#I mean my new job is only down the street from the kiosk but still

[princesscallyie]

Me: Yes, I don’t work at grocery store any more so people can’t bug me to get them stuff 10 minutes before my shift ends!

My older sister and lil brother almost simultaneously 15 minutes before I leave:

[buckybabybaby]

café d'amour

A/n: my entry to @firefly-in-darkness 's challenge. Thank you for letting me enter! I left it to the last minute once again, but! This time it's not late so... fingers crossed next time I'm early xxx

Proof read with a text-speech device.

Pairing: Bucky Barnes/reader (gender neutral)

Word count: 3537

Warnings: none! :]

Plot: Maybe covering a friends shift in a city park coffee kiosk won't be too bad if it means running into a certain super soldier.

coffee-shop sort of au, fluff and more fluff.

Masterlist

*****

The machine humming quietly in the corner of the tiny hut seems to be mocking you, a constant reminder of just how out of your depth you are. People who think working in a coffee shop, or in your case, a take-out kiosk, is easy, should try it for a day and see if their opinion changes. This is so far away from your usual job, safe and warm re-shelving books in the colleges library, but a promise is a promise, so you've just got to suck it up for the next few weeks and hope you don't mess anyone’s orders up too badly.

Peter is going to owe you big time after this.

When he'd asked you to cover for him in his small business, you had agreed without properly thinking about what time of year it is, and how cold the wind can be when you're stood still in it for hours on end. Two days in and your hands have aged about ten years from the combination of frequent washing and the icy air, and the layers of thermals you've got on under your uniform fleece and matching joggers are making you look a little rounder than you actually are, you couldn't care less though as long as you are warm. The water heater provides a little warmth, leaking through to your skin if you press up against it, but you've found the best way to escape the freezing gusts is to crouch down below the counter when the queues have diminished.

That's where you are now, half heartedly straightening the packets of treats, getting distracted by the many different types of cookies and brownies, and not keeping an eye out for potential customers.

“Hello? Is this self-serve or what?”

The voice startles you, so close without warning, almost like they crept up on you. Hopping up quickly, you hover your hands under the sanitiser and rub them together as you collect yourself and prepare your speech.

“Hello! Sorry! Hello,” You start again, marginally calmer, “Welcome to-”

That's as far as you get, not even able to ask what they 'fancy today?' before the customer interrupts.

“Just a coffee. Black. No fancy milks or syrups or anything, no cakes or anything extra. Just coffee, okay?”

Finally looking up from your now dry hands, you take in the man who has placed such a blunt order. He's attractive enough, the little you can see underneath his hat, something about him familiar to you, his tone definitely one you've got used to over the past day or so, though he's not anywhere close to the rudest person you've served.

You smile pleasantly, in the disarming way you've learnt. “Okay, just coffee, got it. And a name for the cup?”

He looks around at the lack of other customers. “Is that necessary?”

Laughing self-consciously, you say, “Probably. If it gets busy I'd hate for it to get mixed up. I'm new.”

“Ah.” He tuts. “James.”

“James, cool. That'll be a few minutes.”

As you grab a pen to write his name on the sleeve of a cup, he shuffles off to the side, adjusting his hat as he does, and when his coat slips a bit down his left arm your mind goes blank. He's not paying attention to you so your staring goes unnoticed as you realise why you thought he was familiar earlier, wondering how it didn't click when he said his name, but then again wrapped up in his scarf and gloves it's not surprising. You're guessing he doesn't want to be recognised right now, hence the use of his real, less known name, so before he can catch your mild freak-out you look away and messily scribble on the side of his cup.

Even a simple order can be a struggle for you, and now, slightly flustered from serving the Winter Soldier, you make sure to double check the measurements before you start, concentrating hard to make the greatest cup of coffee he's ever had. There's a reason this kiosk has a reputation for the best hot drinks in the park and you aren't about to ruin it by messing up the order of Captain America's best friend.

Breathing a sigh of relief as you place the lid on top of the perfectly brewed coffee, you tap it against the table to get his attention. “Here you go. The machines ready.”

Pulling his hands out of his pockets, he swipes his card to pay then grabs the cup off the counter, murmurs something that could have been a 'thanks' and takes off along the dim path leading him deeper into the park.

“Well.” Huffing as you lean against the glass front of the booth, you watch his retreating form with a small frown. He wasn't anything like you thought he might. The media has built him up to be some sort of tragic figure, one to be feared and pitied in equal measure, but all you saw was yet another city dweller on a quest for caffeine.

At least now you have a story to tell from your time working in the coffee kiosk, aside from the ones about frozen fingers and half-spilt drinks.

*****

The next day he's back, around the same time in the afternoon, as the daylight is dying and the street lights are flickering into life, about an hour before closing. You're finishing up a complicated order for a group of friends when you notice him standing away from the small crowd, waiting for them to leave before he approaches.

“I want a coffee like yesterday,” He says, adding as though an after thought, “Please.”

“One black coffee?” You confirm.

He nods, watching closely as you locate the pen to write on his cup. Before you can even open the cap, he's butting in. “Why don't you have a name tag?”

You freeze, confused. Meeting his eye, you flush under the intense way he's staring you down. “Why don't I-?”

“You see, I have a very good memory, despite my age. I distinctly remember telling you my name is James, so imagine my surprise seeing my nickname written on my cup when I looked properly.”

His expression is not giving away any clues on how he feels about this invasion of privacy. Heart racing, you search for the right words to apologise, and convince him you're not some crazy stalker.

There's no chance to speak as he's continuing. “So I thought I'd come back today and find out your name, then we'd be even. But you don't have a badge on. Why not?”

“I'm so sorry,” You breathe, unsure what more you can say. “I swear I'm not a weirdo, I just recognised you yesterday and I must have written the wrong name by accident.” A beat of silence, then you propose a way to make it right, “How about free coffee for life?”

He laughs, a glorious sound in the crisp air, and your shoulders relax at the genuinely happy noise. “Aren't you new? Are you allowed to make promises like that?”

Wincing, you admit, “Probably not. But when I explain it to Peter I'm sure he'll understand.”

“Peter?”

You start working on his drink as you talk. “He owns this place. And normally works this shift, I'm only covering whilst he's away.”

“Oh.” The hissing of steam drowns out his next sentence, you only catch the last half, “-here how long?”

“Couple of weeks, maybe? Not too long hopefully. You'll have a professional barista back soon, don't worry.”

“I think you're doing fine.”

The words are spoken so softly, such a contrast from how you thought this conversation would end, and the shock has you fumbling with the finished cup of coffee, nearly spilling the scolding liquid all over your fingers.

“Careful.”

Taking the cup from you, his hand lingers against yours for a moment too long and you force yourself to stand up straighter and away from his touch. The last thing you want is to become a horrible cliché, falling for a customer after a few sweet lines.

He grabs a few napkins to wipe the cup dry, then looks expectantly at the card machine.

“I meant it, free for life,” You say, determined.

Shaking his head, he roots around in his pockets, pulling out a couple of notes and sliding them across the counter towards you. “Old fashioned money it is then. I didn't mean to come across as angry earlier, or yesterday, thinking about it. Sorry about the whole,” He waves his hand around vaguely, “Murderous vibe I give off, or whatever Sam calls it.”

He rolls his eyes fondly when talking about his team mate, and you giggle as you reassure him. “You didn't look murderous, just a bit like you might sue me.”

“Ugh.” He wrinkles his nose. “Not really my style.”

Your bank balance is thankful. “And to answer your question, I'm Y/N.”

Blowing on to the top of his drink, he takes several steps back, all whilst keeping eye contact. “Well then Y/N, I guess I'll see you tomorrow.”

“I'll be here.”

With that, Bucky waves goodbye with a wide smile, disappearing into the dusk as you wonder just how much trouble he's going to be.

*****

The kind of trouble you don't mind, you find out when you run in to him again the next day, a lot earlier than you imagined. In an attempt to keep yourself warm for the long hours stood in the open, with only a waist high counter between you and the frozen air, you've taken to walking around the park before you are due to start, so the heat generated by the exercise keeps you warm for at least a proportion of your shift.

The sunshine is deceptive this afternoon, doing nothing to raise the temperature as you wander around the edge of the lake. Lost in thought, a sudden shout from behind makes you jump.

“Hey, Y/N! Wait up.”

Turning around, you struggle to place the voice as you scan the few people also on this side of the park. None of them are even looking in your direction, let alone trying to draw your attention, and you're about to continue on your way thinking you must have misheard when a body nearly crashes into yours. This is not an image you ever thought you would see; the Winter Soldier panting to catch his breath after jogging up to you, all because you're on first name terms and not because you've suddenly turned to a life of crime.

“Bucky?”

At your bemused tone, his face drops. “Sorry. I didn't mean to interrupt. If you want to be alone, I can go, I just thought-”

“No! No, it's okay. I don't mind a bit of company.”

You share a smile, and he lets you take the lead back along the small track, winding its way between the trees and the water.

He breaks the silence a few meters along. “So, what do you normally do?”

“Me? Err,” You pause, trying to think of how to make yourself sound interesting to someone who spends his life side by side with superheroes and literal gods. Sighing in defeat as you conclude you're always going to be boring in comparison, you mumble, “I work in the library where I'm also a student.”

Bucky doesn't appear to think you're dull. “That's cool!” He says, like he means it. “I miss being in school.”

“So did I, so when I got the chance I went back. I'm a bit older than most of the students-”

He snorts. “I know how that feels.”

“But I'm determined to get my degree this time.”

“I'm sure you will.” He grins at you and you're inexplicably filled with hope that he's right. “And after? Do you know what you want to do once you've graduated?”

You shake your head. “Right now all I'm focused on is passing exams and submitting essays on time. I'll think about the future when it's closer.”

“That's fair. Nothing wrong with waiting to figure things out.” More reassurance from this relative stranger. You didn't know how much you needed it until just now.

“Most people say I need a ten year plan or something.”

“Most people are wrong. But,” He pauses, and you hold your breath as you anticipate his words. “Can I suggest if you go into business, maybe don't start off by offering life time free supplies at the drop of a hat?”

Two minutes in to this 'friendship' and he's already teasing you? What is going on? Turning your face away so he can't see your stupid grin at this turn of events, you really would believe this is some sort of perfect daydream if it wasn't for the all too real frozen mist clinging to your coat and the ends of your hair.

“I'll try to remember that, thanks.”

Dodging a puddle in the middle of the path, you're trying to come up with a witty retort to impress him when your phone buzzes in your pocket.

“If you need to get that-”

“Oh, no. It's only my alarm to remind me not to wander too far from work before I need to start.”

“Soon?”

“Yeah.”

“I'll walk you back, then.”

Not wanting to leave his side quite yet, you let him accompany you back through the trees, but you refuse his offer to carry you across a muddy part of the path where the stream has burst it's banks. Flushing as he laughs at your careful steps, you manage to get across without completely ruining your shoes, informing him you've learnt the hard way that these trails aren't exactly 'white trainer friendly' as the kiosk looms into view.

Relieving the worker from the morning shift, you rearrange the counter back to the way you like it before any customers turn up, watching Bucky hovering nearby until you give him a questioning look.

He clears his throat. “If I came this way the same time tomorrow, would I bump into you then?”

The hopeful look he gives you would be enough for you that, even if this walk wasn't part of your daily routine already, you would have made it so in order to see his again.

“Uh huh. Are you planning too?”

“Whenever I come with Sam, we always end up getting recognised with the way he can't keep his voice down. It's nice not having that sort of attention. So if you don't mind?”

“I don't mind.” A patron approaches and reluctantly you turn away, sending a quiet promise to your new friend. “See you tomorrow, Bucky.”

*****

The days past so fast now they're full of work, both at the kiosk and in the library, trying to study, and, most importantly, walking with Bucky every afternoon. Some days the two of you talk the whole way, conversation flowing so easily you're amazed at how honest you are, like you've never been with anyone before, and other days you walk together in relative quiet, completely comfortable in each others presence.

Falling for him is the quickest and easiest thing you've ever done. Dealing with your feelings, however, might be somewhat harder.

With the lighter evenings comes the message that Peter is finally on his way home and soon you'll be free of your second job. It feels like a bolt from the blue, to be reminded that this is only temporary and in not too long you will no longer have an excuse to see Bucky.

You mention it to him a week before your last shift.

“Isn't that good?”

“I guess.” Your reply is short and unenthusiastic, changing the subject quickly to hide how heartbroken you are.

Time moves too fast, and before you know it you're greeting him on that last day, taken aback as he presents you with a small cardboard box, which when you take it, is much heavier than it looks. “Natasha gave it to me for you. Apparently it's really good for your hands. I thought you could try it? Now you won't have to wash them constantly?”

Scanning the sides reveals that it contains a moisturiser, from some luxury brand you've never even thought to try, too far out of your price range. “Oh, this is too much, I can't take-”

“Yes you can.”

“Let me give you something-”

Gently tugging your hand back out of your bag, he stops you from grabbing your purse by enclosing his gloved fingers around yours. When he doesn't let go, instead pulling you along and down towards your now usual route, you let him, gaping at the back of his head before coming to your senses and squeezing his hand in a kind of thanks.

“This is a very kind present.”

He shrugs it off. “It's nothing. When it's your birthday or something, then I'll get you a proper present. Presents, plural,” He emphasises as your eyes widen at the thought. “Nah, this is just one of the hundreds of products Natasha gets sent in the vain hope she'll provide the companies with some free advertising. Better you have it than it go to waste.”

It still feels like a gift to you. “Well then, thank you for thinking of me.”

“Always.” The implication of that one word would have been entirely missed if it wasn't for the panicked look on Bucky's face as he corrects himself. “I... I mean, of course.”

Stopping in the middle of the path, your joined hands cause him to halt too and the atmosphere grows tense as you stare at each other, unsure where to start. The minutes haven't stopped ticking down until you're due on your last shift, and with the implication that comes with hanging over you like a dark cloud, now seems just as good a time as any to bring it up.

You hesitantly begin. “Bucky, can I say something?”

Mutely, he gestures for you to proceed.

“Right, so you know today's my last day at the kiosk, at least until Peter goes away again, so, that means I won't have a reason to walk around here any more. Or I won't, unless...”

“Unless?”

“Unless I do. Unless you still want to come around the park with me, even if it's for no more reason than simply going for a walk?”

“I'd love that.”

The relief that flows though you as he agrees is almost physical, gripping onto his hand in yours just a little tighter.

Feeling brave, you dare to push your luck. “And if it was more than just a walk?”

It takes a moment, but then you see the realisation dawning on his face, a slow smirk appearing as he takes a step into your space. “More?”

You know he knows what you mean, that he's playing with you. That doesn't soothe your doubts though, hoping beyond hope that you're not misinterpreting his teasing.

“Yeah. More.”

Letting go of your hand in order to bring one arm around your waist and pull you closer, your own come to rest against his lapels as he dips his head down.

“I think I'd like more,” He whispers.

You swallow as his gaze slips to your mouth, sinking in his embrace as his lips brush against yours, so soft and brief it barely registers,

Moving back to put a bit of room between the two of you, his thumb brushes over the corner of your mouth as you pout sadly.

“You can have another one once you've finished tonight. Maybe. Or maybe you'll have to wait until after our date tomorrow.”

You frown. “Tomorrow?”

“Yep. If you're free?”

“Always.” Repeating his earlier phrase with a sly smile, you turn around to continue along the track, leaving him speechless for a second before he rushes to fall into step.

His arm slides through yours. “So, is it okay to wait for you tonight?”

“You've just kissed me and you're still asking that?”

“I'm just checking.” When you don't answer he presses, “Is it? I don't want to impose.”

'Too late for my heart', you think but don't say, not wanting to scare him off, instead nodding in reply and leaning into his side as you wind your way through the woodland path. The fear you had felt this morning at potentially having to say goodbye to Bucky feels like a distant memory, and as you watch the sunlight dance across his hair you realise you could never have let today be the last. You started this job reluctantly and now, instead of Peter owing you for the favour, it seems you owe him.

Peter doesn't needs to know just yet, you decide.

That usually particularly muddy part of the path has become even muddier after the overnight rain, and this time you allow him to pick you up in his arms and carry you across, feeling its finally appropriate now your relationship has changed. Setting you down on the other side, he presses a kiss to your forehead almost absent-mindedly, and your tummy does a flip as you take a second or two to admire his profile.

You sigh happily. So much for not becoming a cliché.

*****

Thank you for reading!! Masterlist

[nyxdelanuit]

It Started With a Postcard (Sero x F! Reader)

This is my contribution to the BNHarem’s penpal event! This event is nsfw so be warned! I had a lot of fun with this collab <3 

Please see the Penpal Masterlist to see the other characters! 

Warnings: smut, nsfw themes below!

Sero stood outside his apartment, staring down at a flowery postcard in his hand with an apprehensive gaze. The early afternoon sun warmed his shoulders, reminding him that he was still stood outside of his modest house. He brought the mail inside, kicking off his shoes at the door. Bills and various coupons were glanced over quickly before his eyes returned to the stiff postcard. The other mail was inelegantly dropped on the kitchen counter. Sero’s eyes scanned the delicate writing as he rummaged his kitchen for a drink. The handwriting was rushed and messy, but still a softer hand than his own.  

It had been a spur of the moment kind of thing, signing up for an anonymous penpal. He had been passing through a stationery store on his way home from patrol, preferring the calm walk home instead of flying above as he did for work. It allowed him to leave a lot of the tension of his job outside of his home as he watched the calm masses meander through the streets in the dying light. He had passed the shop many times before. There was just something that pulled to the shopfront that day. The scent of wooden pencils and lightly perfumed paper leaked out onto the streets, likely from the kiosk placed in front of the encompassing window. He knew it was a ploy to get more out of a dying business, selling a penpal package with bundled paper, envelopes, stamps, and a single postcard. There were spaces to fill out his information, and all letters would be sent through the shop. It had been tempting at the time, the opportunity to talk to someone who didn’t know his hero persona.

It had gotten tiring throughout the years, being the backbone of his friend group. Bakugou didn’t have the emotional intelligence to comfort their friends, Kaminari and Mina were too reckless and blase, and poor Kirishima was ironically too soft. So it had fallen to him, the voice of reason. The one everyone called at three in the morning when the weight was too heavy for one of his friends to hold alone. He had carried it all for years, not stopping to wonder who would hold him together while he supported everyone else. He just had to shrug it off with a smile, as they expected.

But now, the unassuming postcard in his hand offered something different. This person expected nothing more from him than a letter. He didn’t have to be Sero the hero, or Sero the strong one, he could just be Sero. His eyes roamed over the postcard once more before he searched the house for the bundle of paper he purchased. He flopped down onto his couch, picking out a soft grey piece of stationary and leaning over his coffee table to write.

For the first time since high school, Sero struggled with his words. His sentences were awkward and stunted and he floundered over what to say. It was harder than he remembered to start up a conversation with someone who couldn’t instantly reply. Even more so when he was trying to be vigilant about not letting his penpal, Y/N, know about his hero work. Everything he put down about his life felt vague and he hoped his new penpal would overlook his obvious avoidance of the topic.

It took a few days before Sero received a reply. He couldn’t excuse the excitement he felt at the soft envelope in his mailbox, stamped with the stationery store’s address. Sero briefly wondered about who his penpal could be, it would have to be someone within his patrol area. The store was locally owned after all. Perhaps he had even saved his penpal before.

While Sero’s letter had been subdued, neutral in both color and tone, his penpal was decidedly exuberant. The paper itself was awash in pastels with a light littering of designs, neither dark enough to obscure their writing. He noticed the writing was less hurried, but not much neater. It helped anchor Sero to the idea that it was another person on the other side of this letter, something as little as not having the best penmanship was oddly endearing.

His name ‘Hanta’ curled in a delicate slant at the top, causing the breath in Sero’s lungs to hitch. He had forgotten he hadn’t signed his full name, too worried that his penpal would connect it to his hero life and put him on some sort of pedestal. His penpal wrote significantly more about themselves than he had, but didn’t seem perturbed at his reluctance.

They worked a job they were okay at, they lived modestly within their means, they saw their friends often enough, and they met with their parents once a month for dinner. They were happy, but they wished for something to break up the monotony, therefore they signed up for the penpal service. Even though the topic was a bit dull, Sero saw the life behind their words. Humor laced their words and although Sero wasn’t quite happy about the self-deprecating tone, he could work with that. Your name was signed at the bottom, a messy smiley face scrawled just next to it. Without thinking, he brushed his thumb over the doodle, the smile blurred but still bringing a smile to Sero’s face.

There was no hesitance this time as he picked a more playful stationary. The words seem to flow onto the paper with no thought, he had forgotten how nice it was to just communicate with someone with no pretenses.

Weeks passed this way, and people could tell there was a little more pep to Cellophane’s step. He was more eager to get home, a new letter appearing in his mailbox every few days. Truth be told, he hated the wait. Every word poured out to pages made him feel closer to his mystery friend. He paused today, walking through the busy streets. Did he consider his penpal his friend? In every way you could consider someone you know only through words on paper, he supposed he did. Throughout the months of writing, there had been no lack of conversation. They shared in each other’s good fortune and even a few less fortunate events. Sero looked forward to their letters even more than Kaminari’s occasional club invites. Even now as he dodged his neighbor’s attempts at conversation, all he could think of was the softly scented envelope he hoped was waiting for him.

His hopes were rewarded. Sero glanced sheepishly at the growing piles of neglected mail on his counters as he cradled the letter to his chest. He wasted no time reclining on his couch and opening your letter. He wondered, not for the first time, if you sprayed some sort of perfume on your letter or if that was just the scent of you. Either way, it had become a comfort to him. There was no stopping the grin that dominated his face as he laid back onto the couch, intently running his eyes over your words. You always made sure to respond to everything he said, Sero had no idea the last time he felt this seen.

He was already moving to pen up a reply before he noticed your signature smiley face was missing from the end of the letter. Instead, penned in a shaky hand,

‘Call me sometime, Hanta. XXX-XXX-XXXX’

Sero stumbled over his feet trying to get up, ultimately ending up in a heap on the floor. In his haste, he struck out with his tape, pulling his phone from the counter into his hand. He quickly unstuck the tape and tapped open his contacts. Once your contact was filled out, the empty picture stared Sero in the face. His fingers seemed to move on their own, pressing the phone icon softly. It finally registered as the dial tone rang through his silent house, his hands fumbling to get the phone to his ear.

You picked up after two rings.

“Hanta!” His heart swelled as he realized he wasn’t the only one eager to talk, not to mention his given name falling so easily from your lips.

“Wow, do you have some sort of psychic quirk?” He chuckled into the phone. Neither of you had disclosed your quirks as of yet. You returned his laughter nervously.

“Oh definitely, I haven’t been answering every unknown number the past two days with your name or anything.” Sero settled himself on the floor, his free arm stretching up over his head. The sun streaming through his window, the particles in the air lit like tiny embers as they drifted. It felt as if his grin was etched into his face with how much he was smiling. He almost missed the silence that stretched on as he tried to imprint your voice into his head.

“Oh, sorry. I just got off of work, why don’t you tell me how your day went while I unwind a little?” It almost felt as if he was floating as you prattled on about the mundane happenings of your day. It was so normal, so nice. He forgot how nice it was to just live for a minute.

“Hanta?” He hoped you couldn’t tell the way he choked on his breath every time you said his name. “You just got off of work, how was your day?”

“Well I’ve got a few hours to rest before I’m on call, but today was pretty low-key as far as they go.” It felt natural to tell you about his day that he didn’t notice his slip up. It wasn’t as easy as it was on paper.

“On-call?” Sero cringed as you questioned. “Like at a hospital or something?”

”Something like that.” He rubbed at the bridge of his nose. He heard you hum an affirmation, but to his surprise, you didn’t push any further.

“Sounds kinda rough, Hanta. I know I’m pretty cranky when my schedule gets changed.” He appreciated how you kept trying to get to know him without pushing the things he wasn’t ready to share. “And it must be some commute if you work in something like a hospital. There aren’t any close-by. Oh, sorry, I guess I’m assuming you live nearby since the paper shop is local.”

“Yeah, I do. Live nearby, I mean… and the commute isn’t terrible.” Sero muttered awkwardly into the phone.

“I wonder how many times we’ve passed each other without knowing.” Your voice came out a little breathlessly as if you were daydreaming on the other end.

It was easy for Sero to fall into you. Hours passed by as the two of you talked about anything that came to mind. He had barely even noticed the shadows growing deeper as the light faded from his house, until only darkness remained, cut by a singular beam of light from the bright moon. He was fully content to talk to you all night, provided that he wasn’t called into work. At least he was until your yawn cut through your voice.

“I didn’t realize it was so late. Shouldn’t you be getting some rest?” Your voice was getting exponentially drowsy with each minute that passed.

“I’m already on-call, you should get some sleep though.” He chuckled softly into the receiver. Your sleepy voice was adorable.

“Hanta! You shouldn’t have let me blather on instead of letting you rest.” You tried your best to reprimand him, but it only brought forth another soft chuckle.

“I’ll be fine. It was worth it to talk to you, anyway. Now go to bed. Goodnight, Y/N.”

“Goodnight, Hanta.” Your voice was barely a breath, and Sero was reluctant to hang up.

It became a nightly ritual between the two of you. Sero called whenever he got off of work, and the two of you talked throughout the night. He insisted you stay on the line even as he made dinner. Sero gave good advice on your shitty coworkers, and he told you stories about his eccentric friends to fill the empty space. You had even tuned into a show together, commenting about the bad storyline and cheesy acting. Every night, Sero would wait for your yawn and wish you a goodnight. You had buried yourself in his heart, and he was in no hurry to remove you.

You were convinced you had worried a path in your floor. Sero’s calls were never on a set schedule, but he had called you every night for over a month, and it was passed the time you usually fell asleep on him. There had been no word from him all day, not even a text to say he’d miss your call.

Sero got back home late. It had been the worst day that he’d had in a while. He was called for assistance rescuing people while some of his more combat-oriented heroes took on a villain, but there had been heavy casualties. All the tape in the world couldn’t fix someone crushed by the rubble. Sero knew that too well now.

His body moved on muscle memory. He had already changed out of his gear and showered at the agency, so he simply kicked his shoes off and stumbled to the couch. There was no thought to it as he dialed your number.

“Hanta! Are you okay?” The panic in your voice floored him.

“Shit, I’m sorry. I didn’t even think of how late it was. Did I wake you?” The somber tone of his voice shook you.

“It’s fine, did something happen?” Sero sighed into the phone, choosing his words carefully.

“My work involves helping people, but I wasn’t able to save all of them today.”

The two of you talked into the early hours of the morning. Sero felt everything spill over as he spoke, and you somehow took everything in stride.

“...And I couldn’t do anything.” Somehow his chest felt lighter and tight all at the same time.

“That doesn’t mean that your work isn’t important anymore. You make a difference. A big one.” Was this how other people felt when he was on the other side? It didn’t stop hurting, but knowing that someone was there carrying the weight with you was more than Sero could have hoped for.

Life returned to normal after that, with the exception that Sero started being a little more forthcoming with how his days went. You still didn’t know his exact occupation, but you knew enough to help on the rough days. It only made the feelings Sero had for you more intense. Even though the two of you talked every night and sent little text messages throughout the day, neither you nor Sero stopped sending little letters to each other.

Sero was rummaging through the leftover bits of his penpal package, trying to find a good piece of stationery to pen his next letter. His frown marred his face as dull, formal paper littered the bottom of the box. It would have seemed silly to him at the beginning of your correspondence, but he wanted everything to be perfect in his letters. He had saved every one you had sent, after all. If you were doing the same, they had to at least look like they were worth saving.

Sero wandered into the stationery store, sunglasses perched on his face and a practiced neutral expression on his face. With his hoodie bunched up around his oddly shaped elbows, the only recognizable feature Sero seemed to have was his trademark grin. If he could get in and out without being noticed, he would be able to get a letter out tonight instead of tomorrow morning.

If drumming up business was the reason for the penpal event, it sure seemed to work if Sero was any judge. He wandered through the aisles, stopping often to look at delicate papers with seasonal decorations. He noticed with a flush that all papers in his grasp were soft and floral, reminiscent of new spring love. In an effort to shake those thoughts from his mind, he watched the other patrons roaming the store. Any of them could be you, passing by without even knowing. One customer in particular had caught his eye, thumbing papers in soft greys and a pale yellow clutched in her hands. How lucky he would be if you were anything like her. He realized a bit later that his distraction had only led him deeper into his daydreams, so instead, he browsed the rubber stamps and stickers towards the end of the aisle. Would you like it if he placed stickers on his letters? Which ones would you like? Maybe the delicate cherry blossom stickers, or the pack with puppies? Did you like a specific character?

He had been so lost in his thoughts, he almost missed the ring of the vaguely familiar voice from the front of the store. He heard it every night, but never this clear. Who else could it be but you? He rushed to the front of the store, the bell chiming as it fell closed. He had half a mind to follow you into the street, seek you out finally. Maybe then he could get you out of his head. But the shopkeeper had called to him, noticing his armful of papers, and Sero knew it was too late. Even if he left now, he wouldn’t be able to pick you out of the crowd. Next time he wouldn’t hesitate.

It was easier to admit on paper. Sero wrote to you that night about how he thought he may have just missed you earlier, and how he had started thinking about meeting up. His hand trembled as he wrote about he was a bit nervous about how much he liked you. He finished the letter quickly, sealing it in an envelope and placing it in the mailbox before collapsing in bed. No taking it back now.

It had been quiet for days, and Sero was starting to feel on edge. He liked the days where there wasn’t much to do, it meant that everything was safe and he was doing his job, but multiple days in a row meant trouble. It didn’t take long for his hunch to be proven correct. Glass shattered onto the streets, metal crunched against metal, and Sero moved as fast as he could push himself to go.

Thankfully a few heroes had been nearby to assist Sero with the robbery-turned-mass-destruction. It took them longer than Sero liked, but the villains were subdued. With the criminals apprehended, Sero focused on the cleanup. He had no more than a few scratches, but he was worried about all those that may be trapped in the toppling buildings. A few buildings sat askew, steel beams exposed like snakes reaching out into the sky. It was fairly easy for him to stabilize the buildings, swinging around with his tape like a spider cocooning its prey. As each building was stabilized, he quickly scanned through the halls, escorting any remaining citizens out of the building and past the danger zone. He worked methodically, moving down the street and clearing each building before the next. Compassionate, yet logical. He couldn’t let the recent memory of his losses skew his current predicament.

Those thoughts had swum through Sero’s head until a harsh squeal accompanied by a metallic groan met his ears. He wasted no time jumping into action, flinging himself through the sky to the source. There you hung, dangling by increasingly sweaty hands as you desperately tried to get a better grip on the slowly sagging steel girder. Sero’s heart beat erratically against his chest, but his body moved on instincts ingrained in his muscles.

It always looked so smooth in the movies when the hero swoops in to save the girl. The girl would stare up at the hero in admiration as they glided through the air, as graceful in the sky as a bird. That’s not how you felt. Cellophane’s body collided against yours like a truck, pushing the air from your lungs. Your whole body lurched against his as he scooped you up. The crashing of the beam behind you echoed in your ears, you couldn’t begin to imagine what would have happened if he had been even a minute later. Cellophane may have swung through the air like he was made for it, but your body was jostled by the air beating against your face. The helmet seemed a really wise choice at the moment. As you struggled to grip onto his form, you felt the phone in your pocket easing it’s way out.

“Hey, stop squirming. I’ve got you.” Cellophane spoke to you calmly, but all you could think of was the phone that was about to shatter across the pavement far below you. Your hand reached out to grasp at the device, grasping around thin air. “It’s just a phone, you can get a new one.” Cellophane tried to comfort you as you watched the glittering of your phone exploding and becoming one with the debris of the street.

“No, I have to be there when Hanta calls!” You cried out. Today had already been hard enough, and in your frightened state, all you could think of was how Hanta would hate you if you ghosted him. Cellophane’s chuckle rumbled through where your chests touched, and you couldn’t help but smack his shoulder lightly. “It’s not funny.” Tears gathered in your eyes, all these emotions were too much for you.

“I think Hanta won’t mind if you miss a call, Y/N.” He cooed. You were startled as the tears escaped your eyes.

“Hanta?” His grin was visible through his helmet as he clutched you a little closer to his chest.

“Gotta say, this wasn’t what I was thinking of when I said I wanted to meet you.” You manage to loop your arms around his neck and pull him closer, causing him to veer off course slightly. He righted himself with a nervous chuckle, landing gently on a stable rooftop nearby. “Sit tight for a bit and I’ll come get you, okay?” You could only nod numbly as he propelled himself back into the sky.

Sero may have rushed through his work, knowing you were waiting for him as the chill of the night started to set in. It had been a long time since he felt such a thrill soaring through the city. He circled lowly around the building, coming up behind you as you swung your feet off the edge of the building, staring up at the night sky. He plopped down beside you, removing his helmet and fidgeting with his sweat-slicked hair.

“So… come here often?” Sero pulled a startled chuckle out of you before you leaned onto his shoulder.

“Good one Hanta. Or should I say Cellophane? Now I kinda get why you were so reluctant to tell me your job.” You returned your sights to the sky, a little nervous to look him in the eye.

He stood then and offered you a hand. “Sero Hanta, hero name Cellophane, at your service.” He grinned down at you, and you took his hand to help you stand. You toed the ground with a flush.

“So should I call you Sero then?” It was Sero’s turn to blush.

“Actually, I was hoping this wouldn’t change much between us. I like it when you use my given name.” You nodded, finally looking into his eyes.

“Then you should use mine, too!” Your joined hands still sat between you, and although Sero had realized, he simply gave it a soft squeeze.

“Well, my place is nearby if you want to get cleaned up?” He offered awkwardly. You were suddenly and intensely aware of how all the dust and dirt clung to your skin.

“That would be wonderful.” His smile turned mischievous as he pulled you to his chest, not giving you time to get nervous as he vaulted the two of you off the roof. You had half a mind to scold him, but you were too focused on enjoying the ride. Seeing the city you lived in, the streets you walked every day, from a bird’s eye view was not something you would forget anytime soon. The biting wind stung your eyes, but you couldn’t bring yourself to close them.

To your surprise, Sero deposited the two of you on his balcony. Why waste time with the front door when he could meander through the sliding door? He quickly ushered you through his room. He tried to at least. You were having too much fun pretending your legs were jelly and trying to get a glimpse of his room. It was nice to know that the light-hearted chemistry you had felt over the phone was more than present in person by the way Sero was laughing along with you instead of kicking you out.

The two of you settled into his living room, cold drinks in hand as you tried to catch your breath from the whirlwind of a day. Sero seemed to be keeping an eye on you, and you wondered if he was simply looking for any lingering unease from the attack or if he was as enamored with you as you were with him.

“The bathroom is down the hall, you should get cleaned up.” He broke the comfortable silence, motioning to a door behind you. You shook your head vehemently.

“Oh no, Mr. Hero, sir.” You giggled at him, “You worked a long and hard day, I can wait.”

“You’re the guest!”

“And I’ll be a damned good one and let you go first.” Sero huffed at you before conceding, tossing you a remote to the television as he passed.

“Fine, but next time you go first.” You gasped as he disappeared behind a door.

“Oooh, so you already think there will be a next time? Hanta, I took you for a gentleman!” You jeered at him playfully. Even with the door closed, you could hear him groan.

“Shush! I have neighbors ya know.” He tried to sound put-off, but you could hear the laughter in his voice. To his credit, he didn’t make you wait very long. Steam rolled out of the bathroom as he walked out, still toweling his hair. You tried not to stare at the way his shorts hung low on his hips or the way his shirt stuck to his still-damp skin, but there was no good place to look that wouldn’t make it obvious. Luckily, he didn’t seem to notice your conundrum, simply gesturing to the bathroom.

“It’s all ready for you, I’ve put out a towel you can use. Feel free to use any of my stuff, although it might smell as nice as you’re used to.” You thanked him softly as you escaped into the bathroom to hide your flush. The water still ran warm from Sero’s shower, and you were quick to strip and step into the stream. You watched in fascination as all the day’s mess ran down the drain, a sickly grey.

Sero waited for you on his couch, still pristine. He frowned, realizing that you had probably stood the whole time as to not dirty his furniture. You were too stubborn for your own good, it seemed. He mindlessly flipped through the channels, wondering vaguely if he should just watch one of the many shows he neglected. It wasn’t until he heard the soft padding of your feet that he pulled himself from his thoughts. You stood at the entrance of the hallway, covered only by the fluffy towel he had left for you. Your face was fully flushed, and Sero tried to convince himself it was only from the shower.

“My clothes are completely wrecked, do you have anything I could change into?” Your voice was soft and reluctant, and Sero was quick to pop off the couch, slipping slightly in his haste to help you once again. He tried to slip past you to his room, but he couldn’t help stopping as your skin brushed against his. You looked up at him, eyes wide and questioning.

Sero prided himself on his control. Out of all of his friends, he was known as the level-headed and logical one. Even so, that restraint only went so far. Seeing you in such a state of undress, looking up at him so earnestly, it broke the dam holding back his desires.

His hands tangled in your wet hair, pulling your lips to his with bruising force. You gasped into his hold, dropping the towel as you draped your arms around his neck. Clothes were forgotten as his hands traveled down your neck, moving your head to fit against his better. His tongue traced against your lips with agonizing slowness, but his hands held no such restraint. His rough fingertips drifted down your neck, ghosting past your nipples as they made their way to your waist. He didn’t hesitate to lift you by the thighs, making you anchor your legs around him.

Sero staggered to his room, never once compromising his hold on you. His body followed you down onto his bed, not letting his lips leave you for more than a moment. When he finally broke away, eyes hazy with lust, he gazed down at you.

“Is this okay?” He wanted you to be sure. You were, especially after his question.

“Yes, Hanta. I want you.” Your voice was heavy with your desire, driving him to strip his shirt with an urgency he rarely felt outside of work. The fabric flew into the darkness of the room and his lips were on you shortly after. He let his hands roam now that you were in his bed, kneading experimentally at your breasts. You pushed your chest into his hold, encouraging him to give you more. Your hands found their way to his navel tracing down the path of dark hair. Sero was already straining against the fabric, and you softly swirled your fingers over the tip. He groaned darkly against your mouth, pulling back to rip the shorts off of his body. His lips descended on your chest, harsh nips and soothing licks raining down on your skin. You were so focused on the way he wrapped his lips around your nipple that you hadn’t noticed his hand grazing your skin down to your core. Sero swirled his tongue around your nipple, lavishing the other in rough pinches and soothing circles.

Your back arched off the bed as he spread your folds, skimming over your clit. You bucked against his hand, desperate to feel his fingers against you.

“You’re so wet for me.” He panted against your chest, staring up at you with dark eyes. “Did you think of me after our calls? Did our talks make your heart race like they did mine?” You nodded helplessly.

“Please Hanta.” You begged for his touch and he was too enamored with you to resist. His finger entered you deftly, his palm rough against your clit.

“I had hoped so, ya know I liked you even before I saw your face. Now I know how good you look, I don’t want to let you go.” He finished his breathy sentence with a nip to the underside of your breast, making you squirm against him. He moved back to watch you, adding another finger and then two. The squelching noises coming from his fingers would have normally embarrassed you, but you found yourself lost in the way that he stared at you like an oasis in a desert; like you were something he had been waiting for so long to indulge in. “I already knew you must be beautiful, just from your voice, but fuck, you are so much more than I could imagine. I think I could be happy to spend the rest of my life in this bed with you if you kept looking at me the way you do now.” His hand retreated from your heat, and your body tried to follow. “I’m sorry, I can’t hold back anymore.” He panted, fisting his weeping length before sliding it through the slick collected between your legs.

It was a sweet stretch as Sero sunk into you, a few thrusts before he was fully seated inside you. You reached for him, scratching at his shoulders as you tried to roll your hips up to meet him.

“Fuck, babe. You’re pulling me in so good.” He groaned, placing sloppy kisses across your shoulder. He pulled out to the tip, teasing himself as much as he was teasing you, before slamming home with a lewd smack. Your keening moan set him off, pistoning into your tight cunt without remorse. His fingers dug into your thighs as he tried to angle them higher without slowing. Sero’s hands slid up to the underside of your knees, almost bending you in half as he rolled his hips viciously, grinding up against your engorged clit with every thrust.

“I can’t get you off of my mind. F-fuck, I can’t let you go now. You’re stuck with me.” His hips stuttered against you as he spoke, slowing down to edge himself. The slowed pace had you writhing, not able to buck up against him well in this position. He chuckled softly, his breath hot on your skin. You were so focused on chasing your high, your eyes shut tight and head thrown back, that you barely noticed the tearing of tape coming from Sero. He deftly crossed your legs, attaching the tape to his headboard off to the side in a way that still allowed him to see your face. “Goddamn, babe, you’re so tight like this.” His breathing was erratic as he placed his newly-freed hands on your ass, separating them until he could clearly see himself sinking into your warm cunt. You gasped under his intense gaze, clenching around his cock. The veins were clear in his neck as he tried to hold himself back, his voice caught in his throat.

Then he snapped, a low groan resonating throughout the room. He was all fast, demanding thrusts and blissful praises. You responded in kind, wordless wails of pleasure and breathless gasps. “I’m not gonna be able to last much longer. Cum for me, baby, please.” He pleaded with you, his voice gravelly and needy. His calloused fingers found your clit easily, rubbing figure eights just on the right side of pain. Your legs struggled against the tape as you tried to grind yourself more on his length, pushing his cock into the spongy area that craved his attention. You felt yourself wind up, breaths shallow as you stayed rigid against his passion, desperate for him to keep rubbing against that spot. Your head was swimming with the lack of oxygen as you held your breath long enough for the tension to snap. Sero’s head flew back with a moan as your walls started to drag him further in, constricting his cock with an encompassing ecstasy. He sped up, keeping you on the precipice of over-stimulation. With a final wet smack, he sheathed himself within you, pulsating as the warm ropes of his cum branded your insides.

He stayed within you as he gently removed the tape from your skin, leaving soft kisses on every reddening section of skin. His hands rubbed soothing circles into your thighs, moving down to your calves. “Are your legs sore? I probably should have asked sooner.” He looked a bit ashamed as he asked, only relaxing once you shook your head. “Good.” He pulled out of you slowly, your combined fluids steadily flowing from you.

He quickly ran to his bathroom, grabbing a washcloth and wetting it with warm water. Once he returned, he returned to his spot between your legs, delicately wiping up all remnants of your fluids. His touch was careful against your swollen sex, and the warmth soothed away any ache that may have remained. He cleaned himself quickly after, only settling himself in bed once he deemed you were taken care of. Once he collapsed onto the bed, he pulled you onto his shoulder.

“So… would it be presumptuous of me to call you my girlfriend?” A thread of nervousness weaved through his voice as he tucked your face away from his flushing face. You allowed yourself a tired giggle.

“I think that’d be nice, Hanta.” He shuddered at the feeling of your breath against his neck.

“Oh, great! Well then, does my beautiful, caring, amazing girlfriend want to stay the night.” You could feel his grin against your head and couldn’t resist the one on your own face.

“Well, I’m pretty sure I don’t have work tomorrow, so why not.”

[commonalex]

future ready

future ready by common alex

Listen/download: future ready by common alex

It was around three months after I've been fired. I didn't dare to talk about it much, but it wouldn't that much of a mystery for someone to figure out why the short chick with the plaited hair isn't on the cash register giving wrong change to the old ladies anymore. To be perfectly honest, I was pretty devastated that I managed to fail even at working at the supermarket, where all you needed to get a grip was knowing how to count, wearing an "Olga" tag like a war medal, and acting like everything's okay at all times. Maybe that's why I ended up sneaking into it like a thief that day, out of stubbornness. It was the last sense of routine I had while everything was going under outside the window.

I could barely get out the bed before four in the afternoon. And when I did, all I had planned was dragging my body before the tv to catch some telemarketing and dumb commercials until the sun was out again and I successfully forgot who I am and what I'm going through. Because what other choices did I have really? For the last two years I was jumping from one dead end job to the next, either until I get fired or until I quit. I was leaving on benefits and a sad amount of savings, and I was starting to accept the fact that this would be my life from now on. Like, what else did I really have to rely on? Studies? Big deal, the world wouldn't end with just one english teacher less. Friends? Don't get me started. Family? All I was left with was a mother with a mission to make me feel horrible every time we spoke on the phone because I wasn't bothering to go see her. But even if I did, what would I have to say to her? I was mentally collapsing. So I said "leave it for now" and kept the thought pushed back for later. That's the reason why on that particular day I didn't pick up whenever my mom was ringing this cherry ericsson I had at the time. It wasn't like I really needed to answer, I already knew everything by heart.

"Have you seen how this girl you used to hang out at school does lately, Olga?".

No, mom, I haven't. It's been like ten years since I finished school.

"She's studying this thing you used to like, she got settled, she even has her own house".

Well done for her I guess, and?

"And you?".

I don't know what the hell I'm doing with my life anymore, mom.

"But don't you ever think about your future?".

My long awaited future, huh? What a glorious future that was. It was so good, half of the people I used to know didn't make it halfway through.

Outside things were a bit more casual that the deep existential turmoil that was described by the news at the time, yet I was indeed shocked by that eerie amount of silence that was stretching through the cold winds that was piercing my purple coat. I could hear a tv screaming from two blocks away and the screeching roars of the phone lines echoing around the city, but there was barely any human voice left. I was only catching some mumbles and grunts here and there as I was jumping out of fear every time I had to turn around a corner. So it was just like everyday Athens, only with a little more of snow and fear of getting mugged. My social atrophy made me feel like I was being chased as the surrounding landscape was rapidly being stripped from anything that was reminiscing of a typical day. Like, that was the first time I ever saw people looting kiosks and butcher shops. I only managed to see like three to five people with their backs hunched, covering their faces while carrying those huge gray tv screens with the vhs player still attached or fifteen bags of chips, with their eyes moving around uncontrollably. All I had in my mind seeing these scenes was the word "brutalization". Maybe because all this time I wasn't fully aware of what was going on, or maybe because the news told the truth for once.

I snuck from the side door where the staff entrance was, because all the glass on the front of the supermarket was smashed to pieces and I didn't like the thought of my hands sliced open. It was a mess on the inside and the aisles stood empty like sad metal canyons. People must have broke in trying to get all the toiler paper and canned foods left in the previous weeks. From the expired milk bottles at the back to the unstoppable static noise of the refrigerators in front of me, there were all those special little touches to make me feel like I was working in this hole of a job again. And no, I did not bother searching for supplies. Instead, I walked around like I was out shopping with my mom, opening the boxes of the diabetes flavored cereal that no one bother to take, just to steal their toys. I also found a bunch of unopened boxes of the supermarket's very own faux chocolate milk (yes, the one with the dark industrial waste left on the bottom) that was probably expired as well. But, I was a lady, right? So I took some of them to the cash register, because Olga ain't no petty thief. I got around my place of work and scanned the bottles to find out that they cost something less than three hundred and seventy-five million. "Luckily, I don't have to calculate any change now", I thought. Never before have I ever experienced such relief while being there. I was sitting in the same place I was rotting for hours before the world turned to shit, and I was patiently waiting for a huge line of old ladies to pop out of nowhere just to ruin my vibe with their pension money bills. I almost started to miss all of those stuff. This must meant that things have really turned to shit.

The new millennium have begun just like any other year, against the disappointment and secret eagerness of some people. All that screaming about the revelation, the second coming of Satan, the aliens, and the revolution of the machines faded miserably as the days went by and absolute destruction was not to be seen. Yet, at least. Because the first planes that crashed mid-flight in South Africa and Indonesia didn't appear before the end of January, but all were like "okay, technical problems". And when missiles were accidentally landing on Iraqi cities, people were like "well, what to do, technical problems yet again". Only when the bank deposits got erased people started to cry and run like headless chickens. Young people now would call me cynical, but you had to be there to see it. It was crystal clear that people had all of their hopes and dreams for tomorrow stored into a single digit of a computer. A kind of tomorrow which was now failing to promise anything anymore in front of millions of simultaneous personal bankruptcies. Then the reactors in Italy exploded due to a system failure and tomorrow officially died. This tomorrow that we were told would bring everything to us, from cancer treatments to all of Britney's music stored in a tiny mini-disc. From flying cars to underground metros. From huge tv screens for each living room to the giant digital information highway better know as the INTERNET. Nowadays all of these sound so silly, but the pain in the faces of people from the betrayal of their dream did not seem to go away. Until mid-February, everyone lost their minds. Those who saw all of this coming ran away in fear of the new Chernobyl to leave the rest of us behind to die. Shops, services, offices, all ceased to have any actual reason to exist in from of the impending disaster. All you could see around anymore were padlocks, deflated bodies on the street from people that couldn't take it anymore, and some shadows of people left to wander like animals while pretending to be alive. Maybe that's why the tv was constantly playing commercials and other irrelevant bullshit during all of this, it was the last useful thing they could show to the people that were preparing for the grand finale.

But that grand finale wasn't so tangible for me. Everyone had this type of end predetermined, but this panic of theirs seemed more like a slightly less shallow version of the preexisting self-preservation to me. I wasn't convinced by those who screamed that the world was over simply because it already happened to their world. Like, just as Rome wasn't built in one day, their illusions weren't shattered overnight. I mean, at that time the supermarket was filled with those obnoxious promotional banners featuring the new slogan that was everywhere lately, before things change for the worse. They had the "FUTURE READY" catchphrase in large white letters that spread noisy and ridiculous lacking any particular meaning as everything was collapsing. What future exactly was that slogan referring to? The future in general, as a concept of time and space? They wouldn't have thought that out that much. Was it the future of humanity from now on? I wouldn't be so concerned for this with all those rich fucks that had already kissed as goodbye from their shelters, we were far from being extinct and in maybe less that ten years we could wake up with someone like Will Smith ruling the world. No, the catchphrase probably meant that future with the flying cars and the internet. The future only fools would believe it would come (and yes, people actually believe that). That future we lost just as fast as we were promised for it.

So in short, we were crabs in a bucket, pulling each other down in excruciating depths. This wasn't living nor surviving; we more or less kept on functioning like bio-robots with depression. But for me, things weren't looking so grim. "Look at me", I would say, "I reached twenty-nine and haven't done crap to be proud of, I drink expired chocolate milk and I'm secretly glad the world is ending because every day was borderline unbearable for me anyway, so how good would the future be for someone like me?". Nowadays the denial of any form of reality in this reasoning stands out, but at that moment I was reaching redemption. I was now reassured by the thought of the end, acting like a barrier that could block this endless loop that was running relentlessly against me. "So finally", I said to myself, "let's calm down once and for all". I was spinning around in the cashier's chair like a silly kid and was finishing up the bottles of milk like there's no tomorrow, while convincing myself that once everything goes to hell, my torment is over.

My phone’s vibrating through my coat cut me off the carefree twirling around my craziness. "Mom" was flashing on the screen again, but by that point I couldn't be bothered for explanations. Still, the dialogue kept running automatically like a script inside my head.

"I just can't get you. Do you keep on acting unbothered by the world? Even now? Who are you trying to convince anymore, Olga? Me? Because I know you have roughened up out of fear".

Well, truth is I was actually fearing you would start with that kind of shit again.

"You are getting more and more difficult to talk to. You are basically denying something we both clearly see at this point".

We seem to say the same exact thing, ain't that something? I guess I was kinda doomed from the start to be and look just like you.

"You really do me dirty with all these conclusions you're drawing out of anger".

Okay, so what? Did you get upset?

"Why are you angry at me, Olga? Can I hear you say it, just for once?"

I don't have the time for this thing again, mother, I need to enjoy my remaining days over here.

"How much do you think this will last for you? When will you stop stalling and start looking after you and your future again, Olga?"

What future do I have, really, are you kidding me?

-Are you talking to yourself, ma'am?

I almost slipped out of the chair. I had never experienced such horror before. I was barely held off the bench to help me  get up again slowly with my heart sinking to my stomach, only to see a little girl with plaited pigtails looking at me half-frightened. She wasn't over nine years old, judging by the face and the childish dress she wore under this puffy purple coat.

-Why are you here? Where are your parents?

-Over here, come and take a look! But mom told me not to talk to strangers!

That of course made zero sense to me. Just like it made zero sense for a child to be left alone in a destroyed supermarket with the sun setting outside. I asked for the girl's name, nothing. I asked again, she hid her puzzled frown behind her pigtails trying to playfully imitate my posture with her hands on my waist.

-I'm Olga, I work here. And you?

She started to say something and suddenly changed her mind, running like hell to the back. I was confused thinking how would I look like to someone who saw me chasing a little girl in there, but then I reminded myself that probably nobody would be left to live to the end of this month, so I wouldn't be considered crazy for too long. I began running under the flickering ceiling lights and with each step I had to swallow my vomit. This little girl felt sorry for me in the end and stopped to wait for me at the end of the far right aisle, leaving one sleeve of her huge coat to stick out on purpose. I approached with an awkward smile and glanced at the strange grace she had on her face, with those weird baby hair that can't be caught for nothing in plaits pointing upwards. Despite my awkwardness, the girl stood unworried and expressionless as if I put her on timeout. I asked her name again. She slips away from a second time and runs like the wind, squealing something at lime while zigzagging the aisles.

-You should probably pick it up!

My phone was stabbing my pocket. It was "Mom" yet again, but I really wasn't in the mood for "Mama". I had to pick up my lungs from the floor at the top of my priorities, because this little devil wasn't running but galloping like a damn horse. I finally caught up with her in the aisle with the products of the day and tightly grabbed her by the shoulders. The little devil screamed and was banging her feet in pain. My hands had been too coarse for people after all this time.

-Hey, ma'am, did you get angry? I was just playing with you.

-I'm don't have time to play right now, please go to your mom.

-But I told you, My mom's right here.

"Where is "here"?

With just one finger sticking out of the sleeve, she pointed to the right middle shelf at the end of the aisle. She put her finger before her mouth to stop me from talking and I followed her on tiptoes. When we approached the end of the aisle and my eyes got used to the darkness I saw a woman laid inside the empty shelf. She was in her sixties and wearing an old black nightgown with holes on it. From her short hair down to her nails, there were ice flakes stuck everywhere as if she was just found buried in the snow. Her face with her eyes closed was carrying such an expression of pain and torment. I was so weirded out that something made me want to follow those ice streams that filled her skin's scratches with my fingers, however her body felt so stiff I jumped back. She looked more like a porcelain doll than an actual person.

-Ma'am Olga? Are you alright?

I threw up all the chocolate milk I drank. My body got the chills and my teeth were trembling so much that my breath was coming out in sharp puffs in front of the flickering lights of the refrigerators. I must have look like shit, because I scared the little girl for good and made her get five steps back from me while I was going crazy and trying to clear my eyes from the shock.

-Why is she here?

-Nobody wanted her. Nobody called to take her.

I didn't pay much attention. I pulled out my cherry ericsson to call for help, but the chaotic hum of the phone lines echoed in the aisle before I even put the phone to my ear.

-Who put her here?

She was just staring at me. I asked again and again. She let her lower lip half open. I grabbed her by the shoulders like before and she pulled out a choked scream due to my clumsiness. She started crying and feeling loose in my hands. It was then that I felt like something broke inside me and I crawled away from her because she would pass out in any second just by looking at the state that I was. I sat on the floor watching her wipe her tears from a distance, all while fixing her plaits and stressfully straightening the dress inside her coat. Every now and then she would throw these incoherent excerpts from conversations that seemed weirdly familiar, waiting for me to remember the answers I had given to each of the discussions. I felt sick, like my insides would explode at any moment. My mind was working overtime and I started seeing red. I understood, but I did not want to accept it.

"But how?" I was saying again and again. I can't just live through this stuff. I was thinking that maybe that's it, we are officially past this tomorrow. Maybe that was the end of the world and the time I had at my disposal. Only instead of cloud islands or pits with flames I was stuck inside this supermarket with a little girl and a dead woman. Was this fitting? Not really. It might be considered symbolic, but still not at all subtle. That's why I was stuffed with anger and distress. I couldn't digest what to feel after all that I saw. And what was the meaning of all of this? To make me feel remorse? To help me maybe? But how? So many questions hanging above my head I began to feel like I was melting from the uncertainty. Luckily, the little girl found some courage to pick me up from the floor.

-You still don't recognize her, do you?

-I recognized her just fine the first time.

-Are you sure, ma'am Olga?

-I don't know, what do you say?

-You tell me.

-We have to get out of here, kiddo. We can't get through it like this. Even now, with everything else going to hell with us.

-Do you really want me to come with you?

-I don't know. Maybe I want to, maybe I should.

The phone started screaming again. It was dimming "Mama" with small flakes of ice filling its broken tiny screen. The girl bent down and put this in my palm with no emotion on her face. I answered it. I waited for an eternity so thin you could fit it inside a moment like this. "Hello? Mom?". Eventually the same confusing static noise creaked from the other side of the call, and I stuck there waiting through the buzzing to find her smoker's coughing that she used to do before starting to complain about how I constantly forget about her. Waiting just to tell her that I was here, I was fine, and the world might not end there. Maybe, somewhere, somehow, there's even some future we can fit in it.

-So are we ready now, ma'am Olga?

-Ready for what?

She pointed at the banner hanging from the ceiling.

-Future ready.

I didn't catch my mother's voice at the other end of the line, of course. I hung up and weakly threw the phone on the shelf where the woman was laying, just to hear its dying snout. This felt way more fitting.

-Nah, not really. But it probably does not matter right now.

-But. I'm scared.

-I'm scared too, being in here and all.

-So when will we be back? When everything was normal again?

-"Normal" may no longer exist. We'll just have to see. For now, get up.

-You know better, ma'am.

-Ma'am my ass.

The little girl glanced just once at the self with the phone on and continue to walk with me, with her palm lost and warmed up somewhere inside my own palm. An analog clock on the wall pointed somewhere after nine o clock and the sky was bruised from the clouds that were pouring snow on everything around us. I put my hand with hers in the pocket of the miserable purple coat and lifted our hoods to escape the cold on the way home. I don't really remember how long we walked with our backs hunched over somewhere between the white and the gray. I only recall that we took the long way home, like a punishment of some sorts.

Thinking that I would never hear again the saltiness in my mom's voice was my most bitter torment. I never thought of such a possibility. I always had in the back of my mind that she would find a way to defy any rule of the universe, just so she could care for me. That's science fiction, after all. It seems I was holding on to my illusions for so long, so waking up hurts like hell even today. And if my mom died, I believe she must've left with that pain and concern during her last moments. "Look at me now", I catch myself saying here and there "I avoided her only until I had to mourn her". Until then, the only thing I had on my mind was working on what I should say when I would get asked about her, only to answer that we "fell off" with no emotion. What exactly happened to fall off with her would be like unnecessary little details. Still, to this day, that's exactly what I tell people when it's being brought up. I can't talk about it without sinking in remorse. I can't get the right words to come out anymore, not even by force.

Of course I tried to find her. Especially with the years that were to come upon me, I needed this to have my mind calibrated just to not go crazy over the batshit hysteria that was building up inside of me. Deep down, though, I knew I didn't have the courage to look at past trauma anymore, and I was secretly hoping I would never fine here. Maybe because the end of the world not coming anymore, at least as I thought it would, and now I have to live with it forever. Maybe because the worst that could have happened to me in the end was the postponement of the apocalypse. And this falls heavily on my shoulders to this day. Every day I have to justify why it was worth it to stay behind, either as punishment or by luck, trying to convince myself that there is something left to do with the leftovers of my future.

[caspian-skye]

The Apoptosis Project Ch.8, Making a Statement

“Twenty-five years after Salem's defeat, twins Caspian and Lazula Skye are finally of age to attend their father's academy; just in time for the Creatures of Grimm to return. While fighting the revived horror alongside Frontline Biomedical's controversial Organic Androids, they begin to unravel a web of secrets ensnaring more than they could have ever known.”  

"Okay, let's go ahead and get started for the day!" Professor Corvis-Braun began eagerly. Caspian looked to the lecture hall's stage, where Lilly's mother peeked over the podium. Whenever Caspian had seen the diminutive, feathery-haired woman in the past, she wore some stylish mixture of cardigan, blazer, skirt, sweater, vest, and tights. Her outfit never strayed away from moody hues of black, white, midnight blue, and silver. Apparently, her work attire was no exception.

"Welcome to your first day of Interspecies History!" the professor announced. A pair of dark eyes flicked to the full rows of long, rounded tables forming eight half-circles up to the back of the room. "I'm Professor Corvis-Braun, but you can call me Professor Corvis if it's easier. Or Professor Braun, I love my husband. This class has the reputation of being a bit dry, especially at a school that teaches Grimm Studies and Practical Weapons Training. But! It's important. Plus, every year I've had a handful of students that really take to this class, so that might end up being you!" She took a sip from her water before continuing. "This is a special year for me, because my own daughter happens to be in this room! I won't call her out, but-"

Lilly smiled and turned, waving to the rows behind her.

"Oh! Well then, that's her," Professor Corvis confirmed above a chorus of laughter and "aww"-s. "Anyway, though faunus are equal in law now, and a big city like this sees very little overt racism, we're living in quite an important time right now. Can anyone tell me why this class has become so relevant?"

After several seconds, she pointed to a hand toward the back of the room.

"The Red Claw?"

Professor Corvis-Braun pulled back a bit in surprise. "Yes! I mean, that wasn't the answer I was looking for, but that's an important issue we'll cover in depth starting next week. Any other answers? Good answer, by the way."

At the furthest section of the room, a few rows back, Noxis raised his hand. Professor Corvis called on him.

"I wouldn't count them as a species," Noxis began, leaning back in his chair. "But are you talking about Organds?"

By the end of his first lecture at Sentinel, Caspian's wrist burned from writing, and his stomach was empty. The beginning of class saw a quick, broad overview of course content, which eventually shifted into administrative and logistic details of the class. Professor Corvis finished with a minute to spare, just as the zipping and shuffling of all the backpacks in the room began to drown her out.

Caspian clutched his stomach. "Man, I'm hungry. After Grimm Studies, you guys wanna meet at The Roots?"

"I'm down. I'll ask Ichigo," Rowan agreed.

"I suppose I'll stop by for a bit," Lilly said. "I'm meeting a new friend later this afternoon, though."

Unease crept into Caspian's mind. A new friend...

"Want to come to The Roots after next class?" Caspian typed into his Holoband. He looked across the room.

Noxis flashed his Holoband's screen, looking at it for a few seconds. He shut it off, slung his bag over a shoulder, and made his way out the door.

As Cedar Hall, Sentinel's first-year dormitory building, was built into the side of the steep hill holding the academy above the bay, The Roots Cafe was below ground level on one side, but well above the street on the other. One wall was almost entirely windows, revealing the impressive view from shopping center to the North, to the flat tract of land across the street that held the SFC, sports fields and sparring courts to the South. Looming furthest away, against a backdrop of skyscrapers and sea, was Sentinel Stadium.

The Roots itself was quite cozy, Caspian thought. The side furthest from the windows was a winding maze of counters and kiosks. It got fairly busy at dinner, but the food seemed decent so far, a selection from all over Remnant. Toward the windows, comfortable booths and tables in many shades of brown found space among gently curving half-walls and wooden pillars. At each end of the cafeteria was a near-abstract mural of huntsmen and Grimm.

The day after initiation, Rowan found a round table nestled in a half-circle alcove facing the window. Every meal since, he had refused to sit anywhere else.

"The flesh of Frontline Biomedical Technology's Organic Androids is created from human stem cells. The 'organic components,' as they are called, are mounted onto a titanium alloy and carbon-fiber frame, making Organic Androids nearly indistinguishable from humans," Caspian read. "Though they look much like us, what would be their brain is actually called a 'Brain-Core System.' The 'core,' in the android's chest, handles power and low-level internal functioning. The 'brain,' in the android's head, allows for higher-level processing. However, it should be noted both brain and core are incapable of thought and emotion."

Caspian looked up to Lilly expectantly.

"I see..." she pondered. "I think you do a wonderful job of setting up the issue, and differentiating between Organd and human. However, I fail to see the main point of your paper. I believe it would be helpful if you transitioned into your main point from what you have now." She looked to him. "Do you have any ideas?"

Caspian pursed his lips. "Hmm... I guess, I'll talk about how people generally respect Frontline because of its medical advancements, but there's a lot of distrust toward Organds." He looked up from his screen. "People don't like things that look so human and... aren't."

"Why'd your mom have to go and assign a paper on the first day of class?" Rowan complained. "Always seemed like a nice lady, but that's just cruel."

Lilly's lips drew up in a muted smile of amusement. "It's only two to three pages, and is worth a very small portion of your grade," she reminded. "This is more a measure of your starting point than anything. Have you started?"

"It's due Monday, right?"

"Yes."

"Nope. I think I'll start Saturday. Maybe Sunday," Rowan responded. He tore into his sandwich.

"I think I'll distinguish between combat models and companion models too, because their internal coding and ability to fight is different enough to note," Caspian commented, leaning into his laptop. He struggled to type a few words with his left hand, his right still wrapped up in a sling. "Writing an essay is hard enough with two functional hands."

"What about third gen Organds?" Ichigo inquired.

"They're not out yet. I might mention them, but I don't think I know enough to say much about them..."

Rowan raised a finger, gulping down an ambitious bite of his lunch. "You hear that the third gen ones are gonna be able to eat? Isn't that weird?"

"They can't digest though, what happens to the food?" Ichigo questioned.

"Damn, good question," Rowan admitted. He flicked on his Holoband, typing up a search.

"We're eating," Lilly reminded. "Perhaps we should leave this question for later?"

"...So who's the new friend, Lilly?" Caspian asked, attempting to pass off his budding jealousy as innocent curiosity.

Lilly smiled gently. "Her name is Aspen. She's a second-year, we happened to run into each other when I was exploring the campus libraries."

Good. A girl.

Lilly looked down to her Holoband in surprise, and switched it on. "Oh, that's her right now!" she announced. She dabbed at her lips with a napkin, and shuffled across the half-circle booth until she was free of the table.

"I'll see you later!" Caspian bid with a grin.

Lilly waved, and was on her way.

"Y'know, one of these days it won't be a girl!" Rowan chided.

Caspian balled a napkin in his fist. "I know..."

"When are you gonna make your move? Sentinel's full of dudes. I'm just trying to help you along! You've got that 'childhood friend' thing going for you, but-"

"Can we please talk about anything else?"

-

Sentinel's dorms were a rough transition for Lazula. She had grown so used to her plush bed, giant bathtub in a bathroom with marble floor and golden faucets, and gourmet food whenever she liked. Now in the land of shared showers, standard-issue mattresses, and long lines in The Roots, at least getting up for her morning routine was easier.

Only a few days in, Lazula fell into her routine. Every morning, she would wake exactly at six. She would grab a healthy bite, and run the trail around Sentinel's campus. The loop was almost exactly two miles, so would take eleven or twelve minutes. Then to the Student Fitness Center right as it opened, when no one was around to gawk at her, or the weight she put on bar and machine alike. She would be back before nine to shower and take a second breakfast, making it just in time for her first class.

Classes had just concluded for the day, so the SFC was a bit more crowded than usual. Lazula walked up to the front desk, nodding to the attendant as she neared.

"Where can I find the Sparring Team?" she asked. "I heard there's a meeting here today."

"Oh, that would be..." the student at the front desk began. He keyed a search into the computer. "Room 202. Right up those stairs, first court on the left."

"Thanks." Raising her wrist up to the sensor, her Holoband pulsed once with vibration, and the hard-light door allowed her through. She went to the locker room first, donning her combat attire in its entirety before continuing onto room 202.

"As is the case every year, let's start by talking recruitment," a young man's voice declared from behind the door. Strong, but friendly. Lazula had heard the voice before. "Cole is already working on designing flyers, and I'd like to start handing them out in front of the library starting next week. I'll also ask the Headmaster if-"

The door shut loudly behind Lazula, drawing everyone's eyes to her. One hand rested on Impetus's hilt as Lazula locked eyes with the man, cocking her head back ever slightly.

"I challenge you to a duel."

He cracked a grin. The same impossibly white, straight-toothed smile that decorated Sentinel's promotional material, and advertisements for countless brands having nothing to do with huntsmen. His hair was styled just as neat as the pictures, a close shave on the sides and back of his head, with hair in front and top swept to the side in golden waves, one unruly lock drooping to his brow. She had never realized how thoroughly dark his eyes were.

"And here I was, wondering how long I should wait for you to settle in before challenging you," Midas welcomed. "I admire your initiative."

"I'm a twelve-time tournament champion at a new school with some of the strongest huntsmen in Vale," Lazula reminded. "It only makes sense I challenge the very strongest one here, and beat him."

Midas's smile continued. "Well, then. I accept your challenge."

Lazula drew Impetus from its sheath, positioning her feet and staring down her opponent.

"...After our warm-ups, of course!"

Lazula's shoulders sunk, and she sheathed her blade.

"Sure."

After a quick jog down to the water's edge and back, and a bit of dynamic stretching, Lazula and the rest of the Sparring Team returned to their room in the SFC. She had been sizing up Midas from the moment she agreed to warm up. She knew he fought with Resplendence, a halberd that unfolded into a bow, and channeled the electricity Midas produced with his semblance. He was well built but still looked nimble, and kept up with her on the run down to the water. He had a height advantage of over half a foot.

"By default, Sparring Team matches use a safety parameter of twenty percent. Is that alright?" Midas asked.

"Seems fair."

"Good." Midas pinched the screen he projected from his Holoband and flicked it upward. It hit a strange metallic structure suspended from the ceiling, and two screens flashed above the pair, displaying their names, pictures, and aura level.

Midas and Lazula took their places at opposing ends of the court. "It's too bad we're inside," Lazula said. "I'll have to hold back a bit if I don't want to break something."

Midas grinned. "I can hold back too! It's only fair."

Lazula shook her head. "That won't be necessary."

The excited buzz of the room quieted as a girl in robes of silvery blue stepped between them. "This is an impromptu sparring match between Team Captain Midas Baine, and challenger Lazula Skye," she announced. "The first combatant to decrease their enemy's aura level to twenty percent, or the combatant with highest aura level after five minutes, will be declared winner." She turned to Midas, then Lazula. "The match will begin after a ten second countdown."

As the clock began to count down, Lazula unsheathed Impetus, hearing the familiar, comforting sound of steel leaving its sheath. She pointed it at the ready, lowering her head.

As soon as she heard the tone, Lazula tore toward Midas. He stood his ground, halberd at the ready. Lazula smirked. "People should know by now that some attacks are just too strong to parry," she thought. She swung her blade across her body, but slashed through air.

Midas had spun around the side of her attack, and she felt a heavy strike down her back. Before she could turn, Midas spun his weapon and jabbed her spine, flinging her forward as she yelped with surprise and pain.

No one had hit her like that in a while, she recalled. Her first tournament? Or was it the second, over in Vacuo? It didn't matter now.

"No way! Look at her aura!" a voice called from the crowd.

"Ninety-five percent?! After a hit like that?"

She ducked under a slash parallel to the floor, pivoting into Midas and springing up with a vicious bash by Aegis. She slashed twice as he was knocked off balance, but her third swing was met by the shaft of his weapon. Cracking a grin, Midas channeled electricity down the length of his arm and into his weapon.

Lazula ripped Impetus away just as electricity began to course its way into Resplendence. She flung his weapon away and met him with an elbow to the chestplate before spinning and knocking him back with her shield. Midas slid backward, and used the distance between them to transform his weapon into a bow. He drew as Lazula ran forward, but at the last minute lowered his shot and let fly a bolt of lightning into Lazula's boots.

Electricity crackled across the ground as Lazula leapt over the attack, and crashed down on Midas with her blade. As his weapon rose to meet hers she channeled her semblance, taking his resistance into her own swing and amplifying it. Resplendence gave way, and Lazula slashed across his chest.

Midas's recovery was impressive. By the time Lazula swung back at him, he regained focus and parried her strike. A second and a third attack were met as well. Lazula took a split second to drop back and regain her focus before lunging at the golden-haired huntsman once more. "He's faster than me," Lazula realized. No matter how quickly she attacked, Midas's spinning of body and weapon alike caught her blade and tossed it back.

Finally, Impetus swung into Resplendence's axehead. Midas grinned, twisting his weapon until her blade was locked in his. Electricity crackled around him once more as Lazula attempted to rip her weapon free to no avail. She felt heat on her hands, then a seizing of her muscles, as if some searing entity inside of her arm controlled it from within. She let go of Impetus, and the Sparring Team scattered as the blade was flung their way. Midas turned and brought the head of Resplendence down on his unarmed foe.

Lazula blocked the attack with Aegis. Channeling as much of her semblance as she deemed safe, she wrenched her arm outward. Midas's armor crushed with the weight of her blow. He was flung back, providing Lazula an opening to retrieve Impetus.

She eyed the screen above her as she picked up her blade. She had been hit a few more times since, but her aura was still above ninety percent. Midas's hovered just over forty. The huntsman panted at the far side of the room, shoulders hunched. Letting out one last breath, he straightened and transformed Resplendence back into a bow.

Lazula raised Aegis to block a lightning bolt, then a second. She ran forward, keeping an eye out for more as she approached. She and Midas were locked in combat for several more seconds, before Midas ducked under one of her swings, and spun on the floor in an attempt to sweep her feet from under her.

Lazula buried Impetus's tip, vaulting over Midas's attack. She took its force into her blade and channeled it into her legs, blasting Midas with a potent kick to the gut. He rolled into the nearest wall, losing Resplendence. Lazula jumped after him, finishing their fight with a final strike.

The Sparring Team broke into hoots and cheers of excitement. With one foot on the ground, Lazula stepped on Midas's chestplate, bringing Impetus's tip dangerously close to his throat.

Her triumphant glare softened. She sheathed her weapon and extended a hand.

"I didn't hurt you, did I?" she asked as Midas took her hand. "That last hit was a bit much for how much aura you had left."

Midas met her worry with an easy smile as he walked over to grab Resplendence. "No need to worry about me, I'm durable!"

Lazula huffed in amusement. "You're not bad. That was fun." She looked to the crowd that began to fill the sparring court, then back to Midas. "How do I join the team?"

Midas shook his head with another smile.

"After a fight like that, you're in."

[leeuwchen]

Can you write the 14 for Angst and Fluff for Ringsy? Thank you.

This one took a while but here it is (including minor spoilers)

“Can you shut up for once in your life?” –

“Am I your lockscreen?” “You weren’t supposed to see that.”

 If Easy Winter had to rate the different versions of Richard Beckmann, this one would be particularly difficult to put a number on. Sleepy Ringo for example is shockingly cute in 8 out of 10 times and therefore easily a candidate for a high score.  Hungry Ringo on the other hand is almost always unpredictable and can go from weirdly hot to downright annoying within a split second but would still nick 9 out of 10 points because he looks so content when being fed that one can’t help but falling in love with him all over again. And then there is Smug Ringo, like the one standing right in front of him inside the kiosk now, who is clearly meaning no harm but saying all the wrong things, nevertheless.

“Sorry, but can you please repeat, what you did to my place?”

“I reorganized it.”

Easy takes a look around and sighs.

“Reorganizing, you say? Reorganizing is putting the chocolate bars from the right-hand to the left-hand side because they are easier to grab for you from there but this…”

He has no idea how to finish the sentence without sounding too annoyed. There are new shiny price tags on all of his products and a plastic-coated list with new “buy together - combination deals” that Ringo probably would call improvised but is still looking more professional than most of the stuff Easy has put up here lately. It must have cost his husband a great deal of his working day to come up with this concept.

“How long did all of this take, Ringo?”

The tall guy in front of him shrugs nonchalantly.

“Ahhh, don’t worry about that. I had your numbers before-hand since I did  your taxes yesterday, so I knew your price calculation was a bit…”

“A bit what?”

Ringo furrows his brows tentatively.

“A bit… not so good?”

“Meaning?”

There is a long sigh coming from very deep-down Ringo’s chest before he calmly tries to answer the question, clearly feeling that they are at the verge of a fight now.

“Bärchen…”

“Don’t you Bärchen me now, Hase, I mean it. The kiosk is doing just fine without you meddling with my calculations.”

“Exactly, Easy. It is doing just fine. But it could do so much better. Here… take a look at today’s earnings and you’ll see what I mean.”

Ringo opens the cash register and yes – no need to count there – this is more than Easy would have made on an average Sunday, he has enough experience to see that right away. So why isn’t he happy about it? Why does he feel like picking a fight? He knows Ringo is the smart one… he always has been… and normally it doesn’t bother Easy. He knows Ringo is unchallenged at the moment, having no job and no real perspective for once in his life. He should just let him have this… but he can’t, and he doesn’t know why. Meanwhile, Ringo is still looking at the money he made proudly. “Oh”, he suddenly exclaims, “and Leni still owes us 2 more Euro since she didn’t have enough money to pay for her soft drink and chocolate sugar rush…”

“Leni doesn’t have to pay more than before… she’s family!”

“First rule when owning a business: No family favours!”

“Bit rich coming from someone who never pays.”

Ringo chuckles softly and helps himself to some wine gum.

“Okay, let’s say I am the one exception you are allowed to make.”

“Allowed to?”

There is a warning in Easy’s voice but Ringo seems completely oblivious to it. In his world, showing his husband the money clearly is enough to prove himself and his arrangements right.

“Well, I won’t write a penalty scale or something like that but you should really listen to me. I’ve studied business administration after all. I know how to avoid suboptimal calculations. Just don’t worry about it if you are not interested in doing the mathematics yourself. It’s peanuts to me, really. And you know what else? I must admit… I never thought of this place like that, but it does have some potential. If only you would - ”

“Can you shut up for once in your life?”

The words are out of his mouth quickly and they are not even true. Sure, they both can get wordy at times (who in this street can’t?) but they are also good at finding the exit, giving the other one some space and getting back to their respective points calmly after a while. So, this whole shut up for once-stuff is hell of an unfair thing to say and Easy knows that but it’s too late now as Ringo has indeed shut his mouth and nods silently before turning around to leave.

“Honey, I…”

But his husband is out of the door already and for a moment, Easy waits for the door of the kiosk to slam shut behind him but it doesn’t and somehow he doesn’t feel relieved by the silence.

                                                        *

“Sorry, but I think, you gave me too much change. The tag says 2.50 - There.”

The young woman points at one of Ringo’s new signs and shows Easy the money in the palm of her hand. He raises his shoulders defensively.

“No, no. It’s still 2.25, forget the sign. My new temp mixed up some of the prices.”

She smiles at him.

“Okay, cool. I was just wondering and didn’t want to trick you.”

“Don’t worry. Everything around here stays the same.”

The woman walks away and grinning Leni steps up to the window holding up a coin.

“So, I don’t have to pay you the 2 Euro?”

“Of course not… just forget it, please.”

Leni puts the money back into her pocket and takes the wine gum Easy is handing out to her. “Good, but don’t forget to tell, Ringo”, she says while chewing, “out of all of my dads around here, he is the strict one.” Easy smiles.

“He didn’t mean it like that. He just wanted to help my business.”

“And did he?”

Sighing Easy helps himself to a chocolate bar and narrows his eyes thoughtfully.

“He did.”

“But?”

“He might have been a little bit… overachieving.”

“I’m shocked and surprised… since normally he is known as such a laid-back person.”

Easy chuckles quietly.

“I know, I know… you can’t hand him a project and expect him not to act on his business instincts. But you know what’s really bad?”

“What?”

“I acted like a complete asshole.”

Reaching through the window to get some more sweets Leni eyes him suspiciously.

“Well, now I’m really shocked. Shall I set up a fake photo shooting a bit outside of town to get you two to talk things over or would it be enough to take over your shift here so you can go and apologize?”

“Would you do that?”

“What do you think?”

                                                         *

 Tobias and Vivien are standing in the kitchen cooking together when Easy enters the flat share.

“Oh, hi. Is Ringo in our room?”

Tobias shakes his head while putting his hands around his girlfriend.

“Do you really think your hubby would voluntarily stay away from food? Unless… were the two of you fighting?”

“No! Well… not proper fighting… I… I said a pretty stupid thing. Really, really stupid.”

“Well, then”, Tobias says calmly and points to the ceiling with his index finger, “I would have a look around the roof top terrace if I were you and hope that my brother hasn’t picked up a hot blonde on his way up there… hey.” He rubs his rip cage with indignation as Vivien has forcefully pushed her elbow there. “Don’t be an ass!”, she tells her boyfriend who gently puts his face against her shoulder holding her closer and with a small trace of jealousy Easy leaves them alone, heading to the roof.

Ringo is sitting in the small hut, his laptop in front of him. Carefully, Easy knocks on the door frame.

“Can I come in?”

Ringo looks up from his work.

“Well, there is an entrance fee but since you are family I am not allowed to take it - so be my guest.”

His words don’t sound like a real invitation so Easy decides to lean against the door frame instead.

“I’m sorry I told you to shut up when you weren’t saying anything wrong… and even if you had been saying something wrong that wouldn’t have been an acceptable way to handle a dispute.”

Ringo nods and hums approvingly.

“I only wanted to be helpful and the new prices weren’t unreasonable. They were still fair offers.”

“I know”, Easy mumbles and pushes himself away from the hut’s frame to slowly walk inside.  “It’s me, really. I am really emotional when it comes to the kiosk, you know?”

Ringo chuckles.

“I might have noticed. But I meant no harm. Nothing would have happened to it.”

Strolling around the inside of the hut, Easy tries to find the right words.

“As a photographer I do like all the different locations, the weird customers, the constant change… the challenges… but when it comes to the kiosk, I want everything to stay the way it is. The same people coming back there every day buying the same stuff, having a nice chat, mostly about the same two or three topics. It’s home. Well, no… you are home… but it’s still something very emotional and to me the kiosk doesn’t need to do more than provide for a fair living so when you made all these changes it felt like you were belittling what I have built there and that striked a nerve. I’m sorry, I know you only meant well.”

He is looking down at the man sitting on the old worn-out sofa. Ringo is looking grave, fumbling around his nose bridge with one finger for a few moments before clearing his throat.

“I see. Well… we all have our soft spots, I guess. You see, whenever you tell me that I meant well it reads to me that I may have meant well but still acted like same old evil Ringo.”

“Wait? What?”

Easy is sitting on the couch next to his husband before even realising.

“That’s not what it means. Not at all. We have left that behind for good, okay? You don’t need to prove yourself to me and you are allowed to make mistakes like everyone around here does without being judged harder because of stuff you did in the past and it wasn’t even a mistake, it was… wait… Am I your lockscreen?”

“You weren’t supposed to see that.”

With a swift movement Ringo pushes the screen of his laptop down but Easy is still grinning at him when he turns around again.

“Why am I your lockscreen? I thought your lockscreen was supposed to be something you envision for your future or something you identify with like this ridiculous picture of a shark Huber has put up in his office.”

“I think, you kind of answered your question yourself”, Ringo mumbles softly, putting an arm around Easy’s shoulder, pulling him closer to his side.

“Getting rejections to all of my applications isn’t the nicest experience so from time to time I like to look at something that makes me feel better about life… myself… the future.”

“And that’s me?”

Ringo rolls his eyes.

“Now that’s fishing for compliment but yes – if you must hear it – it’s you. Always you… well, almost always. I sometimes have a look around Saskia’s bakery webpage to decide which pastry will cure my poor unemployed soul but I guess that’s the kind of cheating we both can live with, right?”

Smiling, Easy nudges his nose against the soft skin of Ringo’s neck.

“Maybe. But better not tell me too much about it, I can be unreasonably at times and I am again very sorry for how I acted today.”

He gently kisses his husband’s cheek, waiting for Ringo to turn around for a proper kiss but the other one just sighs and lets his finger run through some of the curly dark hair in Easy’s neck.

“Don’t worry about it anymore, okay? It gave me a business idea after all.”

“It did? Well, let’s hear it then!”

Easy frees himself from Ringo’s hug and sits up excitedly. Ringo seems to be a bit unsure for about one second but when Easy nods at him encouragingly, said insecurity vanishes visibly.

“Well, I thought… not all small businesses are against change… and there have to be tons of people who just started or took over a business and don’t adapt numbers as quickly as I do so they would be thankful for someone going over their calculations pointing out flaw- I mean, not so well designed strategies. I have already emailed someone I know from university about it who went into that direction in Frankfurt… not that I really need the advice.”

“Of course not, you are Richard Beckmann after all.”

“So, what do you think?”

Ringo is looking positively excited now and Jumpy Ringo is a solid 10 in 10 out of 10 times so Easy can’t help but kiss him hard before he answers his husband’s question.

“It does sound like the perfect thing for you to do.”

“You really think so?”

“I do.”

There is a sigh of relief coming from Ringo and his upper body kind of slums back against the sofa’s backrest.

“Oh good, because I wasn’t sure if I might be losing it.”

Contently, Easy rests his head on Ringo’s chest, putting his arm around his slender waist.

“I really think, you would do well as a freelancer. Huber was always holding you back and claiming the glory for all your hard work.”

“Yeah, getting some appreciation would be nice for a change.”

For a while they are sitting there in silence, huddled together until suddenly Ringo’s cell phone beeps and he wiggles around a bit helplessly because Easy is not willing to give up his comfy sleeping position on his chest. When he finally manages to get his mobile and checks the message, he chuckles triumphantly. “What is it?”, Easy inquires drowsily and the telephone’s screen is pushed in front of his nose showing a picture of Leni who has put up today’s earnings in little towers of coins on the kiosk’s desk. “You have to read her message as well”, Ringo demands. Easy scrolls down to the picture’s caption. 

“RICHARD BECKMANN, BUSINESS GOD!”, he reads proudly.

[darkficsyouneveraskedfor]

Witness : 8

Been Here Before

moodboard created by @chuuulip

Character (s): dark!Bucky, later dark!Steve, too

Warnings: this is a dark!fic, it contains non/dubious-consent elements. Some violence as well at the beginning. It goes without (and with) that this is 18+.

Summary: The reader finds herself back in a familiar setting.

Notes: I am reposting this fic here. It was originally on ao3 but now it’s on tumblr too! If you read, I love feedback and would love any comments you have. And if you can, please share! Anyhow, enjoy :)

Bucky left you alone for the rest of the week.  You couldn't decide whether it was a rare spurt of pity, which you knew he had little of if any, or he was busy. Likely it was the latter. He was after all a mercenary. He was out there committing crimes far more sinister than those committed in your apartment. The thought sent a shudder through you. He murdered people. He could have murdered you. When faced with the prospect of his company, it seemed a tempting request but you had always been rather fatalistic.

It was Sunday night and you still hadn't received your assignment for the next week. It was unusual but it happened before. Sometimes there weren't enough placements to go around and you weren't needed until midweek. This was awful timing. You needed the work to distract yourself.  You sat on the couch, laptop open, waiting for the little blip which would save you from your untethered thoughts. As you readied to shut the lid, the chime went off and you eagerly opened up the email. Fuck. It had to be a coincidence. Had to be.

Stark Tower again but this time it was further up. Three month assignment. This was a prime placement, the type temps would kill over. And you wanted nothing to do with it. It smelled of more than chance. It had to be him. It would be so much easier for him to keep you under his thumb. But it was good money; $24 an hour this time. You couldn't have said no if you wanted, and you really wanted to. Accept, you hit the button and quickly shut the laptop. Your life had already been bartered away, what was one more thing?

It was a stifling development. It was the last straw. You were wrong when you thought that all had been lost before. How much had changed in less than a month; how much had you lost?  You would deal with it tomorrow. You were tired and your lack of sleep was starting to overpower your obstinate paranoia. You laid back on the couch, still unable to rest in your own bed. It wasn't yours anymore, it was his. Your whole life was his.

You recalled the process. Temporary parking pass, identity check, fingerprints, photo. You took your lanyard and directions to your new post. All the way to the top floor. Oh, you didn't think it would be so far up. You took the elevator, your bag clutched by its strap tightly. You quaked as the doors dinged open and you stepped out into the lobby. A desk greeted you, chair vacant, computer lifeless. You could assume that was meant for you.

“You the temp?” You turned as a woman with copper hair approached, her face steely and unkind. “Pepper Potts” She introduced herself without shaking your hand, too busy for a mere secretary. “Over there.” She waved towards the desk and brought her phone up, turning back from where she came.

“Gee, great to meet you too,” You grumbled as you watched her disappear around the corner. “I'm Y/N. So happy to work here.” You crossed to the desk and sat behind the half circle, booted up the thin monitor and tucked your bag underneath.

A man appeared from the elevator, his long leather duster flapping behind his legs. You greeted him but your words died in the air. He waved you off, his one eye looking past you as he walked off down the same hall as Pepper. You shook your head and cursed. This was by far worse. These people didn't have the time for courtesy. You may as well not even be here.

“Don't worry about Fury,” The voice caught you off-guard. You recognized it on the first note. “He's more of a codger than I am.” The super soldier formerly known as Captain America smiled down at you. He wasn't supposed to be friendly, he was a murderer. His smile was more a snarl to you, the gleam in his eyes sinister; calculating. He was taking the measure of you.

“Uh, yeah,” You swivelled so that you weren't directly facing him. You could feel him watching you. “I've dealt with worse,” You assured him bluntly.

“You're new here,” He commented, “I'm surprised they replaced Gill so quickly.”

“I'm just a temp,” You said, “Only here for a couple months.”

“I'm not bothering you, am I?” He asked, leaning on the desk as he stared down at you, or rather stared you down.

“No, no,” You lied. It wasn’t professional to be rude, even if this man was a killer. He hurt others as easily as he stood there talking to you. “Sorry, just trying to get organized here.”

“Of course,” He smiled. Why was he talking to you? Did he know? Was this a game he was in on? “Maybe I'll see you later when you're not so busy.” He pushed himself away from the desk. “Steve Rogers,” He held out his hand. Slowly you reached to shake it. He took it firmly, his strength plain enough by his grip. “Y/N.” You replied meekly and he reluctantly released your hand. His eyes followed the movement as you rescinded your arm and grabbed a pen out of nervousness, trying to still yourself.

He slowly back off and headed down the hallway, leaving you to ponder his motives. You didn't think long on it as you turned back to the computer. A roster of names for the day. You were the first point of contact; “take a seat and you'll be called soon.” You were by no means a peer to Miss Potts.

That first day was busier than most of your jobs. You saw Steve again when he left but he was talking to a short blonde you recognized as Natasha Romanoff; Black Widow. She was as deadly, if not more than her counterparts. It dawned on you that you were surrounded by dangerous characters in this tower. A defenseless hare caught in a trap.

Bucky found you by the end of the day. You weren’t surprised but neither were you prepared. You weren’t at your desk when he approached, you were outside in the shade on a concrete bench, eating a sandwich you had bought from a kiosk. Your half an hour was all yours, free from the desk and stony patrons of Stark Tower. Well, the first ten minutes had been.

A single bite was missing from your sandwich as you stared across the street, losing yourself in melancholy. The shadow sat beside you, shaking you from your daze. You looked over, dropping the sandwich onto the wrapper on your lap, barely saving it from sliding onto the ground. You folded the paper over the bread and looked nervously at the passersbys, though none seemed to notice the infamous mercenary perched beside you.

“How’s your first day going?” He asked. His hand was just beside your leg, gripping the lip of the bench.

You blinked at him and glanced around once more. It felt so surreal sitting with him in public. All interaction had to that point been concealed behind closed doors. Such an overt setting had sirens ringing in your head. You felt as if everyone knew. Everyone knew and was laughing at you. You stilled the tremor in your hands and crossed your legs, trying to face him stoically.

“So, you did have something to do with it,” You said evenly.

“You should be thanking me. A dozen others would sit in that chair for less,” He smirked, “The last girl, Gill, she was sweet on me. It never turned into anything but I did entertain the fantasy. Now I can live it out.”

“You’re disgusting,” You turned your focus back to your sandwich, peeling back the paper, “I’m on my break. Leave me alone.”

“Break?” His hand settled on your knee and he squeezed, enough that your kneecap felt as if it would shatter with a flick of his fingers. “That’s where you’re wrong.” He leaned in, keeping his voice low. “You don’t get a break from me. Ever. Your life is mine now.” You gritted your teeth against the pain of his grip, “Until I grow bored of your existence...and trust me, you don’t want that day to come.”

He released you. A woman with a stroller passed and he smiled at the baby, waving to it with the hand which had formerly been threatening to crack your kneecap. You stayed silent as the trolley rolled by. Bucky stood, turning back to you as he adjusted his belt to hide his sudden excitement. He cleared his throat and stretched his legs as if he had been sitting for too long.

“I’ll leave you to your lunch, Y/N,” He announced as he shoved his hands in his pockets, a cocky display and he shifted from one leg to the other. “And I’ll be seeing you for dinner.” He sniffed as he began to turn away, pausing to remark over his shoulder, “I like steak. Rare.”

He carried on before you could reply. Truly, it took a minute to process what he had said. You looked down at your sandwich and crumpled the paper over it, standing to toss it in the bin just across the breadth of sidewalk. You clapped the crumbs from your hands and checked your watch. Bucky was right; there was no escape from him.

[lilacmoon83]

Lightning in a Bottle

Also on Fanfiction.net and A03

Chapter 7: Follow the Music

Olive finished the climb and her big brother clapped his hands, as she climbed down.

"That was great...you're going to be ready for the big climb this summer in no time," he complimented her.

"Thanks," she said distractedly.

"Is everything okay?" he asked.

"It's fine, Lance…" she answered too quickly. He sighed.

"Olive…" he prodded. She rolled his eyes.

"I'm fine...really good actually. And my Mom is...well, over the moon is probably under selling it," she said. The man smiled thinly.

"That's good...I'm happy for her. But how are you doing with having your dad back?" he asked.

"And your brother, who is now five years younger than you," he added. She sighed.

"It's great...but just weird," she admitted.

"Olive…" he prodded.

"Okay...I sort of told my Dad I couldn't spend time with him, because I wanted to do this with you instead. And now…" she lamented.

"You're feeling guilty," he surmised. She nodded.

"Olive...if your Dad is the guy that you and your Mom have told me he is...then I don't think he'll hold this against you," Lance said.

"I know he won't," she agreed.

"He's a very lucky man to have you...and your Mom," he said, with a note of sadness in his voice. Now she felt even guiltier. At one time, she had hoped her mom might move on with him and now she was glad that she didn't. She felt badly for him, because she knew he still liked her Mom and had been holding out hope.

"It's nothing you did, you know," she blurted out.

"Mom...she just could never move on and it wasn't you," Olive said. He smiled.

"I know...what she and your Dad have seems pretty special," he replied. Olive hoped that he would move on and find someone too.

"Ready for another climb?" Lance asked. She nodded and attached her harness again, ready for more practice.

~*~

David came out of the unemployment office that afternoon. He had a few leads and had submitted his resume to several colleges and Universities already. For now though, he was going to go home and browse the market for something he wouldn't hate entirely in the meantime. Suddenly, he heard that same music that he had heard earlier that morning. He followed it, until he heard it coming from a small, makeshift kiosk among a few others near Time Square. It looked old fashioned and he noticed many wood carvings. There were also some modern items too and there were signs advertising repairs for things like small appliances and antiques alike. But most remarkably, he recognized this man as someone who was on the plane and at the hanger last night.

"Excuse me...but what is that music?" David asked. The man showed him a small music box.

"I made it for my boy...when he was very small. He loved it and always had it with him...but he cannot have it where he is now," the man cried.

"Where is he?" David asked.

"Prison...but he didn't do what they said he did!" the man exclaimed. David furrowed his brow and for some reason, couldn't bring himself to walk away.

"Tell me about it...maybe I can help," he said. The man's eyes widened.

"You would do that?" he asked. David smiled.

"There has to be a reason that I heard that exact music in my head this morning and I know what my wife will tell me when I tell her. I'm David Nolan," he introduced himself.

"Marco Booth...you will really help me?" he asked in surprise.

"I'll try," David said, as Marco began to explain his son's situation.

~*~

Emma closed the file and saved her work on her computer. She had finally gotten through the mountain of paperwork from the rescue of those two girls. She felt a shadow on her though and looked up to see a woman giving her a cold look. She sighed, vaguely recognizing her as Milah. Milah Rogers.

"Can I help you?" she asked.

"So...it's really true," Milah mentioned.

"Yeah…I'm getting that a lot lately," Emma said, as she turned to face her.

"Let me guess...you're here to warn me to stay away from Killian," she replied.

"I...I just need to know if I have anything to worry about," Milah said.

"Not from me...he chose you," Emma replied.

"Only because you were gone," Milah countered.

"Yeah...well, I didn't choose to be gone, so I don't know what you want from me. But I'm not after your husband," Emma assured.

"He hasn't gotten over you...not really," she whispered.

"That's not my problem. I didn't ask for any of this, but I have to deal with it. So do you," Emma replied, as she got up, got her things, and left for the day.

~*~

Margaret held her son's hand, as they exited the toy store.

"Wow...thanks Mom. This is great!" he said, as he admired his new Lego set.

"Well...I know how boring the treatments get so I thought we could get you a new set to play with," she said.

"Is Dad meeting us at the hospital?" Henry asked. She nodded.

"He'll be there and then maybe we'll get Ollie and have a spaghetti night," she suggested.

"And board games?" he asked. She smiled.

"Of course...your Dad and I can smoke you two in Monopoly," she teased.

"That's so unfair. You and Dad do know that Monopoly isn't a team player game, right?" Henry teased back. She chuckled.

"True, but with this family, everything is a team effort," she said, as she noticed a woman that they were passing on the street stop and looked at them in awe. It got scarier, as she followed them and put her hand on Henry's shoulder.

"He is risen!" she cried out.

"He is risen!" she called out louder. Margaret pulled her son away from the crazy woman's grip and tried to ignore all the stares now that this woman had drawn attention to them.

"Mom…" Henry said.

"Just keep walking quickly, sweetheart," she said, as she hurried him to the car.

"He is risen!" the woman called again.

"Why is that woman saying that? Is it because of the plane?" Henry asked, as she made sure he was buckled in, before putting the car in gear and driving away.

"I think so...some people are getting crazy over this, honey. That's why your Dad and I want you to never go anywhere by yourself...at least not yet," she told him, as she took a deep breath, just as she knew her husband would tell her to do in these situations. Panic attacks were nothing new to her. She'd been having them since her mother died and up until the last five years, David or Emma had always been there to talk her through them. When they were gone, Ollie got her through them, but Margaret hated leaning on one of her children like that.

"Deep breaths, MM...copy my breathing," she could hear him in her head and she slowly calmed down for the moment.

"Are you okay, Mom?" Henry asked. She gave him a smile.

"I'm fine honey...let's go get your treatment done for the day," she said, as she made a turn that would take them to the hospital.

~*~

"So...you went to Jamaica five years ago to do a job?" David asked. Marco nodded.

"I fix very old things and antiques. Everything here is so modern now and computerized. But in other parts of the world, there are still places where skills like mine are sought after. It was a payday that was going to set me and my boy for a while," he explained.

"But then the plane disappeared," David said. He nodded.

"My boy, he was only thirteen, and went into the foster system. But he is a good boy! He got a job and was saving money to open his own repair shop. My boy...he knows how to fix anything, even all the new fangled contraptions!" Marco boasted. David smiled.

"You have children," Marco said knowingly.

"Twins...or they were. Henry was on the plane with me. Olive came home with her mother and she's a teenager now," he replied.

"Then you know...you know what this is like," Marco said. He nodded.

"I do...let's head over the jewelry store where he worked. Maybe we can find something out there and then...I'll call my sister. She's NYPD. Maybe she can get us into Rikers, but no promises," David replied. Marco shook his hand profusely.

"Oh thank you...thank you!" he exclaimed. David patted him on the back and they made the short walk to the jewelry store on the next block.

On the window of the store, there was red writing that stated "Going out of Business." They walked in and saw what they assumed was the owner and a young man.

"Excuse me...we're here to talk to you about August Booth," David interjected.

"You mean the little punk that has run me out of my business?" the shop owner snapped.

"Please...he is my son and I know he did not do this," Marco pleaded.

"Yeah sure...just get out," Mr. Valero snapped, as he went into the back room.

"You have to forgive my father...this business was his life. I'm his son Blake," he said, introducing himself.

"Then you worked with August," David deduced.

"Uh yeah...he was a good guy or so I thought. Hard worker...but then this happened," Blake replied.

"My August is a hard worker and he did not do this!" Marco repeated.

"I'd love to believe that, but the evidence doesn't lie. We caught him using a fake ID to get hired on and there was no break in," Blake argued. David nodded, knowing they weren't going to get any further here.

"Thank you for your time," David said, as he led Marco out.

"What am I going to do?" Marco asked in despair.

"Let me call my sister. It might help if we get August's side of the story," David suggested, as he dialed.

"Hey Em...I need a favor," he said.

"What's up?" she asked.

"I'm trying to help another passenger. His son is in Riker's and he's innocent," David replied.

"Do you know how many guys in Riker's are innocent, David?" she asked in exasperation.

"Em...please, the kid was just thirteen when the plane disappeared. Can't you at least see if we can get his father in to see him?" he asked. He heard her sigh.

"I literally just got my badge back today, but I'll see what I can do," she said.

"Thanks Em," he said, as he hung up the phone. While they waited, they left the jewelry shop and walked across the street. David bought them two coffees and they sat down on a bench. He got a text and Marco was clearly anxious.

"Is that her?" he asked.

"Oh no...it's my wife," he said, as he quickly texted back.

"She was with you last night...she was not on the plane," he mentioned. He smiled.

"She wasn't...but she supports me in everything and we do everything together," he replied, with a scoff.

"Except the plane. I stayed behind with my sister, because she was trying to squeeze out a couple more hours away from home. But Margaret...with her, it was like falling right back into place without even skipping a beat," he said.

"You are a very lucky man...you have a beautiful family," Marco replied, as he saw the picture of the four of them on his lock screen. David smiled.

"I am...and that's why I'm going to do what I can to reunite you with yours," he promised, as Emma texted him back.

"She got us in," he said, as they stood up.

"Let's go," David said, as he led him to his car.

~*~

Margaret smiled, as she talked to her husband on the phone, while Henry was having his treatment.

"You don't have to apologize, my love. I am so glad you are helping this man visit his son. Your son is just fine and will be happy that his dad is helping others in need," she assured him.

"I still can't believe how lucky I am. I tell you that I heard music in my head and it led me to another passenger and the word crazy never crossed your lips," he said.

"And it never will. You're such a good man and helping this man is the right thing to do," she replied.

"I feel that too...but I should be home in time for dinner. Want me to pick something up?" he asked.

"No, that's okay. I promised Henry spaghetti and board games," she replied. She could hear him smile through his words.

"That sounds amazing. I'll pick some ice cream up on the way home to go with it and then you'll tell me what happened with you today? Henry texted me about some weird lady?" he asked.

"Oh yeah...I was going to text you about that too, but I think it's better explained in person," she said.

"You're okay though?" he asked. She smiled.

"I'm fine, promise," she assured.

"Okay...I'll see you tonight. I love you so much," he said.

"I love you too, be careful," she replied, as they hung up the phone, just as she saw Emma come in.

"Hey...I wasn't expecting to see you until tonight. How was your first day back?" Margaret asked.

"Stupid," Emma grumbled, as she collapsed into a chair beside her.

"Oh no...what happened?" Margaret asked.

"Well, I got cleared for duty and Graham decides that it's a good idea to make me Killian's partner," Emma replied. Margaret winced.

"That has to be awkward," she agreed.

"Yeah...and I'm not the only one that thinks so. I got a visit from Milah," she said.

"Oh my Gosh...why?" she asked.

"Why do you think?" she asked in return.

"She thinks Killian's feelings for you are still there and now that you're back...she feels threatened," Margaret deduced.

"Yup…" Emma replied.

"What did you tell her?" Margaret asked.

"I told her that she doesn't have to be worried about me. He married her," Emma replied.

"And she accepted that?" Margaret asked. Emma snorted.

"Of course not...that would make my life easier," she joked.

"Em…" Margaret prodded. The blonde sighed.

"She implied that he probably only chose her, because I was gone. What the hell am I supposed to say to that?" Emma asked. Margaret squeezed her hand.

"I don't know, sweetie...I can't imagine the position you're in. I wish I could do more for you," she said. Emma smiled at her and rested her head on Margaret's shoulder.

"You do...you're always here for me," she replied.

"Always," Margaret said.

"Since I was six...wow, that's wild," Emma replied. Margaret giggled.

"That was a day...I'm surprised you remember it. You were so little," Margaret said.

"You were too, but then you met David that day too so I know you remember it," Emma teased. Margaret smiled, as she bit her bottom lip and recalled the memories of that day with fondness.

~*~

"Please…" Emma whined, as she gave her older brother puppy eyes and he sighed.

"Fine, one more time. But I'm getting tired, Emmy," David said, as he lifted her up one more time. She grabbed the monkey bars and he walked her across them, while she moved her hands. He put her down and they ran over as their mother called them. They noticed she was talking to another woman and a little girl, which made them curious.

Mary Margaret clung to her mother's leg, as they arrived at the playground. This was not their normal neighborhood, but Eva didn't like the playgrounds in their rich, uppity neighborhood. The children that played there were not being instilled with the values that she wanted her little girl to have. She didn't want her daughter growing up thinking that money and class were what mattered most about a person, so they ventured out today to the neighborhood where Eva had grown up instead.

"It's okay snowdrop...there's lots of other children that will love playing with you," she assured her shy daughter.

"She is darling…" another woman mentioned from a bench and Eva smiled.

"Oh thank you...I'm Eva and this is Mary Margaret, my pride and joy," she said. Ruth smiled at the tiny raven haired girl.

"Hello Mary Margaret...that's such a beautiful name. I'm Ruth. Those two are mine," she said, as she pointed at the two blonde children.

"They're beautiful too. We are hoping this playground will be better than the last one," Eva said.

"Oh I'm sure mine would love to play with Mary Margaret," Ruth said, as she called them over.

"David...Emma, this is Mary Margaret," Ruth said.

"Hi…" David said, a bit shyly.

"Hi…" Mary Margaret said, also shyly.

"Hi...I'm Emma. Your name is pretty, but long. Can I call you MM?" Emma asked.

"Uh...sure," Mary Margaret replied.

"Wanna do monkey bars with me?" Emma asked, as she took her hand and dragged her onto the playground. Eva chuckled and sat down beside Ruth.

"I'm not big enough to do monkey bars," Mary Margaret said.

"Me either. David helps me sometimes," Emma replied.

"Uh...yeah I can help you," David chimed in and she smiled.

"Okay," Mary Margaret said, as he lifted her up so she could reach the bars.

"I thought you said you were tired," Emma complained.

"Well, I'm not anymore," he retorted in annoyance, as he helped Mary Margaret with the monkey bars.

~*~

They chuckled at the memories.

"He was already smitten," Emma teased.

"Well, he wasn't the only one. I mean that curly blonde hair he had and the baby muscles...oooh…" Margaret gushed.

"Yeah, yeah I do not need to hear stories about my brother's muscles," Emma complained, as her phone rang.

"It's the station...I gotta take this," Emma said, as she stepped away. Margaret smiled and relished all the memories they had, as she waited for her son's treatment to be over for the day.

[ahnsael]

We’re supposed to get some REALLY strong winds tonight (predicted gusts of 50-70mph, but a small possibility of gusts of 100+mph), and the National Weather Service specifically called out the small town in which my casino resides as having the potential for power outages. Which makes sense...there’s some OLD wiring in this old town.

We may be a casino, but we have no backup generator (we’re a small casino, after all -- only around 250 machines spread out in three individual rooms -- our competition down the street, which is much larger and has a hotel attached, has backup generators but we do not).

Power outages are always a challenge in a casino -- even a small one. Even a small power flicker can wreak havoc, causing machines to reboot or freeze up completely, and anyone who cashes out before our server has recovered requires us to pay them by hand since the system won’t print them a voucher that they can cash in at a kiosk.

But the kicker is that there are only two of us working tonight. So if we have a busy night (”busy” on graveyard meaning 20 guests or so, which is actually pretty likely in the early hours of my shift), it’s going to take some time to get to them all and assure them that they haven’t just lost all their money, that the batteries in the machines will remember how much they had, but that they’ve got to leave and we cannot pay them until the power comes back on. I mean, we can’t exactly take peoples’ words for how much they had in the machine. There are the meth addicts who will claim to have $200 in the machine when they have 87¢, and there are the people who are trying to be honest but lowball themselves, saying they had $40 when they really had over $100. I’ve seen both.

I’m not sure, but I think our PA system has been moved to a place where it has battery backup for about 20 minutes during recent renovations, so I may be able to make an announcement on a microphone that the whole casino can hear (last time I was there for a long power outage, we still had music for 20 minutes, and the microphone transmitter is now right next to the music -- at the time it was not on battery backup so I just had to run from room to room to explain to everyone the process we were going to follow -- it’s one thing to be stuck in the dark in a casino that some people believe may be haunted, but it’s another thing to actually have a human voice telling you that everything is okay and that we know that they’re there (we do head counts in each room every half an hour so we have a pretty good idea of where people are at and if they moved since the head count, we WILL find them), that their money is safe (even if we can’t give it to them right now), and that we will use are large flashlights to escort them out once we have the info we need from them so we can pay them later.

But either way, just to be sure, I’m going to have to go into each room and shout an announcement after attempting a PA announcement (whether I hear myself over the speakers or not), just to be sure that everyone knows that they’re safe and that we’ve got their backs. I should probably make the microphone attempt at an announcement in one of our smaller rooms so that, if it doesn’t work, at least the people in that room will hear me. That will save some time.

And with only two of us, I’ll have the other go around and start powering down machines (the surge when power comes back can DESTROY a slot machine if the power switch is in the “on” position), and I’ll get to every guest and get their name, phone number (and/or address if they’re out-of-towners but we get mostly locals on graveyard), how much they think they have in credits, and escort them to the door (it gets VERY dark in the casino at night during a blackout -- the only emergency lighting we have is above the doors, shining down from the EXIT signs, which will also remain lit).

And, especially on graveyard, I’m sure I’d have to explain to several people that no, I can NOT serve them a beer or mixed drink, because we have a policy against serving alcohol when it’s already hard enough to walk through the casino, and that they don’t have to go home, but they can’t stay here. I can offer them a bottled water if they want, though. I’m not going to deny someone liquid refreshment, only alcohol-infused liquid refreshment.

Then we would chain/padlock the doors shut (our doors don’t have locks, (whenever someone calls to ask what our hours of operation are, I tell them “we’re open 24/7 every day; we only close if the power goes out”), and then I would help try to get the rest of the machines powered down.

Even when the power comes back and people are knocking on the doors, we can’t unlock them until we get everything back up and running -- power all the machines back on one at a time, call slot techs to let them know that there will inevitably be some machines that aren’t going to come back up (it happens every time that some machines have more problems than others after a power outage), maintenance (since the power outage is going to screw up the HVAC system, or at least prevent it from working until it’s reprogrammed), and the property manager to fill them in on what’s happening.

Then we go around and cash out the credits of machines that have credits (and match those tickets up with who I recorded as having been playing that machine when the power went out so they can come back and claim their money), laugh at how many people tried to tell us they had $1,000 in the machine when they had $20 (and marvel at the people who said “I think I had $80″ and it turns out they had $200, thenmake sure surveillance and the central server for the slot machines are up and running, and generally get our ducks back in a row. It can take a couple hours, even after power is restored. All while people who see that the lights are back on are pounding on the doors wondering why they’re chained shut, and trying to convince us that, since they’re a regular, my boss would be okay with them coming in (he would absolutely NOT be).

Then we can unchain the doors and hope that it doesn’t happen again (and in this town it very well could, especially in strong winds).

Fortunately, the second person with whom I work tonight is another manager, and REALLY smart and calm under pressure (even if she is relatively new), and she had to deal with this on her own once and did everything right (with the help of two long-time line-staff employees who had been through it before and helped her through it, but as nervous as she was about having gotten things right, she did a fantastic job). And tonight, if it happens, she’s told me that she’ll be more confident having me there. I mean, I’ve been through this several times, and I’ve been a manager at the casino for over 3½ years now (that’s nice to say after the six years of unemployment that preceded this gig), so...it may get a little stressful, but we got this if it goes down. And by “stressful” I mean it’s going to get my adrenaline going a bit as we handle things, but not “stressful” as in “I don’t know if I can do this.” I mean, it’s not like the time 9-1-1 called US to inform us that they had just received a bomb threat from someone who said they had placed a bomb in our casino (it was a false alarm but...while it scared me shitless, I did what needed to be done to sweep the building and make sure we were good and chose not to evacuate, then the Sheriff’s Department showed up and did their own sweep and agreed that evacuation wasn’t necessary -- in my scared state I made sure we were VERY thorough in our search, even checking a lot of places the Sheriff’s deputies did not, but...as much as I hate stress, I work well in stressful situations).

So on a scale where 1=“business as usual, it’s a great night” to 10=“there might be a bomb in the casino,” this will be a 4 on the adrenaline scale but a 3 on the stress scale if it happens.

I should email the swing shift manager, though, and ask him to make sure our blackout kit is easily accessible. Sometimes it is, sometimes it’s high on a shelf, and it’s heavy with the chains and padlocks and large flashlights (not to mention the logs that I could be filling out tonight so we can match people with their money when the power comes back), and since the high wind warning goes into effect an hour before I start work, it will be nice to be sure it’s easily accessible in the dark. I mean, I do carry my own flashlight, but...the big ones are better for escorting people out if needed, plus I’ll need to make sure I can get a large flashlight to my coworker.

[musicprincess655]

Chapters: 2/2 Fandom: ダイヤのA | Daiya no A | Ace of Diamond Rating: General Audiences Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply Relationships: Sanada Shunpei/Todoroki Raichi Summary:

When Raichi finds himself lost in an unfamiliar train station, Sanada bails him out. Raichi returns the favor. They find something special in the spaces between the places they're going to.

Written for a commission! Commission me!

“Hey, could you move?”

“Sorry, sorry,” Raichi whispered, stepping away from the ticket kiosk. A harried salaryman took his place, tapping the screen at lightning speed that Raichi couldn’t keep up with, grabbing his ticket and hurrying off for the train.

And Raichi was left staring, just as unsure of himself as he was a few seconds ago. He was uncomfortable in the train station, sure that everyone was staring at him, judging him for the fact that he couldn’t do what the rest of them could. He was going to miss the last train and then he was going to be stuck in a part of the city he didn’t know yet and he was going to have to sleep on a bench in the park and he would be too tired to play baseball the next day and…

“Todoroki-kun?” Raichi looked up, ready to step away once again and maybe just run for it. The urge to sprint strengthened when he saw that it was Sanada who had called him out.

Sanada, who Raichi already respected on the field, who could pitch such tricky pitches as long as his stamina kept up. Raichi wanted to hit those pitches someday. They’d talked about that earlier today, actually, when Sanada had caught Raichi doing image training with videos of him, scolding him for training to beat someone on his own team. Raichi had just laughed back and said he wanted to face as many pitchers as possible.

Raichi wasn’t laughing now, because now wasn’t baseball, now wasn’t on the field, and now, Sanada kind of scared him. He was confident and handsome and a little loud and everything Raichi couldn’t be if he didn’t have a bat in his hands. Raichi didn’t know how to deal with a guy like that if it wasn’t in baseball.

“Hey, are you okay?” Sanada was closer now, and even if Raichi wanted to run, it felt too late now. “You look…”

He didn’t finish his sentence, but Raichi didn’t need him to. He knew how he looked. Panic had sunk its claws in at the base of his throat, and he could barely speak, and he just wanted to go home and go to sleep and put this whole terrible train station behind him.

“I, um,” Raichi tried to force out anyway, because Sanada was obviously waiting for an answer. “It’s…”

“Do you not know how to take the train?” Sanada asked.

“Not from here,” Raichi admitted, nearly collapsing in relief because Sanada understood. “I don’t…I mean, I’ve never…not by myself.”

“You’re not gonna freak out on me, are you?” Sanada asked, leaning in far too close. Raichi flinched back. “Right, okay, sorry. But let me see if I can help.”

Raichi blinked his eyes open to see Sanada standing in front of the ticket kiosk, far more confident than Raichi ever could be.

“Where are you going?” Sanada asked.

“I have to get to Mitakadai station,” Raichi said. He stood next to Sanada, trying to see what Sanada was looking at and trying to learn. Taking the train was supposed to be easy. No one else was having such a hard time. He could learn to do this on his own.

“Okay, so it looks like you have to change lines a few times,” Sanada said. “Can you handle that?”

Raichi felt like a deer in headlights. He hoped whatever expression he was making answered that question for him.  

“Okay, that’s fair,” Sanada said. “My student pass can cover part of your route, so I’ll show you that far.”

“Really?” Raichi felt his shoulders slump in relief.

“I mean, I’m not gonna just leave you out here in the cold by yourself,” Sanada said. “I’m not that mean.”

Raichi thought Sanada was starting to look like a knight in shining armor, but he kept that thought to himself.

“Here,” he said, thrusting money out at Sanada. His dad had given him money to take the train home, and he just hoped it would be enough.

“Yeah, okay, I’ll get your ticket,” Sanada said, grinning like something had amused him. He took the money from Raichi and started punching things in. He went slow enough that Raichi could follow him this time. “This is exactly the amount you need. Did your dad know how much to give you? Why didn’t he make sure you knew how to get back?”

Raichi shrugged. He and his dad teased each other a lot, and it mostly felt like friendly ribbing, but his dad had been looking tired lately. Raichi wasn’t entirely sure why, but maybe having a job was just hard. Usually, they could go home together, and Raichi was so tired from practice he just zoned out until he could collapse in his room and sleep until he had to get up for practice again.

So when his dad asked him to take the train home alone, actually asked instead of telling him, and he looked tired and he explained that he had to go to a meeting with the principal, Raichi couldn’t say no. Even if he didn’t quite understand it, he felt like his dad was fighting in his own way. How could Raichi not do the same?

“You should get a student pass,” Sanada continued in the silence. “If you’re always taking the same route, it’s cheaper, and then you don’t have to buy tickets like this every time. You can just get on the train and go.”

Raichi nodded. It sounded better.

Luckily, it had gotten so late that most of the commuters had already passed through the station, so the train was empty enough for them both to sit. Raichi wasn’t quite sure what he was supposed to do now. He knew what he did when he took the train home with his dad – pass out, sometimes on his dad’s shoulder – but he was pretty sure he wasn’t allowed to do that with Sanada.

They probably weren’t supposed to talk either, right? No one else was talking on the train, and even if they whispered, it would be loud in this silence. But what else were they supposed to do?

Raichi almost jumped when he felt a nudge at his shoulder. He turned, and when Sanada caught his eye, he nodded across the train from them. A man in a rumpled business suit was sliding off his seat, eyes closed and face flushed. Sanada nudged him again and waited until Raichi turned to mouth the word drunk at him, face split into a grin. Raichi felt his face split into an answering grin. This felt better. This felt more normal, more like how they usually were on the field, the only place where Raichi knew how to exist just right.

The rest of the train ride went like that, Sanada nudging Raichi and pointing out some unsuspecting fellow rider and mouthing some judgmental comment that made Raichi smile and a few times even shake with suppressed laughter. It was almost a disappointment when Sanada stood up and Raichi had to as well, because it was time to change lines, and time for Sanada to send Raichi on his way.

“Are you going to be okay from here?” Sanada asked, standing beside Raichi on his new platform. They only had a few minutes before his train arrived.

“I think so,” Raichi said. This area looked a lot more familiar. If he was right, all he had to do was get on this next train and then get off at his regular stop. He could handle that.

“You don’t have a phone in case you get lost, right?” Sanada asked. Raichi shook his head. “Guess I’ll know you made if it you show up at practice tomorrow.”

“Thank you,” Raichi said. He was convinced he wouldn’t have made it here if Sanada hadn’t stepped in.

“Like I said, I’m not mean enough to leave you out in the cold. See you, Todoroki-kun.” Sanada shook his head, mouth still turned up in the smile it lived in off the field. “Someday I’ll get used to calling you by the coach’s name.”

“You can just call me Raichi,” Raichi offered. It wasn’t a big deal. Basically all of his friends called him by his given name. His classmates called him Todoroki, but he hadn’t quite made friends with all of them yet.

“Really?”

“Yes?” Raichi was sort of aware that it was unusual to call people by their given names unless they were close, but it didn’t seem like it mattered all that much. He was just Raichi.

“Then I’ll see you, Raichi,” Sanada said. Raichi’s train was pulling in as he spoke, so Raichi boarded, waving over his shoulder as Sanada left to go backtrack to his own stop.

This was much better. Raichi could wait for his stop now, and when it finally came up, he knew the way home. He was much more confident in his own neighborhood, having wandered it so often as a kid, and he’d had to learn to do it without directions because he’d always been too shy to ask someone else for help. Someday, he hoped he’d be able to find his way around Yakushi with the same confidence. It was already starting to feel like a second home.

***

Shunpei winced as his phone screen blacked out. Using his navigation app for so long was bound to make that happen, but it was still a blow. He looked up at the unfamiliar grid of streets around him, and had to admit the obvious: he was hopelessly lost.

He was a lot farther into west Tokyo than he’d ever been before, off on some errand to help his mother’s uncle’s cousin…well, he couldn’t actually remember how the old man he’d gone to see was related to him, but somehow filial piety bound him to cleaning out the man’s gutters, so his mother had sent him to do just that. The problem was that she’d driven him here, and he’d told her he was fine to take the train home.

And now he was struggling to actually find a train he could take home.

This was Japan! There was supposed to be a station every few feet! Why was he hopelessly wandering, looking for one?

Shunpei took a deep breath and sat down on the low wall next to the sidewalk. Okay. So he was lost. If he could just find a train station, he could figure out a way home from there, but he’d been wandering for an hour, and not even his navigation app had been able to help him. He really should’ve charged his phone before he left.

“Sanada-senpai?” Shunpei stopped looking at his phone in despair long enough to see Raichi staring at him curiously, wooden bat slung over his shoulder. “Why are you here?”

“Got a little lost,” Shunpei admitted. “What are you doing here?”

“I live here.” Raichi pointed somewhere over Shunpei’s shoulder. “I live over that way.”

Now that Shunpei thought about it, they were somewhere around the area he’d sent Raichi to a few weeks ago on the train. If only he knew where that station was, he’d be golden.

“You don’t happen to know the way to the train station, do you?” Shunpei asked. He wasn’t expecting a lot, so it was a surprise when Raichi nodded without hesitating.

“It’s back this way,” Raichi said. “Want me to walk you there?”

“Please.” Shunpei stood and brushed himself off. “I thought you weren’t good with directions.”

“Not in places I don’t know,” Raichi said. “I grew up here. I know my way around.”

“Is that so?” Shunpei asked.

“Like, over there is where I used to practice swinging with my dad,” Raichi said, pointing to a bridge. “Well, I still practice there on our days off, but Misshima and Akki don’t come by as often anymore. They want to work on things other than batting.”

“Not everyone can get away with being a batting monster like you,” Shunpei said, laughing a little at how disappointed Raichi looked. “The rest of us mere mortals have to develop other skills, too.”

Shunpei followed Raichi’s eyes, though, and without thinking about it, his feet followed until he could see under the bridge to a stretch of grass by the river.

“You guys really did batting school here?” he asked. He’d heard the stories – they were more complaints on Mishima’s part – about learning to bat from Todoroki Raizou under a bridge, but it was something else to see it in person.

“Of course,” Raichi said. “No one ever makes you leave, so we could practice as much as we wanted. It’s why I still practice here.”

Shunpei privately thought it was because no one else would want to claim ownership of such a forgotten area, but he could see Raichi’s point. There was something peaceful about the stretch of grass, quiet, tucked away. He could even imagine Raichi facing the support for the bridge and using the blankness for image training.

“It’s nice,” Shunpei said, and was rewarded with the way Raichi’s shoulders relaxed under his t-shirt. Finding out Raichi was shy off the field was a surprise, but Shunpei was quickly learning that it shouldn’t have been. Raichi came alive when he was playing baseball, and it was almost like he’d never learned how to do everything else that came with living.

“There’s a really good crepe stand over there,” Raichi said. “We used to get them if my dad had some extra money. They have a good banana and chocolate one.”

“I probably owe you for getting me out of here,” Shunpei said. “Want one?”

Shunpei hadn’t expected to spend his Sunday afternoon buying Raichi a crepe and eating it beside the river, but he couldn’t say it was bad. Raichi was almost like a little kid for how excited he got about it, and since it was the first really hot day of the year, it was nice to sit with their feet in the water, shoes kicked off at their sides.

Raichi relaxed the more time they spent there, babbling on about everything and nothing with minimal input from Shunpei. It really did seem like once he decided he was comfortable, he opened up, and he was far more comfortable here than he had been when Shunpei found him in a train station far from home.

“You know, I really thought you had some big secret when you first showed up,” Shunpei told him as they climbed away from the river and shoved their shoes back on. “You were like this superhero or something with how good you bat, and you came out of nowhere. I thought you’d have some deep, dark backstory or something.”

“That makes me sound like an anime character,” Raichi said.

“Guess it does!” Shunpei agreed with a laugh. “You’re nothing like that, though. You’re not that complicated.”

And he wasn’t. Raichi wasn’t all that hard to understand. He was just a boy who really liked baseball, and food, and was kind of shy when he didn’t know what he was supposed to do.

“Is that a bad thing?” Raichi asked, looking down.

“Nah,” Shunpei waved away Raichi’s concern. “I prefer people like that. You’re not hard to deal with.”

“Thanks. I think.” Raichi lifted his head. “Oh! That’s where I went to middle school.”

Shunpei followed Raichi’s hand until he saw a small brick building by the road. It was fairly standard for a middle school, nothing special.

“We didn’t have a baseball team,” Raichi said. “I still had to practice on my own. I like Yakushi. Playing on a team is different, but I like it.”

“You’ve still got a long way to go,” Shunpei told him. He’d seen Raichi try running around the bases in practice last week, and he’d forgotten to step on the bases as he went. “I guess it makes sense that this is your first time really playing baseball.”

“Yeah, I guess it is,” Raichi agreed. “It doesn’t really feel that way, though. I’ve been swinging my bat for as long as I can remember.”

“Yeah, but there’s more to baseball than that,” Shunpei pointed out. “That’s why Mishima and Akiba want to work on other things.”

“I guess,” Raichi said, but he didn’t look particularly pleased about it. If baseball was only about batting, Raichi had a solid shot at being the best baseball player in the world. “Is pitching hard? Do you think I could be a pitcher?”

“I think you’d have a long way to go if you ever wanted to be a pitcher,” Shunpei told him. “Where did that come from?”

“You think there’s more to baseball, and you’re a pitcher.” Raichi shrugged. “I just wondered.”

“I think you probably have the stamina to be a pitcher, but not the control,” Shunpei said. “If you can’t even throw to first right, you definitely can’t throw into the strike zone.”

“But you’re good at that,” Raichi said.

“You know what, though?” Shunpei continued. “I bet if you worked at anything like you work at batting, you could do it.”

“You think?”

“They say practice makes perfect, don’t they?”

The part they didn’t say was that practice could suck so bad. Shunpei had tried to be lazy about it, and he was paying the price for it now with his lacking strength and his nonexistent stamina. Nothing would have changed, probably, but then they’d gotten a new coach, and he’d seen everything Shunpei thought about practice and agreed with him. And then he gave Shunpei a reason to practice anyway, because all the movement and strength practice could beat into his body every day was something that would save him in a game, and if he didn’t have that, he wouldn’t have much else. Shunpei had seen the cost of lacking that practice in their tournament last year, seen what the difference was between Yakushi and teams that spent hours upon hours beating their bodies into playing without thinking.

Then Raichi had joined Yakushi as proof of his father’s words. Shunpei glanced at Raichi from the corner of his eye. Was he aware of the effect that he’d had on Shunpei? That his unbridled passion and terrifying talent had shaken Shunpei so hard from his stupor that he’d started running and hadn’t stopped since? Shunpei took practice seriously now, and that was because Raichi had shown him what could be, and his father had shown them how to get there.

“Playing baseball with you is more fun,” Shunpei said. Raichi jumped, eyes wide and mouth slack. “I’m glad you came to Yakushi. It’s more fun with you there.”

“You really think so?” Raichi asked. “I think baseball is the most fun there is.”

“Yeah, I bet,” Shunpei laughed. “I hope you’re ready to take us to Koshien. Your dad sure thinks you can.”

“He’s just a bitter old man who wants the glory, and he never buys enough bananas,” Raichi complained, but Shunpei knew better. Despite their words, the two of them cared about each other. In a way that went beyond the obvious, Raichi and his father were cut from the same cloth. Playing with Raichi, talking with his dad at practice, all that had let Shunpei see what was underneath their interactions with each other.

“Think we can win it this year?” Shunpei asked, mostly to see what Raichi would actually think.

“I want to smash all the best pitches!” Raichi said, wide grin and trademark laugh bubbling out of him. “I want to send them all flying!”

“That’s not what I asked,” Shunpei said, but he couldn’t help laughing anyway. Raichi was just like that. He made people brave.

“This is the station,” Raichi said, slowing to a halt. Shunpei looked up to see that he was right. He hadn’t even noticed, too caught up in his conversation with Raichi. “I guess…I’ll see you tomorrow?”

“See you at practice,” Shunpei agreed. “Thanks for taking me this far.”

He ruffled Raichi’s hair. It wasn’t soft, but it was warm from the sun, and the look of blushing surprise Raichi gave him for it was worth it.

“Show me around again sometime?” Shunpei asked, feeling his pulse beat faster in his throat.

“Sure,” Raichi agreed.

And then the moment was broken, and Raichi was off, probably to swing his bat again, and Shunpei had to catch his train home.

[pussymagicuniverse]

Party Favor

by Krista Diamond

On her first week in Las Vegas, Clare wore a red bikini to an interview for a poolside cocktailing job. She landed the position immediately. It didn’t matter that the bikini was five years old and from the discount rack; her body looked expensive.

She shifted from the pool job to a cocktail gig in a high-limit poker room, and then quit when she found something better. Each day she retreated back to the terrace of her high-rise apartment where she’d survey the city, squinting as if she could see the flood channels that ran like veins under the streets.

Clare had fallen in with a crowd of club promoters and bartenders and fine dining servers early on—Jessica, Tyler, Charlotte and Brian. They’d seen her alone on a Wednesday night at Intrigue and invited her to their booth, mostly because another pretty face would mean more free drinks.

Her mother had always told her that it was important to have friends.

“Your teacher says you don’t play with anyone at recess,” she’d said when Clare was in first grade. “She called you a lone wolf.”

Lone wolf. At six she’d pictured herself as a wolf with blonde hair, weaving through a foggy forest. Sometimes the image still came to mind.

She decided to make friends anyway, because this new city felt like the kind of place where she could try as many strange things as she wanted. Plus the doormen at clubs often regarded her with skepticism when she arrived alone and she didn’t like that. These friends were a vampiric group who prowled Las Vegas Boulevard at night and slept through the daylight hours. Twenty-somethings who made more money than their parents and somehow still lived above their means. They all had apartments in sleek high-rise buildings, but none of them had the patience to shop for furniture, dish towels, pots and pans. They’d held onto their college dorm habits, subsisting on takeout and sleeping on mattresses without bed frames.

Clare’s one-bedroom inside a gilded tower called Sky was immaculate, cool and white. She washed her dresses by hand and hung them to dry on the railing of her balcony. She liked the way the sequins and bright colors looked, drying in the sun high above the hot streets.

•

On a Wednesday afternoon, her mother called and asked, “Are you still liking it?”

“I love the city,” Clare said. She stood in her lavender silk robe on her balcony and counted the shiny limousines that passed by below.

“Well,” her mother said, “Don’t fall into the trap.”

“What trap? Happiness?”

“No. The one where you wait tables forever instead of using your college degree.”

“I’m not waiting tables anymore,” Clare said.

“You should find a nice boy,” her mother said. “I was married when I was your age.”

And then her phone beeped with a call from Charlotte or Jessica or Tyler or Brian (hopefully Brian), probably wondering where she was going that night and if they could meet her there.

“Mom,” she said, “I’m going to have to let you go.”

She switched over to the other line—it was Charlotte, asking her if they should meet for happy hour before the club. Clare half-listened while mentally going through her wardrobe. Had she worn the red dress that week? Could she pair the satin Jimmy Choos with the gold skirt?

“Uh-huh,” she said.

No, the leopard print dress. Or the purple one with the velvet. Yes, that was the one.

 •

Wednesday night started with martinis at STK, followed by oysters and hamachi at Momofuku, then after-dinner cocktails at Chandelier Bar. Clare drank club soda. She liked to be in control.

Brian sat at the head of the table, a thousand miles from Clare, glancing at her from beneath his inscrutable brow. She had never had a boyfriend, but whenever she pictured what he would look like she saw Brian’s face. She imagined sitting shoulder-to-shoulder with him at some noodle shop, holding hands on the way to movies, or wherever it was couples went.

Clare only knew how to fuck, how to climb on top of someone in the back of a limo at 4 a.m., one palm pressed against the ceiling of the car, the other pressed against the window as they drove down Las Vegas Boulevard past the pink lights of the Flamingo, the glowing golden Eiffel Tower and the advertisements that read Girls direct to you!

“Harder,” she’d say to whoever it was, because that was what they all liked. It was what she liked too.

But she couldn’t imagine saying that to Brian. He was pale with dark features and the body of a runner. He caught her studying him and smiled, his eyes crinkling at the corners. This was the kind of man she should be with. Clare wanted him, she thought, or at least she was supposed to want him.

“What are you looking at?” he asked, grinning. He gave her a little kick from under the table. He wasn’t as far away as she’d thought.

She pictured him in her bed, soft and slow, his voice in the dark asking, “Is this okay?”

After the restaurant, the limo deposited the group outside of the nightclub. A line of girls in stilettos and nearly identical sparkly dresses slid out of cars.

The bottle service was comped as usual. Clare felt emboldened in the dark. She climbed onto their table, dancing in the slow blue light, running her hands over her body, tracing her tongue across her lips. But when she looked down at Brian, his eyes weren’t on her.

“Fine,” she said, to herself, to him—not that it mattered, because the music was too loud for anyone to hear her voice. She climbed over the crushed velvet booth onto the neighboring table.

“What are you doing?” Jessica called.

She moved her hips, her shoulders in slow motion for them, arching her back.

The boys in the booth cheered, and Clare climbed into the lap of the handsomest one. He had the clean-shaven face of a college athlete.

“We’re going to an after-hours club after this,” he yelled over the music. “Do you want to come?”

Thirty seconds later they were kissing. Sloppy, open-mouthed kisses, their tongues pressing against each others.

“There she goes again, leaving with some guy,” she heard someone from her table say, but she was already walking away.

Clare walked down the Strip with the group of boys. The sky was fading from deep blue to soft purple, and the neon lights were turning off one by one. These were the moments when she truly loved the city, when it was settling into itself like an animal turning in circles before bedding down.

“Thank god for after-hours clubs,” she said, as they arrived at the entrance. The nightclub had opened at 4 a.m. and it would stay open until 9 a.m.

The boy’s friends left at 6 a.m., saying something about 99-cent prime rib 24-hours a day. After they were gone, she pulled the boy into a bathroom stall.

He kissed her neck. “Should we go back to my…?”

“No need for that,” she said, unzipping his pants.

When they were finished, she left the dark nightclub and stepped into the piercing wall of sun.

Her phone rang.

“Come meet us for breakfast,” Jessica said. “I know you’re still up, you little monster.”

The diner was a mile away, but Clare decided to walk. Las Vegas in the morning felt illicit and strange, like walking in on the rehearsal of a play before the performance. The air was clean and soft and the buildings seemed faded and blank. She made her way past the kiosks staffed by bored looking girls chewing gum, past the open doors of casinos and past the crowds of families on vacation, all clad in sweatshirts that said Las Vegas in cursive. The mothers glared at her, and she wondered if her own mother would scowl at her too, or if she’d even recognize her at all.

 •

Thursday was a few bottles of wine at The Dorsey (iced tea for Clare), spaghetti and meatballs at LAVO and then her least favorite nightclub, TAO. She’d been kicked out a year ago for giving a blowjob to a man in a silver-gray suit. Every time she went back she was afraid the bouncer’s eyes would catch hers and light up with recognition.

She sat beside Brian in the booth. They exchanged nervous smiles.

“What’d you do today?” she asked him. She’d never seen him—or any of them—in the daylight.

“I got up early and went for a hike,” he said.

She imagined herself bobbing along on the trail behind him in the wrong shoes.

“What’d you do?”

At sunrise, she’d skinny-dipped in a private pool at The Palms, her pulse throbbing with splendor as the man’s fingers slid inside her.

“Oh, nothing.”

Later that night, Clare met up with a traveling salesman in his room at MGM Grand. It was one of the suites the hotel referred to as Sky Lofts, the kind of room with multiple stories and floor to ceiling windows that looked out over the rainbow lights.

“What do you think of my suite?” the man said, whiskey drunk as he fucked her against the window. She could feel him going soft inside of her.

“I’ve seen better,” she said.

Friday was the pool at Mandalay Bay. Calamari at Skyfall Lounge. A booth at The Light. Missionary position on top of the sheets at The Cromwell.

Saturday was Rhumbar. Lobster at Stack. Dancing at 1OAK. Anal sex at The Mirage.

Sunday was Rosina. Nothing to eat at the steakhouse. A strip club she didn’t know the name of. A threeway with two Georgia frat boys.

 •

On Monday, Clare slept until 6pm. She hated the hollow feeling she got when she woke up as the sun was setting. It reminded her of staying home sick from school as a kid, sleeping all day and then waking up to darkness outside her window and the smell of her mother making her grilled cheese downstairs.

She was naked. She could always tell how late she’d been out the night before based on what she was wearing when she woke up. Actual pajamas meant 1am. Last night’s clothes meant 4am. Naked meant after the rest of the world had gone to work. She climbed out of bed, wrapping herself in her robe. She picked up her phone to call for something to eat, or some Aspirin, or a Diet Coke, maybe. But she realized she wanted none of that. She wondered what Brian was doing in his apartment. She wondered what they’d be doing if he was in her apartment. He’d be making dinner reservations, or maybe saying, “Let’s stay in and watch a movie. I’ll go get Chinese takeout.”

 And when her phone buzzed—Charlotte, asking if she wanted to meet for dinner at Nobu and go to Omnia after—she told herself she was going to stay in, but of course that was a lie. She was already slipping into her heels.

 •

Clare was nervous, thirsty.

When she met them at 9:15, they were already sitting, their heads close together, crowded around something Jessica was holding. Tyler was drinking beer from a pint glass and saying, “No way, no way.” Charlotte had one hand over her mouth. Brian’s expression was as indecipherable as ever. They didn’t look up until Clare was standing right in front of them.

Clare didn’t need to look at the flyer to know what it said, but she did anyway. The flyers were a part of the business. They were not optional, but even if she could have opted out of appearing on one, she wouldn’t have. It gave her a thrill to see her photograph, hair tousled, lips parted, her hands on her breasts.

Hot sexy babes direct to your hotel room, it read. It had never occurred to her that these friends might see the flyer, but she supposed it was inevitable. Still, she would have liked it to have been on her terms. She straightened her shoulders and peered at her friends, waiting for their reaction.

Tyler’s eyes were fixed on her, examining her body as if he were seeing it for the first time.

“Is this where you go when you disappear from the club?” Charlotte asked her.

Everyone at the table was looking at her, watching her resolve fade away. She tried to maintain her composure, tried to get the words that she wanted to say out: This is what turns me on. I’m not ashamed.

But they were looking at her with scorn, with amusement and worst of all, they were looking at her like they felt sorry for her.

She’d been fucked on a pool table in front of a cheering bachelor party, she’d been tied to a bed and burned with candle wax, she’d had a fist in her pussy, two hands on her neck. Every bit of it had made her want more, more, more.

This was a first for Clare, this moment with these friends. This was the first time she’d ever experienced shame.

 •

Clare woke up in pajamas the next afternoon to a knock at the door. She turned the knob and there was Brian, standing in a white t-shirt and faded jeans, his hair still damp from the shower.

“I hope it’s okay,” he said. “Your doorman let me in.”

She rested one hand against the frame of the door and looked at him, trying to figure out what he wanted.

“I guess maybe your building needs tighter security,” Brian said. And when Clare said nothing he smiled slightly and added. “It was a joke.”

“I know,” she said, softening. “I’m just not used to having people knock on this door.”

“Can I come in?” he asked.

“Sure,” she said. He followed her into the apartment and sat down on the couch. She stood against the wall, her arms crossed, covering her body.

“I don’t have any coffee or anything to offer you,” she said.

“That’s okay.”

 The light in the apartment was flat. Outside the sky was white. She felt exposed, having him in her space.

“Listen,” Brian began and then stopped and looked directly at her. “Can you come sit down?”

Clare moved to the couch, studying his face in the light.

“I just wanted to say that I think last night was really messed up. I needed you to know that I had nothing to do with it.”

“Oh,” she said, her body flooding with relief.

 He moved closer to her. “I was up all night thinking about you.”

“You don’t have to worry about me,” Clare said. “I’m fine.”

“It’s not that,” he said.

And then he was reaching for her, his hands cupping her face and pulling it towards his. He pressed his mouth against hers and she kissed him back, desperately. She could smell the soap. She could feel the muscles of his back beneath his cotton shirt.

He rested his forehead against hers and whispered, “I’m going to save you from all this.”

Something inside her stomach tightened. Brian put his hand on her left breast and squeezed. His mouth was wet against her ear.

“But first I’m going to show you what it’s like to be fucked by someone who’s not paying you,” he said.

He pressed her into the cushions of the couch, pushing up her shirt and pulling down her pajama shorts, and then he pulled down his jeans, his underwear, leaving his shirt on. His tongue darted into her mouth, stabbing her.

“You don’t have to pretend with me like you do with them,” he said, pushing himself inside of her. He moved without rhythm, gasping until he thrust one last time and collapsed on top of her.

“Brian,” she whispered. “I don’t pretend with them.”

He pulled himself out from her and stood abruptly.

“Then what are you?” he asked. “A whore?”

She studied him, standing over her, this boy who had climbed to the 30th floor of the tower she lived in, thinking he could rescue her like a knight. But she lived in a high rise apartment, not a castle. This wasn’t Camelot; this was Las Vegas.

“You can let yourself out,” she said.

The door slammed shut and Clare laid there, breathing in and out in the amber light, watching the citrus colored sun fall over the balcony. She stretched her limbs like a cat in a sunbeam. She stayed there for a while, watching the shadows lengthen, listening to the helicopters return from day trip tours to the Grand Canyon.

After the sun dropped below the Spring Mountains, she pulled herself off of the couch and made her way to her closet. It was just her now.

She stood there naked, running her hands over the sparkling dresses on hangers. There was the pink one with the lace, the black one with the leather and the blue one with the flowers. The phone rang, and it was a number she didn’t recognize. A smile spread over her face.

 The pink one, she decided. Yes, of course.

Krista Diamond's fiction and personal essays have appeared in Barrelhouse, Barren Magazine, Longleaf Review, After Happy Hour Review and elsewhere. She also regularly contributes to Eater, Desert Companion and Nevada Magazine. She lives in Las Vegas, Nevada with her husband and her dog, Presley.

[peachyzens]

car washer! junhui au

car washer! junhui au

genre: fluffffff summary: the thought of working in the blazing sun all the day made you dread coming to work, but not if there was someone there to make everything better (2,363 words) a/n: i know i originally planned for jun to be a barista…but the thought of this was too good to pass but anyways idk if there’s a technical term for this job so !!! series masterlist can be found here!

alright so junhui

when he moved to seoul from china he needed a job that required little to no conversation with people since he was still learning the language

so he ended up finding a job as a car washer!!!

it was more labor intensive than what he preferred but it was something he could do

not to mention it was a great arm workout

so anyways, junhui would be THAT person out in the sun, wearing sleeveless white tanks, have his hair messily slicked back, while rocking a pair of aviators

we all know what happens to white clothes when it gets wet! it becomes see through

so needless to say, junhui brought in a lot of business LMAo

people would be driving down the street and then when they see him holding and waving around a sign for a car wash with a little smirk on his face, they are intrigued

like why is this model guy out here??? washing cars and not walking down a runway???

good question

junhui would ALSO be that guy that when he reaches over the windshield, he flexes

he knows the people inside are watching and probably drooling

so he just has that knowing smirk on his face

people would give him quite the generous tips, in which he responds with genuine smiles

who would’ve known that a job as a car washer could pay so well! only if you’re junhui

so anyways

you too were looking for a part time job

and after countless applications to restaurants, stores, basically anywhere

the only place that called back was for a car washing job!!!

you were honestly very tempted to turn it down, considering you applied not even thinking they would get to you

but luck works out in mysterious ways!!!

so you say screw it and go for it

and you got it!!!!! much to your despair!!!!!!

let’s just say you are not much of an outdoorsy person, you prefer to be in a nice air conditioned room rather than outside in the smoldering heat

but a job is a job, and you needed money

plus this was one of few jobs that would take tips so!!! extra $$$

so on your first day, dread filling your system, you walk up to the little kiosk that is your new workplace

where you are greeted by none other than the man!!! wen junhui!!!

and you were kinda starstruck for a moment because w o w he is a beautiful man

but then he kinda just gave you a small smirk and nod before he was off

snapping back to reality

you go in and greet your boss, who was expecting you

“y/n you’re here!!! oh, did you see junhui on his way out?? that’s going to be your new coworker!” he spoke enthusiastically to you

so now you had a name to the cute face

but then you realized he said coworker and you almost flipped

that means…you would be seeing that model man for the entirety of your career there

maybe it wasn’t that bad of a job after all heheh

so yeah your boss talks you through the basics

often referring to junhui as he was in the middle of washing a car right now

basically you were going to be his assistant lmao

so without further ado, you start working!

you and junhui developed a system where you would soak the lower parts of the car that you could reach, while junhui would take on the higher parts to flex

and by the time you were done with your first car, you were ready to take a break

but of course!!! another car pulls in

and you just have a done look on your face and you hear junhui chuckle a bit at you before nodding his head towards the car, a sign of him telling you to join him

so you do

and this is how the rest of your first day goes

you and junhui actually didn’t share any words at all, you thought he couldn’t talk until you heard him thank the customers that would come out to give him a tip

but you heard the little bit of an accent in his voice so you pieced all the puzzle pieces together

he was a foreigner unfamiliar with the language, not an unsocial butterfly!!

so the next day, you gathered up your courage to finally introduce yourself to him!!

“i’m y/n, by the way”

“i know”

“oh ok”

and that was IT

literally you cringing internally at that conversation

but you convinced yourself he would eventually open up to you!!!

so after that, you guys only did share the smallest talk

“hi how are you”

“good how are you”

“good”

the more you went to your job the more you didn’t mind it, you just wished you and junhui would talk more so you aren’t bored out of your mind

when it would be really slow, you both would go out to the sidewalk with your signs and just wave them around, gathering more attention

and even though junhui was smiling and putting on a show for the crowd, it was dead silent between you two

basically you thought junhui hated you and you were ready to quit

but one day, one day finally

junhui ACTUALLY started a conversation with you!!!

and you kind of just stared at him with a look as if he just saved the earth from global warming

and he just blankly stared at you back

“what brought you here?” he asked

and after an short and awkward staring contest, you finally snapped out of it to respond

“i needed a job”

“me too”

and it was silent again

but nope, you gathered your courage to continue a conversation he actually started because who knows when this would happen again!!!

“what brought you to this job?” you asked him

he kind of just stared at you with a blank look as he was processing your words

“i needed a job with no talking”

you nodded in understanding

“where are you from?” you asked, shocked at how you guys were ACTUALLy having a conversation after weeks of working together

“china” he responded, and you nodded in understanding

that ended up being the last of your conversation but its ok!!! that’s enough progress for a day

so the next day, junhui greets you with a smile that is bigger than his small little smirks he used to always give

and this time, he’s initiating the conversation with you!!

he’s asking you more questions about yourself, like about your family, your preferences

and you guys are actually having a good time talking to each other!!!

you noticed how much he improved in speaking his newly learned language confidently, and you told him that

to which he actually responded with a sheepish smile

“i’m sorry i didn’t talk much at first, i was nervous”

“it’s alright!! i understand, it’s hard learning a new language, but you can always ask me for help!!” and he thought about your offer with a smile!

and he really did take you up on that offer, because the next day at work he would ask you some questions he had about the korean language, and you would gladly answer

you even taught him more vocab!!

this would happen basically every day at work, junhui’s korean abilities grew while your friendship with him grew!

it grew to the point where you guys would even hangout on your days off!!!

junhui once mentioned how the only places he goes to are work and his apartment, which made you a lil sad

so you promised to take him out to some of your favorite spots!!!

even though you were inwardly panicking at yourself for suggesting what might seem like a date, junhui wholeheartedly agreed!

and that is how you guys found yourselves at one of your favorite barbecue places on your days off

you honestly thought it would be awkward, but it was not!!!

junhui has gotten way more confident in conversing with you

“by the way, i never got to thank you for helping me and my korean, also for encouraging me! so thank you” he said one day over a meal

you were honestly melting and your cheeks were probably blushing, but junhui was too focused on his food to notice

“no problem, i’m glad i could be a help!!!”

you two practically became best friends, mainly since you guys saw each other basically every day

now you looked forward to going to work, since you now had a good friend that made time go by way faster!

junhui would teasingly splash water on you, causing you to splash some back

and it ends up in a water fight that ends when your boss comes out to see the both of you drenched

and of course, junhui is in his white tshirt and you try to ignore the outline of his abs but you can’t help but take a few peeks

“are you checking me out?” he would call you out with a smirk

“w-what no!!!! i thought there was something on your shirt” you stuttered as you suddenly found an interest in the rocks in the pavement

“it’s alright, since it’s you i’ll let it slide” he spoke smoothly

and you were just cursing inside your head like when did he become so smooth!!! is this what you taught him????

“um yeah oKay then let’s get to washing cars a ha!!!” you said as awkward as possible as you just ran to the new car to avoid his knowing stare

junhui just chuckled at you

he has noticed you taking some sneak peeks of when his white shirt would get soaked

but he wasn’t in the position to say anything when he admired how you would run your fingers through your hair at times

aNyWaYs

you both harbored a tiny lil crush on each other but you both were too afraid to damage your friendship that neither of you acted on it!!!

until oNe day

when an old friend of yours came into town

you were just so excited to see him that you cancelled all your plans with junhui on your guys day off

“what am i going to do without you i’m going to be so bored and locked up in my house :(“ he would whine to you when you told him

you would just roll your eyes back at him

“jun i think you can speak enough korean to go out and about no problem”

“you don’t know that!!!”

“i DO know that since i taught you something like everyday for the past months”

“well still, i’m going to sit at home and wait until you come back :<“ he pouted

and your heart just melted

not only at his adorable little face but because of his WORDS

you have noticed that junhui would speak to you in flirty ways sometime but you would just brush it off, thinking it’s just his personality

meanwhile junhui..is questioning your density

he is wondering why you haven’t questioned him about anything when he has been so blatantly trying to make a move for the past weeks now

it did take him a lot of thinking of whether or not he should go for you or not, but he is determined that y’all are soulmates so he wasn’t backing down now!!!!

and when he was finally fed up with it, he kinda just confessed to you in a casual way

it all started on a day when you both were washing a car

and today you were more noticeably in a good mood

“why are you so perky today it’s so weird” he asked you from the other side of the car

“shutup and let me live, i know you love me” you retorted sarcastically

and this was where normally junhui would be like “gross no stay away from me” as apart of your guys friendship,,, but he just

“yeah i really do” he just stated, as if it was the most obvious thing in the world it was

and you were so ready to retort something sassy back when you were just like “wait what”

he just stands up from his side of the car and looks at you straight in the eye

“i don’t know if you noticed but i really do like you, i’ve been purposely flirting with you for the past month to get you to notice but you never did so i give up and i’m just saying it now”

CUE YOUR SILLY BLUSHY SELF

noticing your reddening cheeks, he just smiled that happy smile that always came out when you were around

you couldn’t believe what you just heard so you just began cleaning the lower part of the car to avoid his adoring eyes and smile that made you melt

“s hutup and get back to work” you would say through the midst of your burning cheeks and beating heart

you were so caught up in your thoughts that you didn’t even realize junhui made his way over to your side

“so is that a yes?”

you yelped and fell on your butt, not expecting him to be there and put his face SO CLOSE TO YOURS

“oh my god i hate you!!!! and yes to what??” you smacked him as he bursted out laughing at your clumsy self, before rolling his eyes at you playing dumb

“to my confession, what else did i ask you in the past five minutes?” he stated nonchalantly, helping you clean your side of the car

and just when you thought you calmed down your heart and cheeks, it started to race again

“yeah i guess” you stated, trying to be nonchalant like him

junhui just looked over to you with an amused smirk and raised eyebrow

but when he saw your burning cheeks, he knew that you felt the same way

so with a quick kiss to your cheek, junhui ran off back to the other side

and you both were smiling like the little lovestruck dorks you were ❤️

[joyful-mollymauk]

Lost Souls & Revelry: Chapter 2

Here is the thing finally! Sorry for the delay!

It’s also on AO3!

She’s feeling the itch. It’s the worst time for it, really. Her flask is empty and she’s in a small town, somewhere it’s hard to disappear into a crowd. She knows it’s a bad time, but she’s tried to ignore the itch all day and she’s going out of her mind. She has her eye on a beautiful red glow. The sun is shining and glittering through a row of bottles, lined up along the edge of a kiosk on the street. The bottle has shiny gold foil on the top and it looks like a ruby and Nott is pretty sure it’s alcoholic. It’s like it has her name written on it. Nott hunkers down in the shadows. She touches her mask, making sure that it’s still in place. The little marketplace is as busy as it gets at the moment, and she probably won’t get another chance this good to snag something and get away without being seen. Her heart is beating hard but it’s partly anticipation as she eyes her prize. It’s risky in a town this small. She’s spotted just a small handful of Crownsguard throughout, but they’re certainly present. But she can’t wait. She needs something to soothe her nerves before she moves on. Since her encounter with that human mage in the outskirts, she’s been having strange dreams. Last night she had a horrible nightmare about being on a boat, nothing on the horizon but water and more water. It was a bad morning to wake up to an empty flask. She’ll be quick. She’ll grab the bottle and blend into the crowd before anyone’s the wiser. Nott takes a deep breath and steps out into the street. 

...

Beauregard breathes in deeply, her eyes closed. She centers herself in the physical feeling of her body. Her hands rest on her knees. Her monk vestments are soft and loose and familiar on her skin. She keeps her shoulders back, opening her whole torso for her even, measured breaths. The sun is shining down on her face, which itches with dirt and new growth and— “Gods damn it!” Beau shouts. A shabby ginger guy scowls at her. “If you cold please stop it,” he snaps, “I am trying to concentrate.” “So am I, asshole!” Beau shoots back. “I’m trying to concentrate on not having any of these fucking out-of-body experiences, but you’re here anyway!” “I am also trying to avoid more of this ridiculous shit,” the man snaps. He turns sharply away from her, fumbling through his pockets. Beau slams her eyes closed and fucking breathes. She breathes out through her nose like her teachers tell her, only it comes out in a huff instead of one silent release of tension because that fucking guy is still there. “How about,” the guy says, voice tight and stilted, “you focus on your shit and I will focus on mine, yes? You are clearly not a wizard, so you are no concern of mine.” Beau flips him off. “You’re the one ruining my meditation here. I’m trying to do some monk shit and block this out, okay, you’re the one invading my head!” “None of this makes sense!” the man yells, spinning back around. “Neither of you should be able to see me at all!” “What do you mean, neither of us?” Beau narrows her eyes. “Did you see that blue tiefling, too?” The guy looks taken aback. “What tiefling? No – a goblin woman appeared in front of me.” He grips roughly at his own hair, and Beau’s scalp tugs uncomfortably. “What is happening?” Beau leaps up. “Hey, wait a sec, I’ve got—” He rears back, hands flying toward her. “Don’t—!” Beau falls on her ass hard. He’s gone. It’s just her alone in the meditation room. “Fucking damn it!” … “This is the coolest thing ever!” Fjord smiles down at the rope in his hands. He can feel the salt spray from the water, the wind whipping through Jester’s dress as she holds her arms out wide. She’s been skipping around the deck since she popped in a few minutes ago. She’s got a boundless energy and curiosity for new things, and Fjord’s deeply grateful that whatever weird connection they’ve got, it seems to be giving Jester Fjord’s own sea legs. “Do you think I can do that?” Fjord glances up. His first furtive look is around the deck, to see if there’s anyone nearby to hear what sounds like him talking to himself. Reassured, he glances over to Jester. She’s looking up into the ship’s rigging, watching crew members hard at work dozens of feet off the ground, clinging to ropes or scrambling across ladders. Her big blue eyes go back to Fjord as she grins. “Can you do that? Can we try it?” Fjord chuckles at her enthusiasm. “Sorry, Jester,” he mutters. He knows she can hear him, even standing a dozen feet away engrossed in the bustle and work of the ship. “It’s not my job today, I’m needed right where I am.” She sighs and comes over to flop down next to him. “But what you’re doing isn’t as cool,” she grumbles. She glances over at the rope in his hands. “You’re not even braiding, like, hair or flowers or ribbons or anything. Couldn’t you put some ribbons in there? Just to make it look nicer, I’m sure it will still be a great rope even if there are ribbons in it.” Fjord shakes his head, smiling. “It’s not that kinda rope, Jester, sorry to disappoint. Just needs to be functional is all.” Jester snorts. “Things can be functional and also be pretty,” she chastises. Fjord blinks, and looks over to see the rope in her hands as he looks at her. She’s deft and practiced with it, just as much as he is. Because she’s me, Fjord realizes with a jolt. She’s doing as well as me because I am doing it. He shakes his head, and the weird transposition snaps back into place. He looks sidelong at Jester to see if she noticed the feeling of trading places for a moment. She’s got a book out, though, and she’s not even looking at him or the rope anymore. “Just like this,” she says, and Fjord gets the feeling that she’s speaking to someone else – some third person that he can’t see or hear. Is that possible? Is Jester some kinda magic-uses that teleports herself around talking to all kinds of people? “… and it could have like that really nice paint in there, too, that looks just like actual gold, ooh! And you could hang up lots and lots of curtains for little rooms, you know to make like your bedroom, and your dressing room, and lots of them until you basically just have your whole house—” He watches her hands move across the page as his own fingers twine the rope around and around and around. … Yasha glances around one more time. She’s not sure what she expects to see, camping out a mile off the road like she is, but she just wants to make sure. There’s no one in sight, nothing interrupting the quiet sounds of animals rusting about their lives. She sits down and leans back against a tree, getting comfortable. Her sword is close at hand, as always. She’s safe. “Molly?” she calls tentatively. There’s no ripple, no feeling of displacement or magic being worked. She is just suddenly sitting next to Mollymauk, flooded with the sensations of their tent at the carnival. It’s no illusion; she feels the warm, washed-soft flannel of Molly’s sheets, the tent flap thrown open to let daylight and a breeze in, the familiar smell of Mollymauk’s perfumes and soaps. Molly himself lights up at her appearance. “Hello, you,” he beams. Yasha smiles at him as he leans over and pecks her on the cheek. It’s just the two of them in the tent at the moment. Molly’s swords are laid out on his gaudy coat, and his backpack is open next to Yasha. Desmond’s side of the tent is empty and cleared out. “Where are we headed?” Yasha asks. Molly flops down next to her on his bedroll and leans into her shoulder while he continues packing his belongings. “Further southeast?” he says, tilting his head. Yasha shakes her head fondly. It’s never a certain thing to ask Mollymauk where the circus was going to end up. He notices her movement and shrugs. “I think I recognized the name Gustav is aiming for, but honestly I’m probably wrong.” “Hm.” Yasha thinks of her current camp, deep in the forest. If Molly is right this time, the circus is heading in her direction this time, or close enough. He sneaks a glance at her, sidelong. For a second her heart skips, and she thinks, this is the time you’ll have to lie to him. Then his lips tick up to reveal one sharp tooth, and he bumps his shoulder into hers. Molly doesn’t ask. He packs up his things, and he tells her about the local halfling children who will be sad to see the carnival go, who have been entranced by Molly’s card-readings and flashy jewelry for the past few days. She brings out the book he gave her and shows him three new flowers she found, tough but colorful little mountain blooms in white and blue and orange. Molly doesn’t ask, and Yasha doesn’t say just in case, but she feels that she’s close to finishing this task. This new situation with Molly is nice – she can check on him, talk to him, sit with him around the fire at night and listen to everyone laugh and talk together. She doesn’t have to worry about him while she’s gone. She knows that he could call on her if he was really in trouble. But she still likes having something to look forward to at the end of her tasks, something to point her feet towards and go with purpose. She likes going back to where Mollymauk is. She may not have a place to call home anymore, but going towards Molly always feels right. Outside the tent, Gustav calls his name. All of Molly’s things are packed, and it’s time to move on. Yasha presses a quick kiss into the soft purple curls between Molly’s horns. “I’m here if you need me,” she says softly. “Always.” Molly leans into her for a moment, warm and lanky and comforting. “Be safe, you,” he mutters. Then she is by herself again, leaning against a tree in the brightening daylight. But she’s still smiling.

[imaginationstimulation]

He cupped the two halves of my tush and spoke directly to them. “Run away with me, girls,” he whispered. “She doesn’t understand our love.”

I lay still, staring out the window, letting them have their time together. If I protested, I’d only make his case stronger: I’m less fun than my own butt. Which is not untrue. In my essence, I am a stone, unmoving for ten thousand years, unless picked up and moved. It’s not just sex; I find this whole experience—life—gratuitously slow and drawn out. See it crawl, second by fucking second. If I’m a workaholic, it’s only because I hate work so much that I’m trying to finish it, all of it, once and for all. So I can just ride out the rest of my life in some kind of internal trance state. Not a coma but, like, a step above that.

Our son, Sam, trotted in sleepily, and I warned him not to get in the bed: “It’s all bloody.” Alex quietly removed his hands from my body; he hadn’t noticed that I was bleeding. Sam pulled back the sheets and studied the mess, smiling giddily. “You got your period.”

“Yes.”

“You said it was coming soon and you were right!”

“Yep.”

This new generation of men has been taught (by me) to feel excited about the menstrual cycle. It’s like tadpoles turning into frogs or the moon that follows them wherever they go. I’ve been waiting a long time to have my period cheered on. More and more women my age have given up on our men and are getting together with millennials, youngsters raised by women who were born in the sixties, rather than the forties. I hear it’s great. Not a lot of hangups. But that isn’t an option for me because I need a man with a historical perspective that encompasses my whole lifetime. If anything, I regret not having met Alex sooner. If we had met at my birth and I had been able to assess how narcissistic my parents were, I could have left the hospital with Alex and got started on our relationship immediately. He would have been eight years old—young, but not too young to keep me alive. I need that in a man.

Sometimes my love for him is so intense that I want to crawl inside his body. I want him to be pregnant with me and never give birth, just hold me in. At other times, I wonder, Who is that guy? And why is he in my house? When I get that look on my face, he sticks out his hand and says, “Hi, I’m Alex. Your husband.”

Sam used his small pointing finger to tap each old bloodstain on the sheet; they dated back more than a decade, a disgusting constellation. It was one of those things you didn’t notice until suddenly you did. Like ants. Like everything.

I dressed and brushed my teeth. If I went to the mall immediately and got a new sheet, then the chore wouldn’t have time to gather weight. Once a task goes on the to-do list it settles in, grows roots—the trick is to preëmpt that. I could get a tent light while I was there. We were going camping the next weekend with another family, although unfortunately I wasn’t sure I would be able to join. Too much work to do.

“I can get new sheets,” Alex said, slowly climbing out of bed, limb by limb. Sam asked if we would be watching TV today, yes or no.

“Not sheets—just one fitted sheet. There’s only one place that sells Cariloha-brand California-king sheets individually. What is it?”

“Macy’s?”

“Nope.”

“Amazon?”

“Definitely no. I told you about my bad experience—”

“You did. I forgot.”

Bedding is an unregulated corner of Amazon, where companies charge radically different prices for the same bad sheets. You can’t even get nicer sheets by paying more—money has no meaning there. And don’t bother typing in words like “Egyptian cotton” or “thread count”—you’re just offering them more precise ways to bamboozle you. Get up, find your keys and your purse, and go outside. I hate it as much as anyone, but sometimes you just have to.

My plan was to park on the street and walk into the mall, get the sheet, and go. By not parking in the parking garage, I would outwit the psychology of the mall designers who wanted you to sever ties with the outside world. But walking in off the street was disorienting. I entered through Bloomingdale’s and had to wade through the store; it was like pushing through coats to enter Narnia. Once I made it into the mall, I had no idea where I was. It took me a long time even to find a map, then I traced my finger back and forth between You Are Here and the Low Cost Luxury Sheets Kiosk to memorize my path. The man standing next to me took a picture of the map and then trekked on, studying his phone. Pretty clever. As I walked, I glanced sideways at his tan, brawny body and floppy brown hair, just to confirm. Yes. He was a famous person. An actor. Or maybe a hotelier. Maybe this was André Balazs or whatever his name was. No, an actor. Electricity revved through my veins for no particular reason, just as a courtesy to his stature. I kept an eye on him as I walked toward the sheet kiosk, bracing myself for the moment when he would peel off in another direction. But he didn’t; we continued walking alongside each other, and I began to feel that we were together. And he kept looking at me, out of the corner of his eye. This couldn’t be true but it was. Somewhere between BabyGap and Lady Foot Locker the tables had turned. Now he recognized me.

I was twenty-two when the video was shot. I needed quick money so I could get out of a bad relationship—not a lot, just first and last and a security deposit. I couldn’t admit my plight to my parents, because I had already done this and they had written me a check, with great relief, and that was what my quasi-abusive boyfriend and I had been living off for the past six months. He had come up with the ploy.

“Make it sound bad but not too bad. Don’t say I hit you. Say I threw a chair at you or something.”

“You did throw a chair at me.”

“Obviously I wasn’t fully serious when I did that.”

I felt obligated to stay until my parents’ money ran out, since asking for it had been his idea. Then he punched not my face but the wall right next to my face and I had to move very quickly from terror to concern and rush him to the emergency room, where a young, temporary doctor said that we could either wait four hours for the real doctor to arrive and fix the bone in my boyfriend’s hand or let him “have a go.” The temporary doctor high-fived me after he’d popped the bone back in.

The next morning, I woke up early and walked down to the cluster of newspaper boxes in front of the old people’s bar, and discreetly pulled out the sex-themed paper. I’d always known that this option would be there for me if I really needed it. Just as my parents were there if I really needed them, except for this one time.

I chose the job that seemed to offer the most money for a one-time deal. I thought that they would shoot it in a hotel but it happened in an apartment, on an old couch. I wasn’t directed so much as given a series of props to make my way through, like an obstacle course. A turquoise Teddy bear, a pillow, an empty beer bottle, a metal bowl. Not everything was clear to me (the bowl), but I was too nervous to speak; I just laughed again and again to demonstrate consent. My biggest fear was that one of these men, the man with the lights or the cameraman, would misinterpret my nervousness and halt everything, shutting down the set on the ground that I was being objectified against my will. At that age, I assumed that everyone, deep down, was a feminist. So one had to be careful not to trigger feminism where one didn’t want it.

I was waiting for a costume, something black and sexy or pink and trashy that would help catapult me out of myself. Instead, a man with a baseball cap, who was maybe the director, just said, “O.K., we’re rolling.” I was in shorts, a T-shirt, and sandals. I looked down at my shirt. It was from a sushi restaurant in my home town, but if you just glanced at it you might think it was racist, because of the fake Asian lettering. I imagined thousands of viewers waiting for this racist girl to get herself off. I quickly undressed and made a scissors gesture to the camera to indicate that this first part, the part with the racist shirt, should be cut. No one acknowledged this suggestion, so I rubbed against the Teddy bear, and rode the big pillow. I held the bowl, uncertain, and then set it aside. I put the beer bottle into my vagina. With all this moving around, it was impossible to become even slightly turned on—back then I had to shut my eyes and make my body completely stiff to generate any feeling. But no one said anything until after I had heaved my last fake orgasmic sigh.

“O.K., we got that,” a woman with a clipboard said. The man in the baseball cap gave me a firm nod, like a satisfied coach. I understood then that the five-hundred-and-fifty-dollar fee was not the price of my beauty or my sex appeal; it was my naïveté that I’d sold. Every person, no matter how plain, has one great erotic performance in her—the one in which she doesn’t know what she’s doing and is desperately trying to save her life. A second performance would be a copy of the first, which would require skills I didn’t have.

My face wasn’t anywhere you could see it unless you entered a credit-card number and clicked past dozens of professionals—“college beauties,” “hot Korean girl,” and so on. But a few people made it through the gauntlet. The first time I was recognized was at a healthy-Mexican restaurant; a pale man in gym clothes stared at me for a long time before making a scissors gesture in the air. It was electrifying, as if all my clothes had fallen off at once. I looked away but there was no denying our intimacy; he’d come while watching me. The next one was a father with his family; he scissored his fingers down low, surreptitiously. The last was a butch lesbian teen-ager; she just walked right up to me and asked. Each time, I’d hurry home and enter my credit-card number, clicking quickly past the college beauties and the hot Korean girl. Though I’d felt nothing at the time, seeing myself through these people’s eyes was profound and overwhelming. I’d cry out with abandon; my body would shake and shiver as I came. Then I’d sleep, immediately, for at least two hours.

The video shoot became the central sexual experience of my life; to this day, I can’t orgasm unless I imagine that I’m the pale man, the dad, or the young lesbian watching it, sometimes all of them together, crowded around one computer screen. I’m them, I’m me, I’m them, I’m me, I come. I showed it to each boyfriend I had after that, to blow their minds but also to explain my sexual orientation; I was oriented around myself in that video and anyone who’d seen it. There was only one boyfriend I didn’t tell. He was a very classy man, emotionally speaking, and I didn’t want to give him any indication of basket-casery. After I married him, I kept meaning to bring it up, to draw him into the fold of my sexuality, such as it was. But I waited too long; we were so close now. And after the butch lesbian there was a lull, a seventeen-year lull, in which no one recognized me.

I arrived at the Luxury Sheets Kiosk and the brawny man with floppy brown hair idled a few feet away, trying to decide what to do. The scissoring gesture didn’t seem to occur to him. I ran my hand over the sheets while the cashier rang up a tall woman who kept adding one more thing. His eyes met mine, and I gave him a secret little smile. Truth is, I wanted to collapse with relief. Though a lot had happened in the past seventeen years—marriage, a child, my career—it was suddenly clear to me that I’d only been going through the motions, an exhausting simulation. I wasn’t a stone. I was one of life’s biggest fans, the best example of a living thing. The amateur sex video was like a seed I had planted in my youth; it would always sustain me. Not financially but by sending me these messengers when I was most in need. My blood moved around in my body; I felt the purpose of every muscle. I was ready to dance. And just then a beat began, so I rocked my hips and pressed my wrists together, swinging them like a girl in bondage who nonetheless wanted to party. The beat ended abruptly; it was the tall woman’s ringtone.

“Hello?” she answered impatiently; she had enough going on with all these sheets. I couldn’t believe I’d danced to her ringtone. Maybe it was O.K. Who knows? Who can really see themselves? He was approaching. He was nearly beside me, his face open with surprise. I opened myself, too.

“You’re my neighbor,” he said.

“In what sense?” I said, my eyes twinkling.

“Well, in the sense that I live in the house next door to yours.”

“The house on the corner?”

“Yeah, it’s a duplex. We live in the apartment that faces Amador Street.”

“Oh. Do you park on Amador?” I was bringing up parking just to hurt myself. I hated this conversation.

“I park on Amador and my wife parks in the garage,” he said. “Although lately we’ve been trying to ride our scooters more. I’m Joel.”

I thought about bringing up my husband, tit for tat, but I was too tired. The previous few seconds had taken everything out of me. We parted, saying that we would definitely see each other soon, ha-ha.

I drove the long way around the block to avoid Amador Street on my way home. I parked and turned off the car. It was hot but I left my seat belt on, folded my hands in my lap, and took some slow breaths. Before Joel, I had still believed I could be recognized. Now I knew I was too old. How do you mourn that kind of loss? It just pulls your whole life down. My phone rang: Alex.

“Are you home?”

“Yes. I’m in the driveway.”

“Yeah, we heard you drive up. You coming in?”

“In a sec. I need to pour my heart out to someone so I can be empty and unburdened when I come inside.”

I waited for him to say, “You can pour your heart out to me,” but he was quiet and we got off the phone. He never takes the bait. Which is good. It teaches me to be more direct in asking for what I need. Or does it? So far it hadn’t.

We’d been tunnelling toward each other for years. It was hard work, but the assumption was that eventually our two tunnels would connect. We’d break through—Hallelujah! Clay-encrusted hands finally seizing each other!—and we would be together, really together, for the remaining time that we were alive. So long as we both dug as hard and as fast as we could, everything would work out. But, of course, neither of us knew for sure how the other person’s digging was going. One of us might have been doggedly tunnelling toward the other person, while the other person was curling away in another direction. That person might not even have been aware of how off course he or she was. One of us might have tunnelled straight down for a few weeks, in anger, and then tried to get back on track, but now honestly had no idea where to go. We might break through—Hallelujah!—only to find that we were seizing the dirty hands of a stranger. What to do then? Or we might simply get tired, and stop digging, decide that here was good enough. All the while saying things like “We must be getting close!” and “I can’t wait until the day finally comes!” We might never meet up at all; we might die before it happened. Or worse: maybe there had never been any hope of our meeting up, because what was that even a metaphor for? Oneness? A child’s dream of love? I got out of the car and went inside, carrying the new fitted sheet and the tent light.

The next weekend, I was unfortunately not able to go on the camping trip. I stood in the driveway and waved goodbye to Alex and Sam, tearful for no reason. Then I went inside and walked around the house, room by room, looking at all our stuff through the judgmental eyes of a monk or a nun. I did my work, very slowly, over the course of the day. At 8 p.m. I started watching TV and at 2 a.m. I turned out the light. Then the earthquake happened.

I flew out of bed and moved down the hallway like a person on a wobbly rope bridge. I lurched out the back door and along the side of the house to the sidewalk. The shaking stopped. The street lights were off, no moon. Car alarms were beeping in syncopation. A huge branch was draped across my car. Someone was standing on the corner, waving. It was Joel. I had successfully avoided interaction all week. Now I ran to him through the dark.

“I didn’t get my shoes!” I yelled dumbly, as the pavement trembled again.

Joel thought it was safest to stay outside; I thought so, too—less stuff to be trapped under if it fell. He called his wife, who was in Sun Valley, Idaho. I didn’t call Alex, since I was safe and a middle-of-the-night call is always alarming. Joel’s earthquake-survival kit was more elaborate than ours; we spread out high-tech blankets and pillows on the lawn on his side of the duplex and lay down, waiting for dawn.

Once the car alarms had been silenced, the night was strangely quiet. The freeways were almost empty. Without the lights or the hum of cars, the sky took its place as the foremost thing. Joel and I stared up at it—an enormous gray arena we could fly around in just by lying there.

“Looking at the sky should be a ride at Disneyland,” Joel said.

This was such an accurate way to describe it. I thought about the accuracy for two or three minutes and then said, “Yeah.” We squinted at our houses in the dark and saw that they were leaning; they had shifted. I thought we’d probably move, rather than repair ours; Joel’s was a rental, so he said they’d move for sure. Maybe to Ireland. I said we’d probably move to Ireland, too. The chances seemed high that we would be neighbors again, in Ireland. We scooted toward each other, for warmth, and when I turned on my side Joel spooned me, very innocently. All bodies were good, I realized. Joel’s stocky form beside me was unfamiliar, but good. Hugging. It hit me like a ton of bricks. Hugging was so moving, so basic. Why had I ever taken pride in not being a “hugger”? Two people embracing was the very building block of life.

“Hugging is the building block of life,” I whispered. Joel was quiet and this was exactly right; more words would just take away. I pressed my hand against the lawn, palming the whole earth like a gigantic basketball. Warm tears ran into the hair at my temple, one after another after another. Hello, stranger, I thought. And by “stranger” I meant not Joel but myself. My blood moved around in my body. I felt the purpose of every muscle. It didn’t matter that he hadn’t seen the video.

When I awoke, it was light out and I was lying with the next-door neighbor on his lawn. I could tell right away that our houses were fine. It took only fifteen minutes to straighten up the books and the dishes that had fallen. The earthquake had been big, but no one was saying that it was “the big one.” When Alex and Sam got home, I told a story about hiding under the dining-room table. Our earthquake, the one that Joel and I had survived, was private. I friended him on Facebook the next day and we started e-mailing. Mostly we wrote about details from that night—the silence, the sky, how time had seemed to stretch out. I didn’t have any specific or adulterous plans; I was just wholly open. I saw us going on a road trip. Or maybe taking ayahuasca and throwing up in buckets. His penis was moving in and out of me most of the time. Sometimes I made it very small, like a finger, so that it wouldn’t distract me too much as I worked or emptied the dishwasher. Just a little thrusting tick-tock that drowned out the real sound of time: 7 a.m., 4 p.m., 6 p.m., the most brutal of time’s representatives, but hardly the whole battalion.

I was waiting for Joel’s response to my last e-mail when Alex and I stumbled on him, almost literally. We were coming home from a date night; Joel and his wife were lying on their lawn, staring up at the evening sky. They’d brought out the same pillows and blankets, and a bottle of wine. It was adorable in a way that people like us find cloying, so Alex raised his eyebrows at me before calling out to them.

“Sorry! We usually park farther up but the trash cans are out.”

“No, no,” Joel said, rising to his feet. “We’re good.” He swept his hand toward their reënactment. “It’s a lot more fun without all the shaking!” His wife raised her glass toward me and smiled; she knew the whole story. Alex nodded, cocking his head curiously in my direction. I stared at the familiar blue geometric pattern of the pillowcases. Joel had taken the exquisite energy of our experience and plowed it back into his marriage. How wise. This option had never occurred to me. I had always detonated each thing in the very place where I found it.

Even after I acknowledged that I hadn’t hidden under the dining-room table as I said I had, Alex was still confused. We’d been reading in bed for less than thirty seconds when he started up with the questions again.

“It’s just so unlike you. You hate camping.”

“I know. It was an extreme situation.”

“And you’ve never once said hi to the neighbors.”

“And I still don’t want to! Joel is a completely uninteresting person.” This was now true again.

I turned out my light. He left his light on and lay next to me, waiting. Leaving a space for my confession. I had done nothing. Nothing! My heart pounded nonetheless, the dumb beast. Just as I started to roll over, Alex turned to me and used his big hands to pull all my hair back, stretching my face into surprise. He held me like this, studying my posture of alarm, then let go abruptly and fell onto his back in frustration. We embarked on a silence. It grew and grew until it was a sort of god that we could only submit to. After fifteen or twenty minutes I almost giggled—somebody say something!—and then I realized with horror that he was probably asleep. This wasn’t our silence; it was mine alone. I lay paralyzed as it hollowed and darkened, expanding in every direction with a familiar cruelty. Hello, stranger. Once, many years ago, Alex had saved me from this black hole with the kind of understanding that makes everything else in life possible. Even ingratitude.

He shifted under the covers and I held my breath. If he was awake, I would try. If he was asleep, I would sleep, too, and probably forget to try, or forget that it mattered, or what I meant by try. Try to be brave.

“Are you awake?” I whispered.

“Wide awake.”

I sat up and told the story of the video, starting with my quasi-abusive boyfriend and ending with meeting the neighbor twice. Alex was mostly quiet, only asking a few questions (“What was the bowl for?”). I left out the hugging and the e-mailing and the tick-tocking tiny penis, but, still, when I was finished he silently walked out of the room. I took a breath and held it. I had made a terrible mistake. Why had I done this? My mind stopped, poised to shatter.

Then he came back, holding his computer. He solemnly opened it in front of me, like a violin case before a maestro. I typed in the URL. The Web site looked a little different, but the major landmarks were still there.

“You need a credit card to get to it.”

He left and came back with his wallet. He typed in his credit-card number and I clicked around. I wasn’t sure where to go because the college beauties and the hot Korean girl were gone. It was all new girls. They looked extremely young. I scrolled in a daze. Brunette. Underage. Small tits. I stopped clicking.

“When was the last time you saw it?” Alex said quietly.

“I don’t know. I have it pretty memorized so I don’t need to. . . . Not since we’ve been together.”

“Oh. I think they update . . . you know, just . . . for the viewers.”

It seemed obvious now that they wouldn’t still have a video from the nineties.

“Yeah, of course. I just thought maybe they had a section for . . . alumni or . . . I don’t know.”

I shut the computer. It was too bad. Really too bad. How bad? The consequences would be enormous, I felt.

Alex was in the kitchen now, opening cupboards.

He came back with a Teddy bear, an empty beer bottle, and a bowl. He picked up his pillow and pulled the comforter aside, arranging everything along the foot of the stripped bed.

“I can’t re-create it, if that’s what you’re thinking. It was true amateur porn, not fake.”

“I understand—the real deal.”

“The people who saw it . . . they were really overcome by it. It was their top video to watch, porn-wise.”

As we talked, Alex seemed to be riding the pillow slightly, maybe unconsciously.

“You’re talking about the pale man—”

“The pale man, the dad, and the butch girl. Yes.”

Now he was rubbing the Teddy bear against his crotch. He slid off his boxer shorts. Well. Well, now. I sat back. He was very much an amateur. He didn’t know what he was doing and he was desperately trying to save his life. I’d never seen him move his hips like that. It was funny, or no, actually not funny, just disorienting, slightly grotesque. He picked up the beer bottle, and, after a moment of honest hesitation, sucked its mouth and then—I reached under my nightgown—began slowly working it into himself. I had never wanted to see this, but I came immediately, and hard. He brought himself to the end of the show, manually. I held my breath, waiting for him to come on the new sheet. I’d have to wash it again. Who cares? I do. Just a little. Just enough to ruin each day. And then, with a swift and professional gesture, he grabbed the bowl and came into it. That was what the bowl was for. ♦

Published in the print edition of the

September 4, 2017

, issue.

Miranda July

is a filmmaker, an artist, and the author of five books. Her latest movie, “Kajillionaire,” will be released in September.

[orbemnews]

Beanhead Brothers coffee shop among businesses benefitting from Akron Amazon fulfillment center AKRON, Ohio — Small business is slowly, but surely making a comeback in Southwest Akron. City officials say the growth is due, in large part, to the new Amazon fulfillment center that opened on the site of the old Rolling Acres Mall late last year. Now, local entrepreneurs are capitalizing on the opportunity to grow their businesses and give a boost to the community, like The Beanhead Brothers Coffee House. Co-owner Derek Fromby said he got the idea to open a coffee shop 16 years ago. “Already had the logo, the name, the ideas everything,” Fromby said. So back in 2019, when his business partner Kevin Tyler heard Amazon was building a fulfillment center on Romig Road in Akron, they started looking for locations and found one right across the street. The center created 1,500 new jobs and they wanted to reap some of those benefits. The Beanhead Brothers opened on Nov. 27, just a few weeks after the fulfillment center opened on Nov. 1. “Average person, $5 a cup, like ‘ooh look at those numbers,’” Fromby said. But just a few years ago, a spot on Romig Road was a lot less desirable. The Amazon building currently sits where the old Rolling Acres Mall once stood, a popular hang out and shopping area back in its heyday until it fell into foreclosure and disrepair. “It almost became a cancer on the rest of the business community in and around the area,” Akron Deputy Mayor James Hardy said. It took the rest of the business in the area right along with it. But now with Amazon, there’s new growth. “1,500 to 2,000 jobs that pay $15 an hour that have health insurance on day one. And you don’t need some sort of college degree. Those are really hard jobs to come by,” Hardy said. “Especially when you’re trying to attract economic development to an area where the median household income is only $35,000. We need catalytic investment.” And there’s a renewed hope for the area. “This is sort of like, I’ll say, Black Wall Street because there’s so many black businesses up here, it’s crazy now. My cousin owns a barber college down the street,” Fromby said. “There’s another poetry cafe next door, a nail salon, a daycare.” Hardy said the recent development is only the tip of the iceberg. “The pandemic has done one negative thing, and that is really put a hold on the ability of workers at the Amazon facility to go and eat out, to go and patronize new shops to really create that economic engine that we hope to see,” Hardy said. “So I think it remains to be seen yet how much impact we’ll get. But certainly, the presence of Amazon up on Romig Road in the old Rolling Acres property is a huge, huge win for the corridor from an economic perspective.” Fromby said The Beanhead Brothers has had a slow, yet steady start. Some Amazon employees come over to buy food and drinks, but they’re trying to figure out how to get their products directly into the building through delivery or a kiosk. “It’s a slow growth, but it’s okay. That would be great if we could get over there,” Fromby said. Hardy said he’s reached out to Amazon personally on behalf of The Beanhead Brothers to try to foster a connection between the two, and he said the city is determined to help facilitate partnerships between Amazon and members of the community. “I think 2020 was such a strange year to open that facility that the response has not necessarily been what we’d like to see just yet. But I don’t hold that against the local management or even the regional management of Amazon. I think that they are, like many industries, certainly adapting to the pandemic. They seem to be thriving as a result,” Hardy said. “But that also could mean that opening a facility like the Akron facility at a time at which they did, they might have been overwhelmed with all the work they had. And so really taking advantage of new locally owned businesses in and around the corridor may just not have risen to the level of decision-makers yet. But we’re determined to get it there.” As for Fromby and The Beanhead Brothers, they’re still hoping for that Amazon connection to come through, but they’re also working on other projects within their business. They plan to host live entertainment at the cafe, including a project called Karaoke Comedy that Fromby created. Jade Jarvis is a reporter at News 5 Cleveland. Follow her on Facebook, Twitter, and Instagram. This story is part of The Rebound: Northeast Ohio, News 5’s initiative to help people through the financial impact of the coronavirus by offering one place to go for information on everything available to help and how to access it. We’re providing resources on: Getting Back to Work – Learn about the latest job openings, how to file for benefits and succeed in the job market. Making Ends Meet – Find help on topics from rent to food to new belt-tightening techniques. Managing the Stress – Feeling isolated or frustrated? Learn ways to connect with people virtually, get counseling or manage your stress. Doing What’s Right – Keep track of the way people are spending your tax dollars and treating your community. Do you have an idea for a Rebound story? Email us at rebound@wews.com. window.fbAsyncInit = function() FB.init( appId : '117981068372285', xfbml : true, version : 'v2.9' ); ; (function(d, s, id) var js, fjs = d.getElementsByTagName(s)[0]; if (d.getElementById(id)) return; js = d.createElement(s); js.id = id; js.src = "http://connect.facebook.net/en_US/sdk.js"; js.async = true; fjs.parentNode.insertBefore(js, fjs); (document, 'script', 'facebook-jssdk')); Source link Orbem News #akron #Amazon #among #Bean #Beanhead #benefitting #brothers #businesses #Center #coffee #fulfillment #Mall #News5Cleveland #NortheastOhioNews #shop

[leeuwchen]

17 for Ringsy, please?

Hello Anon, not sure if you wanted 17 for Angst, Fluff or Misc. so I simply tried to put all of them into one prompt. It got a bit out of hand, I guess, and I was quite a bit soap-nostalgic along the way, but here it is [it does include spoilers and speculations about how things might turn out for some of the Schillerallee residents during the next weeks]If you don’t hug me right now, I think I might fall apartI’m here for youOkay, so maybe I didn’t see that coming It’s weird being inside the bakery these days. The room is as bright as usual, the walls painted in light colours, the pleasant smell of bread and rolls and the intoxicating smell of coffee hanging in the air. Still, there is this sombre tension radiating from behind the counter where Irene Weigel’s picture has been put up next to that of her late husband Wolfgang, all shiny and new and looking like it doesn’t belong there. Or maybe it’s just him adjusting badly to change. Easy knows that Saskia has struggled with the decision of putting the picture there, fearing it would unnecessarily hurt Robert even more than he is hurting already but he was all for it - telling Saskia that this was where Irene belonged, that it was all about the legacy of the place. So now she has joined her first husband in watching their bakery live on smilingly but the grave tension in the room remains and as Easy is watching Saskia strolling around restlessly behind the counter, he can’t shake off the feeling once more that there’s something else behind it than just Irene passing away. The soft sound of the shop`s doorbell lets him turn around and for a moment everything is – well – easy as Ringo is walking in, as gorgeous as ever, casually gesturing to a sign on the left-hand side of the store to place his order with Antoine and then letting himself slump onto the seat next to Easy, sighing deeply, obviously in sync with the room’s general mood. 

“So I guess, your interview didn’t go well?” 

Ringo nods tiredly. 

“Let’s just say that with players like Huber in my neck and the Richters out wanting my head and Spohn still hating my ass, it is hard to get a fair review.” 

“I’m sorry, honey.” 

He lightly brushes his hand through Ringo’s hair and feels the slight turn of his husband’s head as he is leaning into the touch. 

“Don’t worry about me, okay? Even if there is just one decent job they can’t meddle with, I swear to you I’m going to find it and have the last laugh!”

“Well, I know at least one person who wouldn’t care for anything that Huber, the Richters or Spohn says…”

Ringo raises one eyebrow warningly. They have been over this more than once and as for now it has always been in a light-hearted way but Easy knows that this could change in an instant if Ringo feels too hassled.

“I know, you are all for it, Easy, but… as much as I appreciate Paco wanting to do that… I’m just not made for it. The Turnhalle was fun… the best of times… but I never wanted that for life. It’s just not… you know… it’s not or me.”

“I know”, Easy says with a smile, then – because sometimes when Ringo gets like this, he just can’t help himself but has to tease him – he adds innocently: “Then again, you thought you wouldn’t be one to marry either and I have it on good authority that you are very good at it.” Before Ringo can react, Leni has walked up to them, placing his order in front of him. Smiling deviously, he looks up to her. “Can you believe it? Your stepfather just referred to himself as an authority figure. Weird, huh?” But Leni just smiles back at him. “You know, I listen to him.” She leans down a bit, her voice almost a whisper now. “And so do you.” Ringo shakes his head sullenly. “Yeah yeah, just gang up on me, will you? I’m still not going to open a new gym with your old man.” Amused by his sudden moodiness Leni pats Ringo’s shoulder pitingly.

“You mean, you are not going to open a new gym with my dad for now, right?”

“That’s it, I want to speak to your boss. You are openly bullying your customers, you little…”

The smile disappears from Leni’s face. “Actually, so would I. But Saskia has left again for no reas-“ Before she is able to finish her sentence, a customer walks in and smiling apologetically Leni hurries behind the counter to take his order. “Doesn’t sound like Saskia at all, does it? I really wonder what’s behind it”, Easy murmurs worried but Ringo just shrugs. “Cheating. That’s what behind it. I’m telling you.” Easy rolls his eyes.

“Oh yeah, I forgot. Because you could read that in Paco’s face when we asked him what was wrong with her.”   

 “Yes. I could indeed.” 

“And if you are such a master of this art, Hase, with whom did she sleep then?”

Ringo takes a croissant from his dish and turns it around thoughtfully.

“Maybe it’s Antoine. I mean, a man who can bake heavenly stuff like that…”

“You better not have this then.”

With a swift move Easy tries to capture the pastry but his husband is quicker.

“Oi! No need to get all watchful, Bärchen, all I am saying is that the whole love at first sight, swept me from my feet, shiny white knight stuff they had going on maybe isn’t the thing to last forever, you know.”

Easy sighs deeply but can’t hide his amusement. Teasingly his hand gestures towards Ringo while addressing an imaginary audience.

“And today’s key-note speaker on our ‘Romance is dead’-panel… Richard Beckmann!”

Just as Ringo opens his mouth to shoot back an answer, his cell phone vibrates, and he takes it out to check the message. Now in a bad mood again, he pushes it back inside his pocket only seconds later. 

“Well, romance might not be completely dead but my job life sure is. Took them about what… 45 minutes to turn me down. That’s a new record.”

Once more Easy reaches out and lets his hand slide through Ringo’s soft hair who closes his eyes thankfully for a few moments, but this time doesn’t lean into his husband’s touch and instead starts to straighten his tie and suit as if taking care of his armour before he continues to eat in silence. 

It’s early in the evening and for the last twenty minutes Easy has been standing inside the kiosk, staring out of the window, contemplating the street’s fate… or something like that. He is a positive person in general and he knows that moodiness doesn’t suit him well, but he just can’t put his finger on what got into him today. There have always been bad times at Schillerallee 10. They’ve had to let people go, lost people, hated people, been at each other’s throats over small things or huge betrayal but still - just today - this one feels like the big one. With Irene dead, the Weigels in mourning, Saskia being all weird after probably (Ringo might be on to something here) cheating on Jakob, Bambi and Sina broken up after Sina’s secret abortion, Bambi not talking to either Tobias or Vivien because they’ve known about it, Sina dissociating herself from everyone including her family, Conor on the run or whatever got into him after breaking up with Eva and almost killing his own father, Leni going from sadness to defiantness over her mother’s visit, that strange Luke guy lurking around, Ute and Huber constantly fighting, Huber Bau going to the dogs without Ringo and Ringo constantly being turned down for no other reason than having made enemies for doing the right thing it’s hard to see the silver lining. 

As if to prove him right a lanky shadow appears on the threshold, blocking most of the light coming from there. Ringo is wearing his sports clothes and he must have been running hard because he looks like hell – the kind of hell that makes you consider giving up heaven for it but still… hell. “Water, please”, he begs calmly and after Easy has given him a bottle he empties it in one long greedy gulp before focussing his blue eyes on his husband. “Who died and made you king of the funeral party?” Realising what he has just said, Ringo quickly shakes his head while pinching his own nose bridge with both thumb and index finger. “I’m sorry, that was… highly inappropriate. I just wanted to know why you look so glum. What happened?” Easy shrugs his shoulders.

“Nothing really. But I guess… somehow… all the sadness around me has made me sad, too. Kind of sympathy sadness, you know?”

“I see. That’s why I try not to have too much sympathy for people in general. Makes your life easier. But… since I married the most empathetic guy in the world, and I DO have LOTS of sympathy for him… let me help you. What exactly is making you sad?”

Easy starts looking around the inside of the kiosk feeling a bit clueless. Of course, he loves Ringo and his husband has been an understanding, soothing ally to him in more than one case but maybe this one is a bit out of Ringo’s league… too weird to understand, especially when you are a very structured controller. “Easy?” So apparently, he is not getting out of this by just looking around. He takes a deep breath.

“I know it’s silly, but I just can’t deal with everyone around here being sad. The Weigels understandably and Sina and Bambi of course, but it’s not only them… Ute, Eva, Leni, you…”     

“I’m not sad. I’m frustrated.”          

“But that’s the same thing really.”

Ringo is still leaning against the doorframe but now he has crossed his arms and narrowed his eyes determinedly.

“No, it really isn’t. I know that everyone thinks that I don’t have a lot of emotions and I quite agree but the emotions I have I want to have categorized correctly and I am not sad. I am married to the most wonderful man in the world which is something I would have never believed to happen. I live in a flat share with my stupid annoying idiotic half-brother and I actual enjoy it which is likewise a complete miracle. And in the flat next to us where - as I would have stated just three years ago - only boring losers and gullible push overs live, there are my best friend and his teenage daughter who somehow is my stepdaughter as well and in the maybe most absurd twist in my life I love that too. So yes, being out of work is as frustrating an experience as it ever was but I am not sad. In fact, I am happier than I have ever been in my entire life.”

For a few seconds Easy doesn’t know what to say and he wonders if there will ever be a day, he stops underestimating what greatness and candour and kindness Richard Beckmann is capable of. All of a sudden, all the glumness is gone… well almost gone. There is one more thing ne needs, however.

“If you don’t hug me right now, I think I might fall apart.”     

“I’m all sweaty, Easy.”          

“I don’t care.”

With a swift movement Ringo is inside the kiosk, pressing himself against Easy who equally slings his arms around the – indeed sweaty – body. For a minute or two they are just standing there     before Easy starts to worry about the icy air and Ringo catching a cold in his wet clothes. Carefully one of his hand slips underneath the damp T-Shirt caressing the cold skin of his husband’s back.        

“And why have you been running like this?”

Sighing deeply Ringo lets go of him and takes one step back. 

“I talked to Bambi today. Now that he and Sina are broken up, he wants to sell the house and asked me if I would handle it on his behalf.”     

“That doesn’t sound too bad.”

“It isn’t bad at all. He would even retransfer the money I had to pay him for sabotaging the house if I sold it at a good price.”     

“And that’s a problem?”

“Not really, no. But it means selling it to Huber after all.”

“Oh, I see. Is there no other contractor who would be interested? You said it was a prime spot for a new business park, didn’t you?”

“There would be others, yes, but not right away and Bambi wants it to be done quickly. Huber already has – thanks to me – all the numbers and calculations ready so there was no other option than calling him.”

“Oooh”, Easy exclaims, finally understanding the problem. Sure, there isn’t an open war going on between Ringo and his former boss. Huber even had a good time at their wedding and with the kiosk save and sound Ringo had at least achieved one victory and therefore renounced from taking revenge but still, making a business call to his former work place must have hit his husband like a punch in the guts. “Didn’t he buy then?” Ringo snorts.

“Oh, he bought within a second and for a mighty good price without thinking twice.”

“But he didn’t offer you your job back?”, Easy asks tensely, supposing that somewhere deep down this is still what Ringo would want to happen. The other’s mouth twists into a sarcastic sneer.

“He did. Sort of. Of course, since my lack of loyalty is a given fact and the only reason, he is even considering doing so is the stroke of luck I’ve had with Bambi’s house, he announced right away that I would be demoted until I have proven myself worthy of the second chance.”

“He always was and always will be an asshole, Ringo. His business is going down without you.”

“Tell me about it. Still, since we disagreed strongly on who would be giving whom a second chance, I wished him good luck with Britta Schönfeld in charge of controlling and hung up. Then – as usual - I panicked and almost called him back but stopped myself from doing so and went for a run even though the thing’s not worth catching a cold for.”

“You could have come to me instead. I’m here for you.”

Grinning, Ringo nudges his nose against Easy’s.

“I know that, you idiot. But I thought since you are the only provider in our household, I shouldn’t keep you from making money. Had I of course known that you are standing here, scaring the customers away with that rainy-day face of yours, I would have come earlier.”

“You are very funny, you know that? But I didn’t marry you for being funny.”

“Course not. But I still think you could need some help around here.”          

“What do you mean? I’ve got Paco and Gianni…”

“Yeah, but they are only here when you are not. I meant someone to help you when you get all blue all of a sudden these days. Someone funny maybe.”     

“Are you applying for a job you just made up?”

“Yes. And before you ask… I myself cannot believe I’m that desperate for some work.”

With a serious look on his face, Easy scans Ringo’s outfit. 

“And I cannot believe that you would wear this to a job interview, but I guess you could lose these clothes quickly enough.”

Taken off guard, Ringo raises one eyebrow and slightly turns his head, opening his mouth twice without saying something before he recovers.     

“Okay, so maybe I didn’t see that coming.”               

“Neither did we.”

Without either Ringo or Easy noticing Tobias and Vivien have appeared in front of the window, looking inside now. Frowning, Tobias waves one hand through the air. 

“Sorry to interrupt your kiosk sex talk and everything but Paco and Leni invited the four of us over. Apparently, they have been making tapas all afternoon and stuff got out of hands and now they are having a little get together with food, wine and really bad movies… or let’s say, with your playlist, Easy.”

The addressee furrows his brows. Having eaten nothing since breakfast he could indeed do with some food. But that is no reason to let Tobias get away with insulting his taste in movies. 

“Coming from someone who likes to watch something called Naked Space Patrol that’s really harsh, Kotzmeister, so be thankful I like to spend time with you anyway. Let me just close the kiosk and I’ll be ready.” 

Curiously he looks at Ringo, hoping his husband won’t feel pushed by his spontaneous decision but said husband is halfway through the door already. “I’ll just hit the shower then and be over after.” Satisfied Tobias nods. “Take your time. Stinker will have to hit the park first anyway.” The small dog barks in agreement. “And since his hubby sneaked out of it, I’ll help Easy pack up around here”, Vivien offers and starts taking down the magazines from the kiosk’s front wall. 

As Easy steps out of the small building seconds later to get the ketchup bottles from the tables, he can still see Tobias walking away to the park, using his walking stick only every other step while Stinker is eyeing his owner watchful as if to make sure that the lawyer isn’t overestimating his strength. Turning his head a bit, Easy eyes catch Ringo striding into the inner yard of their house, taking huge, rather bouncy steps clearly looking forward to an evening with food, friends and fun – well, mostly food probably – but still, taking all these things into account, Easy can’t help but think that even the gloomiest of times aren’t  that bad when you are living at Schillerallee 10.