mischievously as he pulls you toward a large coral formation. “So, you’re not afraid of the water anymore?” he teases, a playful grin tugging at the corners of his lips.

You roll your eyes, but the smile that escapes betrays you. “I’m still getting used to it.” Your voice echoes softly, surrounded by the sounds of the underwater world—bubbles and the rhythmic movement of fish.

“Oh? I thought I was the one making you feel safe.” He pulls you a little closer, his fingers brushing against yours under the water. “Don’t worry, though. I won’t let anything happen to you.”

You smile, but your heart flutters at the closeness of him. “You better not. I’ve got my eyes on you, Rafayel.”

His smile turns into something more intimate. “Oh? Keeping me in check, are you?” He teases, brushing a few bubbles away from your face.

You laugh softly, shaking your head. “Someone has to. You’re always so full of yourself.” But the teasing tone in your voice falters when his gaze softens, and for a brief moment, it feels like time slows.

“You’ve got me all to yourself right now,” he murmurs, his voice lower, just for you. “I’m not going anywhere.”

And then he does something unexpected—he grabs a fish by the tail, making a playful face at it. “See? I’ve got all the fish under control. They listen to me.” His grin is wide, and the fish seems to dart off in a flurry, as if not impressed with his antics.

You can’t help but laugh, the sound bubbling out of you as you watch Rafayel. His antics are so effortlessly charming, and for a moment, you forget about the world outside the water. It’s just the two of you in this strange, magical space.

“You’re ridiculous,” you say, the affection in your voice undeniable.

“I try,” he replies, a smirk on his lips. “But I’m still not as ridiculous as someone who trusted me enough to dive into the water, knowing they can’t swim.”

You narrow your eyes playfully, pretending to think about it. “I wasn’t exactly planning on diving, you know.”

“Really?” His voice is smooth, teasing. “You didn’t feel the need to do something dramatic?”

You laugh, shaking your head. “No, not particularly.”

“Well, I think it’s romantic,” he murmurs, his expression suddenly serious, his voice laced with a quiet intensity. “I’ve never wanted anything more than to be with you like this.”

And for a heartbeat, the teasing stops. The world around you fades into a gentle, shimmering bubble of warmth. Rafayel’s gaze is steady, his hold on you grounding yet gentle. You can feel his heart beating just as fast as yours.

Before you can say anything, Rafayel’s smirk returns, and his voice is laced with mischief again. “But you know, I still think you owe me one for trusting me so much. Maybe I’ll collect on that favor soon.”

You blink in surprise. “What do you mean?”

He laughs, the sound light and full of teasing warmth. “I’m still waiting for that kiss. You know, the one that makes it official.”

Your eyes widen, a blush creeping up your neck as you glance away, pretending to be shy. “Oh, come on, Rafayel. We’re underwater! You’re not going to pull something like that on me now.”

But he just chuckles softly, swimming closer until he’s right in front of you, his hand gently cupping your cheek under the water. The world feels even quieter now, more intimate.

“I was just kidding,” he says, his voice so soft it’s almost drowned out by the sound of the water. “Or maybe… I wasn’t.”

And before you can respond, he leans in, his lips brushing against yours with a tenderness that makes everything else disappear. The underwater world around you feels even more magical as his kiss deepens, and for a moment, it’s just you and him—floating, connected in a way that’s nothing short of perfect.

When he pulls away, his eyes linger on yours, filled with something that makes your heart skip a beat. “Now that,” he says softly, “was worth the dive.”

As the kiss lingers in the water, you feel a warmth spreading through you, not just from the moment but from something deeper. Rafayel pulls back slowly, his fingers still gently holding yours under the water, his gaze soft yet intense.

“I’ve been wanting to give you something,” he says, his voice calm but filled with a quiet excitement. He takes your hand, guiding you to a rocky outcrop beneath the water where you both sit for a moment, the peaceful world of the aquarium stretching out around you.

Reaching into a small pocket hidden in his clothing, he pulls out a delicate bracelet made of pearls and tiny seashells, the smooth, iridescent beads catching the faint light from the water. The craftsmanship is stunning, each shell perfectly matched, each pearl gleaming softly like the moon on the ocean. It’s a subtle yet beautiful piece, with a touch of the ocean’s magic in every detail.

“I made this for you,” Rafayel says, his voice low and a little shy, a side of him you rarely see. “I wanted to give it to you the next time we met, and now it seems like the perfect moment.”

You stare at the bracelet, your breath catching as you realize just how much thought and care he’s put into it. You never expected something like this—something so personal, so meaningful.

He holds it up in front of you, his fingers brushing lightly against your wrist as he waits for you to take it. “It’s simple, but I hope you like it. Every time you wear it, I want you to think of me. Of this moment. and of us.”

You blink, a little overwhelmed by the emotions swirling inside you. You take the bracelet gently from his hands, your fingers brushing against his skin, and feel a surge of warmth that has nothing to do with the water. “Rafayel… it’s beautiful. I love it.”

His smile softens, his eyes gleaming with something that feels so much like hope. “I’m glad,” he says quietly. “I want you to remember me, no matter where you are. Even when we’re apart. This is just a small way of saying… I’m here. With you.”

You clasp the bracelet around your wrist, feeling its smooth, delicate presence against your skin. And as the underwater world around you continues to flow, time seems to stop, leaving only the two of you—sharing something deeper than words, a connection that feels like it could last forever.

The weight of the moment lingers in the air as you both float there, surrounded by the peaceful serenity of the underwater world. You’ve been submerged for longer than you realized, the calmness of the water making time feel like it’s stood still. The gentle rhythm of the ocean, the soft swaying of the seaweed, and the quiet presence of the fish all create a sense of belonging. But as much as you’re reluctant to leave this world behind, you know it’s time.

Rafayel’s voice breaks the silence, soft and knowing. “We should probably head back soon. You’ve been under the water for a while, and I’m sure you’re getting tired.”

You nod, though part of you wants to stay a little longer, to linger in the beauty of the moment. Rafayel reaches out, his fingers brushing against your arm once more, and helps guide you back toward the surface. The water feels cooler as you rise, and the weightlessness you’ve been enjoying starts to fade as your feet find the bottom once again.

You both step out of the tank, water dripping from your clothes and hair as you make your way to the edge, where the soft hum of the aquarium begins to return to normal. Rafayel offers you a towel, and you take it gratefully, wrapping it around your shoulders as the world around you starts to shift back to reality.

His hand lingers on your arm for a moment longer, his touch light but grounding. “I wish we could stay here longer,” he says with a hint of longing in his voice, “but I know you need to go back. You have your world, and I… I’ll be here, waiting for you.”

You look up at him, and for a brief moment, everything else seems to fade. There’s just you and him, caught in a quiet moment of understanding. You don’t know what’s going to happen next, but you know this—when it comes to Rafayel, time feels like it can stand still, even when it can’t.

“I’ll be back,” you promise softly, your heart full as you look into his eyes.

With a final, lingering touch, you leave the magical world behind, stepping back into the world you know, the real one. But even as you do, you carry a piece of Rafayel with you, tucked into your heart like the bracelet on your wrist—a reminder that no matter where you are, the connection between you both remains unbreakable.

As you step away from the aquarium, the cool evening air brushing against your skin, you hear your friends’ voices calling to you from behind. Their laughter and chatter break the peaceful silence you had just shared with Rafayel, and you turn to find them approaching, their faces bright with excitement.

“Sorry we took so long!” one of them calls out, a playful note in their voice. “Are you bored waiting around by yourself?”

You smile, feeling a warmth spread through you as you wave them over. “No, not bored at all. I was just enjoying the quiet,” you reply, trying to keep your tone light.

As they get closer, one of them’s eyes catch on the bracelet that’s now wrapped around your wrist, glinting in the fading sunlight. "Whoa, that’s so beautiful! Where did you get it?" she asks, her gaze fixed on the delicate pearls and seashells. “It looks... special.”

You glance down at the bracelet, your fingers lightly brushing over it. The memory of Rafayel’s gentle gift fills you with a quiet sense of happiness. Without thinking, you reply, "I got it from someone precious to me." The words slip out without hesitation, and you find yourself feeling protective of the memory attached to it.

The curiosity in their eyes is obvious, but they don’t press further. One of them leans in, a teasing grin on their face. “Ooh, sounds mysterious. Who’s the lucky person?”

You laugh, shaking your head. “It’s a secret,” you say, your tone light but firm. "I’m not ready to share just yet."

Your friends exchange glances, clearly intrigued, but they respect your silence. “Alright, alright. We won’t pry," another one teases, but there's no malice behind it—just playful curiosity.

The group’s laughter fills the air again as you head out of the aquarium, but in your heart, the memory of Rafayel’s gift lingers, warm and comforting. Even as you turn back to your friends, the bond you share with him feels more tangible than ever, and the quiet secret between the two of you is something you carry with a sense of quiet joy.

𓇼🐚𓇼🐚𓇼🐚𓇼🐚𓇼🐚𓇼🐚𓇼🐚𓇼🐚𓇼🐚𓇼🐚𓇼🐚𓇼🐚𓇼🐚

Taglist below.

If you would like to be added or removed from the tag list please leave a comment or send me a message.

@beaconsxd @young-adult-summer @froleineeeee @dissociativewriter @mansonofmadness @michiluvddr @m0ss-gremlin @mephisto-with-a-knife @white-wolves-and-golden-sunrises @yoongi-tunes @ladyof-themoon @jadeloverxd @shewrites247 @sinnamon-bunn @imhere2dosomething @mysticcollectionvoid @poptrim @godoffuckedupcats @babyx91 @browneyedgirl22 @szafficat @notleclerc @crystalfay

[twst-drabbles]

Riddle 18

Summary: Riddle comes over to your dorm with the intention of lecturing you on how to keep a handle on Grim after the trouble he caused a few days ago. It takes a while for him to realize that you're only wearing a towel the entire time he was talking.

(I would've gotten this out a while go, but then I descended the coding hole and redid the structure of the code in my neocities website, because I found a much easier way to upload my stuff onto it. Sooo, yeah here ya go!)

"As such, it do you well to at least memorize the first fifty pages of my notes. It will give you a solid enough foundation to begin with Grim's discipline." Riddle slammed yet another carefully noted and annotated journal onto your study stable, not once glancing away from it as he flipped through the pages to point out particular notes of interest, like you were actually right there over his shoulder.

You weren't. You were currently on your bed, skin still wet and shiny, clad in only a towel, casually leaning back. You were watching him, half-listening, half-wondering when in the world you gave the impression that Riddle could come into your dorm without so much a polite knock.

A few days ago, you were given warning via Ace and Deuce that Grim caused trouble yet again, and Riddle was nothing short of livid. Riddle, too, gave his warning, but it was more of a "I have freed up a slot of time for your future lecture," type of deal. As in, Riddle gave you no room to convince him otherwise. Literally thirty minutes later, and about two minutes after you've finished your shower, Riddle was through your door, small heels clicking on your floors, and barged his way into your room with journals and books piled in his arms, practically covering his vision.

And you? In a towel, on your bed, still steaming from your shower. You should probably put on some clothes, but honestly? You'll do that later. It's not that big of a deal anyways.

So yeah, Grim wasn't here at the moment. He took off as soon as he heard that knocking, and you've stopped bothering with trying to wrangle him in. You did, however, lock the windows and blocked the holes he uses to crawl in. You'll probably lock all the doors while you're at it so he has no choice but to beg his way back inside. Or if he's too arrogant to beg, sleep outside.

"Alright, so I need you to pay particular attention to this passage, since your current method of discipline is clearly not enough." Riddle was entirely absorbed in a world of his own, not having once looked back at you.

"Mm-hmm." What is with this assumption that you're Grim's guardian/caretaker/whatever? And why lecture you about this subject? You don't exactly care.

"And to truly understand this section, you'll have to study on chapter one-hundred and thirteen of the assigned bibliography I have for you. And–"

"Mm-hmm." You scrolled through your phone. Huh. Sam is having yet another surprise sale at his shop. Wonder what that's about.

Finally, Riddle stopped with a small, frustrated sigh. "It seems you're not truly listening to–"

Upon his pause, you leaned forward and turned off your phone. You propped your chin on your hand. "Sorry, sorry. You were saying?" Gotta pretend that you're listening to Riddle can get this lecture over with faster.

Though, you get the feeling this will take longer than usual.

"I-I," Riddle took a careful step back, tumbled on the carpet, and grabbed the table before he could land on the floor. "I-what-I–"

His eyes were flitting over every part of you, clearly unable to look away as the color of his pale face rapidly turned red. It would've looked cute, if it weren't for how fast the color turned purple. His mouth kept moving, trying to make noise, or some semblance of a sentence, but all he could get out was fragments instead.

You raised an eyebrow. "Well? You're not gonna continue?" He did come in as soon as you finished your shower. You figured he'd be at this until you've gotten the energy to finally get into some comfy clothes.

Riddle began to look less like a college student and more a creature you've squeezed into almost popping. He spun around and slammed his hands on the table. His shoulders shook, trying with all his might to keep his composure before he crouched and cradled his head in his arms.

"Riddle?"

Huh. You didn't think you being naked was that big of a deal. Your body is just that, a body.

Riddle twitched and stood ramrod straight. Awkwardly, he marched right to your door, walking sideways so as to not accidentally glimpse at you. He turned the knob, and slammed the door shut behind him.

You can hear him break out into a sprint, carpet doing nothing to muffle the sounds, and dorm insulation being close to nonexistent. Another door opened and slammed shut, probably the bathroom. A few seconds later, you heard a distant, muffled screaming.

Yup. Big deal alright.

You couldn't help but laugh.

[pix-writes]

Catalogues

Stanley Pines x F!Reader (one shot)

AO3

Tags: mild mentions of sex work, homelessness and implied sexual trauma, angst with comfort, fluff, smutty themes (stan gets a little of the TLC he deserves), newly established relationship, implied age gap (not specified but are both adults)

Rating: Mature | 18+ MDNI

Summary: based on the prompt on this post from lore on thisisnotawebsitedotcom by @razziematazz

Words: <1.6k

Shrugging with the heavy box in your arms to adjust your grip, you called out into the shack. “Hey! Stan! I’ve got a surprise!”

You couldn’t believe your luck when you had found this stack of old-looking comics at the big yard sale, Stan was going to be thrilled.

Now here you were, spreading the contents onto the living room floor. 

“So, did I do good or what?!”

“You did great, toots! How much did this cost?”

“Pff! That’s not important!” You grinned, watching as Stan flicked through one of the comics. “How old do you think they are, anyway?”

“Definitely vintage, some of ‘em are probably older than you!” He said with a wicked glint in his eye.

“Shut up!” You laughed, throwing a mock punch. “I’m not that young, you know.”

Stan caught up your wrist easily, motioning like he was about to bite off your fingers he chuckled at your squeal, before placing a kiss to your palm. “Yeah, yeah, whatever you say sweetheart.”

“Don’t know what’s gotten into you.” You muttered reaching into the box to pull out another pile, some of the glossy paper slipped through your hands, landing with a slap on the floor.

Stan snatched up a few just as you registered what you were looking at.

“Oh.” The heat rose to your face.

“"Now this is interesting! Who knew you were the type to buy a load of dirty ol’ mags, huh?”

“I didn’t know they were in there, the guy selling them likely didn’t either.” He was trying to be sly, but you could see he pocketed one of them and you reached to snatch one up. He stretched his arm up, so it was out of your grasp. “Hey! Stan! C’mon, that’s a double standard.”

“Hmm… I’m just gonna take a peek, maybe it’ll give me a few ideas.” He wiggled his eyebrows salaciously.

You both burst into laughter.

“I’m glad the kids aren’t here!”

You dove to reach the ones in your partner’s hand and this time he let you take it.

Sitting on the couch you both glanced at the forbidden material and giggled.

“Oh man, some of this stuff is older than me! And terribly niche!” You were so absorbed in looking at the men in the catalogue, hair and clothing looking so dated now, that you didn’t notice how quiet Stan had gotten. “I mean, hunky drifters, who even buys this stu-”

You had turned the page to an image that was familiar from photos you had seen before, though admittedly, he had more clothes on in those. Swallowing thickly as you realised that the eyes staring back out of the page at you were definitely those of your partner’s.

Stan remembers it clearly, though some of the details are hazy, he remembers the ad, the amount of short-change in his pocket and the duffel bag with the broken strap he kept over his shoulder. The nice lady at the desk had the gift of the gab and reeled off what they wanted, how he fit into it, how much money he could get. The place didn't look too classy, but it was warmer than it was outside.

"That's all part of it, darlin', it's supposed to be real, that's what our customers want!" She'd said with a wink and a squeeze of his arm, after he'd voiced some misgivings about taking off too much. He remembered the beady eyed photographer and his small crew directing him…

The place was a total meat market too, as he glanced around, he’d seen other people there to model all under dismissive eyes or hungry ones. The comments he’d gotten had made him shiver and he’d tried ever since to block them out of his mind. 

He'd only left with a fraction of what they'd promised, but it was better than nothing, even if his ears were burning.  

You couldn’t tear your eyes away for a few long moments. Stan was lying, no leaning, against the hood of a beaten-up looking car, rough jeans unzipped, cock in his grip red at the tip and dribbling precum. His face held a crooked, almost nonchalant smile - if that was a thing. Like he knew he looked good and he didn’t care who was watching. And yet… the camera had managed to pick up the faint blush over his cheeks. It sent a spark of heat straight down to your groin.

You practically dropped the magazine when you saw the second photo, the younger Stan was in the backseat of the car, legs spread, the camera took the shot from a low angle which meant there was little left to the imagination, since the only thing he was wearing was a loose, open hoodie…

“Oh my, Mr Mystery! I never knew you did this, how scandalous!” You said, trying to laugh to break the tension, though your mouth felt dry.

But Stan didn’t say anything, your smile dropped as he turned away.

"Stanley.” That gave him pause. You only said his full first name when you were being serious or affectionate. "Tell me what’s wrong…. Are you embarrassed?”

“No!”

“Then tell me. I’m sorry, I was just joking around, I didn’t mean to poke fun.”

Stan sighed, turning to look at you once again. “It’s not to do with you, baby. I… you know about my driftin’ days?” You nodded. “I needed some quick cash, I saw this ad, talked to a couple people who told me it was some modelling photoshoot. Hah, well, naively it sounded kind of classy to me then, but it turned out to be… not. But it was okay, I guess. Just didn’t think any of it would still be lying around.”

"What did you, um... Think about, when you...?" You couldn’t help but let the words tumble out of your mouth.

"I don't remember thinking much of anything… 'cept wanting money for a warm bed."

You looked as the man shrugged like it was nothing whilst you felt like your heart, once again, shattered into a million pieces for him. "Oh, honey..."

He cringed at your tone. You couldn't have that.

You took his hands into your warm ones, stroking your thumbs over them.  "Stanley. Look at me... Do you honestly think I'd judge you for this?"

He squirmed at your directness. “I... You... I dunno, you're so..."

"So?"

"So... Uhm... Fine! I thought you might, okay?”

You rolled your eyes. “I’m hardly a pinnacle of virtue, baby.”

“Yeah, but, you deserve better than me, ya know?” He smiled weakly.

“I don’t pity you and I’m certainly not going to judge you for surviving. Hell, I wouldn’t judge you if you’d done it for fun, either…In fact, I, uh…”

Stan registered the way you ducked your head, hands clasped together, like you had done on your first date. “You what?”

“Never mind.” You said, getting up to gather some of the magazines together. “L-let’s just-”  

"-Hey! Hands off the merchandise, toots." He swiped the damn magazine still open to the pages he featured in from underneath you.

“I’ve told you, now you’ve gotta tell me.” He crooked a finger underneath your chin, so you had to look up at him.

You bit your lip. "I found it, um, attractive."  

"Oh yeah?” He leaned in close, that same crooked smile forming, though you could see that the light of it reached his eyes this time. “How attractive?”

“Very.” Stan hummed in response waiting for you to continue. “I-I liked the way you looked, confident and also flustered. You looked good.”

“And what about now, does the real thing live up to it?”

Your hands had started to roam his body, pulling at his shirt, grabbing at his stomach, knowing he was self-conscious about it, despite your insistence that you loved it. You felt almost breathless and he hadn’t even touched you yet. “Let me show you.”

Finally, you were pushed back into the cushions as he kissed you. Feeling the heat of his body on top of yours as you deepened your next kiss. “Touch me.”

He pushed a hand up your shirt teasing and pinching your nipples with his hand. You whined.

“Stanley.”

“I know, doll, I know. So needy.” He rearranged your positions so he could properly grind against you, pulling off your sweater in the process. He moaned into your open mouthed kisses, tongue stroking over his own.

Just when you were starting to unbutton your pants, you heard as someone pulled up onto the gravel outside and a bunch of different voices.

“Shit!”

You don’t know how you managed to untangle yourselves, but soon you ware hastily gathering up the salacious material.

“Sixer's finished his trip with 'em early!”

Taking stairs two at a time, you managed to dump the box in a hidden spot in your room by the time you heard your names being called by Ford.

“Wait a second.” You took the copy of ‘hunky drifters’ out of Stan’s pocket and tucked it under the mattress. “For later.”

A blush creeped up his neck. "You'll be the death of me, doll."

[potatoplace]

You Can Have It - Chapter 2

Alpha!Feysand x Omega!Reader

chapter 1 | chapter 3 | series masterlist

Story Summary: You've been a baker for 75 years, and are finally moving on from the Winter Court to the City of Velaris to start your own bakery after your grandmother passes. After your grand opening, the High Lord and Lady of Night become daily visitors to your bakery for months, every day having your most popular pastry- one that increases fertility for a short time. All the while, the two alphas want nothing more than to call themselves yours.

Warnings: A/B/O Dynamics, mentions of sex toys, I really don't think there's anything else?

Words: ~7.8k

Author's Note: it's here! I struggled a lot to get writing with this chapter, I think it's because there's so much I want to happen! Things should start moving a bit quicker after this chapter, were done with most of the OC introductions (just lil friendos for reader to have outside of the inner circle~). Hopefully in the next chapter reader will meet Rhys and Feyre :)

18+ only pls

🤍🩵🤍💜🤍

You had been reading for a couple of hours before Mor returned to the inn, busting into your room as soon as you opened the door at her frantic knocks.

“I brought dinner!” Mor squealed as she set a bag onto the table in the middle of the room. “I went to Sevenda’s and got my favorite of hers, it’s this delicious pesto chicken pasta with broccoli in it, I think you’ll love it! We just have to make sure to take the bowls back tomorrow, Sevenda made me promise and I’ve forgotten a couple of times already,” Mor said sheepishly, a grin on her face. She sat down and began pulling out the takeaway dishes along with napkins and utensils.

You sat down in the other chair, gladly taking your share of the heavenly smelling food and digging in. Mor followed suit, and the two of you ate happily in a comfortable silence for a moment.

“So, were you able to set up a meeting with Auric already?” You asked Mor before taking another bite- it tasted even more amazing than it smelled.

Mor nodded. “Yes, he agreed to tomorrow at two o’clock at this cute little café just a couple of blocks down from here. He mainly wants to know your plans for the land before finalizing the sale. Auric’s family has owned the land since Velaris was founded, and since he doesn’t have any children he just wants to make sure it’s a business with good intentions, I think.”

“That makes sense, I would probably do the same in his position.”

“Agreed. I think he’ll find a cozy bakery to be a perfect fit, he ran a custom paint and supply store once he took over, and I believe it was an apothecary before that.”

You smile softly at the knowledge that your bakery will be on land with such a long history, one that must have made so many people happy. “The apothecary part will be somewhat carried on with my bakery, I have a few different pastries with special herbs in them to give different effects to the person that eats it. I have one that was very popular in the Winter Court, it helps to boost fertility. We started having a greater amount of births around every major holiday, that’s when I would bake the most of them,” you gushed, always happy to talk about your baking.

“Really? Oh, that will be lovely! Since the war, everyone in Velaris has had their eyes turned to the future, and it seems almost everyone wants to have children nowadays. Once word gets around, you’d best be ready for constant business for that pastry alone.” Mor’s words instilled confidence in you, something that you needed every so often to be sure you’re making the right choices.

A half hour later, Mor stood from her chair and began packing up the dishes. Before she left, she pulled a small metal card from her pocket and handed it to you. “This is your bank card, you’ll need it to make any purchases within Velaris. Kallias and Viviane had me set up an account for you and deposit your farewell bonus. Ten thousand for every year you worked for them, a total of 700,000 gold marks.”

“700,000?!” You asked in a frantic tone. That was to much- far, far too much. “That- they must have made a mistake. That’s a ridiculous amount of gold!”

Mor only smiled at you as she answered, “No, they were very specific about the amount. They said if you were panicking to tell you that five thousand every year was for your grandmother, and five thousand was for you. And to tell you that there is no way to convince them to take any of it back, so don’t attempt.” Mor’s smile turned to a grin when you stayed silent, still processing the immense wealth that you now possess. “I’ll be here a bit before two tomorrow to show you to the café for your meeting,” she said as she left your room, bag full of empty dishes in her hand.

“Thank you, Mor. For everything you’ve done today.”

One more bright, sunshine filled smile. “You’re welcome, Y/N. It’s no problem, you’ve been lovely to get to know.”

You return her smile, and shut the door when she is out of sight. Standing alone in your hotel room, you suddenly feel the weight of your day crashing into your shoulders. You set your new bank card on the table, the weight of its wealth too heavy at the moment.

You made your way into the bathroom, carefully removing your dress from your body to not snag your wings on the fabric. Then you set to drawing the bath- luckily, it was fully enchanted with plumbing, allowing for hot water to fill the tub.

It was a bit smaller than you were used to, not quite the right size to fit a winged body, but it would do just fine until you could have your own custom tub made for your apartment.

As soon as the tub was filled, you sank into the warm water, keeping your wings out of the water for tonight- too much of a hassle to dry with how tired you are already.

You let the steam relax you, sinking into a soft, relaxed state of mind. It drifted to your grandmother- she had died today, but you weren’t devastated. She had been in pain the past thirty six years, caused by the curse Amarantha had put upon her. Your grandmother had accidentally served burned pastries to the revel, one making its way to Amarantha herself. As Nanna’s punishment, the evil queen had cursed her blood to burn away slowly until she eventually passed.

But she was in peace now- able to move on to the next life, hopefully one that’s happier, less filled with psychotic fae.

And here- here, you could believe that. You’d seen so many different kinds of fae today, more than you’d seen at once Under the Mountain. Every one of them got along, there was only minor haggling and bickering to disrupt the peace. Besides that, everyone had sounded happy, unburdened.

It was nice.

The Winter Court, even six years after Amarantha’s fall, was still struggling to find the same freeness that this city radiated.

Your grandmother would have loved it here, the two Palaces dedicated to food stuffs alone might have convinced her to move here.

You would love it twice as much, just for her. She had always wanted you to live a full life, one of joy, hopefully with an alpha and a family of any size. She had been an omega as well, understanding that need, that overwhelming desire to have a family, an alpha that loves you.

When you presented, your mother and father had already passed, taken by a brutal pneumonia that had overtaken most of your village. Your grandmother had been the only family left to teach you, and she had done all she could to prepare you for your secondary sex and all that came with it.

You had yet to take an alpha, ever. During your few heats before being trapped Under the Mountain, you had taken a beta as your lover, trusting him enough to help you through them.

And Under the Mountain… Well, you were lucky enough to have been relegated to the kitchens at all times besides during your grandmother’s punishment. No alphas had been allowed to work at kitchen staff, so you were kept relatively hidden during your heats, though they had been less frequent due to the stress, possibly even from the magic sucked from your body.

Now, though, they had returned in full force, three months apart and stronger than ever. Viviane had been kind enough to show you to the small shop dedicated to sex toys in the square of the capital city, some of them designed to mimic a knot.

The toy you had gotten that day had seen you through your last six years of heats, along with a special blend of herbs your grandmother had created that lessened the symptoms to a close to manageable level.

Now, though, in a new city? Maybe you could find an alpha for yourself, as well as follow your lifelong dream. You let yourself drift off and think about what your alpha might be like as you washed your body.

As soon as you were clean, you got out and dried yourself off. You wrapped yourself in the towel and padded into the bedroom once more, finally ready to unpack your things.

It went quickly enough, you hung up your dresses and put away your romance novels and cookbooks. One of them was your grandmother’s entire catalog of recipes, all of her tricks to making any recipe a bit easier. It was your most prized possession, your own catalog a close second.

Your bags were empty now, and you placed them at the bottom of the wardrobe, along with your pair of extra boots.

All alone. A new city.

You crawled into your bed after putting on your favorite nightgown, long sleeved and reaching your calves in a blue so light it’s nearly white, and a scooped back allowing for your wings to remind untouched by fabric.

The sheets on the bed are soft, and you bury your face in them for a moment, reveling in the feeling of them on your skin. A gentle huff leaves your mouth, and you turn your head to look out the window, to where it’s snowing.

You’ll be sad when the snow is gone, but you can’t deny that you’re excited to see the other seasons come and go as they do outside of Winter.

And your bakery- you wonder how that will change throughout the seasons. Different pastries, outdoor seating, seasonal themes- would you be able to make it snow inside during winter?

You drifted off to different imaginings of your new business, new home as well as you’ll be building an apartment above the bakery itself.

🤍🩵🤍💜🤍

You awoke the next morning to the winter sun shining into your eyes. You stretched for a moment, then got up from your bed, and walked over to the doors leading to your balcony and stepped through them. Outside, the snow had stopped falling overnight, and now looked to be around five inches deep.

That wasn’t bad, not bad at all. This time in Winter there would be nights with a foot or more of snowfall. It looked to be about ten in the morning- that would be more than enough time to go and grab some breakfast, and maybe shop around a little bit.

You quickly pulled on a pair of thick grey wool tights after removing your nightgown, then slipped into your thickest winter dress, making sure to get all of the buttons into their holes to make the fabric wrap snugly around the base of your wings to protect the skin beneath. The dress, made of thick wool with a silvery fabric layered over the top, was one that you didn’t wear too often, as you didn’t tend to venture outside of the High Lord’s palace often when it snowed heavily. Your wings, even after living in Winter for the first twenty five years of your life and the past six, were still sensitive to the cold at times, so you preferred to stay inside during most of the heavy snow season.

This dress keeps the rest of you warm and cozy, and you want breakfast, so you’ll risk your wings feeling a bit chilled.

You pulled on your boots that nearly reach your knees and lace them up quickly, your stomach’s loud growl making your fingers move faster. Then you throw on your scarf, hat, and mittens, taking care to slip your bank card into your right mitten for safe keeping, and then you’re out the door, locking int behind you and bounding down the stairs.

“Good morning, Y/N,” Druana said from behind the counter as you breezed past her, making your way to the door.

“Good morning, Druana!” You replied enthusiastically. “I’ll see you in a little bit, I’m going to explore the city on my own for a while.”

“Have a good time, and be careful in the snow. It gets slippery on the stones beneath quickly,” Druana warned as you opened the door and slipped through it.

“Thank you!”

And then you were in the crisp winter breeze, breathing in deep lungfuls of the clean, snow scented air. You’ll definitely miss this once the season slips into spring, but you’re here now.

And it’s beautiful.

The snow has iced the roofs of the buildings around you perfectly, and everything looks like a little gingerbread town. You made your way through the streets slowly, following the delicious scent of cinnamon, sugar, and coffee that you picked up.

Soon, you were at an adorable café, decorated with soft pastels inside and out, primarily pink. And you could tell that inside there was a cinnamon coffee cake and coffee to go with it, one of your favorite breakfasts- just perfect for your first official morning in a new home.

You entered the building, spotting a slim high fae beta at the counter in the back.

“Good morning,” she chirped cheerily at you as you made your way to the counter.

“Good morning,” you responded, already looking over the display of baked goods she had out. “I’ll have a slice of that cinnamon coffee cake,” you said, pointing to the perfect looking coffee cake. You then looked behind the other fae, taking in the coffee brewing equipment. “And a coffee with a bit of cream in it, please.”

“Of course,” the other fae said, grabbing your order in a couple of minutes, sliding a plate and a mug over to you after you’d slid your mittens off. “That will be two gold marks,” she said, and you handed over your bank card, hoping that you weren’t doing this wrong. The fae opened up a ledger, and pressed your card against it. “Alright, here’s that back. You can take a seat wherever you like, and just bring the dishes up to the counter when you’re done,” she said softly as she handed you the card back.

“Thank you,” you said with a smile. You grabbed your items, and sat at the table right in front of a window looking out onto the street you’d just come in from.

Both the cake and the coffee were delicious, warming your insides nicely as you sat and watched people go by, the city slowly waking as you ate, a few customers walking in as you did. You returned the dishes to the front, smiling at the pretty fae running the café. “Thank you, it was absolutely delightful! Would you happen to know the way to a bookstore near here?” You asked a bit shyly.

“New to town?” The fae asked, and you nodded your head in confirmation. “If you go to the right and head down five buildings, take a left and then in two more buildings you’ll be at Gina’s bookstore- she’s very nice, and loves meeting new people.”

“Thank you so much, I’ll probably see you again soon. My name is Y/N, by the way,” you said.

“My name is Jayla, it’s nice to meet you Y/N. And it’s no problem, I’ll see you again!” The fae said cheerily.

You followed her instructions well, and within a few minutes you were shaking the snow off of your boots and dress and walking into the cozy bookstore. There were rows and rows of shelves extending into the back of the store greeting you, and when you looked to your left there was a counter with a green skinned fae behind it. Further down from the counter, there was a small sitting area in front of a fireplace- a roaring fire already blazing inside.

“Welcome in!” The fae said with a warm smile as she looked to you, standing just inside the now closed door. “My name is Gina, I’m happy to help you find anything, or you can browse around for a bit.”

You moved closer to her, taking off your mittens and tucking your bank card into the collar of your dress as you did so. “My name is Y/N, I was wondering if you had any romance novels?” You asked, feeling a bit shy at the request, especially once the alpha’s scent washed over you.

She probably thinks I’m some silly romance obsessed omega now, you thought to yourself.

“Ah! Another romance lover! Right this way, I’ll show you some of my favorites too, if that’s alright,” Gina exclaimed as she quickly made her way over to you and grabbed your hand, leading you through the rows of books to the middle of the store.

“Right in the heart of the store is where I keep my favorite genre,” Gina said as she pulled a book from one of the shelves. “And this is my favorite romance series! It’s called Healer of Time, it’s about this omega high fae from the Dawn Court. She has these really strong healing powers, and she somehow ends up traveling back and forth between current time and three hundred years ago, and has to choose between two fantastically hot alphas, one from each timeline. It’s just perfect, and I’ve helped make the series all the rage in Velaris!”

She handed the book over to you, which you eagerly accepted. That sounded like the best blend of romance and adventure to you. “How many books are there on the series?”

“Nine so far, but the author puts out a new one every year or so, thank the Mother!” Gina responded, pointing out the other eight books for you.

“Wow, that’s a pretty good turn around. I honestly think I’ll get the first four today! It sounds like a really good read.”

Gina grins widely at you, and her excitement is too contagious to not smile back. “I’ll take these up to the front for you, but if you have any more questions feel free to come up and ask me!” Gina took the book from your hand and pulled three more off of the shelf.

“Do you happen to have any cookbooks?”

“Of course, they’re near the front, off to the right in the row second closest to the wall Y/N.”

You make your way over to the area, and quickly spot the section dedicated to cooking and baking. One catches your eye, titled Night Court Favorites, with a beautiful illustration of a moonlit picnic on the front. On the back, it promised the recipes for the past three millennium of Night Court nobility’s favorite dishes. Probably as good a place as any to start your full cooking journey, now that most of your meals would not be prepared by the other kitchen staff of the High Lord’s palace.

You flipped through it quickly, eyes snagging on a recipe for Night Court traditional curry- it sounded absolutely delicious.

With the cookbook in hand, you ventured slowly back to the front counter where Gina stood talking to another fae excitedly, your books waiting on the counter for you.

“Ah, Nesta, I’d like you to meet Y/N, she’s the customer I was telling you about!”

The other fae turned around, her movements sending a small amount of her scent- a winter bonfire and very alpha- and you were struck by her beauty. Sharp angles and liquid steel eyes, and lovely golden brown hair twisted into an elegant braid crown on top of her head.

“It’s nice to meet you Y/N, are you new in town?” The high fae’s voice was husky and holding a certain power to it, absolutely lovely.

“It’s nice to meet you, Nesta. And yes, I just moved to the city yesterday.”

“Well I hope you find the city to your liking. Gina was just telling me that you like romance novels?” You nodded your head. “I host a little book club here every second and fourth Wednesday at four in the afternoon, and we mainly read romance novels. I always like to extend an invitation to those Gina thinks would enjoy it,” Nesta offered.

“Oh…” you thought about it for a moment. “I’m in the process of getting my business up and running right now, but maybe in a couple of months when things have calmed down?” You asked hopefully.

Nesta nodded her head in agreement. “That’s fine, just talk to Gina when you’re ready to join, she’ll let you know what book we’re reading. Well, it was nice meeting you, but I’ve got to be going now now,” Nesta said, making her way over to the door.

“It was lovely meeting you as well, Nesta. I’ll see you in a couple of months.”

The alpha was out the door after waving goodbye, and you were left alone in the bookstore once more with Gina.

“Did you find everything you wanted, dear?” She asked, taking the cookbook from your hands.

“Yes, I did. Though I’m sure I’ll be back in a week for some extra reading, if I end up having the time.”

“You mentioned a business? What kind?”

Your books were bagged now, and you handed over your bank card after pulling it from your collar. “I’m going to be opening a bakery in the Rainbow, if all goes to plan.”

“Oh, that’s nice! We can always use more food stores, and bakeries especially! I’m a big fan of anything bread,” Gina said with a laugh, handing you back your bank card and sliding the book filled fabric bag over to you. “It came out to 11 gold marks and one silver mark, and if you absolutely hate the first book, I’ll let your return the rest and pick out something else, alright?”

You grin at her. “I don’t think that will be necessary, but it’s good to know! I’ll see you sometime soon, Gina. Thank you.”

“I look forward to hearing what you think of them! Walk safely, it can get slippery,” Gina warned as you stepped back into the snow and cold, door thunking shut behind you.

You followed your route back to the café you’d eaten at, simply names Jayla’s. You walking, taking the path that you think leads to the inn. You end up making a few extra turns, but you’re back in the warmth of the inn after you finally find the building. Druana is nowhere to be seen when you enter after kicking the snow off of your boots and dress, so you simply go up to your room.

Your bag lands on the table, and you immediately pulled out the cookbook, flicking through it again to find the curry recipe. You spy a notepad, quill, and ink pot which you grab and bring over to the table.

On the page, you write all of the ingredients you’ll need to make the curry- tonight, hopefully, if you can find everything you need in the two food centric Palaces. You’ll need chicken, a few different root vegetables, a good variety of spices, and coconut milk- you hoped that one of the various stalls you’d seen yesterday would have some prepared, you don’t quite feel like going through that hassle yet.

You check the small clock hanging on the wall, seeing that it’s only a quarter to noon still, that should be plenty of time to get the ingredients you need and be back here in time to meet Mor.

Next you look in the cupboards of the kitchenette, which hold a large frying pan, a pot with a lid, a cutting board, cooking utensils and small knife set. There’s also two sets of plates, bowls, cups and utensils. The frying pan and pot should work nice enough for the curry, there’s not much point to you buying your own cookware until your building is completed. And there’s a cold box, enchanted to keep dairy and meat fresh.

That would hopefully mean going to only one Palace today, or at least before the meeting. You let the ink of your list dry for a few more minutes, flipping open to the first page of your new book series, quickly reading the first chapter.

Just as you thought, it was going to be a good fit.

You folded your list in half once, then again, and tucked it into the collar of your dress alongside your bank card. You should probably get a purse of some sort soon. But that can wait.

You’re bounding down the stairs again in an instant, and Druana is back at her desk this time.

“Oh, I didn’t even hear you come in! I’ll see you again soon, Y/N.”

You smiled at her and said, “Yes, I should be back at or before 1:30, and Mor will be meeting me here, just so you know.”

“Thank you,” Druana replied with her own smile.

You were back in the winter air, sun shining down on you now. Your breath still made puffy clouds in the air, but you didn’t care. It’s winter, and it’s beautiful.

Slowly, you made your way across the nearest bridge that connected right to the Palace of Hoof and Leaf, your current destination. Upon entering the more tightly packed area, you gravitated towards a large stall, covered in so many different vegetables and large glass jars, only a few still filled to the brim with spices. There was a tall, dark skinned high fae standing behind the stall.

“Can I help you?” She asked in a low voice, and you instantly pinned her as an alpha.

You pulled out your grocery list. “Yes, I needed the vegetables and spices on this list, if you happen to have them,” you said, handing it over to the female when she gestures for you to give it to her.

“I just so happen to have almost all of these spices, and the ones I don’t I can point you to another sweet fae who has them, as well as the coconut milk and rice you need. And I have all of the vegetables you need. Making the traditional curry?” She asked as she began gathering the vegetables for you.

“Yes, I’m new to the city and want to learn some of the common dishes here, and this sounded like a wonderful start.”

“Well, I’ll say that it’s one of my personal favorites, so I hope you won’t be disappointed. My name is Petra, by the way, it’s always nice to see new faces in town.”

You smile at her, so happy that so far you’ve only had positive experiences with the people of Velaris. “I’m Y/N, it’s nice to meet you.”

“Now, would you like to buy small spice jars that you can bring back and refill, or just go with the amount you’ll need for the recipe?” Petra asked you, holding up a small glass bottle with a metal lid fitted to the top.

“I think I’ll buy the spice jars, please.”

She fills the three small bottles up quickly, putting them in a thin wooden container with a handle, with six slots perfectly fitting the spice jars.

“You can come back and have them filled up for a slight discount for any spice sellers in the two food oriented Palaces, but I’d prefer if you came back to my stall,” Petra said with a wink, placing the container into the tan fabric bag containing the vegetables. “That will be 7 gold marks, please.” You handed her your bank card, and she quickly passed it back after pressing it to her ledger. “Now, the other two spices and the coconut milk you need, you can find three stalls down on the right, and the male next to her has a good price on chicken, just to give a few suggestions,” Petra offered, pointing out the two fae she was speaking of.

“Thank you so much, I’ll be sure to come back when I need more vegetables,” you said before walking away, exchanging waves and warm smiles.

You made your way over to the other stalls, quickly buying the other two spices, coconut milk, and rice you need, as well as the chicken the recipe called for- one large chicken breast. You trekked back to the inn carefully, switching the bag between hands every so often.

“Grocery shopping, I see,” Druana greeted you as you breezed into the inn after kicking the snow off of your clothes.

“Yes, I thought it would be better than ordering in every night,” you chuckled as you made your way over to the stairs.

“Well, good luck with that. And don’t burn my inn down,” Druana added playfully as you began going up the flight of stairs.

“I’ll do my best!” You unlocked your room, immediately dropping the heavy bag next to the books you’d purchased earlier. Groceries sure are heavy when you have to lug them across town. No matter. You’ll get used to it soon enough, especially once you have to purchase for the bakery.

You put the chicken and coconut milk into the cold box, and the vegetables and spices onto the counter. Right after you had, there was a knock at your door. “Y/N? It’s me, Mor.”

You swung the door open, letting the bubbly blonde into your room. She was carrying a large yellow envelope under one arm, and decked in winter gear from head to toe, but still slightly shivering even in the warmth of the building. “Time to go?” You asked, still holding the door open.

“Yes, getting there a little early is wise with weather like this. Nothing quite like eating shit one to many times on your way to a meeting and ending up late,” Mor said, already moving back out of your bedroom door and into the hallway, and you followed her after making sure your bank card was still tucked safely in the collar of your shirt

The door snicked shut and you locked it quickly, following Mor down the stairs and outside once more. She led you through the streets cautiously, obviously afraid of falling down, but you made it to the café within ten minutes, and to your surprise it was Jayla’s café.

“Ah, welcome back Mor, Y/N,” Jayla said from behind the counter as she wiped it down with a cloth.

“Morrigan!” Exclaimed an older male’s voice, gravelly with age. “It’s wonderful to see you again, come, introduce me to your friend,” the elderly high fae said, beckoning the two of you closer to where he was seated at a table, three other chairs surrounding it.

“Auric, this is Y/N, the lovely young fae hoping to buy your property. Y/N, this is Auric, Velaris’s most experienced paint mixer, including magic imbued paints as well,” Mor said as the two of you sat in the unoccupied chairs.

“It’s wonderful to meet you Auric, I truly fell in love with your family’s property the moment I saw it,” you said right before Jayla came over to the three of you.

“Would the two of you like anything to drink?” She asked, and you noticed that Auric already had a mostly full cup of tea in front of him.

“I’ll take a tea, whatever you recommend please.”

“The same for me, please,” Mor said. “Thank you, Jayla.” Jayla nodded and walked away, going behind the counter to begin brewing your teas.

“So, you fell in love with the land? What did you like about it?” Auric asked you, eyes running over your face. It was then that you scented him- a male omega. It had been years since you’d met one yourself, before the mountain you believed.

“I loved the view looking towards the Sidra, you can see the mountains in the background as well as all of the other beautiful buildings in the city. The land itself is so lovely, it’s nice and flat, and I think it would look wonderful with a little extra landscaping, maybe a tree or two of that would be alright. And the location, on the outside edge of the Rainbow would be perfect for a bakery, close enough to a few residential areas, but also involved in the creativity that the area boasts,” you gushed, still picturing the view in your mind. Being able to bake and look out at such a beautiful river, beautiful city, truly, would be amazing.

Jayla returned, two cups of tea in hand that she placed in front of you and Mor. “A lovely raspberry tea for the both of you,” she said before walking back to the counter.

“A bakery, hmm?” Auric questioned, raising a brow at you as you took a sip of the tea- delicious. “Are enough sure you have the stamina to run it? It’s a hefty job.”

You nodded your head once, fully confident in your abilities. “Yes, I previously worked to bake for the entirety of the Hugh Lord of Winter’s residence, and over the course of… Well, being Under the Mountain, I was assistant to the head baker, my grandmother, for twenty years, and for thirty years after that I was head baker myself. I am confident that I can handle running a bakery on my own.”

The older fae’s eyes narrowed at your for a minute, before they crinkled as his lips spread into a smile. “I like you. I’m sorry that you had to go through that, but it’s good to see you’re stronger for it. Now, what type of baked goods will you be selling?”

You breathed a small sigh of relief before answering. “Well, I do have a few favorite pastries of the Winter Court that I’ll have, as well as loaves breads and cakes. Plus I have a number of recipes made with medicinal herbs or berries that have health boosting benefits. My most popular one by far has been a fertility boosting pastry made with a berry native to the Winter Court.”

Auric hummed as he considered everything you had said. “And what will you name it?”

“I… What?”

“What will you name your bakery? Surely you know what you want your business to be called, Y/N.”

“Of course I do, Auric. It will be called Sparaiya Bakery, after my grandmother. She might have left this plane, but she will always be with me, especially when I bake.”

Auric clapped his hands together once. “Very well, then. I’d like to sell you my land, Y/N. I think you have a good amount of experience, you have a vision for your bakery, and you seem like a strong, loyal person. I believe my ancestors would be proud to have your business on their land,” the older omega said sincerely. “I’ve set the price at 100,000 gold marks, are you willing to pay that much?”

The thought of that much money alone being spent made your stomach churn, but you reminded yourself of the massive amount of money that Kallias and Viviane had given you, and that this land was worth every single mark you were going to spend on it. “Yes, that’s perfectly fine with me.”

“Perfect!” Mor pulled the envelope from between her arm and chest, pulling a few documents out and summoning a quill and a pot of ink. “The two of you can go ahead and sign here, and Y/N, you’ll just need to press your bank card to the top right corner after you’ve both signed.” The two of you do as she says, standing and shaking hands afterwards.

“Thank you so much, Auric, for entrusting your family’s land to me. I hope that if you come by once it’s finished, you will be proud.”

Auric regarded you warmly, squeezing your hand an extra time before letting go. “I’m sure that I will be, Y/N. Let me know when you’re opening, and I’ll be sure to stop by.” He grabbed his copy of the sale documents

“I’ll make sure to. Have a wonderful rest of your day,” you said as he walked out of the café, leaving you with Mor. “I’m so happy he said yes! Oh, I should go tell Marcus that I have the plot of land now, and get everything moving in that direction. Thank you so much, Mor. You’ve been such a help in all of this,” you said, placing a kiss gently on the alpha’s cheek. “I’m going to head over to Marcus’s business now, if that’s alright.”

“Oh, of course!” The alpha responded, already donning all of her winter clothes again to bundle against the cold. “You walk safely over to there, Velaris gets slippery when it snows. Now, will I see you for lunch this Thursday?” Mor asked, and you mentally double checked the day of the week in your head- Monday.

“Yes, three days from now sounds perfect. Do you want to meet somewhere or at my hotel room?”

“I’ll meet you at your hotel room this time, alright?”

You nodded your head in agreement. “That sounds good, I’ll see you on Thursday Mor. You walk safely too!” You were already out of the door with your bill of sale in hand, beelining your way as well as you could to the Palace of Flame and Steel. When you arrived at Marcus’s shop, you swung the door open and stomped off the snow on your boots before entering. “Marcus!” You said excitedly as you met his eyes, waving the paper in your hands at him. “I have land now, will you be able to come assess it in the next few days?”

Marcis stood from his place behind the desk and made his way around it to you. “I can go right now, there it too much to do around here at the moment,” he said, already ushering you out of his shop, flipping the open sign on the door to say closed, and locking it behind him.

“If you’re sure…” you said before grabbing his hand and pulling him with you to the Rainbow as fast as the two of you could manage in the snow. “This is it!” You gesture to the dilapidated building excitedly.

“You are planning to tear it down, right?” Marcus asked, amusement in his voice.

“Of course I am, silly, I wanted the land. It has such a beautiful view of the Sidra and the mountains, come here.” You pulled him past the building, to where you had stood when you’d known that this was the land you wanted your dream to come to life on.

Marcus let out a heavy breath. “Okay, I get it now.” He looked around, taking in where they were situated. “And it’s in the perfect spot for a bakery, you really picked the best possible spot.”

“I know!” You squealed, jumping as high as you could without using your wings in your excitement. “So, what’s the procedure for tearing down the old building and starting the new construction?” You asked, ready to learn the necessary details.

Marcus pulled you back onto the street, and the two of you began to walk back to his business. “Well, we need to submit a request for a permit to demolish, and one for construction. But since I’ve done a good amount of work in the past six years, I doubt that there will be much more than two days of waiting time between submitting it and getting the permits. We can fill out all the forms once we get to my office, and I’ll get them sent up to the House of Wind as soon as I can.”

“Alright, that sounds doable enough,” you said as you threw a smile at him, happy that he’s kind about you not knowing much about the building process.

Soon enough the two of you are back at his office, and he swings the door open, letting you go inside first. He went through a filing cabinet behind his desk before pulling out a half inch thick stack of papers in total. Marcus turned back to you, placing them on the desk and gesturing for you to take a seat.

You do as he asks, and he sets two piles in front of you- both are identical. You give him a quizzical look, not understanding the purpose of having two.

“One pile is for your own personal records, and the other is for the permits and for our contract agreement, for payments and things like that. I suggest you read everything closely, and I can explain something to you if you’d like.”

You read through the stack of documents, finding everything to be fair, both in compensation for the company, and certain protections on promises made to you. You signed the contract documents first, letting Marcus take the pages as you finished to sign them himself. Then came the permit application, you needed to state why you wanted to tear the building down, then what you were going to replace it with.

That was easy, the current building would not suffice for a bakery, it might even burn down if you ride to light a fire in it. And building on top of the land, well, a bakery plus a second floor apartment with a small garden.

Once it was all filled out, Marcus went through every page to make sure that everything had been signed. “Alright, everything looks to be in order. I’ll write to you to let you know when it’s been approved, okay Y/N?”

You nodded your head, happy to be done with the paperwork portion of the day. “That sounds just fine, Marcus. I’ll see you in a few days, most likely,” you said before standing from your chair, stretching your muscles and wings slightly.

“I’ll see you then,” Marcus responded, asking you over to the door. By this point, the sun had begun to set over Velaris, but the city was more alive than it had been all throughout the morning.

“And thank you, Marcus. I look forward to working with you,” you added as you stepped outside and away from his shop.

“It’s no problem, Y/N. I’ll see you soon.”

And the you were off, your new property deed tucked under safely against your body. You were eager to make your way home, wanting nothing more at this point than a hot bath and a warm meal- you didn’t particularly care in which order. You were at the inn soon enough, kicking snow off of your boots and the hem of your dress for the last time of the day.

“Welcome back, Y/N,” Druana greeted from behind the counter, waving a bark skinned hand at you.

“Thank you, Druana. I’ll see you in the morning!” You said, already making your way up the stairs in your rush to finally get out of your winter gear.

The door to your room swung open and shut quickly, and you sat at the table in the center of the room, undoing the laces of your boots as fast as you were able. They came off, then followed by your dress after unbuttoning the back carefully. Now you were only standing in your underthings and tights, and very much feeling the chill that had set in from being outside in your bones. You stripped off the rest of your clothes before heading into the bathroom and starting the tub.

Gloriously hot water spilled out of the faucet, and you didn’t wait for it to fill up, merely settling yourself in as the water slowly came up to your neck. You allowed yourself to soak for a few minutes, letting the cold seep from your bones and warmth replace it. Once you felt warmed and comfortable, you washed yourself quickly after hearing your stomach growl loudly.

After toweling off, you went back into your bedroom and donned a soft set of white cotton underthings, as well as an oversized lilac sweater that you were able to wear like a dress, the back already having had the fabric carved out of it to fit your wings. It was so cozy and soft, you felt buried in it. Just how you wanted to feel after an eventful day.

You went to the kitchenette, pulling out the cutting board, pot, and pan. You grabbed the cookbook from the table and set it on the counter next to the cutting board, reading over the instructions once more. Next you pull out the chicken and grab a suitable enough knife, dicing the meat into bite sized chunks as the recipe called for. You set them in the pan, lighting the charcoal beneath the burner to get the heat started.

You washed the knife and cutting board and dried them off, then grabbed the root vegetables that you’d bought earlier. Similar to baking, you switched between washing and chopping the vegetables to moving the meat around the pan easily, being careful not to burn anything while getting everything else you would need prepped.

Paying attention to the recipe, you measured out the right amount of each spice, mixing them with a bit of water to create a paste that smelled heavenly and spicy.

The chicken was done now, and you added the vegetables along with a bit of water and the coconut milk. Then all you had to do was wash and set the rice to cook, and wait. You rinsed the rice in one of the bowls, getting the water clear before carefully draining it out and placing the rice in to the now boiling water.

In another twenty minutes, you deemed the vegetables and rice to be cooked enough, and dished out a nice serving of rice, with lots of curry on top.

You cleared off the table, moving your new books over to the nightstand by your bed, then brought your dinner to the table. You sat facing the windows and stared out at Velaris as you ate, pleasantly surprised with how nicely the curry had turned out, with it being your first time cooking anything like it.

Soon enough you were full and getting sleepy, so you brought your dishes back to the sink. You plated the rest of the rice and curry into the other bowl that you hadn’t used, then washed all of the dishes you had used that night.

By the time you had finished, your bed was calling to you, and it was such a soft, sweet landing when you finally made your way under the covers, deciding to sleep in your massive sweater instead of changing into a nightgown.

It’s not like anyone will see me sleeping, anyways, you thought to yourself, right as you drifted off into a peaceful sleep, filled with the view from your new property.

Series Taglist: @icey--stars @breadsticks2004

[hometoursandotherstuff]

I don't know what's going on today, but I'm coming across all these weird ass homes. Look at this thing. Camouflage Manor. Built in 1926 in Eustis, FL, 4bds, 3ba, 2,684 sq ft, and it has a pending sale for $279k. Weed killer not included.

I can't get over this house. Why would you let it get so overgrown?

I mean, it looks normal inside. Has a nice entrance hall all decorated for the holidays.

There's a nice sitting room off the main hall.

And, across the hall on the other side, there's another nice sitting room with a fireplace and doors to the sun porch.

Look at how nice the porch is.

Oof, the floor is damaged in here. So, this is a dining area outside the kitchen.

The kitchen is very large. The cabinets are original, but they don't look like they're in great shape.

It has a pantry with a sink.

The upstairs landing looks okay.

Here's a den with built-in shelving.

This looks like a bedroom that's not being used.

Then, there's this room that's a home office.

The primary bedroom is large and has a fireplace that looks like it's been blocked off.

Hall of closets leads to a bath.

Original vintage bath.

This could be lovely- a sun room off the primary bedroom.

The basement is fairly small and good for storage.

Out in the yard there's a pool house that needs work.

For the price, this .79 acre property can be beautiful when it's refurbished.

https://www.zillow.com/homedetails/1401-Lakeview-Ave-Eustis-FL-32726/45316590_zpid/?