#pocket bikes for sale

[writing-mlm]

jason todd x reader please 😔

The ShopKeep and the Hobbyist [J.T]

Summary: Jason's been going to this bookstore for long enough that he's developed a bit of a reputation with them. If only the cute cashier would understand he's trying to flirt but as fate would have it, one knife chase later, and maybe they're more than worker and costumer. Pairing: Jason Todd x Male!Reader WC: 7.3k TW: use of fag but its a quote

Jason traveled out of Gotham once a week, always on a Sunday, always to the same location for three entire hours. Everyone knew that Sunday from noon to four— accounting for traffic and eating out that might happen, that Jason was absolutely unavailable. Unless you physically went to track him down. 

But that’s yet to happen. 

It’s Sunday and Jason arrived at the normal spot earlier than usual. Traffic was amazing, no accidents on the way out of Gotham, and the highway was thankfully void. He parked his bike in his normal spot, right in front of the store, and lifted the visor to the helmet before heading inside. 

The Open Book had always welcomed Jason, even when the shop was closed in the middle of a blizzard. And he helped where he could (Wayne Enterprises always made a large monthly donation to the shop and for some odd reason, someone had gifted the shop a fake bird that is able to stop any thefts(odd)). 

“New shipment came in today,” The store owner's grandson greeted him, leaning across the counter to grab at the basket of free candies the shop offered. “Snagged this vintage-looking book collection for ya.” Ever since word that a Wayne kid visits the bookshop, sales have grown so it’s hard keeping certain items in stock. Especially the fancy-looking titles. 

“Do tell,” He grabs a bite-sized chocolate and rips the packet open while you set your lollipop wrapper into your apron pocket before ducking under the counter. 

   “Shits heavy,” You grunt, slamming the box onto the table and read the label. “Uhh, ‘William Shakespeare, Comedies, Histories, & Tragedies. Published According to the True Originall Copies, 1623.’ Original is spelled wrong, though,” You look up at him and pause at his wide-eyed, clearly shocked expression. 

“Shakespeare fan?” You ask, opening the flap to the box. “There’s a bunch of them in here. I think this was someone’s collection.” 

“Do you know how much it’s worth?” Jason laughs, peering into the box, and then whistles. 

   “Probably a hundred at the most,” You shrug and he slaps the table with a loud Ha! that makes you look at him, crossing his arms. “Fifty?” 

“Try nine mil,” The lollipop falls from your mouth as you look from Jason to the book collection. 

   “For all of it?” You gape. 

   “For the top book,” He corrects. “Thank god you snagged it before someone who cared did.” 

“Yeah,” You sigh, staring at the book and taking in all of the details. That’s more than you’ll ever make in a lifetime. “What should I do? Do you want it?”

“Want it like I need air,” He admits, handing you another lollipop. “But you should probably auction it, get a stack and whatnot.”

“Grams would get pissed,” You shake your head and slide the box towards him. “Believes books should be read, not stored as an artifact, yknow? Think she marked this box as a hundred, want me to ring it up?” He looks at you and takes his helmet off so you can fully see his are you stupid? look that’s plastered on his face. 

   “(Y/n),” Jason slides the box back. “This is worth more than every single book in here!” And as much as he pained Jason to say that, he knew it was true. With over two entire floors filled with books, they were but a drop in the bucket compared to that singular box sitting between the two of you. 

“It’s just paper and ink,” You shrug, staring at the box. “Besides, she’d get mad if I did and I can’t exactly hide nine million dollars!” Sighing through his nose, he agrees to buy the box and has you set it aside while he goes about shopping.

“You’re staring,” Someone tells him as they walk past and his head spins around to see who it is. It’s one of your younger sisters, around twelve or thirteen, if he remembers right. 

   “Wasn’t,” He tells her and picks up a book. “I was looking at this book!” She turns back to him and raises her eyebrows at the title before grinning. 

   “Didn’t take you as an Ice Breaker fan,” She chides and walks away while Jason stares at the book. It could’ve been basically any other book. Putting the book back, Jason returns to his actual book shopping which only takes ten or so minutes. He knows his bag is going to be heavy with the Shakeseapre books so he can’t get too many other books this week. 

“Light load,” You comment, scanning the books. “You bought this one a month ago, too.” You note, holding off on scanning A Good Girls Guide to Murder. 

   “My sister wants to read it,” He explains, flipping through the pages. “And she likes to dogear pages.” Cringing, you scan the book and read him his total before leaning against the counter. It’s a large enough counter that most of your body can rest against it while he pays while you use your phone to order some lunch. 

“That place sucks ass,” Jason comments as he’s putting his card away. You roll your eyes and look up at him. 

   “I’m hungry as shit and there’s no good places around within a reasonable price, this place has decent grilled cheeses.” You justify and he finishes paying. 

   “What would you have gotten?” He muses, leaning against the counter so the two of you are face to face. Staring at the sad picture of a grilled cheese you huff. 

“Five guys,” You admit, looking back at him. He nods, silently urging you to continue while looking you up and down, his eyes slowly moving. You also don’t notice it or the small smile on his face when you don’t move away from him. “Strawberry milkshake and grilled cheeseburger.” You finished. 

   “No fries?” He asks and you shake your head. 

   “I don’t really eat fries from there,” You admit, fiddling with the skin around your nails. 

“Sounds good,” He tilts his head a bit, grinning so his canines are showing. He watches as your eyes dip once and then twice to his lips before they finally stay on his face. 

   “It’s fucking good. An arm and a leg, but still,” Standing up, you groan and stretch. He stands up too and puts on his helmet. You watch and wait for him to dip his head down before giving his head two pats. For good luck, of course. 

When he leaves, you return to your seat and look over the shop. There’s a dozen or so people inside, some people who are clearly not there for books as they’re recording those random interviews with the tiny microphones and such. You should really stop them, maybe put up a sign or something. But they’re leaving anyway. So it doesn’t really matter. 

“Did you kiss?” Your sister asks, walking over to grab one of the candies.  

   “Girl,” Your face scrunches and she tosses the wrapper at you but it falls short. 

    “Just saying, seemed awfully close.” She shrugs. “I would’ve made a move on him a long time ago.”

“You’re ten.” Huffing, she huffs back and puts her hands on her hips. 

   “Nineteen,” She corrects. Making a talking motion with your hand, she smacks it away and throws a fireball candy at you. “That’s why you’re forty and a virgin!” 

“Neither of those are true,” You stress, tossing the candy back into the bowl. “And didn’t you just get dumped by some loser who said he’d absolutely eat a turducken covered in chocolate?” She rolls her eyes and walks behind the counter to sign into work. 

   “I dumped him,” She corrects. “Unlike your failed relationship with the guy who wanted you to pretend to be a woman.” 

“Too low,” You sigh, shaking your head. “Too low.” 

—

With your lunch break in full swing, you’re upstairs in the break room watching some crappy straight-to-DVD movie your father had bought years back while eating the very sad grilled cheese when the door opens. Half expecting it to be another family member, you don’t look away from the TV and give a small hey but when no one replies you look towards the door and hum surprised to see Jason there. Even more so on who let him in 

“Missed me?” You grin, watching as he closes the door behind him and rolls his eyes. 

   “Little delivery,” He corrects and motions for you to turn back to the movie. You do, albeit a bit hesitant to do so, but you try not to look back when you hear him getting closer. “Close your eyes, too.” He adds when you look as far back as you can without turning your head. Groaning, you cover your eyes with your hand just to prove you’re not peeking and hear him set something down on the spot next to you. 

“See you next week!” He pats your back before snatching the half-eaten grilled cheese from your hand and you take it as a sign you can open your eyes. You’re not even upset he’s eating your lunch, it wasn’t good. Looking at what he had set down, you see the familiar white and red bag and crack a smile. 

   “You got me Five Guys?” Your head whips to the door but it’s already shutting and you can hear his heavy boots quickly running down the stairs. Turning back to the bag, you pull your phone out and scroll to find his contact. 

Thank you

we feast tonight 

The two of you don’t text much, mostly if he had forgotten something in the shop or given him a heads-up that the bookstore was closed for the day. Hell, his contact name is still Jason (bookstore fav). But he reads it immediately and thumbs up the last text. 

This grilled cheese sucks by the way

It feels like plastic

Probably is lol

While Jason is very much a regular at the shop, you don’t really remember when he first started to frequent the shop. Just that one Sunday, you had seen the time and noticed he was late to the shop. He’d come in almost three hours later than he normally did and watched as you sighed, tossing his favorite candy at him before ushering him to the counter. He listened as you told him that next time he is late he needs to text or you’d send out an amber alert yourself. 

He truly hadn’t thought anyone had noticed the change in his routine. Especially someone he only saw once a week. It had been a really shitty night for him and an ever-shitter morning, feeling like a ghost wandering through Gotham, living in a life he never should have. 

He apologized with a grin and gave you his number. He also spent a little extra time in the shop, loving the familiar smell around him. He loves the bookstore more than he loves his guns, more than he loves most things really. It’s the only normal thing in his life and truly, Jason doesn’t know what he’d do without it. Without you, honestly. He’s only ever there when you are and a place is only as welcoming as the people inhabiting it. 

Which is why he’d picked up the 2 am phone call so fast. 

“Jason?” You whisper shout into the phone. He can hear some harsh wind and some distant shouts in the background, but it took much less than that for him to abandon his patrol and start over to you. “Shit— I’m sorry but I don’t know who else to call.” You add, the clarity hitting that during an emergency you called the guy who lived nearly half an hour away on a good day.

   “It’s okay, doll,” He replies and you dare to glance behind you. Maybe they’d given up by now, but no. “What’s wrong?” He asks as you round a corner. “Where are you?” He quickly adds and you glance at the road signs. 

“Uhh, heading towards Second Ave and Belcher Street. My friend's boyfriend thinks she’s cheating with me and him and his friends are chasing me,” You explain.

   “Guns?” He asks, already leaving the Gotham border. 

   “No,” You huff, the strain of running heavy on your chest. “Just knives.” 

That’s good, he tells himself. Distance is what you should be focusing on. But he knows that the regular person cannot run for nearly as long as he can and realistically, you’re bound to get tired much sooner than multiple people. 

   “Is there a crowd nearby?” You can hear some muffling to his voice but that’s honestly the least of your issues. “Maybe a club or hospital.” He adds when you don’t respond fast enough. 

   “No,” You strain. “Just apartments and shit. God, fuck! Do you think I should climb the fire escape?” There are several ahead of you, and one of them is low enough for you to grab. 

“Can you?” He asks. 

   “Yeah— yeah,” Jumping up, you pull yourself up and start climbing up to the roof. “Shit, I’m really high up,” You pant, daring to look over the edge and see the guys climbing up. “They’re climbing up,” You tell him, quickly backing away and trying to find an exit. What type of roof doesn’t have a fucking exit? 

“I’ve seen people jump from roof to roof,” You're thinking out loud at this point, trying to find some type of solution to your stupid idea. “Can’t be that hard, right?”

“Depends on the distance,” He truthfully tells you and you look at the two nearby roofs. 

   “Definitely too far. I’m fucked.” 

“Still on Second and Blecher?” He asks and you mutter a yeah when you see them reach the roof. 

   “They’re up,” You mumble. “I could jump and live, yeah?” Glancing to your left, you see a dumpster and reassure yourself that you’d be fine. 

   “Do you think you can come back down the fire escape?” He asks. “Is there one behind the building?” Looking behind you, you let out a loud sigh.    

“Yeah— yes, heading down.” Rushing down as fast as you can, you reach the ground as they’re in the middle and run back into the main road. 

“Head back down the way you came,” Jason instructs. He’s only five minutes away at this point, maybe three if he tries hard enough. He just needs you to buy five more minutes. 

   “Okay,” 

Running for what felt like an eternity, your legs are burning and your chest is tight. Maybe that one time you lied during your physical exam was coming back to bite you. 

But they’re still chasing you and Jason is still guiding you. You’re sure you’re about to pass out when a motorcycle drifts in front of you. 

“Red Hood?” You gape, panting. The fuck? 

   “Come on,” You hear him and Jason say. You’ll worry about that once you’re away from those absolute track-and-field freaks chasing you. Getting on the motorcycle, he holds your thigh with one hand before pulling off. 

The ride is silent as you’re catching your breath and just making sure you’re okay in general. Aside from the insane burn in your calves, you’re fine. The ride does a lot to calm you down, by the time he reaches the shop your head is pressed to his back and you’re holding him not as tight as you were before. 

“I don’t know your address,” He admits and you laugh into his back. After all that happened it’s a little humorous that your biggest issue is Jason getting your address. You give it to him and it takes him a second but he has the route mapped out before he pulls back onto the street. 

“I’m staying the night.” He tells you as you get off of the bike. You don’t protest, not in the slightest. You’re far too tired to do so anyway. Instead, you wave him over and head upstairs. He tries to hide his helmet from the camera view but you tell him they don’t work. 

“This guy got robbed two days ago; whole building found out the cameras are fake,” You explain while leaning against the elevator wall.

   “And you feel safe?” He incredulously asks, looking you over. Even buildings in Gotham have working cameras.  

    “I have a gun,” You shrug while he looks at you with more of an analyzing gaze, a little surprised you’d have a gun. “And no valuables. My electronics are all secondhand for that exact reason.”

“So, steal the couch?” He jokes. 

   “If it can fit through the door, it’s yours!” Patting his arm, you exit the elevator and fish out your keys. Thankfully you hadn’t dropped them during the chase. 

“What happened?” He asks as soon as you close and double lock the door. Looking at him, you drop your phone and keys onto the kitchen island before heading back to the door. 

   “My friend, Gina,” You start with a sigh, kicking your shoes off. “She used to be my beard in high school. But we never officially broke up, I guess because she posted a story saying happy six-year anniversary. With a bunch of pictures of us together. Her boyfriend saw and he’s always been…” Rolling your hand, you open your closet and grab a new outfit. “He thinks I’m lying ‘bout being gay. Because I’m too… I dunno what he thinks. But he says I don’t look gay and he’s never seen me with a guy before.” You explain with a huff. “Not my fault I’ve been single for two years, y'know. I got school and work and whatever!” Slamming the closet shut, you sigh and apologize. 

“I’m gonna take a shower, feel free to snoop and prod. And take the boots off, I just moped.” 

“Course,” He doesn’t move an inch as he unties his boots and walks to the shoe rack to set them down. You thank him and head into the bathroom. 

“If you gotta piss or shit, go ahead. I got a curtain and a strong scent blaster plugged in.” You tell him at the doorway to the bathroom. 

  “Noted.” He laughs but it drops once the door closes. 

He finds himself making sure the windows are locked and the curtains are properly drawn. He grabs his phone and saves your address into his personal map before he goes to check to see what type of security measures you have. And there’s not many, just a gun that’s badly hidden in your bedside table and the extra lock on the door. 

But there’s not much to the apartment, the decor is extremely minimal but he remembers you talking about saving to buy a house in the countryside. Or at least outside of a city. Own land and all that. 

He can’t decide if that’s good or not, there’s nothing to steal for sure, but it’s also really sad. There’s no personal touch to your apartment, it reminds him of one of his safe houses. 

He settles himself into the couch once he’s checked over everything, listening to the sounds of the shower and eventually, he hears the shower turn off. 

When you return to the living room in a pair of shorts, you’re a little surprised that Jason is still there. 

“Bruce Wayne as Batman makes a lotta sense,” Opening the fridge, you pull out two water bottles before setting them on the counter. 

“(Y/n),” Jason stops that conversation. “You should file a police report.”

“Fuck is that gonna do?” You huff, closing the fridge and opening the freezer to grab a popsicle. “Gina will hate me, cops will just forget to file it, and then I get harassed.” 

“They tried to kill you,” He stresses, blocking you from moving away from the fridge. You stare at him, a little upset that he’s caring so much. You feel bad for even calling him and sending him out of his way. And now he’s staying for who knows how long. Not to mention now you know his biggest secret— a family secret at that, one that you can tell one person, and suddenly the whole world knows. 

   “Happens every day,” You shrug but honestly, yeah, that shit scared you. His face drops and he snatches the popsicle from your hand before tossing it on the counter to your left. 

“No. Not to you. Not to most people. So what if Gina hates you afterward? Do you want a friend that’s known you since high school who would rather side with her crazy boyfriend?” 

“Of course not!” You groan. “But it’s Gina. She’s always been there and— and this is a one-time thing,”

“You sound ridiculous,” He tells you as he walks out of the small kitchen and into the living room. “Trying to kill someone isn’t a fucking one-off. It’s a crime, a legit crime. Has Gina even checked if you’re okay?” He points to the phone that’s still on the counter; the same phone he knows for a fact hasn’t buzzed once. 

   “No.” There's no need to check your phone, you already know there’s nothing from her. She’d never text you first. He nods as if to say there’s your answer. 

“Look, Jason. It was scary as fuck,” You admit. “But I’m good. And I thank you, but you should go home. I just…” Looking off to the wall. “I don’t know why I called you, I feel like shit for dragging you away from your home.”

“I was spending my night watching Harley and Ivy dry hump in front of a newly exploded power plant. You didn’t take me away from shit.” He blinks before heading to the couch. “Besides, it’s too late to drive back. I’m beat,”

“You’re lying,” You deadpan, tossing a water bottle between your hands. 

   “Am I?” He fake yawns, leaning back on the couch. “Can I get a blanket?” Clearly, he’s not going to leave, and it would be bad as a host to not make him comfortable. Asshole. 

   “Fine,” He grins as you walk away. 

“Oh and Jason, Gram’s told me about the payment plan you set up. Taking advantage of a woman who can’t speak English is rude. She thinks you’re paying five dollars a week for some back dues you owe.” It was actually five hundred thousand dollars a week, which was absurd but hey, if he insists. 

   “It’s just nine million,” He calls back. “Not even my money and B won’t notice it’s gone.” 

Just nine million, you repeat to yourself as you find a suitable blanket. It’s one of those thick fur blankets with a tiger on the front. 

“The couch is a pull-out, by the way.” Heading back into the living room, you tuck the blanket under your arm. “I’ve used it like once. It’s pretty comfortable unless you want the bed.” You add, setting the blanket on the edge of the couch. There’s no coffee table, you don’t see a reason for one. 

   “I can sleep on gravel, doll. I’m fine, thank you.” For some reason, his eyes are having a hard time staying on your face but you’re busy walking back into the kitchen to notice. 

“If you’re hungry make anything, I’m going grocery shopping in two days anyway.” Tossing the popsicle back into the freezer, you lean against the counter and watch him. It’s a little staring contest you have going on. His eyelashes are nice, real pretty boy-esque. 

The silence and tension in the apartment is broken by four rapid knocks to the front door followed by a worried: “(Y/n)?”

“Gina,” You tell Jason as he’s already off of the couch and halfway to the front door by the time you stand up straight. When you walk up behind him you pause, when did he have time to grab a gun? But he’s looking through the peephole before looking back to you and holding up two fingers. You almost laugh, this isn’t some military operation; just a… friend? at your door. 

“Please,” Gina says through the door. “We just— K wants to apologize,” Huffing, you look at Jason who’s standing behind the door, one hand on the top lock. He truly doesn’t want to unlock it, but it’s your apartment. Your call. 

   “Says who?” K snaps, his voice a lot more muffled than hers is. 

   “You’re going to fucking apologize.” She snaps right back. 

He raises an eyebrow and you nod to the door against your better judgment. He unlocks the door and stands in front of them, really standing over them with his damn height, the arm holding the gun hidden behind the door. You can basically hear Gina pause when she sees him. 

“Who are you?” Gina asks, looking him up and down. 

   “A friend.” He answers simply and then looks over to you. “Your friend is here.” 

“Thanks, Jay.” You smile and usher him into your bedroom with two quick glances. “Gina,” You greet a little harshly as you stand at the door. “Kyle.” You look at him for only a second. 

   “It’s K.” He corrects. 

“Can we come in?” She asks, stepping forward. “I explained everything to K and he’s sorry.” She looks back at him and he’s just standing there with this stupid look on his face. 

   “Is he?” You ask, looking at Kyle. “Because when he was screaming: I knew you weren’t a fag; I’m gonna cut your dick off; stop running bitch; and since you wanna pretend you’re a fag come and taste our dicks he just didn’t seem real sorry.” She cringes, he hadn’t said that part through the yelling they were doing. 

“I don’t wanna lose you,” She places a hand on the door, not that you were planning on closing it just yet. “Let us in and he’ll apologize.” Sighing, you look at her and frown. Between not even texting to see if you’re okay and then coming over with the audacity to think that a fucking apology would smooth things over, you were peeved. 

   “You’re losing one of us tonight. Him or me.” She takes a step back and frowns, her eyebrows knitting as your words settle in her. But at that moment, you knew the friendship was over. It shouldn’t ever take that long for an answer like that. 

“(Y/n), he’s sorry!” She almost shouts, shouting as if you had given her this impossible task. You want to reply, you want to yell, and to get into it then and there. But it’s no use. Your neighbors are sleeping, you’re tired, and far from a mood where you want to interact with them. As such, you close the door and put the locks back on. 

She shouts some things from the other side but you’re not listening as you enter your bedroom. 

Jason was standing right next to the door, startling you. If he hadn’t been so close you wouldn’t have seen him in the darkness. 

“Is that a requirement for vigilantes?” You ask, clutching your chest in an exaggeration. “Y’all are fucking spooky,” Tossing yourself onto your bed, you stare up at him. 

“She’s still at the door,” He ignores the comment on his family business once again. Instead, his eyes trained on your front door, watching and waiting to see what their next move is going to be. You hope for their sake it’s leaving because his hand is still on the safety of his gun. 

   “Not like they can get in,” You shrug, laying flat on your back. “I never give my key to anyone and it takes a full round of bullets to break the door.” 

“You know that how?” He asks, setting his gun down on the dresser. 

   “Last year my neighbor's crazy ex tried to break in but the door didn’t budge.” 

“Of course,” His head dips back into the bedroom, watching you. “Sleep, I’ll be in the living room.” 

“Okay,” Turning your head to look at him, you grin. “If you get nightmares, the bed is free.” Patting the empty space, Jason rolls his eyes with a grin and leaves the room. “Your gun?” You call after him, staring at the handgun still on your dresser. 

   “I have two more!” He calls back. 

“How the fuck?” But he doesn’t answer. 

—

The next morning you wake up to the sound of the front door closing. It stirs you, really, but you’re lucid enough to realize that hey, either Jason treated you like a one-night stand or someone had broken in. 

Sitting up in the bed, you collect yourself for a moment and grab his gun on your way out. While you’re surely not as keen as Jason is, you like to think you’re observant enough. The door is locked again, so you figure he didn’t leave and someone didn’t break in. 

“Jason?” You turn the corner to the kitchen and see him standing with a bag of Ihop, staring at you as if he’d gotten caught stealing from the cookie jar. 

   “Good morning,” His eyes flicker to the gun as you set it on the counter. A part of him is proud that you were hesitant enough to bring the gun with you. “I got breakfast.” 

“Aw,” You grin. “Post hate crime meal!” 

“That’s an insane sentence,” He tells you, unpacking what he had gotten. “I didn’t know what you’d like, so I got you blueberry pancakes, french toast, eggs, and bacon. And the orange juice,” He places two boxes and a large cup of orange juice in front of you, then the straw. But you’re just focused on the fact that you know for a fact that wasn’t a random order. You’d posted about that exact order once before. Maybe a month or so ago. 

   “Oh,” You hum, looking at the food and then at him. “That’s sweet. Thank you.” He hums back, dropping the bag down to the floor, and takes his food. He’d gotten strawberry pancakes, hash browns, an omelet, and a coffee. 

Now you feel bad for not having a coffee table. 

“Wanna watch something while we eat?” You point your thumb toward the living room and he nods. 

While in the middle of watching Breaking Bad, you get up to set the empty containers in the sink and the cup in the trash while Jason watches. He doesn’t really know what to do, he wants to sleep, having stayed up the entire night in case anything happened but he’s enjoying his time with you. Even if the circumstances were… less than ideal. 

“Do you work today?” He asks when you’re walking back. 

   “Depends if my sister calls out,” Sitting, you turn your body to look at him. “I work Wednesday through Sunday, most weeks, at least.” 

“Are you going to make the report?” He also turns his body to you, watching as you toss your head back and sigh. 

   “Probably not,” You admit, looking back at him. “It’s more effort than I care to do,” He blinks, clearly disappointed but he’s not going to push. 

   “You should carry a weapon.” Jason’s not really asking, he’s telling you. “How good are you with a gun?” 

“Not sure,” 

“You bought a gun without training for it?” He asks, slowly as if he’s waiting for you to correct him and tell him that you actually go to the gun range in your free time. 

   “My dad got me it when I moved out.” You shrug, feeling a little ashamed because now he’s looking at you like you’re insane. “He said I needed protection and he doesn’t believe in mace or tasers.” 

“Clearly you do!” He throws his hand up towards the door. “We’re going to the gun range today.” 

“Jay!” You groan, nudging his leg with your foot. He grabs it and slides you down the couch. “I’m fine.” He just hums and leans over you, it doesn’t do much. Aside from shutting you up. 

He’s staring at you, his eyes unwavering from yours while you can’t seem to settle on where to look. It’s making you nervous— he’s making you nervous. The proximity isn’t the biggest issue, no the issue is the fact that you don’t mind that he’s above you, his hand right next to your head, and for fucks sake his breathing is even. 

“You’re going.” 

“Yup,”

—

Weirdly enough, the shooting range wasn’t in some building. No, Jason had decided to drive the hour's ride to a private lot. While normally you don’t agree to be in the middle of butt fuck nowhere without your own means of leaving, you were willing to bend your rules this one time. 

He has you help with setting up the cans and the body dummies, which are incredibly lifelike. A little creepy, but whatever floats his boat, you guess. He also puts up a new target sheet on a metal wall before he returns to hand you a handgun and ear mufflers. 

“Don’t hold it like that,” He blinks as you’re pointing the gun directly at your foot. You’re not a fool, you’ve played a couple of shooter games before. 

   “The safety is on,” You justify but point it toward the ground instead. Just to keep him happy. He just sighs and grabs his own gun, pointing it toward the dummy. 

“Stand like this,” He watches you from the corner of his eye as you mimic his stance. It’s a little uncomfortable but very technical. “A little straighter.” Fixing your posture he nods and drops his stance to adjust your grip on the gun. He takes your hands and adjusts them appropriately. “It’s not accurate for beginners, but I learned this way.” He explains as he steps behind you and lowers himself to your height. It’s hard when you’re not the same six foot-five that he is, but that’s neither here nor there. 

With his line of sight that is the same as yours, he raises your hands a little higher and a little to the left. You trust his judgment, you’re no fool on how accurate Red Hood is with his guns. 

It's silent, so silent that you can hear him breathing even through the heavy earmuffs. Whether you like it or not, you start to stop focusing on the task at hand and on him. He smells like your soap, too. It’s a little too domestic for the setting you’re in. 

“Take it off of safety,” He instructs, taking two steps away. Doing as he says, you want to roll your shoulders back but you’re worried you’d lose the position. “Go ahead.” His arms cross as he stares ahead at the dummy and you catch the flex of muscle under his shirt. 

Adjusting yourself as lowkey as you can, you close one eye and press the trigger. It's harder than you would’ve thought, giving you only a moment to back out. Following through, you let the recoil push you back a little before looking at the dummy. It didn’t hit the center of the head, instead grazing over the ear. 

“Close,” Jason looks over at you as you’re rubbing your shoulder but stops when you catch him looking at you. “Again?”

—

“I mean,” One of your friends, Tasha, takes a long sip of her drink. “None of us wanted to say anything but Gina is a bitch.” Frowning, you push around your food with the back of your fork. What was supposed to be your friend group's monthly putting ended up becoming a major therapy session when they noticed that Gina wasn’t there. 

   “Yeah,” Dante gives you a sort of frown sort of smile. “But you’d been friends with her for longer than us, so it wasn’t really our place.” 

“It’s crazy that it took her boyfriend trying to kill me to realize that, though.” It felt a bit weird, she’d always been in your life, and before the whole incident, you never would’ve thought you’d be without her. But life was the same, if not better with her gone. You didn’t realize how much you didn’t need her until now and honestly, you’re just upset it didn’t happen sooner.

Especially considering all of your other friends didn’t like her. 

“Speaking of,” Alex cranes her neck to look at you. “Who’s Jason?” She grins as your eyes narrow. You’re not one to divulge about your life, especially over text. 

   “How do you know about him?” Setting your fork down, she snorts before digging back into her meal. 

   “Girl, I was the Uber Eats driver.” She explains and looks to the others who are clearly out of the loop. “My first order of the day, some guy named Jason with a blank profile. Whatever, right? I pick up the Ihop order— he knows your taste, cute.” She quickly adds. “And then, I get the address. I’m just thinking (Y/n) created a fake profile. Nah, bro!” She covers her mouth to stop her laughing and to stop any potential food from flying out of her mouth. 

“I knock and this tall guy with this hot face scar opens the door. If he would’ve asked I would’ve taken the tip,” And she didn’t mean money. 

“Clearly he already did!” Dante cackles, watching as you drown yourself in the soda you’d ordered. The others laugh while you have to do damage control. 

“Jay’s a friend who happened to be in the neighborhood when Kyle was chasing me,” The three look at each other, ever aware of the fact that you’re staring at your plate while talking. They just assume the friend part is a lie. “And he spent the night. On the couch.” You add, looking at each of them to make sure that they understand. 

  “And ordered you breakfast in bed. And he left a hundred-dollar tip,” Alex swirls her pasta around her fork while the others gape at the news. 

   “Oh girl,” Tasha looks over at you. “He got a sister?” 

“Too young for your old ass!” You laugh while she pretends to be offended. “His sisters are nineteen and eighteen.” You wondered if you should add Barbra to his list of family. But you think she’s more of an acquaintance than family. But you could be wrong. 

   “You know his family?” Tasha’s eyebrows furrow. 

   “I know of his family. Never met that before.”

“Ah, waiting for the one-year mark?” Alex nods as if she had caught the drift you are trying to get at. 

   “Oh my god,” Rolling your eyes, you lean back in your seat. 

“What? You’re acting like you’re not attracted to that man. He’s fine as hell!” Alex pushes her hair behind her ear as she talks. “Might have to revoke your gay card.” 

“I never said that, it’s just…” Rubbing your hands on your pants, your face scrunches. “He could be straight.” Now, you weren’t going to deny the fact that Jason was attractive. He was the embodiment of your personal preferences, but you were a chronic overthinker with these sorts of things. To the point where it needs to be spelled out for you to get any hints. 

“He got you breakfast in bed.” Dante sounds out each word, putting an equal amount of extra emphasis on it. Just to make sure it really sinks in. 

   “I did that for you guys before!” You defend. 

    “Fine— fine, how do you know him?” Tasha asks and the others nod, happily awaiting your response. 

“He comes into the shop every Sunday. He’s been coming for about four years, give or take.” You shrug and they blink at each other. This is why you’re still single. 

    “Isn’t he the one that bought you Five Guys last month?” Dante is now physically turned to you, his eyes wide and you grumble. You never told them about that. 

   “You’re lying,” Alex cackles. “That’s your man and you don’t wanna admit it. Five guys is expensive.” 

“How about this?” Dante rolls his hand before you can even reply to Alex. “If one of Tasha’s friends got her an expensive lunch without asking, showed up to her job every single shift for four years, stayed with her after a traumatic night, got her breakfast, and didn’t leave until she was truly safe; how much platonic energy does that give you?” 

“Not a lot, but—“

“Nah,” Dante holds your hands as he speaks. “I love you, so don’t take this the wrong way but you’re stupid as fuck. He wants you.”

“He wants the books I sell. And my friendship.”

“He wants to spread something other than pages.” He shakes his head and you snort. “Ask him out, if he says no. Then I owe you a grand.”

“You don’t have a grand.” You deadpan and he nods. 

   “I’m so sure he’ll say yes that I’m making that bet.”

“Fine,” You huff. “But if this ruins my friendship you all owe me lunch for a month.” Surprisingly, they all agree and you settle on asking him on the upcoming Sunday. So, the very next day. 

—

“Why are your friends watching you?” Your sister asks as she walks behind you to grab one of the display books and swap it for a different one. 

   “Don’t worry about them,” You mutter, too busy watching the window; waiting for the motorcycle to stop in front of the store. She notices, of course, and stands behind you before deciding it was time to take her break and join your friends upstairs. 

Eventually, you see his motorcycle pull up and sigh, fixing your apron but stop when you hear them snickering. This whole situation was stupid, that’s what you’ve decided. But you’ve made your bed, it was time to lie in it. 

Jason walks in, his eyes immediately finding yours but you’re busy ringing someone up. He grabs the basket from the front of the shop and walks around the shop until he sees the line is gone. 

“Jay,” You grin, holding onto the counter. 

   “(Y/n),” His eyes focus on your hands for a second before he grabs a chocolate from the basket. Glancing at your friends, you fix your posture and reassure yourself. “Anything new?” Typically, you’d already be talking about what’s new but there’s just this hanging silence. 

“Nah,” You shake your head but still double-check the inventory log. “But we’re getting some um… science fiction stuff next week.” He’s not too big on those, maybe once in a blue moon he’ll actually buy one. He goes to talk but your phone dings before he can open his mouth. Watching as you grab your phone, your eyes scan over a text before you huff and silence it. 

“I heard about…” You trail into a whisper. “The Riddler kidnapping, you okay?” Not the best way to lead into asking someone out, but hey. Could’ve been worse. 

   “I’m fine,” He nods. “Arms a little sore but I’ll live.” 

“Long enough to go on a date with me?” You ask, a bit quicker than you intended but thankfully your words haven’t jumped up. He laughs, his eyes closing and you falter, glancing up at your friends for some type of support. 

   “That was a bold transition,” He settles himself down. “When are you free?”

“Oh shit, for real?” You grin. “I’m free Monday. Or whenever you are, really. My shifts are pretty flexible,” 

“I’ll pick you up Monday,” 

“I asked you on the date,” You huff. “I’m picking you up.” He crosses his arms and his eyes lower into a sort of unamused expression. 

   “You’ll pick me up, from Gotham?” He asks, just to make sure you know what you’d be signing up for. Truthfully, you hadn’t. And as such, you weigh your options— you don’t even have a car to offer to pick him up in. Damn. 

    “Fine, Monday at eight.” Giving in, he nods and glances around the shop. 

   “I don’t need a book today, see you tomorrow.” He looks you up and down, this time you watch as his eyes slowly drag down and tilt your head. 

“Looking like you already wanna kiss me, Jay.” You joke as his eyes reach yours again. 

   “Since you offered.” He grins and sneaks one single kiss that lasts less than a second. 

“I get off in thirty,”

[xxanaduwrites]

⋆ ˚｡⋆୨୧˚ a residue series installment ˚ ୨୧⋆｡˚ ⋆

wearin’ that loved on look

✎ elementary-teacher!reader (miss.honey) x biker!benny 🏍️

summary: in which a drawn out engagement leaves honey takin’ matters into her own hands. benny may or may not break a rule or two, actin’ married sooner rather than later when seeing his honey wearin’ that loved on look ;)

warnings: 18 + only. alluded sexual content but nothing super crazy. quite more poetic actually. they are pretty much pining over each other. no actual smut here but i may write a part 2 if requested or interest ensues.

word count: 4.2k

main hive 🐝

💌 requests are open, send ‘em honey 💋

⋆ ˚｡⋆୨୧˚୨୧⋆｡˚ ⋆

You were taking one last look in the mirror when that familiar sound of a rumbling engine echoed out on the street near your front lawn. Your stomach couldn’t help but twist up in a tight knot, your reflection staring back at you, confirming there was no turning back now. Your man was here. He was right outside, and it’d be cruel to make him wait a minute longer. Would it? Or would it be just the right thing. Sixty seconds to settle yourself. Sixty seconds to render your composure and pique his interest simultaneously.

All good things come to those who wait after all.

So you took your time – well as much time as you would allow yourself. Stepping over a lone shoe missing its match and an overall or two, you made your way over to the window to let your man know you’d be out in just a minute. On a night like this, you knew he’d keep the engine running, Itching to get to the club. Itching to get you out of your parents’ hair. Not wanting to waste a single second he could be spending with just you. So, it was only fair when you rolled up the window and hollered his name over the not-so quiet street. The sound of his engine was noisy enough to mask out the hinges of the old window panes attached to your house.

Not wanting to give too much away, you ducked ever-so swiftly as Benny’s head turned in the direction of your sweet voice. Once his eyes landed on you, all he could see was your small head, a mound of honey dewdrop curls planted up on your head like your own personal hive. And then you were holding up a finger, silently telling him to hold on for just a minute, and he of course was complying – still with a sliver of hesitance though. It was unlike you to leave him waiting. Especially on a night like this. A night that didn’t require hitting the hay early for rising school hours. No – it was a Friday night. An oddly warm and buggy Friday night, relevant over the sudden silence of his engine succumbing to the buzzing cicadas.

Mounting off his bike, he settled into a casual lean against it instead. However, his cool demeanor did not match the tumbleweed of thoughts rolling inside his head.

Were your Ma and Pa holding you back? Would they come out to talk to him? Were they finally gonna rip off the bandage and take away the blessing of marrying you he’d been working so hard to maintain?

Pinching his nose between his thumb and forefinger, he let out a much needed breath before fishing for his pack of cigarettes in his pocket. The urge for a smoke was unbearable and warranted, so much so, that when he lit the thing up, took a look around, and really settled with his thoughts, his concerns didn’t feel as daunting as they once were. Upon inspection, your driveway was vacant, empty – confirming that one or both of your parents had to be out on the town or out of it completely. It wasn’t unusual for them to trek to another state for a festival where honey sales were of great interest, and on top of that, well – you didn’t look upset by any means. That had to be a plus there. Could it? He couldn’t recall your smile meeting your eyes through the warm honey light shining from your childhood bedroom against the deep dark night….

He was just about to take another drag when the hinges of your front door squeaked in protest, your silhouetted figure crisp against the hall lamp light. Right before you were about to close the front door completely, you peeked your head back inside, practically cursing yourself as you smacked on the front porch light.

Welp – there was truly no turning back now. Your one minute time stamp was long gone. The hair tie, that you’d already regretted taking out of your hair, was haphazardly tossed on your vanity, and the searing porch light was now burning you like a spot light. The show had begun, and boy were you giving your Benny a show.

He blinked. Once, twice, maybe three times? He wasn’t sure. Hell – how could he keep count when he was looking at you. You – his fiance, top snug in a new denim vest, decked out in patches galore, and bottom – god your bottom – in a matching mini skirt, your smooth honey tanned legs on full display. With your hair scooped down, tossed messily in a side parted wave and your form lacking its usual layers of clothes, his eyes rounded out, jaw slackened, and his pants – well they started to feel real tight around him.

Little did he know you were nervous. Real nervous to come towards him. To be out in such an outfit that was so unlike you. Sure you were known for your signature denim and fun patches, but not like this. Not out of your more appropriate school clothes that consisted of long skirts and dresses, and of course your usual overalls. And hey – there was no denying that you wore shorts every now and then on your days off. The Chicago heat was no joke on those dense warm summer days. Yet there was nothing sunny about tonight, no – not in this darkness where you felt in competition with the moon.

As you walked towards Benny, you couldn’t help but pull your skirt down ever-so slightly, the barely there length making you rather uncomfortable and out of sorts. You could only hope you weren’t mooning your house, let alone your neighbors. The last thing you needed were your parents finding out you left the house with your ass out.

Funnily enough, your worry slipped your mind the moment your eyes landed on Benny. Eyes alight, he looked like a lost puppy, begging for a treat. So much so, that the cigarette dangling between his teeth lost purchase. His jaw so slack from shock, the cylinder tipped right out of his mouth and hit the pavement. You almost laughed. You really almost did, but you bit down on your lip before it could escape you.

You were relieved to say the least, and his reaction alone reminded you why you were doing this in the first place. It wasn’t because you were fishing for his attention. You always had it. Hell – you had him wrapped around your little finger, even if you were too humble and sometimes clueless to really think so.

But here, now – there was a difference. A difference because you were not only trying to reward him for being so good to you, but also because you wanted a little something more from him. Of course you just loved being his fiance, but waiting to get married was taking such a toll on you. You wanted to be his wife sooner rather than later, and it was no help at all that your parents were being sticklers in the matter. Practically ruining your plans of getting hitched anytime soon. It was all this and that of them wanting Benny to prove himself. To show himself worthy to your parents that he would be a good fit for their daughter. You thought it was all rather counter productive. Benny had shown himself worthy to you in many ways, and there was no denying that it perturbed you that your parents didn’t trust your judgment. You were a big girl, a fully grown adult, a whole school teacher, and yet they still treated you like you were a little one.

You didn’t want to be treated like that tonight. No – you wanted to be treated like a wife. His wife.

Benny was in the midst of reaching down for his fallen cigarette, too lovestruck and drunk off your presence to realize it was long gone and better off forgotten. Funnily enough, his peripheral vision was still trained on you, making you realize sooner than later that upon straightening back out, he’d have the perfect view under your skirt. The thought made you blush all over, warming up your insides.

Before his lean fingers could snag the thing, your wedged denim sandal found purchase on the discarded cylinder, the fire burning out as your foot stomped on it. “S’dirty.” You reasoned, those pretty sky blue eyes of his boring up at you in a way that kind-of reminded you of the little school children you worked with. There was an innocence there. One that was only reserved for you, hidden beneath a tough rounded out exterior apparent to everyone else. Yet, it wasn’t all innocent. No — not in the way his features twisted up in desire.

For a second you almost thought he was gonna take you right there and then, a nosedive right up your skirt that you wouldn’t deny. But no — instead you were left wanting, aching as he straightened himself back up, warm calloused fingertips brushing against the small remnants of exposed skin between your vest and skirt, hands materializing at your hips and pulling you in.

“Honey….” He drawled, a fun little whistle rather detached from his usual deep tuned voice spurring out of him. “Wha’ I do to deserve this?” He mused, planting kisses across your neck, erupting you in giggles. “Hm?” He pressed, squeezing your sides sweetly.

In your defense, who could blame you for being tongue tied when he was all over you? Pillowy lips snagging the delicate skin of your neck, soft and sweet. “Is tha’ even a question?” You giggled again as his teeth dragged against your collarbone.

“M’serious…” he murmured into your skin, stifling the growl that was bound to escape him. “S’there a special occasion I dunno ‘bout?” He tried again, but suddenly stiffened. Lips detached from your skin, as well as his warm breath. An indication that he was holding it in. “S’not our anniversary is it? I swore it wasn’t until — fuck, m’sorry Honey did I —“ his words caught in his throat, tangled in a web of self inflicted doubt, and you hated it. Hated seeing him like this, thinking he had done something wrong. Fucked up somehow. But you were quick — so quick in assessing the situation, your hands, fingernails decked out in your usual color of choice — ballet slippers — and Benny’s ring, still snug on your honorary finger since your engagement, circled around his face.

It took him a moment, but his scruffy cheeks relaxed against your palms in an instant when your eyes met his in alarm. “No, baby. Nah. Ain’t an anniversary or nothin’. Just wanted to show y’my love. That’s all.” His pinched brows smoothed out, and you smiled as you watched the worry flee his eyes. “Betty er —“ you began rather shyly, “she uh gave me one of her old vests, y’see?” You explained, dropping your hands from his face and onto the clothing in question. “Johnny’s got her a new one, so she said I could have hers. Deck it out. Do what I wanna with it. So….” You turned on your heel, spinning in a quick circle before sing-songing a, “ta-da!” like you’d do for your students when you had some sort of surprise or good news. Usually it’d be a lollipop for each after an exam. A congratulatory treat for completing such a task!

Your nerves were still running on a high, but you flashed Benny one of your grand smiles as you striked a little pose, jazz hands included.

When it hit you what you were doing, you mentally wanted to curse yourself out for putting on such a childish act. This was all about acting like a wife, not a child! You wanted him to want you just as much as you wanted him, but what kind of motives were this?

Thankfully, your mental battle didn’t last very long. It ended quite quickly the moment his mouth opened and drawled, “Hmm….C’mere. Lemme take a closer look at ya.”

You obliged without question. Without resistance. Without any sort of hesitation. His voice always tickled you to the bone, but this — this! This was something else entirely. Something that sent honey down below in deep measure. So you stepped forward, becoming caged by his observation in an instant. His hands materialized on your hips against the rough denim of your skirt all over again. It was like he was scared you’d walk away before he’d get to really look at the art in front of him, and god were you just a whole masterpiece.

You stayed silent, giving him the space to do as such, but you couldn’t help but watch him as he drank you in from head to toe. His eyes wandered over every patch, and it made your cheeks burn when he spent extra time on the ones that really resembled you. There were the cute little bedazzled bees and a jar of honey of course, but also an apple as a little ode to your teacher status. You stitched some extra flowers you had leftover from when you were sewing patches onto your denim overall dress from school. The one you met Benny in the very first day you saw him.

“Baby….” he hummed in complete approval. “Ya real talented, y’know that? S’good. Too —“ But then his words cut out in the midst of complimenting you, and you knew he finally saw it. The patch that was just the beginning to what the back claimed, but held so much more commitment. More devotion even. In the front, on the left upper side of the vest right over your heart was a patch, shaped in such a way — a heart to be exact — with the words Benny’s Baby stitched right into it. “Wha — What’s this?”

Your heart dropped to your stomach then, worry shooting through your veins as you scrambled to complete your next sentence. “S’just a — a lil’ something. I know you were uh — real hell bent about the ring thing. Getting me a proper one or whatever so…” you trail off, nudging your purse from your shoulder so you could open up it and reveal the contents of your explanation. Benny just stared, watched you like some fascinated kid about to be gifted a candy cigarette for the first time as you took out the matching patch you made for him. One that was more daring, more forward, and far more a symbol of ownership than anything you had on yours, as far as you were concerned. “I uh — I made you one too,” you tumbled out, hands shaking as you held it out for him to see. A similar heart. Rather exact to yours. The catch? It said Honey’s Hubby in your pretty neat stitched cursive. “And look, you don’t have to wear it if you don’t wanna. I know it’s kind of silly and all, but I just thought it could be our thang, y’know? Our promise to each other but again if that’s —“

“Honey, Honey….Honey,” he rumbled out soft, smooth, and sultry, all the same, bringing your rambling to a hault. “Are ya kiddin’ me? Y’think I wouldn’t wear this?” He asked, his thumb rubbing across the indentations the stitching made over and over again. If he could mold his finger print into the embroidery, write those same words repeatedly, eternally to show his devotion, he would.

“Well I, I mean —“ you dropped your hands dramatically at your sides. “The guys….”

“What about ‘em?” Benny pressed, pocketing your creation protectively over his heart before taking a step closer to you. “I don’t care wha’ they think. Don’t care what anybody thinks besides you,” his hand circled your side once more, this time pulling you in so you were chest to chest. “Look, soon when the times right,” he let out a frustrated sigh, clearly targeted towards your parents who weren’t even in the vicinity, ”on paper, in writing, y’gonna be my wife. But right here, right now, fucking on this patch, y’already mine, kay?”

“Mhm,” you nodded, your hands taking purchase on Benny’s vest, fingers trailing down the patches, down until you reached his belt, down down down until his breath caught his throat.

“Honey…” he warned, eyes drooping with heaviness. Heaviness in your desire and his own. It wasn’t that he didn’t want you. Hell — he always fucking wanted you. Only you. But he had made a promise to himself.

To you. For you.

He promised to wait. Wait to have all of you.

He knew he wasn’t a good guy. Knew he’d never be the good guy, but he wanted to be better for you. Do better for you. So, he decided early on — the moment he knew he wanted you to be his wife, that he’d at least do one thing right.

Sure you’d fool around. There wasn’t any way either of you could resist it. Not when Benny’s muscular arms appeared full display when a shirt simply couldn’t be an option on one of those super sweltering days. It’d be a sin not to have your hands all over him, feeling the warmth of his toned sun-kissed skin under your palms. And you — oh you, in one of your pretty little dresses, a rare sight to see on a weekday. Benny’d be kicking himself for weeks on end if he didn’t seize the opportunity, didn’t get to have his skilled calloused fingers up and under your skirt.

“Wha?” You asked innocently with batting lashes.

He didn’t move away from your touch, but stilled yours, his large hand encircling both your smaller ones hugging onto his belt loop. “Y’know we can’t….” He murmured, vibrated even. His words didn’t match what he wanted. You could tell in the way his bottom lip turned crimson as he bit down through all his restraint, and his eyes burned darker in the pale moonlight. And of course you could tell by the obvious bulge that was forming rather apparently in his jeans.

“Not right nowwww…” you trailed, pulling on the reins of his belt loop so you could be closer. “Lata, after the club. My parents ain’t home for the rest of the weekend. Won’t be home until Monday. So…Y’know what that meansss?”

“So that’s why y’dolled up like this?” He huffed, a big toothed smile in pure disbelief stretching across his gorgeous features. A rare sight to see. So rare that you almost thought you imagined his eyes crinkling at the edges in pure amusement. “To get me inta y’bed?”

Embarrassment dusted your cheeks in red heat. So hot, it left you shy in the wake of your motives. “S’not just —“ you stammered, trying to find the right words to say what you truly felt.

But you were frustrated. So frustrated. And Benny well — he was sure to fix that. Sure to get that stubborn crease out between your brows that waa forming in pure stress. “If that wha’ y’wanted, baby. Y’coulda just asked.” He mused, lips pressing against the curve of your neck, right near a sensitive spot he knew worked you up. “As much as I love all this,” he whispered, the warmth of his breathe sending a shiver down your spine as his hands traveled down your silhouette, “Y’could be wearin’ a potato sack, and I’d still find ya sexy.”

You understood what he meant, and you appreciated it. You really did. But that wasn’t the point. The point was much more emotional, more intense, more meaningful, and you weren’t gonna let it slip way. “S’not just about gettin’ ya in my bed,” you started, your lips parting and almost making you lose your train of thought as his lips edged the side of your ear. Your hands moved up the plains of his chest and you pushed him back ever-so slightly.

His lips detached from your skin in an instant and those pretty blue eyes of his locked with yours in complete attentiveness. “Then wha’ is it, Honey?”

“I know y’say I’m already yours, and I believe ya I really do, but,” you sighed, “why doesn’t it feel that way?”

“Wha — wha d’ya mean?” He asked, fingers pressing into your sides in a way that made you know he was the one gettin’ frustrated now. Frustrated that he could lose you. That you could just slip between his fingertips.

Reassuring him, you slipped your hands upward, looping them behind and around his neck lovingly. “I mean…I’m tired, baby. Tired of waitin’ to be your wife. And I’m sick of my Ma and Pa thinkin’ they can control us. Control what we want. Control our lives. Why let ‘em? When have you — Mister doesn’t let anybody tell ‘em what to do— follow the rules?”

You had a point. Benny knew that. It was rather out of character for him to be a goody-to-shoes, if you will, but this — this was different. This was him showing his honor. His dedication to you. Similarly to how he would to the club. Deep down you knew that too.

“I am too,” Benny admitted, his fingers relaxing against you, his admission draining the tension from his body. “As much as I’d like ta marry ya right ‘bout now, the courthouses ain’t open, and I know it’d break Betty’s lil’ heart if we went off and got hitched with all the plannin’ she’s up to.”

“Oh no — i know. I know we can’t do that right now crazy,” you laughed lightly before getting serious, “And y’know I’d neva’ do that to her. Neva eva.”

“Mhm,” he hummed, eyes never leaving you.

“I just wanna be close to you. That’s all. Never feel — never feel close enough, y’know?” Now you were the one with an admission.

Benny’s features softened in an instant, shoulders slumping against your arms. You could feel his resolve slipping in the seconds that slipped by your words. He went silent for a minute. Just a minute. Sixty seconds that had the gears turning in his head. But sixty seconds that would change everything once they were through. He knew you were right about the rules. He wasn’t one to follow them anyways, and besides in the long run would it really hurt to break just this one a bit? A bit for you who was wanting to do just the same.

You who was begging to be his wife.

If it was so wrong then why did it feel so right?

“Y’wanna be closer to me? Wanna feel what it’s really like to be married, baby?” He said suddenly, taking you off guard.

He pulled you in closer, and your heart leaped in your chest. “Yes,” you said as confidently as you could.

“Then when the club’s through, I’ll stay the night and you’ll have me, ‘kay?” The words you were longing to hear had come into frusion.

Your disbelief and pure surprise made you eager to confirm they were real. “Oh Benny! Are y’sure?” You asked, practically jumping up and down.

“M’sure,” Benny laughed lightly, his heart warming at the sight of you in genuine happiness. “As y’said, when have I ever followed the rules?”

“Hm…Tha’ my Benny…” you murmured before his lips captured yours in a searing passionate kiss.

You were so wrapped in one another, not realizing how long you were standing there, that it took one of the neighbor’s lights turning on through their window in your peripheral vision for you to pull apart.

“We should go,” Benny said breathlessly. His lips were swollen and puffy with a thin sheen of your lip gloss now coating ‘em. You had to stifle a laugh when you reached up and wiped the excess off with your thumb.

You nodded in agreement, turning with him to mount the bike, but at the last second you stopped in your tracks. “Wait Benny! I forgot to show you the back.” You exasperated, stepping back.

“Hm?” He hummed in confusion, not leaving his spot on the bike, mounted and ready to go as he looked at you.

“The vest!” You explained, spinning on your heel and revealing the back. In the center, around the usual Outlaws Chicago emblem, instead of a skull in the center, you replaced it with a patch that said, Property of Benny.

You stood there for a minute. Sixty seconds in your pose, and just when you were about to open your mouth and ask if he liked it, did you suddenly feel those all too familiar arms circle around you and hold you up in the air. “Benny!” You squealed when your feet were no longer against the pavement dangling in the air.

“That’s it,” he groaned, before swooping up your feet bridal style and walking across the grass.

“Benny! What’re ya doing?” Your eyes widened in surprise as you watched him walk you in the opposite direction of the bike. To your front door. “Wha’ about the club?” You probbed again frantically.

“Club can wait.” He said simply. “Actin’ married can’t.”

That was all it took — well that and his lips molding against yours, silencing every thought you ever had once the door closed behind you two and you ended up doing just what you intended.

Actin’ married.

Because even if it wasn’t legal yet, you were bound together spiritually by your feelings and actions alone.

You became his, and he became yours on a randomly warm night under the pale moonlight.

⋆ ˚｡⋆୨୧˚୨୧⋆｡˚ ⋆

authors note: i apologize for how long this took for me to update! i’m just glad my writer’s block has ended & i’m back.

but anywayssss i may write a part 2 to this ;)

also if ya new here hi! welcome honey & if you aren’t but haven’t yet don’t forget to comment if you’d like be added to “da bee hive” (my version of da tag list)

smoochies. all da love xanadu 💋

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[carsthatnevermadeitetc]

What a difference 42 years makes juxtaposition of Honda City & Honda Motocompo, 1981 and Honda SUSTAINA-C Concept & Honda Pocket Concept, 2023. In the early 1980s Honda introduced the City small hatchback along with the Motocompo, a tiny folding motor cycle that was designed to tuck inside the City's boot. A this year's Japan Mobility Show Honda have presented the SUSTAINA-C Concept, a small electric car made of acrylic resin that is recycled and reused. The Pocket concept is a tiny folding electric bike that fits inside the SUSTAINA's rear hatch. The Motocomp was only on sale for 2 years before it was withdrawn due to lack of demand. No production plans have been announced for either of the 2023 concepts

[shaanks]

I wrote something. Lmfao. It was initially just meant to kind of expand on my text post from earlier, but it turned into a little ficlet so I figured I'd share it. Why not, right?

fem!oc x Eustass Kid. sfw, cw: memory loss, unreality. (everything will be tagged in the actual tags section for blacklisting purposes)

word count - 2392

genres: hurt/comfort, horror if you squint, fluff towards the end, modern AU for the aesthetic lmfao.

**

There was a sound like an explosion, the blare of a car horn wailing over screaming metal, the scent of rubber hot and acrid in the air. In the light of the vending machine, Av jumped, whirling around, air catching in her throat only to find—nothing.

The street behind her was empty, devoid of everything but the blinking yellow of a streetlight, and the gentle pattering of rain. The asphalt was pristine, the clean lines slick with rain shone gold in the intermittent light, the sidewalk empty of trash, of age, of anything that might suggest human interaction.

Av craned her neck, head half-turned away from the bright white glow of the machine, looking up at the apartments around her. Neat, identical rows, 10 across, 10 high. All of the windows were darkened, the curtains drawn; each balcony held one or two suggestions of an occupant—a hanging plant here, a chair there, the peek of a bike seat or a laundry line extended across the space, but it was impersonal. Nondescript. A facsimile of habitation, without any indication of personhood, of decision, of individuality.

She looked down, frowning at her shoes, the light of the vending machine ever-present in her periphery. Her sneakers, at least, looked old. Well-worn, if a little plain, the white soles marked with dirt and use. She could see that the shoelaces were wet from the rain, could feel the water soaking through the threadbare canvas, her fingertips grasping at her jacket sleeves in absent concern. That was real. She felt real. Beneath her the ground felt solid, her face felt cool and damp in the slight breeze.

But what had made that sound? Another glance behind her confirmed the space to be empty still, and she hadn’t heard anything else. No voices raised in alarm, no distant car alarms blared to life, jostled by the impact—or what she had assumed must have been one. The night seemed undisturbed, save for the pounding of her heartbeat, just a little too loud in her ears.

Worrying at her lip, she turned back towards the glass display case, eyes flickering along the rows of drinks for sale. Black coffee with sugar, black coffee with no sugar, coffee with cream, with sweet cream. Six different energy drinks, a glass bottle of 7-UP that looked like it was from 30 years ago, and a solitary bottle of unlabeled water.

Surely that sound had been important, hadn’t it? It had been real enough to make her ears ring, to spike adrenaline through her like a live-wire.

Black coffee with sugar, black coffee with no sugar, coffee with cream—

Av frowned deeper, digging around in her pocket for the soft pack of cigarettes and her lighter. She was forgetting something, she knew she was, something that fluttered infuriatingly around the edges of her mind like a disoriented moth. She slotted the cigarette between her lips, the paper filter sticking slightly from the damp, the flame of the lighter momentarily adding a heat and warmth to the night that felt almost alien.

Smoke filled her lungs, hot and acrid like burnt rubber.

Six different energy drinks, a glass bottle of 7-UP that looked like it was from 30 years ago—

Inhale, exhale, plumes of breath and smoke that rose from her lips towards the dreary, impenetrable darkness of the sky above her, towards clouds that roiled thick and heavy with rain and nothing else. Surely, she thought, nothing else, although part of her knew that even when she’d tilted her head up to examine the apartment building, she’d been careful not to look any higher.

The worn rubber of her sneakers tap tap tapped against the sidewalk, making small wet spattering sounds as the movement displaced a puddle, and still she stood, smoking, making no decisions.

‘I should be cold,’ she thought, exhaling again, flicking ashes onto the street in a move that felt almost spiteful against the unnatural perfection upon which she stood. ‘How long have I been out here? What time is it?’

Her body shook a little, though she felt no colder than she had moments ago. She couldn’t bring herself to speak, her voice stopped in her throat—by disuse, perhaps. Or by fear.

The sound of sizzling brought her attention momentarily to the present, as a fat droplet of water fell, extinguishing her cigarette halfway through. Av took it from between her lips and stared at it. It felt...cruel. Intentional, perhaps. Irrationally, she wondered whether the street itself hadn’t responded to the slight bit of ash by extinguishing its source. Something about that wording made her shiver again, and she glanced around for a trash can, somewhere appropriate to throw it away, but of course, the street was devoid of any such thing.

A desire welled up inside her to simply throw it on the ground, to grind the ash and paper and unused tobacco into the sidewalk just to see what would happen...but in the end she thought better of it, and tucked it into her pocket instead. Her clothes would probably stink, but that was okay, she could just hang them out to dry.

Hang them out to dry. Out to dry.

Black coffee with sugar, black coffee with no sugar—

Did she have a clothes line? A balcony? She couldn’t remember for some reason. Had she even locked the door on her way out?

Av glanced around, the bright blue-white of the vending machine blinding in her periphery. Did she live on this street? Had she walked far to get here?

Was one of these nondescript apartments hers?

—the blare of a car horn wailing over screaming metal, six different energy drinks, a glass bottle of 7-UP that looked like it was from 30 years ago—

The sound was deafening, the smell of coffee like cigarette smoke like burned rubber like asphalt like hot metal stinging her nose and she squeezed her eyes shut, tepid fingertips curling into fists over her ears, she wanted to scream, to run, but she couldn’t remember where she lived, where to go, the sky pressed down on the wet asphalt and the white-blue burned out the gold of the street light and the darkness was bright bright bright through her eyelids and—

“You okay?”

Av yelped, her voice tearing free of a throat that felt like musty old paper, as she whipped around towards the sound. The voice.

There was a man standing about ten feet away from her, the campus buildings behind him looking ghostly and pallid in the blue-white of the vending machine light. Av blinked, the ghosts of a car horn, of a flashing yellow light, of melted rubber and blank apartments and a roiling dark sky fading from her mind like a half-remembered dream.

They were at school, she thought, the words wafting over her mind like a cool breeze, like rain. School. University? He was an adult, at least, and she felt like she must be one.

The man had retreated several steps at her startled sound, and he raised his hands slightly in placation before tugging at the straps of his backpack, pulling them tight in a motion that seemed too absent to have been intentional. He was nervous?

‘Most people get nervous when strange women linger by vending machines and scream when you address them, I’d wager,’ she thought, sighing with something between exasperation and relief.

The sound was normal enough to lower the man’s hackles. He was awfully tall, and seemed aware of it, ducking his head slightly and squinting into the light of the vending machines to see her better. Golden-orange eyes flickered in the light like traffic lights, on and off, on and off as he took a tentative step towards her. Calculating, like he was trying to make himself seem less threatening, like he didn’t want to spook her further.

It had been too long since he’d spoken to her, too long that she’d just been staring at him with distant, distracted eyes, but the startled noise had done little to awaken her actual voice. It was an effort, like raising an anchor from the bottom of the sea, to answer him, the words sounding willowy and thin in her ears.

“Ah yeah—sorry. Long day,” Av rasped softly, gesturing around. The big guy grinned a little, droplets of water falling from thick, red hair, and she found herself frowning again.

“Figured,” He said, tilting his head slightly, watching her expression carefully before continuing, “stopped by chem to bring you lunch and they said you didn’t show. S’not like you,” He paused, tilting his head the other way, and she felt her heart begin to race.

She knew him. They had classes together, he was bringing her lunch. Friend? Brother? Boyfriend? She felt her cheeks heat up at that last, glancing over him, and decided perhaps that must be the case. He’d closed the distance at some point when she’d been digging through her memory for clues, and she almost jumped when he smudged a thumb over her cheek, running a raindrop across the blush. Would have jumped, in fact, if the motion hadn’t seemed so tender, so intimately familiar.

“I don’t remember why I’m out here, Kid,” his name fell from her lips without thinking, more muscle memory than conscious thought, that willowy quality of her voice accompanied by embarrassment, by a fear that made her feel small.

He didn’t answer her for a long moment, those strange golden-hued eyes flickering intently over her expression. If he felt anything beyond concern, he gave no indication of it, instead lifting his hand from her cheek to ruffle it through her hair. Eustass Kid was warm. She sighed into the contact. Maybe she had been cold before. Maybe there just hadn’t been enough contrast to notice.

Eustass Kid. Black coffee no sugar. Black coffee with sugar. Black coffee with c—

“Hey hey,” he finally said, pushing her hair back from her forehead, tipping her head up to look at him in the process. The sky behind him loomed, too dark, too thick with clouds, wrong in a way that she couldn’t settle upon.

They were at university. She was taking a chemistry class. This was her boyfriend.

Six different energy drinks, a 7-UP b—

Her eyes settled back on his, her hand moving to grasp at his shirt and she breathed. Breathed.

Kid seemed to mull over his words, rolling them around in his mouth as he tried to find the right order, the right tone. He opened his mouth, thought better of it, closed it again, and then sighed softly, running his thumb over her forehead now, in an arc up into her hair.

“Doc said this was gonna be a shitty day. This time of year’s probably gonna suck for a while.” His voice sounded rough too, she noted, his expression pinching into a grimace around the words he seemed reluctant to say.

A scar, still angry and red and new, dipped jagged over his eye, down onto his cheek, spilling like red paint into her vision. How had she not seen that before? Had it always been there? She raised her hand from his shirt, fingertips ghosting up towards his face. He made no move to stop her, just watched until her hand was close enough to lean into, his skin warm against her palm.

There was a sound like an explosion, the blare of a car horn wailing over screaming metal—

Av’s face crumpled as she stroked her thumb over the scar.

“Because of the accident.” she whispered, her voice soft and wet like pattering rain.

“Yeah,” he kissed her palm. She nodded.

She still couldn’t remember much about the street, about the car that had swerved into them, about the hours and days in the hospital. Just the sound of the car horn, the way the tires had screeched and bled acrid smoke into the night air, the way not one light had turned on in the balconies overhead.

The doctors had said that memory loss was common in cases like this, with head injuries, with sudden traumatic events. The symptoms would fade, she’d been assured. Routines would help. Familiar scenery. A return to normalcy. All these things would speed her recovery. And yet, as with everything else, she still couldn’t quite remember how long they said it would take.

Her therapist had suggested grounding exercises for when she got lost, or her mind began to race, but the only thing she seemed capable of remembering with any consistency was the stupid vending machine outside of the dorms.

Kid followed her gaze to the faded offerings behind the glass, expression twisting into something half amused as he knocked against it with his knuckle, releasing her head to do so.

“S’funny, you’d think they’d restock the fucking thing eventually,” he said, the gravel of his voice low, thoughtful. “Hasn’t had anything in it since we’ve been here except—”

“A solitary bottle of unlabeled water,” Av supplied, grimacing a little at how practiced and robotic it sounded, but Kid just laughed.

“Yeah, that. Couldn’t even spring for some fuckin Dasani,” he muttered, fumbling in his pocket for a second before retrieving his wallet. He fished out a crumpled dollar bill and fed it into the old machine, fighting with it for a moment before it finally accepted the offering. The sound it made when he hit the button was like grinding metal and she tensed at the sound; wordlessly, he pulled her against his large frame, and this time when she breathed there was no hint of burning rubber or wet asphalt. He plucked the water bottle from the basin when the thing finally decided to relinquish it, and pressed it into her hands with a flourish.

“Bone apple teeth,” Kid intoned, grinning as if to show off his, and it was so absurd in that moment that she laughed, breath pluming up towards the sky. His grinned widened, clearly pleased that the joke had landed—relieved to hear the warmth in that sound.

“C’mon,” he squeezed her, turning her away from the blue-white light of the vending machine, towards the comforting darkness of the night. “Let’s go, it’s fuckin freezing out.”

Av, fingers blissfully cool around the water bottle, smiled back. “Yeah.”

**

[nocturnal-nexu]

Finding Balance

Chapter 3 : New People, New Places

(For @ninjago-fic-fest)

Chapter 1 Chapter 2 - Chapter 4

Summary: After he is retrieved from the lighthouse by his brother and new friends, Echo must adjust to his new life. Even though his new home and family are amazing, it's still so different from what he's used to. Maybe a walk in the city will help clear his mind.

Chapter 3

New People, New Places

Echo felt his pants pocket for about the tenth time since leaving the monastery. Yep, the communicator was still there.

He’d probably forget to check in as much as Zane wanted him to, but he promised himself he’d call his brother at least once on his outing.

At some point.

But not right now, there was too much to see!

And this place was like nothing Echo had ever seen before.

The streets bustled with cars and motorcycles of all shapes and colors. Tantalizing smells wafted from street vendors and out of restaurant doors. Bright signs advertising sales and 2 for 1 specials, sat outside of businesses, trying to bring in as many costumers as possible. People lined the sidewalks, arms full of the wares they had bought at the previous store, headed to the next vendor on their list.

It was so beautiful. The city was filled with more life and color than Echo thought possible.

And the buildings were all so tall! Sure, the lighthouse had been pretty sizable, but these buildings were ginormous!

Echo craned his neck to see the top of a particularly large building that looked to be near the center of the city. It’s shiny glass sides shone in the sun. The walls kept going up and up and up; crowned at the tippy top with a shimmering blue hologram that looked a bit like a stylized letter “C”. The hologram shimmered and warbled with static as a bird flew through the center of the digital image.

There were quite a lot of birds around, actually, Echo noticed. Pigeons strutted through the streets, larger black birds, probably crows or ravens, soared through the spaces between the many buildings. There were even some robins perched on some of the power lines that lined the roads.

Echo was looking at a particularly large black bird perched comic-ly on a rather small streetlight when a kid on a bike almost crashed into him.

“Wwhhhooooaaa!!!!” the kid yelled and swerved at the last second as Echo stumbled in the opposite direction. Both the bike and the kid fell to the pavement with a crash.

When he had recovered his balance, Echo rushed over to the kid sprawled out on his back and offered a hand to help him up.

“Are you okay?”, he asked urgently. He sincerely hoped the boy was alright; it had looked like a pretty nasty crash. But the kid suddenly jumped up from the street unaided, as if nothing had happened.

“Oh, don’t worry, I’m fine!”, he exclaimed, “I’ve crashed my bike hundreds of times!”

The boy looked a little disheveled, but he didn’t seem to be hurt too bad.

“Hundreds of times?” Echo asked, flabbergasted.

“Well, maybe not that many times, but I do crash a lot,” the kid answered, “I’m Nelson by the way, what’s your name?”

“Oh, I’m Echo,” the android replied, and stuck out his hand for a handshake like his brother had taught him to.

Nelson accepted his hand and shook it enthusiastically, “Nice to meet you, Echo! And um, sorry I almost ran you over,”

“It’s okay. I am glad that you are fine as well,”

“Thanks!”, Nelson replied with a smile.

Then his smile broadened, and his eyes widened.

"Whoa…sorry - this is - I just have to say – I can’t believe I’m meeting a real life nindroid!”, Nelson stuttered out, “This is so cool! I’ve seen some nindroids around town, but I’ve never actually met one before,”

Echo smiled wide.

He didn’t think anyone had ever called him “cool” before. It felt good. And from the sounds of it there were other nindroids in the city as well. That was an encouraging thought.

Pausing their conversation, Nelson crouched down by his bike to examine it.

“Oh no…” he groaned, “my mom’s gonna kill me...”

Echo gave Nelson a concerned look.

“Oh! Not really. It’s just an expression,” Nelson added with a laugh, seeming to understand Echo’s confusion. “She keeps telling me to be more careful when I bike in the city. So, she’s not going to be happy when she sees this,” he gestured to the overturned bike.

Echo took a closer look at the bike and saw the reason for Nelson’s distress. Not only had the chain come off the gears, which in and of itself would have been an easy fix, but the gears themselves were missing entirely!

He looked around for the missing gears, and finally spotted them scattered on the sidewalk a few feet away. He quickly retrieved the bike gears and went to hand them to Nelson.

“Are these what you’re looking for?” he asked.

“Oh, you found them! Thanks Echo!” Nelson exclaimed excitedly. And then he paused, seemingly deep in thought, “Now, how do I reattach these…”

Echo squatted down next to Nelson to get a closer look at the problem.

If there was one thing he knew, it was mechanics. He had reattached his own arm multiple times and had kept Ty-Dee in tip top shape over the years in the lighthouse. Echo figured he could reattach the gears easily.

With the right tools.

Which he didn’t have on hand.

“Hmmm. I think I can fix it, but I don’t have the tools right now…”

“You’ll help me fix it? Aw man you’re a life saver Echo!”

Echo stood up and considered their options.

“If you would like, we can take your bike back to my house and I can fix it there,”

“That sounds great! But I’ll have to ask my mom first,” Nelson rolled his eyes, “She doesn’t like me going to other people’s houses without her permission,”

“Hm. That seems like a good rule for her to have” Echo replied.

“Yeah, I guess,” Nelson admitted, “I’ll ask her and maybe I can come over with the bike tomorrow,”

“Sounds like a plan,” Echo nodded his head in agreement, “I suppose I shall see you tomorrow. It was very nice meeting you Nelson.”

“It was nice to meet you too,” Nelson replied with a smile.

Echo waved a quick goodbye and was just turning to leave when Nelson interrupted.

“Hey, I was headed to the Dairy Dragon for some ice cream. Y’know, before I almost crashed into you and all. But it’s kinda boring eating ice-cream all by yourself. Do you want to come?”

Echo considered the offer. The whole reason he had wanted to explore the city was, ironically in a city this size, to get away from people. But honestly, after talking with him for a bit, Echo kinda wanted to hang out with Nelson some more. Who knows? It could be the start of a new adventure.

“I would love to accompany you. But, um, what is ice cream?”

“You’ve never had ice cream before?!”, Nelson blurted, flabbergasted.

Echo thought back to all the different meals he had tried with his new family. Ice cream. Like the cream cheese frosting on his welcome home cake?

“Um. Is it like cake?”, Echo offered in response to Nelson’s bewilderment.

“If you like cake, you’re going to love ice-cream!”, Nelson replied, “Be prepared for deliciousness my friend! It’s this way!”

Nelson gestured for Echo to follow him as he wheeled his bike down the sidewalk towards a row of small shops.

Echo didn’t move from his place on the concrete.

Friend. He had made a new friend.

Echo stood smiling for a moment longer before Nelson shouted back to him.

“Are you coming, Echo?!”

“Coming!”, Echo shouted back and ran to catch up with his new friend.

It wasn’t exactly the alone time he had planned for the day, but that was okay.

He was glad to have met someone as nice as Nelson.

[reallyromealone]

You know who else is under rated shion and can i request headcannon of dating him would be like

(He’s probably the type of guy to get you something and when you ask where he got the money to buy the item he’d say some lie cause he either A. stole it or B. He got the money from people he beat up or it could be both . And I do have this other headcannon of shion that he has a bunch of random things in his pockets)

♥️♥️♥️♥️♥️♥️♥️♥️♥️♥️♥️♥️♥️♥️♥️♥️♥️♥️

♥️Dating Shion would be rocky at first

♥️But once he learned how to behave as a boyfriend and be more trusting

♥️He's surprisingly a very good boyfriend

♥️His romantic gestures are....chaotic to say the least

♥️He probably if not most definitely met you due to you having connections in some way to Tenjiku or Kanto

♥️If it's Tenjiku I like to think you're kisakis brother and Kisaki fucking hates it

♥️ And Shion loves to mock Kisaki with it

♥️But back to his romantic gestures

♥️He has climbed up to your window and demanded to be let in

♥️Will fight anyone who looks at you too long

♥️He's very aggressive with his romance

♥️Behind closed doors? He's a sweety pie in his own way

♥️Like a feral dog outside the apartment and just an angry Chihuahua inside

♥️He's little spoon

♥️He will die before he admits he likes to be cuddled and babied

♥️In the bedroom? He's a menace but he is surprisingly good at after care

♥️please wear his shirts

♥️He will never admit it but he finds it incredibly attractive

♥️He's really bad at reading moods so don't play games with him

♥️he is the type to steal your gifts before actually buying you something

♥️"five finger sale baby" is all you would get

♥️he loves sitting you on his bike so you can watch him beat the ever living crap out of people

♥️He uses the money he steals from them to take you to lunch

♥️yes he will steal food from your plate, live with it

♥️In Kanto he keeps you out of his work and practically forbids you from talking to Toman

♥️He's not incredibly bright but doesn't want you to deal with Mikey

♥️He's indifferent about kids

♥️ Genuinely doesn't care if he's a dad or not

♥️He usually gets dumped to your place after getting shit faced

♥️So please take care of this raccoon personified

[letapollojusticesayfuck]

@buried-stars oops

Crossing That Bridge When We Come To It (or, there must have been worse dates)

Apollo Justice doesn't go on dates, not really. For one, he hasn't really had the time. Pushing yourself through law school and working various minimum-wage jobs on the side so you have the money to push yourself through law school doesn't exactly lead to much time for leisure. He also just can't imagine what you're supposed to do on a date. Sure, there's all the movie staples of going to a restaurant, going to the movies, getting coffee...but Apollo can't quite piece together how any of that is supposed to lead to a definitive decision to be in a relationship.

This is why, when Klavier Gavin had asked, quite offhandedly, if he'd like to go on a stroll around People Park and get some food afterwards, "as a date, ja?", Apollo had been startled enough to automatically agree. It was only around ten minutes later, once he'd finished packing up his briefcase and organizing his post-trial paperwork, that he'd realized exactly what he'd agreed to.

Trucy had, of course, utilized her impeccable sense of comedic timing to get a photo of his oh shit I said I'd do what? face.

Now, five minutes before he's supposed to head out the door, Apollo steels his nerve and takes several deep breaths and prepares to reassure himself in the customary way---

Knock, knock

Thrown off-balance, Apollo lets out a startled yelp and grasps at whatever's closest that he might theoretically be able to use as a weapon against whoever's decided to show up on his doorstep. He's gotten a little more paranoid since law school--especially with everything his first few real cases entailed.

He cautiously opens the door, cursing once again the lack of any sort of peephole. Apollo's prepared for a sales pitch, for a pair of missionaries, for anything, almost.

He's not prepared for the person outside his door to be Klavier Gavin, looking cool and casual but dressed just noticeably nicer than usual.

Apollo curses under his breath. He'd thought he would have more time before he'd have to contend with a date-ready celebrity prosecutor!

"Hallo, Apollo! I know we agreed to meet at the park, but as I was driving over I remembered that your apartment is right on the way, and thought I would offer a ride!" Klavier grins, all perfect teeth and camera-ready enthusiasm. Apollo bets he's been on plenty of dates.

"Uhhh..." he manages. Come on, get it together! "Sure. That would be...cool."

Wow, great job, idiot.

"Fantastich! Then let's be off, into the sunset!" Klavier wraps his hand around Apollo's wrist and pulls him out of his apartment. He's just about able to grab his wallet and keys from his side table, but leaves his phone behind completely.

"So, you said you drove here?" he asks, to make conversation. Klavier busies himself with extracting a set of keys from his pocket as they descend Apollo's apartment building steps.

"I did--I live slightly too far from the center of town to be able to walk. Fortunately, that means you'll be able to experience the wind in your hair the way I do every day!"

Apollo's still processing that statement when his eyes land on the motorcycle.

"Oh--your bike? I'm not sure...maybe I'd better walk." Backpedaling this quickly into a date probably wasn't the done thing, but Apollo's trying hard to ignore the fear bubbling in his stomach at the idea of something that goes at highway speeds but offers about as much protection as his own bicycle.

"We all have to face our fears eventually, Herr Forehead. And I was exaggerating about the wind in your hair. It'll all be under my spare helmet." Klavier's reached the bike now, rummaging around in a storage compartment Apollo hadn't even noticed. He tosses a sturdy helmet to Apollo, who catches it on instinct.

"If I thought you would be in any way unsafe, I would not offer," Klavier says gently, meeting Apollo's eyes. "But if you're truly uncomfortable, we can walk from here."

Apollo bites at the inside of his cheeks, then takes a deep breath. He looks at the bike. He looks at Klavier.

"No, I'll...I want to try it. I know the bike's important to you."

Klavier's true smile lights up his face in the way that his rehearsed, stage-face smile doesn't.

"Then climb on, and we'll be away!"

---

The ride isn't as bad as Apollo had expected it to be. Klavier sticks studiously to the speed limit all the way to People Park, and he's an almost frustratingly careful driver. By the time they're climbing off the bike at the familiar gateway to the park, Apollo's almost complaining about the ride not being exciting enough.

Furthermore, he's discovered that Klavier's opinions on pizza toppings are just entirely wrong, and that's given them something to talk about, falling back into familiar patterns as they wander through the location of their first crime scene together.

"You can't seriously be advocating for pineapple on pizza. That's more of a crime than anything we've seen in court."

"Ach, and here I thought you were a man of taste! It's senseless to rehash this debate, it's been had for as long as people have had access to pineapples and pizza at the same time."

"Okay, but consider: you're wrong about that and about sweetcorn as a pizza topping."

"It's a classic!"

Apollo scowls. "Where?"

"Germany, of course." Klavier's boots scuff the gravel path, and he turns towards the small stream that divides the park in two. There's an ornamental bridge linking the sides, and they step onto the red-painted wood together.

"I don't believe you. As a matter of fact, I don't believe you're even German! I think it's all just a publicity stunt!" Apollo knows he's being inflammatory, but he can't help it. Something about being with Klavier brings out a need to debate everything he says.

"Objection!" Klavier shouts, on instinct, flinging his arm out--and everything goes downhill from there.

Specifically, everything goes down--Klavier's arm collides with Apollo, who's mid-step, halfway across the bridge. Already off-balance, Klavier's accidental shove is all that Apollo needs to go tumbling over the low bridge railing and to land, ass-first, in the water.

There's a few seconds where they just look at each other, frozen in various states of shock. Klavier's mouth is hanging open in comical surprise, and Apollo's hair drips into his vision. He's not hurt, the drop was far too small for that--but he's soaking up the decorative river and attracting attention from the koi who call the water home.

Then, as though a switch has been flipped, they spring into motion. Klavier jumps down into the water, too, his boots causing a secondary splash that just soaks Apollo more. Apollo starts to laugh, incredulously, unable to believe that this is actually happening. Even as Klavier helps him up and steers him back to dry land, Apollo feels like he's in a dream.

It takes a little while before he notices that Klavier's spewing a stream of apologies and asking after his wellbeing. Apollo's been preoccupied with wringing out his hoodie and lamenting the state of his second-best pair of jeans, but he grabs Klavier's arm as he tries to fuss over him, and tries to reassure him the best he can.

"Klavier! It's fine. Yeah, I'm kind of annoyed, but honestly, seeing how guilty you looked right after I fell in pretty much made up for it."

Klavier frowns deeply. "So you're saying that you're glad I feel bad about pushing you in?"

"No!" Apollo sighs. "I've just...never seen you not be completely put together and composed. It was kind of reassuring that you can be caught off-guard by something too."

"Oh," says Klavier. "But, Apollo...surely you knew I was worried that I'd do something to screw this up spectacularly from the start?"

"You were what?" Apollo thinks back on the past couple hours. Yeah, maybe he'd noticed that Klavier's smiles were a little strained, that he'd had a spare second helmet ready to take Apollo on his bike despite supposedly being 'on the way' to the park...but Apollo himself had been too preoccupied with trying to anticipate what the date would be like to notice.

"I was nervous! Practically trembling! Ja, I've been on a few dates before, but I didn't want to do something to scare you, specifically, away."

"...huh," Apollo remarks. Then he takes the scene in again: him, soaking wet up past his waist; Klavier, his custom black boots mud-splattered and his ripped black jeans sodden, the audience of koifish and bemused park patrons wandering by.

"Guess that ship's sailed, then. I don't know of anything worse that could happen besides being accidentally pushed off of a bridge."

Klavier winces. "I didn't mean it! I was simply a little too caught up in our debate."

"Let's cut our losses and skip the 'going out for food' part of this date, if you don't mind? I can't imagine anyone would let us in their restaurant looking like this."

"Ja..." Klavier says, wincing. He sounds as dejected as he'll let himself be. "Let me at least drive you home, schatz. To make up for the...pushing."

Apollo's mind is still whirring, though, because this isn't how he'd wanted this to end either. He'd been having a good time up until this point--surely there must be something he could do to fix this.

Unless...

"Sure, I'll let you drive me home. But...do you want to stay and have dinner with me? I can't promise anything fancy, but there's a good handful of takeout places around."

The difference in Klavier's expression is staggering--and for the second time today, Apollo sees his genuine smile come through, and realizes why so many people want to kiss this man.

He just hopes that Klavier will let him get the opportunity to do so before he pushes him in any more rivers.

[oidheadh-con-culainn]

i treated myself to ordering a pretty pricey pair of trousers from an environmentally-friendly outdoor wear company, bc i've been looking for a pair of trousers with like, big side pockets like cargo trousers (for wheelchair purposes -- i want pockets i can access without getting up) but slimline enough that i can cycle in them on non-chair days, and with a comfy waistband situation, in a length and size that works for me as someone who is five foot four with short legs. this is not easy: i can only find those kinds of pockets in men's trousers mostly but only in brands that don't go small enough for me and often with horrible stiff fabric and chunky waistbands that don't suit a wheelchair very well

but these look like the holy grail. they have elasticated cuffs so the legs wouldn't get caught in my bike chain. they've got an elasticated waist too. big side pockets like cargo trousers. organic cotton but like, designed for doing outdoor activities so hopefully soft enough to be comfy but tough enough to last? from a company that my (better informed) sister tells me has good environmental credentials and which puts a big emphasis on sustainability

we will see. they were like. seventy quid. which is roughly twice what i've ever spent on trousers before but i'm trying to buy fewer cheap shitty clothes that need replacing five minutes later and were never really what i wanted in the first place, and instead invest in things that are actually what i want and are decent quality so they'll last. that's not easy but i'm hoping these are that, and i was ordering a fleece from their sale at the same time so i figured maybe i should treat myself. i have so many bad trousers in my life i need some good ones

and now i am very much in "pakige???" mode even though i only ordered them today. where are my trousers. i need to know if they fit. i need to put things in the big pockets

[amaranthsynthesis]

every time I see a modern Astarion in leather jackets and motorcycle gear and shit I do have to physically restrain myself from arguing in the replies bc like. I love him as much as the next little gay ass motherfucker but we all gotta come to terms with the fact that Astarion would be a Ralph Lauren girly. He is preppy and posh and very keen to tell you about the thread count of his lightweight summer linen trousers. He has at least one private club membership. His watch cost more than you make in six months. He is NOT a bad boy in any way except for the murdery ones, and that he will sell you designer drugs.

Now. WYLL on the other hand most definitely would have a beat up old leather coat and motorcycle boots he found at a garage sale that are older than he is and has lovingly maintained, he has a bike that he does his own maintenance on to the best of his ability, whenever he reaches into his pockets for something like three crumpled xerox zines that he picked up somewhere all fall out at once. All of his friends are tattoo artists and community organizers with felonies.

What I am saying is that if you want one of the companions to be the slick punk bad boy Spike wannabe it is NOT the vampire it is the folk hero america's fucking sweetheart and I am biting you until you accept this, we are enemies, i don't know if this is just shortsightedness or regular fandom racism where all the cool stuff about a black character gets transposed to the fandom fav white boy but it's killing me guys

[virtualcarrot]

[KKIR] Modern AU - Teaching Pains Pt7

Part 6

.

The show ends to much delighted acclaim on a parallel bars demonstration by Sasuke.

Ebisu struts about like a peacock afterwards, puffing his chest and inclining his head to better welcome invisible laurel wreaths. Since it’s warranted, for once, they all let him have it. The man’s nearly as competent as he believes himself to be and unafraid to tell the world, which gives him a not insignificant advantage when it comes to selling the school’s merits to starry-eyed crowds.

Iruka may be amiable, but he’s also too bashful to boast with any credibility. His true skill set shines in the wrangling of the students.

He gives the kids half an hour to soak in some of the praise themselves and rest, then descends on them like a bird of prey and puts them back to work.

All in all, the open day is a resounding success.

While Suzume finishes counting the earnings from the bake sale, Iruka packs what few slices didn’t sell, too dry or too dark-crusted, and tries to figure an excuse why Naruto should absolutely get one even though there aren’t enough for every single volunteer student.

He really shouldn’t keep playing favorites.

In the end, Mizuki’s the one who makes it a non-issue. “Come on, you’re all exhausted. I’ll take care of locking up for the evening.”

“Are you sure?” Iruka asks, while Suzume pulls the battered cash box to herself with a scowl.

“I know how much is inside,” she warns.

Mizuki gives her an ironic smile. “Not enough to be worth getting caught stealing from, I'm sure.”

She yields reluctantly, which Iruka nonetheless takes as a sign of go-ahead. He pushes up, shoving a bundle of leftover cake in a pocket of his vest as he goes. Just in case.

Upstairs, the teachers’ lounge stands absolutely vacant. Iruka pats himself down to make sure he’s not forgetting anything, moving his phone from his back pocket to the greater safety of his coat.

The screen is lit with a message from Kakashi.

“We should talk.”

Fantastic. The guy could not have worded that more ominously if he’d tried. Iruka wonders which of his colleagues betrayed him, and if they did it intentionally at all or just acted like the bored busybodies that they are, leaving Kakashi to connect the dots.

Well, if Kakashi wants to talk, he’ll have to wait. Iruka’s not touching that tonight.

He’s also mildly offended that Kakashi believes it warrants talking about at all. So, Iruka has a crush. Big deal. Why do people keep thinking he’d let it affect his work?

He yells a farewell that echoes up the walls of the atrium, waves goodbye to the few faces that perk up to return it, and steps out.

Walking alongside his bike, he marks a pause before the students gathered in wait at the bus stop.

“Good job today, kids. Couldn’t have done it without you,” he says gratefully.

Sakura smiles back, flushed at the praise, and Ino pushes her hair back like she can’t handle it without putting up a front of conceit. For his part, Shikamaru slumps at the prospect of finally getting some rest.

“But it’s so troublesome,” he mutters.

Given the late hour, Iruka spares him a lecture. He does a headcount of all the kids present, knowing that some, like Neji and Hinata, were driven home by their parents, and frowns.

“Naruto isn’t with you?”

Sakura darts a glance at Sasuke sulking to the side. “Urh, him… He said he'll take the next bus. Doesn’t want to share with Sasuke,” she replies with a huff.

It’s a bit extreme, even for Naruto, though knowing the rivalry between the two boys Iruka can see how Sasuke’s success as a prize athlete student would have been upsetting. 

He sighs at the thought and kicks his leg over his bike. “All right, then. Well, get home safely, kids. No dilly-dallying.”

The chorus of ‘yes, sensei’ to his back makes him smile.

He’s thankful he doesn't live too far from the school but the trip home includes pedaling uphill, which has the peculiar trait of never getting any easier no matter how often he does it. The aches from his sparring session with Kakashi don’t help either. And because his building doesn’t provide a bike rack, he also gets to look forward to the usual three floors climb with the frame of his bicycle digging into his shoulder. 

All that’s to say, when Iruka finally gets home and discards shoes and coat and vest, he slumps on his couch with no intention of moving for the next hour. Maybe--maybe--he’ll consider rooting around for the take-out menu in a drawer of the kitchen, but that’s it.

His phone has other ideas.

“Umino Iruka speaking,” he says on autopilot.

“I assumed, yes,” Daikoku replies with some humor, having made the call. “How are you?”

In an immense display of willpower, Iruka manages to give him a mostly succinct and coherent description of the day.

“Good to know that it went well,” Daikoku says with a mildness that Iruka takes to signal the end of pleasantries; he sits up for the follow-up. “Say, I don’t suppose Naruto would be with you?”

Iruka pulls the phone away from his face just long enough to utter a raspy ‘fuck’.

“No, he isn’t,” he replies tightly after.

There’s a cautious hum on the other side of the call. “Yes, I thought so.”

“He didn’t get back to the orphanage?”

“No.”

“Not at all?”

“Not to my knowledge,” Daikoku says placidly.

Meanwhile, Iruka feels the blood in his veins begin to simmer with a sense of urgency.

“I’ll check the school,” he says.

“Thank you. Though don’t worry too much,” Daikoku stresses with a chuckle. “You know how they are at that age. Pushing boundaries, testing authority...”

Iruka knows. And he also knows he’ll give Naruto the earful of his life when he gets his hands on the kid.

“Yes,” he says a bit too shortly. “I’ll keep in touch.”

Daikoku’s voice remains lightly amused when he replies: “likewise.”

They hang up.

Alone on his couch, Iruka drags both hands over his face and heaves a long sigh in preparation to get moving. He knows he has a reputation for overreacting. He knows his blood boils quick and fast and that he can be impulsive. That’s how he cares.

And he cares a lot.

The few stop signs and red lights on the way back to the school are an exercise in self-restraint, but after so many years knowing himself he’s learned to keep a mostly cool head even when his every senses are aflame. Landing himself in the hospital would at the very best be counterproductive.

He still reaches his destination in record time, barely braking on the way down the slope.

The school is already closed when he arrives. Unlocking the door requires a sharp jostle but he’s used to it and it gives way after a few shakes.

Inside, the lobby is dark and empty, as should be expected. Much more worrisome is the alarm system, which he finds to be disabled when he goes to turn it off.

He sends Mizuki a quick text asking about it. With one student missing and a security failure at the school, Iruka doesn’t know if he’d rather be dealing with two unrelated incidents or just the one, that Naruto might somehow be involved in. He really doesn't like the latter.

The hallways are eerily silent as he moves through them.

As a rule, every teacher is responsible for locking their classrooms when they leave. He checks a couple of doors at random just in case, peering inside the glass window and lighting the way with his phone.

None open.

There are no signs of forced entry anywhere. Maybe Mizuki simply forgot about the alarm.

Maybe. But there’s just enough uncertainty left that he doesn’t dare yell out for Naruto.

This is twice today that he’s had to go looking for the kid. Iruka’s going to give him so many hours of detention that Naruto won’t be able to do anything other than sleep and eat with what free time he has left. And Iruka doesn’t care if that’ll require that he himself spend all of his own life at the school. Such is the fate of a teacher.

Having found no success with the shut classrooms, he ventures towards the administrative wing. Why Naruto would feel particularly fond of it, Iruka doesn’t know, but that is where the kid chose to hide earlier. He might as well.

The sounds of distant rummaging prove him right. He turns off the flashlight of his phone, making his way over by the hazy light of distant streetlamps straining past the dirty windows of the corridor.

At the end of it, the door to Hiruzen’s office is ajar. He nudges it open with his foot until he can catch sight of the intruder.

“What the hell are you doing?!” he shouts, throwing it all the way open.

From where he’d been clambering up one of the sturdy bookcases, Naruto squeaks, loses his footing, and crashes to the ground.

“Ouch, ouch, ouch,” he moans, rubbing his shoulder. He’s quick to forget the pain, though, and slumps. “Aw come on, you couldn’t have waited a few more minutes until I found it? This isn’t fair!”

He’s acting way too casual for someone caught this red-handed.

Iruka steps deeper inside, taking stock of the contents of the office. It’s been left relatively untouched, most of the huge mahogany shelves showing their usual tidy alignment of ancient tomes. The desk got the worst of it, books and scrolls stacked in unsteady piles like they were haphazardly discarded after being pulled out from their usual spots.

When he looks back to Naruto, the kid’s sitting with his arms and legs crossed and muttering to himself with a scowl. “Mizuki-sensei didn’t say it’d be this hard to find.”

There are fire alarms that haven't rung as devastatingly sharp to Iruka’s ears.

“What’s this about Mizuki-sensei?” he asks faintly.

Naruto shrugs, looking mildly dejected as he scoots to half-heartedly check the bottom shelf behind. “He said the old man hid the answers to the final exam in one of his books and he could hel--” He cuts himself off and perks up. “Hey, I think it’s this one!” he says, beginning to pull it out.

A shadow blocks the doorway. Iruka hears a heave, a grunt, and catches a wobble out of the corner of his eyes.

Apparently his reflexes aren’t as dulled as he thought, because he manages to push Naruto out of the way and tell him to run before a full bookcase of mahogany and paper comes tumbling down on him.

.

Part 8

[elliebyrrdwrites]

Is there anything closer to freedom than bombing down a hill on your bike beside traffic, taking your fingers off the hand break and closing your eyes!?

What happened was, I bought a bicycle.

It was a Saturday, when Harry and I needed to get away from the Burrow. We needed to get away from everything. Because everything held grief and pain and sadness for us. It held memories of loved ones lost.

The grief and the sadness was like a cancer that had slowly metastasized. The home was dark. There was little light left in the little nooks and crannies.

Harry and I, we were like the little blood cells who were putting up that last stand. We needed to take a break, get a great big dose of vitamin C and D. So, we walked through the streets that wound through the Muggle homes and found ourselves stumbling onto a yard sale.

The bicycle was bright yellow, with an iron rack on the back meant to hold some sort of pouch and Harry, he looked at it and he said to me, “You know, I never was able to have a bicycle. I was always jealous of Dudley because he had one that I wasn’t allowed to touch.” He admitted that he didn’t even know how to ride one. He just wanted to ride one, once in his life.

“Let’s get it.” I said and stuffed my hand into the pocket of my denims and pulled out my last ten dollars.

The woman who was selling the bike accepted my offer and together, Harry and I walked away with the bright yellow bicycle.

It was the first genuine smile the two of us had shared since the war.

Harry was a quick learner. He said it was like riding a broom, and so after I used my sweater and transfigured it into a pillow, I jumped onto the rack and together, we rode it back to the Burrow.

Together, we pushed the bike up the steep hill that would eventually take us back to the Weasley’s. And together, we jumped onto the bike and dove down the hill, laughing and screaming.

Our bodies were forced into feeling something other than pain and grief.

When we arrived at the Burrow, Ginny and George took turns learning how to ride it.

Within two weeks, Ginny, George, Harry and I all had our own bicycles.

Ron hated it. He refused to touch the bicycle. He saw our laughter, our joy, as a betrayal to Fred, to Lavender. To Tonks and Remus and to everyone else who died.

But I knew.

I knew that we were honoring them.

Because, we could die tomorrow. I could die right now. I could trip, fall and hit my head. I could get hit by a car, or drown.

The point is, why should I waste the little time I have left on this planet when I could be experiencing it in every possible way?

The point is, Ron got left behind.

Ginny, Harry, George and I got lost in a world of two wheels and steep hills.

Soon, we were dodging traffic and racing each other to Luna’s house.

Soon, Luna was joining us.

Soon, I forgot what it was like to hate myself.

I wasn’t even going to go back to Hogwarts. The school held terrible memories. Fred died there.

Riding the bike with everyone, squealing and laughing, it was like Fred was with us. Why would I go back to Hogwarts, where there were no bicycles? No steep hills?

In the end, Ginny, George and Harry all convinced me to go back. Ginny didn’t want to go back alone.

And Harry reminded me that I would, ultimately, regret not completing my education.

Ginny and I returned without two wheels and without steep hills and the rush of racing beside speeding cars.

But, Ginny had Quidditch.

And I?

Well, I had Draco Malfoy.

[thebonegoop]

Summer Memories

Sitting down as I write this; I can hear the splashes of water from children making cannonballs in the neighbor's pool and the subsequent banshee-like screams of a pack of now-drenched mothers yelling at their kids. I'm also sneezing gunk like I'm having a demon exorcised from my body (The Zelda Rubinstein way, of course).  

You may be asking yourself right now - Lincoln, what does that have anything to do with this post?  Well, my dear Watson, it means summer we are just beginning another summer! So, for the inaugural post of The Bone Goop, I'll discuss eight great summer memories!  

#1: Ice Cream Trucks

Okay, okay – Maybe I never had a traditional Ice Cream truck come down to my town – so sue me. I was raised in – said in my best George Burns Voice – God's Country—a place forgotten by all who didn't dwell there. But like an oasis in the desert, we did have one truck that came around town once a month - THE SCHWAN'S TRUCK. While serving primarily to adults looking for overpriced frozen steaks and vegetables, they did sell a minor assortment of ice cream goods. Let me tell you, orange cream push pops never tasted so good as when I bought one from the Schwan's man. He dressed in all white like Reggie from PHANTASM and would sometimes take pity on poor country kids by putting in an extra push pop for us to fight over like wild dogs.

#2: Summer Minutiae 

I'm a big fan of waxing poetically about life, so only I could think back so nostalgically about the utter boredom summer can bring as a kid. We all remember the highs that summer can bring, but there is also beauty in the lows. While I'd take riding bikes with my friends any day, many summers were spent alone, bored in my mother's backyard garden, watching fish in the pond or imagining a safari adventure through her overgrown Pampas grass.

And if one was truly bored in the summer heat, find the closest slab of concrete and a bucket of chalk and spend your day expressing the inner Ar·teest inside of you.

#3: Water Parks! 

I have a confession – I've almost drowned twice while visiting these water-themed wonderlands. I was 11 and full of youthful confidence in my swimming abilities as I stepped foot in Lexington's Pirate-themed water park during a trip with my best friend. That was until I was pinned underwater by a giant plastic riding Crocodile like I was in a Wrestling Federation match. It takes real love to enjoy something that tries to kill you.

#4: Sleepovers

As a kid, one of the best things about summer was the Sleepover with your buddies. A one-night no-holds bar contest of wills - fueled by junk food, movies, and chaos. We had it down to a science: Blanket forts, Hot Pockets on tap, Gameboy Colors holstered in our pockets ready with Pokémon (complete with link cables), and maybe most importantly the tape rentals. Setting the mood for the night was imperative, so finding the perfect movie was the priority. STAR WARS or JURASSIC PARK were the faithful standbys, but the best nights were when someone smuggled a VHS TV recording of ROBOCOP and HALLOWEEN. It was like sneaking contraband through airport security.

#5: Jackass

While the show was watched under cloak and dagger at night, my friends and I would often recreate the extraordinary stunts we saw during the day. Johnny Knoxville had a shopping cart, but we had a Big Wheel and trashcans! Hot summer days were spent building ramps up coal piles and flying off in terror. Hi, I'm Lincoln, and this is Jackass!

#6: Calling Your Bluff

Many of my formative summer years were spent at my neighbor's kitchen table playing various card games like Canasta and Poker or Scrabble. We didn't have air conditioning, so they'd make Kool-Aid pops out of plastic ice trays wrapped in plastic with toothpicks poking into each cube. These were MacGyver: The Adolescent Years.

#7: Yard Sales

Summer is Flea Market season, Baby! Truthfully, I don't make the time for Yard Sales like I used to, but rummaging through other people's trash was like second nature as a kid. So, it was even more devastating that my mom once went without me while I stayed with my grandparents.

The fogs of memory preclude me from knowing why, but I remember being extra grumpy about life while she was gone. The childhood vitriol melted instantly when she picked me up, and I saw the treasures she'd bought me – a pristine RAIDERS OF THE LOST ARK VHS tape and a MONSTER IN MY POCKET figure!

#8: It's Good to Be King

Summer wasn't summer if it didn't include one trip to King's Island - the Ohio amusement park made of dreams and overworked costumed employees. At the time, every ride and character were made to resemble Hanna-Barbera properties. Having lunch with your partner is great, but having lunch with Scooby Doo AND Space Ghost? On top of riding roller coasters? That was pure magic.

The night was complete only if I bought a blue Candy Rock stick for the ride home. It was the perfect day (Ignore that everyone but me got Pinkeye on that trip.)

I hope these memories stirred up some of your own about the magic of Summer. Thanks!! 

[wytfut]

Scooter Cannonball

Most of you reading along most likely know about this upcoming event, but I have an “urge” to write a bit about it.

A week from tomorrow (june 15, 2023), I leave for a once in a lifetime adventure, that this old blue hair is going to totally enjoy.

The Scooter Cannonball.  Here’s their website scootercannonball.com  .. 

Its a coast to coast event, starting in San Clemente California, and ends at Hilton Head North Carolina.... 7 days later. I know I’ve probably told some of you the wrong dates, but thats just me... I can’t remember dates/numbers for the life of me. My personal hell. 

This event is a race against the clock. With several classes of “scooters” competing. 

The classes are broke down to engine size, vingtage, etc. Some scooter are known historically to well in this event, while others not so good. 

I got asked into this hilarious idea by good friend Dennis Bennett in Huron South Dakota (a Excelsior Henderson Pal).

He witness last year the scooter cannonball up close, as the event went thru and stopped for the night in Huron. 

Dennis, Ken Bretz (the 3rd member of our team), and myself are all Excelsior Henderson buddies that make big efforts to attend the “ANTIQUE MOTORCYCLE CANNONBALL” when its within reasonable distance every 2 years that it runs.   motorcyclecannonball.com

Our last one we attended was September of 2020 in Sturgis.  Being we live in mostly the midwest, when the antique cannonball runs east to west, they have a “day of rest”, where they stop for 36 hours to work on their motorcycles, and take a break. This “day of rest” is always the midway point (midwest). This creates the most opportune time for us to show up and get to see all of the “action”.   The teams are generally very friendly and don’t mind answering questions, etc. 

With us attending the antique cannonball, we all 3 had envisioned “someday” we’d be able to be part of this event. Each time we attended, it was becoming more and more clear,.... “someday” wasn’t going to happen. These folks have really deep pockets. Have huge backgrounds in restoration of these bikes, and although very friendly, don’t really care about folks like us. Other than we have the Excelsior Henderson sickness, we have no notoriety to antique motorcyles. No matter how much we love them.

Once the scooter cannonball came into town of Huron.... Dennis  noticed immediately the family feel of the competitors. Much like the antique cannonball, AND us Excelsior Henderson owners.   Needless to say..... Dennis was hooked.

He emailed me how much fun he had that short night, and meeting everyone. I stated that if he were to create a team, I’d be part of it. Within a day or 2, ... “you are now on the team”...    Then Ken also got on board.     All of this to me was tongue in cheek, but I was truly interested, and Dennis was serious. 

Dennis presented to me, that he did not need a pit crew/team/help. As a large portion of the competitors do not have any back up other than the event chase vehicle.  There are teams with chase vehicles, but most do not. His point was, I’m going whether anyone else comes along or not.

He also stated that he was going to put the whole trip on a credit card (well it is once in a life time). With Dennis having the rooms already paid for, all we had to do was pay for our food. 

This was wonderful, but I got to thinking that He didn’t need a huge credit card bill. We figured it was going to cost between $6500-$9000, no including scooter purchase. This bothered me....

Thus the gofundme page. Gofundme.com   search Bruce Whitefoot or Dennis Bennett, or “low buck scooter cannonball team” or team fat Jesus. If you want to help with the money. Sales pitch: $15 free sticker. $30 free tshirt and sticker. Be sure to leave your information (address and size) in the “notes”. 

I started that, without Dennis knowledge initially. And its been a blessing. We haven’t hit our lofty goal, but wow the response has been very humbling. 

Dennis got a hold of his local promotional shop, and has created our Tshirts and Stickers.  If you haven’t seen them.... they are pretty cool.

As grumpy and disappointed as I get with us humans....   this has been a crazy ride. I’ll be honest, I have asked friends for donations, which can be very awkward. I try hard with no pressure. But folks that I have not made the “sell” with... are tossing some very generous amounts our way. 

SO HUMBLING..... WOW. Reminds me of when our house burned. 

Yup.. I’m excited. We will be seeing large portions of the country I’ve never seen. 

Rules state that we can follow along right behind Dennis with the chase vehicle. But we don’t feel that it would be practical. The route (mostly a secret daily) will be out of the way. Dennis will be wearing a transponder, so we’ll know exactly where he is. Plus this years entrances has been the highest number yet. Over 300. And I’ve heard rumor that the entire trip there will be roughly 150 miles of dirt roads. 

We will most likely follow AFTER the last scooter leaves the daily starting point. And then mosey along to the next hotel, roughly 250-370 mile daily. 

We’ve had a ton of requests for daily reports. Dennis and I think his facebook page maybe the answer. But a lot of folks don’t know Dennis but know me or Ken. I’m thinking I may do a daily report here on tumblr. They will be simple with maybe something noted that was exciting that day. Been also contemplating maybe using my youtube channel for dailys instead. Youtube though isn’t exactly convenient to use... really time consuming. Maybe do a live launch on yourtube?? just thought of that idea. 

I’ll be honest, this will be a huge learning curve. We don’t know if we will be extremely busy late into the night, or taking long afternoon naps. We just don’t know. Will our scoot break blow up 5 miles out on the very first day.... or blow up 5 miles from the finish line. 

I think I’m a pretty good wrench with no training, but working on scooters is a brand new world for me. Dennis did give me a good look when it was here. Looks very simple. Will be some getting used to metric wrenches again.

Dennis made a maiden voyage to my house a few weeks ago (344 miles one way) with no real issues, and back home the next day. That crazy machine will do 79/mph, but feels really good at 60. At the whopping HP of 19. Its a single with DOHC, carbureted, and snow mobile drive (vary ratio pulley). 

Our scoot if you want to google it....   its a 1984 Honda Helix with 20000 miles on it. Not real pretty, but has some great bones. Runs like a top. When Dennis pulled in at my place, I thought he was coasting in.... but it was running, so quiet.  For those questioning Dennis purchase.... historically with the cannonball, Helix’s have done very well.

Just in simple conversation, EVERY SINGLE TIME, laughter and smiles break out. WHAT DOES THAT MEAN??

I keep laughing to myself, wondering what I got myself into. Gonna be a cool notch in my life experiences. 

Wish us luck!! Don’t worry about the fun, that’s a promise to happen. 

[enoughtotemptme]

Can we get a lil more of the urban fantasy hellcheer? 👀

Hahaha now I'm nervous 😅😅😅 Even though I called it urban fantasy, that's probably overplaying the importance of magical beings in the world. It's mostly a pretty mundane story (slowburn roommates to best friends to idiots in love!!), with just hints of the occasional magical nature making it to the page.

I just finished chapter 10! Two more chapters to wrangle and then the epilogue, and then I'll be editing/posting. Here's a bit from chapter 2!

“What do you want to do with these?” Chrissy asks, surveying the ground with her hands on her hips. The yard sale went better than she’d hoped, and nearly a hundred dollars in miscellaneous bills and change is stuffed into the pocket of her borrowed floral apron. 

Eddie joins her. “Uh. Ding dong ditch them somewhere?” All that’s left from the spread they started with are a handful of books, two shirts, and a scattering of kitchen things. 

She flicks his arm. “Let me rephrase. Thrift store or dump?”

“Thrift, I guess,” he says. “I’ll grab a box.”

Chrissy begins to gather the things up in her arms while Eddie turns away. The crunch of the gravel road doesn’t distract her, but Eddie saying, “Cunningham?” in a careful voice does. 

“What?” Chrissy replies, turning to look at him; she fumbles and drops one of the books when she sees her little brother and Eddie in a staring contest. Matt is still on his bike, one foot on the ground to keep himself upright. His face is red and his hair is sticking to his forehead in sweaty clumps. “Matty? What are you doing here?” she says automatically. “Is Mom—”

“She doesn’t know I’m here,” Matt interrupts, tearing his gaze away from Eddie. “I…” He scuffs the toe of his white sneaker in the dusty gravel. “I rode my bike.”

“I see that,” Chrissy says, gentler now. 

Eddie silently moves to take the yard sale rejects from her arms. He nudges her, nods toward the trailer. “Go ahead. I’ll finish up out here.” 

“You want to come in?” Chrissy asks, and Matt nods jerkily, swinging off his bike and leaning it against the trailer steps. 

The couch is gone, sold to some kid fresh out of high school, but the dinette is still there. Chrissy gestures at the table. “Sit if you like. Want some water?”

“Yeah. Thanks.”

He doesn’t sit down, not until she hands him a mug full of water from the tap and takes a seat herself. Her little brother isn’t so little anymore—he’ll be sixteen this fall, and he’s already taller than her. But the way he avoids her eyes, looking around the trailer, reminds her all too well of the little boy who would do something naughty and then pretend if he didn’t look at you, he couldn’t get in trouble.

“It’s a long ride from Loch Nora to Forest Hills,” Chrissy says.

He shrugs. “It’s not so bad.”

“It’s ninety-five outside,” she says, dry, and Matt looks up at her now. He seems surprised, like he didn’t expect her to be anything other than sad or angry. 

And she is. Sad and angry, that is. But only parts of her, and those parts of her are smaller every day that goes by with nothing but possibilities and the promise of Eddie’s friendship in front of her.

[abookishdreamer]

Character Intro: Porus (Kingdom of Ichor)

Nickname- Po by his family

Age- 34 (immortal)

Location- Shadowstone neighborhood, New Olympus

Personality- He's an introverted idealist who thrives on creative ingenuity. He's also brilliant, resourceful, & is constantly inspired by new ideas. He's married.

He has the standard abilities of a god except shapeshifting. As the god of resourcefulness his other powers/abilities include enhanced craftsmanship, supertasking, thought acceleration, limited pyrokinesis, pathway generation, & hypercompetence.

Porus resides at a townhouse in the Shadowstone neighborhood of New Olympus. He lives with his wife Penia (goddess of poverty) and her sister Ptocheia (goddess of beggary). He takes pride in the fact that he built most of the furniture (except for the china- it was bought at A Hearth Design furniture store during a super sale) as well as the large self-organizing mahogany closet in his bedroom. He often finds thrown out glass jars in recycle bins in the city which then become reused to store obol coins.

Other members of his immediate family includes his older brother Ponos (god of hard labor & toil), and his mother-in-law Amechania (goddess of helplessness & want).

Porus will almost always start off the mornings early with a bike ride through the city. He'll sometimes go for a walk through Eaglepoint Park with his wife if she's up early too.

Go-to drinks for him include water, ginger ale, beer, orange juice, iced tea, & earl grey tea. He also doesn't mind red wine. His usuals from The Roasted Bean is an olympian sized roast coffee and a large iced green tea.

Porus designed and made the saddle (using leather from an old railway car) for his brother's dragon Shadowsteel.

There's always loose change in his pockets.

Porus always has his beloved notebook with him, where he's writing down & drawing new invention ideas.

He enjoys slices of toasted wheat bread topped with butter and honey. He also likes his wife's rizogalo and scrambled eggs (added with tomatoes, spinach, & feta cheese) along with his sister-in-law's blueberry oatmeal muffins.

Porus and his wife are still newlyweds having been married for a little over a year. He fondly remembers the moment her intense dark amber hued eyes met his at a council meeting in New Olympus City Hall. He quickly admired her intelligence and tenacity. Porus had asked for her mother's blessing twice- when her asked her out on a date & when he proposed. Porus even forged their own wedding bands.

A guilty pleasure of his are the 20 chicken nuggets from Olympic Chef. He eats them without any dipping sauce.

His favorite thing to get from The Bread Box is a grilled chicken sandwich along with a green bean salad (topped with toasted almonds & feta cheese).

Porus' main job is as an inventor. Some of his products (like the self-organizing closets) are sold at The Lumber Shed, a home appliance store. He's also working with iCHOR Tech to design and develop their latest smartwatch. Another of his inventions littered throughout the city are the touch screen parking meters.

His favorite frozen treat ia a plain vanilla sundae topped with crushed gingerbread cookies & vanilla brownie pieces from The Frozen Spoon.

Even though he cares for his sister-in-law, Porus does feel that it's long overdue for Ptocheia to begin living independently. Most times when he tries spending time with his wife or going out with her, it becomes a third wheel affair. Never mind that it's always uncomfortable for Porus to initiate intimate contact with Penia- the fact that her sister is a floor below being at the forefront of his mind. He often vents his frustrations to his friends and brother.

In the pantheon he's friends with Ktesios (god of the household), Neicus (god of debate & appeal), Karmanor (demi-god of the harvest), Eikono (goddess of iconography & literature), Axiótimos (god of honor), Kópros (god of manure & excrement), and Corymbus (Cory) (god of the ivy).

Outside the pantheon, Porus has many friends who are cyclops!

His all time favorite meal is his wife's balsamic pasta salad.

In his free time Porus enjoys spending time in his workshop, reading, blacksmithing, chess, doing crossword puzzles, bowling, yoga, playing pool, drawing, fencing, doing puzzles, bike riding, and playing various card games.

"It's not the lack of resources that causes failure, it's the lack of resourcefulness that causes failure."

[dreamweavers]

it's Moley month so I finally took the opportunity to get Moley B on sale, plus more ouiouis in search of strawberry ouioui! no strawberry, but there's no such thing as a bad ouioui! I got beeoui and a tomato twin for my tomato ouioui.

I also got a free vinyl peepy, spicepy (perfect for me bc I love spicy food!) and an unexpected bonus! a random copy of the xbox game pocket bike racer! it's got the burger king guy on it! not even joking it was in there with the rest of my stuff. classic itemlabel moment.