#brown window awning

[vantrolley]

Brick - Traditional Exterior Large elegant red two-story brick exterior home photo with a shingle roof

[illillsa]

Pathway Landscape An example of a mid-sized traditional full sun front yard stone landscaping in spring.

[daisy-source]

Rustic Exterior - Stone Inspiration for a one-story, medium-sized, rustic, beige home with a metal roof.

[project3x5]

Traditional Landscape - Natural Stone Pavers An example of a mid-sized traditional full sun front yard stone landscaping in spring.

[pseudowho]

18+, MDNI, angry!Nanami, unkempt!Nanami, loss of social propriety and sloppy about it

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Nanami Kento was always pristine; never unkempt. Except, for the one time that he was. That one mission. The mission. The mission of no return. Once you'd seen him like that, you weren't sure you could ever see the cufflinks and starched collars the same ever again.

And god knew he couldn't shake how you looked at the end, with your hair in his hands, and his name on your tongue, and your lips kissed plump.

He had arrived late, that evening; not his fault, you noted, as his car skid to a halt in the hammering rain-- you had both been called to this after-hours emergency.

Kento looked frazzled, irritable, and tugged his tie knot as he jogged through the downpour to meet you. The tatty awning over the lean-to against the old school building, did little to keep either of you dry.

"Sorry--" Kento huffed, jostling against you to squeeze under the awning, still suited but reluctantly so, "--sorry, I was just about to have dinner, and-- why the hell have they called you, too?"

"Two person job, apparently," you peeved, flat. Kento shot you a glance of weary annoyance, which you reflected straight back at him. Cursing at the rain water dripping down his neckline, and scowling back at the building, he sniped.

"In there, is it? Let's not waste any time, I'm already on Overtime and I don't have the patien--"

"Not there." You tapped your foot atop a manhole cover, a heavy metal grate, "Here."

Kento froze. He did a double-take. His annoyance loomed over you, tension fizzling across his shoulders and his fist white-knuckled around his blade.

"You're serious, aren't you?"

You nodded, bending to lift the manhole cover aside. "As a car crash, Kento."

Kento shoved the manhole cover the rest of the way with his foot, and a growl. His handsome face twisted, and his stomach rumbled, and you felt yourself pale under the anger thudding off him.

"I'll go first," he clipped, his beautiful brown shoes beginning to click down the ladder, with his blade between his teeth and his voice muffling around it, "and we'll get this over with."

Hours, hours later, Nanami Kento flung himself out of the manhole, soaked to the bone, spitting curses like venom. You followed him, a drowned rat, and watched the finely woven threads of him fall apart at the seams.

Kento stalked through the streetlamp-lit rain to his car, his shoulders hunched and his hands in his pockets. His hair was ruined, his glasses shattered, and his suit soaked and torn, sticking to the peaks and planes of his electrified body.

"Come along," Kento barked behind him, and you jolted to attention, drawn in by the jabbing authority in his voice. You watched him, feeling a blush creep up your neck, as he ripped his clothes off with utter abandon, and replaced them with sweatpants and a t-shirt stored in the boot of his car. His slim eyes glared, hands flinging, and he thrust an enormous hoodie at you in stony silence.

Even his rage was gentlemanly, and he turned his back on you while you stripped to your underwear, and changed. You felt indescribably naked in just a hoodie and so, like any good man, Kento bustled you into his passenger seat, and joined you, warming the car up.

Kento drove without speaking. You side-eyed him, and though you knew his irritation was not for you, you knew one wrong word would incite a clipped sarcasm. Kento skid the car to a halt, eventually, and turned to you, flat-eyed and cold.

"What do you want?"

So many ways that question could be answered, and they fought for precedence in your mouth. In the end, you just looked at him, dumbly. Kento huffed, a smirk playing on the edge of his mouth. He rolled down his window, to a drive-through speaker, and repeated himself.

"What," Kento enunciated, "do you want?"

Whatever you ordered, despite your appetite, couldn't have been a quarter of what Kento did. You found yourself stunned again, to see Kento sat in sweatpants and a t-shirt, still damp and mussed, cramming a burger into his mouth at breakneck speed. He'd have been a quiet eater, but the satisfied noises he made were sinful. He tip-tapped his third box of fries, and tipped the last handful into his mouth with a happy groan.

You felt heat pool in your belly to see him looking like, well...just a guy. Just a big, hungry guy, pissed off with work and slumming it. You didn't realise you were staring until Kento reached over without looking, and urged your hovering hand closer to your mouth.

"Eat," he grumbled, "I know I'm not exactly civilised right now, but don't let it put you off your food."

You swallowed hard, chewing through a chicken nugget, "It's, uh...its not that." Kento shot you a challenging side-eye, "It's...kind of sexy. Seeing you so...so comfortable."

Kento froze. He dropped a pinch of fries back into the box, closing his eyes and shielding them with one long-fingered hand. You felt the prickling, queasy heat of embarrassment spread from your stomach up. You opened your mouth to apologise, mortified, before Kento spoke, his voice gravelly.

"Don't say something like that," he warned, low and groaning, "don't say something like that-- when you're in my clothes in the passenger seat, and all of my decency has gone out of the window--"

You looked at him. He looked at you. He swallowed hard to feel his cock twitch to life, his grey sweatpants barely hiding how he swelled. You reached over to swipe mustard off the corner of his mouth with your thumb, and licked it off, not breaking eye contact. Kento's eyes darkened, and he almost laughed.

All pretence of good society was shattered. By the time the doors closed on the lift up to Kento's apartment, he had lifted your thighs around his waist to carry you, and taste your lips on the way. You and Kento staggered into his apartment like this, spinning, thudding into the walls, knocking a vase off the table, kissing, nipping, biting, groaning, unhinged and unsupervised.

You squealed with laughter when Kento threw you onto his sofa, and climbed on top of you, rolling along until you were on top and he was on top and you were on top and he was on top and--

"Fuck--" Kento rumbled into the plush of your belly, "--fuck-- sorry-- utterly disrespectful--" He groaned again, cursing and leaving his mark in blooming petals, to hear you whimper.

"--disrespect me harder--"

"Shit-- yes please--"

Kento practically ripped his hoodie over your head, his hands clutching at your bared body with trembling force. He panted, shuddering. His eyes pleaded with you; as if they had to. With gritted teeth, he dragged your hips to the edge of the sofa, and swiped your panties aside to delve his tongue into your sweet heat to continue his meal.

You thought (in a nebulous way, between whimpering bursts of pleasure), that Kento must have gone mad. He couldn't restrain himself, even, from hooking his weeping cock out above his sweatpants, and stroking himself in time with his wet, hungry suckles on your clit. Kento had thrown off the shackles of propriety with a roar, and he cried his relief into your cunt like you were aqua vita.

"Ken--" you cried, your voice cracking to hear him answer you with pre-cum slick plap-plap-plaps of his fist and rusty moans, "Ken-- can't-- ungh, fuck, I'm gonna--"

Kento didn't think twice, delving his free hand between your thighs to sink two long fingers inside you, yanking your orgasm from you with devastatingly accurate, come-fucking-hither-strokes.

You arched off the sofa with a breaking cry. Kento released his cock, now angry and needy, with a shudder, just to hold you to his mouth so he could taste you through your orgasm. You twitched, jerking and incoherent; Kento dragged it out until you convulsed, your ecstasy made sharp with involuntary little moans of his name.

"--not done disrespecting you--" Kento hissed, pressing you back as you moved to sit up, "--not until I'm dripping out of you, just for me to fuck it back in again-- good girl--"

You clapped your hand over your mouth, in disbelief at the utter filth coming from this beige man. Kento scoffed, a smirk on the corner of his lips. He pressed his sweatpants down just enough to free his heavy, aching balls. He stroked his cock head between your folds, making you twitch every time his slit caught on your clit, giving himself a sly pussyjob and bearing over you to rumble against your lips.

"I thought the tie would have been a dead giveaway," Kento whispered, and before you could answer, filled you to the brim with one smooth roll of his hips. You squealed again, and Kento clapped his hand over your mouth, as if you catch the sound and bottle it for later. You tangled your fingers in his hair, your cries muffled behind his hand. Kento dragged his cock back out of your slick, inch by torturous inch.

"Hold onto something-- pull my fucking hair-- good girl--"

Kento took you at a relentless pace, blond hair flopping in his eyes, still scratched and bruised from your mission, and his eyes alight with bliss. You fell apart beneath him, rammed against the back of the sofa, feeling him belly deep, tugging his hair and sinking your teeth into his forearm until he hissed with pleasure. You mewled, blinded by the insistent thrusts to your core.

"F-fuck m-meee-eeee-eeee, ohhhh-hhh, Ken-- where's Ken-- where's Kento gone--"

Kento laughed, breathless and stilted, and plaiting his fingers with yours to pin your arms above your head. His pace never faltered, and he nuzzled into your throat, scoffing, "--same man-- same-- same man-- just one bad day away-- shit, I won't last-- squeeze me harder-- unnnnghhh l-- I'm gonna come--"

Kento's fingers fumbled against your clit, sloppy and harsh and dragging another orgasm from you, and coming with a bark as you dragged his out of him. As promised, he filled you, with ropes of seed so long and thick, that his balls must have received the same let go memo.

You watched Kento through his ecstasy; buckled over you, a sweating, stone-carved beauty, released from the confines of his cage. He shook with exertion, eyeing you with shrewd reproach.

"You tell no-one," Kento growled, tickling your ribs when you began to laugh, his cum dripping where you remained joined, "you tell no-one--"

"Or what?" You squealed, tugging him down by the hair. Kento bit into your neck, burying himself deeper inside you in challenge. You felt him twitch back to life, and shivered, a bunny in the jaws of a bear.

"Or I'll put my suit back on."

"You animal--"

[izuminokamiis]

Wood Austin Mid-sized craftsman green one-story wood exterior home idea with a gambrel roof

[tommyxvx]

Exterior - Brick Large elegant red two-story brick exterior home photo with a shingle roof

[aspoonfulofwitchcraft]

Exterior Wood (Portland)

[oldmannapping]

Mama - a Red Hood fanfic

Directly inspired by this post by @webshood

Excerpt:

You don’t jack a car in Crime Alley. And you definitely don’t jack a car in Crime Alley that almost certainly has a child in it.

The “Welcome To Gotham: 10 Things You Need To Know” pamphlets that Harley Quinn earnestly distributed to newcomers to the Gotham underworld were very clear about Red Hood’s list of Dos and Don’t.

Among the top Don’ts were:

Crime in Crime Alley

Crimes against women in Crime Alley

Crimes against children in Crime Alley

Mama

It wouldn’t have happened if she hadn’t been so goddam cute.

Felicia Aidia, barely a year old. Couldn’t quite walk yet, but she could stand unassisted for five seconds of startled jubilance before her own shock at the situation would send her flopping back on her adorable diapered butt. Huge almond eyes that were nearly black, wispy black hair and full pink cheeks, she looked altogether too cherubic to be real.

Felicia had been strapped safely in a booster seat, poking at the condensation on the window of the rideshare car she was in with her babysitter, when they were carjacked by an idiot with either a death wish or less situational awareness than a stoned beetle.

There was no other excuse for why this man jacked a She-Share, one of the brightly-marked cars in a fleet that was famous for being Gotham’s first rideshare company to boast child seats in every one of their vehicles at no extra cost.

They were famously affordable and primarily utilised by single parents in low-income areas such as Crime Alley.

You don’t jack a car in Crime Alley. And you definitely don’t jack a car in Crime Alley that almost certainly has a child in it.

The “Welcome To Gotham: 10 Things You Need To Know” pamphlets that Harley Quinn earnestly distributed to newcomers to the Gotham underworld were very clear about Red Hood’s list of Dos and Don’t.

Among the top Don’ts were:

Crime in Crime Alley

Crimes against women in Crime Alley

Crimes against children in Crime Alley

The car thief had shoved the driver and Felicia’s babysitter out of the vehicle but utterly failed to notice the giant car seat and the appropriately-sized child occupying it.

A city-wide Amber Alert was out within minutes, which honestly was pretty good considering it happened in Crime Alley and Gotham police liked to pretend that area was just a mysterious Bermuda Triangle kinda place where people just mysteriously went missing, who can say why, oh well, what can you do.

The police were fast but Red Hood was faster.

The vigilante was leaping across rooftops with the speed of a panther. One police helicopter pilot completely forgot their assignment and started following him instead of the stolen car. People livestreamed blurry videos of the car careening around corners that hadn’t yet been blocked off, panning up to catch a glimpse of red metal and brown leather streaking across the sky in pursuit.

The end was anticlimactic. Hood crashed onto the roof of the car from the awning of a deli like a feral beast and punched straight through the driver’s side window. He knocked the driver out and wrested control of the vehicle until it skidded to a stop a few blocks away from the official police cordon.

Before any officers got there, Hood had hogtied the unconscious car thief and carefully extracted Felicia from her carseat.

She let out a small, uncertain wail at the sight and sound of cheering locals, crowding close to film and too boisterous with relief to realise they were scaring a baby.

Felicia pouted. It had been loud, and then fast, and then unfamiliar, and then loud again, and suddenly she was outside, and she was supposed to be napping, and she didn’t know any of these people.

Wait, yes she did. The man cradling her protectively with one arm and holding the other out to the crowd, telling them to, “Back off, back off, give her some space,”, she’d seen him before. She didn’t know how but he was familiar. His big red face (no eyes, very strange, no mouth too! How did he suck his thumb?) wasn’t scary. He was the man on the wall painting! The big wall near the playground had a picture of him painted on it. The playground was safe, and he reminded her of the playground. He was holding her protectively and he was all nice and warm.

Felicia didn’t know many words. But she did know the word she used for the person who felt safest.

“Mama!” she said loudly, clinging to the red man’s arm. “Mama!”

“It’s okay, kiddo,” he said in a very soothing voice for someone without a mouth, “We’ll get your mom.”

A police officer arrived and tried to take Felicia away. She did not appreciate it.

“Mama!” she cried louder, torn between frustration and fear. No one ever listened to her! She reached for the red man. “MAMA!”

Well. Like we said. She was so goddam cute. All eyes were on her fat little face, her adorable, freshly-rescued, chubby little hands reaching out to Red Hood. Everyone was filming her on their phones.

And she called the Red Hood “Mama”, in a perfectly clear, tiny, adorable little baby voice.

Of course it went viral.

For a while, it was a fun in-joke between Gothamites. People playing vigilante bingo to see who they’d spot each night would jokingly ask each other if they’d seen “Mama” down by the docks. Goons blustered amongst themselves that “Mama” didn’t scare them, as they kept their heads down and prayed he didn’t notice them. One bold news website captioned a picture as “Red Hood/Mama” in a story about Felicia’s rescue, while the commenters lost their minds either rofl skull skull skull dying laughing or warning the editors that they should be careful in case the trigger-happy vigilante didn’t have a sense of humour.

Closer to Hood’s home though, the reception was different. And, to him, wholly unexpected.

It started with Felix, the 16-year-old who’d been a sex worker until Hood cleaned up the under-18 scene in the Alley, and who now helped shuttle street kids to the lowkey safehouses Hood and his team had set up. Felix was a good middleman the kids trusted to take them somewhere with food, water, electricity, and no one called CPS. It wasn’t perfect, but it was a good compromise until Hood could clean the stink out of the city’s social services.

Felix was smoking on a stack of crates one night, chatting to a couple of his friends, when Hood strolled over.

“Hola, Mama,” Felix greeted casually, taking a drag of his cigarette as his friends choked.

Hood just sighed. “Not you too.” With a weary exhale, he got to business. “I got those extra blankets you needed for the safehouse on Cedar. They’re at the Warehouse B if you want to run them over tonight. Sheila knows you’re coming, she’ll sort you out.”

And so, with Felix not dead and two witnesses with big mouths to tell the tale, word spread. It was open season on Red Hood’s new nickname.

“Hey, mama!” called the girls on the corner as Hood checked to make sure none of the johns had gotten too rough.

“Mama’s here!” crowed the gays and theys across the block as he dropped off condoms and hot soup.

“It’s mama!” announced the receptionist at the shelter when Red Hood stopped by to do an inventory check.

Everywhere he went.

Whatever. It would pass. People’s attention spans were shot to shit, and the loudest viral jokes always burnt out the fastest. At least, Hood was pretty sure. He wasn’t really online much but it was impossible to exist in the world without hearing a few meme references, and they always seemed to die out fast. When was the last time anyone talked about Baby Shark? Or that kid who said “corn” weird? This would blow over.

Granted, it was taking a bit longer than Hood initially expected.

When Dick gleefully changed his name in the Family Chat, Jason ignored it. He never replied to that thing anyway.

When Red Robin said, “Mama, you’re clear,” in perfectly neutral tones during an otherwise routine surveillance operation, and several comm lines immediately muted themselves, Jason ignored it.

When Damian’s new black kitten, with huge blue eyes and a white streak on the forehead, was named Mama, Jason started to get annoyed. Even DAMIAN?

When Roy answered his call with, “Mama, I missed you!” followed by thirty seconds of unhinged cackling, Jason hung up the phone and didn’t speak to Roy for three days.

When Cass used the ASL sign for Mom to relay information to him during a mission brief, his shoulders dropped.

When Alfred gave him an exquisite pink cupcake on the second Sunday of May, Jason thanked him, left the room, walked into the nearest bathroom, carefully put the cupcake on the bench, and screamed into a towel for six minutes.

When Duke finished a story about growing up in the Narrows with, “Mama knows what I’m talking about, right?”, Jason was defeated.

Fine. They win. Everyone wins.

He worked so hard on a legacy. He dug out of his own GRAVE. He clawed himself back from insanity and anger and reclaimed himself, reclaimed Red Hood, reclaimed his home. He carved a new space for himself, not quite a vigilante, not quite a villain. He made his own rules. He built an empire.

And now, he’s FUCKING Mama.

Life isn’t fair. Sometimes the Joker kills you and you sever heads and butcher bad guys and build up a reputation and then one goddam adorable child says two goddam syllables and you’re fucking MAMA for the rest of your goddam life.

Fuck it. He’s going home. He’s too tired for this shit.

[pastelcheckereddreams]

I added more things to Lotus Tower! Can you spot them all? To be honest, I can't pick anything I'm the most proud of. I'm so pleased to see all of it come together like this. Perhaps my brain will finally let me put the project to rest 😂

Breakdown of all the new fun decorations and modifications below.

You can see the first part of my model build here, or more of my art and my craft projects in my pinned post, where you can also find a link to my INPRNT store and my ko-fi if you would like to support my creative projects in any way 💛

So, the first thing I wanted to do was utillise some spare parts from my Life of Su Dongpo booknook kit to make Li Lianhua a small tea tray:

I cut tiny planks of wood from a strip of basswood to form the sides, but the base and teapot come from the Su Dongpo kit. I was also able to make the goodest girl Hulijing a stand from the same piece that makes the base of the tea tray. Now she can sit in Lotus Tower anywhere she wants to instead of being stuck into the wood outside her kennel!

To hold the tea tray, I also made a table and stool similar to the one in the show, and created some tiny baskets out of beige cross-stitch aida to replicate the many baskets and storage Li Lianhua has hanging from the Tower:

In that same vein, I used thread to make a net for some more storage beneath the stairs:

And used part of a bamboo place-mat and some dried flowers to create a herb drying rack on the upper level.

One of the more complex pieces I created was a second sail to hang under the eaves of the gourd door:

It was difficult trying to get this sail to hold a good final shape as, just as with the other sail in my first build, I had to guess how much material would be needed and how to gather it. But I'm pleased with how it turned out in the end! It, like the herb rack, is hung from the eaves with small pieces of metal wire, bent into hooks and stuck into the reinforced card.

You can also see in the pictures above that I added "rope" and a fake hook to the shelf on the side of the Tower to make it a bit more accurate to the show's design.

(You will also see in the very first picture that I made a set of removable stairs for the porches - unfortunately, I didn't take any pictures of their building process and kept forgetting to move them back into the big picture.)

The biggest addition, though, is of course the lanterns:

I am so proud of these. I made them from paper and basswood, and they are ridiculously tiny (about 1.5cms). I wasn't going to put lights in them to start with, but when I bought the tiny bulbs (I was planning to try and put them inside Lotus Tower at the time) and shone them behind one of the lanterns - it looked so good I knew I just had to try it.

So here's how I pulled it off:

I first carefully slotted the bulbs and their wires through the beams of the sail awning, twisting the red and blue cables around each other to give them more structure and make sure they were hanging at the right length. I made sure the wires both led back to the side of the Tower I was going to store the battery pack on, and fastened them to one of the supports of the awning so that the wires would discretely trail down to the floor of the upper level. (I also painted them at this time.)

As for the battery pack, I stuck a small piece of wood underneath the porch where Hulijing's kennel sits for the battery to sit on. I tidied up the wires as neatly as I could and fastened them to the side of the Tower with a spare U-shaped piece from the Su Dongpo kit, wedged into the window slats of the ground level (making sure there's plenty of slack for me to unfasten it and change the battery without struggle). I then joined the wires as best I could and painted it all a yellow-brown colour.

As you can see, it looks a bit crude, but once the roof is back on over the door, the wires all but disappear!

I am so sooo happy with how it's turned out. Please let me know what you think! Is there anything else you would add? Anything you would do differently?

[heartsofminds]

i'm calling just to hear you scream - part ii.

“Free means “fuck.” She’s gonna fuck us, Sugar and you don’t even fucking care!” or it's your first day at The Bear (or is it The Beef still?), Richie is convinced you're a fed, and Carmen may or may not hate your guts.

A/N: well surprise, surprise! here's part two of i'm calling just to hear you scream. definitely more of a filler chapter before everything starts to implode and get more serious and downright grimey, but i hope you enjoy!

The shadows created by the awnings of the sandwiched businesses chill your bones while the Sun makes your backside sticky beneath your sweater and light spring jacket. Chicago is beautiful in March, but always full of surprises.

One day comes an icy snowstorm that adds to the gray slush collecting on the side of the street and the next a blissful sixty-one degrees that gaslights everyone into walking around with shorts on because it’s just “so warm.” 

You can’t revel in the tranquility for much longer. Not when you’re pretty sure you’re coming up on the address Natalie emailed you two nights ago. 628 West Wager Street sits prettily in between an old antique shop and a Chicago Cubs merchandise store that has definitely seen better days. Despite no sign hanging on the window and the glass completely shielded from outside eyes by brown butcher paper, it somehow looks like it belongs; the younger sibling of a once booming and vibrant street scene. 

Being outside of the door is a feeling that fills you with both anxiety and uncertainty. You know you’re in the right spot but you don’t feel like you are; not when you can’t hear any noise coming from any of the three storefronts that stand in front of you. You’re made even more uneasy when you see the five by eleven sheet of insulated foil wrap with capital letters written in Sharpie taped to the front window. 

The Beef is closed. Thank you for your patronage. The Bear is coming. 

The nerves start to hit you even harder. All Natalie had mentioned over the phone and through your frequent emails have been about needing help with a restaurant. The name of the aforementioned restaurant had never been disclosed and its location remained a mystery until this morning when you got an email with the unspoken directions that Apple Maps would omit. There’s nothing more embarrassing than doing a consult and not knowing any of the details. It’s even more humiliating when the feeling of being made a fool seems inevitable. 

Your arm refuses to move forward and yank the door open in case this is some sick prank. You half expect Becca to be hiding behind it with the “good ole boys” crew that is full of Senior and Junior partners at your law firm; their only purpose is to further humiliate and belittle you more than they already do on a day-to-day basis at the office. 

It’s a ridiculous thing to think that someone would care enough about you and your shame to do that, you know, but it’s the only way you can rationalize your brain warning you not to touch that door. Your eyes catch your reflection and suddenly you want the concrete sidewalk to swallow you whole. You take in how your navy blue pantsuit engulfs you and how your work bag seems to get heavier and heavier as it hangs solemnly at your side. 

You don’t belong here. 

The itch to turn around and run back to the train as fast as you could possibly manage crosses your mind, but the shattering of the quiet oasis around you interrupts that thought before it can materialize. 

“Do you ever shut the fuck up!” you hear a voice scream.

“Do you ever realize you don’t know fuckin’ everything!” another one screams back. 

The sound of a wall being hit accompanies the shouts as well as numerous other voices joining in on the cacophony the verbal altercation created. 

Call it a hunch (or just having enough common sense), but you definitely are in the right place and there are certainly people inside. The scary part of not knowing is over. The absolutely horrifying part of having to see where you fit in is pending. 

Your fingers grip the solid metal door handle and you rip it open. The resounding squeal it emits makes you want the floor to swallow you up whole. The chaos of screaming shouting and yelling start to pause before the sound of the sledgehammer hitting the wall a second time interrupts it and sends it into a full frenzy once again. 

The world seems to be moving in slow motion and your words are caught in your throat. You’ve never seen chaos like this before, but you’ve definitely felt the way you’re currently feeling every day for the past five years. Faces you don’t know, a nagging feeling of responsibility, a dire need to do the best job you possibly can and not fucking up and not pissing anyone off, and yet no idea where to even start. 

“If I already fuckin’ told you you were tearing the wrong wall down why the actual fuck would you do it again!” a strained scream bounces off the walls. 

You jolt at the echo. The current lack of infrastructure and an igloo of scaffolding tarp amplifies the sound by three thousand decibels. 

He can’t see your face because his back is turned toward you, but the temperament and the mop of curls tell you the obvious. Carmen. Natalie’s brother and shareholder that she had subtly warned you about in a half-joking, half-not tone when you had spoken on the phone the other day. 

“To prove a fucking point,” a lankier taller man scoffs back. Richie. Their cousin, not cousin (which you don’t really understand, but you chalk it up to a deduction that not everything is meant to make sense), and the absolute bane of Natalie and Carmen’s existence at times. She had also warned you about him on the phone. “Even if I’m wrong you never fail to always think you’re fucking right like a – like a fucking baby! You walk around here pissed the fuck off and fucking changing everything and makin’ it everyone else’s fucking problem –” 

Carmen lunges at him and two other men from the crowd almost pick him up from the floor to prevent him from tackling Richie. 

“Everyone else’s prob – You’re my fucking problem! You’re my fuckin’ problem and all you know how to do is fuck up and make everything fuckin’ worse!” 

“Fuck you! Fuck you! Fuckin’ pissy ass pamper cry baby.” 

Carmen tries his hardest to wrangle himself out of the hold he’s currently in. Sydney, a genius and the Lord’s prayer (according to Natalie, also), clumps herself near him as he remains twisting and turning like a toddler fighting a parent’s protective hold through a temper tantrum. 

“Chill, chill, chill. Stop. Just stop,” she gently coos. Her hand claps the shoulder of one of the men holding him up. You can see the gentle squeeze it gives to provide silent comfort, but you wonder if the softness in her tone is to deescalate the situation or to help regulate herself. 

He’s dragged out to what you can assume is the backdoor and it slams with a cadence that demands attention. A sharp thud can be heard five seconds later accompanied by various, “Yo, what the fuck, dude?”’s. 

He must have kicked the door. He definitely kicked the door. 

Your body continues to stay frozen in the bare entryway. The survival skills you’ve adapted kick into full effect. Don’t make a move. Don’t make a sound. Do not piss anyone else off. 

The aftermath of commotion and chatter fills the room and leaves no space for you. You have half the mind to put your hand back on the handle and dip out before anyone notices. You’ve been here all of three minutes and you feel as if it’s been a year. The shouting and the hurtful insults and the frequent use of the word “fuck” send a blush down your chest. You’re embarrassed because you’re starting to think that you can’t handle it. You’re not good enough. You’re not strong enough. 

What the fuck were you thinking even coming here? 

The push of your thigh against the door causes the rusted metal hinge to groan again. The sound is indiscernible from relief or protest; staying or leaving. Either option makes your skin crawl. The sudden redirection of eyes casts a dome of silence and everyone zones in on the thing that wasn’t there before: you. 

No one moves and for a second, you don’t think anyone blinks. The realization of someone infiltrating a rather robust and rage-filled argument occurring at nine in the morning sinks in before the vein of awkwardness begins to bleed. You know the logical thing to do is to introduce yourself; to force a plaster-like smile on your face and extend your hand and ask how everyone is doing. 

But you don’t. 

You can’t. 

Natalie can feel the alarm bells going off in her head when her eyes float to your figure. You look worried; a flash of pensiveness and subtle fear floods your facial expression and she starts to panic. Opening a restaurant is beyond humbling and asking Becca Cantor for her help was a last-ditch effort to contain the smallest bit of confidence she had left. Besides, she would rather roll over and die than you to walk out that door, tell Becca about how they’re sledgehammering walls with a gang of lunatics at the restaurant, and somehow get a call from Uncle Jimmy that turns into a stern talking to about how they’re just dicking around with his money and how it’s a waste of time. 

You absolutely, positively can not walk out that door. 

She’ll make sure of it. Even if it’s the last thing she ever fucking does. 

Her feet carry her faster than what her brain is aware of. Her eyes have to catch up with the scenery passing her in a blur as she walks up to you. Seeing her face calms you down in a way that is small but not unnoticed. She has kind eyes and a calm demeanor. This is the kind of client that gives you confidence. This is the kind of client that brings you joy. This is the kind of work you were made to do. 

“Oh, hey! You found it!” she cheers. Her hand brushes against your bicep in a welcome. 

The pool of spit inside your mouth gets swallowed as you curtly nod. “Yeah! Yeah, I thought Apple Maps led me astray but I was definitely in the right spot.” 

Pretending not to notice the curious gazes behind your interaction proves difficult, but it’s not something you’re not used to. Working in an office means there’s always someone in your business and you always feel like you’re under constant surveillance. 

At least this time, the threat of humiliation seems considerably low. The obvious danger of being chased out of here with a sledgehammer is considerably high though. 

“How are you doing?” you ask quietly. A conversation of niceties always makes things less awkward and gives you some leeway for at least learning who the owners are of the staring eyes. 

“Yo, who the fuck is this, Suge?” Richie asks, wiping his plaster-covered hands on his shirt. His face still harbors a flush that had yet to dissipate. He also has kind eyes but you know from the moments you witnessed prior that he can turn his kindness off and on instantaneously. 

Natalie rolls her eyes and huffs. The damage control that she’s doing is not going to plan. She had grown up around cursing and incredibly forward questioning and knows that not everyone else had, and from the disastrous commotion you stumbled into five minutes prior and the way your eyes show more of the whites than the irises, the crudeness needs to take a backseat. 

At least enough of one to ensure that you’re not about to turn around and bolt out of that shitty ass door that she had been bitching at Richie to oil for the past two months. 

She moves to stand next to you and puts her arm around your shoulder. Natalie knows that the second they find out that you’re an attorney all hell will break loose. Something about accusing you of being “fed” and coming to rip the “fundamentals of democracy” out from under them brews in her mind and she gags a little at the thought of having to diffuse yet another shit show before ten in the morning. 

The unwelcome taste of acid tinging the back of her tongue makes her take a mental note to ask her OB about being so nauseous. 

“This is our attorney,” she starts and begins to ignore the groans coming from the crowd in front of her, “She’s gonna help us with some...things.” 

Richie scoffs and throws his hands up. He wipes at his nose with his forearm and some of the plaster residue makes a home on the tip of it. 

“You brought a fuckin’ fed in here, Sugar?” His eyebrows rise to his hairline and it doesn’t take a genius to know how he doesn’t want you here at all. “I told you I had this under wraps. The fuck do we need a fed up our ass for if we’re just tearin’ down walls and shit.” 

You sigh and Natalie can feel the anxiety radiating off of you. She’s starting to absorb it, but the fight in her to make this right persists. 

“Well, first of all, the fed has a fucking name, you dick,” she snaps, “And you’ve been slinging beef sandwiches your entire adult life so the fuck do we need you for?”  

Richie exhales as the rest of the people around him start to snicker. 

“Damn, Papa. You need to pipe down,” whom you guess is Tina from some of the people who had been mentioned to you through the phone calls (and there’s so many goddamn people in here for it to be out of business and you’re sure you’ll need to start doing flashcards every night to remember who they are). 

“Thanks, T,” Natalie and Richie chirp in unison; their voices capturing the different emotions of annoyance and triumph differently. 

Some more harsh words and excited chatter served with a side of frustration occurs and you’re so checked out that you don’t even realize that no one has asked you directly what your name is. The animated voices and exaggerated body movement swell the room even more; pushing you outside and three blocks away so vividly through emotion that you have to check to make sure your feet haven’t moved. 

No one has asked who you are and which firm you came from. No one has asked how you are. And still, no one has asked you what your name is. 

They continue to talk and joke and yell and you start to feel yourself shrinking in. 

Smaller, smaller, smaller. 

Gone. 

You know that it’s not personal. It’s almost never personal, but the mind tends to conjure up ideas when it can’t make sense of the feelings it detects from the body. 

Maybe it had just gotten thrown to the wayside. Maybe they were making room for direct conversation with you to occur later when things weren’t so awkward. Maybe they don’t hate you and think you’re the worst and may actually like you.

But then maybe they don’t. 

Maybe they just don’t give a fuck. 

In your catatonic daze, you hear an offhanded remark about how you look like a high schooler who just waltzed in after a Model UN convention and that Natalie has no idea what the fuck she was doing. The laughter that follows highlights those who actively agree and the agitated huffs of frustration show those who silently concur. 

In any other circumstance, you probably would have joined them in laughter or returned a smart-alecky response or accompanied them in making fun of you, but this isn’t a different circumstance. You’re in a construction zone on a Saturday morning, overdressed with a pantsuit on, and have not a clue on how hospitality law works, and the facts leave a non-disputable conclusion. 

You’re the odd one out and you can’t get an invite to be even no matter how hard you try.

You truly don’t belong here. 

“Richie, have you ever considered that maybe we need to do it right this time?” Natalie asks, her tone dripping annoyance, “Her being here clearly doesn’t affect your ability to be an idiot, so you can go fuck yourself because she’s staying.” 

Richie narrows his eyes at her. His lanky limbs flail as he attempts to make his emotions seen without having to verbalize them. Natalie has had it with his stubbornness and she knows that she might be puking her guts out in about fifteen minutes. The great debate has to have an ending in sight soon. 

Besides, she knows that Richie’s apprehension toward the whole thing is because he’s resisting change and trying to get under Carmen’s skin. It doesn’t matter how great she knows her brother can make something. Richie will try and put a pin in it before it becomes something he no longer recognizes. 

Just like their dad. Somewhat like Mikey. Especially like Carmen (even though she knows he doesn’t recognize his own stubbornness yet). 

“Jesus, that’s fuckin’ horse shit if I’ve heard it,” he sneers, “And I happen to be very intelligent and very charming – and FYI – I also know how a fucking business works and all this “foo-foo,” “high dining”, microgreen shit –” 

She holds up her hand to him and rolls her eyes. She’s surprised she hasn’t been able to see the back of her skull yet. “It’s fine dining, but whatever.” 

“Fuck all the way off. Fine dining, microgreen shit is a dishonor to our roots and I will not stand for it.” 

Natalie’s hand smacks down on a metal rolling table with a rusty toolbox and a wrinkled pad of Post-it notes. The sounds of clanky metal snap everyone’s attention to her. Natalie was never mean. She was always sugary sweet and ooey gooey; trying to be in everyone’s good graces at all times and forever attempting to fix things before they had the potential to be broken. But she could also brush the sugar off and leave a bitter and tongue-curdling hurt if she got pushed to her limit. 

She’s not had a full night’s rest since she got asked (more like begged, but she’s not one for bragging) to be their project manager, she can’t bare to stomach anything nowadays without wrestling the urge to puke it back up, and the fucking pregnancy hormones are filling her with unexplained bouts of rage as of late. 

She is not one to be fucked with and Richie knows that. He just always wants to poke the bear. 

“Well that’s fuckin’ sad that your “roots” are tied to an Italian beef shop, but that doesn’t change my mind whatsoever,” she pushes past him with more force than she intended, guiding you along with her to wherever she had in mind, “You can bitch and moan and holler all you want but you’re not the one losing your fucking mind over fucking paperwork so whatever other unhelpful and extremely negative shit you have to say can get shoved up your ass and you can get fucked because I’m not putting up with it.” 

Richie is rendered speechless – a phenomenon that does not occur very often. 

She turns to you and gives you a friendly smile. Her hand rests softly above yours that are bawled into anxious fists. “Let’s go into the office so we can talk some more. Are you okay with that?” 

You’re still frozen in equal parts shock and fear; too scared to say no. 

“Umm. . .yeah. Yeah, we can go to the back,” you swallow and she brisks you away to what you assume is where all the paperwork is housed that they need help making sense of resides. 

You arrive outside of a closed wooden door and Natalie steps in front of it, her arms coming down to hug the hinges of it in a way that makes you slightly worried. “So I know that you’re not a hospitality attorney and I know that you’re doing this for free and you’re totally at liberty to say you want out the second you say the word,” she speaks softly. 

You know that she’s starting to panic. Your feelings and her feelings are starting to merge into one; two halves of the same whole – people pleasers. 

“But it’s. . .a lot and I don’t know even know where to start and this is legitimately driving me insane so –” 

Her anxiety starts to break your heart. The pang in your chest makes your decision for you. No matter how uncomfortable you are, you know you need to do the right thing out of the kindness of your own heart. 

“No, it’s fine!” you cut her off, “I’ll take a look and we’ll figure it out. Nothing you have here is too much. I can promise you that.” 

Ocean blue irises engulf you with sentiment and appreciation through their gaze. Natalie’s shoulders sag before her hand finds the gold doorknob. A deep breath adds to the noise of chatter and squeaks of the faulty fire alarm in the hallway. The oak door opens with a wheeze and a groan; stuck because of the swell its wood causes from the constant fluctuation of temperatures in Chicago. 

“Well,” she begins, “Here it is.” 

The mountains of cardboard boxes all labeled with acronyms and doodled with nonsense send the pit in your stomach down to your toes and through the center of the Earth. 

Holy fucking shit. 

Natalie notices your shock and starts to go back into “fix-it” mode. She hasn’t eaten at all today, but she figures that the emotions bubbling up and down at a fixed and constant rate are what fill her insides and are making her nauseous. Bile starts to make its way up her throat but she forces it back down. 

She’ll be damned if this goes even more sour than how she knows it has. 

“It’s a lot and it’s more sorting things and making them make sense than doing actual work? Like you’re gonna be doing work but it’s not rocket science. . . Not that being an attorney isn’t hard! My husband is one and I. . .need to shut up now,” she word vomits. Despite the apparent fact that she’s panicking, the sound of her voice is soothing and the gentle hand she places on the junction between the base of your neck and your shoulder does wonders to ground you. “And there’s no rush to have all of it done. It’s a work at your own pace kinda thing?” 

You both know that she’s fibbing about the last part. 

The frantic text at 11 PM last week and the hour-long phone call debriefs you had yesterday and three days before say otherwise. This is her compromising and making her needs smaller. This is her being like you and you being like her; being like each other. Digging yourself into holes to help others no matter the effort – no matter the pain. 

“No, I’m doing this because I want to. Just let me know exactly what you need and we can get to it as soon as possible.” 

You know that you must have said the golden word because as soon as the statement leaves your mouth, Natalie whips out her phone and starts reading off a list she had compiled of all things that have some link to the legal world. 

Contracts. Permits. Tax revenue sheets. Paystubs. Workers Compensation. Equal Employment Opportunity Commission. City Ordinances. Chicago royally fucking anyone who dares to open a business, really. 

The sad part is that this should scare you. This should make you want to run out of here and never look back and purposely take the long way to get somewhere if you knew where you were headed would cross paths with the restaurant. 

But you don’t do any of that, and the buzz of finally doing something that you know is helping people overpowers the migraine of stress you can feel looming over you the second you agree to help them out. 

“You’re amazing,” she says, eyes twinkling with admiration. 

Your cheeks turn a shade of baby pink that you hope she can’t see. You’ve never taken well to flattery. 

Richie’s knuckles give a soft knock on the door and it opens before either of you can think to welcome another presence. His gaze finds both of you fist-deep into the first box labeled “Cocksuckers: For IRS - 1987.” You already know that he’s not related to the Berzattos by blood, but the beautiful blue eyes make you question that fact. He gives a sheepish smile almost to apologize for his interruption and you think he’s about to apologize before he opens his mouth and says, “Suge, your dashing baby brother is bout to blow a fuse because the fed is here.” 

Natalie stops what she’s doing. Her hands come to rest on the flimsy cardboard box and she throws her head back to eye the ceiling. If she can count the row of six vertically, maybe she can slow her breathing and calm herself down enough to spare Carmy the chewing out of a lifetime. 

One. 

“Sugar!” 

Two. 

“Get the fuck off me!” 

Three. 

“I said get the fuck off me! I need to see my fuckin’ sister!” 

Four. 

“Sugar!” 

Five. 

“Leave me the fuck alone!” 

Six. 

“Natalie!” 

Her brother appears in front of her disheveled and angry. Even though she’s only five years older than he is, she always sees him as the little baby she used to put in her strollers and push around for years until he got too big and too “grown” to think playing with his older sister was cool. Years spent with him also meant years studying him; knowing his ticks down to the smallest one and learning how he expresses every emotion. 

It was the only way she survived living in that house until she was eighteen. 

Dealing with an angry Carmen is nothing in comparison to dealing with an angry Michael or even attempting to console a slightly agitated mother. 

Besides, Carmy’s anger, while often misguided and very explosive, was never unexpected. He always has a tell and there’s always a few seconds before he completely comes unglued. Adult temper tantrums are shit shows, and quite frankly she’s fed up with having to diffuse one of his every couple of hours as of late. 

Her face starts to fall when she sees Carmen’s left eye begins to create that deep crinkle it does when he gets pissed. He starts to wrinkle his nose and she knows that he’s about to start screaming. 

Richie lets out a whistle before pushing Carmen’s head in a playful yet agitated manner. Before his hand can be swatted at, he jumps out of the way and joins in on a distant conversation about his daughter’s last dance recital. 

He has a smug grin on his face that Carmen wants nothing more than to slap off him. He knew that touching him would provoke him even more.  

Richie always has to poke the bear. 

Always. 

Carmen tries to contain his anger the best he can. Even though he’s totally against the idea of having you in the building, he knows there’s jackshit he can do about it now. Sydney said yes, Natalie sought you out, and Uncle Jimmy thought the idea was brilliant. The vote was three against one and he knows that all he can do is go fuck himself. So much for everyone promising not to make decisions about the restaurant without his okay. 

It’s not like his credit will be the one that’s fucked if this place turns to shit. 

His arm stretches to hold the side of the door’s hinge and supports his body weight as he leans to the right. “You hired a fucking attorney and didn’t tell me?” he snaps. His face pinches in a way that brings his nose, eyes, and mouth closer together; a face their mom used to make before she came totally unglued. 

You have your back turned toward the door he’s looming in. Something about being targeted makes you want to be blind to it; to shut your eyes as tightly as you can and will it away. You know that the way he’s acting has everything to do with him and nothing to do with you, but you can’t help it. When you feel out of place, every action to push you further out feels personal. 

“She’s doing it for free,” Natalie scoffs, putting a lid back on one of the boxes and crossing her arms over her chest. She would offer up more information, but what would be the use if Carmy is as wound up as he is? 

“Free means “fuck.” She’s gonna fuck us, Sugar, and you don’t even fucking care!” he screeches, seemingly uncaring that you’re right in front of him and that he’s biting his sister’s head off as if it’s nothing. 

You start to pull files out of the boxes faster than you were before. The distraction is needed because you know that if you listen too intently to what else is being said, you’ll start internalizing it later. 

Nothing with you. Everything with him. Nothing with you. Everything with him. 

“No. She is not gonna fuck us,” she pushes a finger into his chest and her nostrils flaring, “You’re gonna fuck us because you’re being so stubborn and stupid and can’t have a goddamn conversation like an adult.” 

His chest pushes deeper into his sister’s finger. “You calling me a baby? You calling me a fucking baby?” 

Carmen usually isn’t one to pick a fight in his everyday life, but once he gets started he refuses to back down. The rational part of his brain knows that he’s going overboard but he can’t help himself. The rage inside has nowhere to go and this whole thing is really pissing him off. He’s so fucking sick of everyone acting like he’s too immature and irresponsible to handle things.

Natalie’s finger comes out to become a full palm. “Well then stop the yelling. Stop the pissy pamper attitude. Stop wasting our fucking time and just admit that you’re way over your fucking head and don’t know everything.” 

Carmen balls his hands into fists and licks his lips to prevent him from saying something really fucking mean. He knows that Natalie is just trying to help but she always is, and it fucking sucks when she always saves the day even when he doesn’t want her to. The restaurant was supposed to be theirs; supposed to be all him and Mikey and everyone who made them into the people they are. It was never supposed to be his. It was never supposed to be his when he has not a goddamn clue what he’s doing and Natalie driving herself borderline insane trying to proactively fix everything before it turns to shit. 

He doesn’t know what to say because she’s right. Sugar is always right and Carmen is always wrong and he wishes Michael was here to balance them out; to add a third option so it wasn’t so split. 

But he’s not here. He won’t be here. He never really was here. 

“Fuck!” he yells at the top of his lungs. 

“Fuck!” Natalie shouts back. 

Argument over. 

His shoes slide on the floor with ease and he tries to steady his breathing. His arms let go of the door frame and his head hangs with the dissatisfaction of still housing a boulder of anger. 

“Jesus fuckin’ Christ,” he whispers, voice growing smaller as he walks away. A loud clash of hollowed metal is heard shortly after. “Fuck!” 

“Punching the lockers doesn’t get rid of the fact you’re a little bitch, Cousin.” 

Richie has to poke the bear. 

Always.

[gothamite-rambler]

How the Wayne family handles injuries sometimes pt 2 (conclusion)

Duke Thomas

Duke and Konnor were hanging out since Duke wanted to have superhero friends and Tim used to date Konnor. He took a long sip of water from his bottle then winced after swallowing.

Duke: I'm pretty sure I cracked one of my ribs. I can't confirm, though. Can you check, Konner?

Konnor (using his x-ray vision): It's not one; I see like four of your ribs are cracked. Damn.

Duke: See, when ... I was having trouble... breathing... I thought it was... asthma.

Konnor: I don't even know how to respond to that.

Duke (shrugged not fazed by his injured ribs): Dude, all that I can do is get an ice pack and ice my chest until I go on patrol tonight. Probably will avoid using my grappling gun.

Konnor (alarmed): You're going out as Signal with four cracked ribs?

Duke (chuckles, wincing quickly from the sore ribs): You're acting like I'm getting surgery.

Duke walked off to get an ice pack, leaving a confused Kon to come to one conclusion:

Konnor: I thought Tim was the odd one. Nope, they're all insane.

---------------------------------------------

Stephanie Brown

Stephanie limped into Kara's house her left leg clearly broke.

Stephanie: Hey, Kara.

Kara (Supergirl): Stephanie, um, hey, your leg is seriously not okay.

Stephanie: No, it's fine. I sprained it a few nights ago, but it's just healing. Walking it off is fixing it.

Kara: Steph, I have x-ray vision, and that crack between what was your freaking not broken leg is gnarly.

Stephanie: Hm, is it? That would explain why I've been having this shooting pain since I fell off that building.

Kara (blinked then rings her ear with her finger): You said that like it was normal. You fell off a building and you're walking?!

Stephanie: Well, I slipped, but I was able to grip this open window. Then I slipped again and hit an awning that had cloth. Then the cloth broke, and I hit the ground.

Stephanie rubbed her leg.

Stephanie: Typical Tuesday, but... maybe the way I fell broke it.

Kara stared at her not sure what to say because she was shocked at one issue.

Kara (loud): How are you walking with only a limp?!

Stephanie: You act like this is the first time my leg has broken.

Kara (aggravated): I'm taking you to the hospital.

Stephanie: Probably for the best.

---------------------------------------------

Cass Cain

Cass (Orphan suit on) is on a mission with Harley Quinn and the two make it to the roof after taking down numerous goons.

Harley (concerned): Orphan, don't freak out, but you're bleeding on your side.

Orphan: I am?

Orphan felt warm blood on the left side of her hip. She stomped her foot annoyed, but not in pain.

Orphan: Oh dang it, his knife swipe did hit me? My suit! I already put the alterations in this suit. Is the tear noticeable?

Harley stared at the woman who is checking for where the stab wound might be, but wasn't showing any signs of being in actual pain.

Harley: Okay, I'm not the most stable person, I'll admit, but you not screaming in pain from a stab wound in your hip is concerning.

Orphan: I have a large first aid kit in my room, but my sewing machine is broken. I need to know if the tear is fixable with manual sewing.

Harley: You bat people are a strange bunch; that's why I like ya.

Orphan smiled while continuing to check for any major issues in her suit.

---------------------------------------------

Barbara (turning her left wrist): I swear I've been bending my wrist for like a day, and it's still sore. I think I sprained it.

Kori (Starfire): Barbara, there is a purple bump on your wrist; I'm positive it is broken, not sprained.

Barbara (paused examining the noticeable bump): Oh my God, that's what this is? Silly me. Some douche tried to rob me, put a gun to my chest, and I took him down. Never underestimate a paraplegic.

Kori: Okay, that's great, but how did you not notice or feel pain? I saw you writing and typing earlier... and picking up your drink with that hand!

Barbara: Girl, I'm a part of the Bat Family. Our pain tolerance is high... feels good sometimes.

Kori: That is a motto I've heard from Dick before.

Barbara (grossed out): Could you stop saying stuff like that?!

---------------------------------------------

Kate sat on Selina's couch, surrounded by her pet cats. Selina returned with drinks but nearly dropped the glasses when she saw Kate's bruised feet.

Selina: Oh my God! Yo- your feet!

Kate: Sorry, my shoes were way too tight.

Selina: Kate, honey, your left pinky toe is swollen, and the right foot is… it should not be that color.

Kate: Huh… so when I jumped out of the tree and landed in the thorn bush, my feet did get hurt. Didn't help that I lost my shoes.

Selina: How did you lose your— you have to get your horrifying feet off my glass coffee table. I can't keep looking at them, and my table isn't a footrest!

Kate rolled her eyes and lowered her feet while stroking the head of a hairless pink cat.

Kate: Geez, chill. You and Bruce fixate on those coffee tables too much.

Selina: Yes, coffee tables! I want to keep them clean. Do you need to go to the hospital? We can watch the movie later.

Kate: Why, because my feet are sore? Sel, this isn't the first time I've been through this. I only need some ice and Tylenol.

Selina (deadpan): I have a foot tub and Advil.

Kate: That works because I'm not missing movie night with my future cousin-in-law.

Selina: Cousin-in-law?

Kate: It's a thing. Oh, and if you have Epsom salt, put a few spoonful's in. It helps with the swelling.

Selina nodded, going to her bathroom.

Selina (annoyed): Getting prescribed pain meds and a cast helps with the swelling, but with this family, they don't know those words.

With this family it's only serious if you die, then they might call Ra's for the lazarus pit or search for a different pit to save you.

How the Wayne family handles injuries sometimes pt 1

[cruciatusforeplay]

Map Of Whickber Street (Good Omens Soho around the bookshop)

I had a lot of fun watching the entire series again and working out where all the shops were in relation to one another. Some of these are mentioned in canon, some are just shown. I've taken some liberties with scale and the like. It wasn't clear which of these streets is Whickber Street, but I suppose there must be some mystery left in the world.

I'm adding some photo references and some more information about the various shops below the cut. If you can make out any more names, I'd love to know.

It's possible the deli is also part of Francesco's as they're both Italian, but there is a front door by the awning that could lead to the restaurant (not an unusual set up for Soho). Francesco's awning is the victim of Crowley's rainstorm.

Between Francesco's and Give Me Coffee is a shop selling formal menswear that I couldn't make out the name of.

Next to that is the coffee shop, Arnold's (the musical instruments shop), Marguerite's (the French restaurant), and newsagency (the news agents). We get a lovely shot of them from the upstairs of the bookshop (newsagents just barely visible).

Opposite them, we obviously have the bookshop itself and down from that, the record shop (which is called The Small Back Room, presumably in reference to having started at the back of Aziraphale's bookshop). The record shop is the orange shop you can see below. (There's also a clearer view of the newsagents).

The shop one down from the record shop is currently a question mark, but it does have a very bold colour scheme, and at one point we are a candelabra and a piece of fabric in the window display. I can't make out the name of this one either.

Opposite the bookshop we have the pub, the Dirty Donkey, whose front door is also the lift to heaven when summoned. Next to the pub is the doorway that leads you to the brothel (I picked the colour on the map from the new model friendly hands sign on the door), and next to that is Will Goldstone's Magic Shop. The magic shop, bookshop and the pub can also be seen in 1941 London flashbacks. Opposite the magic shop and next to the bookshop is another unknown shop. My gut says it sells lighting or maybe more general electrics, but I couldn't get a good enough shot to really see it.

At the end of this street we can see the Lucky Snake which I believe is a Chinese Restaurant, and just to the left we can glimpse a yellow shop, that I suspect is the herbalist that we see mentioned on Aziraphale's list of local businesses. Soho and Chinatown are geographical neighbours, and it's not uncommon to see Chinese herbalist or health shops in Soho. The red lanterns from the Lucky Snake continue down over the yellow shop, which is what gave me the impression it might be the herbalist.

Directly across the crossroads from the bookshop we have a fruit and vegetable market, that has a flower stand on the corner. That's where the tomatoes roll from when Gabe is walking through naked. (The veggies are obscured in the shot below, but we do see them in general)

If we follow the road between the flower market and the newsagents, I've extrapolated that the stage entrance to The Windmill (the theatre that we see in 1941) is there. We get a moderately clear view of it during the flashback, and the Windmill is a real place (to my knowledge it's somewhere between a burlesque club and a strip club these days), so I figured it would still be standing here too. We get the briefest of glimpses of the stage door still standing in modern London.

If you care for real world geography, then The Windmill's main entrance is on Great Windmill Street, right off Shaftesbury Avenue, on the corner of Archer Street.

I could not for the life of me find Brown's World of Carpets anywhere. Maybe he's not even actually a local business. He seems the type to fake it.

Here's a view of the area from heaven.

[bettyfrommars]

out on the highway

older!Eddie x reader

this is a mid-2000's little blurb where Eddie is in his late 30's/early 40's and ends up in Oregon for whatever reason. maybe this is even drifter!eddie. there are so many isolated gas stations and mechanic garages where I am, I think about this every time I am on the road.

wc: 770

It was a dark and foggy November night when you pulled over to the first gas station for 50 miles on your long trek to the Pacific Northwest. Only a sliver of a moon in the sky and very few visible stars, most of them obscured by bully clouds. 

The two pumps under a metal awning were well-lit, as were the modest mechanic garage and mini mart connected to it, but the rest of the surrounding land was nothing but agriculture fields with no other sign of human life to be found.  

Perhaps you’d watched too many horror movies and episodes of Forensic Files, but this place gave you the creeps bad enough to make you wonder if it might be better to chance your luck and see how far you could get on fumes.  

You opened your door a crack, enough to stick the toe of your foot out, and a song from the newest Arcade Fire album Funeral blared from your speakers, just before you turned the ignition off.  You were about to get out and pump your own gas, because that was what you were used to—but then there stood a person, mere feet away, and you sank back, ready to slam your door, feeling suddenly threatened.  

The person in question was a man in light blue coveralls, with the added warmth of a leather jacket and black, fingerless gloves.  He had dark, wavy hair, just long enough to tuck behind his ears with two silver hoop piercings in one lobe, and there was some type of tattoo design peeking out of his collar on his throat.  His eyes were dark brown and kind, and you couldn’t help but notice the thin scar that pulled down the skin of one eye and made it droop slightly.

It took you an extra second to realize he had a cat with him.  The orange and brown calico teenager was perched on his shoulder and he steadied it with one hand to keep the feline secure while the tail swished behind.  The hand that held the cat was slashed in white scars, decorated in chunky, silver rings, and the fingernails had chipped black polish on them.  

He stopped abruptly, not wanting to scare you, not when that eastern side of the state had too many similarities to the scene of the original Texas Chainsaw Massacre.  

“Sorry, hi, I’m Eddie,” he opened the palm of his free hand and spread his fingers out in a bit of a Spock greeting to let you know he was safe.  “And this is Yvette,” he added, gesturing to the calico cat that he gently lowered to the ground.  You both watched her sprint off to the garage and through a tiny door that had been cut in the sheet metal.

“Regular or super?” He asked, clicking the pump handle off the port before you could get out and do it yourself.

“Don’t worry about it, I don’t mind—-” you were about to step down to do it yourself.

But then he chuckled softly, realization dawning.  “You can’t pump your own gas in Oregon,” he let you know in a patient voice, avoiding your eyes.  “I have to do it.  It’s the law," and at that last bit, he wiggled his eyebrows.

“Oh, of course,” you gave a ‘silly me’ laugh and crawled back in behind the wheel to shut the door before rolling the window down.  You gave him 20 bucks, and then you watched him from the side mirror as he stood there making sure you got what you paid for.  He was humming a song; one you couldn't place.  

“So,” you spoke up, sticking your head out of the window.  “How long have you lived here?”

He worked his jaw as he checked the rolling numbers on the gas tank, tucking a hair that escaped to his cheek, still never looking directly at you.  “I’ve been here a while,” he said, vaguely.

You stared at your steering wheel for a bit, until you heard the pump click to let him know your tank was full.  

“Thank you,” you said out the window.  He cleared his throat and said a gentle, “you’re welcome”, as he twirled your gas cap closed and snapped the shield into place.  You watched him head back into the garage, with several cats circling his feet.    

You spent the next several miles on the desolate road wondering about Eddie, why he looked so familiar, and how he’d ended up in such a po-dunk town.  You wondered about him until you were sleepy and had to pull over at a roadside motel to get some rest.  

You weren’t very far from the gas station, and you wondered if he would still be there in the morning. 

[dianadeadwing]

Inktober Day 5- Map

TLDR - Here’s a map of the shops on Bob’s Burgers Ocean Avenue as based on the Bob’s Burgers Movie and parts of season 13. Extensive Notes to follow.

This is the map I alluded to earlier in the week of the storefronts with visible names in the movie. The dimensions of the buildings are based on the aerial shot from the end of “The Plight Before Christmas”.

There are inconsistencies between the movie and the series (as well as within the movie itself) as far as the color and location of some of these buildings. I’ve defaulted to colors used in the series but names from the movie. Several of these shops have had different names earlier in the series so I’m working from the movie onward for consistency’s sake.

1. Hotel- Unsure if this hotel has a name.

2. Reflections

3. Spoke of the Devil (Bike Shop) - Shop is named “Spoke of the Devil” the words “bike shop” can be seen as part of a neon sign in the window.

4. First Oceanside Savings Bank

5. Yours Truly, Stationary

6. Jimmy Pesto’s Pizzeria

7. The Petalphile

8. Unknown store front - This building is usually depicted as blue with a large front window indicating that it’s some sort of storefront but I’ve been unable to find a name so far.

9. From Here To Maternity (Pregnancy Clothes) - The movie depicts this building as being brown but the series almost always shows it as green so I’ve made it green on the map.

10. Fresh Off The Presses (Cleaners) - Shop is named “Fresh Off The Presses” with “cleaners” in a neon sign in the window.

11. Unknown Store Front - This shop has a visible name in several shots from the movie but I can’t make it out.

* Some shots from the movie show an additional pink building at the end and others don’t. It does not have a awning or large front window and could therefore possibly residential or a service (such as a lawyer). This building does not appear in the aerial shot so I did not include it.

12. Ocean Market

13. Needles to Say - This shop as well as the following three also appear in season thirteen and are particularly visible in “What a (April) Fool Believes”.

14. Walk All Over Me (Flooring Showcase)

15. You Were Framed (Picture Framing)

16. For Pete’s Cake

17. It’s Your Funeral (Home and Crematorium)

18. Bob’s Burgers

19. Store Next Door - The often vacant orange store front next to Bob’s.

20. Red building- This building is very visible in several shots but isn’t shown to have a name. It has three front doors at the top of some stairs. Because of its layout it seems most likely to be residential. (As we know this neighborhood has mixed zoning, such as Mr. Huggins’ apartment building)

21. Blue Building - The positions of this building and the beige building are switched in the movie. In the series it’s fairly consistently blue so that’s what I’ve included. It seems similar in structure to the red building and could also be residential, but we don’t get many good shots of this part of the street so it’s hard to tell.

22. Beige Building - This part of the street is most often seen from the alley. It appears to have a loading dock. This where Alice parks her food truck in “As I Walk Through the Alley of the Shadow of Ramps” in season 8.

23. Liquor - This building has been depicted in different colors but has a prominent sign stating “Liquor”. I’ve seen it called “Oh La Liquor” but I’d like to see this in later season materials.

This is just what I’ve gathered as of ep 14.1. Please feel free to let me know if you have any additional information. (Or an official map) I’m absurdly invested in this.

There is also an aerial shot from the movie that shows Wagstaff in relation to Ocean Avenue (it’s also mentioned to be four blocks away) and I just wish I could take screen shots so I could study it better. I’ll make a map of this whole dang town.

[sreidsville]

timeless – spencelle.

"cause i believe that we were supposed to find this... so, even in a different life you still would've been mine, we would've been timeless."

summary: elle enters a store and begins to remember her life years ago, before suddenly having to cut the bond that took years to build with her friends and her boyfriend.

disclaimers: suggestive content (+14), emotional situations, arguments, overthinking, mention of panicking.

trope: fluffy, second chance.

n/a: guys… take a deep breath before reading, kay? u'll be fine, i promise, we're going to have a happy ending! also, english it's not my first language, so let me know if there's anything i can improve!

divider by cafekitsune | wc: 3.6k

Down the block, there's an antique shop, a cute and old one, where you find stories in every object in there.

The sky looks gray-ish, and the leaves falling down the street reminded Elle about something special that she has kept in her heart for the past years. Something… someone, but definitely special.

Elle was just passing by, like she always does. Wearing a green shirt, pants, a blazer, high heels and in her hand, coffee. She passes though the same way everyday, but today in specific, something in her head said: Stop! So she walked in.

The bell on the door indicated her arrival, an old man gave her a smile and looked at her over his glasses, but he didn't say anything, so Elle walked around the place, admiring what was around her.

There are pictures, paintings, vinyls, and objects that she had only seen in films from the 50s. Elle looked around one more time, and a pile of books caught her attention. She walks through the corridor, trying to be cautious not to break anything. The first book at the pile made Elle hold her breath, memories crawling back to her mind. Beautiful days, when she was younger… She remembers every detail from that time. She takes the book, holding it, and then, taking a deep breath, she closes her eyes. For a second, it was like she could go back in time, feeling everything. The yellow light coming from the large window, the smell of books and perfume, the comfortable couch, and the most important…

“Elle?”

His voice.

5 years ago.

“Elle?” Spencer’s voice echoes in the room, and the beautiful woman gives him a smile, staring at his face.

She came to his house after texting him if she could, and he, obviously, said yes.

For Elle, he looks absolutely adorable, wearing the sweater she gifted him last week, in halloween. She saw it at the store, the colors orange and black highlighted, and the voice in her head said automatically: he would love that! So she bought it. Little did she know that the sweater is his favorite now. Besides that, he's wearing glasses, Elle’s favorite.

She went to Spencer's apartment after sending a message asking if she could. He said he would leave the door open for her, so when he left the room, she was in the living room, and had taken the liberty of sitting on the couch and observing the place. Spencer’s space is him in objects. Elle sees Spencer in every little detail in there, whether it's the books open on the desk and scattered everywhere, or the coffee machine that she knows is on in the kitchen.

“Hi, Reid” she says.

“What are you doing here?” He approaches with a smile on his face, and she can smell soap and perfume. He just got out of the shower.

“You know, I just wanted to see you, and you told me that the door would be open for me anytime, so, I guess it's not a big surprise seeing me in your living room with donuts…”

This time the smile reaches his eyes, and Elle can't help but smile too. She's wearing a red shirt and black pants. Her brown eyes almost hypnotize Spencer, bringing all his attention to them. God, she looks so pretty.

“You brought donuts?”

“Yes, and it's your favorite” she opens the box, showing him “Chocolate with sprinkles”

“Awn…” Elle left the gaze up to his face again. She loves when he makes these little excited noises when he's happy. It's cute. “Thanks, Elle!”

The BAU members are off, so Elle and Reid spend the rest of the day watching movies like good friends and eating the donuts Elle bought earlier. As time passed, they got closer on the couch, and as much as Reid didn't like physical touch, he didn't mind Elle laying on his shoulder. He sighed when he noticed that she had fallen asleep. Elle is a loving, dedicated and strong woman, but she is also delicate. Reid wants to be the one who protects her when she needs it, a shoulder for her to cry on. And admitting it makes his heart race inside the chest.

“Spencer?”

“Hm? What is it Elle? Are you ok?”

She looks at him, with her head still resting on his shoulder, that way, their faces are close to each other, and Spencer feels the hairs on the back of his neck rise with Elle's breath there.

"Spencer, do you ever feel like you have no control over things?"

"Yes, sometimes"

"Okay... I don't think I can control something I desperately want right now."

Elle lifts her head from his shoulder, and looks into his eyes, but then quickly looks down at his lips, which are slightly open. Their faces are still close, and even more so now, Spencer can feel her breath against his face.

"What do you say to that?"

"That I can't resist either…”

Thousandths of seconds. That's how long it takes for Elle to kiss Spencer. It seems difficult to contain yourself when you've wanted something for so long, that's why when their lips are together, they start to move against each other in a way that Spencer couldn't describe in any way other than special. When Reid sighs against Elle's lips, it's as if something inside her melts, so she deepens the kiss, feeling Spencer's hands move until they hold her face, delicately, in a perfect fit.

They only move away from each other when the rain outside starts hitting the living room window, scaring them for a second, but soon after, they both start laughing, and the atmosphere between them becomes more and more unique… The look Spencer gave Elle made her think that nothing in the world would make her forget that moment. The moment they finally accepted the feelings they had for each other.

“It's raining…”

“I guess I'll need to stay here for a little bit longer…” she smiles, hugging Spencer.

“I’m gonna love that”

The smell of rain reminds her of another day that would be etched in her memory.

4 years ago.

"Elle! It's raining!" Spencer coughs while laughing, running through the streets with his bag over his head, in a failed attempt to protect himself from the falling drops.

Elle also laughs, and when she realizes that Spencer is behind, she pulls him by the hand so that they can run together to the facade of the building where she lives.

They were at a coffee shop hours ago, and after drinking an overpriced coffee, they decided to walk around the center, visiting stores and buying things they probably don't need, but would like to have. Nobody knew about their relationship, even though jokes about their closeness were part of their daily lives, they still didn't know how to admit it to others, so they kept it just between themselves, without labels, they just allowed themselves to feel.

After passing through the hallways and going up to Elle's apartment floor via the elevator, they are greeted by the warm space heater. Spencer takes off the wet All Star and is left with just her colorful socks, which Elle thinks is cute. The woman goes to the bathroom, taking the towel, drying her own hair before offering Reid to do the same, but she can't help but notice how handsome he looks with his wet hair and the tight shirt on his body. It's not like Spencer isn't noticing the delicate contours of Elle's body curves either, and when he realizes he's being watched, he feels his cheeks flush.

"You can stay here until the rain stops..." she says, heading to the kitchen, turning on the coffee maker to make coffee for the two of them. "It's going to be difficult to catch the subway now, everyone must have rushed there."

“Ah, it would be great to spend time with you, actually.”

"Even though we worked today and spent the whole afternoon together?"

"I never get tired of seeing you..."

Elle smiles at the statement, and goes to Spencer, hugging his waist as she looks at him.

Reid can't resist the closeness and caresses Elle's cheek, smiling lightly as he kisses her forehead, and then kisses her lips, delicately but intensely. She sighs, raising her hands to his chest, feeling his heartbeat quicken, Elle loves it when Spencer takes action.

As the kiss continues, the world around them seems to slowly disappear, and before they know it, their hands are running over each other's bodies, their breathing becomes labored and their touches become more urgent, just like the kiss. With a quick movement, Spencer turns off the coffee maker, without moving away from Elle's body, and slides one of his hands to her waist, pulling her closer, but she pulls away enough to see the expression on his face, and it's pure desire, no matter how much Reid tries to hide it. And that's what makes her guide him to her room, closing the door the moment they're inside, alone.

That was supposed to be just a kiss, but the moment they end up in Elle's room, things get more intense and desperate. Now Spencer is sitting on her bed, she's on top of him. His hands are exploring her thigh, his index finger doing circular moves while her hands play with his hair, messing it.

They know what's going to happen next, but when Elle moves her hips against his, it's surprising the way he whimpers and grabs her upper thigh, making her whisper his name, and it's the most beautiful thing he heard in his whole life. For a moment, they both stop the kiss to look at each other. They don't need to say anything, they have this connection between them. Elle is mesmerizing, her brown eyes showing how much she loves him. Spencer keeps staring at her, his Adam’s apple going up and down multiple times, showing that he's nervous and his mind is full of thoughts.

“We don't need to do this if you don't want you, you know that right?”

“I know… But I want to.” His voice is nothing more than a weak whisper.

“Now?”

“Please…”

She doesn't need anything else before moving towards Spencer's lips once again, this time pushing him to lie down on the soft sheets, remaining on top of his body, teasing him from time to time, listening to him whisper how beautiful she is, how much he loves her as she kisses his neck, leaving small marks that make him whimper, increasing the heat in Elle's body.

The senses seemed ten times more acute. What were sighs became low moans as things progressed between the disheveled sheets. Elle and Spencer are so immersed in heat that they almost get drunk on each other's touches.

The minutes pass, and soon, all that's left are sweaty bodies, uneven breathing and a loving hug in which Spencer wraps Elle until they finally fall asleep.

Unfortunately, nothing lasts forever, and even though Elle knew this, she allowed herself to stay in Spencer's arms, even if it meant destroying him later, against her will. That night everything was just a distant fear, but after a while, it became reality.

Their world began to fall apart before Elle could react to try and save them from the inevitable.

3 years ago.

The rain outside the BAU unit is too heavy for people to leave, yet Elle is running after leaving the team leader's office. Spencer knows something is wrong, his girlfriend started changing her behavior months ago, and yet she hasn't told him anything in that time. She seems angry, scared, inconsolable, and most of the time, desperate. No one but Hotch and Gideon knows that she is struggling to protect everyone after an unsub threatens them, and the best way to do that is to cut the bond that she took years to build, including her relationship with Reid.

When she passes by collecting her belongings, Spencer tries to hold her arm, but Elle brutally lets go, and doesn't even look him in the eye. Which makes him think of many possibilities.

‘Is she leaving...? Without telling me anything?’ he asks himself, and the moment the adrenaline starts coursing through his veins, his legs move quickly to reach the woman.

He hears JJ calling him, but the voices of the people around him begin to fade away as the sound of the rain increases as he heads outside.

He finds her, already in the rain, and his only option is to go after her, letting the water start to weigh down his sweater. Elle knows that Reid is after her, and that makes her heart skip a beat, because she understands that he doesn't want to give her up, he would never do that, unless...

"Elle!"

Unless she told him to do it.

"Elle, please, please. What's wrong? Why are you acting like this? Elle?"

"Spencer, leave me alone!"

"Leave you alone?" she keeps walking, trying to get away from him "Why? Elle, could you please...? Elle!”

He grabs her arm, making her stop running from him, from the BAU, from her life, but it's not like she has any other option, she just can't stay, not anymore. He's panting, his heart is pounding in his chest, and the rain is almost blinding him, the falling drops hurt, it just doesn't hurt more than the look Elle directs at him. She seems determined, and he somehow knows there's nothing he can do, yet he doesn't want to accept that fact.

Elle can barely look him in the eye, but she needs to be firm, she needs to convince him. She knows what will happen if she fails. She'll start crying, Reid will hold her, make her stay, looking at her with those brown eyes and... She won't be strong enough.

"Spencer, please let me go." she says in a weak voice.

"You need to tell me what's going on... Elle? Please look at me. You've been acting differently for weeks now! You seem nervous, scared. You don't talk to me or anyone else and I-I don't know how to help you. Tell me...

"I..." she starts, but the words seem to disappear from her mind before she can say something coherent, so she takes a deep breath, starting again "I have nothing to tell you.”

“Don't you have anything to tell me? Even when I'm begging you to tell me something, anything?"

She can't answer. It feels like there's something stuck in her throat. Elle can't even look at Spencer, but she needs to be strong to push him away, to make him believe it's for the better. Spencer is very precious to this world, and she knows that, so she needs to protect him, so that no one hurts him again. That's what she needs to keep in mind now.

"Is it me? Did I do something wrong?"

He says it in a low voice, as if he's going over everything that happened in his head, looking for details that don't exist, answers to why she's leaving, and it hurts Elle. She doesn't deserve him.

"What? No, no, Spencer…”

Elle's eyes start to burn and get wet and she doesn't know if it's because she's about to cry or if it's because of the rain. She can't do this anymore. Spencer has always had this thing where he blames himself when something goes wrong, he thinks he's the problem, when in fact, he's the solution, the light, he just can't see it yet.

'Oh my sweet, sweet boy... If you only knew...'

"Then why? Why are you doing this to me?"

He is hurt, his voice is full of pain. She can't say anything, she doesn't have that kind of response right now, so she looks away to something else, anything that catches her attention, except Spencer.

"Elle, why?" he approaches, trying to hold her hand "You look so scared and I can't see you like this anymore, please let me help you lo-"

"No!" she screams, and the sound echoes like thunder, making Spencer automatically back away, stunned, without understanding the reason for it all.

'Right, I need to do this, no matter how much it hurts him. He'll be fine without me, I know he will and if ever, somehow, he gets angry and blames me, I'll be happy, because it's true, it's all my fault. I just wish I could make it clear that he has nothing to do with this…’

"I don't love you anymore! Don't you understand?"

Spencer's eyebrows knit together, and his nostrils flare, as if he doesn't even understand. His mouth is open, and he's trying to say something but his thoughts are faster than his mouth.

"W-what?" he whispers.

"I can't do this anymore! This..." she opens her arms and spins around. "Us, this job, this life. It's not what I want!"

"You don't...? It's not what you want." he repeats, more to himself, trying to assimilate the words.

"Yes, exactly. I don't want to live like this anymore, I'm leaving... So if you love me, let me go, please..."

She's taking it hard, using the last weapon she has – and the most lethal – knowing that's what she needs. And it happens. Reid takes a step back, ecstatic, as if on autopilot, dissociating from the painful situation. Elle takes a deep, shaky breath, grateful for the rain that forms a curtain that disguises the tears.

She turns around, facing away, and at the last second, she turns to Reid one last time, and one last time, she allows herself to watch him with wet hair and his gaze fixed on her, as if she doesn't believe it.

"Goodbye, Spencer..."

He doesn't respond, so all Elle does is sigh, taking the car key and getting inside, closing the door with a single slam, and then leaving the parking lot. Reid just watches her car disappear, and somehow, he wishes it was a nightmare, but it's not, and deep down he knows it.

Spencer doesn't really know what happened after he saw Elle leave. He walks back inside the BAU unit, looking at the floor, memories flooding his memory.

'No... It can't be. All the smiles she gave me, the kisses, the nights together, the beautiful moments, were they lies? She didn't want to? Did she want that at some point, or did she pretend?'

Reid feels firm arms around him, and only then does he realize he's on the floor, with Derek hugging him as he cries profusely, sobbing, holding onto his friend as if he were the only real thing there. JJ and Penelope stare at the scene shocked, without understanding anything, desperate for not knowing how to help, while, further away from the group, Hotch and Gideon exchange a complicated look, full of regret, sharing a secret that they will keep until the day they die…

"S-she left..." Reid sobs, running his hands over his face, looking like a child "She s-said..."

He begins to hyperventilate, feeling his chest burning. He can't even breathe properly, he's shaking, causing Derek to ask for help so he can take him to a more private place, while Garcia takes a glass of water to offer.

That day was the worst of Spencer's life, but it was definitely the worst for Elle as well.

Elle drove to the airport that night, her bags were already packed for the last week, in the car. Everything seemed like a blur; the moment she gets out of the car and goes straight to the airport, checks in and, after hours, gets on a plane with a predefined destination.

Looking up at the window, her eyes blurred with tears, she allowed herself to cry. The woman next to her seems scared, but does nothing to help her, because there is no comfort in Elle's heart, other than the certainty that, by leaving, she will be saving the lives of everyone she loves.

Hers only prayer during the hours inside the plane was just one; please let me see them again someday.

She just hoped it would happen.

Current time.

Three years ago, Elle left everyone she loved and cared about to save them without even thinking twice. After a while, she learned to move on, but she also couldn't avoid the thoughts and memories of the past that invaded her memory. Spencer would be engraved on her, and she was sure that in another life, they would be each other's.

Opening her eyes, she returns the book to the pile it was in before, and takes a deep breath, smiling, and then gets ready to leave, with the promise that she would return to that same store one day, but to buy something.

As she's walking back the way she came, the doorbell rings, and she hurries to get back to her routine, but her feet settle on the floor when she sees him.

The same light brown hair, but now a little longer and with beautiful waves, the beautiful profile that Elle never stopped admiring, and the eyes... Those eyes. She would never forget him, she couldn't. When he notices her presence there, something inside him lights up once again, after years, and he straightens his posture, looking at her with tenderness, even after everything that has happened.

"Elle?"

And his voice sounds like divine singing. How she missed hearing him call her name... The happiness inside her is too much to contain, so a smile appears on her face.

And there she understands that they will be timeless, no matter what happens.

"Hi, Spencer”