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hatsukeii · 8 months ago

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fragrance: coffee break, replica / timeskip!akaashi keiji x barista!reader

notes: coffee (top), lavender (heart), milk mousse (base)

description: the first shot of espresso after a long shift, freshly dripped coffee from the brewer

disclaimer(s): a love or hate fragrance for many

wc: 2470

warning(s): mentions/depictions of puke and anxiety, overworking culture and capitalism LMFAO but no nsfw!! angsty akaashi is a corporate slave and reader is a free soul who just likes brewing coffee </3 gn reader too!!

Akaashi Keiji doesn't like coffee at all, especially not when the black liquid that pools in the abyss of a flimsy paper cup on his desk is only a means to stay awake, to keep editing. But if anything, the instant coffee stand in his office is a necessity to keep him alive these days. He stares at his monitor, and his phone goes off in clicks and whirs just as it has for the past seven hours; messages from Koutaro, who has just won his qualifiers with MSBY, the qualifiers that Keiji wanted so badly to be at. He glances at the time that blinks at the corner of the screen.

22:45:01

Just another fifteen minutes, he thinks. Just another fifteen minutes until he can finally flick the lights off and lock himself out of this hell for the next two days. His eyelids grow heavier by the second as his fingers click impossibly quickly at his keyboard, regurgitating words on a blank canvas the way he throws up black coffee into the toilet every night. Despite that, his hand reaches for the paper cup that sits on his coaster, a pandora's box of putrid bitterness waiting to be consumed. After all, the vile, soured sensation of puke flushing out from his esophagus is infinitely more enjoyable than falling asleep at his desk and being berated by his dickhead of a boss again. He flips the swampy black liquid into his mouth, wincing at the tartness that claws lines down his throat all the way to his stomach.

Surely enough, right as the numbers at the corner of his monitor blink into 23:00:00, Akaashi Keiji is already frantically shoving his documents into his messenger bag, inevitably folding them in the wrong spots as he haphazardly slips them through the free cracks amongst his laptop and other miscellanous items. He flicks the lights off and sprints out the door, missing the key hole twice before finally managing to lock the office up properly, and makes a run for the bathroom, where he kneels in front of an empty urinal, and throws up everything he’s consumed in the past six hours. This consists of a single cream cheese bagel from the office fridge, and five cups worth of pure instant coffee.

The streetlights buzz above Keiji's head, moths feeding into their brightness as they dance around a ghastly tungsten glow. The walk home is tiring. He is so very tired. His guts have been emptied out in an office bathroom and the buzzing of the streetlight makes him want to crawl up its post and shatter it to shards, taking the moths down with it. Walls of glass on both sides line the night streets, mannequins staring him down as he slumps and turns the corner to his own.

Warmth.

The corner he has just turned heats him up like a fireplace does when the wind howls and screams at his windows, and he turns to the warm glow of a usually unnoticed cornerstore. It's fifteen past eleven, yet one person resides behind the counter. The sign at the door is flipped to ‘closed’, and Keiji can do nothing but stand at the entrance, watching you meticulously swirl steaming water into filter paper. He turns away in embarrassment when you look up at him, and place the long-spouted kettle in your hand down. He steps away from the corner as you swing open the door, the bell jingling in a merrier fashion than the droning streetlights.

"Are you good? You look a bit pale."

He turns back, and your body is halfway out the door. He doesn't say a word, yet his feet move towards the store unconsciously, and he doesn't realise it until his body is lined up with the doorframe.

"Do you, by any chance, have any food? I can pay."

Keiji sits at the coffee bar, where your steaming kettle sits amongst a plethora of brewing tools. Brown liquid falls into a roundbottomed flask drop by drop, tantalisingly slow. You flick on the television behind him, and the unmistakeable sound of leather against hardwood rings loud from the speakers as you reach into the fridge behind, searching for anything edible.

"You allergic to anything?"

"No, anything's good. Thanks."

Grabbing a leftover croissant, you throw it in the microwave, pressing carelessly at the buttons until the little glass dish begins to spin and whir. Facing the counter again, fingers return to the handle of the kettle as you continue swirling steaming water into coffee grounds on filter paper. Keiji's eyes are trained to the television, the reflection of a volleyball on the screen following the motion of his eyes.

"Volleyball fan too?"

"Yeah, my best friend plays on that team. Black Jackals."

Your eyebrows raise, still trained on the brewing batch of drip coffee. One circle, two circles, and down. You're not sure why your peculiar visitor is here instead of in the stands, but the bags beneath his eyes and his ghastly figure at your door are enough to give you a clue. You set the kettle down again, and the coffee begins to drip faster with the addition of water.

"Oh, really! Which player?"

"Kou- Bokuto. Bokuto Koutaro."

"That's cool, he's my favourite player. Got his jersey sitting somewhere at home."

The microwave beeps, and you reach for a ceramic plate, sliding the crispy croissant onto it and handing it to Keiji. He reaches for it hesitantly, the crust crunching beneath his fingers as layers of flaky pastry steam and fold against each other, before taking a bite. Buttery soft layers of bread, warm flakes dancing on his tongue, a hint of salt between each sheet of croissant pastry. His face stretches into a barely noticeable, but satiated smile as he chews. For the first time this week, Akaashi Keiji swears he is in heaven.

"This...this is a really fuckin' good croissant." He chuckles out with his mouth stuffed, a rare occasion given his usual schedule of throwing up, then going to bed. You wink at him, clicking your tongue proudly.

"In-house favourite, took me months to get right. I'm glad it's good."

Keiji pushes his glasses up with his knuckles, glancing back at the television. Koutaro graces the screen now, piercing golden eyes wide with enthusiasm. His voice rings through the speakers.

"I'm dedicating this win to my best friend! He was supposed to be here, but he must've been busy, so he couldn't make it. But that's okay! I know he's watching me back home, right, Keiji?"

He wants to cry, his mouth still stuffed with your croissant. His Adam's apple shifts ever so slightly, and you take notice of his neck tensing. The whites of your visitor's eyes are more red than anything, the bridge of his glasses sliding down when his nose scrunches at Bokuto's words. You eye the croissant on his plate, half-eaten in the two minutes it's been out of the microwave for.

"Would you like some coffee? Freshly brewed, new recipe."

Akaashi Keiji doesn't like coffee at all. Yet as he turns around to meet your eyes, lips pursed in guilt, he thinks that maybe, just maybe, it might be what he wants right now. You swirl water into the coffee grounds again, brown liquid dripping into the flask alluringly.

"Are you sure? It looks like it's taken a while to collect."

"You'd be doing me a favour by telling me if it tastes like shit."

You wait for the droplets to cease, before swirling the flask once, twice. Brown coffee trickles into a white mug as you hand it to your visitor, who takes it timidly with both hands cupping its warmth. Notes of lavender and almonds peek from the cover of coffee, flushing his sinuses clean from the biting acidity of the instant coffee he's become so accustomed to.

"Sorry in advance if I end up puking this out. It happens with instant coffee, and it's not going to be because of the taste, I promise."

You shoot your visitor a questionable look, and he grimaces in shame.

"You must be drinking a lot of shitty coffee, with too little water. Could be acid reflux. This should be much better, but let me know if you need anything."

Keiji does not down the coffee in one go this time. Instead, he takes such small sips from the mug, that he may as well be taking kitten licks at the liquid. It slides past his tongue and into his throat, smooth as silk. Hints of vanilla fill his tastebuds, offsetting the innate bitterness of caffeine, and for once coffee does what it's meant to. He feels alive again.

"This is incredible. I think I can actually hold this in my stomach."

"Coffee shouldn't make you worry about keeping it in your stomach, so I'm glad."

He smiles, a real one now, taking in another sip. His bag hangs from the wooden frame of the chair, papers still crumpled between laptops and binders and files. He watches you swirl water into the filter paper again, and wonders how long you might be willing to keep him here for. The street is desolate, spare for the leaves that flutter in the midnight breeze. He would like to stay in this seat forever.

"So, why aren't you in the stands? Bokuto was clearly looking for you."

He freezes, initially unsure how you've figured him out, before recalling his declaration of comraderie with Koutaro upon the flick of a television remote to the volleyball match. The mug of coffee is half empty when Keiji places it down on the counter, and he rubs his face in his hands. His nails are short, evidently chewed on, and you catch onto the way his thumbs instinctively massage against the fleshy cushions at the bottom of his palms, and the centre of his inner wrists.

"Office work, manga editing is no joke."

"Yeah, I can tell, you've worked yourself into anxiety and carpal tunnel."

"Must be nice brewing coffee without a dickhead boss on your back for everything."

You grin sadly, because he's right. You've seen it on the faces of every visitor, tired eyes searching for hope on laptop screens, teeth gnawing at peeling lips at seven in the morning for no particular reason, restless feet bouncing on the floor as they wait for their coffee, and almost burn themselves trying to finish it in one go, before rushing out the door without so much of a thank you. Your midnight visitor is no different than the rest, other than the fact that he displays genuine human emotion, and is willing to slowly enjoy your five hour brew.

"Yeah, it's the least I can do for everyone who comes here. Fix them a good cup. They're tired enough as is."

Keiji chokes up at your words. The past year of manga editing has graced him with screaming seniors, hours upon hours of overtime, throwing up food and drink every night until all he has the guts to eat are microwaved frozen bagels. His throat closes up, Adam's apple swallowing thickly. Shoulders begin to tremble, and you place a hand on the side of his bicep, rubbing it soothingly over the counter. His sobs fill up the shop, drowning out the television as he rubs at his face even harder, wiping his tears with his jacket. In one night, you have shown him more care than anyone else has in the past year combined, and all you've done is microwave him a leftover croissant and fix him a mug of real coffee.

"S-sorry, 's been a shitty week."

"You're okay, you're fine. Let it out, as much as you need."

And for just a moment in his bleak existence, the sterile white lights of the office become a lamplit cafe, hidden in the corner of his street. The stench of air freshener is swapped out for vanilla, and coffee, and lavender, and all that is right. For just tonight, Akaashi Keiji, who doesn't like coffee at all, thinks that he might actually be able to enjoy it, as long as it's from you, and only you.

author's note:

bet you didn't expect this series to get angsty!! i really wanted to write a coffee shop romance, but i also wanted to get a little ambiguous, like a sorta fateful meeting, and i thought this would work!! the idea of throwing up coffee makes me want to cry because i love coffee so much i could not imagine my life without it icl

hope you guys enjoyed this though! it's not as romantic as the other ones i've done on the cologne series, but it's a change in pace that im looking to achieve!! might be the most gentle piece i've written for this series in terms of atmosphere as well :333

anyways tags!!

@chuuya-brainrot @starlysama @catsoupki @fiannee @afyrian @bailey-reeds @iiwaijime

ok love u guys see u in the next one bye bye

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darkficsyouneveraskedfor · 2 years ago

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Sunshine, Lollipops, and Rainbows 1

Warnings: non/dubcon, clashing personalities, exclusion, and other dark elements. My username actually says you never asked for any of this.

Characters: moody boy Curtis Everett x bubbly, plus-size reader

My warnings are not exhaustive but be aware this is a dark fic and may include potentially triggering topics. Please use your common sense when consuming content. I am not responsible for your decisions.

As usual, I would appreciate any and all feedback. I’m happy to once more go on this adventure with all of you! Thank you in advance for your comments and for reblogging.

It’s your first day at work. Your nerves have simmered over to a nice whirlwind. Even as you sit at your desk, going through the various training materials. You haven’t managed to calm down. Your heart is beating so fast.

Everyone’s been nice. You don’t know why you’re jittering. Like your mother says, you’re overthinking, and like your father says, you need to sit still. You grab the armrests and try to make yourself stop moving. It only makes you want to boil over.

You swivel back and forth and look at your coworkers. They’re all so busy like bees in a hive. They know exactly what they’re doing and you still feel lost as you sift through endless SOPs and corporate training videos.

You see a woman with purplish red curls with a mug, steam curling over the brim. Ah, that’s a good excuse for a break. You still need to figure out the office coffee machine. Daniella, your supervisor, briefly pointed it out during her tour. It’s one of those fancy industrial pod brewers.

You stand and nearly skip between the desks. Be cool. You slow your pace and hold your shoulders straight, your squared toed kitten heels clacking on the tile. You poke your head into the kitchen and find only one other employee inside.

The man’s shoulders are broad and straight as he stares silently at the coffee machine. It grinds and spurts out dark coffee. You come up next to him to peruse the spinning rack of pods, tapping your chin as you think. You peek over at him.

“Hi,” you smile, “any recommendations?”

His pale blue eyes meet yours for an instant before quickly flicking back to his cup. A plain black porcelain mug without any decoration or glitz. You already know which cup you want to bring in; the one that looks like a honey pot and has a small lid resembling a bear sticking his head out with a little honeycomb stitch between his ears.

You take one of the paper cups and a pod of the butterscotch twist. You stand back and wait your turn. He scowls as if mentally urging the cup to fill.

“I’m…” you introduce yourself, “I just started over in Research and Development.”

He doesn’t respond. He puts his hands behind him, clutching them tightly as his forearms tense. The tendons bulge out beneath his skin. His sleeves are rolled to his elbows, a grey button up with black trousers. A bit grim but an aesthetic for sure. There’s several rings on his fingers as they curl around each other.

“It’s my first day,” you continue the one-sided conversation, “so… that’s why you never saw me before.”

He growls and grabs his cup as the machine dings. He doesn’t acknowledge you as he turns on his heel and marches out. You watch his back and shrug, blowing out between your lips. You get it, some people aren’t the social type.

You put your cup under the spout and tap the touchscreen. It takes you a lot of poking around to figure out how to brew the coffee. You step back and wait. Caffeine should definitely help your nerves… fuel them at least.

💗

Lunchtime comes and you grab your bento box and head down to the cafeteria. Daniella said you could eat your desk if you wished but you need a break from the screen. Besides, you notice that most people don’t.

You enter the cafeteria. There are tables here and there but they’re already crowded. You notice a few people from your department and head over to that table. Tammy moves her bag onto the seat before you can claim it. You frown and apologise as you back away.

Hmm.

You look around. You don’t know anyone. You don’t mind making new friends but it’s like high school all over again. Everyone has their clique and you’re just wandering in between.

Your gaze falls on the only table with more than one seat free. There’s a single person sitting at it, his head down as he runs his hand over his close cut hair. Hey, it’s… that guy. He didn’t give you his name.

You cross the room and near a chair, putting your hand on the back of it as you hover by the table.

“Hi, um, do you mind if I sit here?”

His eyes dart up and he says nothing. He shrugs and sits back, smoothing out the pages of the book in front of him. You sit, your bento box clanging loudly as you do. You give a sheepish smile as he clears his throat but doesn’t look at you.

You flip back the clasp and pop open the lid. He shifts in his chair as you take out your plastic cutlery from the little compartment. You try to be quiet but you can’t help but hit the fork off the side.

You look over at him. He has only his empty mug and a half-eaten protein bar. You look back at your colourful medley of food. Maybe he’s on a diet.

“Do you like hummus?” You ask.

He doesn’t look up. You bite your lip. You’re just being friendly but maybe he’s not hungry.

“Um, uh, you remember me?” You poke at your couscous, “from the kitchen? I didn’t get your name.”

He sighs and turns the page. You nod. Not much of a talker. You let your fork lean on the edge of the bento and grab the sides of your chair, scraping it closer. He snarls and finally looks at you.

You stop and show your teeth like a threatened animal. His jaw clenches and he refocus on his book. You stir the couscous and take a bite, swallowing as your curiosity piques.

“What are you read–”

“I’m not,” he grits and shuts the book without marking the page.

He stands and pockets the protein bar, swiping up his mug and book. You gape at him, stunned. You don’t know why he’s so upset. You’re just trying to be polite. He storms away and you frown at your food. Well, you’ve always got a friend in snacks!

#curtis everett #dark curtis everett #dark!curtis everett #curtis everett x reader #drabble #series #au #sunshine lollipops and rainbows #snowpiercer

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diejager · 1 year ago

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My deep dark desire for a distillery au wherein each force is a competing distillery and you yeet an expert taster reader in there who is in charge of judging each whisky and ranking them. Either they are pulling out all the stops on your tour and treating you like a princess or doing the opposite and threatening you to rank them the highest :')

Mhairi, I am the worse person to ask about whiskey, my parents have delicious smelling ones, fruity and spicy ones, but taste wise? I gag like there’s no tomorrow, especially gin!! I hate gin. The only thing I can stomach so far is sweet, coffee and cream flavoured Baileys Irish Cream. (I know there’s Irish whiskey in it, but it’s only 17% compared to the 40% of any other whiskeys)

Eau De Vie Cw: Alcohol drinking, whiskey taste, tell me if I missed any.

Whisky had always been your favourite, your little secret that you shared with your closest friends alone —your penchent for judging whiskeys and bourbons alone, managing to include rum and brandy in rare occasions. So when you were approached by a known figure in the Whiskey industry that acted as the face for many distilleries across the world, you couldn’t turn down the offer when you were given so much in a simple deal.

You were responsible to drink and rank many popular brands by taste and smell alone, the only person delegated to become the judge. You were given the privilege of taking home a bottle of each brand after this competition, another reason to accept it. So you signed the contract without a second of hesitation, shaking her hand to conclude the deal before she left you squirming with excitement in your office home.

You were flown from your city to a calm part of the Scottish countryside, a chalet overlooking the Scottish highlands and its green beauty. This was the quaint house you would temporarily live in with the rest of the team orchestrating this friendly competition, leaving the connecting house up the cliff side to the different distilleries. From what you’ve heard, Kate Laswell - Kate you called her after a few meetings that had fully bloomed into a friendship of alcohol connoissoir - the participating teams were the British company 141 - who in coalition to Chimera and the ULF - would represent their alliance, the American Shadows, the multi-national KorTac and the Russian brewery Konni. They were all popular brands distilling whiskey and brandy in their own countries, creating a plethora of tastes and sensations that would explode on your tongue after a few sips.

You were ecstatic, your mouth salivating at the simple thought of tasting the finest whiskeys from around the world, but you had a few days to rest and tour the side of Scotland you were shipped to. What you expected to be calm and mild-mannered men and women from their side of the world to meet and eat with refined etiquette, was shattered the second you peered through the door after walking down the connecting path from your chalet to their house.

They were loud, rambunctious in the very sense of it, loud and jovial, hurling insults and hissing out jeers at one another. It was a dogfight between brewers, like cats and dogs. You felt like a stranger, gawking at the group hurling words at one another until it all stopped, the open living room falling in silence when they heard you drop your bag on the polished wood. You’ve never seen humans move so fast until the second after the silence, scrambling to clean the room up and wooing you with their compliments and sweet pleasantries to appease you.

They gave you a tour of the house, the rich wine cellar that was open to you whenever you wanted a drink, the wooden patio that had it’s own lounge and bar, and the various rooms in the mansion-like chalet. They all vied for your attention, ripping one another’s throat to have a second of your attention, kissing up to you with sweet compliments and even sweeter praises.

The Brits - well, three English and one Scott - were a good mix of mature and zealousness, low voices and near-overwhelming figures with their broad shoulders and stocky mass. They came with other people to represent their company: Farah and her devoted Alex from ULF, and the crude Nikolai and Krueger from Chimera.

The Shadows were American, the most American you’ve ever seen, energetic and determined to win you over, and the CEO, a man with a southern accent and a seductive smirk, swiping you off your feet with pet names that made you fluster.

KorTac had as many accents as they had people of different countries, both men and women skilled in multiple languages and conversing so fluently that you started to question if you were on the same planet.

Konni was rough on the edges, their leading figure as scheming as he was gentlemanly, his thin lips letting out the most vicious praises to have you squirming under his dark gaze and unmoving determination for the win.

Days later, you met them at the compound farther down the road, away from the beauty of the coast and cliff, a long table exposing their finest to you. Poured in a cups, one with ice and another without, they were left for you to decide which would win the prize for both straight and on the rocks. Today was the day you would nominate one as the best, standing higher than everyone else without bias despite the times they rendered you a flustered mess and made you unendingly grateful for their help.

Your pallet exploded with flavour every time you sipped on a different brand, eyes rolling to the back of your head with the deliciousness of every bottle. 141 brought three bottles of their aged whiskey: a smoky Scotch Whisky made in the same Highlands you were tasting it, the bitter spiciness of rye whiskey from the American branch of the ULF - credits to Alex for introducing it - and the woody and fruity aroma of Chimera’s whiskey. Shadows had brought - unsurprisingly - their most popular types of whiskey to the table: Bourbon made in their own distillery in Kentucky, a sweet and mellow sub-type of their first one and the smooth flavour of their wheat whiskey. KorTac had a large variety to it’s collection: a floral tasting whiskey that outmatched Hibiki Harmony, a nutty sensation of a bottle made in Ireland and the rich and peaty on of a danish-made bottle. And finally, three Russian bottles from the biggest distillery in Russia: a sweet and smoky bottle, a second one with rich malt and honey, and a third focusing on aroma with it’s spicy odour and fruity taste.

They were all so delicious, if you had these bottles when you working at the bar, mixing concoctions for paying clients, you would’ve been overjoyed, but those days were long gone, your priority standing elsewhere than fulfilling your dream. Truthfully, you didn’t know who to give the medal, the flavours so vast and unique. Perhaps they wouldn’t mind if you took a second or third sip just to be sure.

Part 2

Taglist: @sae1kie @yeoldedumbslut @bvxygriimes @distracteddragoness @konigsblog @havoc973 @im-making-an-effort @daisychainsinknots @0alk0msan @danielle143 @dont-mind-me-just-existing-sadly @tuttifuckinfruttifriday @kaelysia @notspiders @velvetsoulweaver @petwifed @aldis-nuts @randominstake

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icyg4l · 1 year ago

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PAC: How Can You Attract More Clientele?

hello beautiful people! i wanted to do something different today! this is for my business owners out there, this one is for you. if you need some extra reassurance/advice on how to gain more traction, this is for you. without further ado, please pick the image that resonates with you the most.

Top Left-to-Bottom Right: (1-4)

Pile One: I heard “something’s brewing” as I was shuffling for this pile. Pile One, do you know how lucky people are to have your talents in this world? Why don’t you take your talents where they belong? I feel like you aren’t really pushing yourself the way that you’re supposed to. You’re all talk but when it comes down to actually putting in the work, you get scary. There’s no point in planning for the future if you don’t live in it. So do what you have to do in order to be known! Another thing about you is that there’s some shame around your work. It’s like you’re embarrassed to show off your stuff so you’ll just hand it off to people that you know and when you get compliments, you won’t necessarily take them as one should. You need to celebrate your work forreal. Your work needs to be seen. You need to be around other creative people so that you can have personal muses in your life. You need to know that your talents will be recognized as long as you let them. All in all, in order to attract clientele, you need to be willing to put yourself out there.

Cards Used: Princess of Swords, The Hermit, Prince of Cups, Knight of Swords, 2 of Wands, 7 of Swords.

extras: shuffle. coffee brewer. sodastream. alliteration. mime. pasties. original invention.

Pile Two: Aggressive marketing is a tactic that you need to take on, Pile Two. This is a pile similar to Pile One in the sense that you are being too coy. I am seeing a fast-paced work environment. You deliver your products fast and you come up with ideas pretty fast. The thing is though, you do not really sell yourself. When I say this, I mean that you are too calm and humble with the way that you market yourself. People tend to overlook you because you’re not really showing off your product/brand. Invest in your brand and you will see better results. If you have a TikTok or Instagram, I’m not going to lie, talking fast or talking in a bubbly manner will help your clients flock to you. I am feeling a little chaotic right now as I type this. I feel like you need to unleash your chaotic side into this marketing. People would be more willing to buy the product if you show off your authentic energy.

Cards Used: Four of Swords, Temperance (RX), The Devil (RX), The Hermit, 9 of Wands, Ace of Swords, Prince of Cups, Eight of Wands

extras: panda express. takeoff. funeral. egg sandwich. sadistic. clueless. “you are the visuals baby.”

Pile Three: There is nothing wrong with getting shit done, Pile Three. I feel like this pile thinks that they do everything right, or do you? I think you need to stop caring about the validation of other people. Do you actually like what it is that you’re doing/selling? Is it fulfilling to present this product to other people? If so, then you need to just be patient. You are very impatient to the process of gaining sales. You need to let more time pass. Your business hasn’t taken off because you do not let shit marinate. If you let time pass by, you would actually gain more clientele. As you await for this moment though, take everything as a learning experience. If you do not feel fulfilled/personally rewarded, then it is time for a rebrand. You need to figure out how this product resonates with you. What is your personal connection with it? How can you connect to other people through this product? What lasting impact do you want to leave on people? I also see that you do need to get involved with people offline as well. Posting flyers up around your neighborhood would really benefit you, my love.

Cards Used: The Emperor, Strength, 4 of Swords, The Devil, The Hanged Man, Judgment, Prince of Wands, Queen of Discs

extras: orlando. drill rap. ohio. “earthy scents.” twisted tea. green giant.

Pile Four: I actually feel like this pile is super close to meeting their goal number of clients. You have been putting in the right amount of work and therefore, you have been getting rewarded. But you need to learn how to network. I feel like this pile just needs to be at the right place at the right time. If you find yourself getting invited to an event that needs your skills, you should check it out. It’ll be the key to your big break. I also think that you should consider trading with other creatives to gain more clientele. Consider promoting other creatives’ work so that more people can come to you. I think it really all comes down to the timing of it all. But your time is pretty soon. You’re already eating good but soon you’ll be eating real good. There’s not really much you have to do but just show yourself off.

Cards Used: Wheel of Fortune. The Magician. Queen of Discs. King of Wands. 7 of Discs. King of Discs. The Emperor.

extras: dill pickle. onion rings. pastel colors. breakfast foods. sizing issues.

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queenjunothegreat · 4 months ago

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Hihihihi!!!!! Hello everyone!! I'm back, and I'm back with a Valgrace fic for @itspercyintime as a (late) entry for the @pjo-equinox-solstice-exchange! I'm super duper sorry about the delay! I've never actually done any traveling over holidays before and I had NO idea how much time it took up! (｡•́︿•̀｡) Anyway, I hope you enjoy this fic!

Leo set his creation down on the counter with pride, and pushed it over towards its owner. “One freakishly caffeinated vanilla latté for Blondie.” “Blondie?” the guy asked, taking his drink. Leo couldn’t help but notice how his eyes sparkled when he smiled, and it made his heart thump a bit faster in his chest. “I mean, what else was I supposed to do? You never told me your name.” “And you never asked,” he countered playfully. *** Leo works the late night shift at a 24 hour café, despite his own personal distaste for every type of coffee under the sun. Usually, he spends his nights working on his homework alone in the empty shop until he finds himself with a regular whose awkward charm and earnest smile steals his breath away. Now, if only Leo could learn his name

For all its ups and downs, Leo really liked his job. Coffee Heaven Brewers was a tiny local coffee shop that was close enough to his apartment for him to walk there and back with no issues; he liked his coworkers and the managers, Percy and Annabeth, were cool in their own different ways; the place was open 24 hours a day, which meant that they were more than happy to just let him have that late night shift no one else wanted; and, most importantly, the pay was good enough to keep him on top of his monthly student loan payments while also letting him have a little money left over for fun stuff.

The one problem? He hated coffee.

He absolutely couldn't stand the stuff. The caffeine made him jittery in a way he didn't like, and the taste churned his stomach and made his face pucker up in disgust. Even just the smell made his eyes water when Annabeth was grinding it up fresh after roasting. He hated coffee, but everything else about his job was fantastic, so he figured he could put up with it. Besides, hardly anyone came in on his shift, so it wasn't even that huge of a problem anyway.

Until, one day, it was.

“Um, excuse me? Is anyone working here?”

Leo’s head whipped up from his laptop, eyes wide. He’d been working on his homework at one of the dining area tables, like he always did when the shop got dead in the wee hours of the morning. Unfortunately, he’d gotten really focused and completely missed the little bell that signified the entrance of a customer, and now some blond dude was standing at the counter, trying to peer around to see if maybe there was a barista hiding behind the espresso machine.

“Shit! Sorry, man!” Leo yelped, hopping to his feet and scrambling over to the register. “I totally didn’t see you come in.”

The blond guy looked at him, puzzled, and cocked his head to the side. “Do you work here?”

Leo glanced down at the apron he was wearing, emblazoned with the café’s logo, and then around at the shop that was deserted, other than the two of them, and then finally back to the customer. “Uh, yeah?”

“Oh.”

The guy continued to just stare at Leo, until Leo cleared his throat. “Do you, um, want to order something?”

The guy just kept on blinking like a very confused owl until his eyes went wide and his cheeks went pink. “Oh! Yes! Sorry. I’m, uh, tired I guess.”

“Considering it’s like three in the morning, I totally get that,” Leo grinned. “I’m guessing you need caffeine and a lot of it.”

The guy sheepishly scratched the back of his neck and gave Leo an eye-crinkling smile. “Yeah. Can I just get a large vanilla latté with, like, six shots of espresso?”

Leo’s eyes widened, but he dutifully typed in the order. “Sure, dude. Your funeral though. That will be $10.95.”

The guy fished out his wallet and swiped his card before stuffing a few bills in the empty tip jar next to the register. He gave Leo another brilliant smile. “Thanks.”

“No problem!” Leo beamed back at him. “I’ll have it out in just a sec, okay? Just wait over there.”

With that, he turned his back on the guy and got to work. As always, he couldn’t help but wrinkle his nose at the smell of the brewing espresso shots, and the milk steamer made its usual awful noise, and he had to double check the book for how many pumps of syrup went in a large latté, but eventually he had a piping hot cup of coffee in his hand. He’d even been kind enough to add a couple extra pumps of syrup to counteract all the bitter coffee, free of charge. At least, he hoped the syrup would help. Honestly, he wasn’t sure if there was anything that could save that particular drink.

He set his creation down on the counter with pride, and pushed it over towards its owner. “One freakishly caffeinated vanilla latté for Blondie.”

“Blondie?” the guy asked, taking his drink.

Leo couldn’t help but notice how his eyes sparkled when he smiled, and it made his heart thump a bit faster in his chest. “I mean, what else was I supposed to do? You never told me your name.”

“And you never asked,” he countered playfully. Then he took a sip of his drink and his eyes widened. He pursed his lips and stared at the cup with something akin to confusion, and Leo felt his heart sink a bit.

“Do you, uh, like it?” Leo asked hesitantly. “I can redo it if you don’t.”

“No!” the guys said instantly. He shook his head as if to clear his thoughts. “Sorry. Yeah, no, this is, uh, it’s fine. I’ve just, uh, never had one quite like it before.”

“That’s the Leo Special Touch,” Leo grinned, confidence bolstered. “That or the extra syrup I put in there.”

“The Leo Special Touch, huh?” the guy asked, arching his eyebrows. “And you’re Leo?”

“The one and only!” Leo bit his lower lip then, as casually as possible, asked, “And you? You got my name, do I get yours?”

“Maybe next time.” Half of the guy’s face twitched in what was probably the most endearing failure of a wink Leo had ever seen before he turned and started out the door. “See you around, Leo!”

“See you, Blondie!”

Once he was gone, Leo wiped down all of his equipment, then sat himself back down at his table. Unfortunately, not much homework got done that night, his thoughts too busy drifting back to fluffy blond hair and pretty blue eyes that crinkled up over a blinding smile. He didn’t think he minded all that much.

*-*-*-*

Leo didn't see Blondie for almost two weeks, which was definitely a bummer in some ways. He'd spent the first few days after their fateful encounter furtively glancing at the door every few minutes during his shifts, and letting out deep, forlorn sighs every time he saw that the café was still empty, other than him. After that, he had a structural analysis test that he wasn’t even remotely ready for and pretty much forgot everyone who wasn't his professors or Esteban, the recurring character in his textbook's examples and word problems.

But now, after countless hours of suffering, he was free. The exam was done, his grade was returned, and Leo was still passing all of his classes, so he was actually paying attention for once when the bell above the door chimed.

“Welcome to Coffee Heaven Brewers,” Leo drawled lazily. “This week's specials are— Oh, it's you!”

Blondie reared back and looked around like he actually thought that Leo was talking to someone else in the empty coffee shop. Then he gave Leo a sheepish smile and a wave as he walked up to the register. “Yeah, it’s me again. I’ll be honest, I’m surprised you even remember me.”

“I’ll be honest, me too,” Leo grinned. “So, you want that same caffeine abomination you got last time?”

Blondie looked almost sick for a split second before he blurted out a “No!” Then his actions seemed to catch up with him and he grimaced. “Sorry, no. Not, uh, not that again. I… like trying new drinks every time I get coffee.” Leo cocked an eyebrow up at him. Blondie had said his order with the practiced confidence of someone who drank the same thing every night, but he just shrugged and accepted the answer. “Alright then. What can I get for you?”

“How about, um…” Blondie trailed off as he studied the board, and Leo studied him. There was something different about him this time around, but Leo couldn’t quite place it. He still had his endearingly awkward wave, and his hair was still fluffy in that way that reminded Leo of freshly blow-dried Golden Retriever puppies, and his sparkling blue eyes still crinkled up at the corners when he smiled at Leo.

Suddenly, Leo’s eyes widened as he realized what the difference was. There, sitting neatly on the bridge of Blondie’s nose was a pair of glasses. They were pretty, understated things, but the glass was perfectly polished and clean, and the thin gold wire bands glinted in the warm café lighting. He looked charming and put together and like the romantic lead in a Hallmark movie. Leo was pretty sure that if he put those exact same glasses on his face, they’d immediately become lopsided and smudged with grease, and he’d wind up looking like Dorkatron 9000 rather than a professor at a small college town who drank Earl Grey tea and had a laugh like velvet that had been lying in the sun.

“Okay, so I’d like to order–”

“You’re wearing glasses!” Leo said. Well, it was more of an accusation, really, but that wasn’t important.

Blondie was visibly startled again. “Um, yes? Is that not allowed or something?”

“Are they new?” Leo asked.

“No? Why?”

“You weren’t wearing them last time you came in.”

Blondie thought about that, then shrugged. “I’m pretty sure I had lacrosse practice that evening, and I almost always wear my contacts when I’m doing sports. Usually, I take them out right after, but I must have been distracted that night or something.”

“You play lacrosse?” Leo asked, perking up. “Where at? That’s super cool.”

“I’m varsity at NRU,” Blondie said, ducking his head like he was trying to avoid any further praise from Leo.

“NRU?” Leo echoed, bouncing on his toes. “No way! I go there, too!”

“I had kind of assumed, based on the fact that I walked in on you doing homework last time,” Blondie joked.

“Yeah, yeah. Yuck it up,” Leo said with a dramatic eye roll. “Now, do you want coffee or not?”

“Well, I was trying to order when you interrupted me,” Blondie teased. Leo just puffed out his cheeks, and Blondie laughed, proving Leo’s velvet metaphor entirely correct. “Okay, okay. Can I get a large caramel crème?”

“Do you want extra shots in it?”

Blondie narrowed his eyes in confusion. “It doesn’t have any espresso in it, right?”

“Uh.” Leo didn’t want to say outright that he had no idea what a caramel crème even was, but he figured it was pretty obvious when he had to fish out the recipe book from beside the milk steamer and check. “Oh, yeah, I guess you’re right. It’s got the cold drip stuff.” He bounced right back over to the register and rang him up, grabbing a paper cup and scribbling a name on it. “$6.55, please.”

Once again, Blondie swiped his card and stuffed a few bills in the tip jar before wandering off to the other end of the counter to wait for Leo to do his job. It took more than a little bit of trial and error and a handful of failed attempts, but soon Leo was once again pushing his creation over the counter at his customer. “Ta-da!”

Blondie took the drink, then squinted at the name Leo had scribbled along the side before giving him an amused smirk. “Specs? Really?”

“Well, you still haven’t told me your name–”

“And you still haven’t asked.”

“Plus you didn’t tell me you wear glasses. So, you get to be Specs tonight.”

Specs rolled his eyes, but either he didn't try to mask his fondness, or he was really bad at it, because it was very obvious on his face. “Sorry for the oversight. I also had braces from the ages of twelve to sixteen. Does that make up for my accidental subterfuge, or would you like some more insight into my medical history?”

“Well, you can start with telling me if you like the drink or not.”

Specs looked suspiciously at the cup for a moment before taking a small sip. His face screwed up, and his nose wrinkled like a confused rabbit’s a few times, but then he swallowed heavily and gave Leo a blinding smile. “You really know how to make drinks your own way, don’t you?”

Leo didn’t really know what that was supposed to mean, considering he was pretty sure he followed the recipe exactly, but he still put on a show of casual arrogance. “I try my best.”

“I’m sure.”

“Soooo, do I get to know your name now?” Leo asked eagerly. “Or do you just wanna be called Specs forever?”

Specs seemed to consider that before he gave Leo a grin. “Not this time. Make me a drink that really wows me, and we’ll talk.”

Leo groaned and flopped over the counter. “Come onnn! You’re killing me!”

Specs just giggled quietly before he flicked Leo on the nose. “Maybe next time. See you around, Leo.”

“Yeah, yeah. Rub it in, why don’t you? See ya, Specs.”

And with that, Specs was gone, leaving Leo to replay every word and gentle chuckle he’d gotten out of the other man on repeat in his head.

*-*-*-*

The next time Leo saw Specs, he was once again neck deep in homework, but this time, he actually heard the door open, so he was able to offer the full force of his smile as soon as the bell rang. Truth be told, Leo had been eagerly awaiting this moment for the last three days. He'd even snuck the recipe book home after his shift one night to do a bit of extra studying, though Annabeth had fussed about it when Will snitched on him.

“Hey, Specs!” Leo chirped, already headed for the register.

“Hey, Leo,” Specs said, eyes crinkling at the corners. He glanced over at where Leo had commandeered one of the only two six-top tables in the dining area and spread out his entire education. “So, I meant to ask before, but what are you studying?”

“Hm? Oh! Engineering!” Leo said eagerly. “It’s really cool.”

“Yeah? You like it?”

“Mhm,” Leo nodded. “But even if I didn’t I’d still do it.”

Specs cocked his head to the side curiously. “What do you mean by that?”

“My mom was in the middle of getting her degree when she had me, so she had to drop out,” Leo shrugged. “I figure after everything she did for me, I could do this for her.”

Specs’s face went toffee soft, and the smile he gave Leo reminded him so much of fresh baked cookies that his teeth started to ache. “That’s amazing, Leo.”

Leo flushed to the roots of his hair, and ducked his head. He was used to people being impressed about him getting his degree to help fulfill his mom’s dreams, but no one had ever looked at Leo like he was the most important, special person on the planet when they said it. “Yeah, it’s, uh, it’s whatever, you know?” He cleared his throat and roughly shook his head. “Anyway, what about you? You said you were on the lacrosse team, but I’m pretty sure they don’t give out degrees for sports.”

“Sometimes I wish they did,” Specs groaned playfully. “Between lacrosse and tennis, I hardly have time for my degree.”

“Which is?”

“I’m a double major, actually,” Specs said. “I wanted to go to school for history, but my dad would only pay for it if I also studied law. So, I guess I’m doing that, and I’ll try to do something with my history degree, and if that doesn’t work out, I’ll just finish up at law school.”

“Well, the history thing sounds cool,” Leo said slowly. “But I gotta say, I’m not a huge fan of lawyers.”

Specs gave him a wry smile. “Considering my dad is one, me neither.”

Leo snorted, and Specs looked pleased with himself. “So, what, uh, flavor of history do you like?” Leo asked, tripping over his words.

“You mean what’s my focus?” Specs clarified, eyes sparkling with amusement. “I like ancient civilizations, specifically Ancient Rome.”

“Really?”

“Yeah. Look.” He started rolling up his sleeve and Leo was greeted with the sight of a somewhat faded tattoo that had started to bleed around the edges, but still clearly read SPQR with a laurel wreath around it. “My friend, Reyna, gave me a stick and poke when we were in high school. It’s an abbreviation for Senatus Populusque Romanus, which is Latin for ‘the Senate and People of Rome.’”

Leo gawked at it for a moment before he looked up again. “You’re, like, dedicated-dedicated.”

Specs flushed a bit and rolled down his shirt sleeve. “Ah, yeah. Um, sorry.”

“No, dude! Don’t be sorry!” Leo insisted. “I think it’s cool!”

Specs arched an eyebrow at him. “You think being obsessed with the Roman Empire is cool?”

“Well, no, not really,” Leo admitted. “I think it’s kinda dweeby as hell, but it’s also really charming. At least from you. Does that make sense?”

Specs chuckled and shook his head. “Makes as much sense as everything else you say.”

“You're starting to understand,” Leo said, giving him a wink. Specs just chuckled softly, his cheeks dusting pink. “So, what can I get for you tonight?”

“How about a large cappuccino?” Specs suggested. “No syrups or flavors or anything.”

Leo wrinkled his nose. “You mean you want just espresso, milk, and foam?” Specs nodded and Leo's face screwed up even more. “Alright, man, if you insist. That will be $5.65.”

This time, instead of pulling out his card, Specs held out a crisp ten dollar bill. Leo grabbed it, and as he did their fingers brushed, which sent a jolt of electricity shooting up Leo’s arm.

Unfortunately, that electricity was more literal than figurative.

“Ye-owch!” Leo yelped, yanking back his hand and shoving his injured fingers in his mouth. “That hurt!”

“Oh my gods, are you okay?” Specs asked, looking genuinely distressed. “I'm so sorry! This happens to me all the time.”

“Don't worry about it; I'll live,” Leo soothed, turning to the nearby sink to wash his hands. When he was done, he took the bill from Specs with over the top caution, then handed over his change in the same manner, making Specs flush even more.

“Sorry again,” Specs mumbled, stuffing all of his change in the tip jar.

“Dude, you don't have to, like, pay for my forgiveness,” Leo laughed. “I already said it's cool.”

Specs just shrugged. “It's whatever. I mean, it's not even mine, really. My dad just puts more money in my account whenever I’m getting low so he doesn’t have to talk to me.”

“Yeah, alright,” Leo agreed easily, not one to argue too hard about free money and also figuring that now wasn’t the time or place to unpack Specs’s daddy issues. He grabbed a cup and a marker and started scribbling on it. “Gimme a sec and I'll get this out to you.”

Specs nodded and went to his customary waiting spot while Leo got to work. Cappuccinos weren't exactly hard to make, in theory, but getting the foam right and making sure all the proportions were balanced wasn't easy. Still, he was pretty proud of what he'd accomplished when he set the cup down and slid it across the bar. “Order up!”

Specs eagerly grabbed the cup and twisted it around until he found where Leo had scribbled out the nickname for the day. When he did, he gave Leo an unimpressed look, his cheeks puffed out and pink. “Really?”

“What’s the matter, Sparky? You don't like it?” Leo grinned. “Maybe you should think next time before you electrocute poor, innocent baristas.”

“You're a jerk,” Sparky informed him, though he didn't really sound all that mad at all. He took a sip of his drink before grimacing slightly and forcing down another sip.

“Well, if you hate the nickname so much, you could tell me your real name,” Leo pointed out, arching his eyebrows.

“No,” Sparky huffed. “Even if this was the best drink ever, you were mean to me.”

“Do you mean to say it's not the best drink ever?”

“No,” Sparky admitted easily. “But, in your defense, I don’t really like cappuccinos.”

Leo's jaw dropped. “That's not fair!”

“I never said I was playing fair,” Sparky grinned at him, before he turned back to the door. “Maybe next time, Leo.”

“Get out of here, you cheater!” Leo called out after him. As he said the last word, the door swung shut, leaving him alone in the coffee shop.

He was already looking forward to their next meeting.

*-*-*-*

Leo was admittedly not feeling his best when Sparky came in next. He was… pretty sure he wasn’t sick, despite the throbbing headache he’d been dealing with since before he’d shown up at the shop, and he’d waved away Percy’s concern and insisted that he’d be fine. He was not fine. In fact, he’d been getting worse and worse, and now he was sitting in the darkest, quietest corner of the lobby with his arms folded on the table and his face hidden away from what light was filtering in.

Then he suddenly felt someone softly stroking his hair, and he blearily lifted his head. There, in front of him was the blurry image of fluffy blond hair and sparkly blue eyes. He pulled out a lazy, half-hearted smile, and smushed his cheek back into his arms. “Well, hey there, Sparky.”

“Leo.” Oh, Leo did not like that tone. That was the tone people, usually Piper, used on him when he wasn’t taking care of himself and they were disappointed in him but didn’t want to say so out loud. Leo didn’t want Sparky to be disappointed in him. “Are you okay?”

“‘M fine,” Leo insisted, shoving himself to his feet. “You want coffee? I can make coffee.”

“What? No, Leo, I–”

Leo wasn’t listening, and he instead started shuffling towards the coffee bar. Unfortunately, he only made it a few steps before he stumbled and started falling face-first towards the floor. Fortunately, Sparky stepped forward and caught him, so he only fell face-first into the big red ‘S’ screen printed on the other man’s shirt. He looked up and gave him a loopy smile. “My own personal Superman.”

Superman just frowned even deeper and helped Leo straighten back up, brushing one of his curls off his face, though he never released Leo enough to let him even try to topple over. “Seriously, Leo. Do I need to call an ambulance or something? You don’t look so hot.”

“You don’t think I’m hot?” Leo whined, and some part of his brain was cognizant enough to be humiliated by the tears that pricked at the corners of his eyes but not enough to do anything about it.

“That’s not what I said and you know it,” Superman chided gently. He carefully ushered Leo over to one of the cushy couches nearby and laid him down. He also took off his own jacket and spread it over Leo like a blanket before he continued talking. “Seriously, do you want me to call an ambulance?”

“No, ‘m fine,” Leo argued, rolling over and pressing his face into the back of the couch. They were both quiet for a moment before Leo broke the silence, his voice a lot smaller than it should be. “Superman?”

“Yeah?”

“I wanna go home.”

“Okay,” Superman promised, his voice hushed. “Okay, Leo. We can make that happen. Do you have a manager you can call?”

“Mhm.” Leo wiggled around a bit before he fished his phone out of his pocket. He clicked the power button and almost immediately dropped it, thanks to the bright light that shone directly in his face. The thought that now he was going to have to get out of his carefully shielded little nook to get his phone and then call Percy and Annabeth made him want to start blubbering like a little baby.

Before he could do anything like that, Superman swooped in and scooped the phone up. “Don’t worry, I’ve got it,” he said softly. “Gimme your hand.”

“You wanna hold my hand?”

“No, you dork,” Superman laughed quietly. “I need your thumbprint to open your phone.”

“Oh.” Despite the claim, Leo couldn’t help but notice that Superman didn’t let go of his hand, and instead started soothingly rubbing his knuckle with his thumb.

“Okay, I’ve got your contacts up. What is your manager’s name?”

Leo relayed the information, but he honestly wasn’t paying all that much attention. His head hurt so bad he thought he was going to cry and throw up, in that order. Or maybe in the opposite order. He wasn’t sure. Still, he distantly heard Superman whispering back and forth with someone on the phone, and when he was done, he sat down right next to Leo and started stroking his hair with care unlike anyone but Leo’s Mamá had offered him. Leo just squeezed his eyes shut and focused on breathing deeply, trying very hard not to start bawling.

Leo wasn’t really sure how long he laid there getting his hair petted, but Superman stayed right there with him the whole time. At one point or another, he’d taken his jacket off of Leo’s shoulders and draped it so that Leo’s head was left in a dimly lit mini tent that smelled a bit like the Fresh Breeze candle his mom liked so much. Leo was pretty sure he’d be content to spend the rest of his life right there in that cozy little world with Superman’s fingers combing gently through his curls.

Eventually though, all good things had to end, and Leo felt someone shake his shoulder until he emerged, squinting and whining pitifully at the light, only to see Annabeth’s stern, but deeply concerned frown only a few inches from his own.

“You’re right, he does look really bad,” Annabeth said softly. “Do you think I should take him to the hospital?”

“I asked him that before, and he just keeps saying he wants to go home,” Superman reported.

“He is right here,” Leo grouched, resisting the urge to hide his face again. “You don’t have to talk over him.”

Annabeth didn’t dignify that with a response, but she did direct her next words at him. “Alright, Leo, here’s the plan: I’m gonna get you home, and I’ll text Piper so she can let your professors know you’re missing class tomorrow, and you’re gonna sleep. Sound good?”

“What about the shop?” Leo protested. “I’m in the middle of my shift.”

“Percy’s gonna cover the rest of your shift tonight, and I’ll see if Nico will take your shift tomorrow,” Annabeth said smoothly. “Do you think you’ll be able to walk, or should I get an Uber?”

Leo thought about that. His apartment was only two blocks from the shop. It would probably take longer to wait for the car to get here and then take him home than it would to stumble there on foot, and he really wanted his bed, now that he knew it was an option. “Can we just walk?”

“Sure thing,” Annabeth promised immediately. “Come on. Up on your feet for me, Valdez.”

Leo allowed Annabeth to push and pull and poke and prod and just bully him in general until he was swaying dangerously on his feet, Superman’s hands outstretched and hovering near his ribs in case he needed some emergency steadying. Then his arm was slung over Annabeth’s shoulders, and the two of them were shuffling towards the door. As the bell chimed, signaling their exit, Leo froze, horror dawning on his features. “Wait!”

In less than a second, Superman was right there, looking like he was ready to start anxiously dancing from foot to foot like a dog waiting for its favorite toy. “What is it? What’s wrong?”

“I didn't get to make your drink!” Leo blurted. “I can’t get your name if I don’t make your drink!”

Superman’s face went soft and sweet like the center of the cinnamon rolls Percy and Will made for Saturday mornings. “Don’t worry about it; I’ll live,” he promised. “I’ll tell you my name next time you make my drink. You just focus on getting better for me, yeah?”

Leo gave him a somewhat loopy smile and a salute. “Okay. See you next time, Superman.”

“See you next time, Leo.”

With that, Leo let Annabeth lead him home, already dreaming about his bed and all the sleep he was planning on getting over the next two days. Then, he’d come back to work and finally learn Superman’s real name. He just had to sleep off this dumb headache everyone was making a big deal out of first.

*-*-*-*

Leo soon learned that it wasn’t just a dumb headache, and in the most inconvenient way possible.

As it turned out, when Leo’s body decided it was time to get sick, it meant business. The next morning, Leo woke up with a fever so high that when Piper came over to check on him after getting Annabeth’s text, she’d ripped her palm away from his forehead with a yelp of shock. Then, she’d dragged him to the emergency room, refusing to listen to any of his protests by citing that she’d rather be broke and homeless with an alive best friend than rich with a dead one. They were seen pretty quickly, but Leo wasn’t sure if that was more based on how bad his condition was or if it was Piper waving her dad’s credit card at anyone she thought would even be remotely helpful. He could begrudgingly admit that it was sometimes handy to have a best friend with a bank account that held more zeros than Leo had ever seen in his life.

He’d been diagnosed with the flu, which shouldn’t have been a big deal, considering Leo’s mostly clean bill of health, but the doctor had looked him straight in the eye and informed him that he’d probably be dead if Piper hadn’t thrown her tantrum. He was stuck in the hospital for three whole days, and then ordered to take another three at home to rest, no school or work allowed. He’d grimaced telling Percy the news when he swung by to visit Leo in the hospital, but the guy had only nodded solemnly and promised him the week off, ordering Leo to let him or Annabeth know if he’d need any more recovery time.

Piper had gone sheet white when the doctor had told Leo how close to death’s door he’d been, and she’d all but superglued herself to Leo’s side. She’d skipped every class she thought she could get away with, and she’d slept in hospital room armchairs and on Leo’s lumpy couch, despite his protests that he’d be fine if she left him alone for a few hours. She, of course, didn’t listen to him, and he’d sniffled quietly to himself and cried about the whole thing to the sound of her snores from her plastic armchair perch.

Now, though, he really was fine. He’d recovered and felt, quite frankly, like a million bucks. A million bucks, cash, even. A million bucks in neat little bricks of bound, crispy bills in a fancy black suitcase. He was finally back at work, but Piper was apparently still a little traumatized, because she’d followed him to the café, still determined to not let him out of her sight. Now, she was sat at one of the tables, playing a solo game of makeshift tiddlywinks she’d fashioned out of some popsicle sticks Leo had fished out of storage for her while Leo leaned against the bar and waited for his shift to end.

“I’m bored,” she announced, for probably the third time in the past two hours.

“I told you this job was boring, especially this time of night,” Leo reminded her. He was stationed behind the counter, flipping through the recipe book in a half-hearted attempt to familiarize himself with the seasonal drinks the shop had rolled out while he was sick and dying. “I can make you a drink or something, if you want.”

Piper visibly gagged. “Ew, gross. No. I don’t even know if I’d trust you to pour me a cup of black coffee.”

Leo spluttered in outrage, feeling his cheeks go pink. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

“It means that you suck at making coffee,” Piper said slowly. “Like, it’s a miracle you still have a job, you suck so bad.”

“I do not suck at making coffee!”

“Uh, yeah, you super do. Tell me, babe, when you’re actually working with any of the others, do you ever work at the coffee bar, or are you always doing pastries and stuff?”

Leo furrowed his brow and thought, but as he did, he felt horror crossing his features. He didn’t make drinks. Even when he was working during the day, everyone somehow managed to find a way to gently direct him towards anything other than drink making. He’d assumed it had been a gesture of kindness because of how much he hated the smell of coffee, but what if it wasn’t? What if they all hated his coffee as much as he hated theirs? But no, that couldn’t be true. He definitely made good coffee. He had a hot, blond regular to prove it. “Well, obviously someone likes it because I have a regular,” he said smugly. “This one dude keeps coming in specifically to get coffee from me. Percy texted me while I was out and said he came by during my usual shift twice and asked for me.”

“That doesn't mean you make good coffee,” Piper argued. “Which you don't, by the way.”

“Literally what else would he be coming to a coffee shop for?”

“You, duh,” Piper scoffed. “My ex-boyfriend was telling me the other day about this barista he has a crush on and he keeps showing up despite the shitty coffee. He actually asked me what the easiest drink to make is so he can maybe get something not awful for once.”

“Your ex-boyfriend is telling you about his crushes?” Leo scoffed, hiking up one eyebrow. “You two are freaks.”

“Ugh, I wish he’d tell me about them,” she groaned, flopping over the table and upending her tiddlywinks. “He won’t tell me hardly anything! All I know is that they’re a barista who sucks at their job. He thinks it’s awkward or whatever talking to me about it. Like, what’s that about?”

“Yeah, I mean, not wanting to talk to your ex about your current love life? That’s just silly,” Leo drawled. “Tell me, what was this guy’s name again?”

Piper gave him a withering look. “You don’t know my most recent ex-boyfriend’s name? Some best friend you are.”

“Piper, you dated the guy for, like, two weeks in a desperate, last-ditch attempt to convince yourself you’re not a lesbian – which I called, by the way – and then proceeded to be best buddies with him like the dating was some kind of shared fever dream,” Leo scoffed. “Like, I never even met the guy. Sorry if I don’t find that super memorable.”

“Boo, you whore,” Piper heckled, throwing little bits of popsicle at him. “By the way, what is the easiest drink to make? I never actually told him what to order next time, but I said I’d ask my barista friend. Though, considering that barista friend is you, maybe I’m setting him up for failure.”

Leo scowled at her. “Do you want my help or not?” Piper just shrugged casually, which Leo figured was the best he was gonna get. He considered her question. He thought back to when he was first learning the coffee bar, and more recently to when Annabeth had been walking Nico through his first days. “Well, the first drink anyone learns here is an iced chai latté,” he reasoned. “It’s pretty much impossible to screw up.”

“Yeah? How do you make it?”

“Chai concentrate, then milk, then ice,” Leo shrugged. “Like I said: You can’t really fuck it up.”

Piper hummed in thought, then narrowed her eyes at him. “Alright then. Make me one of those.”

Leo rolled his eyes, but shoved himself upright and got to work. As promised, iced chais were so easy, Leo could practically make them in his sleep, so soon he had a clear cup of cold, milky tea in his hand, which he sat down in front of Piper and spoke with the best Customer Service Voice he could muster. “One iced chai for the most annoying bitch in this café?”

“Ohmigosh, thank you!” Piper squealed, leaning hard into the Valley Girl kick in her voice. “You’re, like, the first barista to pronounce my name right!”

Leo snorted so hard it agitated the back of his still-tender throat, and Piper looked pleased to the point of smugness. She sipped her drink, and her eyebrows immediately flew into her hairline, and she looked at it with some weird mix of incredulous respect. “Well?” Leo demanded. “How is it?”

“It’s remarkably not-terrible,” Piper reported, taking another sip. “I’d go so far as to call it nice.”

“Careful, I’d hate for you to give me a big head with praise like that,” Leo said dryly. Piper just grinned at him from around her straw, so he rolled his eyes. “Well, there you go. You can tell your ex-boyfriend the secret key to ordering a drink that won’t make him completely sick to his stomach. Happy?”

“Very,” Piper chirped before taking another sip. “Now, help me set my game up again. I’m gonna teach you how to play tiddlywinks.”

*-*-*-*

When Leo finally saw Superman again, it was like getting hit upside the head with the baseball bat of déjà vu. He was, of course, sat at one of the tables, sequestered out of sight and completely focused on his homework, and didn’t hear the bell above the door. In fact, he didn’t even consider glancing up from his laptop until he heard that familiar voice call out, “Uh, is there anyone working here tonight?”

Leo was on his feet in an instant, a wide, beaming smile on his face as he bounded up to the counter. “Superman! I was wondering when you were gonna show up!”

Superman’s whole being perked up like a dog who just heard its owner say ‘walk’. “Leo! It's good to see you. You look like you’re feeling better.”

“Yeah. It was a sucky week, but I’m ready and raring to go,” Leo grinned at him. “How’ve you been? Percy told me you came by a few times while I was out. Did they make your drinks alright? Am I still your favorite barista?”

“He told you about that, huh?” Superman chuckled, awkwardly scratching the back of his neck. “And, yeah, the drinks he made were great. Nobody makes them… quite like you do, though.”

Leo puffed out his chest in pride. “Well, in that case, what can I get for you today?”

“Can I get a large iced chai latté?”

“Sure thing! You know, my friend and–” Leo froze in the middle of punching in the drink order and looked up at Superman, who was watching him with his usual look of easy affection. Suddenly everything made sense. “Oh, my gods, it’s you!”

Superman reared back in shock, and glanced around the store to see if Leo was maybe talking to someone else who had magically teleported inside. “Uh, yeah, it’s me?”

“You’re Piper’s Ex!”

Piper’s Ex looked even more baffled now. “I– Yes? I dated Piper McLean for, like, two weeks a few months ago. What does that have to do with anything, and more importantly, how did you know?”

“Dude, Piper’s, like, my best friend,” Leo huffed. “Why wouldn’t I know that?”

Piper’s Ex furrowed his brow for a moment before his eyes widened and he went pale in horror. “Wait, you’re that Leo?”

“Obviously! I know this city is big, but how many baristas named Leo do you think live here?”

“She never told me you were a barista!” Piper’s Ex defended. “I mean, at least not directly. Like, she mentioned that she had a friend who was a barista, and a friend named Leo, but she never said that they were the same friend.”

“I guess that’s fair,” Leo conceded with a pout. “Still can’t believe you never asked her about it though.”

Piper’s Ex rolled his eyes, then looked at Leo suspiciously. “Wait, so how did you know I dated Piper?”

“She and I were talking the other day about you, and she said you were looking for a really easy drink order because you have a crush on this barista who–” He cut himself off again and looked at Piper’s Ex with betrayal and offence. “Wait, you think my coffee’s shitty?”

Piper’s Ex’s face went pale again and then turned scarlet so fast Leo was actually a little concerned for the dude’s blood pressure. “I, uh. Never said that. To you.”

“Oh, well, then that means you’re having late night rendezvous with a different barista,” Leo accused, crossing his arms. “Do I look like a side piece to you?”

“No!”

“So, you do think my coffee’s shitty! It’s gotta be one or the other!”

Piper’s Ex put his hands together like he was praying, then pressed them to his lips for a moment as he thought over his options. “Okay, so, your coffee’s not exactly great–”

“This is the worst day of my life!” Leo declared loudly and dramatically. He had his elbows resting on the bar and his hands cupped around his eyes as he went through this mini identity crisis. “Dude! I do this for almost thirty hours a week! How do I still suck at it?”

“I mean, you’re not that bad,” Piper’s Ex said, desperately trying to salvage the situation. “Like, they haven’t fired you or anything.”

“That’s because they don’t let me make drinks when there’s actually customers in the store!” Leo let out another strangled noise and buried his face in his hands. “I’m gonna have to tell Piper she was right! I was using you as proof that I don’t suck, dude.”

“I’m sorry,” Piper’s Ex said, sounding genuinely sympathetic, likely because he knew first-hand how obnoxious Piper got when she was told that she’d been right all along.

Leo sighed, then cut his gaze back up to Piper’s Ex. He suddenly realized that no matter how embarrassed the other man had gotten – and it was very obvious he was very embarrassed – he hadn’t stopped giving Leo that same look of heart-stopping fondness that he always gave him, and Leo felt his ears start to go a little hot. “Um, why did– What made you come back all those times, then? Seeing as it apparently wasn’t my spectacular mixology skills.”

Piper’s Ex dropped his chin just enough so that he was sheepishly looking at Leo through his eyelashes. “Well, it’s kind of embarrassing, but I sort of have a crush on the barista. I’m thinking I might have a shot, but I’ve been too shy to actually ask him on a date.”

“Wait.” Leo blinked at Piper’s Ex in complete shock. He was sure that his face was so flushed his skin tone was going to be permanently altered at this point. “You wanna go on a date? Like, an actual, real life date? With me?”

Piper’s Ex looked confused and even a little hurt at the question. “Um, yes? I kinda figured that’s where we’ve been going with this whole thing. Have I been super misreading this situation or something?”

“I, uh, no,” Leo squeaked. “I just– I figured you were just flirting with me for fun or something. I didn’t think you’d actually be interested in me.”

“Oh.” Piper’s Ex finally cut his gaze away, and Leo felt suddenly cold without the weight of those blue eyes on him. “I, uh, sorry, in that case.”

“Wait, no! You don’t have to be sorry!” Leo blurted, reaching out to grab Piper’s Ex’s hand. “Please, don’t be sorry. I didn’t want you to just be casually flirting with me or anything, I just assumed you were.”

Piper’s Ex squeezed Leo’s fingers and gave him an adorably shy smile. “Um, okay then. Would you, uh, maybe want to? Go on a date, I mean. With me.”

“Yes,” Leo said, nodding emphatically. “Uh-huh. Definitely. Sí. Yup. However you want me to say it. Just… yeah. I’d really like that.”

“Okay,” Piper’s Ex said, and he had the audacity to giggle like a schoolgirl, making Leo want to throw up over how cute this grown man was. “Uh, cool.”

Leo beamed at him, still flushed to the roots of his hair, but feeling like he might just float right on out of the café on his little cloud of bliss. “Alright, um, you go wait down there. I’ll make your drink.” Piper’s Ex started pulling out his wallet, but Leo held out a hand to stop him. “This one’s on me.”

Piper’s Ex gave him an eye-crinkling smile. “Alright, cool.”

He went to his usual spot to wait, and Leo went about making his drink, taking care to make sure that this was the single best iced chai latté anyone in the history of the world had ever made. He was sweating bullets when he pushed the drink across the counter. “Well, um. Here you go.”

Piper’s Ex took the drink, and furrowed his brows in slight disappointment. “You didn’t give me a nickname this time.”

Leo shook his head. “No, but I, um, I did put my number on there. It’s just under the sleeve. If that’s okay.”

“Oh!” Piper’s Ex turned yet another shade of red, but he looked incredibly pleased. “That’s– Yeah, that’s okay. More than okay, actually.”

“Cool.” Leo glanced down at the drink in his hands and then up to blue eyes. “Well, tell me if you like the drink. And don’t just dance around the subject this time.”

Piper’s Ex nodded like he’d been given a solemn duty, and took a sip. When he did, his whole face brightened. “This is actually really good.”

“Yes!” Leo whooped, fist pumping to the sound of Piper’s Ex’s bright laughter. “I knew I could do it!”

Piper’s Ex smiled so fondly at him that Leo thought he was going to die. “I certainly know what I’m gonna get every time I come by from now on.”

Leo perked up. “So, you’re gonna keep coming by, then?”

“If you’re okay with it, I definitely plan to.”

“I’m definitely okay with it,” Leo grinned. “But also don’t forget to text me later, yeah?”

“Of course,” he promised. Then his blue eyes sparkled with amused mischief and Leo felt his heart fluttering in the back of his throat. “Oh, and, Leo?”

“Yeah?”

“My name’s Jason.”

#valgrace #my writing #pjo fanfic #exchange fic

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stereopticons · 18 days ago

Text

On This Day in Schitt's Creek: March 27

2020

Assorted Fandom Metas [david/patrick, G, meta] by deandratb

Thoughts on a range of subjects for different fandoms, copied from my tumblr for safekeeping here.

i don't wanna be your friend (i wanna kiss your lips) [stevie/alexis, E, 4,604] by wardo_wedidit

"They’d been fun, the two of them. When Alexis was in an off-phase with Mutt, or with Ted, sometimes they would sleep together. They’d even continued when Stevie was with Jake, since that was never exclusive. But Alexis hadn’t come to her after she broke up with Ted this time, choosing instead any stranger she could find, and that had stung. They hadn’t kept it a secret, necessarily, because Alexis was open about most things and sexuality was one of them, but they also weren’t girlfriends. Just two people hooking up. And no one had asked. Stevie wanted more. She never asked for it." Or, Alexis contemplates a move to New York, and Stevie worries about being left behind. Post 6x12 "The Pitch."

2021

are there still beautiful things? [stevie/twyla, T, 4,564] by dameofpowellestate

“Look what I got Stevie!” Twyla calls as she runs through the waist-high grass towards the line of trees where Stevie’s waiting for her. By the time Twyla reaches her, her cheeks pink and her breath labored, her french braids are coming undone and there’s a twig stuck in one of them. Or, Stevie and Twyla were childhood best friends.

Honduras [david/patrick, T, 300] by Rosey_Peach

i'll be a rabbit in the headlights [david/patrick, T, 11,167] by @ratchet

David watches as ball cap guy snaps the cap off the beer in his hand, his throat flexing as he swallows what looks like half the contents of the bottle. There’s a girl leaning up against him, resting her head against his thigh. She’s got red hair tied up in a messy bun and definitely looks more familiar to David than the guy does. David should really figure out his name. Stevie might know it. He should ask Stevie. or: David Rose is seventeen years old the first time he notices Patrick Brewer.

if you could let me in, i could be good with you [alexis/twyla, T, 1,834] by budd

Things go awry when Alexis kisses Twyla at a party to make Ted jealous following their break-up.

Linger Like a Tattoo Kiss [david/patrick, T, 4,058] by @nontoxic-writes

One thing Patrick Brewer prides himself on is his ability to stay calm in any given situation. He doesn't panic, as a rule. He never shows his hand, his poker face an immaculate mask, even if inside, he's screaming. He just keeps a gentle smirk on his face and his arms folded. Cool. Calm. Collected. Except that today, there's an absolutely fucking gorgeous guy standing in the line, his thick eyebrows knit in concentration as he stares at the phone in his hand, shuffling forward with every person Patrick serves. And with every cup Patrick hands over, he sweats just a little more, his breathing becomes just a little shallower. If only this guy had shown up an hour ago, before the lunch rush, his insane legs would've been hidden by the counter, out of Patrick's view. Instead, Patrick didn't even look at his last customer, or what he wrote on their cup, his eyes glued to the bare calves, the skirt swishing at the knees above them. --or a college/coffee shop au that i swear is different from the one i posted two days ago with this same premise. this one has piercings and tattoos!

Out with the old, in with the new, cheers to the future, and all that we do [david/patrick, E, 14,005] by @cheesecurdsgravyandfries

Patrick hums thoughtfully. “Travel would be nice. We should look at putting money away. Maybe we can close between Christmas and New Year’s next year and go somewhere.” David nods against Patrick’s chest. “You know, if we ate out less…” Patrick feigns shock. “David Rose! Are you suggesting - “ “Oh no. I am not cooking.” “Come on, David. This could be fun. Once a week. That alone could cover airfare for one.” “Mmm! Fun. Right.” “I tell you what. You cook on Fridays, and I’ll reward you.” This is not a WIP, but a weekly update with standalone chapters. Inspired in part by Samwhambam's series The Rose-Brewer Guide to Sex Positions.

Spiraling Off in All Directions [david/patrick, T, 546] by @different-but-the-same

Stupidly-In-Love Patrick will always be my favourite Patrick, but Post-Wisdom-Teeth Patrick runs a close second.

the garden's soft, my skin is weak [david/patrick, E, 6,050] by @my-nameless-bliss

Patrick’s tongue darts out against his lower lip. Something sinks heavy from his chest to his stomach, pooling hot inside him.“Fuck me,” he whispers. Soft, and experimental.It has a… a feeling in his mouth. A shape and a taste, something sweet and sharp and new, but still familiar. It’s something he’s heard so many times, he has such an intimate history with it, but never like this. It sounds different in his voice. It feels different in his throat, on his tongue. Or, Patrick learns what he's allowed to have.

you can tell the whole story with a taste... [david/patrick, T, 1,601] by @startswithhope

David just needs to figure out why he can't seem to make caramel. Patrick's taking a step outside of his comfort zone. This is just chapter one...

you've got a smile (that takes me to another planet) [alexis/twyla, G, 2,707] by @wafflesfriendswork

“Maybe I’ll see you around sometime.” Alexis and Twyla meet randomly around town.

2022

[Vid] I'll Be There For You [david/patrick, G, vid] by @n0connections

The one where they lived in Schitt's Creek. OR: A Schitt's Creek fan video to the Friends theme song

And Feed Them On Your Dreams [david/patrick, G, 2,603] by @fictasticvoyage

David is throwing a baby shower for a friend, but this time he actually wants to. He and several friends choose books to gift to the new baby.

From the Mixed-Up Files of Mrs. Bathilda E. Schitt [alexis & david, G, 6,212] by @landofsonlali

Missing: Priceless Crocodile Bag and Children Valuable family heirloom subject of devious thievery. Reward available in exchange for safe return. Also missing, Davis and Alex Rose. If seen, call Moira’s Rose’s Phone 4856. David is fed up with being ignored by his parents, so he decides to run away from home to the most beautiful place that he can think of (that doesn't require stealing his parents' private jet). His little sister, Alexis, joins him as they decide to secretly take up residence in the Metropolitan Museum of Art. Inspired by From the Mixed-Up Files of Mrs. Basil E. Frankweiler

i love you and i like you [david/patrick, G, 2,179] by @patrckbrewer

David shouldn’t have fit into Patrick’s life but Patrick was pretty sure that David was the best friend he had ever had. or the one where patrick assumes like and love go hand in hand but learns that, to david, they don't

In His Place [david & stevie, T, 2,080] by @68henley

Alternate/expanded version of David and Stevie's post-dinner discussion about David and Patrick's relationship and the revelations about Patrick's past during their Spa Retreat from The Jazzaguy. Assumes Patrick started sending gifts the day after The Barbecue. Stevie has been talking to both Patrick and (to the extent he was willing to do so) David, and during their spa retreat she insists that David take a long, hard look at things from Patrick's point of view.

It was supposed to be a celebration [david & rachel, T, 1,625] by @treluna4

The night after the barbecue, David can’t sleep. Around 2am, he slips out of the room to get some air. But he’s not the only one awake.

lead me out on the moonlit floor [david/patrick, 4,481] by @ratchet

Patrick’s never had a boyfriend before and there’s something he really likes about no-one knowing that, about having this tiny secret about himself that he gets to learn about with no-one else sticking their nose in. No-one knows that he’s figuring this out a little bit at a time as he goes, learning how to be the smaller person in a hug, how to remember to tilt his chin up for kisses. No-one’s looking at him to see how he touches a man, no-one’s comparing it to the way he used to touch women. No-one knows how different it feels, how being pressed shoulder to knee with David in a booth at the Wobbly Elm makes his entire body feel like it’s on fire.

like a streak of light [alexis/twyla, M, 5,149] by @lilythesilly

Police are seeking information on the masked vigilante after the Police Chief of New York issued an arrest warrant on her just one week ago. Not much is known about the newly minted Spider Woman, except for the videos posted online and shown on the local news saving people from death-defying events by swinging from building to building before disappearing into the night, although she has been known to pose for the occasional selfie if you stumble upon her in an abandoned alley (which we do not recommend, because crime). Contrary to the opinion of the police, locals see Spider Woman as a hero, even more so after last night when she saved no less than a dozen people when what looks like a giant lizard stopped traffic on the Manhattan Bridge and tore through cars—like it was looking for something—before disappearing into the sewers. Spider Woman, wherever you are, we hope you’re having an amazing day, sweetie. or, Alexis Rose gets bitten by a radioactive spider.

Orlando [david/patrick, G, 2,580] by @a-noble-dragon

David had a love of books from an early age. Adelina had read to him each night, bringing to life the beautiful pictures books with her soothing words until David had fallen fast asleep, dreaming of princesses, and dragons, and magical cats. Or, Patrick is a librarian, who’d rather check out David, than books.

Say You Won't Let Go [david/patrick, E, 15,531] by Doug_Judy

A love story told in 3 parts. Inspired by James Arthur’s song Say You Won’t Let Go

The Enchantment Umbrage [david/patrick, E, 25,361] by @khughes830 @rmd-writes

The prompt: David Rose has always believed in fairy tales. So it’s no wonder then that he’s spent his career crafting them on the long-running reality dating show Ever After. When the show casts disgraced tech wunderkind Patrick Brewer as its star. Patrick doesn’t believe in true love, and only agreed to the show as a last-ditch effort to rehabilitate his image. But they begin to open up to each other, and Patrick realizes he has better chemistry with David than with any of his female co-stars. But even reality TV has a script, and in order to find to happily ever after, they’ll have to reconsider whose love story gets told. From the book blurb for The Charm Offensive by Alison Cochran, which just has a wonderful David and Patrick vibe to it.

There's Never Only One Bed [david/patrick, E, 7,462] by @frizzlenox

Where do you keep getting these ideas?” “What ideas?” “These ideas in the bedroom. I’ve never been with a partner who's tried all these things with me." David and Patrick's relationship evolves beyond friendship as they bond over David's favorite guilty pleasure show and Patrick decides to spice up their love live with ideas he gets from the fanfic written about it. A 5+1 about how fanfic inspires them to try new things in their relationship.

there's no such thing [david/patrick, t, 19,599] by @dinnfameron

When David Rose was a child, he had an imaginary friend called Patrick. - aka the Monsters, Inc. AU that I asked myself for.

This is an angry break up song, right? [ted/alexis/twyla, T, 1,533] by @typewritess

Ted convinces Twyla and Alexis to watch the Witcher....and very quickly regrets it when one particular song becomes the focus of a debate.

2023

Glitter [david/patrick, G, 100] by @ramonaflow

100 words based on the Tumblr prompt: Glitter

Something Sustainable [david/patrick, G, 966] by mallpretzles

David knew he spent too much time ogling his business partner. But, was it really his fault that Patrick was so…oogalicious? David made a valiant effort to keep his eyes to himself but he was only human.

2024

Splitting Trees [patrick/rachel, T, 2,381] by Rose_bud_Boy

A mini vacation to the hot springs is supposed to be relaxing, though it’s anything but. Rachel is feeling unloved, and Patrick can’t overcome baseless feelings of wrongness.

Stats:

No fanworks for 2017, 2018, or 2019 2020: 2 fanworks (1 fic, 1 meta)/6,306 words 2021: 10 fics/47,380 words 2022: 14 fanworks (13 fics, 1 vid)/96,411 words 2023: 2 fics/1,066 words 2024: 1 fic/2,381 words Total: 29 fanworks (27 fics, 1 meta, 1 vid)/153,544 words

#on this day in sc #schitt's creek #sc fanfic #sc fanworks #david rose #patrick brewer #david x patrick #patrick x david #alexis rose #stevie budd #twyla sands #ted mullens

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hopelesslyromanticgay · 2 years ago

Text

An Americano, Please? Part 2

Word Count: 757 A/N: italicized text within quotation marks means that the person speaking is using Romanian instead of English

Y/N's POV:

I haven't seen Jenna for five days, so she was probably just a tourist. It's not uncommon for a tourist to pop by the shop asking for a coffee but not being able to speak Romanian, so I have no idea why I'm so sad that she's not coming back.

I thought the idea of a "hallway crush," (someone you've interacted with once or twice for a short or professional amount of time, but are attracted to nonetheless), only lasted through high school. I guess I was wrong.

Friday morning, the shop is quiet because of how early it is. I shovel some coffee beans into the grinder. Despite the annoyingly loud noise it makes, I find it an oddly satisfying process.

I yawn, getting out of bed at four thirty for a five AM shift is nobody's idea of a good start to a day.

Once the coffee's all ground up, I put some in the drip coffee brewer and the rest next to the espresso machine.

In the back, I can smell my coworkers taking today's baked goods out of the oven.

"Hey, L/N, want a cinnamon bun? It's a little 'burnt', so we can't sell it," my coworker and friend Nessa asks. Every Friday is the same, Nessa and I are two of the only people around the shop this early, so we'll sneak a pastry and say it was burnt if anyone asks.

"Sure, Thanks!" I reply, taking the warm pastry from her. Taking a bite, a smile creeps across my face, "did you guys change the recipe? This is even better than last week's!"

"Yeah, boss asked if we could add a few more spices to the dough," she explains, "I'm a pretty big fan of the new recipe if I do say so myself."

It's not long before the cafe starts to smell like cinnamon and coffee, a perfectly inviting scent in the gloomy fall weather.

Five twenty and it's time to open up the shop. Of course, no one actually arrives until six, usually. Nevertheless the owner says being open early is best for business.

As I wait for the first customers to arrive, I zone out. There's not much to do except for sitting alone with my thoughts.

I'm so lost in thought that I'm thoroughly shocked when I hear the bell on the door ring, indicating that someone has entered the shop. I look up to see who it is. Then it dawns on me. She's a little paler than last time, but it's still her.

"Jenna?" I ask incredulously, I thought for sure she was gone.

"You remember me?" she raises an eyebrow.

"I remember most people who can't speak Romanian," I lie.

"Sure," she giggles.

"What can I get for ya today?" I ask.

"You know, I think I'll take your joke from the other day seriously," she replies with a faint smirk, "I'll have an Americano with oat milk please."

"Alright, an Americano for the American," I laugh, mixing the drink, "so, what brings you to Romania?"

"Could you please repeat that?" she asks, "sorry, I've been having trouble focusing lately."

"Well, you're clearly not a tourist, because most tourists don't stick around for more than three days. So I'm just wondering, what brings you to Romania?" I repeat.

"Oh, uh, I'm filming a TV show," she explains.

"You act?" I ask. I don't know why I'm surprised. She certainly has the looks and charisma for Hollywood.

"Yeah," she smiles, "this is definitely one of the bigger things I've done though."

"Congrats on that! What are you filming? Are you allowed to tell people?"

"It's a show about the Addams family," she tells me.

"Oh I love that franchise!" I exclaim, "Are you playing one of the family members?"

"Yeah, I'm Wednesday, which is both exciting and nerve wracking."

Okay, so I'm literally talking to a celebrity.

"Woah... That- that sounds like an awesome job," I smile, "good for you. So you'll be in the area for a while?"

"What's it to you?" she smirks flirtatiously, "you wanna take me out on a date or something?" I feel a blush start to creep it's way to my cheeks.

"That depends, you gonna be in town for a while?"

"At least six more months."

"In that case, how about I show you around town sometime?"

"I'd like that," she smiles. As much as I would love to keep up this banter, there's too many people in the store now.

I hand her the receipt, my number neatly scribbled down on the blank side, "reach out when you're available," I wink.

She heads out and I watch as she leaves.

On with the day. Only four hours left of this shift.

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tarithenurse · 19 hours ago

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Inhuman

Fandom: MCU Pairing: Bucky x fem!reader, eventually Loki x fem!reader, Stucky, more (some canon, some not). Word count: 2821. Contents: A little oopsie…or two…don't piss off Natasha. A/N: Another double posting today! Rejoice! Any questions are welcome. Please comment and like and reblog. Let me know if you want a tag.

Chapter 13

... Reader’s PoV ...

You’ve gotten some sleep, though not a lot because of nightmarish visions of smoking rubbles and people in pain which is why this morning, like many others, has come as a relief. Now everyone’s sitting around a long dining table enjoying breakfast. You’ve not had a chance to talk with Bucky about what’s happened, but you can feel he’s watching you almost constantly as you struggle to focus on the conversation that Bruce and Vision have taken up about your abilities and potential developments.

“In fact…” Vision’s looking at the newest Avenger calmly. “I’ve come to the conclusion that you should be able to sense cellular activity on all levels.”

“Plants, you mean?” You’re returning from the coffee brewer with a new batch for Thor, placing the pot on the table.

“Also. I’m not quite sure what the extend of your ability would be, but I know you can hone it. Control it. At the moment it seems rather taxing on you.” Vision reaches towards you with his palm upwards. “Give me your hand.” Everyone’s paying attention now.

Gingerly, you do as he asks. As if to give you a handshake, he grabs the tremulous hand and places it against the stone in his forehead. It burns cold the moment it touches your skin and you want to pull away, but Vision’s holding on too hard for you to escape.

It’s impossible to look away as yellow-golden tendrils start winding their way along your arm, spreading the cold searing feeling as they move…but no voice escapes you as you try to scream in pain and fear.

It’s spreading over and around chest and neck searching to cover all of you. Everywhere they reach you feel the cells invaded and almost torn to pieces by the strange energy seeping through them.

Next instant it’s over. Vision has let go and you’ve slid off the chair, gasping for air but seemingly unharmed despite the lingering pain that’s keeping you locked in an invisible bubble, cut off from your surroundings which honestly don’t feel important anyways.

Vision’s voice comes from far away. “I am sorry. I was not aware of the sensory reactions this would elicit in a human. I only knew that you would most likely survive due to your healing ability.”

“Most lik– are you saying she could’ve died?” Bruce’s taking your defence somewhere in the distance while Bucky and Steve are getting you back up in the chair.

There’s no damage to see, of course, but it hurts to move despite willing your body to block the pain. Blinking away tears, you resign to simply sitting limply with your eyes closed in search of darkness and the pretty, soothing particles that have become a familiar part of your world. Wanda...her red glitters aren’t confined to her body now. There’s an extra glow of crimson surrounding her, and a couple of tendrils are reaching the heads of the people, moving from one person to another.

One of the glittery tendrils reaches you and suddenly all the other tendrils come swooping too as the witch stares at the panting girl. “You can see me!”

Everyone seems to consider the option that she’s gone crazy, but Vision smiles as you nod. Wanda gasps at witnessing what you see. Glittery shapes with details standing out clear the moment you focus on them.

But you can feel the alien attention in your head, like a finger pushing dry sand around. “You gotta stop. You push too much.”

She does, apologizing as the tendrils leave you in peace.

Bucky still has his arm around your shoulders. It’s the one made of metal and it feels safe, prompting you to lean closer to him, letting your eyes flutter closed again for a moment. “I’m never doing that again...”

“That would indeed not be advisable. Further exposure to the Mind Stone would most likely result in your death.”

Not surprisingly Vision words don’t resolve the tension in the room, but right now you can’t care. All you want is to curl up in a bed and hide for a while, so you carefully get to your feet.

“Just going to lie down for a bit. Sorry.”

You don’t make it very far on the wobbly legs before Bucky resolutely picks you up and carries you away. There, safe in his arms, you see everyone else turn towards Vision with either their arms crossed, hands on hips, or brows furrowed in a silence show of force to will him to explain himself…but you’re not bothered about any of that as you find yourself tugged close to a warm chest, hard with well-developed muscles.

As your rescuer brings you down the stairs, you feel obliged to admit that you probably can walk albeit at a slow pace.

“I know.” That smile. Even with furrowed brows it’s still dazzling.

He brings you all the way into the room, placing you gently on the bed. “I’ll be back soon to check on you, but now get some rest.”

“I thought I was the nurse here...” But you’re grateful for his help and attention. Turning away, Bucky hesitates which gives you the chance to grab his right hand. “Thank you.”

He gives your trembling fingers a squeeze and leaves.

... Bucky’s PoV …

Bucky’s insides felt like they’d been ripped out as the yellow flames flicked across her, making her scream soundlessly in agony and reminding him of the blurry memories from his past. Her terror propelled him out of the chair with a force that pushed it several meters away from the table, but even so she was already on the floor by the time he reached her.

That red-faced bastard! This was a thought that he’d had before although the red face belonged to someone else then.

Gingerly he and Steve got [Y/N] onto a chair and as she leaned against him, still shaking and breathing heavily, he decided then and there to stay by her side. She was limp and if he had moved then she’d have fallen once more.

Lucky for Vision. If it hadn’t been for her warm weight against his shoulder, Bucky would’ve killed him. Tossed him off the building. Something. The feeling of frustration and a consuming wish to protect the woman grew stronger as the ignorant ass babbled on, oblivious to the wrong he’d done. At least he was not the only one ready to tear the guy a new one.

[Y/N] tried to get on her feet, impressing them all with her determination even though she only made it a few steps before her knees gave way.

Now he’s carrying her to her room, despite her weak objections and something inside his chest flutters as he feels her warmth in his arms.

Laying her down on the bed, he’s tempted to lie down next to her, hold her until she stops shaking. I can’t…I shouldn’t. Besides, he needs to find out what the hell all of this was about.

… Reader’s PoV …

Eventually, Steve and Stark stay in New York so it’s just Natasha, Bruce, and you getting on the jet after the goodbyes and farewells have been said. You’ve not had the energy for any good manners and as soon as you’d left the room, you aimed straight for a seat in the corner of the cargo hold. People are going back inside, allowing the other two to get on the plane. You only notice Bucky’s lingering behind as you take off into the grey sky above the city.

... ...

It’s been a few days which, oddly, haven’t included any training. Instead Bruce has started over with all the tests he can think of. Blood tests, radius measuring, body scans while you morph, and brain scans as you observe or heal people (Natasha volunteered as “tribute” for those tests). Most of the results are the same as before with only the radius or intensity of brainwaves having increased after the painful contact with the Mind Stone.

You spend a lot of time trying to learn to ignore all the sensations that bombard you but unfortunately, you’re not very good at it yet because when someone’s injured, you feel the pain regardless of any expectation or lack thereof.

What intrigues you the most, however, are the plants which now stand out with their own range of gorgeous particles and the reactions they show depending on the surroundings. As the weather’s getting colder and the leaves are falling, you observe a clear difference between the plants outside and the potted plants indoors with the ones out in the cold slowing the flow of particles to a thin trickle while in some of the grasses and seasonal plants it’s stopped completely. In the warm indoors, though, the activity’s still intense. Yes, the autumn’s technically over and the plants and animals know it.

Almost every day, you’ve been walking out to where Bruce and you saw the deer. Finding a dryish spot you sit with eyes closed watching the fading, glittery lights all around. A few times you’ve sensed the herd on the edge of radar, but they stay away.

It’s on one of those days that you, arriving home, see Bob the delivery-man walking up to the Bunker with a new package, but by the time you reach the door at a running pace he’s already leaving again. Natasha’s accepted the parcel and beckons you to follow you downstairs to the lab.

Bursting through the door (making Bruce drop a test tube) she slams the package on the table. “He’s sent another one!”

For a moment, Bruce looks absolutely at a loss, which is not that uncommon if he’s interrupted in some experiment or project, then it dawns on him what his girlfriend might be going on about and he starts getting various things out. A crime scene investigator would be envious at the line of powders, brushes, print tape, weird gadgets to measure gods know what, UV-light and goggles, and of course a scanner to check the contents before anyone even opens the parcel.

“Think you got it all?” The arched brow and crossed arms should prove that you’re being sarcastic.

Carefully checking the equipment laid out before him, however, the scientist must have realized something’s missing because he turns to rummage around on the desk where he was busy. Eventually he protrudes a pair of long tweezers.

“I do now. Let’s get started.”

It feels like ages before he announces it’s time to open the outer layer of paper. Inside’s a box which (after more CSI-work) is revealed to contain a jar with an almost magenta, liquid substance resembling...borscht? Looking at it, none of you’re quite sure about the safety precautions that might apply in this situation.

”We don’t expect it to be explosive, do we?”

Both shake their heads, but Bruce’s not looking particularly convincing. Still, there’s only one thing to do and you reach out, grabbing the jar firmly. The other two take a few steps back as you flip the closing mechanism and then pull the rubber ring that’s the seal. There’s a faint plop (but nothing more than that) so the next logical step’s to tilt the lid aside resulting in absolutely no sudden developments.

Joining you again, Natasha carefully sniffs the air above the now open jar. “Yeah...that’s borscht alright...” she admits.

“I guess he really does have it in for us!” This time Bruce would have been reduced to ashes by the look the former spy sends him.

Realizing his mistake, he busies himself with taking samples of the borscht and placing them in a machine for analysis. It’s not going to save him. Arms folded across the chest, leaning against the edge of the table Natasha stands waiting for him to admit the errors of his ways.

“You know...I think I’m…I’m just going to go call Stark to tell him what’s going on...right...ehm...yeah...”

You’re not ready to atone for Bruce’s sins too, so you scurry out of the room.

...

You’ve laid claim to a big, cozy chair in the corner between the window and the fireplace shortly after arriving at the Bunker the first time.

All day, the clouds have been piling up and the temperature’s been dropping steadily so you’ve made a cup of tea before settling down with a blanket and the laptop to go through the files on Hydra-people. There are a lot (even if you ignore the ones marked as “Terminated” with a fat red stamp) because obviously even if the leaders are done for, there have been hundreds of lesser roles played by ambitious and dangerous individuals and for them it’s just a matter of someone taking control and giving new orders, then they’re good to go. The Avengers and SHIELD have so little to go on still.

Holding the teacup in both hands, you sit staring out the window. You’re not really seeing anything specific, just letting the mind wander (resting for a moment on a mouse getting comfortable in its burrow) before getting back to the task at hand.

What do we actually know about ‘our guy’ that I can take into account when narrowing down my search? You’re sure someone else has already attempted this, but it makes you feel less...useless.

Already, you’ve attempted factoring in that he might originally be Russian...or just from somewhere with red beets. That hadn’t been the way to do it. First question to ask became something along the lines of why. Why that place in San Fran? There’d been nothing to tie it specifically to Inhumans, despite his hint at that with the vial he’d sent.

Going through the San Fran authority’s forensic analysis of the explosion you found that they’ve blamed it on an explosive device strategically placed at a gas line. In the file from SHIELD there’s no mention of any device at all though the explosion did origin at the gas line and presumably not by accident.

On the other hand, the report says, there have been no signs of any person causing the explosion either by sacrificing themselves or leaving the site afterwards and none of the survivors that were helped out showed signs of having set off the disastrous event.

If no one or nothing in the building caused it to blow up, then maybe someone or something outside caused it to happen.

That’s why you’d followed a hunch and ordered FRIDAY to adjust a search to match your factors, your stomach making small knots on itself as you pondered the consequences of an Inhuman running amok. It’d taken a long time for you to get used to the idea that you belong in a different category, but now that you’ve come to terms with it you don’t want it messed up by some nutcase.

Outside, the first snow is falling tentatively, testing out the ground before the flakes melt if they land somewhere too warm.

By the time Stark arrives together with Steve, you’re watching the footage from before the explosions on rerun.

Natasha and Bruce haven’t appeared from the lab and you sense that’s where the guys are headed straight away. Getting out of your comfy spot to join them you put a pause to the project, leaving a guy in a car on the screen.

In the lab, Bruce’s concluded his investigations and is now admitting to the others that yes, its borscht; and no, there’s absolutely nothing dangerous about it. For some reason, Natasha looks very smug, but you’re sure it’s better not to get into why. There’s also no help from Coulson, but of course he’s promised again to let them know if his people figure out anything. If it goes like last time, then there should be a new delivery in three days.

The four of you leave Bruce to clean up after his work (which is one way he’s very different from Tony), but at the bottom of the stairs Steve manages to get Nat and Stark to walk ahead as he holds you back until they’re out of earshot he turns to you.

“Is it okay if I give him your number and such?” He’s grinning, despite trying to look detached.

“Who?” You got me into this, so you’ve better do it right, old man. The butterflies in your stomach have taken flight.

“Bucky, silly girl.” He knows that you only pretends not to know. “He’s been asking about you and to be honest it’s so much easier to cut out the middle man.”

“He can have my number. In fact…gimme his now...” Pulling out your cellphone and ticking in the ciphers as he goes along. It’s just a phone number....but it feels much more important than that.

“Just promise me one thing,” blue eyes plead, “be good to him...he’s had a very hard time...”

It makes sense, so how should you be able not to promise that?

#fanfiction #Inhuman #mcu #avengers #reader insert #x reader #fanfic #marvel cinematic universe #marvel #writing #series #bucky barnes #Bucky barnes x reader #james buchanan barnes

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hp-fanfic-archive · 8 months ago

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Harry/Ron Humor Masterlist | Works With Less Than 5k Words

find the full masterlist directory here

last updated: 08/14/24 | links last checked: 08/14/24

Brass Ring by Innibis [T, 3k]

Harry has dating issues

*but I still come back to you by CreatePeaceFromChaos [T, 3k]

Ron Weasley and Harry Potter were best friends, practically attached at the hip. It was rare for anyone in Hogwarts to see one of them without the other close by. They were close, too; closer than most, and Harry was the only person Ron would ever willingly shared food with. Was it any surprise that practically everyone thought they were dating? (Or: Five times people thought Ron and Harry were dating, and the one time someone thought they weren't.)

Follow the Butterflies by DragonHoardsBooks [G, 3k]

“Why did it have to be spiders?” Ron moaned. “Why couldn’t we follow the butterflies?” Harry privately agreed with his best friend, but if there was anything Hogwarts had taught him, then that if he didn’t do something, no one would. “I promise the next time we have to follow anything, it will be butterflies.”

Pumpkins by Pumperkins [G, 1k]

Harry and Ron go to visit Hagrid and end up in his pumpkin patch

subtext by Mathilda_Selem [T, 3k]

In which Ron learns about gay subtext in media, is very tired and finally cracks the case. Also Harry basically lives at Ron's flat and invites friends over to Ron's place instead of his own. Something, simple and sweet about my boys being oblivious and not noticing they are basically husbands.

The Complexities of Muggle Machinery by This_Time_I_Wont_Regret_My_Username [G, 1k]

Harry bought a refrigerator. Then it was a microwave. Then a blender. Thursday was the coffee brewer. Ron really liked that last one.

*Until It's Old and Comfortable by FleetofShippyShips [T, 1k]

Sometimes there are things that bear repeating.

*denotes personal favorites

#rarry #rarry fic rec #rarry fic rec masterlist #harry/ron #ron/harry #hp fic rec masterlist #humor #rarry humor fic rec masterlist #humor fic rec masterlist #itty bitty rarry humor fic rec masterlist #itty bitty humor fic rec masterlist #itty bitty rarry fic rec masterlist #itty bitty fic rec masterlist #less than 5k words

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heliopauseentertainments · 1 year ago

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Coffee Kwest 2

Continuity: IDW1

Rating: General

Characters: Prowl

Warnings: Crack, Comedy, Not Beta Red

Summary: In which Prowl, certain of sabotage to his vital office equipment, seeks an emergency alternative to his malfunctioning stimulant brewer.

Crossposting: AO3 | Dreamwidth

Fic under cut. See AO3 for complete notes.

The chronometer screaming bright red digits into the early morning darkness of Prowl’s office tried to tell him he had stayed up far too late.

Another night of unpaid overtime.

Prowl’s level of seniority in the slowly demilitarizing Autobot-Neutral coalition government on New Cybertron meant he no longer qualified for it; his level of responsibility was too great for his time alone to affect the budgets beyond a baseline salary.

None of that stopped him from working more than the schedule strictly demanded. There was too much to do and none of it would get done if he didn’t personally do it or dictate to someone else exactly how it needed to be accomplished. That would be the only way anything would get done and get done right.

Setting down one of the datapads he had been transcribing report data from, Prowl took a routine look at the fuel mug on his desk. Given the thin film of stimulant-laced fuel glowing sadly at the bottom of the mug, it was time to top it up. Another cup of adulterated fuel would give him the boost he needed to make it to sunrise.

The brewing machine was, of course, waiting faithfully on the other side of his office, stationed on a shelf over a cabinet full of supplies. Cubes of plain fuel were stacked neatly in the cabinet, but that was the only tidy aspect of the set up.

Other accouterments were scattered about the cabinet and shelf in disarray. Half-open stimulant syrup packets leaked onto surfaces until they had dehydrated into a glue-like adhesive. Flecks of other additives were sprinkled here and there, in some places stuck in the stimulant-glue and in others forming a tacky dust.

Prowl had, once upon a time, tried to keep his stimulant preparation area in some semblance of order, but, as everything had worn on over the years, it had become… lower priority.

With a sigh, he brushed aside some of the clutter that had tried to attach to the brewer’s carafe. One of the gluey remained adhered until he picked it off. A blob of residue lingered on the glass.

It was fine.

A problem for another time.

Or the cleaning staff if he ever felt comfortable letting them in here. Who knew what alternative motives they could have had? Who knew who they were really working for?

A small amount of fuel remained in the carafe, long cold and scorched.

Prowl simply poured that minuscule remainder into his mouth before setting the carafe up for a fresh brewing cycle. The brewer’s additives and syrup holders were refilled to meet his specifications. The brewing cycle’s settings were dialed. Everything would be just like it was supposed to be every other time.

However, when Prowl pressed the power button… nothing happened. Again and again, he tried the button, in case it was just faulty. Something was deeply wrong.

This brewer had served him faithfully for many years now. There was no reason it would simply give up now. There was no other explanation but the obvious.

Sabotage.

Standing in front of the quiet, dark brewer, Prowl could feel the impending embrace of exhaustion pulling at the edges of his consciousness.

Without this brewer and its products, Prowl’s energy levels would never get him to sunrise in several hours. Someone had clearly managed to bypass all of the security measures on his office to interfere with his work, someone who would benefit from even the slightest interruption in the review of incoming data.

The situation had to be rectified immediately. Before he could even begin to search for the infiltrator responsible for this unabashed assault on his professional competency.

It was too late at night to submit a proper requisition request through the appropriate official channels. Emergency measures were required.

Only one viable option was left remaining to him.

Vagueslist, a gray market Extranet network of independent “vendors” selling various goods and services with minimal audit trails, was Prowl’s only recourse.

Of course, he knew the risks; there were many. They ran the gambit from a defective product to minor scams to inexperienced money laundering fronts to bait for trafficking. There was also the more personally applicable chance that there wasn’t someone selling what he was looking for in the immediate area. Unlikely, given the website’s vast, morally flexible userbase.

Prowl rushed back to his desk, frantically tapping the necessary commands into his console with more strokes to rectify hastily mistyped keys than he would have ever admitted to in a court of law.

Typically, this website was a tool his department used for investigative purposes, sometimes even setting up fake offers or requests to bait criminals or suspects or otherwise chasing down leads. Tonight, however, Prowl looked through the ugly bulletin board in earnest, cycling through various keywords in the search function.

Very few results popped up, at least within Iacon’s city limits. Sure, he could drive farther but time before the inescapable exhaustion kicked in was steadily ticking away. He only had so much time and he couldn’t afford to drive for an hour or two round trip, let alone one way.

One result, however, stood out to him.

“Free Stimulant Brewr, Good cOndition, As Is”

The typos and shanix symbols plastered throughout the title were typical of offers on this platform. Allegedly, they had just gotten a newer, better one to replace the freebie. Critically, the location was a precious few neighborhoods away. The item was left out on the “seller’s” balcony for pick up by whomever wanted it whenever was convenient.

Including the middle of the night.

Prowl didn’t even bother responding to the ad. It wouldn’t matter. It was free and out there for the grabbing anyway.

It didn’t even matter was model it was, only that it would work.

His wheels protested as he tore through the darkened streets, following his GPS to the coordinates in the ad.

He could only hope that some other desperate mech hadn’t also seen the ad and already swiped up the machine. This was his only chance, the one shot he had to defeat the impending exhaustion brought upon him by the sabotage of his own brewer.

There was no time left for any alternatives.

Prowl skidded to a stop around a corner. The address should have been the building in front of him, so close….

Up upon a balcony four levels up, lit only by a flickering, undervolting lantern, sat what looked to be his prize: a free, “gently used” brewer.

It would be faster to scale the structure rather than go around to try and find public access stairs. Time was ticking and exhaustion was still creeping into his mind.

Hand over hand, Prowl awkwardly pulled himself up onto the first railing to reach for lower edge of the balcony just overhead.

He could do this. He had to do this.

Clenching his jaw shut, he climbed, disregarding the fact that he could easily be mistaken for some kind of degenerate prowler, bent on either thievery or mischief.

After a few minutes of struggling, he was nearly in reach of the brewer. He stretched his hand out towards his prize, the cheap material of the brewer’s casing gleaming in the light of the weak lantern. It would be his—

Just as his hand closed on the far side of the brewer, a loud sniffing noise came from nearby, like a creature snuffling about in the garbage looking for choice refuse. He paused, barely hanging onto the balcony by one shaking arm.

What appeared to be a rotund mechanimal, about the size of small cassetticon and variegated gray and black in color, sat on the balcony’s ledge, near the brewer as it preened dust and debris from the articulated plating of its banded tail. Its paws were more like hands, meant clearly for climbing and committing all manner of crimes.

The glint in its optics as it stared at Prowl promised hijinks.

“No,” he told the creature, certain in his exhaustion that it cared for whatever he had to say. “That’s mine.”

As though to spite him, the creature put its terrible little hands on the sides of the brewer, pulling it away.

“Stop! Thief!”

Prowl scrabbled with his already extended hand to yank the brewer back from the creature.

It hissed at him.

Seeing no other option, Prowl threw himself upward, grabbing the brewer with both arms.

The creature relented, releasing the brewer and clambering away.

However, he could not celebrate his victory.

Prowl found air rushing up around him… before he and the brewer collided with the road below the balcony.

It had taken an act of iron will to not fall asleep in a heap after his… gravity-induced setback.

Thankfully, his new brewer had survived impact, having been cradled safely under Prowl’s bumper.

Slapping the access codes to his office into the panel next to the door, Prowl himself had been grateful to escape the encounter with just scrapes and dents… and sore struts.

Exhaustion continued to creep into his processor. Automated alerts requesting that he recharge were dismissed with a self-executing macro that he had set up ages ago, but even now Prowl couldn’t deny that his processing speed was suffering from the lack of recharge, the lack of stimulant-laced fuel. The focal rings in his optics kept spiraling out, making his vision intermittently fuzzy while his processor struggled to adjust the calculations to resolve the feed.

When the door finally opened after several tries of the code, he staggered across towards where his old, sabotaged brewer waited.

With a wave of his arm, he knocked items off the shelf, clearing space for the new brewer. Accouterments and paraphernalia clattered to the floor as he set his prize down.

Prowl grabbed the old brewer, lifting it up as he prepared to sacrifice it to the floor. One thing, however, caught his eye.

The power cable of the old brewer dangled down, disconnected from the wall socket.

Prowl squinted, taking the cable and plugging its jack back into the wall.

With a cheerful beep, the brewer powered on, telling Prowl it was ready to make him however much warm stimulant he wanted.

It wasn’t the upending of Prowl’s desk that summoned the security guards, but the echoing howl that accompanied it.

#fic #maccadam #prowl #idw1 #one shot

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