#Main Street-Flushing Station

[wanderingnewyork]

Looking down the tracks of the No. 7 line from the Main Street-Flushing Station, #Queens.

[harrysfolklore]

birthdays - cl16

summary: charles and yn's love story spans over two decades, beginning when they meet at charles' 6th birthday party, where she promised to be there for all of his birthdays. wc: 4.6k

folkie radio: HAPPY BIRTHDAY TO MY MAIN BOY 🥹🥹 a few years ago i wrote a fic like this for harry and it’s one of my favorite things i’ve posted so i felt like doing a charles version! i hope you like this as much as i do <3

MASTERLIST | MY PATREON

6th birthday

The sun shone brightly over Monaco as YN and her mother walked down the tree-lined street. The air was filled with the scent of blooming flowers and the salty breeze from the nearby Mediterranean. The little girl clutched her mother's hand tightly, her eyes wide as she took in the unfamiliar surroundings of their new neighborhood.

"Are you excited for the party, sweetheart?" her mother asked, giving her hand a reassuring squeeze.

She nodded hesitantly. "But what if the other kids don't like me?"

"Don't worry, darling. I'm sure you'll make friends in no time," her mother assured her as they approached a beautiful villa with colorful balloons tied to the gate.

As they entered the backyard, they were greeted by the sight of children running around, laughter filling the air. A large bounce house dominated one corner, while a face-painting station was set up near the house. Tables adorned with race car-themed decorations were scattered around, laden with snacks and party favors.

A warm voice caught their attention. "Welcome! You must be our new neighbors."

YN looked up to see a kind-faced woman approaching them, a welcoming smile on her face.

"I'm Pascale Leclerc," she introduced herself, shaking her mother's hand. "And this must be YN! We're so glad you could make it."

She shyly hid behind her mother's leg, peeking out at Pascale.

"Charles!" Pascale called out. "Come here, darling. There's someone I'd like you to meet."

A small boy with tousled brown hair and bright blue eyes came running over, his cheeks flushed from playing.

"Charles, this is YN. She's new to the neighborhood," Pascale explained. "Why don't you introduce her to your friends?"

Charles grinned widely, revealing a missing front tooth. "Hi! Do you want to play with us? We're having a treasure hunt!"

She looked up at her mother, who nodded encouragingly. Slowly, she stepped out from behind her mother's leg.

"Okay," she said softly, "And happy birthday."

Charles's grin grew even wider. He reached out and took her hand. "Come on! I'll show you where we've found clues already!"

For the rest of the afternoon, YN found herself caught up in the excitement of the party. She and Charles searched for treasure and bounced in the bounce house. By the time the cake was brought out the little girl was laughing and chatting with her new friends as if she'd known them for years.

As the party began to wind down and parents started arriving to pick up their children, Charles approached YN, a serious look on his young face.

"YN," he said, "will you come to my other birthdays too?"

"Yes!" she nodded enthusiastically. "We should be friends!"

Charles's face lit up. "Best friends!" he declared, holding out his pinky.

The girl linked her pinky with his, sealing their newfound friendship. As she left the party, clutching a goody bag and wearing a bright smile, she knew she had found something special in her new home.

12th birthday

The wheels of their bicycles whirred as YN and Charles raced down the winding streets of Monaco. The sun beat down on them, but the breeze created by their speed kept them cool. YN's laughter echoed off the buildings as she pedaled harder, trying to keep up with Charles.

"Come on!” Charles called over his shoulder, a mischievous grin on his face. "We're going to be late for my own party!"

She rolled her eyes but couldn't help smiling. "It's your fault for insisting on this bike race, birthday boy!"

They skidded to a stop in front of Charles's house, both breathing heavily but grinning from ear to ear. The front yard was already bustling with activity - balloons bobbed in the breeze, and the chatter of arriving guests filled the air.

As they walked their bikes to the garage, YN nudged Charles with her elbow. "I can't believe you're twelve already. You're practically ancient."

Charles laughed, running a hand through his windswept hair. "Says the girl who's been twelve for a whole two months. Come on, I smell cake!"

The party was in full swing, with kids from their school playing games and enjoying the sunny day. Charles's parents had outdone themselves this year, setting up a mini go-kart track in the backyard. The birthday boy, of course, was the undisputed champion, zipping around the track with a skill that left his friends in awe.

As the afternoon wore on, everyone gathered around a large table. In the center stood a cake, decorated to look like a Formula 1 car, complete with Charles' lucky number on the side. Twelve candles flickered atop the cake, their flames dancing in the gentle breeze.

Charles's eyes widened as his parents brought out the cake and the guests began to sing "Happy Birthday," their voices rising in a cheerful chorus. YN sang along enthusiastically, watching her best friend's face light up with joy.

As the song came to an end, Charles took a deep breath. With a determined look in his eye, he leaned forward and blew out all twelve candles in one go.

While Charles's mother began cutting the cake, YN edged closer to her best friend. "So," she said with a grin, "what did you wish for? To finally beat me in Mario Kart?"

Charles glanced around conspiratorially before leaning in close. "I wished to win the Monaco Grand Prix one day," he confessed, his green eyes sparkling with dreams of future glory.

YN's smile softened. Even after six years of friendship, Charles's passion for racing never failed to impress her.

"Wow," she said. "That's a pretty big wish."

"It's my biggest dream. But you can't tell anyone, okay? Or it won't come true."

"Your secret's safe with me," she promised. Then, struck by a sudden thought, she held out her pinky finger. "Hey, remember when we promised to be friends forever at your sixth birthday?"

"Of course!" Charles's face lit up with recognition, "Best decision I ever made," he said, linking his pinky with hers.

"Well, let's renew that promise. Friends forever, no matter what. That way, when you win the Monaco Grand Prix, I'll be right there cheering you on."

"Deal," Charles agreed, shaking their linked pinkies. "Forever friends."

As they sealed their promise for the second time, both of them felt the weight of it. At twelve, forever seemed like an awfully long time, but neither could imagine a future without the other in it.

16th birthday

The Italian sun was setting, painting the sky in orange and pink as YN made her way through the bustling paddock. The air smelt of rubber and gasoline, the sounds of engines filling her ears. She clutched a small, wrapped package in her hands, her eyes scanning the team garages for a familiar face.

Finally, she spotted him - Charles was standing next to his Formula 3 car, deep in conversation with his engineer. Even from a distance, she could see the intensity in his eyes, the determination set in his jaw. At sixteen, Charles was no longer the little boy she'd met at that birthday party a decade ago. He was taller now, leaner, with the beginnings of stubble on his chin.

"Charles!" she called out, waving to catch his attention.

His head snapped up at the sound of her voice, and his serious expression melted into a wide grin. "YN! You made it!" He excused himself from his engineer and jogged over to her, pulling her into a tight hug.

"Of course I made it," YN laughed, returning the embrace, "I couldn't miss your birthday, even if you insisted on spending it at a racetrack in Italy."

Charles pulled back, his eyes shining with excitement. "I'm so glad you're here. Come on, let me show you around."

As they walked through the paddock, Charles pointed out different teams and drivers, explaining the intricacies of Formula 3 racing. She listened intently, asking questions and marveling at how much Charles had grown not just in stature, but in knowledge and passion for his sport.

They ended up in Charles' team garage, where a small cake sat on a tool cart, a single candle stuck in the center.

"The team got it for me," Charles explained, looking a bit embarrassed. "They said we had to have something, even if we're not having a proper party."

YN smiled softly. "Well, then we better make it count." She lit the candle and started singing "Happy Birthday," her voice soon joined by the mechanics and other team members who had gathered around.

Charles blew out the candle, his cheeks slightly flushed. As the cake was being cut and distributed, YN handed him her gift.

"It's not much," she said as he unwrapped it, "but I thought you might like it."

Inside was a leather-bound journal, the cover embossed with Charles' initials.

"I thought you could use it to write down your thoughts, your goals… maybe even your future Formula 1 strategies," she explained with a wink.

Charles's eyes lit up. "This is perfect. Thank you." He pulled her into another hug, this one lasting a bit longer than usual.

As they sat on the pit wall, eating cake and watching the sun set over the track, YN turned to Charles. "So, how does it feel? Being here, racing in Formula 3… you're so close to your dream now."

Charles nodded, his expression turning serious. "It feels amazing, but also a bit scary. Everything's happening so fast, you know? Sometimes I worry…"

"Worry about what?" she prompted gently.

"That I might not be good enough," Charles sighed, "That I'll let everyone down."

"Charles, look at me," YN reached out and took his hand, when he met her eyes, she continued, "You are the most talented, dedicated person I know. You're going to make it to Formula 1, and you're going to be amazing."

"You really think so?" a small smile tugged at Charles's lips.

"I know so," she affirmed,then, with a playful nudge, she added, "Just promise me one thing?"

"Anything," Charles replied without hesitation.

"When you make it to Formula 1 and become a big star, don't forget about me, okay?"

Charles's expression softened, and for a moment, YN thought she saw something flicker in his eyes - something more than just friendship. But before she could analyze it, he squeezed her hand and said, "I could never forget about you. No matter what happens, you'll always be my best friend."

What YN didn't know was that in that moment, Charles was fighting the urge to tell her how he really felt. That she wasn't just his best friend, but the girl he had fallen in love with years ago.

But the timing wasn't right, not yet.

So he pushed the feelings down, locked them away. There would be time for matters of the heart later. For now, he had a championship to win and a birthday to celebrate - with his best friend by his side, just as she'd always been.

21st birthday

The Monaco night was alive with the sound of laughter and clinking glasses. Charles Leclerc's 21st birthday party was in full swing at a rooftop bar overlooking the Mediterranean.

The who's who of the racing world mingled with Charles' friends and family, all gathered to celebrate the young Sauber driver's birthday.

YN stood at the edge of the crowd, nursing a glass of champagne as she watched Charles work the room. He moved with an easy confidence, shaking hands and exchanging pleasantries with team principals and fellow drivers. Yet every few minutes, his eyes would scan the crowd until they found her, and he'd flash her a quick smile before returning to his conversations.

As the night wore on, YN found herself on the balcony, enjoying a moment of quiet away from the party. The view of Monaco at night was breathtaking - the lights of the city twinkled below, mirroring the stars above.

"There you are," a familiar voice said behind her. "I've been looking for you."

She turned to see Charles approaching, two fresh glasses of champagne in his hands. He handed one to her before leaning on the balcony railing beside her.

"Sorry," she said with a small smile. "I just needed a bit of air. It's quite a party in there."

"Yeah, I think the team might have gone a bit overboard," Charles chuckled, "But I'm glad you're here."

They stood in comfortable silence for a moment, sipping their champagne and looking out over the city.

"So," YN said finally, turning to face him. "How does it feel to be 21? Official adult now, Formula 1 driver… you're living the dream, Charles."

Charles's expression turned thoughtful. "It feels… surreal, honestly. Sometimes I can't believe this is my life." He paused, then added softly, "But you know what the best part is?"

"What's that?"

Charles turned to face her, his green eyes intense in the moonlight. "That you're still here. After all these years, all these changes… you're still by my side."

YN felt her heart skip a beat at the earnestness in his voice. "Of course I am, Charles. I'll always be here for you. We made a promise, remember? Best friends forever."

Charles felt his heart race at her words. "Best friends forever." The phrase that had once brought him so much comfort now felt like a bittersweet reminder of the feelings he'd been harboring for so long.

As he looked at her, bathed in the soft glow of the Monaco night, memories flooded his mind. He thought of her cheering him on at his first go-kart race, of late-night study sessions where he'd catch himself staring at her instead of his textbooks, of the way his heart had leapt when she'd surprised him at his race in Italy on his 16th birthday. He realized he couldn't pinpoint exactly when he'd fallen in love with her because, in a way, he always had been.

The weight of his unspoken feelings suddenly felt unbearable. The thought of going another day, another year, without her knowing the truth seemed impossible. Charles took a deep breath, steeling himself for what he was about to do.

"YN," he said softly, setting down his champagne glass and taking her free hand in his. "There's something I need to tell you."

She looked up at him, curiosity and a hint of something else – was it hope? – in her eyes. "What is it, Charles?"

Charles swallowed hard, his heart pounding in his ears. "You're right, we did make a promise to be best friends forever. And you are my best friend, YN. You're the person who knows me better than anyone else in the world. But..." he paused, gathering his courage. "But you're not just my best friend. You're the one I'm in love with. I always have been."

YN's eyes widened, her lips parting in surprise. Charles pressed on, unable to stop now that he'd started.

"I can't hold back anymore. I've been in love with you for as long as I can remember. Every success and failure, every moment of doubt or triumph – you're the one I want to share it all with. Not just as my friend, but as... as more."

He took a step closer, his eyes never leaving hers. "I know this might change everything between us, and if you don't feel the same way, I understand. But I couldn't let another birthday go by without telling you the truth. You're it for me, YN. You always have been."

For a moment that felt like an eternity, she stood frozen, her eyes locked with Charles's. The weight of his words hung in the air between them, charged with years of unspoken feelings and shared history.

Then, without warning, YN closed the distance between them. She reached up, cupping Charles's face in her hands, and pressed her lips to his in a kiss that was both tender and passionate. Charles, caught off guard for only a split second, wrapped his arms around her waist, pulling her closer as he returned the kiss with equal fervor.

When they finally parted, both slightly breathless, YN rested her forehead against Charles'. Her eyes shimmered with unshed tears of joy as she whispered, "I love you too, Charles. I think I always have."

Charles felt his heart soar, a smile spreading across his face that was brighter than any he'd ever worn on a podium. "Really?" he asked, his voice filled with wonder and hope.

She nodded, a soft laugh escaping her lips. "Really. I just... I never thought you'd feel the same way. You're Charles, I'm just-"

"You're everything," Charles interrupted, his voice firm but gentle. "You're my best friend, my biggest supporter, the person I want to share every moment with. You're the one who knows all of me, not just the racer, but the boy who still gets nervous before every race and who can't sleep without his lucky charm."

YN smiled, remembering the small trinket she'd given him years ago that he still kept with him at every race. "We've been quite oblivious, haven't we?" she said, shaking her head in amusement.

Charles chuckled, pulling her close again. "Maybe. But we have all the time in the world to make up for it now."

As they stood there, wrapped in each other's arms with the twinkling lights of Monaco as their backdrop, both felt as though they were exactly where they were meant to be. The sounds of the party drifted out to them, a reminder of the celebration waiting inside, but for now, they were content in their own world.

"Happy birthday, Charles," YN murmured, leaning in for another kiss.

Charles smiled against her lips. "Best birthday ever," he replied before closing the distance between them once more.

24th birthday

The sun was setting over Monaco as YN stood in front of the mirror, putting the finishing touches on her makeup. She smoothed down her dress, a sleek number in Charles' favorite shade of red. As she fastened her earrings, she felt a pair of strong arms wrap around her waist from behind.

"You look absolutely stunning," Charles murmured, resting his chin on her shoulder and meeting her eyes in the mirror.

She smiled, leaning back into his embrace. "You clean up pretty well yourself, birthday boy," she replied, taking in his sharp suit and perfectly styled hair.

Charles pressed a soft kiss to the curve of her neck, causing her to shiver slightly. "You know," he said, his voice low and playful, "we could always skip the party. Stay here, just the two of us…"

"Nice try, Leclerc," YN laughed, turning in his arms to face him, "But your team worked hard on this party, and all your friends and family are waiting." She reached up, straightening his tie. "Besides, I put a lot of effort into your gift. I want to see your face when you open it."

"Oh? Any hints about what it might be?" Charles' eyes lit up with curiosity.

"Not a chance," YN grinned, tapping his nose playfully. "You'll just have to wait and see."

He pouted for a moment before breaking into a warm smile. "Fine, keep your secrets. As long as I have you by my side, that's all the gift I need."

YN felt her heart melt at his words. Even after all these years, Charles still had the ability to make her feel like the luckiest girl in the world. She leaned in, pressing a soft kiss to his lips.

"I love you," she whispered against his mouth.

"I love you too," Charles replied, deepening the kiss for a moment before reluctantly pulling away. "But you're right, we should get going. We don't want to be late to my own party."

As they drove through the winding streets of Monaco, the city lights twinkling like stars, YN couldn't help but steal glances at Charles. Suddenly, she noticed that they were heading away from the bustling city center.

"Charles?" she asked, a hint of confusion in her voice. "I think we're going the wrong way. The party's downtown, isn't it?"

Charles smiled mysteriously, his eyes never leaving the road. "I thought we'd take a little detour first. Trust me?"

"Always."

They drove in comfortable silence for a few more minutes, the familiar sights of Monaco giving way to a quieter, more residential area. Finally, Charles pulled up in front of a beautiful house, its elegant facade bathed in the glow of streetlights.

"Charles, what are we doing here?" YN asked as he came around to open her door.

He took her hand, helping her out of the car. "I have something to show you," he said softly, leading her towards the house.

As they approached the front door, Charles pulled out a key. YN's eyes widened in surprise. "Charles, is this...?"

He unlocked the door and gently guided her inside. The house was empty, but even in the dim light, she could see its potential - high ceilings, large windows, and an open floor plan that seemed to invite warmth and laughter.

Charles watched her take it all in, his heart pounding with nervous excitement. Finally, he spoke.

"YN, from the moment I met you, you've been my home. No matter where I am in the world, no matter what challenges I face on the track, you're my constant. My safe haven."

She turned to face him, her eyes shimmering with unshed tears.

Charles continued, his voice thick with emotion. "But I realized that while you've given me a home in your heart, I've never been able to offer you a physical place that's truly ours. Until now."

He took both of her hands in his. "This house... I bought it for us. I want it to be our home. A place where we can build our future together, where we can come back to after long days or weeks apart. A place filled with our love and hopefully... our family someday."

Tears were now flowing freely down YN's cheeks. "Charles," she whispered, her voice choked with emotion.

"I know my career keeps us traveling a lot," he said, reaching up to wipe away her tears gently. "But I want you to have roots, a place that's ours. Where you can always feel safe and loved, even when I'm not there."

YN let out a watery laugh, shaking her head in disbelief. "You never cease to amaze me, Charles Leclerc. This is... it's perfect. It's more than I ever dreamed of."

"So, what do you say?" Charles pulled her close, resting his forehead against hers, "Ready to start our next chapter here?"

Instead of answering with words, she closed the gap between them, pouring all her love and gratitude into a passionate kiss. When they finally parted, both breathless, she whispered, "Yes. A thousand times, yes."

They stood there in the empty house that would soon become their home, holding each other close. The party, the guests, the whole world outside ceased to exist for a moment. It was just the two of them, standing on the threshold of their future together.

After a while, Charles chuckled softly. "You know, we're probably very late for the party now."

"I know," she said, her voice still thick with emotion, "It's supposed to be me giving you gifts on your birthday, not the other way around."

Charles chuckled softly, tucking a strand of hair behind her ear. "Well, I've never been very good at following rules," he teased. "Besides, seeing your face when I showed you our home? That's the best gift I could ever receive."

YN shook her head, a warm smile playing on her lips. "You're impossible, you know that? But I love you for it."

"And I love you, for as long as I can remember."

27th birthday

Charles stood on the balcony of their home, the same one he had surprised YN with three years ago. His fingers absently traced the outline of a small velvet box in his pocket, his heart racing with anticipation and nerves.

Inside, he could hear her moving about, putting the finishing touches on his birthday dinner. The aroma of his favorite dishes filled the air, bringing a smile to his face. At 27, Charles had achieved more than he ever dreamed possible – multiple Formula 1 wins, a strong contender for the championship, and most importantly, a life shared with his best friend and the love of his life.

"Charles?" her voice called from inside. "Dinner's ready!"

He took a deep breath, patting the ring box one last time before heading inside. The dining room was bathed in soft candlelight, the table set beautifully with their best china. YN stood by the table, looking radiant in a deep red dress that matched the color he wore on race days.

"Happy birthday, my love," she said softly, pulling him into a tender kiss.

As they sat down to eat, Charles couldn't help but marvel at how far they'd come. "You know," he said, reaching across the table to take her hand, "I was just thinking about my sixth birthday party."

"The day we met," she said with a warm smile. "How could I forget? I was so nervous about moving to a new place."

Charles chuckled, remembering the shy little girl who had hidden behind her mother's leg. "And now look at us. Twenty-one years later, and you're still the best gift I've ever received."

YN felt tears prickling at the corners of her eyes. "I remember you asked me to come to all your future birthdays," she said, her voice thick with emotion.

"And you've been here for every single one," Charles replied, his green eyes shining with love.

The weight of the ring box in Charles' pocket seemed to grow heavier, but he resisted the urge to pull it out just yet. Tonight was about celebrating. The proposal could wait for another perfect moment.

"I don't know what I did to deserve you," he continued, "but I thank my lucky stars every day that you walked into that birthday party all those years ago. You've made every birthday since then more special than the last."

"Oh, Charles," she whispered, tears now flowing freely down her cheeks. "You've given me more than I ever dreamed possible. That little girl who was so scared of not fitting in found her home in you."

They came together in a kiss that was soft and sweet, yet filled with the depth of their shared history and the promise of their future. As they held each other close, both were transported back to that sunny day in Monaco, two six-year-olds making a promise of friendship that had blossomed into a love story for the ages.

When they finally pulled apart, Charles rested his forehead against hers, a soft smile playing on his lips. "So," he said, his voice light but filled with emotion, "think you might stick around for a few more birthdays?"

YN laughed, the sound like music to Charles' ears. "Just try and keep me away, Leclerc. You're stuck with me for all your birthdays, forever and always."

As they finished their dinner, Charles felt the ring box in his pocket once more. Soon, he thought, he'd ask her to make it official, to promise him not just all his birthdays, but every day in between.

But for now, he was content to bask in the glow of their love, celebrating not just his 27th birthday, but the incredible journey they'd shared.

[gracieheartspedro]

Your Needs, My Needs

THE PRELUDE

a masterlist of how you can help gaza

pairing: cowboy!joel x f!reader (no outbreak)

description: you have made it to your new home in taylor, texas. your anxiety of owning your our home and being alone is coming to a head, but you need to be productive. a trip to the local furniture turns into you meeting some locals and your new cowboy neighbor.

word count: 3.7k words

warnings: there is no smut in this part. still MINORS DNI! no use of y/n! vague talk of reader's old life before texas, no real description of the reader, description of small age gap, joel being a sarcastic shithead. sarah is canon, so joel is a dad. distracted driving. talks of consuming food. reader has mental illness, mainly described as anxiety, but could be other illnesses. I make it pretty vague. the reader likes football? lmfao

author's note: this is the prelude to the many parts I have planned for these two. this is sort of just setting up everything. I want a slow burn for these two, so hopefully these first couple parts make you guys sweat with anticipation. I also wanna quickly thank all of you for the love on the preview of this fic. I hope you all enjoy it! let me know what y'all think. YEEHAW!

“Sign here and she’s all yours.”

When you brought the pen to the dotted line, you knew that this was going to be the start of your new life. 

While you were nervous about taking on such a huge project, you were ready to find solace in your alone time and work on yourself along with the beautiful farmhouse. You needed some peace and quiet, anyway. 

She was set on 20 acres of land on the outskirts of a small town called Taylor. The land looked like something out of a movie, it’s rolling hills and sprawling fields. 

The house was about 130 years old and needed a lot of TLC. You found it online after hours of scrolling. It was still liveable, but the older couple who owned it before moved to a retirement community and could not keep up with the maintenance. When the inheritance hit your bank account, you called the local realtor and told them you would be flying out there to check it out. When the car pulled up the long driveway, you knew that it would be yours. 

Texas was a new start for you. And boy, were you ready for it. 

You did not have a lot to move in, just a small UHaul full of boxes of clothes and miscellaneous trinkets. You left your furniture in your shared apartment in New York. You needed to find something that was more your style, anyway. 

You moved everything yourself. You were not sure you were ready to trust anyone to help you move in. You knew no one locally, anyway.

It took about three days to get settled, and by that, you simply put up a shower curtain and finally put sheets on your mattress on the floor. You had also created a laundry list of random things you wanted to get done around the house in the next month. Priority number one was getting the bathrooms working. The toilet downstairs doesn’t stop running and your upstairs one won’t flush at all. 

You decided that today was the day you would go out and buy some furniture for your living room and bedroom. You would also inquire to some locals about a plumber. It would take you days to work up the courage to reach out to someone in the phone book, so here’s to hoping you just run into someone on the street. 

You hop into the sedan that you were renting until you could buy a car. It was nice but it was no match for your long dirt driveway. You already expected to pay extra for all the dings on the exterior. 

The roads that lead into Main Street are long and winding. You loved driving, so when it was nice enough to put the windows down, you did so. 

Since there’s no one on this specific stretch, you decide to switch the CD you had shoved into the disc drive, opting for another mix you had made years ago. The radio never played what you wanted, especially the local stations in Taylor. 

In your distracted scramble for the CD, you don’t take note of the large stallion running next to your car. The CD is wedged between the seat and the main console and your fingers cannot reach the awkward position. 

You’re not speeding. But when a giant horse runs out in front of you, you can not hit the break quickly enough. You stop breathing, bracing for impact. You jerk the wheel slightly, swerving away from the steed.  Before your front end can make an impact, the horse is snatched back towards the divot in the road. 

You are in complete and utter shock over how abruptly it all happened. 

Your eye eventually catches a man on horseback, his cowboy hat shields most of his face, but you are more focused on how built this man looks. His biceps were straining against his button-up shirt as he held the lasso taut against his chest. His legs were locked around the brown stallion he was on, his jeans riddled with mud and dust. He had dark curls that peaked out from under his hat.

“Jesus fuckin’ Christ,” You yell, your car slowly inching forward from its spot in the middle of the road, “Where did that thing even come from?”

The mysterious cowboy just shakes his head and trots away, clicking his tongue to guide the horse back into the field. 

Your heart felt like it may leap out of your chest. A car was chugging down the road ahead of you, so you knew you had to move out of the way. You turn into your lane and slowly start down the road again.

You do not even bother trying to find the CD, again. You would rather sit in complete silence. 

-

When you make it to the small stretch of downtown, your heart rate slows down. You spot a local furniture store that looks a bit dated. It was your best bet plus, you wanted to stand on solid ground and gain your bearings. 

You parallel park rather terribly and hop out of your car. You huff loudly, throwing your purse over your shoulder and slamming the door behind you. 

A hot cowboy saved your life. 

It’s the most Texas thing that’s happened to you since you moved here. 

You head inside the storefront. A smaller white-haired lady sits at the front desk, her head in a gossip magazine. 

“Well, hello there,” You muster in your best cheery voice, trying to act like you did not almost die, “I’m lookin’ for some furniture.”

She chuckles as she places her reading next to the register, “Well, you came to the right place, sweetheart.”

You return the laugh, glancing around the large store. Couches and recliners in rows in the front, wooden bed sets lining the back wall. You were so indecisive, you were not completely sure where to start. 

“I need a bedroom set and a couch or two. I just moved into th-”

“The old Caldwell farmhouse,” She cuts you off, hopping off her stool, “Saw you movin’ in a couple days ago. My boy is your neighbor.”

The joke about small towns is always true, you know that already. Everyone knows everyone else’s business. You could not shit without someone knowing about it. 

You raise your eyebrows, acting like you’re shocked she knows about you already. “Yes, that’s right. Your boy?”

“My oldest son, Joel. He lives across the way from ya,” She starts gesturing towards the couches, “Pop a squat on one and see which one ya like.”

You end up sitting on every couch before landing on a brown leather one with a matching loveseat. The old woman is a great saleswoman on top of being sickly sweet. She told you since you are one of her first customers of the month, she would give you a great discount on a coffee table. You were a sucker for a good deal. 

You knew what bed set you wanted immediately. It was a light-washed wood with tall pillars sticking out of every corner. It came with two matching dressers and one nightstand. It was only you, so you didn’t quite care about another side table anyway. 

When the lady starts tallying up your total, you watch the slow-moving downtown. A couple walking across the street into the small diner. An older gentleman walking his small dog. The rickety old trucks that loudly took up the roads. 

You’re so stuck in your head, you don’t even hear what your total is. All you do is hand over your credit card. She smiles and giggles as she swipes the card. 

“So I’ll have my boy deliver it to you tomorrow. He is busy workin’ today, but I’ll have him get it to you. He’s quite the handyman, always busy doing jobs around town. Will you be home in the morning?”

You would have to have some strange man in your home to set up the heavy wooden furniture. It made the hairs on your arm stand up. You knew you would not be able to haul it all, so you had to take the leap of faith and hope and pray this frail old lady’s son is not a serial killer. Or stalker. Or both. 

You needed your furniture, after all. 

It will be okay, you tell yourself. 

“U-uh, I will,” You swallow, “I don’t work right now, so I’ll be home all day.”

“Oh, goody! I will send him your way in the morning. He may have his brother with him just to get the bed up your stairs, but I promise they are good boys. If they aren’t, you come to me and their mama will deal with them.”

You laugh nervously, “Of course, thank you so much.”

–

You had woken up late, your anxiety creeping up on you last night. Your brain would not stop racing. You didn’t fall asleep until 2 am. You hop out of bed around 10:30 and wrap yourself in a cardigan. You have been leaving all the windows open at night, but you can tell the seasons are shifting because it gets so cold at night. 

The doorbell rings and it’s like your heart falls out of your chest. You know that after you open this door, you’re welcoming in someone completely new and unexpected and it makes your whole body jitter. You make your way to the front door and take a deep breath before opening it. 

Of course. It’s him. The hot cowboy. 

It made sense. The endless green across from your home had to be part of his property. The road you almost died on yesterday was right beside his land. His house was tucked right across from the end of your driveway, with countless barns spread across a couple of acres.

You were secretly hoping he would be some silly-looking hillbilly, but instead, you find out your delivery man is the ridiculously attractive cowboy from the day before. His hair is tidy and dark without the cowboy hat on. It’s peppered with some white hairs, but it only adds to his appearance. His flannel has the top three buttons undone and his jeans are stained with age. You are finally able to get a good look at his face with no shadows covering his permanent scowl. 

He had to be about 10 years older than you. You were not too far off from wrinkles, but you were still young enough to bear children without being considered geriatric. 

He squints at you when you swing the door open. The sun is hitting his eyes, highlighting the warm rich brown color. 

“Howdy neighbor,” He greets, a small smirk plays on his lips, “’m Joel. Nice to meet you officially.”

You introduce yourself, trying not to stutter as you say your name. He made you nervous. You chalk it up to just being nervous around men in general. But it’s the way his eyes trailed you as you moved just slightly.

You feel the need to clear the air because of the way he’s staring through you. 

“And uh, listen, about yesterday,” You try to apologize, but he cuts you off by raising his hand. 

“Wouldn’t be the first time an outsider got themselves hurt bein’ reckless down the backroads. Just glad you didn’t hit my horse.”

The response has a bit of a bite to it. You back up a step, your body also taken aback by his directness. You are used to confrontational people, but you’re not used to Southern folk being that way. 

“No, next time I’ll aim for the ditch and tell my insurance that there was a silly cowboy in the road that I had to miss.”

You can tell by the sheepish smile on his face that he was not expecting you to be feisty.

“Don’t think they’d give ya’ much money for that,” He says in a hushed but matter-of-fact tone.

You relax your shoulders, trying to collect yourself. “Probably not.” 

He turns back to his truck that has your bed frame in the back of it, disregarding the previous statements. “My brother is comin’ by in a few to help me get this stuff in.”

“Well, let’s not let all the air out of the house right now,” You extend the door wider for him. You are giving this man full access to your home now. You try to suppress your obsessive thoughts and instead decide that you know exactly what you can have him do while you wait. You remember his mom told you he was good with his hands, and since he wants to be snarky to you in the comfort of your own home, you would try to pick his mind about some of your home projects. “Come in, let me ask you something.” 

You begin, gesturing him into the entryway. He accepts the offer, kicking his boots off on the porch. You appreciate his thoughtfulness and for a second, you realize you may be the asshole. 

“Mama told you I was a handyman, didn’t she?”

You giggle, finding it funny that he could read the situation you were about to put him in. “She sure did.”

“She needs to stop tellin’ folks that,” His accent is so thick and syrupy, that it makes your insides tingle, “Got too many people askin’ me to fix their stuff.”

You guide him to the bathroom right off the living room and kitchen, “You know much about plumbing?”

“I’m assumin’ you don’t,” He mutters, “What do you have goin’ on?”

You point to the loudly running toilet, “This thing won’t stop running no matter what I do.”

“Well, what have you tried doin’?”

You both stand in the hallway, you looking up at him with furrowed brows, him looking down at you with anticipation. He was quick-witted, and you started to hate how much you liked it. He gave your sassiness a run for it’s money.

“I’ve flushed it a bunch of times. Cursed at it and kicked it,” He stares at you blankly. It makes your stomach roll, “Jesus, Cowboy, can you give a girl a break?”

He enters the narrow bathroom, approaching the toilet like there may be a bomb in it. He reaches towards the handle and jiggles it violently, which makes you giggle a bit. That’s exactly what you did. 

“So, why here?” He questions, squatting in front of the bowl. He continues to mess with the handle while you process his no-context question.

“What Texas or this bathroom?”

He chuckles, his smile spreading across his beautifully tanned skin. 

“You got tons of jokes, huh?” 

You don’t respond, just shrug your shoulders. He stands up, wiggling the top of the tank off the toilet. You watch his hands lock onto the sides of it, ensuring it will not drop off and shatter on the dated tile. 

“Texas,” He strains, freeing his left hand to mess with the handle. You lean against the door frame. 

You are not even sure why Texas. You just needed to get as far as you could away from New York. You did not want your past to catch up with you, and you did not want to get stuck in a city again. But you could not share all this with a random stranger. He may be in your house, looking at your commode, but you can’t completely trust him yet. 

“I just wanted a change of scenery. I always wanted a farmhouse.”

“Lots of upkeep,” He jabs, doing one more once over of the tank, “‘M thinking you may need a new float or chain. I can get my tools tomorrow and come over to fix it. May need to order a new part, though.”

You push off the wall, arms still crossed over your front. He puts the top back on and finally makes eye contact with you. 

He would come over again? To fix your toilet? 

“Are you sure?”

“Yeah, ‘m sure it’s the chain or float.”

“No, I m-mean,” You start to stumble over your words. You swallow, collecting yourself for a moment so you do not look crazy to him. “Are you sure you’re okay coming back over?”

He gives you a thin-lipped smile, “What are neighbors for?”

-

His brother arrives in a rickety old truck at about 15 past 11. He looks a lot like him, but shorter. He has those same eyes though, permanently tired. 

“Nice to meet ya, ma’am. ‘M Tommy.”

You grab his hand to shake it and he lingers a bit longer than you anticipated. Joel stayed on your front porch, putting his boots back on to start unloading the furniture. 

You are thankful the weather was kind today, especially since every evening this week has been stormy. The sun was beating mighty hard on the men as they collaborated on getting your furniture inside.

While they get everything set up, you busy yourself making lunch. You get the bright idea to make them each a sandwich. It’s the least you could do. 

You pile the cold-cut turkey and cheese onto the white bread you had, topping it with some mayo. When you hear their footsteps trailing down the stairs, you race out with the sandwiches on a porcelain plate.

“For your troubles,” You say before standing in their path to the door. Tommy smiles brightly, instantly snatching a sandwich from the plate. 

“Thanks, darlin’,” He takes a big bite, humming in satisfaction. He walks around you, leaving you standing in front of Joel. His eyes are piercing, his lips ajar a bit, but nothing is coming out. 

“Turkey and cheese, I promise.”

He reaches out grabbing the sandwich from you, “No sweet tea to go with it?”

Your heart sinks, instantly becoming self-conscious of your decision to be nice to these hicks. He was so intimidating with his steely expressions and broad shoulders. There was an essence about him that did not speak to his stone-cold exterior. It was more gentle. But you could only see hints of it when he smiled. 

He can tell the wheels in your head are spinning. Before you can speak, takes a bite of the sandwich and shakes his head. 

“‘m kidding, Yankee. Thank you, I ‘preciate it.”

You settle for letting out a long sigh and returning to your kitchen. You spend a couple of minutes, putting back all the ingredients in their proper places. 

You hear Tommy yell for Joel, his voice kind of panicked. You race out the front door and see Tommy balancing your coffee table off the side of the truck. Joel is running to his aid, the dust from your driveway kicking up behind him. You hold your breath watching Joel help him balance the wooden piece of furniture. 

“Can’t have you breakin’ your back before homecoming,” Joel fusses, guiding the legs of the table to the ground, “You know damn well Maria would have me, too.”

“Yeah, what’s a homecoming game without the head coach?”

You perk up, instantly becoming interested in the conversation that you weren’t supposed to be listening in on. The two men lift the table and start heading your way, right on the threshold. 

“You coach football?” You ask Tommy, trying not to show your excitement. You loved football, it reminded you of Sundays with your grandfather. You never got the privilege to go to an actual game, even in high school. 

“Yes, ma’am, for the local high school in Taylor. We are gonna make it to the state championships this year.” 

You glance at Joel when he says it. He rolls his eyes, “Gotta win at least one game to do that, Tommy.”

They place the coffee table right in front of your new leather couch. Tommy grunts, trying not to argue with his brother in front of a strange lady. 

He can’t help himself, though. He instantly snaps back at Joel.

“You know them boys have been practicin’ day in and day out. Why ya gotta be so negative?”

Joel places his hands on his hips, “Cause Sarah told me the guys in her grade are a bunch of dummies. I highly doubt they are ready to kick Georgetown’s asses.”

Tommy starts towards the door, “Just cause Sarah says it, doesn’t mean it’s true.”

“I believe my honor student daughter before I believe my dumbass little brother.”

You are not shocked Joel has a daughter. You are just shocked that she’s in high school. He looked too young to have a teen, but then again, he did have some grays sprouting. You cross your arms over your chest, watching Joel scoot the table across your hardwoods. 

You’re staring at his hands, trying to conjure up a wedding ring on his left finger. But there’s nothing. Maybe he did not wear it when he was working. Maybe he just forgot to put it on this morning. Maybe his passive aggressiveness towards you was simply to ensure there was distance between you and him, giving you subtle hints that he was taken. 

He finally glances up at you, stopping in his tracks when he notes your gaze. 

“Somethin’ wrong?”

You have no clue what to say because you are so trapped in your head about him. He’s a stranger, god damn it.

“N-no, everything is okay.”

“Don’t look it.”

“I just was not expecting the coffee table to look so dark against the hardwood,” you lie, pulling whatever you could think of out of your hat, “Doesn’t it look dark?”

Joel looks between the floor and the table, shifting in his stance, “Don’t know bout that.” 

“O-oh okay.”

“Alright, well we got ya all set up now,” He starts to head towards the entryway. You trail behind him like a lost puppy, “I’ll be by sometime tomorrow with that part for the toilet. I’m expectin’ another sandwich for that one.”

You grab your front door as you wave to Tommy as he heads for his truck. He smiles and gives you a head nod. Joel turns back to you, his ears perked up for a sarcastic jab from you.

  You think back to something he said to you earlier. You crack a smile, “What are neighbors for?”

PART 1 COMING SOON!

taglist (ppl who asked to be tagged): @joeldjarin @taylorsmakingfuckingmacandcheese @mysaviorjoelmiller @brittmb115 @missladym1981 @jasminedragoon

[astroboots]

Past Lives

Author's note: Prequel to Every You Ever Me (but can be read as standalone).

Pairing: Miguel O'Hara x female reader

Summary: You meet Miguel O'Hara for the first time in a life-changing encounter.

Word count: 1.3k words

Spiderverse Masterlist | Astroboot’s Masterlist 

You're standing on platform B at Main Street station, teeth chattering as you zip up your jacket. You're freezing your tits off.

This is why you don't like going all the way to Flushing. As bad as the stations get closer to the city, reeking of piss, body odor and stale vomit, at least it's always warm underground. Out here, there's no shelter, the tracks are exposed to elements.

It seems as if you are the only one stupid enough to come out here at 6 am on a Sunday, because there's barely anyone else here on the platform.

It's dreary and dark. The leftover snow has melted leaving only grey sludge and a slipping hazard behind.

From the corner of your eyes, you spot movement on the tracks.

You don't think much of it at first. Must be another oversized rodent feasting on discarded pizza, except... it's much too large for that, maybe a dog?

Your head whips back to get a closer look and the sight has your blood freezing to ice.

Is... Is that a man?

You stare at the bulky build crouched over on the tracks. Even as he's bent down, you can see that the man must be freakishly all.

"Sir?" You call out hesitantly.

He doesn't answer you. Doesn't pay you any attention at all. Is he drunk? He's dressed in dark blue spandex from head to toe, obscuring any facial features, wearing a sparkling Lucha Libre mask like he's on his way to WWE.

Yeah, definitely drunk then.

You glance up nervously at the departure board. The green LED light ominously reads: "4 Min".

If the man doesn't get off the tracks he's going to be pancaked by the oncoming train.

Walking up closer to the ledge, you shout across to him. "Hey! You need to get off the tracks."

He doesn't move out of the way.

Shit!

You don't understand. How did he get there. There wasn't anyone on there just a second ago. You would've heard if someone had jumped down from the platform. Where did he come from? Did he materialize out of thin air?

"There's an oncoming train," you try again. It doesn't make a lick of difference from the first time you shouted.

Why you think you can talk sense into a drunk who seemingly can't hear you (or is pretending to not hear you) is beyond you.

Glancing up at the board, you only have 3 minutes left now. It would be entirely too late to call for staff to help. By the time they'd show up the man would already be tomato paste across the tracks.

"Sir!" you shout again. But nothing.

Shit. shit shit shit.

He's not moving of his own accord. The only thing that could get him to budge would be to tackle him... which is absurd for you to do. You must be nearly half his size.

But what else are you supposed to do? Stand by and watch a man die?

You get queasy at the doctors when they draw blood for check ups. You cry when the dog dies in a horror movie. You would never be able to walk away from a man dying, only a few feet away from you. It would haunt you for the rest of your life.

In the corner of your eyes, 3 minutes turn to 2. Before you have the time to slow down your thoughts and properly think, you're already scooting down against the ledge and jumping down the track.

What the fuck are you doing. Why are you risking your life for a drunken stranger?

Your heart is hammering through your chest, beating its way up your throat. You feel queasy with adrenaline as you squeeze your eyes tightly shut.

In the total darkness behind your eyes, you leap forward, with your entire body weight as you slam into him.

There's an angry growl of surprise as you make contact. The man is built like a brick wall. It's like you ran up to a building and collided with hard concrete.

Both of you tumble across the tracks and in that split second that seems to last forever, there is a pandemonius roar that bellows out behind you. Wind whips past your side so hard that it's painful, and you think to yourself that maybe you didn't make it in time.

Except you did.

Because when you open your eyes, instead of eternal darkness all you see are scarlet red eyes, staring up at you with wide shock. You've never seen eyes like this before. They shine like rubies even in the dim dark.

Underneath the blue mask, the man is gorgeous. All sharp angles, and cut jaw with pouty lips that belongs to a Hollywood starlet-- Wait where's the mask?

You could've sworn that he was wearing a mask over his face before.

You don't get to contemplate on that thought for long. There's a flash of glaring light blinding you, the grinding screech of gears closing in.

Oh fuck.

The northbound train is arriving.

You need to get up. Need to climb over the ledge before it's here. You try to raise yourself up on your elbows, but the strength is zapped out of you. Rubble digs into your knees. Everything stings and burns.

The yellowed lights are too close, the screeching of metal is right in your ears.

Oh shit. Oh fuck. Oh god! There isn't enough time. You're going to die.

A strong grip envelops your waist, hoisting you up. The ground below you disappears. You don't know how, but gravity seems to fall away, and you find yourself high up in the air as the sight of train tracks recedes.

You're flying.

Looking up, you see the man's face once again covered in the blue mask from before. He's holding onto you with one arm, while the other is stretched outwards into the empty air. There's web connecting his hand to the sky as he swings you through the landscape of Flushing beneath your feet.

From up here, even something as vast as New York looks small.

He lands the both of you on solid ground, on a nearby rooftop, arms still wrapped firmly around you as he sets you down on your toes and doesn't let go until the back of your heel is firmly planted.

You on the other hand, are still holding onto him tightly. Hands in a death grip into the muscle of his forearm.

Up close, he's staggeringly tall. The angle you have to crane your neck to look up at him feels unnatural, like you're observing a landmark monument, not just a person.

The mask disintegrates, the red and blue material disintegrating to reveals his face to you again.

You're too stupefied by the events that have taken place in the last few minutes to react appropriately

"Are you--" you start, but you don't know how else to finish that sentence. Is he what? What do you want to ask him after he flew up in the sky and saved you? Is he human? an alien? Do you ask him what just happened? Where he came from? Why the hell he was on the train tracks and didn't move! even though you told him to?

You blink up at him, running through each one of the questions and stupidly instead, you settle for the simplest one of all.

"Are you okay?"

He's smiling at you, an amused expression glinting in his eyes.

"Yeah, I'm okay," he answers.

Stretching out an arm above him, a string of web shoots out from the palm of his hand into the sky.

"See you around," he says. Then he swoops into the air and he’s gone. 

Author's notes: I got some questions a while back about how Miguel meets Nena, and this is part of that answer.

I don’t have a tag list but please follow me on astroboots-writes and turn on notifications to be notified when I post something new!

[lovertate]

sacrilege

minors dni!!

this oneshot has two versions, this is the nfsw version, here is the sfw version

Simon “Ghost” Riley x gn!reader smut

wc: 1115

cw: kinda angsty, a little fluffy, smut, ghost misses you, male masturbation, this happens in a church, mentions of sex, established relationship, no use of “y/n”, no specific gender mentioned for reader

not beta read.

also posted on ao3

Ghost’s heart thrums in his chest as he carefully makes his way to the Church. His feet leave hardly any noise as he creeps through the Shadows that litter the streets. Killing those who pose a threat, or are in his way, and sneaking past the others. If they see him, they're as good as dead. He heard one of them say that. As his hand reaches for the wooden door leading through the wall surrounding the Church, he checks his surroundings. No one is following him. Good.

He doesn’t know where the sergeant is, after telling him to run, he did too. He should radio for him soon, he thinks. Just to make sure he’s not dead. He thinks he was shot in the arm. Nothing lethal, more than likely just a graze.

The church is silent. Almost eerily so. No Shadows are in sight, or earshot. Still, Ghost sweeps the place. Starting with the foyer and then moving into the main hall. Clear. He lets out a silent sigh, his shoulders sagging for a brief moment before tensing up again. He stares at the ornate architecture of the place. It’s beautiful. Before he can think, he’s taking a seat at the end of a pew. He flicks through the stations on his comm device, hearing the Americans call out towards each other on most of them. He finds a silent one, pausing on it and letting his hand fall to the pocket under his tuner.

The church is silent. He tilts his head down, ripping open the velcroed pocket and carefully plunging his gloved fingers inside. He pulls out a sad, worn piece of paper. The flooded edge has gone soft from use, so fragile Ghost fears it will tear every time he handles it. He gently unfolds the paper anyway, both of his hands gently cradling it. His face contorts under his mask, his eyebrows pinching together. He stares at the face printed on the paper.

“God- fuck,” he mutters out, his right hand coming to cup around his mouth. It drags against the rough fabric of his balaclava.

At this moment, Ghost is not Ghost anymore. He is Simon. Simon Riley. He only feels this when he’s with someone he trusts. The only one he loves. He only feels this when he’s with you. And, although you are not physically with him, the picture of you smiling and laughing as you play with your dog is enough for him.

Simon exhales heavily through his nose, the sound reverberating against the walls. The Church is silent, apart from the sound of your voice. It’s in his head, Simon knows. You’re not actually with him, although he wishes so desperately that you were. Not in the field, no, just… with him.

Simon wishes he could feel you, hold you. Wishes to be held. He wishes he could bury his face into your neck as he quietly sobs after waking up after a nightmare. Wishes to feel your hands running through his hair, fingers lightly scratching at his scalp as you soothe him, make the bad thoughts go away.

Simon wishes he could feel those same hands scratch down his back as he thrusts his dick inside of you. Wishes to hear your moans and pants, his name slipping out of your lips in that pleasure filled tone of yours.

Simon squeezes his eyes shut. He can’t be thinking like this right now. He’s getting himself worked up. Not now, he’s on a mission. Death is staring at him from around the corner at all times. He can not be getting distracted right now. But, that’s what you’re good at. Distracting him. He adores you for it. Being able to take his mind away from his troubles as you wrap your lips around his flushed cock, licking up his precrum slowly while looking into his eyes.

“Fuck,” Simon hisses, the image of you tainting his brain and blocking out any other thoughts.

The Church is silent. Apart from the sound of Simon unzipping his pants, working around the straps of his gear to free his achingly hard cock. He places the picture of you on his thigh, pulling off the glove on his right hand. He fumbles with the hem of his balaclava, pulling it out from under his shirt, just enough to expose his mouth. He spits in his hand, rubbing it around his palm with his fingers before bringing it to his cock.

He shouldn’t be doing this. Not now.

His chin falls towards his chest, eyes fixated on your face as he strokes his cock slowly. Thumb tracing over his tip, smearing the precum leaking from it across his flushed skin. He lets out a pant, pulling his bottom lip between his teeth and biting on it.

He thinks of you, on your knees in front of him, sucking and stroking his cock while he’s whispering sweet praises between his breaths. Under him, back arched and whining as he teases you with the head of his cock. Begging for him to fuck you, to please you. To let you cum, to cum in you. Simon grunts softly, his fist speeding up as he can feel his own climax rising.

His head falls back, eyes squinting at the ceiling of the church. His legs twitch. His mouth hangs open, shallow pants leaving his lips. He lets his head lull forward, eyes falling on the picture of you, again. He imagines you looking up at him, eyes half closed and peering up at him, a cock drunk smile on your lips.

“I love you, Simon,” you would whisper out, hand tracing along the back of his neck.

The recounting of this memory is enough to send Simon over the edge. Spilling into his hand as he hunches forward slightly. He whimpers, biting back any louder noises as he twitches and convulses, wishing he was doing this inside of you.

“This is Bravo 7-1, in the blind… how copy?”

The sergeant’s voice pulls Simon away. His mind blanks for a moment, eyes lingering on your face for a few seconds longer before he gently refolds the picture and places it back in the pocket on the left side of his vest. He wipes his hand stickied with his cum on his boxers, gently pulling them over his softening cock, before redoing his pants.

“Ghost, this is 7-1, do you copy?”

Simon takes in a deep breath, his eyes shutting momentarily. His hand tugs on the bottom of his balaclava, resecuring it under the collar of his shirt.

Ghost presses the button on his comm device with his thumb.

“Soap. This is Ghost, how copy?”

do not rewrite, translate, repost, or steal. original work by lovertate on tumblr.

[gwendolynlerman]

Things that surprised me as a European tourist in the United States

This is based on my experience as a Spaniard traveling to the United States (specifically New York City and Washington, D. C.).

Like many people around the world, I have grown up in contact with U.S. culture through literature, film, and music, so I didn't experience much cultural shock, but some things still surprised me.

All vehicles (cars, trucks, school buses...) are huge! Most cars are pickup trucks or SUVs. The most common brands came from the United States, but I also saw many Japanese cars, especially Nissan and Toyota (mostly Prius, USAmericans seem to love this model 😂).

Customer service is great, not only in restaurants or places where one is expected to leave a tip but also in museums and subway stations.

I heard many different languages spoken by locals, including Mandarin, Russian, and Spanish, as well as European languages spoken by tourists, such as French, German, and Portuguese. (I think that this is mostly the case in big cities, and especially NYC.)

People wear face masks more often, although I guess that this is transient due to flu season. Still, way fewer people wear them in Spain.

Taxes are not included in the price. (I was aware of this but used to forget about it at first.)

Toilets are not as deep as in Europe (the water is really close to your butt 😖), and many flush automatically. Public restrooms always have seat covers but normally do not have a toilet lid.

Doors are really heavy! No wonder many people (mostly men) held them open for me. I once had to throw myself against the door to open it. What is the deal with doors in the U.S.? (Is it a NYC thing only?)

People were quite loud (and this is coming from someone who grew up in a country that is renowned for how loud we talk) and played music/videos without headphones in the subway 😑

Cops are surprisingly chill despite the reputation that they have. A guy was insulting a couple of them from across the subway platform, and they just smiled and waved at him. In Spain, it is a crime to insult a police officer, so I was surprised that they were so calm about the whole situation.

On that note, there were a lot of cops around the city at all times (even at 5 a.m.). I counted nine of them in Penn Station!

Drivers honk all the time because of every minor inconvenience. On Thanksgiving Day, there were a lot of traffic jams, and people were honking as if that would magically clear the streets... And, of course, if one person honked, the rest honked as well, so walking on the street on the main avenues was really deafening 😐

Traffic lights are quite far away from where cars have to stop.

Fire truck sirens are really loud and sound like emergency alarm systems. (It reminded me of those TikTok videos ranking them.)

People say "Excuse me" in the subway when going in or out, which was a nice change from the shoving and pushing I'm used to in Madrid.

I saw a lot of people carrying around huge reusable water bottles. (Here's an explanation for why USAmericans drink so much.)

People called me "Ma'am" instead of "Miss". I know it's the polite way to address people, but it was very weird 😂

New Yorkers love to use cardinal directions (north, south, east, west) when giving directions. Someone once told me, "Go west on Broadway" and I was like "I have trouble orienting myself when I use Google Maps, do you think I know which direction I'm going in at all times??".

There are lots of caution signs about worker safety on construction sites, both in English and Spanish, which leads me to think that there are many work accidents 🤔

As a solo female traveler, I was a bit concerned about my security in a city that I have heard is dangerous and in a country where mass shootings are a relatively normal occurrence, but I felt mostly safe. I was surprised to see many posters that read, "If you see something, say something".

Related to the above, I was shocked to see "This is a gun free zone" posters in public places and "No guns allowed" posters on supermarket doors.

I was really surprised to see ads with phone numbers with words in them, like the one below. After doing some research, I discovered they are called vanity numbers and are easier for people to remember. (If, like me, you're wondering how to dial these numbers, apparently you just press the number that corresponds to the letter on the keypad.)

I smelled marijuana everywhere! Although illegal in Spain, you can also smell it sometimes, but it seemed ubiquitous in NYC. (I personally hate the smell, which is why I noticed.)

[suzdin]

D A T U R A

Dave York x Joel Miller x f!reader

currently a WIP.

preview below cut.

I am fully blaming @survivingandenduring and @kateispunk for this 🤭

don’t judge me for the crappy header. :\

-

Dave prods his index finger at the highlighted portions of the floor plans on the tablet, which he presents to his compatriots.

“There are entrances here, here…and here,” he points out, tapping the third for emphasis. “She’ll be expecting those. Watching them.”

Dave brushes his bottom lip with his thumb, brow creasing in contemplation.

“Ari and Resnik can head off the two main entrances. Joel, you take the side. And I’ll enter…here.” He places a finger where there’s a hastily drawn ‘X’ facing a private alley and courtyard.

“Don’t see a door or window,” the tall, tan man to his left drawls, placing a hand on his hip.

“Right. There’s a secret entrance there which leads to a crawl space left over from the city’s bootlegging days. None of the residents know. And guess where it exits?” Dave asks, eyes darting between the three men.

He places a finger where the bedroom closet would be.

A smirk twists Joel’s mustache. “Shit,” he says, scratching thick, weathered fingers through his scruff. “Gonna hit ‘er from all sides.”

“Exactly,” Dave responds, mirroring the way his companion places his hands on his hips. “We’ll strike at 10 PM sharp. That’s when the main festivities begin. No one will hear a thing.”

——

Dave crouches next to the hatch that leads to the secret door beneath the building, long since defunct due to the city’s proclivity for flooding.

A crackle resonates through his ear piece.

“Miller. Anything?” Dave asks.

“Nothin’,” Joel answers in a low southern lilt, positioned at the bottom of the narrow stairwell on the east side of the building, clicking the safety off on his Glock.

“Ari, Resnik? Station yourselves. Miller, I’m going in.”

“10-4,” Joel returns.

Dave yanks up on the metal hatch and it opens with a jarring creak, drowned out by the roar of the crowds on Bourbon Street and another jazz band playing their rendition of Oh When The Saints Go Marching In for probably the 1,000th time that evening.

He slips in easily and finds a peeling red door, which is shockingly ajar. A stray cat rushes out with a shriek, spitting feline obscenities at him.

“Fuck!” Dave snarls as the dark, furry void streaks past him and into the night.

“What’s goin’ on?” Joel’s voice.

“Nothing. Fucking cat. I’m inside.”

A low, throaty chortle sounds through Dave’s ear piece.

“Eat shit, Miller. Start heading up. I should reach her apartment in five.”

“Unless there’s more cats guarding the place.” This time it’s Ari’s voice. Dave pointedly ignores him.

The crawl space is narrow and damp, crushing in at him from all sides and choked with cobwebs and god knows what else, but it’s surprisingly not the worst place he’s ever been.

The space quickly dead ends into a ladder that looks like it’s seen far better days, rusting from the hinges out. Dave can’t help but wonder if it will support his full mass.

“‘M at her front door,” Joel remarks through the ear piece.

“Climbing the ladder now,” Dave responds as he begins his ascent, gripping the bottom rung and giving it a hard jostle to test its integrity.

The metal rungs protest and groan under his weight, but the structure holds true.

The boys had thought it absolutely ludicrous when Dave had come to them for their help with the hit. Four men for one single woman?

Bullshit. A waste of time and resources.

That is until they’d familiarized themselves with your rap sheet. Just shy of forty murders in less than a decade, and a weapons and ballistics specialist to boot.

You’d earned the moniker ‘Datura’ for good reason.

But it would all end tonight, and that price on your pretty little head would be a nice cherry on top.

He reaches the latch leading into your closet a moment later, twisting the mechanism that holds it flush to the wooden floor above.

He draws the Beretta from the holster on his hip, flicking off the safety as he strains his hearing to listen for something, anything, that would give him pause; that would make him abort the mission.

He hears nothing but the music seeping in from the streets through the century old brick.

“I’m in, Joel. I’m in,” Dave whispers, lifting the hatch as he silently crawls inside your closet, the scent of you overwhelming his senses, making his nostrils flare. Cock already half hard in his dark denim jeans at the prospect of yet another nefarious name scratched off his list.

Your name.

——

Thanks for reading!

If you’d like to be tagged, let me know.

[dantegreaves00]

Addicted (Dead Island 2 Ryan x Gen Reader)

You and Ryan stumble across his old place of work, and he treats you to a private show.

Warning sexy times alluded to but not shown and a piss poor description of a strip show and lap dance

Big shout out to @brunos-wife360 for giving me the opening paragraphs and for allowing me to use them

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

●●Y/N's POV●●

Walking along the desolated streets of Hell-A me and my boyfriend Ryan were looking at the different buildings that were once places of entertainment.

As we continued our path along the asphalt, me and Ryan stopped in our tracks.

I looked up and saw a sign that read ‘the big hose’ which I knew from Ryan was where he worked as an exotic dancer before the outbreak.

Ryan’s cheeks flushed a red hue upon looking at the sign, when we both looked at Each other, not speaking a single word.

“The horde might catch up to us soon and as much as I hate to say it, we should seek shelter in here” Ryan said as he started to approach the main door.

Following him inside I was greeted by a wall with all of the dancers on it, and right in the centre in a gold frame was a picture of Ryan with the words "Best Dancer in house" under it.

"Y/N, can you please stop staring at my stripper photo and help me secure the doors and windows" Ryan said breaking me out of my trance.

After making sure that our makeshift shelter was secure for the night we made our way towards the bar area hoping to find some food and drinks to take back to Emma's in the morning.

●●Timeskip●●

A couple of hours after arriving me and Ryan had been drinking from one of the bottles that we found. Being slightly tipsy I started to approach one of the poles that was in the middle of the main stage.

"I always joked when I was a teen that if I didn't have a job by the time I was 25 I'd become a stripper" I said as I wrapped my hand around the pole. I felt myself slip after an attempt at spinning went wrong, Ryan got up on the stage and caught me by my waist before I could fall,

"Why don't you leave the dancing to the professional baby" Ryan said as he guided me back into the chair that he was previously sat in before he made his way back onto the stage.

"What are you doing?" I asked as he got the dj's station running.

"I am going to give you a private show darling" he replied as the music started.

Seeing Ryan dance was incredible, the way he twisted his body around the pole to the beat of the song playing was hypnotic. I was sat on the edge of the chair trying to get a better look when suddenly he started crawling towards me on his hands and knees.

"Now there are a few rules that you can't break, if you do I stop ok?" He asked and all I could do was nod my head yes.

"Good, now first rule is no touching, second rule is no biting, you may feel tempted to but don't and finally enjoy yourself baby" he said as the song that was playing stopped and changed to a slower song.

Having Ryan so close to me but not being able to touch him was hard, he swayed and gyrated his hips in front of me and all I could think about was grabbing him and forcing his hips to mine as he slowly started to remove his clothing.

Once the song was over and a new one started I gave up on following the rules and wrapped my arms around his neck as he dipped down in front of me.

"What did I say baby, no touching" Ryan said as he tried to remove my arms.

"As much as I am enjoying this, I'd rather do something else" I said as I bit his earlobe.

He paused before turning around to face me, "that can be arranged."

●●Timeskip●●

The club smelt of sweat and sex as me and Ryan laid on one of the couches, our bodies stuck together.

"Is that how a dance normally ends for you?" I asked while trying to find my clothes.

"Na, I don't normally sleep with clients but I make an acception for you baby" Ryan said after getting dressed.

Once we were both dressed, I went to the window to check to see if the music had drawn in any zombies. Just as I was about to tell Ryan that the coast was clear, a hand banged on the glass.

"Oi love birds quit shagging and come out" we heard Jacob yell from outside. Me and Ryan looked at each other before bursting out laughing.

Opening the door to the club we were greeted by Jacob, Dani and Bruno, that latter was flipping his knife with a grin on his face.

"Enjoy your private dance Y/N?" Bruno asked me as we walked down the street towards the checkpoint that would take us back to Bel-Air.

"Let's just say I'm now addicted to the way he moves"

[sugoi-and-spice]

Chapter Two - Dream a Little Dream

Pairing: Bully!Dabi x Fem!Reader, (3rd Person)

Summary: If a boy is picking on you, it means he likes you. She could almost laugh. By that logic, Dabi must’ve been fucking in love with her. That thought was what finally made the tears start to spill. Not because of how ridiculous it was or how isolating it felt.

But because it was exactly what she wanted.

CW: Alternate Universe - No Quirks (My Hero Academia), Dubious Consent, Unhealthy Relationships, Bullying, Manipulation, Humiliation, Childhood Friends, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, Childhood Trauma, Power Play, Angst, Implied/Referenced Self-Harm, Drugs, Alcohol, Unhealthy Coping Mechanisms, Attempted Sexual Assault. Future Tags: Rough Sex, Hate Sex, Smut, Porn With Plot, Explicit Sexual Content, Angst and Porn, Sadism

Read Full Chapter on AO3

[excerpt]

She skipped cleanup duty. The second the clock on the wall hit three, she was bolting out the classroom — not even waiting to hear if the bell had rung or for her homeroom teacher to ask her to hang back and talk about today’s “incident”. 

It was the sort of thing she never did at her old school, in her old life, but she had no choice.

Dabi hadn’t come back to class.

Of course, it’s not like that was uncommon. Dabi was a serial skipper even by this school’s standards. It was a strange day when he and his friends actually stayed in their seats for a whole day. She should’ve been used to it by now. And yet, every single time she couldn’t help but panic, couldn’t keep her mind from wandering. 

What if he wasn’t just skipping? What if he left the city? Ran away and changed his name a second time? Erased himself from her life for good? 

No, she couldn’t stand the idea of losing him like that. Not again. The thought was just too much for her to bear, especially on days like this, where he wasn’t just skipping gym or rolling into English late and high. Where he just took off for the rest of the day. It had her wondering lately if on days like this, she should just skip class too.

Panic filled her chest when he wasn’t in his go-to spot on the roof. It boiled higher and higher when the other spots — behind the P.E building, the defunct gardening club’s abandoned tool shed, the convenience store across the street — all turned up equally empty. 

That panic was threatening to spill out of her mouth by the time she’d finally found him and his friends holed up in an alley about halfway between school and the train station.

She nearly collapsed from relief when she saw them, grabbing her knees and doubling over so she could catch her breath, “Th-Thank God…”

The two blondes looked thrilled to see her — Jin with entertained glee, like his favorite trashy reality show just came on — and Keigo with an air of something else entirely, something she really couldn’t discern. But she knew she didn’t like it.

Dabi was the only one who didn’t look happy to see her. He didn’t look especially unhappy either. There was almost a sense of boredom in those heavy-hooded eyes.

He looked at her like she was nothing.

“See, aren't you glad we picked a new spot?” Keigo nudged Dabi and turned back with a grin, “Look how cute and worked up she is.”

Breathing steadied, albeit still a bit flushed, she rose back up to try and plead with Dabi not to scare her like that again, but the words caught in her throat when she saw the joint in his hand.

She looked back towards the traffic of students on the main road. Truth be told, they weren’t that deep into the alley, and there were still a lot of people out, including what looked like a teacher or two.

Just what were they thinking?

“Oi.”

She jumped, attention back to Dabi. He motioned for her to come towards them. With one last nervous peek over her shoulder, she obeyed.

“You look nervous.”

“O-Oh really? I-I’m not, um, I mean—”

“Aren’t you happy to see me?” Dabi taunted before taking a long hit.

“Of course I am!” she cried, quickly catching herself when he scowled at the volume. She dropped her head submissively. “I… I just don’t think you should be doing… that . Especially out in the open like this—”

She held down a gag as he blew a long, steady stream of musty smoke directly into her face, trying to ignore the sting it brought to her eyes as his friends snickered.

But her resolve was rewarded, it seemed, when he reached forward and caught her chin between his long, sturdy fingers.

“Awww ,” he purred, “Is someone worried I’m gonna get caught?”

Her heart jumped straight to her throat as he tilted her up to look at him, completely gripped by the endless sea in his eyes just inches away from her. She’d dreamed for so long to be this close to them again. And yet now that she was here, she could barely handle it. There was an intensity to them that was almost too much to look at. 

She squeezed her eyes shut and nodded nervously.

“Well, in that case...”

Her eyes flew back open as she felt his thumb run slowly up her chin and bottom lip. She wasn’t sure what she was expecting to see. The hopeless romantic in her had hoped it would be his own eyes closed as he leaned in to kiss her. The realist expected a painful flick on the nose to punish her for having such childish daydreams. But the actuality she was met with wasn’t either of those things.

It was the joint.

“...I guess you better smoke it for me.”

Continue on AO3

Like my work? Please consider contributing to my Ko-Fi!

[songbirdsingingthings]

Lavender Haze - Shoto Todoroki x Reader

❀ Back to Navigation ❀

DISCLAIMER: I do not own any of these characters, they belong to Kohei Horikoshi

MHA Masterlist - Main Masterlist

WARNINGS: none

A/N: lol hi this is inspired by queen TS

Word Count: 1.4K

Your body was cold, but your hand was warm as snow began to lightly fall. It was December in Musutafu, one of your favorite times of the year. The city just seemed to hold an all encompassing sort of glow – while the days became shorter, the lights burned brighter. Children all around were cradling carefully crafted snowballs in their hands, all the while ducking behind bushes and trees in order to get the jump on their friends. Garlands filled with ruby red ornaments adorned the streetlamps, menorahs were displayed in window sills, and holiday cheer was in full swing. And, holding your hand, your boyfriend.

Turning your head to the right, you find Shoto Todoroki keeping perfect pace with you. He looked perfectly content – his lapel jacket and scarf providing the little warmth he needed. He wasn’t even wearing gloves, but you knew that was because he was holding your hand. Using his quirk, he was able to keep your right hand nice and toasty, relieving the chill that tended to creep down your spine every time you exited your apartment.

He squeezed your hand. “I can feel your eyes on me, what’s up?” He asks, drawing a roll from your eyes.

“I’m not looking at you.” Shoto huffs a light laugh and sends an extra flicker of warmth through your palm.

“You’re right, you’re not looking at me. You’re staring.” His comment makes you laugh, leaning your body into his further.

“Fine. I’m staring.”

“Any reason why?” You frown, slightly, at his question and wiggle your left hand further into the pocket of your down jacket.

“I guess I’m just waiting for the other shoe to drop.”

Your admission was fair. For the past few months, a frenzy had descended upon you and Shoto. All of the tabloids wanted every detail of your relationship. It was bad enough that you were both Pro-Heroes, but due to Shoto’s standing in the rankings, he was a hot topic. Ever since a picture of the two of you at a fundraising gala went viral, the conversation regarding your relationship became public gossip. Sure, your relationship has been public since the very beginning. Shoto asked you for a first date in the mid to latter half of your third year at UA, and since then, he has been yours ever since. 

It was peculiar – no pictures of the two of you had sparked this much popularity previously. There had been plenty of pictures before, ones much more “scandalizing” than this one, however the public seemed to zero in on one tiny detail; a delicate band of silver resting on your left ring finger.

That damn ring caused an absolute frenzy to occur at every news station and magazine publishing house. You and Shoto could not catch a break. No matter how many times the question was masterfully avoided in interviews, it always seemed to work its way back into fruition.

“I am too.” Shoto’s response was solemn and understanding. This was the first time in quite a while that you weren’t bombarded on the street with fans asking when the wedding was. It didn’t matter that it was your grandmother’s ring that you were wearing in her memory, or the fact that people wouldn’t care to hear your genuine explanations – all they heard were excuses. “But,” he continued, swinging your hands back and forth a little, “let’s try and be in the moment.” He leans down a bit and presses a whisper of a kiss to your cheek, keeping you pendulum of hands going. You smile and nod, letting a timid flush creep onto your face.

“Okay. Holiday shopping it is then.”

It took only five minutes of you and Shoto being in a store for a crowd to descend upon you two.

“Shoto, is it true you popped the question?!” A young fan asked, their eyes boring into the center of your boyfriend’s skull.

“Y/H/N, please show me what your dress will look like! Is it a custom design?” A teenage girl demanded, clinging onto your arm.

“Please televise the whole wedding! It’s basically the closest thing we’ll get to a royal wedding.” Another begged.

You laughed awkwardly as the bombarding questions continued, stepping closer to Shoto, whose arm snaked around your waist almost instantly.

“Um, look guys, we appreciate the, uh… support. But we’re not engaged.” You explain, gripping onto the cashmere sweater you were fawning over earlier tighter. Out of the corner of his eye, Shoto noted that small movement and drew you impossibly closer to him.

“Come on, we can’t wait around forever. Get married or move on so the next person can get in line.” You could hear a pin drop, the room became so silent. Eyes flicked around to find whoever said it, but whoever the perpetrator was didn’t matter. The comment struck the both of you so hard that you were gobsmacked. In a flash, Shoto took the hanger that the sweater was on from your hands and hung back on the clothing rack.

“Okay, we’re done here.” He murmured, shuffling the two of you through the throng of people. 

The cold now, as you exited the store, was much harsher than before.

“I told you, I’m fine. I was just surprised at the comment. You were too!” You say, cradling a mug of hot chocolate in your hands. Beneath a chunky knit blanket and lounging on the plush couch of your apartment, you watched Shoto walk towards you. He himself held a steaming mug, green tea in place of molten chocolate, and tugged some of the blanket over his legs.

“I’m not saying I wasn’t, I’m just saying that the comment was ridiculously out of line.” He paused to take a sip of the tea. “And, I know you’re upset that we didn’t get to finish looking at that store.” A small smile spread across your face but you kept your eyes on your mug. “Y/N?” His voice is softer now, much more cautious.

“I… I-yes, I’m bummed that we couldn’t really spend a normal day out, but I guess I sort of signed up for that when becoming a Pro-Hero.” You say as Shoto laid an arm over your shoulder. “I just wonder when it’s all gonna stop.” Shoto hummed in acknowledgement, massaging a knot in your neck gently.

“I think that all this frenzy will never completely disappear,” he says, keeping his eyes on yours. “But as long as we’re here,” he kisses your cheek, “together,” a peck to your other cheek, “and we just enjoy each other,” a lulling kiss to your lips, “then we’ll be okay.” You sigh in comfort, curling into Shoto’s boy as his hand moves from your neck to playing lightly with your hair. You bite your lip, suddenly, to suppress a laugh. Shoto, of course, notices and raises his brows. “Something funny?”

“No,” you admit, nuzzling your face into the crook of his neck. “Just thought a nice plan B was to get married.” His body shakes in laughter.

“Oh, I plan on proposing to you. Just not for the sake of the public.”

“Yeah?”

“Of course.” A smirk spreads across your face.

“Then the rock on that ring better be huge. You know, so everybody can see it when they watch the live broadcast.” You laugh as Shoto leans his head back over the edge of the couch, releasing a fake groan of annoyance.

“And the flowers?” He asks, egging you on.

“No flowers. I want lavender, dripping from every corner.” You answer earnestly.

“Yeah?”

“Yeah.” Shoto contemplates your answer before pressing a smacker of a kiss to your lips, making you shy away in laughter.

“Lavender it is.”

“So, are you gonna propose to me or not? I mean, we’re deciding our wedding before I have a ring on my finger. It’s counting your chickens before they hatch.”

“I suppose so. But, the difference is, I’m telling you – I will propose.” You smile and settle back into his arms.

“Alright then. That’s good enough for me. Is it good enough for you?” You ask.

“It’s good enough for me.”

“Good. That’s all that matters anyways. That we’re both happy.” One final kiss seals the conversation with a wax stamp, putting it out of the way. Off your desk and off of your chest. And now, you two can just stay in that lavender haze.

Taglist:

@luluwiie​ ~ All-Flora Florist

@maiacroson​ ~ All-Flora Florist

@nerdypuppytimemachine​ ~ All-Flora Florist

@softvanlla​ All-Flora Florist

@catguinsstuff ~ All-Flora Florist

@smallxbunny​ ~ All-Flora Florist

@the-emo-asgardian​ ~ Snowbell Florist

@lovers-liability​ ~ Snowbell Florist

@palenightmarepersona​​ ~ All-Flora Florist, All-Tree Arborist

[wanderingnewyork]

A rare view of an empty #Main_Street_Flushing_Station on the No. 7 line, #Queens.

[tomtenadia]

Stranded - part 2

Here we go with part 2. I have the final part in the works. This will be a super fluffy fic...

PART 1

Rowan left the hotel and huddled in his coat. He hadn’t done a Terrasen run in winter in a while and had forgotten how harsh the winters could be. According to the hotel staff -10C was mild for them and said that at the beginning of December the temperatures would easily plunge as low as -24C.

Aelin had given him a meeting point and the staff had helped him with how to get there. Almost giddy, he stepped outside the hotel and his nose lifted up. The sky was the deepest blue and the air smelt fresh and crispy. It was a wonderful scent.

The subway was packed and slowly he navigated the station until he got to his platform.

He was glad Aelin had offered to be his guide. If it wasn’t for her he would have just spent the day at the hotel and ordered room service. Aelin had been right, he visited new places but never bothered much to really explore. Now he wanted to and it was all thanks to the woman he had met at an airport. In the span of twenty-four hours she had made him realise that perhaps it was time to stop being his usual cynical self and try to crack a smile from time to time. What had she done to him?

He chuckled lightly and finally got off the subway and stepped out of the main entrance and the centre of the city appeared in front of him. Lights and decorations were everywhere. Aelin had explained to him that Terrasen was big on the Solstice, their main holiday and the winter festival would start at the end of November and continued until the beginning of January.

Aelin had promised to meet him at the exit of the subway so he stood there and kept an eye for her. It was five minutes later when he saw her walking hurriedly towards him. A smile appeared on his face. She had a woolly hat that resembled an elf, at the sides it even had arms. She was cute. More than that. The smile she gave him as soon as she spotted him almost took the air out of his lungs.

“You made it.”

She had a big scarf wrapped around her neck and elf gloves. Her cheeks were flush from the cold and at the sight something fluttered in his stomach.

“I did, and I am all ready to explore.”

Aelin stepped in front of him and tightened his scarf “You are not used to this cold,” then she noticed his hands “No gloves?”

He shook his head.

“First mission of the day: we are getting you gloves.” She took his hand and pulled him and Rowan was happy to follow her wherever.

Twenty minutes later they left the shop and now he was sporting a set of warm gloves almost matching hers. He was wearing elf gloves and didn’t even feel silly. Aelin was doing a number on him.

His hand folded around hers “Lead the way.”

She gave him the most beautiful smile and he admitted that he’d do anything to see her happy.

A moment later, he paused and thought about the strange feelings budding in his heart. They had known each other for only two days, how was it possible? He had felt giddy when he was assigned to the Terrasen flight. The crew had even asked him how it felt to fly his girlfriend home.

He was so absorbed in his thoughts that he did not realised that Aelin was talking to him.

“Hm?”

“I was saying that we can have breakfast now at my favourite cafe, if you like.”

Rowan nodded. Together they walked through the packed streets and Aelin told him all about the old part of Orynth. Apparently there was also an amazing bookstore that they had to visit.

“Here we go.”

The place was called Emrys and it had a cozy vibe. It was all in wood and Rowan loved it as soon as he stepped in.

“Aelin?”

He watched her interact with the owner as if they were old friends and was positive a stupid smile had appeared on his face.

Looking around he spotted a table near the window and sat down. Aelin had told him she was going to order and pay for the drinks. He tried to protest but she had been stubborn.

Ten minutes later she came back with a tray in her hands “Mind if I sit here?”

He rolled his eyes in fake annoyance “if you really have to.”

“I got you a black coffee and a cinnamon roll. Emrys’ are the best ones you can get in Orynth. His pastries are divine.”

Rowan looked at her drink and chuckled “Is that a unicorn hot chocolate?”

Aelin shook her golden curls “no, just a good old fashioned winter festive hot chocolate. No unicorns were used in this drink.”

“Do you come here often? The owner seems to know you well.”

Aelin lifted her head from her drink and Rowan smiled at her chocolate moustache. Why all of a sudden his brain sent images of him kissing her? What was happening to him? With a napkin he gently removed the chocolate.

“When I was still in Orynth I would come here all the time and once I moved I’d visit every time I was in town. It’s my magical place.”

Rowan nodded and took a bite of the cinnamon roll. Aelin was right. It was divine.

“What does Wendlyn celebrate in December?”

“We have Yulemas on the 25th.”

“Do you get to be at home?”

Rowan drank his coffee “Most times. But sometimes I am on a long haul flight and I can’t get back in time, so crew and I just have a party at the hotel.”

“That sucks.”

He shrugged, he was used to it.

“Do you have a big family? Do they miss you on Yulemas?”

“I am an only child. My parents live in the countryside, and I live in Doranelle.” He explained “but our clan is vast and I have a gigantic number of cousins and sometimes my uncle throws a huge party at his estate.”

“That sounds amazing.”

Rowan chuckled “It is, and I usually gain a few kilos in the span of two days. Cooking is a big thing in my family.”

“I love Wendlyn food,” she exclaimed happily “I got obsessed with it while I lived there.”

He paused and stared at her “how…” another pause “how does it feel to be back?”

Aelin lowered her mug “I missed it. Yes, it was my choice to move away for a job, but when all fell apart I started missing my friends and family especially when I fell into deep depression and Chaol ignored me.”

“What a prick. I mean, you went through something heartbreaking and instead of being at your side he was busy screwing another woman? What a bastard.”

Aelin’s blue eyes landed on him and in that instant it was as if she was looking in his soul. That’s also when her hand moved to cover his and gave it a gentle squeeze “you are not as bad as I thought at the beginning.”

He rolled his hand and grabbed hers, squeezing it back.

*

After breakfast, Aelin dragged him to the bookstore and Rowan knew someone would have to drag him out by force.

“Aelin, this place is…”

“Incredible, isn’t it?”

He nodded and with her hand in his they walked under the door that looked like a thick tree branch. He hadn’t left her hand since they left the cafe. A part of him did not want let go at all.

“This is the fantasy section.”

He started walking along the corridors looking at books.

“This,” Aelin walked to him with a book on her hand “I edited this. It’s a really good one, and by the way, I am really picky.”

Rowan smiled and took it from her hands “well, I need to buy it now.”

She hummed happily and he stared at her walking along the rows of books. She was a force of nature and with each passing moments he felt dragged to her a little more.

“Do you work on fantasy books only?”

Aelin flicked a book in her hands “I have done some general fiction ones for a smaller company, then tried sci-fi but eventually I landed the big gig with fantasy.”

“Do you have a new job lined up here in Orynth?”

“No,” a wicked smile appeared on her face “my friend Lys and I are planning on opening our own bookstore. One that supports mostly small and indie authors. Thanks to my contacts it should be okay. We will sell bigger names too, of course.”

He listened to her in fascination.

“There is a location near the Florine, our main river, that is a sort of artist corner of the city. It is full of independent craft shops, artists galleries and Lys and I think that it lacks a bookstore. It’s a very popular area.”

“Can we go there tomorrow?”

The smile she gave him was as bright as the sun.

*

Aelin was ready for another day of exploring with Rowan. The previous day had been perfect. They had spent almost all of the afternoon in the bookstore and Rowan possibly splurged a nice chunk of his salary on books and she was amazed when he listened to all of her suggestion. It had given her fuzzy feelings. She went as far as to admit to herself that she had started to like the man a lot. The previous day she had managed to discover a part of him that he had carefully hidden at the airport. He was a caring man. And an avid reader. He had been fascinated by her job and bombarded her with questions and in return she did the same. They had settled in a nice friendship and a part of her was sad at the idea that he was probably meant to fly again soon. This was a brief and unexpected layover.

The previous night she had talked to her mum and explained what was happening with Rowan. Evalin had asked her if she was falling for Rowan but Aelin shook her head. How could that be? They had known each other for only two days. 

“Your father and I married after six months, and almost forty years later I still love him.” Her mother had told her. Maybe what happened with Chaol had hardened her, but her mother was right. Sometimes love at first sight happened and worked too. 

Maybe he is not even interested, reminded her the rational part of her brain.

A shrug and she finished getting ready to go out again.

Rowan met her at the metro station in the centre as agreed and then they both rode the tram all the way along the Florine. When they stepped out Aelin noticed his expression of delight at the sight. It was a colourful and interesting part of the city with old buildings in exposed brick stones.

“Come, I’ll show you the location we are thinking about.”

Aelin took his gloved hand and smiled internally. He still had her the elf gloves she bought him.

As they walked, she gave him a rundown of all the shops and eateries present and he followed happily. She finally reached a closed up store in a corner of a busy square. All around it had cafes with colourful awnings, a music shop, a deli, a few small restaurants and some clothing shops.

“That’s the shop.” She pointed at the location “Lys’ husband is a lawyer and is helping us in placing a bid to actually win it.”

“It’s in a lovely location.”

“Are these cafes any good?”

“They are, but we are going somewhere else.”

Aelin took his hand once more and they went round the corner and entered a cafe - The Oakwald, and he loved it had a slight forest/nature them. It exuded a sense of peace.

“What are those?”

Aelin turned her head towards the wall with painting of the Little Folk “Oh, they are the Little Folk. Spirits who live and protect Oakwald forest. As a kid you are taught that when you go in the woods you should leave offering to them near boulders.”

Rowan chuckled and Aelin loved the sound.

“We take our nature very seriously and Oakwald has a protected status.”

“I love that.”

They sat down outside on the patio and Rowan was impressed by the fact that it was not cold. The outdoor seating area had heaters and it actually felt nice. In front of them the Florine ran lazily and Rowan loved the moment.

Aelin removed her hat, gloves and coat and tackled the menu “the food here is delicious.”

Rowan sat opposite her and then took her hand.

“Aelin I…”

She look at him pause and a sense of dread surged in her.

“I have to fly back tomorrow.”

Aelin’s heart sank. She knew it was going to happen but was trying to ignore it. 

She felt his hand cup hers “The crew manager had to reshuffle all the shifts. The storm caused a bit of a mess. I am not sure when my next Terrasen run will be.”

She nodded in silence. Why she felt like crying? She did not want him to go.

“It’s okay.”

“Aelin…” she saw his hand pull a wild lock of hair behind her ear “I had a good time. And I wish…” she saw him pause and then sigh “it was the best layover I ever had. Thanks to you.”

“You have my number…” was all she managed to say.

“I will annoy you to no end during my down time in an airport.”

Aelin laughed at that “Please do. I want to hear al of your rants.”

They spent the day together until after dinner Rowan confessed that he had to go back to the hotel and get ready for the next day. They had separated with the promise of seeing each other again when he was in Terrasen.

*

Rowan was in his room and was packing all of his belongings when sadness hit him. His time with Aelin had been perfect and special and now he was positive that the emotions he had were actually feelings for her. Big damn feelings. As soon as he was back he was going to bid for as many Terrasen runs as he could and try and spend every possible moment with the woman that in the span of days had somehow stolen his heart and his soul.

Before he went to bed he texted her and when she replied he let himself fall asleep.

*

Six months later

Rowan stepped out of the cockpit, said his goodbyes to the crew and with a spring in his step he moved quickly out of the tunnel and into the airport. Outside on the concourse he flagged a taxi and gave him the address. 

He hadn’t seen Aelin in three weeks. His job had taken him all over the place but never closer to her and he missed her. In the months since the storm they had kept in touch on a daily basis and he had managed to fly to Terrasen a lot thanks to his colleagues swapping with him. Three months prior he and Aelin had finally decided to get serious and put a label on their relationship. Long distance had been tough but they had endured. In the meantime Aelin and Lysandra had worked on their project and that was the day of the bookstore   launch. He was so excited for her. She really had worked hard.

The taxi stopped, he paid the driver and got off. Rowan was still wearing his uniform and carrying his suitcase. He wanted to see Aelin so badly that he had decided to forego the stop at his hotel. Plus, she loved him in uniform.

Throughout the months, Aelin had sent him a photographic update of the bookshop so he knew what to look for. The place had balloons outside the main door and guests crowded the entrance. On his visits he had met her friends and knew that she was very close with Lysandra and Elide. The former was the one who spotted him first.

“Rowan, you are here. Aelin is inside.”

Once inside, he admired the store. It was even better than the photos.

One moment his feet started moving towards a bookshelf, the next a blonde tornado was in his arms. The familiar smell of lemon verbena hit his nostrils as her hair landed on his face. His arms wrapped around her “Hey Fireheart.”

“You are here.” She looked up at him and Rowan all of a sudden felt at home.

“Give me the suitcase, I’ll put it in the office.” She ran away and came back a moment later.

Rowan pulled her close and kissed her deeply. A hum left her mouth.

“I missed you so much…” his forehead touching hers “The past three weeks have been hell.”

She snuggled against his chest and for a moment it was just the two of them.

“The shop looks amazing.”

She looked up at him and stole his captain cap, placing it on her head “Lys and I are very proud.”

The guests started to gather and Aelin passed Rowan to Elide while she and Lys prepared for the inauguration speech.

“They have done an amazing job, haven’t they?”

Rowan turned to the brunette woman with a wide grin “Indeed, the shop looks amazing.”

“So, are you staying for long this time?”

Rowan shook his head and went back staring at Aelin “just a quick visit.” And he hoped Elide did not notice his tiny smile.

Rowan chatted with Elide then, eventually, excused himself and started wandering around the shelves. At the fantasy section he went browsing and was intrigued by the selection of titles. Within five minutes he already had three books ready to be bought.

And that’s where Aelin found him.

“Do you like my selection?”

At her voice he turned “impressive indeed,” he lifted the books “and dating a woman with a bookshop might ruin me.”

Aelin closed the distance and buried her face in his chest, a heavy sigh leaving her.

Rowan squeezed her tight.

“How long are you here, this time?” He had not missed the pain in her voice.

“What if…” he teased her and Aelin’s eyes locked on him.

“Ro?”

“How would you feel about having me being around a bit more?”

Aelin pulled back “what do you mean? You don’t have to give up your job.”

Rowan chuckled and pulled her back in his arms “No, silly…” a soft kiss on her head “a friend of mine who flies for Terrasen airlines told me about a pilot job.”

Aelin squealed. They were in a quiet corner of the shop and in that instant she did not care about guests “And?”

“I had an interview about a month ago. I was in Orynth for a quick layover.”

“You were here and did not tell me?”

He sighed “is that what you fix on? It was a five hours layover. I barely had enough time for the interview and then away again.”

“Rowan, you are killing me.”

The laugh that left him was almost as carefree as she had the power to make him feel “I got the job. I have one last week, then I will be based in Orynth.”

Aelin threw her arms around his neck and kissed him “no more long distance?”

He shook his head “I might have the odd long haul, but I am not expecting anything more than one day layover.”

“Ro… are you sure?” She did not want him to sacrifice something he loved.

“Pay is still good, with the added bonus that I can be with you.”

“We can find a flat together. I think I am ready to move out of my parent’s house.”

Rowan gave her a genuine grin “that was going to be my next question. I will need to find a flat. Will you move in with me?”

Aelin’s arms wound around his waist and Rowan wrapped her too.

“I love you,” Aelin’s words were a whisper against his lips.

He kissed her back then pulled away “come on, your guests are expecting you to do the honours.” He pretended to push her away “I have more books to buy,” his hand reluctantly left hers.

Aelin gave him a sweet kiss and walked away with a big smile on her face.

Rowan stood in a corner of the fantasy section and admired her from distance as she interacted with all the friends and guests they had invited. He was proud of her.

Six months ago she had been an annoying woman who sat at his table during a snow storm and would not let him alone.

Now he could not think of being away from her. 

For her he was ready to upend his life and move to a land of unforgiven winters.

A storm had brought them together and he wished they could withstand together whatever fate threw at them.

TAGS

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[mr-camhed]

Name: Tailgater

Age: 4.64 million years

Gender: male

Faction: Decepticon

Assigned Forces: Decepticon army, 212th Urban Assault Battalion, Karashni squad

Role: lieutenant

Motto: "What's more suitable for relaxation after battle than cleaning up trash after war?"

Personality: Tailgater is a really nasty piece of work. He does not hesitate to aim a sniper Rifle at medics and rockets at civilians. To him, murdering non-combatants, medics and even wounded, no matter The species or allegiance, is an incomparable kind of relaxation. However, this caused him to lose his chances of promotion as The act of killing potential prisoner, recruit, logistics personnel and even fellow officers just because they aren't carrying weapon in the opens is still frowned upon even by Decepticons, and the frustration he had accumulated would be then be unleashed upon more combatants and his own men, which only worsens his chances.

Alternate mode: Tailgater transforms into a navy Blue first Generation Audi A8 Sedan.

Appearance: Tailgater is about 6.7meters tall and has a transformation scheme similar to Bayverse Que/Wheeljack. His headsculpt is similar to that of Energon Kickback, with a faceplate similar to Bruticus Maximus. His robot mode part's main color is gray, with rare accents of teal and silver.

Weaponry: Taigater is rather strong, but is only of average intelligence. Under vehicle mode, Tailgater has a top speed of 274 kilometres per hour, and has a notable advantage on durability and acceleration, but his handling suffered from a soft suspension. And under both vehicle and robot mode, his headlights can emit a concentrated beam of energy that can disable and even melt optical equipments, a Machine gun mounted on his front fender/shoulder and a missile launcher on his outside shin/rear fenders and two mine launchers on The back of his shins/both side of his rear bumper. In robot mode, Tailgater also has a variety of weaponry provided to him by Bulwark or his unnamed benefactor including electromagnetic sniper rifle with a variety of ammunition such as anti armor fragmentation shot, heavy duty missile launcher with a variety of warheads such as scraplet, cosmic rust and other biochemical warheads, railgun scattergun, plasma assault rifle, nucleon bomb and so on.

Character Biography: Tailgater from Rodion was a forged from a high caste house. He has been a bully since he was a sparkling, and the tolerance from his guardians due to his status only boldens him. However, he was forcibly sent to the military school when he wounded a Senator in a prank go wrong, and was regarded as a good team leader although he is slightly bad in discipline and may be a promising member of the military. However, Tailgater would later be kicked out from the academy as the fall guy when he and a group of his fellow cadets started a bar fight with several recently unemployed miners transported back from Messetine that ended in The death of a cadet, several miners (many of whom were shot by the police when they responded or later died in custody due to "unknown circumstances", while several were shot and killed by Tailgater and his fellow cadets when things seems to go bad for them) and an innocent bystander that was thrown down to the streets below by his fellow cadet Onslaught for getting into his way.

Luckily for Tailgater, he was approached by Zeta, the Senator he had wounded before, to work for him in clearing out people they considered troublesome. He would be responsible of or at least taken part of incidents such as the attack on Rodion Police station, The Institute Conspiracy, the assassination of Sentinel Prime and probably the most notorious incident, The False flag Raid on The great Archives and attempted assassination of Orion Pax, in which he was responsible for leading the other thugs in attacking the archive while disguised as Decepticon Terrorists and flush Orion Pax to an area where he can be sniped by a prepositioned assassin.

Tailgater took this job with a Machine gun and glee, as Orion has been a thorn in his side since The bar fight where he dared to arrest him and his cohorts for "putting those dirty obsolete peasants into their place", and takes testimony from the miners instead of them; and also obstructs him whenever he was helping the Senate to "make Cybertron a better place" by cleaning out factors of social instability and trash parasites, even almost catching them after their assassination of Sentinel Prime and forced them to hide in the sea of rust after their getaway transport crashed and flipped over.

However, despite Tailgater and the goons were able to drive Orion pax to the designated area through massacring archivists, security, other staff and even occasional visitors of the archive, blocking Alternate exits with arson, explosives and traps, and left graffitis and gruesome display of corpses to make the blame on the Decepticons more convincing, the assassin would hesitate at her shot and failed to kill the intended target; which Tailgater just decided to do by himself. So under the cover of his fellow thug Timereckon, he bursted into The room, and opened fire on Orion while he was mourning The Death of his friend, mentor and Head archivist Codexa. However, Orion would fight back, killing Timereckon when he was rammed into a wall by Pax in truck mode, and crushed to death, before Pax was shot up and gravely wounded by Tailgater.

Unfortunately for Tailgater, before he could finish his goal, he was tackled by Ariel(who has been friend with Orion pax since they were in the emergency department together, at The time was a volunteer assistant archivist alongside Pax and would later become the leader of Autobot operations in Decepticon occupied areas of Cybertron during The war, although it is nothing beyond speculation that they were romantically involved), who was able to knock him over, and before he could attempt to draw his sidearm or knife, the other survivors would also gang up on him and knocking his lights out by beating, kicking, and bludgeoning him with furnitures and even his own Machine gun. And with Orion Pax escaped and out of The reach of the Senate, Tailgater was once again a scapegoat, this time he was tried as a Decepticon Terrorist and sentenced to death.

However, before the execution could be carried out, the prison facility he was held in was raided by the Decepticons who were breaking out several felons they were looking to recruit into their ranks, including Monstructor Six, Bludgeon and Shockwave. Many more prisoners and even guards(such as the Combaticons who were fellow cadets with Tailgater) would join the Decepticon Cause that day, including Tailgater. Afterwards, he would participate in many raids against the Senate and Cybertronian Infrastructures.

He was also present during the Kaon Riots where he participated in the massacre of Senators and their associates, and witnessed the Death of Zeta Prime in the hands of Megatron, the subsequent fight between Megatron and Orion Pax which saw Orion Badly wounded by Megatron's fusion cannon before being resurrected before being chosen by the Matrix of Leadership to become the new Prime.

He would then be a part of the battle of Nyon which signified the beginning of the Great war, and the early stages of the war.

However, he was forced to leave the Frontline when he shot and killed a Decepticon staff officer in the aftermath of the battle of Sherma Bridge where he mistaken the officer as an Autobot Medic which he had previously blinded, and was reassigned to the Deception Prison Colony of Styx, and later Fort Straxus in Darkmount and the Grindcore Prison Camp by the time if the Simanzi Massacre as a perimeter guard and sometimes(not enough in his own opinion) executioner.

Fortunately for him, by the time of the attack on Kimia Station, he was allowed back to the frontline where he was a part of the 212th Urban Assault Battalion where he was Assigned over several Genericons, Vehicons and a Couple of Seekers as a squad that participated in the battle of Karash where they wreaked havoc on the Autobots' logistics and local population's support, which earned them the title of Karashni Squad. He would then rope another Decepticon named Bulwark who was an Armorer into his squad, and by the conclusion of the Earth Campaign where Megatron announced his surrender to the Autobot Authorities, the end of the war and Dissolution of Decepticon and its Causes, Tailgater was among the ones that refused to admit defeat and continued to wage war on Autobots, Neutrals, Decepticons who had accepted defeat, and biological lifeforms. However, this time, he seems to have begun working for a mysterious benefactor who he seems to have known from way back…

Weakness: Tailgater has no notable physical Weakness except for the headlights and his handling which suffered from a soft suspension; but his constant misbehavement and tendency to draw enemies makes his subordinates less and less willing to follow his command.

Commentary: you won't understand how may times Hellsite sh*t itself and lost my progress on this. It just refuses to save progress after he got in jail for some reason. write anything about him joining the Deception, save, and "something went wrong". Anything else, "saved successfully". Fuck you, Tumblr

[atomic-two-sheds]

Okay, since @bluestockingbaby expressed interest from an earlier note, here's a personal story involving, but not centered on, Garth Brooks. It's long and convoluted, so I'll put it below the cut. Names changed, yadda yadda.

So, spring of my sophomore year of college, some friends and I decided to go get food at 1AM. This limited our choices, because we went to school in the middle of nowhere (having grown up there), and there were precisely two places in the entire county open after midnight. So Dave and I piled into Jim's car and headed out to Hardee's (AKA Carl's Jr. for the rest of the country), which served breakfast after midnight.

Now step one of this is to get on the main road through the tiny town in which our college sat, follow said road for about nine miles, and that put you right in the center of my hometown where the restaurant was. It's the middle of the night, in the middle of nowhere, and we're the only people on the road.

We get cut off.

Not three minutes into the drive, someone in a pickup jumps out ahead of us from a side street, close enough that Jim has to slam on the brakes to avoid hitting him. Mildly annoyed at this, especially given that the road was wide open otherwise, Jim lightly taps his horn in a "c'mon, man" gesture. He doesn't lay it in, hit it multiple times or anything. Just a quick beep. A minute later, the guy pulls off the road, waits for us to pass, and pulls back on behind us. From there, he begins maintaining about two car lengths of distance from us. We speed up, he speeds up. We slow down, he slows down. We come to the conclusion that he's now following us. Odds are decent he was heading the way we were anyway; I mean, there's one main road, with maybe two major spots to turn off for most of the drive. We're three big dudes in a car, but anyone who might decide to follow a stranger on the road in the middle of the night is probably more than we want to handle. So, we decide on a test. There's an all-night gas station right as you get into town where we're heading. Plenty of light, cameras, etc. We'll pull in there, circle around to the rear pumps, and if he pulls in after, we'll zip out the other exit and head in another direction.

We pull off, he pulls off behind us. By the time he pulls around back, we're out the other side and headed back the way we came. Okay, late-night biscuits are out, but the other place that's open is on the previous turn, and we can head there. It's a Waffle House in all but name. Same shape, same general menu, same atmosphere. It's a late-night diner where the late shift is run by an ancient German immigrant who was the type to bounce drunks without help and give free drinks to her favorites. It was a Friday, so there were good odds they'd be busy, and they were also across the street from the State Police Depot (Fun fact; a few years prior the police station had moved across town. The restaurant, which had been next door, moved with it to help reduce response times.). It was the kind of place that had armed security on the weekend, but the food was good.

On our way to the restaurant, I set forth an idea. Let us not go to this place; nay, let us go to The Pancake House.

The Pancake House was a nigh-legendary 24-hour restaurant about a 45-minute interstate drive away. It had a statue of a large Japanese cowboy outside. I'm certain that the cowboy was not originally intended to be Japanese, but the person who painted the eight-foot waving behemoth was having none of it. "This cowboy is from Japan," he must have said, "as all giant and powerful cowboys should be."

Jim protested; he didn't have the gas to make the trip and travel home that weekend; I, flush with scholarship money, said I would supply the needed cash. With that, the other two agreed, and we turned away from the diner an onto the nearby interstate, headed North.

Now, I will preface this part of the discussion with the note that companion Dave is a lying liar who lies. Mostly, this was the bullshitting type of lie, making fantastical stories and such to puff himself up. You could hear anything out of his mouth, but given all our backgrounds, we could gauge the odds of truth pretty well.

Almost immediately upon merging onto the interstate, Dave had to go to the bathroom. Being the middle of nowhere, there aren't exactly a lot of exits to pull over and find a place. The closest exit is about fifteen miles away, one of those restaurant/truck stop/state rest stop areas you find where there's nothing else. He whines and whines until we get there. It's deserted with the exception of a large bus at the end of the lot.

Dave goes in and does his business. When he comes out, he says, "Guys, I think I just took a piss next to Garth Brooks." Knowing Dave, we call bullshit. He expounds, "No, seriously! I go in the bathroom, and there's two guys standing on either side of a closed stall door. Now I figure [homophobic supposition redacted], so I'm trying to do my business and get the hell out. That's when "Friends in Low Places" comes on over the muzak, and the dude in the stall laughs in the same voice."

We continue to express doubt as Jim starts the car back up and begins pulling out. At that point a lone figure in a t-shirt and sweatpants jogs from the building, across the lot, and climbs onto the bus.

It was Garth Motherfuckin' Brooks. I don't know if the toilet on his tour bus was busted, or if he just wanted to stretch his legs, or what, but he was in a truck stop on the highway in the middle of the night. The next day we checked his tour schedule; where he was the night before and would be the night after was a straight line through where we were. Dave earned some credibility with that one.

So we continue our trek for pancakes, because the night was far from over. We arrive in the shadow of the Japanese Cowboy and go in to be seated. This is long enough ago that we land in the smoking section, because Dave and Jim both had the habit. While we're waiting on our food, Dave locks eyes with a guy across the room, and they both look away quickly. "Shit," he says. "Guys, that's my uncle."

Jim says, "Uh-oh. Are you afraid he's going to rat you out to your parents for smoking?"

"Nah, I think I'm in the clear. That's not his wife he's eating with."

Food comes, food is uneventful outside of occasional uneasy glances between Dave and his uncle, and we decide to return home. It's now something like 5AM. Once again, because middle of nowhere, we have to go to the town we were originally headed to to get to an ATM so I could provide the promised gas money. I get the bills, pass them to Jim, and he tucks them in the car visor for safekeeping. We head toward the school, and decide to take a winding back road for fun, because we've all been up for like 20 hours, full of syrup, youth, and hubris, and what could go wrong?

As we are winding down the tree-lined road in the mountains, we pass what can only be described as a lot of clean-stripped deer skeletons by the side of the road. Like, not a ton, but more than one should reasonably expect, which is none. Not carcasses, or roadkill, or scattered bones, but whole, clean skeletons. Which, as any country person can tell you, isn't a thing that happens naturally. We all confirmed with each other that we had seen it, confirmed with each other that it was both weird and terrifying, and decided that we would not speak of it again for fear of drawing the attention whatever crazy bastard would do that. We drove the road again a few days later; no skeletons. I don't know if that was good or not.

As the winding back road merged back onto the main road close to our school, I should note that this road runs along a ridgeline. There are no wind breaks, there are no trees, nothing. You get the full force of whatever weather is going on. For some reason, Jim rolls down his window to catch the morning breeze. Turns out there's some serious wind going on, and the gas money blows out the window. We pull over, and search frantically for the cash as the sun comes up. No dice. We probably searched for a half hour along this narrow two-lane as cars and trucks blew past. We're afraid it went over the ridge, or got caught on the tire of another car, or something. I beg off the search, desperate for sleep, which angers Jim because he needs the money, but he relents and we head back. We go to the dorms and call our respective girlfriends (this is pre-ubiquitous cell phones) to meet us at the cafeteria for a snack before we collapse. Dave and I head back to our rooms. Jim heads back out to search for the money, and finds it immediately on a stretch of road we checked a dozen times.

Not the only odd stuff that happened in that crew of people, but this is probably the longest single chain of connected events out of all of them.

[acteur-dramatique]

Chapter Fourteen: Evening Walk

Around 5 PM, TJ stepped out of his dorm, feeling the need to clear his head. The sun was beginning to dip below the horizon, casting long, golden rays that painted shadows across the campus walkways. The trees, in their late-autumn glory, glimmered in shades of deep green, gold, rich brown, vibrant orange, and even the occasional dark purple. The colors softened in the light, giving the campus an almost dreamlike atmosphere, but TJ’s mind was anything but calm.

As he walked along the familiar pathways, his thoughts drifted back to Chase. The way he’d felt around him earlier, the magnetism of his smile, the warmth he brought into the room—it all felt so vivid. There was a subtle spark there, a feeling he couldn’t explain or ignore. But as soon as he acknowledged it, a sense of confusion took over, throwing him into a spiral he wasn’t prepared for.

I’m not… he started to tell himself, but the thought trailed off as he remembered the way his heart had raced, the flush that rose to his cheeks whenever Chase’s gaze lingered. He’d dated girls in high school, he reminded himself—nice girls, ones who made him laugh and who his friends liked. But with them, he had never felt this raw pull, this sense of being seen in a way that both comforted and excited him.

The path led him away from the main campus buildings, past a line of trees that shaded the trail toward town. He could see the small shops of the town square coming into view, the lights in their windows just starting to glow against the fading daylight. TJ paused for a moment, his footsteps slowing as he stared out at the scene before him, trying to make sense of his thoughts.

Maybe it’s not about being gay or straight, he thought. Maybe… maybe it’s just about feeling connected, feeling drawn to someone in a way I can’t control. But even as he thought this, he could feel the weight of years of assumptions pressing in, the expectations he’d always had about himself and who he was supposed to be.

He let out a sigh, feeling the first flickers of doubt fade into something more honest. Whatever this was with Chase—whatever these feelings meant—he knew he couldn’t keep pushing them away. There was something real here, something undeniable, and he wasn’t sure he could keep lying to himself just because it felt unfamiliar.

The street lights began to flicker on as the sun finally disappeared behind the trees, casting a warm, welcoming glow along the sidewalks. The chirping of crickets filled the evening air, grounding him in the simple beauty of the moment. TJ turned back toward campus, letting the quiet sounds of the evening calm his racing thoughts.

As he passed the Casey’s gas station, its neon sign blinking against the dusk, TJ took a deep breath, feeling a small sense of peace settle in. He didn’t have all the answers, but he was starting to understand that maybe he didn’t need them—not yet, anyway. This feeling, this connection to Chase—it was a part of his journey, even if he didn’t know where it would lead.

With the crickets singing their song and the warm glow of campus lights guiding him back, TJ walked on, his heart a little lighter, his mind a little more open, ready to see what this new chapter of his life might bring.

[buttercupkg66]

Brandon Harris, 35, was charged with attempted murder and assault in the attack.