#baseball custom pins

[asdgsagfasd]

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[ocularmacdown]

i love you, visibly queer person working in customer service

[dcxdpdabbles]

The Undead Florist

Anon said: Basically, I just wanted Danny to deliver flowers to the Justice League heroes from his fans. If you can include Everlasting Trio. U can add whatever crack you think would be best! Thank you!

Clark is in the middle of blocking a heat ray attack from a robot that copies the powers of any Justice League member when the unexpected happens. A kid, no older than fourteen, boldly walks into the battlefield carrying a lavish bouquet of red roses and trigger lilies.

He's dressed in a worker uniform: light brown khakis, a black shirt with a light-born vest, and a black baseball hat resting neatly on his head. There is a company logo on the upper right of his vest but Clark does not recognize the stylized D.

There was a still moment when Clark's super speed could see the exact second Amazo spotted the child. The boy wasn't paying attention, staring at his phone screen, which had the faint details of a map, and had two headphones in his ear.

Clark's eyes widen in horror, and he opens his mouth to try to shout a warning—though he doubts the kid could hear him over the loud music playing in his ear—but before he can, Amazo flung out an arm straight at the kid's head, still pinning Clark down with a cheap version of his own laser ray eyes.

No! No, please, he's so young! He pleads mentally, frozen in horror as the robot's hand goes right through the kid's head. It took a solid minute for Clark to realize that Amazo's hand hadn't ripped through the skull of the child but rather had passed through him as if the boy was not physically there.

From underneath a black baseball cap, brim, electric blue eyes stare at Amazo. Gesturing vaguely to the arm going through his head, the boy frowns. "Rude much?"

"Access: Black Canary," Amazo says in response, his jaw opening wider as a super-powered scream is released, pointing black at the kid's face.

The frown on the worker deepens as the boy reaches up and- slaps the android in the face? "Dude, I'm trying to work. I have like eight flower deliveries today. Also, that was a weak imitation. This is a real Ghostly Wail."

He opens his jaw, letting out a sound that wasn't as loud as Black Canary or Amazo but somehow worse.

And the sound—the unholy screech that releases from the child sends Clark to his knees, quivering in his boots as Amazo disintegrates right before his eyes. The only thing left of the android is a smothering pair of robotic legs that fall over with a loud thump.

The boy huffs, paying no mind to the fact that he took out the enemy the league had spent the last six hours fighting before Clark tried to lure it away from the city. He merely glances back at his phone, following the little moving icon on the map until he stands before the fallen hero.

"Hi! Are you Superman?" The kid asks in a polite, chipper tone. It's such a whiplash change between his normal voice and his customer service voice that it sets in. This is really just a Tuesday for him.

Clark opens and closes his mouth with a weak "Yes" and is pushed out.

The kid's smile grows as he pushes the flowers into his arms. Clark nearly drops the vase, scrambling to get a good hold of them as the kid pulls out a harmonica and plays a little jingle. It sounds like a mix between Happy Birthday and Ring Around the Roses.

Once he is done, the boy holds out his arms wide open and loudly proclaims, in a very obvious Transatlantic accent, which makes him sound... rather otherwordly: "These flowers are sent by your fan Kattie Longsmith in Metropolis, wishing to thank you for rescuing her mother and brother from a fire. She wants to remind you that she is your biggest fan and hopes you have a lovely day. Thank you for selecting the Undead Florist as your means of flora travel!"

With a theatric bow, the boy blinks out of existence.

Clark is left kneeling alone in a destroyed cornfield, beating black and blue, while holding a vase of lavished roses and lilies. He is unsure how long he will stay there, trying to process what he just saw as the Batplane flies onto the scene, Bruce jumping out of it with a cry of his name.

Batman growls upon taking in the scene before his friend rushes to his side. "What happened?"

"I ugh...I got a flower delivery." He manages to utter, eyes still trained on the spot of the strange kid.

"What?"

"Trust me, I'm as confused."

It turns out that Clark's delivery is not an isolated incident. Over the past three months, various Justice League members have reported similar interactions with the Undead Florist.

Flash got a bouquet while trying to stop Captain Cold. The kid had wandered in the middle of a fight, unfreezing the speedster to hand over yellow lilies and sunflowers from a little boy named Teddy Smith in Central City. He had melted the freeze ray that was shot at him while Barry was in the middle of a panic, thinking he would watch a child die.

One little jingle and message was delivered in a Transatlantic accent later, and the boy was gone without a trace again. Bruce had gone to the scene, trying to find anything that could give him some clue, but he disputed the clear picture of his face and the recording of his voice. Nothing about the boy came up in their systems.

Wonder Woman was next, receiving two large bouquets of roses from a fellow woman she had rescued named Trix Cooperman. Her jingle was slightly smoother jazz , and the message leaned towards romantic than gratitude from a fan, but the boy had delivered it nonetheless.

He also took out Cheetah with a well-placed punch, highly impressing Diana. He had the makings of a warrior.

Then Green Arrow, Green Lantern, Martian Man Hunter, Batman, Martian Man Hunter, Hawkgirl, Aquaman, Zatanna, and surprisingly Vigilante each got their own flower grams.

None of them were able to get any information about the child, seeing as he only appeared when the members were in the middle of a fight, which was driving Bruce mad.

Of course, they had tracked down all the clients but met a dead end when each claimed they had never placed an order with Undead Florist. Even when Diana was holding her rope, the people gave the same answer.

They had no idea why Undead Florist was delivering flowers in their name or where the message that came along with the flowers appeared from. The chilling part was that the messages did actively represent their emotions and feelings towards the heroes, but how the overpowered child knew that was left unanswered.

The other thing that bothered Bruce was that the Undead Florist only appeared when they were in battle.

"Maybe it's because he doesn't know how to find you otherwise," Nightwing suggested at the Justice League-wide meeting.

"He uses a GPS that is locked into the heroes." Batman grunts, not dismissing the suggestion but challenging it, which causes his eldest son to shrug.

"Undead could be following online tips or something. It's not like the Leauge is seen just strolling around the cities, but people tweak when they do happen to see us."

"We could test that. Have a group of heroes just relaxing at a cafe or something. See where he appears and if there is a pattern after monitoring social media." Red Robin suggests, rubbing his chin.

Batman considers it before nodding. "I shall divide the teams."

The Justice League goes out, doing as instructed, and sure enough, they find the Undead Florist appearing more and more. Red Robing happily puts together the pattern, pointing to social media generated by the younger generation's demographics.

Undead Florist is an actual teenager using DCtweets to find heroes to bring flowers to. They have enough proof of that to show he's harmless if one ignores his more than impressive battle skills.

"Now all we need to do is catch him," Clark announces. "We don't want to scare him, but the Justice League really needs to know how he's doing all of this. It could be a security risk."

Meanwhile, Danny chills in his haunt, watching Sam tend to the flowers in a large greenhouse he placed for her. Tucker is typing away on a ghost zone-powered supercomputer, looking at all the Soul orders their business is getting.

The Ghost Zone didn't have a formal currency; they had Deals instead. Even small unconscious deals—like wishing on a shooting star, throwing a coin in a fountain, or sending a prayer or two—could be turned into deals if a higher being encountered them.

Luckily for those people, Danny and his lovers are very kind higher beings and choose to complete their requests in a way that satisfies all of their obsessions without stealing souls.

Sam got to spread her greenery across worlds, Tucker got to spend time with tech from different universes and Danny was able to explore and protect the souls of humans.

That Danny could exchange these Soul orders for gold was no one business but their own.

"Ohhh, another order, Red Robin, from Universe Nine!" Tucker crows. "It's roses in the shape of a heart from Kon-el. Aw, he's in love with his best friend!"

"That's sweet." Danny smiles, leaning over his boyfriend's shoulder to read the message he must memorize when he struts into Gotham. "I know how much fun dating best friends is."

"Let's help those losers confess then!" Sam calls, raising her hands as roses of various colors burst to life around her.

[thepascalofus]

First Date

AO3

Pre-outbreak/No-outbreak!Joel Miller x Home Depot Worker!f!Reader

Word Count: 5.5k

Summary: Working at Home Depot was lack-luster. The paint department brought in a variety of customers, the majority of them just buying their paint and leaving. Then Joel Miller comes in--looking to repaint his daughters bedroom.

Content Warnings/Tags: Pre-outbreak/No-outbreak, reader works at Home Depot, fluff, meet-cute, rude customer, Joel defends you, eventual smut (next part), eventual first date, no descriptions for reader, no y/n.

A/N: Got this as a request! There will be another part with smut.

“More saving. More doing. That’s the power of the Home Depot.”

The wannabe gruff voice of the Home Depot narrator echoed throughout the large cement warehouse. It was Sunday, only two hours until close, and the store was virtually dead.

A large rectangular box of a warehouse was your place of employment for the time being. Orange decorated aisle after aisle, and employee after employee. Some employees decorated their aprons in paint and pins, showing their years of employment and dedication to their jobs. Others simply had their name written on their apron, just like how they simply showed up to work and left.

After moving out of the house you shared with your ex and into your own place, you needed the extra income to supplement your new rent and the remaining rent you owed on your shared lease. 

Home Depot was hiring—and was desperate—because you got employed in the paint department.

Making paint wasn’t hard at all. It was the shitty customers that ruined it. Customers would demand to see a manager after you told them their paint wasn’t ready—even though they asked for three five-gallon buckets, and ten single gallons, fifteen minutes ago. People would order the same amount in a color they swore they would love, and then attempted to return it the next day, even though NO REFUNDS was printed in bold on the Home Depot paint sticker. 

But, working behind the paint counter had its perks. You could stay in one place in the store, telling customers who needed help with complicated items that you, “had to stay and watch the desk.” Plus the desk had a phone, which allowed you to call any department, so your more knowledgeable coworkers could take over tough questions.

The only types of customers left at this hour were those that had emergencies, and those that liked to put things off until the last minute. 

Getting tired of sitting behind the desk’s computer on your phone, you got up and walked the three aisles that made up the department. Your footsteps lightly tapped against the gray concrete of the floor. With each step, you scanned the shelves and the floor for anything out of place. Returning misplaced items was an easy task that helped you eat away at the remaining time of your shift. 

A tube of caulk was placed right in the middle of the gallons of wood stain—classic. You reached downwards to retrieve the tube and stood back up, pacing down the shelves of orange towards the caulking aisle. The music over the loudspeakers was just quiet enough to hear the surrounding conversations in the other aisles.

One voice echoed to you louder than the rest. Randy’s voice.

Randy was a retired mechanic. Most of his skills were applicable to the questions customers often had. The man had wiry, white hair that peaked out from this Home Depot baseball cap he wore everyday. His apron was covered in various stains of grease and dirt, his name scrawled in Sharpie on the upper right corner of the orange fabric.

From a couple aisles over, his gruff voice made its way towards you, “Ah! Paint for a bedroom…Well let’s see, is this a kids bedroom?”

A deep, Texan drawl replied to Randy, “It is, ‘s fer my daughter. She wan’ed her room repainted for her birthday. She’s turnin’ thirteen. Says she needs to get rid’a the ‘baby colors’ from when she was lil’.”

Randy let out a hearty laugh, followed by a muted smack, likely from giving the man a pat on the back, “I know how that feels,” Randy paused to let out another laugh, “My daughter is in her twenties now, but she was the same way as yours. Thirteen hit and she insisted she was allll grown up.”

You retreated to the paint desk with a small smile on your face, it was nice that the man wanted to repaint for his daughter. Your watch told you it was an hour and thirty until close. This customer just had to wait until the last minute, though.

The unknown man let out a chuckle at Randy’s anecdote. Slow, muted steps from both men made their way towards the paint department’s aisles. One of the men let out a deep sigh.

“Thing is, I dunno a single thing ‘bout what colors’ll look nice together.”

The footsteps came closer and the two men appeared in your vision. One central aisle lined up with the paint desk, making somewhat of a runway for customers to walk on to come and request paint. Randy looked down the aisle and his gaze met yours, “Oh! There she is,” Randy said your name to the man, “she knows a ton about colors, I’m sure she could help ya more than I can.”

Randy truly was a nice man. He helped you deal with rude customers. Showed you basic tips and tricks. Ate with you in the break room on occasion.

But, c’mon Randy.

The old man continued walking towards the break room and left the man standing at the end of the aisle. You looked down, pretending you didn’t hear the majority of their conversation. Organizing the paint samples became a very consuming task. Heavy steps made their way closer and closer until your peripheries were consumed with the navy blue color of the Texan’s shirt.

His large hands rested on the desk’s countertop. Thick digits were covered in calluses. Before you could observe his fingers more, he cleared his throat.

“‘Scuse me, miss. S’wondering if you could help me w’ somethin’,” the man drawled out.

Your eyes looked up from the desk, and they widened in surprise. The front of his shirt had orange letters displayed on the front: MILLER CONTRACTING LLC. 

Most contractors that ventured into the paint department weren’t as…put together as this man was. The usual paint covered pants and shirt weren’t present on this contractor. The navy blue of his work shirt spanned across his wide chest and even wider shoulders. Sleeves hugged his biceps deliciously. If he moved his arms any more you were worried the sleeves would rip. Not that you’d complain.

Then you looked up to meet his eyes.

His eyes.

Brown irises held eye contact with you. They were deep, warm. Inviting. The color made you think of a teddy bear. Soft and comforting. Brown hair on his head and face matched his eyes. The hair on his head consisted of messy waves combed to one general side, probably from a sweep of his fingers. Short, dark brown hairs made up his beard and mustache. Each facial hair component framed handsome features. A strong jaw was framed by his beard, and plush lips were framed by the ‘stache. 

The same lips were forming a smile spanning across his face. His eyes crinkled and displayed slight lines near the corners. Lines developed from years of laughter and smiles.

Realizing you looked at him blankly for a second too long, you snapped out of your trance, “O-of course! What do you need help with?”

His hands came up off of the counter and rested on his hips. “Well, y’see, it’s my daughters thirteenth birthday comin’ up. She’s had this yellow color in ‘er room since she was a baby,” he let out a small sigh, as if he was reminiscing, “an’ she wants ‘er room repainted.”

You heard the conversation he had with Randy before, but you didn’t want to come off as a creep for eavesdropping. “Ah, ok! That’s nice of you, and seems easy enough! Do you know what color she wants?”

He let out another sigh. His eyes met yours. The man looked like a sad, lost puppy. “I know her favorite colors, pink and purple, but there’s just so many options,” he turned and gestured with a broad hand towards the rainbow wall of paint swatches. “An’ darlin’, I tried to do m’own research, watchin’ some Martha Stewart shows, but then Martha started talkin’ about warm colors and cool colors,” he let out a chuckle accompanied by a broad smile, raising his hands in front of his chest, “and then she lost me.”

Darlin’.

Other customers called you that condescendingly. When you didn’t know the difference between one screw and another. But the man’s endearing use of the word made your heart melt.

You smile back at him and lean forward on the counter. “Well, I think the first step is just the color. After that, we can worry about warm tones and cool tones,” you gave him a playful smirk.

He chuckled once more. “Sounds like a plan t’me,” he started walking towards the paint swatches. You snuck out from behind the counter and followed him to the pinks and purples.

“So I was thinkin’ of doin’ both pink and purple, but I dunno what looks good together.” The man started reaching for a card of pink. You took the moment to admire his forearms. Thin, dark hairs covered the surface of his tan skin. Muscles flexed on the front of his arm, displaying the years of manual labor the man has endured.

A pink swatch, Valentine, appeared in front of your face, accompanied by a lavender swatch, Kiss and Tell.

Valentine was bright, Barbie pink. Kiss and Tell was a light purple, the color the wax of a lavender candle would be. You admired his dedication to doing both of his daughter’s favorite colors, but the pair didn’t look too great together. The corner of your mouth perked up, displaying the thought you were putting into the pairing.

“No?” The man asked, a tinge of disappointment in his voice. His brows slanted downwards and his eyes resembled those of a lost puppy.

“Hmmm. Does she usually wear lighter colors,” you pointed towards the lavender swatch, “or brighter colors?” You gestured to the pink swatch.

He looked down at the swatches and his brow furrowed. The man was standing so close, you could smell cedar and musk from his cologne. His large biceps slightly brushed your upper arms as he turned to face you, “I reckon she likes the lighter colors.”

You took the lavender swatch, Kiss and Tell, from the man. Your fingers brushed against his thick, calloused ones as the card came into your possession. “Ok, so we’ll stick with the light purple! Let’s find a pink to match this one,” you smiled at him and he returned the expression.

Turning your body slightly towards the pinks, you started picking swatch after swatch off of the wall. Out of the corner of your eye you saw the man watching you in awe. Once several pink cards were in your hands, you went back to the paint desk.

You laid the cards out on a blank, white piece of paper. Five pink swatches were in a row on the paper with the lavender swatch below them. The man stood next to you and leaned over your shoulder to get a better look. A husky voice drawled in your ear, “So which one d’ya think, darlin’?”

You bit your lip at the warmth in his tone. A small shiver traveled up and down your spine, leaving a tingling in its wake. His tone was warm, and so was his upper arm. It grazed against your arm and left it warm and fuzzy. Brown eyes scanned over the options and then locked with yours. 

His gaze was incredibly soft. He looked desperate. The image of a lost puppy crossed your mind yet again. A small smile was spread on his face, roping you further into your tiny crush on the customer.

You give him a small smile, which his eyes crinkled further at, and you inform him, “Unfortunately, I can only give you my opinion. I can’t make the decision for you.” One of the man’s eyebrows raised and he gave you a slight frown. “Why’s that?” His voice lilted in question.

Giving him a slight shrug, you explain, “Well, I’ve made decisions for people before, and sometimes they come back and blame me for ‘ruining their walls’. I can tell you what I think looks good! Buuut I’m not going to decide for you,” you gave him a sweet smile.

Cedar and musk filled your nose again as he leaned closer. Your gaze dipped downard and followed one of his large hands. The calloused fingertips on his thick digits gripped the paper, and dragged in between the two of you. 

His opposite hand was set next to yours. A strong arm brushed against you. The hand holding onto the paper spanned across the page, “Well, tell me what’cha think, hon’?”

Hon’.

The feeling was quick, but intense. It washed over you like a soothing, warm bath. Ease seeped into your bones and then crept up into your cheeks. Your face felt hot at the term of endearment. Turning back towards the swatches, your lip found its way behind your front teeth once more.

You went through the details of each potential pairing. Telling him which ones you thought were too warm, too muted, or too cool. The best pairing was with a light, baby pink. The swatch read:

First Date

Reading the color name, of course Behr had a weird color name for a damn light pink, your face got even hotter. Your hands collected the other pinks and set the light pink and light purple next to each other.

The man picked the two cards and held them up to each other in front of his face. His gaze scanned the names of the two cards. “Kiss and Tell,” he softly muttered, his eyes gliding across the other name, “First Date,” he gave a slight smirk. It was as if he read your mind, he bit his lip, then released it. His tongue darted out to soothe the pinch on his bottom lip. 

“Ok darlin’,” he started, “how much paint do I need for a ten by ten room?”

“Well, a gallon covers three hundred to four hundred square feet,” you trailed off, “depending on how many coats you want to do, you’ll need one to two gallons.”

His mouth scrunched up to one side and he hummed, “How much is a gallon?”

Your mouth slanted in thought, “Well, it depends on what type of paint you’re looking to get.”

He smiled and tilted his head at your words, “Typa paint? Darlin’, I thought there was just paint,” he softly chuckled out, “an’ I usually make my brother do the paint shoppin’.” His confession brought a smile to your face. It wasn’t uncommon. Whenever people bought paint, they were slightly taken aback at how many questions you needed to ask them.

You started to walk to the left, towards a mat laid out on the paint desk counter. The brown mat displayed different qualities and brands of paint, which increased in price as you looked towards the right end of the lineup. You took a breath to start your usual line of questions, “Okay, so how many coats of paint are you looking to do? These paints,” you slid your finger to the more expensive end of the lineup, “have more primer in them, so they’re thicker. The thicker the paint, the fewer coats you have to do. Some paints have a one coat guarantee,” you finished and looked to his eyes to read his expression.

His mouth repeated its action from earlier, scrunching to the side, “Hmmm, I s’pose one coat would be less work…” He went silent for a moment as he thought. You could almost see him running the numbers in his head. “Alrigh’, I think I’ll go with two gallons of the one coat,” he finished by placing one of his hands down next to yours on the mat. The man’s eyes twinkled as he looked into yours and gave you a soft smile.

The smile he gave you was returned with your own, “Okay! So what sheen do you want the paint to be?” His smile shifted into confusion once more. Lines on his forehead deepened due to his perplexed look. “Sheen?” He asked.

You gave him a soft giggle. Reaching across him and towards a board of wooden paint swatches, you gave him a small, “‘Scuse me,” and his cologne filled your nose once more. Your shoulder brushed against his arm on your way back to your original positioning.

Facing the swatches towards him, you explained, “So sheens are how shiny the paint is once it dries. You can have no shine, which is a flat sheen, and you can go all the way up to very shiny, which is a high gloss. Usually bedrooms are eggshell or satin,” you pointed to the corresponding wood pieces. Tapping one of the shinier samples, you added, “And the shinier the finish, the more durable it is, and the easier it is to wipe, if you wanted to clean the wall.”

You leaned towards him, pointing at one specific wood sample block, “If your daughter likes to draw on the walls, I’d get satin, or even a semi-gloss.”

He huffed in amusement at your suggestion. “Guess I forgot kids draw on walls,” he chuckled, “Sarah’s ‘n angel, she prefers paper instead of drywall.” His wholesome anecdote made you giggle and look into his eyes.

The man gave you a small wink in response to your laughter. Taking a breath in, he pointed to a wooden sample a few spaces above the one you pointed at, “Lets go w’ eggshell.” His finger dwarfed the block of wood as he gave the material two light taps with his fingertip. Gazing at his hands, they were calloused, but also well kept. Fingernails at the ends of his thick digits were trimmed short, utilitarian.

You smiled at his decision, “Okay! Well, I’m going to go make labels for these two gallons and then I’ll mix ‘em up for you!” He beamed at your words and leaned against the counter, “Sounds good t’me, sweetheart.”

Your face flushed with heat at his response, and you hurriedly went to the other side of the counter to enter the two gallons into the computer. A white screen filled your vision as you tapped the different buttons to narrow down which type of paint the computer needed to calculate formulas for. 

As you tapped one button, the computer froze for a couple seconds. You frowned, “It always does this,” you thought. Not having to focus on the options on the screen, your vision instead focused on the reflection displaying what was behind you. Your eyes landed on the Texan man.

And his eyes were on you.

You watched as he bit the inside of his cheek, his mind lost in his thoughts. His gaze remained on you until he nodded to himself and looked down. Though he wasn’t observing the different paints on the mat, he was reaching into his pocket.

One of his hands sprawled out on the counter as he held down one of the paint samples and began to write on the paper in black sharpie, the item he retrieved from his jeans. The computer wasn’t too far from the counter, and you were semi-able to see what he was writing.

It was a phone number.

Your eyes widened and you returned your focus to the computer's screen. It definitely loaded a while ago and you hadn’t noticed. You pressed the, “PRINT LABELS” button and tore the stickers from the printer. Not making eye contact with him—still panicking over what you witnessed—you made your way down the center aisle and found the cans needed for the paint colors.

But your lazy coworkers haven’t been downstocking the cans, so they were just out of reach when you were on your tip-toes. You sprawled your fingers up towards the top of the can, hoping to find the handle with your finger tips.

Then heavy steps made their way over to you. The Texan’s signature cologne wafted towards you, “Lemme help ya’ with that, darlin’.” Before you could answer him, he reached and grabbed two gallons down from the just-out-of-reach shelf. He lifted them up so you could see the faces of the can, his face framed by two paint cans, “Are these the right ones?” You nodded, and he made his way back to the paint counter with them. Internally swooning at his help, you followed behind him, but returned to the opposite side of the counter as him.

He set the cans down with a, thunk, thunk, and smiled at you. You gave him a smile as you took the cans, “Thank you,” you said to him. His smile broadened, “‘Course.”

You brought the open gallons underneath the tint dispensers, each gallon getting a small amount of tint. Hammering echoed throughout the store as you closed each gallon, then put them in the paint shakers to mix.

Looking up from the floor, where the paint shakers were, back to the counter, you saw the man’s thick fingers tapping on the surface of it. Your eyes traveled from his fingers to his face. His gaze met yours and his lips parted, “What’cha got goin’ on for the rest of the night?”

You had to force your mouth to not smile too wide as you answered him with a sigh, “Just finishing up my shift, then going home,” you paused to think about what else to say, “I’m just glad I don’t have to work for the next two days,” you chuckled out.

His face and shoulders fell playfully, “Oh, I’m jealous,” he shook his head, “I’ve gotta work the next four days, n’ then I’m off for two.” He shook his head even more. Your lips slanted in sympathy and you were about to offer it, but the man continued, “Never become a contractor hon’,” he let out a breath, “I’s shitty hours ‘n shitty clients.” 

Brown eyes widened and then looked at you, he placed a wide palm over his chest, “Sorry sweetheart,” he chuckled, “Jus’ had a long day.”

You laughed at his apologetic behavior, it was endearing, “You don’t have to be sorry!” You continued to laugh, but then lowered your voice. Leaning towards him, you murmured, “Home Depot has shitty hours and shitty clients too,” you winked at him.

His teeth shined in the broad smile he displayed for you. A series of laughs left his chest. Two large hands both rested on the surface of the counter as he looked down and, more quietly, continued his chuckling. After a couple seconds, brown eyes peered back up into yours. The twinkles in his irises matched his smile.

“Hope I’m not a shitty client,” he joked, but his eyebrows faltered in sincerity. 

Your head tilted at him with soft eyes. Scrunching your lips to one side, you decided to be somewhat bold, “I think you’re one of the best I’ve had in a while.”

His face relaxed and his soft smile returned. The lines between his eyebrows became more prominent as he gave you those brown, puppy-dog eyes. “Well thank ya’, darlin’,” he drawled. You held his eye contact until you caught movement in your peripheral—his thumb brushed against the light pink paint sample. The dark mustache above his lip twitched as he bit the inside of his cheek again.

Click. Click.

The sounds indicated the timers on the paint shakers were up. And the gallons were done mixing. Breaking eye contact, you bent down to retrieve the gallons from the machines. Opening them up, you put your finger into each can and dotted the color on the top of the can. They were closed once more and you slid them over to the man across the counter.

He looked down at them, and then his face lit up. “Oh! D’ya mind puttin’ these colors on my account?” You were equally lit up at his request, as customers usually didn’t care about the paint accounts they could make to save their paint colors.

Using the computer closest to him, you tapped a few buttons and a series of fields popped up. You pressed on the field for a phone number, “What’s your phone number?” You asked him. Your face heated up at the meaning of the words in a different context. 

He told you and you typed them in, pressing enter on your keyboard. One account popped up: JOEL MILLER. “He definitely looked like a Joel,” you thought to yourself. “Joel?” You asked out loud to confirm it was his account. His name tumbling from your lips made his face light up. A charming smile was framed by a dark beard and ‘stache. “That’s me,” he replied.

You clicked on the account and entered the colors under, “Sarah’s Room,” Joel told you. The information was saved after a press of the “SAVE” button. His hands came up to grip the thin, metal handles of the paint gallons. Sliding them off the counter, his mouth opened and then closed again. He bit his lip, then looked at you, “Thank you darlin’, have a good night.” 

Your brow dropped a bit, expecting for him to give you his number—for different reasons this time. Before he got too far, you replied, “Of course! Have a good night, Joel!” He threw you a wide, toothed smile over his shoulder. Joel’s smile was wide, but his eyes lacked the same enthusiasm.

—

No one else approached the counter after a couple minutes, so you retreated to the computer to “do your training”. You sat on your phone, letting the training video play in the background—this video was literally anti-union propaganda. Mindlessly scrolling on social media, your thoughts wandered. 

You felt dumb for expecting him to give you his number. He could’ve just written something else down on the card. Sighing, you turned and meandered the paint aisles to keep yourself busy. With slow steps you wandered past can after can. You made it to the third aisle, and a man stood at the end of it. 

He had dark brown hair, wore a navy t shirt, and was built like Joel. Your footsteps became faster to greet him, but then the man turned and looked at you—it was not Joel.

The man sighed and rolled his eyes, “Finally, I’ve been waiting here for five minutes looking for one of you.”

Your eyes widened, the tone of this customer sharply contrasted the one of your last. Joel’s kind eyes and comforting drawl made this man’s voice compare to nails on a chalkboard. Staring at him, you realized he didn’t look like Joel at all. The rude man’s facial hair was unkempt and scraggly. His teeth must have had the same maintenance as this beard, as they were begging for a trip to the dentist. His hair had no style, not even a brushing of it in a general direction.

The awful whiny, rasp of his voice only heightened your disgust, “I’ve been looking for this thing,” he held his phone out and pointed at his screen, “it says you have it in stock in this aisle but I can’t find it.”

You hummed in response. After asking him to scroll down to view the products information, you typed the SKU for the item into your phone. The Home Depot app on your phone was the only way you could help people, otherwise you'd be lost. You typed the SKU into the app and made sure the app filtered for items in your store, not just the available items online.

OUT OF STOCK displayed under a picture of the item, next to your store name. You sighed, “I’m sorry sir, but it looks like we did have this item, but it's out of stock right now.”

The man’s eyebrows knitted together and he looked at you in shock, “What?” The word shot into your chest. Shit. You thought back to what you said to Joel earlier, “Home Depot has shitty hours and shitty clients too.”

You sighed, “Do you have the right store listed on your phone?” The man snapped his eyes to his screen confusedly. After a moment he held it back out for you to see, “I don’t know, you tell me,” he sneered.

Reading the “130 IN STOCK” on his screen, your vision trailed to the store next to it. That store was in a completely different area. Clearing your throat, you informed him, “Sir, that’s a store one hundred miles from here.” You braced for his reaction.

His screen faced him and he grumbled. “Well why doesn’t your damn app update the location when I search?” He rudely asked. Your breath caught in your throat at his harshness. “Can’t you look in the back if you have it?” He stated, like he worked here.

Another deep breath, “We don’t have a back sir, we do overhead stocking,” you looked up, “and I don’t see the item you’re looking for up there,” you swallowed. Heat flushed into your face in anxiety at the customer’s attitude. 

“Fuckin’ useless,” the man spat under his breath at his phone, peering up at you. “Can’t even find a damn item,” he trailed off. Your throat clenched at his words. A shaky breath left your nose. 

Heavy footsteps came from behind you and a wave of distaste washed through your bones. You swore if it was another entitled customer, you were going to go insane. Probably cry. Maybe scream. Definitely asking to go home early.

Someone cleared their throat behind you, “You’re bein’ quite harsh to ‘er for somethin’ that ain’t ‘er fault,” a Texan drawl announced. Recognizing the voice, you turned to see Joel’s built figure make its way over to you and the shitty client. A huff from the rude, scraggly man came from your left, “This ain’t any of your business, buddy.”

Your head snapped towards Joel to see his response, “The hell it ain’t,” his voice got slightly louder, “You’re the dumbass that can’t jus’ say you were lookin’ at the wrong goddamn store.” Eyes wide, your gaze shifted from one man to the other. Joel stood tall, brows furrowed, and muscles bulging in the sleeves of his t-shirt. 

Scraggly man must have decided the argument wasn’t worth it, as he just grumbled and took his cart down the aisle and away from both of you. Joel sighed beside you, “‘M sorry ‘bout that, sweetheart. I knew ya coulda handled that, but he shouldn’t have been so rude to ya. Especially over his own damn mistake.” 

Relief flooded your body in the absence of the shitty client. Warmth from Joel’s presence began to fill the rest of the space that the relief couldn’t. Then you started thinking, “How’d you know he put the wrong store in the app?” You asked Joel.

The contractor froze. Eyes wide. Brows towards the ceiling. Lips pinched together. He looked down at the cement floor and then back up to you, “I may have been eavesdropping from the aisle over.” He cocked his head towards the aisle he came from.

Joel took a deep breath and then cleared his throat. The same brown, puppy-dog eyes from earlier met your irises. He dug his hand into his front jeans pocket and pulled out a piece of paper. Unfolding it, a light pink—First Date—sample card had a number in black sharpie scrawled across the color. “I came back to give ya this,” he held the paper out for you to take, and you took it from his large digits.

You stared at the card in shock. Okay. So he did plan on giving it to you.

He sighed and rubbed a broad palm over the back of his neck, “I was gonna give it to ya’ earlier but I got nervous,” he chuckled, “I, uh, I jus’ thought, uh, I think, that you’re very pretty, and funny.” He cleared his throat once more and continued, and you tore your gaze away from the paper to meet his eyes, “An’ I’d like to take ya’ out on a date sometime.” A heavy breath left his lungs.

A moment passed before you grinned at him and gave him a little chuckle, “I’d go on a date with you, Joel.” Broad shoulders covered in navy fabric slumped in relief. He grinned at you and his face flushed—he was blushing.

He checked his watch and muttered, “Shit.” Looking at you, his brows furrowed, “Sorry, darlin’, I’ve gotta run. Havin’ family dinner tonight.” Your heart throbbed at the care he had towards his family. 

You waved a hand at him, heat rising towards your face at the loose plans you two had, “Well, don’t let me make you late!” He nodded at you, “Have a good night, sweetheart,” he said before slowly walking backwards down the aisle and away from you. “You too, Joel!” You replied before he turned the corner.

About to turn the corner, he shot you a grin with a wink.

Okay. Maybe working at Home Depot did have its perks.

[otakugurl-11037]

Who Let Vampires Run Rock n' Roll?! Part 3!!

—————————————————————————

We got blood, biting, breaking and entering, a bit of hypnotism, and slight intimacy. Part One. Part Two!

About 1,000 words.

Happy reading!

—————————————————————————

After a couple glasses of water, a shower, and binge-watching random slice-of-life anime, I temporarily forgot about the whole situation. 

All this attention and confusion should go away after a week or so, I just gotta lay low. I know that I cannot handle being in the spotlight anymore than what I’ve already been. I could probably explode from all the exposure. 

I headed downstairs into the kitchen to warm some leftovers up; I hadn’t eaten since yesterday. I grab a prepped meal of chicken, red potatoes, and string beans, placing it in the microwave. I put in 2 minutes, any less would leave the plate hot and the food cold.

I pretend not to care about the food as I look around my house. It’s small, but it’s spacious enough for me. Realistic-looking plants take over my corners as my old paintings dwell on my walls. Fairy lights hang from the ceiling, making the whole place seem more comfortable.  A custom-made rug rests on the floor while being surrounded by couches and chairs. The coffee table that’s pinning the rug down has accumulated a mess of receipts, unimportant mail, and dead batteries. I never got around to cleaning it. 

Beep! Beep! Beeee-

I open the microwave door and grab the food with a hot pad. I walk over to my couch and sit, turning on my TV so that I may have entertainment whilst I eat. 

I put on an anime where the main group relies on the power of friendship and the villain does everything in his power to destroy their friendship, thus destroying their power.

“Now go ahead and play THIS,” the villain on-screen said as he unveiled a popular party game which relies on winning at other people’s expense.

“Oh no!!”

The group on-screen screamed at the same time at the horrid sight, which got a chuckle out of me. I stab my fork into the potato and pop it into my mouth. 

“Come on, you guys can do it,” I cheer with my mouth full. I eat more potatoes, quickly finishing them off before I move on to the chicken.

Soon, the plate is close to being finished and so is the episode. I take my final bite and savor the flavor of the string beans. Once it hits the credits, I get up and put my dishes in the sink.

Then a chill ran down my back. 

“Hm?” I look around, for any disturbance that could’ve caused me to get that sudden cold, but there’s nothing. 

Shrugging it off, I sit back on the couch, the show starting up the next episode.

That chill then turned into total uneasiness, as if I’m suddenly not alone in this house. It felt just like that weight I felt on my shoulders at the concert. I turn off the TV and rise from my position, swaying my head around in trepidation. Still, nothing from what I can see.

I head into my linen closet and grab a baseball bat Mai had gifted me once I moved here. To defend me from big bad criminals, she said. Hopefully I won’t have to put it to use. 

I survey each room, looking for any potential threats. Nothing in the living room. There was a bug in the kitchen. It’s no longer living. Nothing in the bathroom except for the fact that I need to replace the toilet paper roll. 

Aside from some minor matters, there’s no threats down here. Now for the second floor. 

I head upstairs to survey those rooms. Nothing in the bigger bathroom and there’s nothing in my office. All that’s left to check is my room, which has been radiating this overwhelming energy that I cannot describe.

It’s heavy enough to deter a bodybuilder, it could smother the air itself, it could cause the Berj Khalifa to fall if it wanted to.

Everything in me was telling me to drop the bat and run from this potent energy, yet I grabbed the doorknob, my heart racing like it would never beat again.

I turn the doorknob and walk forward, my legs weighing a thousand pounds. 

I see my room, with its walls covered in posters and pins I’ve collected. I look at my bed to see…Lucien laying upon it as if he’d been waiting for me. Once I entered, he gave me a smile.

“Pleasure to see you again, sweetheart,” he said, winking at me again.

I stare at him, eyes widened, questions running a marathon in my brain, and dropping my bat.

“You were quite difficult to find, you know. It’s not easy finding someone just from their scent, not to mention how far you were from the place I’m staying at.”

I regained my senses and straightened myself.

“H-how did you get in here,” I questioned. “I thought vampires needed permission to come inside someone’s home!”

“I got permission,” he retorted. “From myself. I asked myself if I should enter and…here we are.”

I know that Iooked perplexed, because he took one glance into my eyes and giggled. 

“What? Not all of us follow the same rules, sweetheart. Also, I didn’t catch your name.”

“Did you break into my house just to know what my name is??”

“No, of course not.”

He sat up before continuing.

“I didn’t break in, I simply envisioned myself inside your home and I was brought inside. Also, why would I enter your home for something as silly as that? No, I wish to speak with you, sweetheart. But first, your name.”

I gave him my name and he nodded, his smile widening a bit.

“Such a lovely little name,” Lucien said. “It suits you.”

As he spoke, I noticed his fangs were out, no longer looking like caps.

“Uh, thank you- oh wait!” 

Memories from this morning came back to me, rushing into my thoughts like a bullet train.

“You bit me but everybody else thought that it was a kiss,” I said. “On the lips! I felt like a crazy person this morning!”

He laughed again.

“Seems like you’re more worried about the audience’s perspective rather than the fact that I bit you, sweetheart.”

“Oh yeah, that too! You said that you wanted a drink, how was I supposed to know that you were gonna bite me?!”

“Sorry about that,” he said sincerely. “I hadn’t fed ever since me and the band got here, despite their warnings. Plus, you were in the crowd, looking absolutely…delectable.”

I swallow at how he enunciated that last word.

“And to answer your previous statement, me and my band just so happen to have a special ability that masks our, well, inhuman traits.”

He said our…is the whole band made up of vampires??

“You know how some people are able to use makeup so well that it completely alters their appearance?”

I nod, waiting for him to continue.

“Well, we have a little illusion we like to call ‘The Forbidden Mask’, but other vampires call it glamour. It hides our vampiric tendencies and appearance in plain sight. Bites become passionate kisses. Fangs are veneers. Things like that. The only way this mask is taken off is if we directly bite or show that person who we truly are. With the benefit that no one else knows but that person.”

“How do you know that I won’t let other people know,” I ask. “I could just call up a friend and tell them.”

He laughs again, this time sounding like a villain.

“Because I can make you not tell others.”

“Oh really? How,” I ask, picking up my phone to test his statement. “What’s to stop me from calling my friend’s number?”

He cleared his throat and started to sing for me.

“Put that phone down for me, sweetheart…”

Without thinking, I place my phone onto the dresser top, making my eyes widen again in disbelief.

What?!

Lucien then brought his hand out, gesturing for me to come closer.

“Come here, my sweet little girl…”

My foot went in front of the other despite my attempts to turn around or stop. I soon stood in front of him, watching as he gave me a look that said, ‘told you so.’

“Why don’t you sit with me, my darling darkling?”

I was seated next to him, leaving no leg room.

“See,” Lucien said. “I can control humans with my voice. So even if you manage to get your little secret out there to some believers,”

He leaned in as if he wanted to make sure I got his message.

“I can make them do as I say. Or, do as I sing, rather.”

He leaned back and scooted to the side, giving me some space.

“So that’s how we’ve managed to stay hidden in plain sight. Fascinating, isn’t it? To be a flamboyant secret; hidden to the world, yet not.”

Goodness, this word limit is killing me. Imma try to get part 4 out ASAP.

[theryanitecorruptionandothersins]

Content Warning: suggestive image, implied/referenced non-con, discussions of fictional mob families and their unethical practices, unhealthy or inadvisable relationships, otherwise batshit and unrealistic things

stocked

finally she posts! first it was anxiety over punting this thing without the mature community label curtain. then it was a the posting limit she (i) hit on the other blog. then it was the general blog content warning she (i, again) forgot to post in favor of being an attention whore with no empathy for other people! (i'm working on that) what will she do next! (no please do tell me when i forget to tag things or tag things incorrectly or am generally being an asshole, thank you. the painfully aware presence that is not everything else usually catches it, but a shot to the knee is always welcome.)

now, onto house:

so as you have now probably gleaned (– and if you haven't, check the tags –) that the houses i write and draw are very au. very, very au, as my last attempt at fanfic or fan finagling with a piece of media has absolutely rotted my ability to not be au with it. he's still a bastard, of course - he's still robert edwin house, ceo of robco industries, sole proprietor of the new vegas strip. he's now just a little bit... other things as well.

he's Robert Edwin House, the mob wife of a mafia heiress Mary-lynn Lussier, and groomed since late adolescence to be so, partially of his own will, partially not since it's the mob, nevermind it being french, not entirely of his said mob spouse's full consent on the matter either, because 12 year olds will think anything is cool when it's a family thing and they're made to feel included, and she's protecting her nerdy twerp friend who's brother is a shit and who comes off as a mean snob when really he just doesn't get people all of the time, like her own one brother, of which there are several and think, that when she is sixteen and a prodigy at daddy's job, that her not-boyfriend sort of pet nerd, who made her a custom automatic baseball pitcher tailored to her and her needs, should also be tailored to her needs in turn and sex ed in fallout america is bullshit anyway, right?

he's also Robert Edwin House, long lost, now newly reacquainted and acquired in college, childhood friend of rancher and stable master's nephew Victor Keene, of the ranch just across the watering hole at hidden valley, that boards horses of the Lussier family as well as other people and is a rider and ranch hand himself, when he's not off pursuing his degree in geology. this pin-up is something from around that time. in the off season, when he is not off keeping the piece behind the scenes of the pitch, he's with vic and occasionally with a message from mary on some underground subject or rather. house is not fond of being made a pigeon, but he weathers it, because in spite of all that is duly sane and logical, he likes being around vic and being vic's (- though the latter was a bit slow with the shot, at first -), and mary's, to a broad extent, deeper than the physical aspects of anything, because you aren't this kind of childhood sweetheart without some kind of other understanding of each other, which they have, in every sense, developed over the years.

is it mean, to have house this way? to have his life have so little peace, to only find it in the sole and solid existence of his companions and the fleeting, barely there substance of the things he's worked for so long and so hard, that he can barely feel as more than heavy air surging up his fingers from time to time?

yes. undoubtedly. and believe me when i say: this might not even be the worst of it.

[magmahearts]

TIMING: sometime before kaden got snacked on PARTIES: @chasseurdeloup & @magmahearts LOCATION: a latte to love SUMMARY: kaden is just trying to get his job and remove a pin ball from a coffee shop. cass thinks this situation needs a superhero. CONTENT WARNINGS: none!

Before arriving, Kaden wondered if the call about a “weird hedgehog rolling around like sonic” (whatever that last part meant) at A Latte to Love was a prank or not. He didn’t have the best reputation at the cafe and he wouldn’t put it past someone to make shit up for animal control to come running. Still, he did his due diligence, grabbed a cage, a net, his snare, and a few knives just for good measure, and headed downtown. 

When he saw patrons charging out of the shop, some protecting their coffee instead of themselves, he was pretty sure it wasn’t a prank call. Putain. He swung the door open and ushered as many people as he could through the threshold before stepping in himself.

Something told him this probably wasn’t going to be a normal hedgehog or even a porcupine. More than likely it was some supernatural bullshit. He heard the clanging of metal before he saw what looked like a metal baseball covered in spikes rolling across the floor. 

A fucking pin bill. Putain. 

“Everyone out!” he shouted to the few stragglers. The employees behind the counter who were too afraid to abandon their shift for whatever reason looked confused. “Back room. Now!’ he told them, pointing to what looked like the door to the back of the shop. “Keep the door shut.” 

Once the place was clear, it was time to get to work. First thing first, he had to get the thing to calm down. Kaden slipped over into a corner and hid behind one of the larger, plush chairs. He opened the cage and shoved it out towards the open, the back against the wall. He had no delusions that the little guy would just roll right in it, but on the off chance it might, it would be stupid not to be ready. He looked down at his arsenal. He wasn’t sure his net was going to cut it,  not against those spikes. He’d have to get creative. 

Kaden glanced around the cafe, past the up-turned chairs and tables, the dishes on the floor, and the coffee and other beverages spilled everywhere, trying to find anything that could be useful. Maybe there was something behind the counter that would be useful. He just had to get there. 

–

When you saw people running away from something, instinct was supposed to tell you to run with them. After all, no one took off in a full sprint to get away from something fun. More often than not, they were looking to save themselves from some awful, terrifying ordeal, and the human mind tended to want to do the same for whatever body it was sitting in. But there were exceptions to every rule. People ran away from danger. Superheroes ran towards it.

Cass was much more interested in being the latter.

So, when she saw a group of people running and screaming from a coffee shop, there was no real hesitation. She managed to stop one of the patrons who seemed calm enough to speak, asking them what was going on. Sonic’s lost his mind, the boy had sighed, looking distressed. The hedgehog is going to kill someone. And… Well, Cass had no idea what that meant. But she thought it probably sounded like a job for Magma.

It was moments like this when she wished phone booths were still a thing. It would be so cool to jump into a phone booth, drop her glamour, and jump out. But cell phones had killed that particular superhero cliche long before Cass got into the game, so she was stuck ducking into an alley instead. It was fine. It wasn’t like there was any real pizzazz to dropping her glamour, anyway. It just would have been cooler in a phone booth, was all.

Sufficiently ‘disguised,’ she made her way back to the cafe. All the customers were gone by now, having already retreated to the safety of the streets. Cass pulled the door open, the bell above it letting out a pleasant ding as she stepped inside. There was still a man in here. She blinked at him. “I think everyone else already left,” she told him. About as soon as she’d gotten the words out, a metal ball rolled by her, shooting out spikes. Cass narrowly avoided catching one with another owlish blink. “Whoa. Is that Sonic?”

—

Before Kaden could dart behind the cafe counter, he heard the little ring of the bell above the door. “Hey, we’re clo…” His voice trailed off when he got a look at who walked through the door – possibly more like what, not that he knew what that was, either. Whoever they were, their skin was covered in dark rocks, accentuated by orange, glowing cracks sunk in, winding like veins. If he had to describe it, she looked like some sort of molten core or at least what he imagined that would look like. He’d only ever seen volcanoes on video and he planned on keeping it that way. 

He was so slack jawed and whoever it was that walked in that he nearly missed the flying ball of spikes headed right towards him. “Putain!” he shouted as he ducked, throwing himself to the ground as the pin ball flew past and rolled up the wall like it was a goddamn ramp before launching itself back across the room. “Why do people keep saying that?” he asked, looking back up at her. 

Wait, damnit, the bar. This was his chance. Kaden pulled himself off the floor and remained crouching, watching the small, frightened, deadly creature. It was on the other side of the room, uncurled for the moment, breathing so heavily that Kaden could see it from where he was. Alright, so not calm, but calm enough. The hunter sprinted to the bar and leapt over the counter, ducking behind the espresso machines right as the beast tucked itself into a sphere again and launched itself across the cafe. He started to look for anything helpful, preferably metal. He wondered if the little pots or whatever they were for steaming the milk would be big enough to contain the little guy. 

Merde, he almost forgot that he wasn't alone. That other… whatever-she-was was still there. He tried to run through what he’d learned throughout his hunter training but nothing that looked like that came to mind. The hell was she? She wasn’t a shifter, he’d have felt that, and no undead would look like that, he was positive. Fae? Maybe? What the fuck kind of fae would that be, anyway? Did that make her… a demon? “Uh, like I was trying to say, we’re closed. Come back some other time. But, leave… Please.” He really didn’t want to deal with a fucking demon today, a pin ball was more than enough.

—

The man was staring at her. That was okay; Cass was kind of used to that. People always stared at her when she was like this. Part of her had thought, when she’d first started to uncover the weirdness of Wicked’s Rest, that things might be a little different in this town. In a place where metal balls that looked like cyberpunk Sonic the Hedgehogs rolled through coffee shops shooting spikes at people, someone with rocky skin and glowing veins wasn’t the weirdest thing around, right? But people still ran from the cafe. People still stared at Cass. And that was fine. They could stare if they wanted to. She was still going to save the day.

“What’s a putain?” She asked, making no move to duck behind anything. She tended to lean towards recklessness more often than not; it was difficult to break through her rocky skin, and she didn’t think the hedgehog thing was capable of it. There was no need to hide from it, right? “Saying what? Sonic? It’s a video game. Have you never heard of Sonic the Hedgehog? They made it into a movie. The guy who played Cyclops is in it. They had to redo all the CGI because he had ugly human teeth. Do you, like, not go on the internet?”

The man was sprinting across the room before Cass was even finished speaking, and she thought he was going for the hedgehog for a moment. “Hey, I don’t think that’s a great —- idea?” Rather than do something stupid, like leap on top of the little hedgehog, the man jumped behind the counter and started… rummaging through the coffee stuff? “Are you making hot chocolate? They have a really good caramel hot chocolate here, but it’s kind of hot for that. It’s June.” 

Carefully, Cass crept across the room to stand by the counter, looking around for where the hedgehog had run to. It was… ah! There! Looking around the empty cafe with an expression so like a frightened animal that it made her chest ache. Cass moved towards it slowly, pausing when the man spoke again. “What? No way, dude. I’m here to help. I’m a superhero. And this little guy needs to be rescued. Right, Sonic?” 

—

Kaden started to rummage through the items behind the bar. The metal cups were interesting, he wondered if they were big enough to contain the pin ball long enough to get it into a crate. Before he could assess one way or the other, he realized that he still wasn’t alone. “Huh?” he said, looking up at her just standing there, no fear. “Putain is just a curse word and– could you duck or hide ro something? That thing runs into you, those spikes aren’t going to be like video game damage or whatever it is.” Alright, sure, she was covered in rocks all over her skin (maybe?) but that didn’t seem like a solid reason to stand there like a fucking target. “Or you can leave. That might be safer.”

He had no idea what she was talking about or what any of it meant but what he did know is that she was clearly not leaving. “Bordel de merde,” he grumbled to himself, looking for a bowl or pan or something bigger than the cups, maybe a dust pan, even. “Hot chocolate latte, huh? I’m not making anyth– Look, if you’re going to stay here, look for something that can contain the thing, alright?” The least she could do was attempt to be useful, but somehow he had a feeling this whole thing was just going to be more difficult than needed.

Metal cups, a plastic bowl, and his net in hand, Kaden looked up where he assumed the lava kid was. Only she wasn’t there by the counter anymore. She was approaching the pin ball. Goddamnit. “Hey,” he hissed, trying to keep his voice low, “don’t scare it. If you get too close it’s gonna–” And then it took off, whirling and whizzing around the room at top speed again, sending more furniture and broken dishware scattering around the place. “That. It’s gonna do that,” he said, gesturing to the spinning creature. He ducked when it reeled to roll along the side of the counter, just in case it went careening towards him. 

Who the fuck was this kid, anyway? “A superhero?” he repeated once he popped up from behind the counter again. “What do you fucking mean a superhero? This isn’t a damn comic book, in case you didn’t notice.” 

—

“Really? I’ve never heard it before. And I’ve heard a lot of curse words.” Growing up on the streets had taught her all kinds. But not putain. She wondered if he was just making it up. Humans lied about the strangest things, sometimes. “I don’t think it’s going to run at me,” she shrugged. “Anyway, I’m hard to damage.” Oreads certainly weren’t invincible — Cass had learned that the hard way more than once — but she was pretty sure she could handle a hedgehog. Even if the hedgehog was a little… hedgier than the usual fare. “I’m not going to leave, though. I’m here to help.” 

He looked like he probably needed help. What was he grabbing bowls and stuff for? The question was answered before she could ask it aloud — something to contain the hedgehog. She furrowed her brow, looking at the guy’s uniform. “Aren’t you supposed to be animal control? Why are you containing Sonic with bowls and stuff? Don’t you have equipment? Did the state cut your budget? That happens in Parks and Rec, you know. That’s when Ben Wyatt comes in, and the show gets really good. So maybe it’s not such a bad thing.” 

She approached the hedgehog as she spoke, uninterested in finding a bowl to put it in. Why would she want to stick it in a bowl? It wasn’t, like, soup or anything. It was a hedgehog. And it was kind of cute, if you could get past the whole ‘rolling ball of death’ angle that had sent the rest of the cafe’s patrons running. Cass felt a faint sense of kinship with it. Nobody really liked staying around her, either. They were scared of her, too. But… maybe Sonic was included in the list of people who were frightened by her.

Her face fell as the animal skirted past her. “You’re the one who scared it,” she accused sullenly, though she had no idea if that was true. She just wanted to think that Sonic would be more interested in being her friend if the situation were a little different. “I know this isn’t a comic book. But in case you haven’t noticed, there’s a lot of weird stuff here. A superhero isn’t the weirdest. And I think this town could use one. A lot more than Metropolis, actually.”

—

Kaden rolled his eyes. He really didn’t need anyone criticizing him when he worked. Especially not when they were also in the way. “Animal control equipment isn’t made with monsters in mind.” She kept talking and he wasn’t sure if it was relevant or not, but it was distracting. “And there’s no Ben Wyatt in my department. I don’t know who that is.”

He pinched the bridge of his nose as the creature skittered around, startled all over again. When she had the gall to blame him, the hunter could only narrow his eyes and glare at the kid. Even being a… whatever she was, he knew that he was dealing with a kid somehow. He also knew she was making this five times more difficult than it had to be. “Well, have you tried being a superhero there instead?” He asked. 

With a sigh, Kaden accepted that he was going to have to work with her instead of kick her out. Putain de merde. “Alright, you can help. But I need you to at least work with me.” And stop getting in the way. He put a finger to his lips, asking her to be quiet. He wasn’t sure if she was capable of that. He crouched down and motioned for her to do the same. “If you go behind it quietly, we might be able to lure it into the crate over there,” he said in a low voice, pointing to the open cage. “Then we can bring it somewhere out to the woods far away from people where it’s going to be a lot happier. Yes?”

—

“It’s a little mean to call him a monster.” Her voice was tighter than she meant for it to be. Was a thing a monster just because you didn’t see it every day? Just because it looked a little scary, just because it had the capability to hurt? That wasn’t fair. People had the capability to hurt, too. Humans, nymphs, vampires, any of them could hurt someone. It didn’t make any of them monsters, and it didn’t make Sonic one, either. “No it’s — It’s from Parks and Rec. The show. Have you not seen Parks and Rec? Dude.”

Did this guy not know what Metropolis was? Or Parks and Rec? Cass found herself feeling a little bad for him, honestly. He seemed grumpy, but if she’d never seen or read any Superman material and never seen one of the best sitcoms of all time, she’d probably be a little grumpy, too. She gave him a sympathetic look. “I’m going to lend you some comic books later. Okay?” Superheroism wasn’t always stopping poor little hedgehogs from tearing up coffee shops. Sometimes, it was also making grumpy French Animal Control officers less grumpy. Cass would gladly accept her key to the city, like, any day now.

Grinning, she clapped her hands together. Without her glamour, it made less of a slapping sound and more of a thud, but the excitement was clear on her face anyway. “Okay! I can do that. Teamup issues are, like, some of my favorites.” She quieted down as he motioned for her to do so, crouching beside him with an expression of deep concentration. “And we’re letting it go, right? Somewhere where it can be safe? You promise?” She wanted to help, but only if she was sure that Sonic would be okay. 

—

Kaden wasn’t sure why her comment made him feel guilty. He sighed as he looked at the little pin ball, snuffling under one of the overturned tables, its breathing heavy and eyes wide, clearly still panicked. “Fine. You have a point,” he conceded. “Old habits die hard.” He hoped she didn’t ask too many questions about that. Too much to explain there  

“I’ve seen the parks and recs department here, yeah. If you mean some other thing then absolutely not.” He was at least pretty sure that neither of his cousins had made him watch that yet. And if they had, it didn’t matter, he hadn’t paid attention. “Comic books?” he asked, looking up from the collection of bowls and other accouterments he’d laid out. “I’m good, promise. You can keep them”

Alright, it was a little cute that she was excited about teaming up for this superhero thing or whatever she thought this was. Not that he was going to admit that or show it. At all. This was still dangerous and not something she should be handling. “This is just a temporary team up, got it? This one time. Limited edition or whatever you call it.” 

“We’re letting it go, yeah. Promise. It’s dangerous as shit but it’s only because it’s scared and ended up where it shouldn’t be.” He tried not to make a pointed glance towards the kid because, speaking of being where they shouldn’t be…  “Okay, I’m going to be on that side of the shop. I’m going to try and funnel it into that,” he said, pointing towards the crate he’d set up earlier. “Try and direct it this way. Take a bowl.” He handed her one of the metal bowls. “Use it as a shield if you need to. Don’t get hurt.” He gave her a look before nodding and heading to his corner. 

He really hoped she wasn’t going to fuck this up. “Ready?” he asked.

—

He seemed to relent, and Cass felt a strange sense of relief at that. As if this little hedgehog not being considered a monster meant that she wasn’t, either, as if running around a cafe in a panic was the same thing as leaving a girl’s body at the bottom of a ditch. Fear could make a person — or a hedgehog — do all kinds of things, couldn’t it? If Sonic’s fear didn’t make him a monster, could Cass insist that hers didn’t, either?  “Why is it an old habit?” Curiosity drove the question, and she wondered how long this man had been chasing hedgehogs.

“No, not…” Cass trailed off, wondering if this whole endeavor was a useless one. Had this guy ever done anything but chase hedgehogs? Had he sprout from the ground fully formed with a hedgehog-chasing goal as the only thing in his mind? And a French accent, apparently? “No, you’re definitely borrowing some. This is sad. You’re making me sad.” She just felt bad for him, at this point. 

But the team up was still exciting. “A one-shot. Got it.” As if every one-shot didn’t sprout into something bigger so long as it was popular enough. She and French Guy were totally going to get the real-life equivalent of their own team-up ongoing title after this, she could feel it. They just had to take care of Sonic first.

She smiled as he promised they’d be letting the little creature go, binding him to it just in case. He didn’t strike her as the kind of person who’d lie about that, but Cass knew that it was better to be safe than sorry, sometimes. Humans lied about all sorts of silly things. You could never be too careful, especially not when there was a spikey little life on the line. 

Taking the bowl, she nodded. “You got it, boss. Don’t worry about me. I’m tough.” Walking over to stand off to the side between the door and the crate, she shifted her grip on the bowl to flash her partner a quick thumbs up. “Ready!”

—

“Uh…” Kaden reached back to rub the back of his neck. Didn’t know how to explain that one. Well, beyond the truth, at least. “You know, just how some colleagues refer to some of the stranger animals around here.” Not a complete lie but certainly not the truth of the matter. He wasn’t sure what she was but he knew well enough that introducing himself as a hunter then and there was probably not the best idea. At least not until after the pin ball was contained.

“Good,” he said after she told him that he made her sad. As much as he tried to keep it off his face, a small smile peaked through. He’d never quite bantered with his sister like this, Keira was always far too serious for that, but it felt almost like something that could have been. It certainly reminded him of talking to Alex. He wondered if they were the same age. Not that he’d know by looking at her all covered in rocks and lava. “Alright, let’s get this one-shot over with.”

Kaden crept around the side of the counter, searching for where the little guy had run off to. He was still under a table, snuffling around for crumbs, but still alert and ready to dart off at any moment. Which was fine, it could dart away, it just had to do it at the right moment and in the right direction. Kaden took quiet, crouched steps forward, inching closer to the beast, a bowl in hand in case he could manage to trap it himself. Just a little closer now. His arm stretched out, he was about to drop the bowl on top of it and then–

“Putain,” he grumbled as he knocked his head onto the side of a table. And with that, the creature was off and spinning. Kaden ducked and tried to cover his face with the bowl in case it spun in his direction. It was up to his “sidekick” now, he supposed. 

—-

“Well, they shouldn’t do that,” Cass replied, crossing her arms over her chest. It wasn’t fair. Not to the hedgehog, not to any of them. Calling something a monster just because you didn’t understand it was exactly the kind of behavior that made the fae who raised her so afraid of humans. When they convinced themselves that you were a monster, they said, it made them feel as though they had a right to do whatever they wanted to you. 

Good? Good? Cass shot him a glare, though she had to try to hide her own smile as she did so. This was kind of fun, wasn’t it? None of the other young fae in her aos si had ever had much interest in interacting with her, though there hadn’t been any close to her age, anyway. But she liked to imagine this was the kind of interaction she’d missed out on with them — gentle ribbing, fond teasing. Like she’d seen on TV, or read in comics. Friendly banter. She knew all about that. “I’m going to put slime in your socks,” she told him seriously. That was a thing people said, she was sure of it. “Okay, but I’m Spider-Man. You can be… the Hulk or something. There aren’t a lot of French heroes, sorry. Oh! Northstar is French-Canadian. Do you want to be Northstar?” 

French Animal Control Guy was doing his thing, so Cass did hers. She crouched down, bowl in hand, and watched Northstar dart towards Sonic and… fail miserably. At least he’d tried, she guessed, even if he was ducking like a guy in an old war movie now. With him out of commission, Cass knew it was up to her. No big deal, whatever. That was how one-shot comics usually went, anyway. 

Moving forward, Cass took a… slightly different approach. She pounded a rocky hand against the metal bowl, spooking the hedgehog. It jumped up, scampering away from her… and into the trap her ‘partner’ had laid out. Quickly, Cass slammed the door shut and latched it with a cheer. “Hell yeah! Spider-Man and Northstar save the day! US-Canada relations have never been better!”

—-

“Slime in my socks?” Kaden asked, raising a brow. Was that a thing with kids or something? He hadn’t heard Alex tell him that but she was usually teasing him about his hair so maybe she just didn’t get around to it. “As long as you don’t put it on that video clock app thing.” She was odd, that was for sure, but somehow endearing. It was almost annoying. It made trying to tell her to go away a lot harder. That was, until she suggested that he be some French-Canadian guy. The ranger shot her a look. “I would rather die than be québécois.”

Despite the insult, she still managed to steer the pin ball right into the cage. He was almost impressed. Not that he couldn’t have managed this whole mess by himself. Probably would have been faster, too. Still, he sighed and stood up, brushing any debris off his pants before setting the bowl back on the counter. “Alright, now it’s time to get this little guy off where he actually belongs.” Kaden started gathering his supplies, getting the rest of his gear together before he took the handle of the crate. “You did alright, kid. Or, uh, what’d you say, Spider-man?” His head tilted as he looked back over at her. “You look more like a, uh, I don’t know, Lava Girl? Something like that. Not sure where the spider thing came from but sure.” He shrugged. It was all a foreign concept to him, the super hero stuff. “Guess I should thank you or something.” It then occurred to him that she might take that as an invitation to “help” him some other time. “Next time, you can just leave it to me, alright?” 

—

“You heard me,” she warned, pointing at him with an expression she fought to keep serious. When he spoke of a clock app, her brow furrowed. “I’m pretty sure no one is putting anything in their clock app except for alarms.” What was a video clock app? Was that some new alarm system? She didn’t use alarms much herself — not having a job meant she woke up when she woke up. Maybe this ‘video clock app’ was something people used now. She couldn’t imagine anyone her age putting much stock in it, though. Thoughts of this mysterious clock app faded when the guy shot her a look, apparently unhappy with being compared to Northstar. “I don’t know what that means,” she said, brow furrowing. “Is this because Northstar is gay? I don’t know any straight French superheroes. You’re asking for too much here. Anyway, Northstar is cool.” 

In any case, the one-shot ended just as successfully as one-shots tended to in the comics. No Kingpin showing up to kick off some wider plot and announce a new title, no major character death to be undone by the next issue. Just a little spikey hedgehog safely tucked away in a cage. “You have to keep him safe,” she reminded the man. “You promised.” But she wasn’t particularly worried about him keeping it, bind or no. Praise, even from a stranger, made her sit up a little straighter, and she smiled. “Actually, it’s Magma. I go by Magma.” And he didn’t even know comics well enough to know she’d ‘borrowed’ the name from X-Men. “You don’t have to thank me. I’m just doing my job.” Her self-assigned job that no one paid her for. Whatever. “And, just so you know? I’m definitely going to keep doing it.” There was no apology in her tone; it wasn’t a request for him to try to stop her. It was just… a friendly warning.

—

“Alarms? No this is the one with the dancing and the pranks that my cousin is on all the time. Something about ticks? I don’t fucking know.” Kaden was sure she knew what it was. If she could rattle off all this shit about superheroes and media and what not, she knew about the clock app. “What? What does this have to do with anyone being gay?” Kaden couldn’t follow any of this, there was too much jargon to keep up with. Then he realized. He ran his palm down his face. “Not queer, québécois. As in French-Canadian. Meaning he’s Canadian, not French. I’m French. And I’m not fucking straight, either. Thanks for asking.”

“I’ll do my best. I’m going to find the safest spot I can in the woods for him to spin around. Somewhere far away from town.” And somewhere far away from the cabin. Just in case the spinning death ball decided to spin right into the wooden walls. Seemed like a bad idea. “Right,” he said when he called this her job. “This is actually my job, I get paid for this. But guess there are worse sidekicks to have. Take care of yourself, Magma.”

—

“Do you mean TikTok? Dude.” Somebody needed to get this guy on Urban Dictionary. Or… maybe not. Cass wasn’t entirely sure he wouldn’t lose his mind. He’d probably start using slang from 2012 if he tried, and that just sounded painful. “What’s wrong with being French-Canadian?” Now she understood him even less. But, hey, at least he had one thing going for him: “Oh, hell yeah, you gay little Frenchman! Be gay, do crime!” She raised a hand excitedly, cheering him on.

Now that she knew Sonic would be safe, it was easier to relax. The animal control guy would keep his promise, the hedgehog would be okay, and Cass had a new sidekick to call on. She just… needed to educate him a little bit first. She’d find an easy comic series to introduce him to. It’d be fine. “You take care of yourself, too, Notstar. I’ll see you around.” With a sloppy salute, she ducked out of the cafe. Not bad for a day’s work.

[sepulchretide]

my job history ratings

concession stand worker at baseball field - 2 years, 5/10 got free food but people would shit in the urinals i had to clean and would throw their orders at me if I got it wrong or gave them wrong change

UPS Store Cashier - 1 month, 1/10 got fired because I was still in training when I was left alone with customers who had weird special packages and charged them wrong

Graphic Designer - 1 month, 1/10 got fired because owner knew nothing about graphic design, head guy fucked up a big project and had to pin it on someone, coworker yelled at me a lot before that and tried to get me fired earlier by giving me drug brownies and only telling me that AFTER i had eaten some

Graveyard Groundskeeper - 1 year, 8/10 actually liked this job a lot cause I got so much alone time and just had to keep things looking neat. Boss was a trump supporter though and one coworker was a conspiracy theorist who refused to drink water so he passed out from dehydration regularly

Furniture Assembly/Delivery - Half a year, 6/10 another job I liked because I had a lot of alone time to just work and not be bothered, sucked because the hours were long and they didn't offer healthcare despite the many injuries and heavy things I was moving/lifting

Gamestop - 3 years, 1/10 fucking hated every minute of that job

Party City - 3 months, 1/10 I hate retail

Background Checker - 2 years, 6/10, work was stressful and confusing you needed to meet a daily quota of cases, which all had their own unique rules, apart from that it payed me the most compared to any of the prior jobs and offered healthcare so that's the best in that regard

[stardustvanilla]

— attracted to your soul (one)

summary: you own a flower shop in the city when one day a tall brunet walks in. his blue eyes and built figure draw you in and that’s the reason why you help him. bucky is still unaware of who he is, except something about you reminds him of his past life. 

pairing: bucky barnes x female!florist!reader

words: 2.2k

note: this is part one of a series I am writing called attracted to your soul. I hope you all like it! I am excited to write the second part and post it! The series masterlist will be linked on the bucky barnes masterlist on my pinned post! disclaimer: the warnings are on the series masterlist which is linked. not all warnings are in each chapter but it is overall in the series.

~~~~~~~~~~

The flower shop was emptier than usual today. You had told both your employees to take a day off seeing as though only one person had come in and it was now nearing closing time.

The sun was starting to go down earlier, as it was Autumn. You owned the corner shop which had flowers lining the windows outside in baskets and a rack holding buckets which were full of bouquets. On the inside was a bookshelf covering one wall which was filled with magazines and books about gardening, flowers, plants, and a couple about coffee. A round table was in front of the door with candles, pots, vases, and other local things. 

A large rectangular table was in the middle of the room with much more flowers and decorations. Under the side window, were taller flower plants in pots. The front window had two round tables with small house plants.

You were behind the counter tapping your nails on the wooden counter top. Under the counter were little fridges with glass doors that were filled with different types and colours of flowers that were not arranged into bouquets. The counter behind you had a roll of brown paper, parchment paper, and a few pairs of scissors. There was a white sink with a silver facet which matched the quartz counter top behind you. There was a watering can and more gardening tools in one cupboard, file drawers in another, and one for your personal notebooks and sketching pencils for doodling and drawing out arrangement styles. 

Lately you had been catching yourself up on the recent news with what happened in Washington, DC. The Avengers had been a big thing lately and you were trying to stay up to date. You didn't think anything dangerous would happen to you. Your part of the city was quiet and friendly.

A notebook was open on the counter and you were writing away in it. A few flower drawings were scattered and a sticky note with your shopping list was covering a small journal entry. Your handwriting littered each page with reminders and recipes. One page had sheet music for a melody you wrote on the piano. 

You heard rain drops on the side window and looked to see if your outdoor display was covered. When you did look, you saw a man, about 6′1, looking through the flowers. He was wearing a leather jacket, which was zipped up halfway, with a grey shirt underneath. His jeans were light blue and he wore a dark red baseball cap which covered most of his face. 

A bell above the door rang as he came in and wandered through the store. You normally wouldn’t stare at a customer but you couldn’t help it. His hair covered the side of his face but you could see his strong jawline, blueish-grey eyes, and even his lips.

You looked away and listened to the jazz music playing from a speaker in the corner of the store. The rain continued to pour harder as two more people came into the shop a few minutes after.

The man with the black leather jacket came to the counter and when you looked up, his eyes widen a bit and his bottom lip fell slightly. You smiled which made your eyes light up and your skin glow. 

He smiled a bit back and handed you a bouquet of lavender coloured roses with a decorative white pitcher. You turned around and began to wrap the flowers in brown paper. The music continued to play and you hummed along. 

He watched you fiddle with the paper and fix up the flowers. You were treating the flowers in a delicate manner and he admired that. He hasn’t know care or kindness for a while now and he missed it. He had forgotten everything about himself and he was so confused about his life and purpose. Slowly, he would piece together memories but the name Bucky still didn’t feel right. 

You turned around and grab a paper bag. Taking the flowers in your hand you remember too put a sticker so that the paper would not unwrap. You go through a door behind the counter that leads to a room with storage and a few fridges full of flowers. After a few seconds of digging through drawers you found a box of stickers. 

As you were in there, the man glanced at both the people in the store. He tightened his jaw and furrowed his eyebrows. He unzipped his jacket completely and looked to a black pocket knife in his jacket.

You walked back out and his posture loosens. A smile forms on your lips as you greet him again. Placing the sticker on the paper and putting the flowers in the bag, you glance a bit towards him and see a small red patch on the lower part of his shirt. He sees you looking and covers it up with his leather jacket. You feel this sudden urge to help him when his eyes lock with yours. Out of the corner of your eye, you see one of the men reach into their pocket. 

He sees the expression on your face and knows what's about to happen and before you know it, he is flinging a knife across the room. You grabbed your cup of coffee on the counter and poured the hot drink on the man nearer to the counter. Quickly, you duck down behind the counter and take a small sip, of what’s left, to calm your nerves. You hear the man swearing from the burning liquid. 

The blue-eyed brunet tried his hardest not to destroy anything in your shop but found it rather difficult. As he threw the knife in the air and caught it again he saw your face peaking over the counter and your lips pressed tightly together. 

He managed to knock him out hard with his fist and you cringe. That is going to be one nasty concussion, you thought to yourself. You looked up and see the one man you poured coffee on pointing a gun at you. 

He ran over and tackled the man on the counter. He sees your eyes close as he holds the man in place. You hear a gun shot and flinch. The sound of hard metal hitting the floor rings in your ears and big arms wrap around you gently. 

You open your eyes and see the man lying away from you. Beside him was a gun and the other mans black knife. You swallow thickly and look up seeing blue eyes and pink lips. You sigh and see that he has a few cuts across his face. That shirt of his was also covered in more blood. 

The man quickly lets go of you and begins to pick up the things that fell to the floor and put them back. He finds a dust pan in one of the cabinets and begins to sweep broken pieces of glass. You grabbed a cloth and wiped up the coffee on your floor. Once you finish, you look over and see him dumping the broken bits into the trash and putting the flowers that fell over in an empty vase. You take the flowers and fill the vase up with water. Behind you, were the roses that he bought and you decided to put those in the white jug with water too. 

He leans against the counter and watches you fill the vases. His eyes trail your fingers and then up your arms. You turn around and he stares directly at your chest. His face goes bright red and turns hot but you were completely clueless to it. You go closer to him and look him in the eyes.

“You broke my sink.” You stated. He opened his mouth and then instantly closed it. You sigh and start walking towards the back room. You turn around and look him over. You could see red patches on his shirt. 

“I have a medical kit upstairs, if you want?” 

He wanted to say no but couldn’t. You weren’t even being persistent but he just wanted to be near you. Your dress hugged every inch of your body and he found it addictive. Every time he thought about that he would get mad at himself. You were a complete stranger and it was inappropriate. 

The stranger nodded and followed you through the back room. Up a flight of stairs was a wide hallway. Your washing machine and a bunch of cleaning supplies was against one wall. You dug through the closet quickly and found the kit, which you handed to the man. You opened the door for him and he stood inside your home awkwardly.  

The walls were cream and the kitchen had light brown wooden cupboards and white marble counter tops. Orange pots and pans filled one cupboard while white dishes filled another. Above the coffee maker was a cupboard filled with tea and coffee. A few large mugs were also in there. 

Your red carpet in the living room went perfectly with the brown leather couch and brown wooden coffee table. The coffee table was stacked with books and candles. A lighter lay beside one of the candles which smelled like vanilla. Across from the couch was a white fire place with a gold mirror resting on the top. Book shelves lined one wall beside the fireplace while the other walls were large pained windows with white curtains. 

Across from the kitchen was your bathroom with a stand-in shower and circular bathtub. A fern was in one corner of the bathroom beside a small window. Your drawers were filled with white fluffy towels and hygiene products. 

Beside the kitchen was a circular stair case. You walked up and looked over the railing to see the man laying a grey blanket over the couch. He sat down and tried not to get blood on the blanket. You walked past your bed which was covered in white sheets and decretive pillows and blankets. In your closet you pulled out a very big oversized crewneck sweater. It was plum purple and made of wool. 

Walking back down the stairs you turned on a kettle and put two mugs out with green tea packets in them. You sauntered to the couch and leaned towards the man. He swallowed thickly and you stared at him.

“I don’t know how to do,” You waved at his cuts, “that... so umm.”

He shook his head and pulled his shirt up. You handed the man what he needed and held his shirt up for him. After painfully watching him sow his skin together, you handed him the cup of tea. You took some cream and rubbed it on his cheek, where a cut began to scab over. 

For some reason, he was confused as to why he wanted you so close. He didn't trust people and yet, he wanted needed to trust you. Your touch was soft and caring. Your eyes glowed and he loved the smell of you. He could get a whiff of your perfume and all the other scented things you use. It was addicting, he thought. You handed him the purple sweater and he slipped it over his head. It was very big on you and somehow it was, almost, too small for him. If the man had wider shoulders by a centimetre, the seam would have snapped.

An hour had past and you were refilling his mug of tea. The brunet looked at your bookshelf from the couch. He had no identity to himself except that he loved the idea of reading a book. One book in particular caught his eye. It looked old but he went to take it off the shelf. The cover read The Hobbit.

“That one is the original 1937 book.” You stated with a grin on your face. “I have the new one but I always prefer that one.”

He handed you the novel and looked at you with a begging face. You sat on the couch beside him and opened the book. Each word left your mouth and he was obsessed. Each sentence you formed he recognized. But from where, he had no idea. You read and read for so long, you lost track of time. That being said, you fell asleep on a pillow and he pulled the book from your hands and continued to read. 

He flipped each page. The novel felt like a comforting blanket that hugged him close. So close that he felt something in his chest. A heavy loss. Something was missing when he read this book. 

Your figure laid beside him when he realized. His name. He could remember his name. The man, Steve, had called him Bucky. But he could remember now. Bucky was a nickname. James Buchanan Barnes was his full name. Sergeant Barnes was something that felt much too formal. He didn't like solider or Soldat. The name Bucky now didn't feel like a strangers name that the man had called him. 

The name James however, it felt very common but also special. Like only special people in his life would call him that. A sister and a mother. Maybe a girlfriend. The special girls in his life were the ones who would use it. 

[gaymasonjar]

Will You Meet Me In The Middle?

Preview of Chapter 5: Fall For You

 “Seriously? All white? This is a magnet for stains”, Michael stated as he adjusted his sweater in the mirror.

 “It’s not ALL white. You have lime green socks on”, Alex informed him as he put on a white baseball cap. “Besides, you’re allowed your hat.”

 “Why must you give me logic?”

 “Because someone has to”, Alex hugged Michael from behind, resting his chin on his shoulder.

 Michael chuckled and stared at their reflection. Alex and Michael were wearing matching white sweatshirts. The day of their wedding was printed on the back:      ‘Mr. and Mr. Guerin. September 5th, 2022. Roswell, NM’     . Before they had left, Isobel had given them a honeymoon present of custom-made clothing. It was hilarious but also very sweet. Alex couldn’t argue that it was in bad taste. It felt great being able to be out and loud about being married to the man he loved.

 “We should head downstairs soon. The photographer is picking us up.”

“Oh really”, Michael questioned. “Just how fancy is this supposed to be?” “Well, she has a better ride for our pictures. Not that I hate your truck.”

 “Listen I know it’s old, but that truck has been with me a long time.”

 “I know”, Alex reassured as he lead Michael out of their room. “But I think you’ll like what I picked out.”

 “Guess I’ll just have to take your word for it.”

 “I guess so.”

 Michael smirked, pinning Alex to the wall of the elevator to steal a kiss. Alex cupped his face back to return it.  The couple only separated when the elevator doors opened again. They headed out through the lobby and towards the parking lot. A woman in leather pants and a blue crop top was leaning against a bright yellow vehicle. It was a 1975 convertible FIAT124 Spider; completely restored.

 “Oh hell yes”, Michael grinned excitedly.

 The photographer looked up, as she finished tying up her green and black hair in a ponytail. “You must be Mr. and Mr. Guerin!”

 “That’s us”, Alex confirmed.

 “Ready to roll? I’ve got a bunch of great locations in mind for pictures.”

 “Please tell me I get to drive this thing at least once today”, Michael nearly begged.

 She laughed and nodded, “Session includes you in the driver seat.”

 “That’s awesome.”

 “I’m Dawn by the way.”

 “Michael”, he shook her hand. “And this beautiful man is my husband Alex.”

 “Great to finally meet you both.” She opened the passenger door of the car for them, “Shall we?”

 They all piled into the car. Dawn drove them off into the heart of downtown. There was a large, old cathedral towering over the rest of the buildings. Dawn picked the side street behind it where there was plenty of shade. She jumped out, allowing Michael to scoot over. She pulled out her camera from the trunk and adjusted the lens.

 “Alright, try to act natural. Focus more on each other than me. I’m here to capture the moments of you two just being you.”

 “Easier said than done”, Michael muttered.

 “Hey”, Alex grabbed his chin. “Just focus on me.”

 “Easier done than said”, he smirked.

 The clicking of the camera sounded off from nearby as Dawn snapped some pictures. “See? You guys are naturals at this! Oh, I almost forgot something.”

 Rounding the back of the car again, Dawn attached the ‘Just Married’ sign to the trunk of the car and two strings of empty Mountain Dew cans. Alex took his hat off to steal Michael’s. He tilted it up some, finding it a bit too big for his own head. Michael chuckled at the motion.

 “We’ll get pictures with the sign in a bit. Just be cute and gay.”

 Michael glanced over at the camera as it clicked a few more times. He snagged his hat back, using it as a shield as he kissed Alex behind the cover. Alex smiled against his lips. The camera continued clicking away as they continued to try different poses. At one point Alex traded the cowboy hat for his baseball cap and dragged Michael outside of the car. They used the sign prop to show off as they really got into it. Michael sat back on the trunk. He dragged Alex by the hips to sit with him.

 Alex laughed, “Who knew you were such a showoff.”

 “Oh please, I get to embarrass you all the time now with no consequences”, Michael nuzzled his cheek.

 “Oh god”, Alex groaned but leaned into his husband’s embrace regardless.

Read more on AO3: https://archiveofourown.org/works/45325099/chapters/114530731

[inkparkco]

PIN POOL-ER!!! New mascot logo flip DESIGN. This one is UP FOR GRABS!! Email me if you're interested in purchasing this design! If you need custom work feel free to email me or DM me here… jon@inkparkco.com #illustration #mascot #logo #character #deadpool #college #ncaa #football #basketball #cartoonmascot #gaming #sportslogo #fittedhats #5950 #music #graffiticartoon #sneakerhead #kicks #adidas #mdn #jordan #characterdesign #clothingline #branding #grenade #inkparkcreation #nintendo #baseball #sneakers #upforgrabsinkpark https://www.instagram.com/p/Cj05bpuvXop/?igshid=NGJjMDIxMWI=

[sanajames]

The Timeless Essential: Denim Jackets for Men

Denim jackets are a wardrobe staple that effortlessly blend style and versatility. Whether you're dressing for a casual weekend outing or adding a rugged edge to your everyday look, a denim jacket is a timeless piece that never goes out of fashion. At Bash, we understand the appeal of denim jackets for men, which is why we offer a curated collection of denim jackets men crafted with quality materials and contemporary designs. In this blog, we'll explore the enduring charm of denim jackets, share styling tips, and showcase why they are a must-have addition to every man's wardrobe.

The Enduring Appeal of Denim Jackets

Denim jackets have been a fashion staple for decades, beloved for their durability, versatility, and timeless style. Here's why they continue to be a wardrobe essential for men:

Versatile Layering: Denim jackets are incredibly versatile layering pieces that can be worn year-round. Whether you're layering them over a t-shirt in the summer or under a coat in the winter, denim jackets add an effortless cool factor to any outfit.

Timeless Style: With their classic silhouette and rugged charm, denim jackets exude timeless style that never goes out of fashion. From vintage-inspired trucker jackets to modern slim-fit styles, there's a denim jacket to suit every taste and preference.

Easy to Customize: Denim jackets are like a blank canvas, allowing you to customize and personalize them to reflect your individual style. Add patches, pins, or embroidery for a unique and personalized touch that sets your jacket apart from the rest.

Styling Tips for Denim Jackets

Styling a denim jacket is easy and fun, allowing you to create a variety of looks that suit your personal style. Here are some tips to help you make the most of this wardrobe essential:

Casual Cool: For a casual and effortless look, pair your denim jacket with a simple white t-shirt, slim-fit jeans, and sneakers. Roll up the sleeves and add a beanie or baseball cap for a laid-back vibe.

Smart Casual: Dress up your denim jacket by layering it over a button-down shirt and chinos for a smart casual ensemble. Finish the look with leather boots or loafers for a polished finish that's perfect for a night out or a casual date.

Street Style Edge: Embrace your inner street style star by pairing your denim jacket with distressed jeans, a graphic tee, and high-top sneakers. Add a statement accessory like a chain necklace or a beaded bracelet for a bold and fashion-forward look.

Why Choose Bash

At Bash, we're committed to offering denim jackets for men that combine style, quality, and affordability. Our collection features a range of styles, washes, and fits to suit every taste and body type, ensuring that you'll find the perfect denim jacket to elevate your wardrobe.

Conclusion

Denim jackets are a timeless wardrobe essential that effortlessly blend style, versatility, and comfort. Whether you're dressing for a casual day out or adding a rugged edge to your everyday look, a denim jacket is the perfect finishing touch that completes your ensemble with effortless coolness. Explore the collection of denim jackets for men at Bash and discover the perfect piece to elevate your style with timeless appeal.

Find your perfect denim jacket men and embrace classic style with a modern twist.

[alpha-trophies-blog]

Why Alpha Trophies Store is Your One-Stop Shop for Sports Trophies

The thrill of victory, the agony of defeat – these are the hallmarks of any sporting competition. And what better way to commemorate those moments than with a shining trophy? But finding the right trophy can feel like a competition in itself. That's where Alpha Trophies Store comes in. We're your one-stop shop for everything trophies, making your life easier and your winners feel truly celebrated.

Widest Selection of Trophies

Imagine walking into a store overflowing with trophies for every sport imaginable. That's Alpha Trophies! From soccer cups to baseball bats on pedestals, tennis statuettes to bowling pin figures, we have a massive selection to choose from. Whether you're organizing a local basketball tournament or a prestigious golf competition, we have the perfect trophy to crown your champion.

Top-Notch Quality

A trophy isn't just a plastic trinket; it's a symbol of achievement. That's why Alpha Trophies uses only the highest quality materials. Our trophies are built to last, so winners can proudly display them for years to come. We don't want a trophy to break or tarnish easily, it should reflect the importance of the victory.

Customization Makes it Special

A generic trophy is nice, but a personalized one is truly special. At Alpha Trophies, we understand that. We provide a variety of customization options. Want the winner's name and the event details engraved on the trophy? No problem! Need a specific logo or emblem added? We can do that too. This personal touch makes the trophy even more meaningful for the recipient.

Competitive Prices & Great Value

We know that organizing a sporting event can be expensive. That's why Alpha Trophies offers trophies at competitive prices. We won't break the bank to find the perfect award.  In fact, we offer great value for your money.  Many of our trophies come with free center logos, so you get a high-quality product without hidden costs.

Fast and Hassle-Free Ordering

Time is of the essence, especially when you're planning a sporting event. That's why Alpha Trophies makes ordering trophies a breeze. Our user-friendly website allows you to browse our selection, choose your trophy, and customize it with just a few clicks. Plus, we offer fast turnaround times, so you can be sure your trophies will arrive in time for the big day.

Excellent Customer Service

Sometimes, you might have questions or need help finding the right trophy. At Alpha Trophies, our friendly and knowledgeable customer service team is always here to assist you.  We want to make sure you have a positive experience, so don't hesitate to reach out if you need anything.

More Than Just Trophies

Trophies are our specialty, but that's not all we offer. Alpha Trophies also carries a wide variety of medals, plaques, and awards. So, if you're looking for something different to recognize achievement, we have you covered.

The Winning Choice for Your Event

When it comes to finding the perfect trophies for your sporting event, look no further than Alpha Trophies Store. With our vast selection, top-notch quality, customization options, competitive prices, and excellent customer service, we're your one-stop shop for everything trophies.

Contact Alpha Trophies Today

Let us help you make your next sporting event a success. Visit our website or contact Alpha Trophies today to browse our selection and discuss your trophy needs. We're confident we can find the perfect award to celebrate your champions.

[caribbeanhobo]

The Ultimate Guide to Finding the Perfect Hobo Hat

The classic hobo hat captures carefree wanderlust and adventurous living. Its wide brims and loose style nod to vagrant ramblers riding the rails ages ago. Though originally utilitarian headgear for laborers and itinerant migrants, today the hobo hat makes a fashion statement embracing nonconformity. CaribbeanHobo.com offers a fabulous selection of hats repping island life for the modern hobo. Keep reading for an in-depth guide to finding the ideal hat fitting your personal style. Learn pro tips for choosing fabrics, sizes and custom details so your hat becomes a staple of your iconic island-hopping ensemble.

Consider Hat Fabrics

Hobo lifestyle hats come in a range of materials that balance aesthetics, breathability and durability. Straw options like raffia make ultra-lightweight statement hats perfect for beach settings and tropical climates. Straw breathes well, though offers less warmth and structural integrity over time than other fabrics. Felt or wool styles provide sturdier, shape-holding options in classic hobo looks. Canvas hat with a waterproof wax coating add weatherproofing. This guide focuses on selecting stylish hat shapes and embellishments, as CaribbeanHobo.com conveniently allows you to customize any design on your choice of fabrics.

Compare Styles: Fedora, Gambler or Flat-Brimmed

The floppy silhouettes of hobo hats encompass a few distinct crown and brim shapes. Classic fedora styles have indented crowns and slightly upturned brims. Gambler hats have flat tops and wide, down-turned brims. Flat-brim styles mimic baseball caps with horizontal tops and visors. CaribbeanHobo.com offers all three stylish shapes to match your personal vibes. Those wanting vintage throwback appeal might choose a rugged wool fedora, while beach bums may prefer a raffia gambler hat.

Size Your Hobo Hat Properly

Sizing your custom hobo hat prevents problems like headaches or looking overwhelmed. Measure the circumference of your head to determine ideal hat dimensions accounting for hair volume. Loose-fittinggambler and fedora hat styles Drape well slightly above or resting on your ears. Stiff canvas flat-brims should align with the top of ears without drooping too low over eyes. Tall crown heights help hats stay anchored on heads for adequate shade and rain protection. For folded storage while island hopping,consider sizing up. All CaribbeanHobo.com hat patterns include specific sizing instructions and size chart recommendations for a precision fit.

Pick Hat Colors and Patterns

What colors and prints make you feel most island adventurous? CaribbeanHobo.com offers hobo hats ranging from nautical navy styles to vibrant island floral designs. Customize ideal combinations of hat fabric and print patterns for your personal island vibe. Contrasting hatband ribbon colors also help designs pop. Or choose rich solids in ocean blues, island greens or sand hues. Prints showing palm trees, pineapple motifs or Caribbean flags inject region-appropriate looks.

Add Custom Details

Elevate basic hobo hats with thoughtful custom details that tell your travel story. Consider an engraved nameplate or sentimental patch sewn onto your hat’s side band. The crown offers space for embroidery signatures, island mantras or compass motifs to guide your journey. For globetrotters and digital nomads, customize a hat with collected destination pin badges marking past sites and future plans.

If wearing Hobo lifestyle hats to promote brands, products or causes, order custom logo patches added with reliable stitching. CaribbeanHobo.com makes it easy to integrate personalized touches onto any hat order. Get creative dreaming up unique embellishments aligned to your island identity. Then rest assured knowing expert in-house tailoring handles ornamenting your custom vagabond headgear.

Conclusion

Hopefully this guide brought you closer to discovering your perfect island wandering companion hat at caribbeanhobo.com. Their designs empower embodying the modern hobo ethos however you envision it, from vintage train hopper to backpack beach bum. What added touches will make your hat truly yours?

[aksharaentertainments11]

What are the most popular themes for a young boy's birthday party

Superheroes: Whether it's Marvel, DC Comics, or their own personalized hero, superhero-themed parties are always a hit. Decorate with superhero logos, masks, capes, and action figures.

Sports: Choose a specific sport like soccer, football, basketball, or baseball, and incorporate related decorations, games, and activities. You could even organize mini-games for the kids to participate in.

Dinosaurs: Boys often love dinosaurs. You can have dinosaur-themed decorations, games like "Pin the Tail on the Dinosaur," and even a dinosaur-shaped cake.

Pirates: Transform your party space into a pirate ship with skull and crossbones flags, treasure chests, and pirate hats. Organize a treasure hunt or a walk the plank game.

Outer Space: Blast off into space with a space-themed party. Decorate with planets, stars, and rockets. You can have activities like making paper rockets or "moon" sand.

Cars/Trucks: For the little vehicle enthusiast, a car or truck-themed party can be exciting. Decorate with traffic signs, toy cars, and checkered flags.

Animals/Jungle Safari: Create a jungle atmosphere with animal print balloons, plush animals, and greenery. You can have face painting with animal designs and safari-themed games.

Construction: Build a construction site in your backyard with caution tape, construction cones, and toy tools. Activities can include building with blocks or a sandbox filled with toy trucks.

Robot: Embrace the future with a robot-themed party. Decorate with metallic colors, gears, and robot cutouts. You can have a DIY robot-making station or robot-themed crafts.

Video Games: If the birthday boy is into gaming, a video game-themed party can be a hit. Decorate with pixel art, controllers, and game-themed snacks. You can even set up gaming stations for the kids to play.

Remember to tailor the theme to the interests and preferences of the birthday boy, and incorporate elements like themed invitations, costumes, games, and activities to create a memorable experience.

Akshara Entertainments is a Leading birthday party organizer and planner in Hyderabad. We specialize in creating unique and memorable birthday partie Decoration, planning and organizing for people of all ages. We believe in bringing your idea to reality and making your birthday celebration a remarkable experience with our highly trained and creative professionals. We have the knowledge, skills, and passion for making your birthday party one-of-a-kind, whether you’re organizing a grand celebration or a smaller gathering. Our services include event conceptualization, venue selection, decoration, entertainment, food and beverage, and all other event planning and management aspects. Akshara Entertainments is the best choice for all your birthday party Decorations needs in Hyderabad because of our commitment to providing great service and customer satisfaction.

[nigelgodrichproducer]

Allen Sides on the Dalcon console

A few quotes from the Sunset Sound podcast with former Ocean Way owner, Allen Sides, who sold the Dalcon console to Nigel:

On the Dalcon console, we had 40 API 550As normalled to every input as well as the EQ that's in the console. So you had six bands for every channel.

[on the EQs] It was based on that [Spectrasonics] but they were custom made. But they certainly had some attack.

Joe Chiccarrelli They had a sound but they were very open, very sweet, very hi-fi. Then you had the APIs that were more aggressive so you could mix and match on every channel. And then the preamps on that too were very open. Not a lot of gain. Something about that console was extraordinary.

The thing that's great about that console is, from microphone in to buss out, you went through three amps for the entire console. And the EQ was in the feedback loop of the line amp. If you put the EQ in or not, there was no electronics. It was passive so individual coils for each frequency. Then even the 550As were totally bypassed unless you pushed the button in. The console ran on +/- 22V rails. It will deliver +25 out without a transformer. Full outs. So the output - we had 1:1 transformers, plus a direct out. So you could have balanced or unbalanced but you didn't have to go through any transformers unless you wanted to. The amplifiers in that console slew to 200V a microsecond. So Massenburg called it the fastest console on planet earth and CLA called it the baseball bat console because it was so goddamn punchy.

I had this fight between Beck, Jon Brion and Nigel, but I had promised it to Nigel first. He's a lovely guy.

[Bill Putnam] built one portable one which was 24 inputs with a sidecar. He ended up installing it in one of the rooms and all the engineers liked it, they thought it sounded great. So he said, "Great, let's build three of these." And there are gonna be three custom consoles. So he built the first one and into the production, there were some issues. If you looked at this console sideways, it went into oscillation and all the meters would pin.

I bought it from Bill and I took it to my garage and Jake Hoffman and I spent two months stabilizing it. Because it had bandwidth out to half a mghz. So we settled on 100k bandwidth. And we figured out how to reground everything and then moved that console from the garage to [Ocean Way] Studio B.

Beck has the Green custom console. He bought that custom console from Dennis Dragon.

When I did sell that to Nigel, Beck got really mad at me and so did Jon Brion. To be honest, I could've probably gotten 100k more for it, I said I made a promise. And Nigel was a lovely guy. I made an obligation and that's what it is. I have to let him have the console. I made Beck a custom 4-channel mic pre that matched the console for him. It's a one-off for him as a favor. He has that.