#private (shipping files)

[fleurriee]

— cat’s out of the bag ; spencer reid

pairing ; spencer reid x fem!reader

synopsis ; you thought you and spencer were good at keeping your relationship a secret. spoiler alert: you weren’t.

themes ; fluff, established (secret) relationship

warnings ; none!

author’s note ; first time writing for spencer after having watched criminal minds. i’m in love with him so it was only fitting that my mind starts coming up with ideas for him — send in requests for spencer!!!!

main masterlist request a fic

You and Spencer had agreed on one thing when your relationship first started:

“Let’s keep it just between us for a while.”

Not because you were ashamed — far from it — but, because the BAU wasn’t exactly known for being a quiet, private place. The second Garcia caught wind of anything remotely romantic, you’d both be wearing couple t-shirts and getting shipped like characters from a CW drama.

And, it was nice for a while.

You lasted four months.

It started with a coffee cup.

Specifically, the one with Spencer’s name on it, sitting at your desk.

Morgan strolled in that morning with his usual swagger and an armful of case files. He was halfway through a yawn when he spotted the cup and froze mid-step.

“Hey, Pretty Girl?” he called over his shoulder. “Why’s Reid’s name on your latte?”

You didn’t even look up from your desk. “Oh. He picked it up for me.”

“Uh-huh.” He narrowed his eyes like a detective in an old noir film. “And when did Reid start remembering your custom order down to the almond milk and two pumps of caramel?”

You finally looked up. “I… mention it a lot?”

Morgan snorted. “Okay.”

The next day, he walked into the breakroom to find Spencer standing very close behind you, reaching for the same muffin. There was laughter — soft, easy — and then Spencer let you have it with the kind of look that didn’t belong in any HR-safe workplace.

Morgan didn’t say a word. Just walked out with his coffee, grinning.

“Gotcha, Boy Genius.”

Penelope Garcia’s superpower wasn’t her hacking skills — (though, yes, she could probably access the Pentagon with a shoelace and a floppy disk) — it was her intuition. Especially when it came to anything involving hearts, unspoken feelings, or long looks across briefing tables.

So when she noticed Reid texting someone with a tiny, goofy smile on his face during lunch, her curiosity sparked.

She sidled up next to him.

“Who ya texting, Dr. Reid?” she sing-songed, peeking at his screen before he could lock it.

He jumped. “N-no one. Just… a friend.”

Garcia narrowed her eyes. “Since when do you call Y/N ‘sunbeam’?”

Reid’s face turned the color of a fire hydrant. “It’s — it’s just a nickname. She — uh — likes the sun.”

“Mmhmm.” Garcia leaned in. “Reid… are you dating my girl?”

His silence was answer enough.

She let out a tiny shriek, clapping her hands. “I knew it! I knew it! My OTP is real!”

He groaned and buried his face in his hands.

To her credit, Garcia didn’t spill — not yet.

But the sparkle in her eye was pure chaos.

Prentiss wasn’t nosy — she was observant.

So when you came into work with what looked like Spencer’s scarf around your neck and a sleepy smile that screamed I didn’t sleep in my own bed, she raised an eyebrow.

But she didn’t say anything until a week later.

The team had just wrapped a case in Portland and were gathered at the airport. You and Spencer were seated across from each other at the gate, trying — and failing — not to play footsie under the chairs.

Prentiss watched the whole thing, sipping her coffee like it was a reality show.

Later, on the plane, she slid into the seat next to you.

“So, when were you planning on telling me?”

You blinked. “Telling you what?”

She tilted her head toward Spencer, who was sitting two rows ahead, hunched over a book — but not before sending a not-so-subtle glance back your way.

Prentiss smirked. “I was a teenager once too, you know. I recognize the ‘pretending not to stare at my crush’ look.”

You flushed. “It’s not like we’re hiding it — ”

“But you are,” she said, patting your arm. “Don’t worry. I’ll let you come out in your own time. Just… maybe don’t play footsie where Rossi can see. He’s got surprisingly good peripheral vision.”

You genuinely thought Rossi wouldn’t notice.

He was older, more focused — a man who’d seen it all. Surely, he wouldn’t pick up on subtle glances or the way Spencer’s hand lingered on your back a little too long after briefings.

You were wrong.

He invited you both over to his house for dinner, claiming he was “trying a new risotto recipe and needed test subjects.”

The moment he caught you stealing a bite from Spencer’s plate with zero hesitation, he set down his wine glass and gave a slow, smug smile.

“Interesting.”

You froze mid-chew. “What is?”

“Oh, nothing. Just watching young love blossom over truffle risotto.”

Spencer choked on his wine.

You coughed. “What makes you think —?”

“Please,” Rossi waved a hand. “I’ve written three books on behavioral profiling. You think I can’t tell when two people are secretly dating?”

You opened your mouth.

He held up a finger. “Don’t worry. My lips are sealed. Just know I expect to be invited to the wedding.”

You both gaped.

He raised his wine glass. “Eventually, of course.”

Hotch was the final boss.

You and Spencer had been very careful around him — no lingering looks in the field, no brushing hands in the briefing room, no coordinated lunches. You were practically platonic professionals around him.

Until he caught you.

It happened at 9 p.m. on a Friday. Most of the team had already left, and you and Spencer were still in the conference room, finishing paperwork.

You thought you were alone.

So, when Spencer reached over and laced his fingers through yours, pressing a kiss to the back of your hand, you let your guard down for just a moment.

And Hotch walked in.

He stopped mid-step.

You both froze like teenagers caught making out on a porch.

Hotch blinked once. “Should I… come back?”

You yanked your hands apart. “No! We were just — ”

“Finishing paperwork,” Spencer blurted. “Very platonically.”

Hotch raised a brow. “You were kissing her hand.”

Spencer blinked. “Right. Well… not that platonically.”

There was a long pause.

Hotch sighed, rubbing the bridge of his nose. “Just — no PDA at crime scenes, okay?”

You both nodded, mortified.

As he left, you could swear you saw him smirk.

You didn’t plan to tell everyone. At least, not in one grand announcement.

But the BAU had other plans.

It happened during a rare, sunny weekend BBQ hosted at Rossi’s estate. Everyone was scattered across the lawn — beer bottles in hand, kids running around, music playing.

You were helping Garcia string lights along the fence when she casually said, “So, when are you and Reid going to make it official-official?”

You nearly dropped the string of lights. “What?”

She pointed. “Oh, don’t play coy, sweet pea. Everyone knows.”

You blinked. “Everyone?”

Morgan, walking by with a burger, grinned. “Oh yeah. We’ve had bets running for weeks.”

Prentiss added, “Morgan owes me twenty bucks. I said you’d crack before Valentine’s Day.”

Rossi raised his glass. “Cheers to the happy couple.”

Even Hotch gave you a nod that could only be described as… warm.

You turned to Spencer, who looked equally horrified and relieved.

“They all know?” he whispered.

You nodded. “Apparently for a while.”

Garcia beamed. “What gave it away? Everything.”

You and Spencer exchanged a look.

Then you both laughed — loud, breathless, incredulous.

So much for secrets.

Later, as the party mellowed into dusk and someone lit a bonfire, Spencer pulled you close beneath the string lights.

“Do you think it’s weird… that I’m kind of relieved?”

You looked up at him. “Relieved they found out?”

He nodded. “Yeah. It’s like… I don’t have to keep something good hidden anymore.”

You smiled, pressing a kiss to his cheek. “You’re not something I want to hide, Spencer.”

He looked at you then, all soft eyes and quiet awe.

Even in a team of profilers, even under the most watchful eyes — you and Spencer had managed something rare.

A love worth noticing.

[ghost-in-a-cup]

hey guys, maybe before you pirate LEARN SOME ETIQUETTE

why are these important? well, if you openly share the sites, they wil get shut down. corporations are willing to copyright strike anything. you are only going to make accessing these resources harder.

remember: LOOSE LIPS SINK SHIPS

if you want to share resources, don't post them on public forums like tumblr, twitter,instagram or any popular site. remember how zlibrary shut down? yall want that to happen to more sites? do you?

also like if they get shut down, people who can't access these otherwise because they don't have the means for it or its banned in their country are losing access.

Don't post links online. Only share in private conversations.

try and avoid linking the sites directly. a workaround is sharing the downloaded files via other file hosting sites similar to google drive and drop box

DON'T SHARE ON PUBLIC FORUMS. EVER. PLEASE

Use a VPN. i personally like proton vpn, it is a freemium model but the free version works fine.

These are just the basics, there are others but please keep these in mind.

[alanisstonedd]

okay bluecollar!rafe but yall. can we make it MARINE!RAFE?? or more specifically MARSOC!rafe* who works for ward at cameron construction co. on leave?? like hello i need him bad guys.

cw: MDNI smut, cursing, stuff in public, food play, cum eating, military stuff, ass play, manhandling, 1 mention of fighting, recording

*marsoc: Marine Forces Special Operations Command - basically what COD men do

like he starts off as a standard private officer after enlisting when you guys graduate high school. he works his way up from private to corporal to sergeant major, and then eventually to captain, colonel, then general. i mean hes fucking unstoppable, hes blowing thru these ranks like nobodys fuckin business, and he not stopping anytime soon baby he in his primeeee.

he moves on to MARSOC and leads a small team on SPEC-OP missions in like borneo. hes literally the best of the best. his full file is like 4 pounds, full of successful recon missions, confirmed kills, successful captures of enemy targets, accurate tracking efforts, successful counterterrorism efforts, successful hostage rescue and successful direct action raids. when theres a REAL threat? they call LT Cameron. callsign? RAIDER

NOW. when baby comes home on leave he works at the family construction company ward owns, building giant beach houses for rich kooks. he eventually inherits cameron construction when ward gets too old to work and he helps ward retire bcs of the cash from being the most elite soldier in the US military. bae is tannnn bcs of construction work ofc, but also since being in the military he likes to go on runs and be in nature to clear his head. and yall alr know hes yatteddddd, both sleeves done by his boy at home on the cut, who happens to be a very talented tattoo artist (barry...)

strictly keeps a buzz for deployment but will grow out a mullet when hes home. signature gold chain is always on, and has a tat on his ring finger for you and maybe one on his forearm. does he have both ears pierced with fake diamond studs in? yes.

is currently in the blueprint stage for a beach house he wants to build you on figure 8 (and one in florida... and will probably start planning another one if he ends up having a long ship-out next deployment) even tho he despises rich fucks and is suchhhh a country boy. i mean hes like pogue!rafe but hes more of a mudding, dirt biking, bonfire, shotgunning beer, lifted truck, bar hop, football game kind of guy. and the most elite soldier in the US military ofc.

takes you on stargazing dates and fucks you in the truck bed, a big beach towel set down and his head in your neck while he ruts into you short and fast. occasionally gets into bar fights when some dick is tryna say sum to u. is such an ass man and will smack and grope that shit wheneverrrr whereverrrr - has zoned out of convos with people while feelin HIS booty up + loves to grip your pussy with his big ass paw when no one is looking.

has a super firm grip due to years of being a marine and WILL manhandle ur ass around - into various positions, onto the bed or couch or counter or etc., up over his shoulder when you gettin on his nerves. gets actually animalistic when yall fuckin, and yk that boy a munch. growls and grunts sooo loud the whole time.

will take you to the dock and fuck you on the family fishing boat. will christen any new bar yall go to by fucking you in the gross bathroom and carving both your initials in the wall with his pocket knife that ward gave him when he was 15. is kinky af but lets u bring it up bcs he feels awkward talking about it. is sooooo nasty - will eat his cum out of you with his whole mouth, eyes locked on yours, sucking your lips into his mouth. then, when it’s not enough, he drags you up to sit on his face and rubs your clit, watching you clench and letting his cum drip from you right onto his tongue.

will stick a thumb in your ass during doggy, while reaching for his phone bcs the way u throwin that ass back on him? yall bout to make another movie. loves watching you clean him up after round 5, when his dick is covered in his and your cum - will not let you miss a spot, even where it dripped down over his hefty balls to his ass. and he rarely shaves - uncut.

if it’s a hot day, he’ll turn the ac off and find you so he can lick the sweat off every crevice of your beautiful body while he’s fucking you over the counter. both of you completely butt naked bcs it’s hot. has a sweet tooth - will interrupt you while you’re baking and strip you, laying you on the counter like the dessert you are and eating the frosting off his favorite parts. get especially excited when it comes to sweets on your nipples.

honestly if that aint a FEASTTTT i dont know what issss

[sleepymccoy]

Someone I follow is posting about Spock and McCoy after the Katra sharing, but they're posting canon thoughts and I'm all fanon so I'm making my own post lol

Post Katra headcanons!

Spock swears in Southern when he's tired. He really doesnt like this

McCoy understands a bit of Vulcan, but only when he doesn't know the person isn't speaking English. Like, if they randomly switch to Vulcan he can keep up until it's pointed out

They can feel when the other is experiencing strong emotions. They don't know what emotion, but it's like an itch or a tickle in their throat to say the other is feeling something

They know a bit of each other's specialised knowledge. McCoy is passable at astrophysics now, and Spock is an even more annoying patient since he understands the terminology

They also remember a few private moments of eachother's that they weren't present for. Both politely don't mention this, but do find confusing ways to allude to it

McCoy can cook some Vulcan dishes now. Spock developed a taste for bourbon in the evening that takes everyone by surprise

With great effort Spock can project messages to McCoy. With greater effort McCoy can give Spock a feeling that translates to fuck off

On Vulcan they're legally super duper married and Spock just doesn't mention this. McCoy notices next tax return when he's taxed like a married man, not a single man. Takes him months of asking around to figure out who the government thinks he's married to. He files for divorce without talking to Spock

Spock won't divorce him cos he did carry his Katra, but he'll agree to an annulment. McCoy about pops off with anger

Kirk buys them a wedding gift when he finds out

They don't get the annulment and neither can really put their finger on why. Something about respecting Vulcan culture, cos they'll still be married on Vulcan no matter what

McCoy gets a headache whenever Spock mind melds with someone else

McCoy can initiate a mind meld with Spock, which they both get kinda very into cos their brains feel so good paired back up again. McCoy drunkenly described it as being better than sex to Kirk and the idea of that sticks around something terrible

Their telepathic connection is stronger after a meld, so they start doing it in advance of missions so they can be in touch immediately if things go sideways

If they're apart for a long time the connection will tell them when each other is close by. They've run into each other at conferences or in hotels or once on a transport ship they didn't know the other was booking too. They find each other quickly and easily when they're nearby

This becomes an uncanny capacity to always vaguely know where the other is. McCoy is bad at remembering that he shouldn't know and will volunteer Spock's whereabouts sometimes without thinking

They get good at learning what the various nudges and hints from their connection mean. They can tell different moods apart and send messages that the other can open at their leisure, rather than breaking through and being front of mind

If one of them is injured or captive or just bored as shit they'll sometimes pop into the other's head and basically turn into the back seat driver from hell

With everything they know and learn, they're very fond of each other

[cityof2morrow]

JP Hood Deco - 60+ Buildings

Published: 2-2-2025 | Updated: N/A SUMMARY Select deco buildings (J. Puerta, 2022-2024 via Cities Skylines) with updated TXTRs and day/night states. The set contains a nice mix of residential, community, industrial, and waterfront buildings in various sizes. Higher poly buildings (9K+) are packaged separately for convenience. Mind your system settings/capacity when using high poly CC.

DETAILS Requires all EPs/SPs (may or may  not work with only 1-2 EPs) §0 | Hood Deco The MESH-TEXTURES file is REQUIRED for buildings to display properly (see download links below). See poly counts below. ITEMS LOW-TO-MID-POLY: Baltic Apts. (3456), BellyMall (9059), Bellyshops (626), Charlson Marine Dock (3468), Clappgarden (3215), CMS Systems (5246), Colson Residences 012-018 (1285-1775), Convention Center (6366), Crestview Terrace (870), Cruise Ship Terminal (5229), Cunna Center (6567), Deliver Stores (2615), District Cultural Center (4072), District Fire Station (7503), District Medical Center (2640), District Police Station (3824), DP Stores (6724), DP Stores & Offices (3833), Elementary School (1462), Hamilton House (3281), Hills View Apts. (3633), High School (5730), Jean & Food (2331), Kiip Building (7756), Lauren Residences (1644), Lily Park (7334), Local Clinic (1220), Local Fire Station (2735), Local Police Station (1406), Local Post Office (1162), Malibu Apts. (1729), Maple Avenue (1603), Marine Side Homes (8210), Marine Side Offices (8338), Metropolitan Hospital (6102), Metropolitan Library (6030), NextT Center (7582), Nu-Vulton Store (3202), Paper Corp. (2893), Pine Residences (7352), Recycling Center (4542), Rich Bank (8056), Rosaleda Hotel (8499), School Library (1652), ST27 Residences (4302), Stella Homes (3520), Tulip Residences (3945), Water Pumping Station/Pump (522-2719), Wesley Place (2668), Wonton House (2858), YDFpharma Facilities B1-B3 (3642-4612) HIGH POLY (9K+): Adler Living (12781, HIGH), Blueview Condominiums (10230, HIGH), Lifewell Ins (11127, HIGH), Rooket Homes (10970, HIGH), Rose Condominiums (9385, HIGH), Seaton Residences (10812, HIGH), ST30 Hotel & Suites (11467, HIGH), YDFpharma Offices (11813, HIGH) DOWNLOAD (choose one) MESH-TEXTURE FILE (REQUIRED) from SFS | from MEGA LOW & MID-POLY BUILDINGS from SFS | from MEGA HIGH-POLY BUILDINGS (9K+) from SFS | from MEGA

CREDITS Thanks: Thanks to Rach & Lord Crumps. Sources: Any Color You Like (CuriousB, 2010), Beyno (Korn via BBFonts), EA/Maxis, Offuturistic Infographic (Freepik), J. Puerta (2022-2024), E. Grenci (2022), AliTarGz via Cities Skylines, Cities Skylines (Paradox Interactive and Tri Synergy, 2015). *No copyright infringement intended. Converted content is for non-commercial use only. EA/Maxis own all content derived from their games, as do other game/content publishers whose work appears on this site in derivative form. If this content exceeds fair use, contact this site via private message re: TOU violations.

[etanow]

MASTER POST

The Experimental Monster Laboratory, or Monster Labs, is a TADC AU where the cast is in the physical world! Sorta..

C&A Research Facilities is one of the cornerstones of the science and medical worlds! They do everything; funding research, manufacturing equipment, and research into the known and unknown in an effort to understand everything. To the public, that is.

They experiment heavily in everything, from hiring literal Gods on earth to manage the more ..sensitive divisions; mixing machine and magic, technology and the supernatural, genetic experimentation, you name it, they’ve probably done it! The world outside may not know anything of the advancements they’re researching but there is little C&A Labs won’t allow in the name of progress in understanding and cataloging everything in their universe. Our story takes place in one of the more private residencies deep in C&A, belonging to Caine; a minor God with mysterious origins, unknown limitations, and boundless enthusiasm for learning everything he can about his little science friends.

╰┈➤ Content

╚═ Unnamed fic (Coming soon...) ╚═ Bubble can cook?? .

╰┈➤ Asks

╚═ Does Pomni act like a zombie? ╚═ Is Zooble's Demon Snake Leg happy? ╚═ Gangle is in a Situation.png ╚═ Gangle's temperament ╚═ Has Ragatha ever shocked anyone? ╚═ Gangle love RAAAH ╚═ Do Caine and Ragatha fight over Pomni? ╚═ Why did Gangle summon a demon? ╚═ Why does Pomni wear a bell collar? ╚═ Kinger's eye ╚═ What if there was a baby crying? ╚═ Death trauma [Gangle and Pomni] ╚═ Kinger has ONE hobby outside of Bugs ╚═ Is Zooble protective of Gangle? ╚═ What happens when you touch Pomni's brain? ╚═ JAX DATED SOMEONE?? ╚═ What does Jax do? .

╰┈➤ References

╚═ Intro Cards ╚═ Height Chart Lineup ╚═ Zooble Demon Snake Leg Intro Card /j ╚═ Queenie ╚═ Gummigoo ╚═ The Sun Room ╚═ Logo .

╰┈➤ Arts

╚═ First ML AU Post ╚═ Second, exploring outfits ╚═ Design sketches part 2 ╚═ Pomni + flower language ╚═ Showtime + Ragapom doodles ╚═ Jax not practicing lab safety ╚═ Abstragedy cuddles ╚═ Raga doodle ╚═ Ragapom doodle ╚═ Jax and Meadowsweet ╚═ Pomni staring out a fake window.png ╚═ [Gives pomni flowers] ╚═ more doodles ig

.

╰┈➤ Misc.

╚═ Caine Lemon Rant [Animatic] ╚═ Zodiac signs?? ╚═ Caine gets called a Tumblr Sexyman and cries ╚═ Bubble Looksmaxxing ╚═ Jax wants to take ketamine with you (Romantically) ╚═ Caine eats a lemon [Animatic] ╚═ BUNNYSUITSSS ╚═ Magma doodles ╚═ Magma doodles part 2

.

╰┈➤ Pomniverse

╚═ Wonderland and Zombni are friends :D

.

╰┈➤ Boundaries / Q&A

╚═ Any story plans? I'm not sure yet, currently writing a fic and several comics on the way.

╚═ Any boundaries? None, so go crazy! I am OK with gore, NSFW, angst, violence, etc, just be sure it is tagged/TW'd appropriately as not everyone is OK with that content. I'd also like to see please LOL

╚═ Can we create fanart/fics/content? Can we dub or fancam? Yes of course!! Please tag me, I'd love to see all of it! I'm tracking the tag #TADC Monster Labs AU for other's content

╚═ Is NSFW allowed? Yes, both art and fic, so long as it's marked appropriately I'd very much love to see!

╚═ Can I ship the characters, self-ships, or OC x Canon? Yes, ship away! Just be aware the only au-canon ships are Caine/Pomni, Ragatha/Pomni, Gangle/Zooble, and PAST Ragatha/Jax.

╚═ Can we make OCs? Go on ahead! Here is a PSD file for the blank template and the PNG can be found here.

╚═ Who are you?

✦✧ Hi I'm Audi! 26, she/they. Full-time office worker, I do art in my free time. ✦ My current interests are TADC, RWBY, Looney Tunes, and Trolls. ✧ I draw using a custom PC, a Huion Kamvas 16 (2.5K), and Adobe Photoshop. Currently learning to use Procreate. ✦ I do not RP and this isn't an ask blog, asks interacting directly with characters will probably not be answered. ✧ Asks are not guaranteed to be answered, sorry if yours isn't but please don't spam/send multiple times! ✦ Commissions and requests are not open at this time, thank you. ✧ My main tumblr is Audi-art. My Twitter is Hammerspaced.

[sssammich]

fic: angels work the night shift (complete version)

what's up yall happy supercorp sunday

this is the full fic of this snippet i posted a couple days ago

read the fic on ao3, 9k words

ok thx love u bye

--

"Fucking shit."

Lena rifles through the small stack of papers sitting beside her purse in the front passenger seat and realizes with great annoyance that the paperwork that Sam, her Chief Financial Officer, sent over isn't in there. She would have let it go and finally driven home were it not for the meeting about said paperwork early the next day.

Shutting her eyes and taking a deep breath, she attempts to cool the frustrations that's fraying the last of her sanity, and reaches out for her purse before heading back out of the underground parking lot and towards her private elevator.

Standing in front of the shiny reflective doors, her mouth curves down when she inspects her appearance, the bags under her eyes more prominent despite the makeup she has to cover it, her once tightly pulled high ponytail looser now, hanging limp behind her. Her cream satin blouse hangs on her thin frame, the bottom of it having come loose from where she'd tucked it in her navy blue pencil skirt. A pitying sight, if she's being truthful, but the accompanying pity party will need to be postponed until after tomorrow's meeting—no doubt a means for members of the board to undermine her at every turn while the ship sinks.

There doesn't seem to be any clear path to any real reprieve for her after inheriting the family business, not after her own brother, the touted Man of Tomorrow, had been arrested for murdering their father and placing their mother in a coma.

Eventually, her elevator reaches the top floor of her office suite and she straightens, internally waving away the thoughts of what her life has become, what her family has become. She has no control over those things, but she does have control of finding that stupid file she left on her desk that she will undoubtedly spend the next couple of hours detangling until she succumbs to exhaustion.

The elevator doors opens to her floor and she beelines for her office, alarm tingling when she looks at her door sitting ajar.

Her pace slows despite the persistent ache in the ball of her left foot and the sting on the heel of her right. She narrows her eyes, clutching her purse tightly in hand, and running through a mental list of what she can use inside of her purse for defense. When she reaches the door, she tilts her head and peeks through the sliver of space between, finds her desk lamp has been turned on. There are sounds of movement, footsteps, and something she can't quite make.

Then she hears…humming.

Narrowing her eyes, she grasps the edge of her door and pushes it slowly, careful not to make any sudden moves.

Her hand grasps the door's edge, carefully opening it only to discover a person with their back turned to her. Her eyes trail from the black sneakers to the powder blue overalls with the top half hanging around the person's waist. A black tank top serves as a backdrop to the blonde hair tied up in a ponytail, swishing back and forth as they move from side to side.

The woman turns a little, a mop in hand, as she uses the top of the mop handle as a microphone, singing some familiar tune that Lena can't quite place.

"All by myself, don't wanna be…"

The corner of Lena's mouth twitches into an amused smile when she realizes what she's looking at, or perhaps, who she's looking at, and how completely swayed and distracted they are with the music that they're listening to.

Lena's eyes are focused on this woman as she remains rooted in her place, watching this impromptu concert while the woman belts out the chorus of the song.

It's not until the woman opens her eyes and resumes the back and forth mopping that Lena realizes where she is and what she's doing there in the first place. Yet despite needing to collect the files at her desk, she's not sure if she should keep walking to her desk, make some kind of overt gesture or simply call out to the woman to signal her presence. She might have ended up taking too long because before she can make a decision, the clattering of a dropped mop handle reverberates in the room and a surprised shriek is coming from the woman who stands between Lena and her desk.

"Excuse me," she says.

The woman raises her hands up just as she pulls her headphones down. "I didn't—uh, who are you?"

"This is my office." As she goes to make a move towards her desk, the woman steps forward and blocks her, hands no longer up in the air and now towards her, as if to stop her.

The woman scrunches up her face. "I'm gonna need some i-identification. Ma'am."

Lena quirks a brow, but the woman remains with her hands up despite her demand. "You don't trust me?"

"Only until after you show me proof."

"And who's to say you're who you are?"

The woman frowns before straightening her shoulders, enough for Lena to discover that she stands broadly, arms exposed, before she taps on the ID badge clipped to her waist. "Kara Danvers. Overnight Custodial Specialist. Now you."

A beat passes, then another, before she tilts her head, attempting to bypass this Kara Danvers, but to no avail because Kara stops steps to block her again. "Do you know whose office you're cleaning?"

"Yes. Lena Luthor's."

"But you don't know what she looks like."

"Um."

"So how would you know the difference?"

Kara frowns, but she stands her ground. "I can call the security guards to confirm. Actually, that's what I'll do."

Lena then proceeds to watch as Kara stands between her and her forsaken paperwork as she quickly radios for security. She would have been annoyed about this whole thing if she wasn't also touched that this veritable stranger is doing everything in her power to protect her company. So despite being tired, Lena waits for security to respond and clear her.

"Hi Scooter, listen, I have someone here in Lena Luthor's office claiming she's Lena Luthor but isn't showing identification. I just want to confirm. Um, over."

"Copy that, Danvers. Please have the woman approach the radio."

She bites back a smile, already anticipating Scott's request (or in this case, Scooter's request, already making a mental note to ask about this nickname) for her. Instead, she stands up straight and watches as Kara approaches with the radio between them.

"Go ahead, Scooter," she starts, pressing on the radio's talk button, just shy of Kara's fingers as she holds the radio up. "Please ask what you need from me."

There's what she thinks is a throat clear, but can't be sure with the static of the radio. "Right. Please provide today's ten digit confirmation code."

She doesn't tear her attention away from staring at Kara and the blue of her eyes. "1-0-2-4-1-9-9-4-3-8."

"Confirmed. Danvers, she's clear."

"Thanks, Scooter. Sorry for the bother."

"Good work, Danvers. Over and out."

"Uh, over and out." Kara clips the radio by her name badge and offers an apologetic smile that crinkles the corner of her eyes. Lena attempts not to focus on that. "You're cleared. Sorry."

"Don't be," she says, finally able to walk towards her desk unimpeded once Kara steps back. She picks up the folder and quickly flips through it to confirm it's exactly what she needs before turning around and meeting Kara's gaze. "I appreciate and commend the thorough precaution. Certainly more thoughtful than what I've experienced as of late."

"Oh."

"Forget I said that," she says, with a shake of her head. "It's clearly been a long night."

She motions to walk away when Kara's words stops her.

"It's not fair, how they're hounding you in the news. "

She arches a brow. "You know my name and you know about the news surrounding me but you don't know what I look like?"

"Uh. I'm no good with faces," she says with a shrug, Lena noting the definition of her shoulder muscles before turning her attention back towards Kara's blue eyes. "Face blindness."

She nods, though she remains somewhat dubious. "I understand. Well, Kara Danvers, as lovely as this has been, I must be going."

Kara's body jerks up and nods. "Oh, shoot. You're right! Sorry, it's so late and I've just kept you here even longer. Sorry, Miss Luthor, ma'am. I don't—"

She puts a hand up. "Just Lena is fine."

"Right."

"Well, goodnight Miss Lu-Lena. Lena."

"Goodnight…" she intones, waiting until realization dawns on the blonde woman in front of her.

"Kara. Just Kara is also fine."

"Goodnight then, Kara."

She walks back to the door only chancing a glance over her shoulder and finding Kara giving her a small wave, the mop back in her capable hands. She smiles back, but her pace doesn't slow until she reaches the elevators.

---

Lena's ensuing weeks become a chaotic storm of meetings and court proceedings and hospital visits and escaping the nightmare of paparazzi and press hounding her for a glimpse of the LuthorCorp CEO.

Lena almost forgets about Kara Danvers until she finds herself back in her office after midnight.

She hadn't meant to stay this late in the office today, but she hadn't been able to break away after two back-to-back international conference calls with their satellite offices that needed to have her there.

Instead of using the coffee machine in her office, she decides to take a short trip a few floors down to one of the break rooms just to stretch her legs. She's only a few steps away from the break room when she hears singing. She recognizes the voice, surprised at how well she remembers it, an amused smile transforming her face.

"…but it's just a sweet, sweet fantasy baby…"

She carefully walks towards the threshold and, sure enough, finds Kara holding her phone with one hand and what Lena assumes is a mug of coffee in the other, her headphones on her head. Just like the last time Lena saw Kara, her overalls uniform has the top half wrapped around her waist, though this time, her tank top is white.

Lena doesn't move from her spot, afraid to make any sudden movements in case she startles the other woman. She waits and watches as Kara gets comfortable at a table, busy singing along to whatever she's listening to on her phone. The mug hovers by her lips when Kara looks up from her seat and finds Lena standing by the entrance.

Her shriek of surprise is worse than last time especially when she spills almost half of her coffee all over herself as she attempts to keep herself upright in her seat. Lena grimaces before she offers an apologetic and guilty smile and a wave.

"What the heck, lady!" Kara says, wrenching her tank top away from her body and squeezing it. Lena scolds herself for inappropriately checking her employee out, especially when she discovers tan skin under the now stained fabric.

"I'm sorry, Kara. I didn't mean to startle you again," she offers.

"Again?" Her face contorts in confusion and has Lena frowning because of it. Then a flash of recognition appears on Kara's face and her cheeks redden, her head bowed slightly. "Oh! Miss Luth—Miss Lena. Hi. Sorry, I didn't realize you'd be down here."

"I was hoping to make a cup for myself," she nods towards the half-empty cup sitting in front of Kara. "I didn't know how to make my presence known without startling you, but it seems I'd done it anyway."

"The fault is mine," Kara insists. "I should definitely stop listening to headphones while at work. But it's literally only me on these floors, so anybody showing up would for sure scare me."

With the misunderstanding resolved, Lena goes to the coffee maker. "Can I make you another cup?"

"Oh, that's okay. Probably for the best I don't have too much caffeine, then I won't be able to sleep later when I'm done with work."

Lena waits for the coffee maker's classic groan before placing the mug on the cup dock, her arms crossed over her chest while she leans against the counter and waits for her cup to fill.

"How long have you been working the overnight shift?" she asks.

"Almost a year next month. Started doing it because it's the best paying job I could get while going to school."

"Oh? May I ask what you're studying?"

"Um. Marketing. I take the evening classes and then head straight here."

She nods, processes the information that Kara shares with her. "Not passionate about marketing, I take it?"

Kara laughs, the sound melodic and bright, a start contrast to dark sky that blankets over them just outside the windows. "Not at all. But it's the program I was in before I deferred college a few years back, and I wasn't really sure what to go back into without starting over. So, marketing it is."

Puzzle pieces of Kara forms in Lena's mind, each one marked with all that she's shared so far in their short time together.

"If you could just do anything without worrying about starting over, what would you do?"

"Not sure. I like helping people whenever I can. But that could be anything."

"Is there anybody you admire and want to emulate, maybe?"

There's a half-smile on Kara's face and she turns her head slightly, her blonde ponytail swishing behind her. "Let me think on it and get back to you."

"You've got yourself a deal," she says before she gathers her coffee cup and walks over to the condiments, placing just one packet of sugar in her coffee. When she glances up, she catches the disgusted face on Kara's face. "Is there a problem?"

"That's not nearly enough sugar to offset the bitter taste of coffee."

It's her turn to laugh holding the cup just by her lips, the aroma of the coffee permeating her senses. "The coffee doesn't need anything else, Kara. It's good on its own."

"With all due respect, boss, but I'll have to disagree. Four packets of sugar and half a mug of creamer or bust."

Her jaw drops, aghast, and she twists her body as if to shield her coffee cup away from Kara who's flashing her a bright and pearly white smile. "That's atrocious."

Kara pouts, her elbows leaning on the table. "It's the only way to mask the nasty taste!"

"Then why drink coffee?"

"Because when you add all the good stuff, it's not so bad."

She shakes her head, wonders how she's possibly having this conversation. Though she'll admit it's the most pleasant interaction she's had all day. With a quick look at the clock on the opposite wall, she realizes that she's lingered far too long for someone who needed to have left the office hours ago.

"I'd hate to cut our conversation short," she starts to say, realizing how much she believes her words this time. "But I should be getting back to my office so I can finally head home." Kara jumps to her feet, the coffee stain on her tank top on full display that makes Lena's mouth twitch in a small frown. "Let me buy you a new one."

Kara looks down at herself before offering Lena a shrug and a grin. "No, no. My clumsiness is the true culprit here."

She wants to say more, poised to do just that, but her phone in her pocket chimes with emails pouring in from the other side of the globe.

"Duty calls," she says. "Goodnight Kara."

"Miss Lena."

There's an amused shake of her head when she meets Kara's eyes. "Just Lena really is fine."

"But you're, like, the super boss."

"Does being the super boss mean you can't call me by my name?" she wonders aloud.

"No. But you're the boss and I'm just a janitor." The smile on Kara's face is smaller this time, dimmer too, and her fingers have started fiddling with her stained shirt.

"Don't disparage the very vital work that you do around here, Kara. Without you maintaining order in my office, it'd look like a tornado made residence in there. Then what would the members of the board say when they strong arm their way in there and attempt to undermine my decisions?"

"Aye, aye." Kara flashes her a lopsided grin and throws her a mock salute. "For what it's worth, none of those old geezers stand a chance against you."

"I'll take it." She sighs and offers Kara a small smile. "Goodnight, Kara. Have a good rest of your shift tonight."

"Thanks. Sleep well—for, you know, for when you do."

She raises her mug to Kara before trekking back to the elevator and making her way back to her office.

---

Lena gets her assistant to order and discreetly wrap a stack of tank tops, in both black and white, delivered up to her office. She's not sure what to do now, how she should proceed. She has a business dinner tonight that she can't miss, so staying late in the office is not something she can do. She could always wait until the next day, but the idea of letting this half-baked idea fester any longer would only serve to intensify the anxiety she now feels for overstepping and being presumptuous.

She settles instead for scribbling a small note on the memo pad at her desk and signs it before folding it and placing it inside the bag. Buzzing her secretary in, she draws up an impassive face, her hand fiddling with her fountain pen.

"Jess," she begins when her assistant arrives just by her desk. "Have this bag delivered to Kara Danvers."

"Kara Danvers?"

"Custodial Staff."

"Right." Jess stares at her for a second before resuming her note-taking. "Anything I need to relay to her?"

"No. Simply that it's to be given to her at the start of her shift later tonight."

"Understood." Jess retrieves the bag from the couch and exits her office while Lena remains with the ball of nervous anxiety she's been nursing for the last couple of hours. It's almost a relief when she gets called down to the engineering lab to troubleshoot an engineering snafu, eager to set aside thoughts of Kara so she can actually get stuff done.

---

The next morning, Lena arrives in her office and finds a tented note resting at the center of her desk. She takes a second to put her workbag and coffee cup down before plucking the note up and turning it in her grasp.

She laughs when she reads Super Boss written in a neat combination of print and cursive. She flips the card open and reads,

Dear Lena,

Thank you for the replacement shirts that I received tonight. Even though I do recall mentioning that my clumsiness was the culprit and therefore the gift was not necessary. Appreciated, though you didn't have to.

But thank you, anyway. It was very sweet, and gave me the perfect excuse to throw away some of the older ones I was holding onto. Not the one that I spilled on, though. I'm keeping it for sentimental reasons. I've got it framed in my studio apartment as I write this, hanging right above my television and everything. I'm sure you understand.

Bonus points that my supervisor couldn't stop being nosy and wondering what was in the bag or why someone from your offices would hand deliver it for me. Maybe I'll tell him I was awarded new microfiber cloths. What do you think?

I hope you have a wonderful day, boss.

Kara

For the rest of the day, Lena fails spectacularly in keeping the smile on her face in check garnering slightly odd looks from her assistant and other employees.

---

It won't be for another three months that she finds herself staying late at the office, her life having become a whirlwind of chaos with her work and personal life blowing up for all the world to see: her mother, Lillian, had finally woken up from her coma, and Lena had been called to the stand to testify against her own brother.

Her choice of hiding in her office hadn't been planned, but the quiet of her office and the darkness bathing the room around her is enough for now.

She's sitting on her couch with her head in one hand and balled up tissues in the other, her decanter and an empty tumbler on the coffee table in front of her. It barely registers in her mind that there's rustling coming from her office door. She rushes to her desk, hand hovering underneath the silent alarm, her other hand clutching at her baton from her purse.

Yet when the door opens and she finds the same powder blue overalls with hanging by the waist and a tank top-wearing blonde woman, she sighs in relief at the familiar face.

Kara doesn't jump or startle this time, but she does end up standing by the door, a shocked expression on her face when she realizes that Lena's there. Quickly, she tugs at her headphones and offers Lena a smile.

"Who let you in here?" Lena's not quite sure how to respond to that, but it seems she doesn't have to when Kara walks in, pushing her cleaning cart forward, and realization dawns on her. "Oh, hi Lena."

She releases a wet laugh, her body loosening from the rigid posture she'd been holding. She releases the baton from her purse and moves her hand away from the silent alarm trigger, but doesn't otherwise leave her current station.

"How'd you realize it was me?"

"I didn't at first because your hair is down so I wasn't sure if that was you. But then I smelled your perfume."

Kara has pushed her cleaning cart all the way to her desk and they both look at one another. She wants to ask how Kara recognizes her perfume, but her fuzzy brain can't hold onto the thread long enough. Then, Kara asks, "Have you been crying?"

Lena sags against her desk this time, her head hanging low as her chin dips against her chest. "It's just been a very long day."

Kara slowly approaches her and extends a hand. "Wanna sit for a minute?"

She glances down at the outstretched hand, open and inviting, before looking back up at patient blue eyes. She nods, accepting what's offered to her as they make their way to the couch.

"My hand's clean, I promise."

She chuckles, throws a look at the woman beside her before she takes her seat on the couch. Kara takes a few short steps towards her cart and grabs a water bottle before walking around and sitting beside her.

"Here, drink some."

Accepting the water, she takes a few swigs, careful not to spill on herself. The cool water feels good as it makes its way down her parched mouth and sinks into her belly. It certainly has a better effect than the alcohol she's been nursing for the last hour. Kara is fiddling with something in her pocket for a few moments until she reveals three granola bars and two fruit leather strips.

"You take one, I take one."

"I couldn't take your snack, Kara. I shouldn't even be here right now."

"Sure you can. You gift me clothes, I gift you store-brand granola and Fruit-by-the-Foot knockoffs. It's a fair trade."

She eyes the snacks held in Kara's hand, the very same one that held her firmly just moments ago. She'd contest this, but she is tired beyond exhaustion, so she acquiesces, grabbing one of each and slowly peeling the wrapper of the granola bar. Kara mirrors her, peeling her own granola bar and taking a bite just as Lena takes a bite.

It's an odd thing to find herself in, Lena thinks, with one of her custodial staff sitting with her as she contends with the shambles that has become of her life. Still, there is comfort in Kara's presence, a lack of expectation from a woman who takes a moment to recognize her and doesn't immediately recoil when it dawns on her that she's a Luthor.

"Good, right?" Kara asks after she chews and swallows half the granola bar. "Got it on sale this weekend and bought two packs. So if you want another one, just let me know."

She's about to protest, but her stomach gurgles, her body betraying her in front of her visitor.

"Sometimes it's the little things, you know?"

She nods, though she can't imagine if there's any little thing left to enjoy in her life. Kara smiles at her, her cheek puffing slightly as she finishes the granola in her hand. Okay, perhaps there's one little thing to enjoy in her life.

Lena eventually moves onto the fruit leather, the inside slightly sticky as she unfurls the roll. She takes a tentative bite, the sweetness just on the edge of cloying, but all the same comforting.

"I don't know if I've ever had this," she confesses, inspecting the package in her hand.

"What? You're kidding!"

"I highly doubt I had processed foods until I was in boarding school, and even then, they had a highly specific diet the girls were supposed to follow."

Kara looks on at her in slight disbelief, but no apparent judgment directed at her. "This was one of the treats my parents used to have for me growing up. Usually as incentive to get my homework done."

"That sounds nice. What do your parents do?"

"My dad was a Chemistry professor and my mother was an adjudicator."

"Was?"

Kara offers her a small smile. "They passed some years back, car accident."

Her first instinct is to offer her condolences and apology for having asked, but the way Kara's looking at her makes her bite her tongue. Instead, she takes another bite of her granola, the two of them sitting in companionable silence. Then, "Were they good people?"

"Yeah, I think so. They tried to do right by me, at least. They weren't perfect, but they tried to do good where and when they could."

She wants to sob, a pressure of envy sits against her ribcage of a life she would never know: a family who tried to do good when they could, to do right by her to their best of their ability. Instead, she's left to pick up the pieces of her father's death, her mother's incapacitation, and her brother's imprisonment.

"You do that, you know." Lena's head snaps up to look at her, blinking away the shine of tears from her eyes to get a better view of Kara's face. "Try to do good, I mean."

Lena swallows the lump in her throat, her eyes focused on Kara as her brain attempts to process her words.

"Sorry, was that—was that out of line?"

She shakes her head. "No, not at all. It just took me by surprise. You might be the only person in the world who thinks that."

"There are more people who believe in you than you think."

An errant tear does manage to escape, and she rushes to wipe it with her free hand. "God, sorry."

Kara rummages through the pocket of her overalls and takes out an honest-to-god handkerchief. It's white with three simple blue parallel lines on one edge of the square. Lena wordlessly accepts it and uses it to dab at her face, hopeful that whatever makeup she must have smeared all over her face doesn't transfer on the fabric.

"Thanks."

"'Course."

"I didn't think people still carried handkerchiefs," she comments, clutching at the cloth in her hand—it's soft to the touch, softer than she'd imagined. Kara simply chuckles when she responds.

"People usually don't anymore. But my parents used to carry them, so..."

"That's sweet, carrying on their legacy."

"Something like that. They weren't perfect people and getting older without them let me see that. But I loved them. You know?"

Eventually, Lena recognizes how late it's gotten and that she ought to get some sleep. She requests for a car from security downstairs, gathering her belongings while Kara busies herself to clean her office. She's just about to put the bottle of liquor back in the bar cart when Kara calls out to her.

"Leave it. I'll take care of it, don't worry."

The phone dings in her other hand letting her know that her driver is waiting for her, so she makes her way towards Kara who now held the vacuum in front of her.

"Thank you, Kara. For tonight. It means…" she doesn't know how to end her sentence without simply blurting out an insufficient 'everything', how to thank this person for sharing parts of herself and keeping her company despite the isolation that Lena has felt so acutely tonight. She sighs, hopes that the sag of relief in her bones is enough to convey her appreciation. "Goodnight, Kara."

The brightness of Kara's smile directed at her is one she'll remember for the rest of her life, she thinks. "Sleep well, Lena."

Later, when she's sitting in the backseat, she'll realize with a slight panic that she's still clutching onto the handkerchief that Kara offered her. Knowing that she can't do anything about returning it tonight, she ends up pushing it up against her cheek, the softness of the fabric a comfort pressed up against her skin.

She closes her eyes and smiles.

---

The following week, Lena finds one box of granola bars and one box of fruit leather sitting on her desk with the same tented note at the top. Her face splits into a smile when she reads Super Boss in the now familiar handwriting.

Dear Lena,

For your personal stash.

Kara

She takes a fruit leather out and unrolls it, taking a bite of it first thing that morning before placing the two boxes in her side drawer. Lena barely hides the smirk when Jess walks in with her tablet in hand and gapes at her for a second when she catches sight of the snack in Lena's hand.

---

An international acquisition deal keeps Lena busy in the following couple of months. Her itinerary has her traveling to several countries in a short span. When she has a minute or two to spare, her mind wanders to thoughts of a particular employee, one who carries handkerchiefs and keeps her pockets stocked with granola and fruit leather. Lena had half a mind to return the handkerchief the very next day, but she couldn't get herself to relinquish her hold even after she'd washed it and folded it and placed it at her desk with her own note for Kara to see. Something about it gave her comfort and she wasn't sure she could give that up so easily right now.

While spending some time in Japan, Lena thought about the time difference, how her midday was right in the middle of Kara's shift. She wondered about what Kara was singing to at that moment, if she'd been trying a different flavor of granola bars, what color handkerchief did she carry while Lean held onto her white and blue striped one.

By the time she returns to National City, her sleeping schedule is completely out of sync despite her best efforts to control her caffeine intake. Which is why tonight she's in her office working late, various files and her barely touched Chinese food all over the coffee table.

When she hears rustling by her door, she checks her watch and pauses her work, her body twisted enough to see her visitor.

Kara appears in her usual uniform with her cleaning cart in tow. Kara stills at the door before her face slowly splits into a smile as she enters the office and walks right up to the couch.

"Working through the midnight oil?"

"More like jet lag has dictated how I spend my days and nights as of late."

"Well, at least you have Sister Liu's keeping you company tonight," Kara nods to her table.

She laughs, tries to clear up some of the papers that have littered her space. "I've not been a very good host to them, if that's the case. I think all I've had is a bite of my lo mein and two potstickers."

Kara gasps, her hands resting on her waist, well-defined arms on full display. "How can you possibly only eat three bites of the best Chinese food in the entire city?"

Lena sits up. "Why don't you have some."

"I couldn't possibly. Plus, I'm on the clock right now."

"Then take a break."

"Have you?" she challenges, but Lena can only shrug since she can't say that she has. "Besides, I can't eat your food, Lena! You haven't eaten any of it!"

"I have plenty to share, but it probably does need reheating."

Kara looks at her, narrowing her eyes, when she says, "Well then let's both take it to the breakroom downstairs and eat there."

She's about to protest when she reconsiders knowing that her work can wait. So she smiles up at Kara from her spot on the couch and nods.

Kara takes the lead in heating up her food before opening the cupboards and finding plates and utensils. She offers to help but Kara shoos her away, so she makes herself useful and pours them both glasses of water. When the microwave dings, Kara's quick to take out the plastic container before Lena can even get to it, a playful glare thrown her way.

"Go sit."

She quirks a brow. "Last I checked, I was your boss."

Lena then smiles when Kara throws her a cheeky eyeroll and says, "Okay. Go sit, boss."

Doing as she's told, she takes her place at the table and watches as Kara plates her once-forgotten dinner, portioning it perfectly for the two of them. It's a silly thing for her to imagine a life where this could happen, but they're not at work or her breakroom, but instead at home together. Kara's studio apartment or her penthouse perhaps. A dangerous thing to entertain in her mind, tempting as it is. Chalks this lapse of judgment to her frayed and fraught emotions.

Still, when Kara's face breaks into a smile as she sits across from Lena, she reminds herself that there's no harm for a little fantasy that will go nowhere. Least of all when it's after midnight.

From her seat, she watches as Kara takes an appreciative bite of her potsticker. "Man, they really have the best potsticker in the world. Even China, probably."

She laughs, shaking her head as she forks a bite of her own lo mein into her mouth. Lena surprises herself when she gets through her plate quickly, the hunger she'd staved off for the last few hours coming back in full force.

"See, Sister Liu's is the best," Kara announces when she tips her head towards Lena's now clear plate.

"It did come highly recommended from my assistant."

"Yeah, she and I have talked about it in passing. I was actually the one to put her on it, so I'm glad that my rec made it all the way to the top."

"I hadn't realized you were familiar with my assistant," she comments, attempting to temper the surprise in her voice.

"Oh, sure. I've seen her a few times when I come into work early on nights I don't have class. I'm usually hauling a takeout bag in while she's on her way out."

"Perhaps you can relay some food suggestions to her. I normally have her order from the same place most of the time."

Kara smiles at that. "You're talking to the right person, then."

"Oh?"

"Definitely. You'll eat good, I promise."

She doesn't doubt Kara at all, not when she's flashing Lena a bright smile. When they finish eating, Lena insists she washes the plates they used since Kara 'cooked'. The hearty laugh that fills the quiet break room replenishes a drought she can't identify inside of her. She laughs along as she passes the plates for Kara to dry.

It's so easy, here.

It's so easy, here, for Lena to forget where she is, who she is.

It's so easy, here, to imagine a life that isn't hers, with a woman who has delivered more joy and light in her life than she could have ever expected.

They eventually walk back to Lena's office, Lena's soul and stomach satiated, and she considers leaving the files as they are and heading home.

"Time to go?"

"I think so," she says, even as she covers her mouth from a yawn. "Leave the room as it is, I'll sort through these things in the morning."

"Might still do some light dusting," Kara says with a shrug. Then she puts her hand out to reveal a fortune cookie. "For the trip home."

"Keep it."

"No, this is your fortune. You have to keep it." Kara reaches out and takes Lena's hand before placing the fortune cookie in the center of her palm before curling her fingers carefully into a loose fist. "You have to eat the cookie first entirely before you read the fortune or it won't work."

She huffs, but nods. "I didn't realize there were so many rules. But okay. I will do as told."

Kara gives her a triumphant smile. "Good. Sleep well, when you do."

"Goodnight, Kara."

With a parting wave to Kara when the elevator doors close, she stare at the fortune cookie still in hand. She rips the plastic open and splits the cookie, careful to take heed of Kara's advice. By the time she reaches her car, she's already eaten the cookie, yet it's not until she's sitting in the passenger seat that she looks at the small slip of paper.

She laughs when she reads her fortune.

Your heart will skip a beat.

---

Lena arrives in the office a bit tired but in good spirits, greeting Jess with a smile. Walking into her office, she shakes her head when she sees the clutter she'd made the night before cleared up, the files stacked neatly. She finds a colorful spread of papers at her desk and smiles when she sees the familiar scrawl on a tented memo.

Dear Lena,

Here are my top recommendations. I've circled my favorite dishes in all of them that I think you'd like. Happy eating, boss!

Kara

Lena plucks the menu for Big Belly Burger at the very top of the pile and grins at the sticky note she finds on the inside.

If you don't think this cheeseburger is delicious then I will eat my shoe. Also, get the cheese fries. Trust me.

She turns to another menu, one for a cafe called Noonan's, and finds a sticky note on it.

This cinnamon bun is the best thing you'll ever eat here. I am a professional, so trust me on this, I am so serious.

She leaves the notes on the menus though she devours reading each and every single one, each one a glimpse of Kara's life, each one a piece in a growing puzzle she forms of who Kara is. Touched by the consideration and thankful for the food recommendations despite how indulgent and less than healthy they appear, Lena sets aside the menus in the same drawer that houses the granola bars and fruit leather. She reminds herself to get some more and perhaps purchase extra to pass off to her favorite custodian.

She presses a button on her phone and waits until the call gets picked up.

"To what do I owe this call first thing in the morning?" Sam asks.

"What do you think about grabbing Big Belly Burger for lunch?" There's a beat of silence that passes between them and she wonders if Sam's not familiar. "Have you never had it?"

Then, Sam laughs. "No, I've had it, alright. I just didn't think you did."

"Well, I saw a glowing recommendation to try out the cheeseburger," she responds, looking down at Kara's note.

---

Three weeks later, Kara comes in super early and catches Lena just as she's getting ready to leave for the evening. It's a surprise all her own when Kara knocks on her already open door. Her blonde hair is down, reaching just a below her shoulders. She's in a navy blue button down paired with black skinny jeans and sneakers. She looks just at ease in this outfit as she does in her normal work uniform and such a thought brings a smile on her face.

"Kara Danvers, you're at work awfully early." She puts the last of her files in her work bag and waits at her desk.

"It's my night off, actually."

"Far be it for me to judge someone at work when they shouldn't be, but what are you doing here?"

"Uh, well. I actually I'm here to put in my two weeks' notice."

Lena's heart sinks. "Ah."

"Yeah, I uh, finished school last week and my cousin in Metropolis invited me to move in with him and his wife now that I'm done with school."

"So soon?" she asks, unable to help herself.

"Yeah, he'd waited to ask me 'til I was done with school since that was really the only thing keeping me here."

"I see."

"Yeah. It's not true, of course, there are other things that I really like about this place," Kara reasons, looking at her intently. Lena doesn't want to make anything out of nothing, so she only nods, encourages Kara to continue. "It was kind of fast, but I think he just didn't want me to be alone. I haven't been in a long time, but it's hard to fault a guy for being concerned when he lives on the opposite side of the country."

A slew of things rush through Lena's head, but now is not the time to think about any of them. Instead, what she says is, "Well, first, congratulations are in order. I didn't realize you'd finished school."

"I did, yeah. Thanks. Taking evening classes paid off and being gainfully employed here definitely helped."

"If you don't mind my company, then let me take you out for dinner to celebrate…unless you have plans?"

Kara smiles. "No. This was just it, I was mostly going to go home and start packing."

She grabs her work bag and leads the two of them to the private elevator. "Do you mind riding with me or do you feel more comfortable taking a separate car or walking to dinner?"

"Nuh uh," Kara says with a shake of her head, her eyes staring at the sleek sports car that Lena unlocks with her fob. "You can take me anywhere you want if I get to ride shotgun in this thing."

Laughter springs from her lips and she shakes her head before hoisting her bag into the back seat. "Hop in, then."

They make quick work of the drive, Kara's eyes scanning the entire interior of the car while she calibrates the directions to one of the restaurants that Kara suggested. If it were up to Lena, she would have taken this woman to the fanciest place she knew and wined and dined her.

She parks on the street in front of an unassuming Indian restaurant. She recalls the logo from the menu and how it matched with the logo right out front. They get seated right away, Kara being greeted with great familiarity by the server, something that Lena has never really seen save for the movies.

"Kara, always good to see you, my friend." The elderly man says with a pat on Kara's shoulder.

"Hi, Anish. This is Lena."

"Nice to meet you," she offers as she takes the man's hand.

"Date?"

Kara's eyes widen and she shakes her head, an embarrassed smile on her face. "Be cool for once, Anish. She's my boss. Gosh. Besides, she's definitely out of my league." The last of her words trail as she muffles them with the menu in front of her face, but Lena pretends not to hear, pretends not to react at the possibility that Kara may have already thought of them dating.

"We're celebrating Kara's graduation," she offers instead, delighted by the man's eyes lighting up at the news.

"Then let me get dinner started right away for you two!"

He leaves and gets them waters and time to look over the menu.

"You're a popular girl, Kara Danvers."

A bashful smile appears on her face and Kara smooshes half her face into her palm as she leans on the table. "I am a loyal customer, I'll say that."

"They'll be sad when you go."

"Yeah, I was thinking of making the rounds next week to let them know. Feels weird to just up and leave."

She nods, her eyes landing back on Kara in front of her. "Certainly thoughtful of you. One of the many things I have come to admire about you, actually."

It's then that Kara covers her face with both hands and Lena can't help but giggle. "Jeeze."

Daring to act, Lena pushes forward and tugs at one of Kara's hands so she can see Lena.

"Hey, I mean it. You've been a very thoughtful person, Kara. And I've appreciated everything you've done for my company and for me, specifically."

"I'd do them again, no problem. Everyone needs somebody in their corner."

There's no response that comes out of her mouth, and she's thankful for the interruption from Anish as he begins to prepare their table in front of them, talking all the while and sharing stories of Kara, all of which she accepts readily.

With food served and Anish attending to other guests, she and Kara fall into easy conversation, much like all the times they've shared together, however few and far between they were. Lena does her best to table that particular thought later in the comfort of her own home, the reality of Kara's impending departure hitting her more than she ever imagined.

So she remains present at this dinner where she learns that Kara's cousin and his wife are reporters at The Daily Planet and they have one son named Jonathan. How Kara can really only cook the basics and turns to takeout for the majority of her nourishment. How Kara likes to paint and draw in her spare time but didn't ever want to make that into her job.

How Kara considers Lena someone she wants to emulate, someone she looks up to. A flash of one of their late night conversations springs to mind, about school and marketing programs.

"No, you can't possibly."

"Sure I can, and I do! I mean, how you've been able to manage everything that's happened to you over the last couple of years has been nothing less than saintly, if you ask me."

It's her turn to become bashful, dipping her head. "Well, thank you."

Dinner ends with a feast of desserts that Anish fills their table with when he overhears that Kara's moving to Metropolis. She laughs, heart full, when Kara gazes at her just as Anish explains that he has his own cousin in Metropolis and even though his restaurant is not as good as his, he would still recommend it so she can have a taste of home. When it's time to pay and Anish refuses them, Lena simply tucks a few hundred dollar bills into his shirt pocket and pats him on the shoulder. It's only then that the older man finally loses his cool.

Each of them walk out with a to-go bag each, the two of them giggling openly when they breathe in the night air. Kara accepts the ride to her apartment and so they spend the fifteen-minute drive chatting about nothing in particular, content with simply enjoying each other's company.

The traitorous part of Lena can't help but shake the idea of how good this all feels, how light and alive she feels in Kara's presence. So she indulges herself and appreciates it for the time that it is, another moment in finding joy, however fleeting, with Kara around.

When they reach the front of Kara's building, she gets out of her own seat and walks around to meet Kara.

"Thanks for dinner tonight," Kara says, scratching the back of her head. "Not what I thought would happen when I put my resignation notice in, but I can't complain."

"I think you'll have Anish to thank for the food. But I appreciated you letting me take you out to celebrate. I really am proud of you for finishing what you set out to do. I wish you nothing but luck in Metropolis."

"Can I—sorry, this is probably really inappropriate, but can I give you a hug?"

Lena wants nothing more, so she opens her arms until they wind their way around Kara's neck. For a long moment, one that Lena will feel for days to come, they simply hold each other in place, steady breaths passing between them until the embrace meets its end.

"Thanks for taking care of my office," she says intently when they finally separate, hoping to convey that what she really means is Thanks for taking care of me.

By the smile that Kara sends her way and the softness in her eyes, she can tell that Kara has heard her loud and clear when she responds, simply, "It was my pleasure."

---

On what Lena knows is Kara's last night, she orders for the handkerchief she'd been carrying with her to be delivered back to Kara. It sits in a simple box with a note of thanks for letting her keep it for so long.

Yet when she reaches her desk the next morning, the box is already sitting at her desk. When she flips it open, the handkerchief is still there.

---

Months go by and Lena's life continues, day in and day out. The changes that she makes in the company keeps her busy.

Lillian's recovery keeps her busy.

Her life is better than it has been in a long time. Every so often, though, her thoughts drift to Kara. How she's doing in Metropolis. She considered keeping tabs on Kara, but decided against it knowing that it would only hurt her in the long run. Nevertheless, when she catches her self working late in the office, or needing a pick-me-up snack, memories of Kara populate her mind. How a handful of interactions with this one woman helped keep her from floating adrift in the hardest year of her life.

How someone she otherwise would never have met helped keep her sane, kept her fed, and offered a light in a life that had been tumultuous and miserable for her.

A year passes and Lena is all the better for it. Her life has settled, stabilized. It's more than she could have hoped for, certainly more than she could have imagined a year prior when she'd only gotten her bearings in order.

After Kara left, she'd resolved to leave work earlier, never to catch herself in the office so late in the night. Something about the sacredness of those nights needed to be preserved with the woman who left for the opposite side of the country. It's a silly notion, but Jess seems all the happier for it when she leaves work at a more consistent hour in the evening.

"Miss Luthor, your 11 AM had to cancel last minute."

Faced with a free hour, she grabs her purse and heads for the elevator. "I'm gonna take a long lunch. Hold my calls until I get back."

She makes her way to Noonan's and orders herself a kale salad, a cinnamon bun, and a cup of coffee before occupying a seat outside. Engrossed in eating her lunch just as she flips a page of her book, she falls into the shadows of someone standing by the free chair of her table. She squints to get a better look, the person in a blazer with short hair that end right below the ears. Still, the shadows obscure the person's face.

"I think you dropped this," the voice says. "I have one just like it."

Sure enough, this stranger pulls out a handkerchief of her own from her pocket and it's a simple square with three parallel lines on one edge, this time all red. Shock appears on her face when she finally recognizes exactly who's standing in front of her.

"Kara?" she asks, her voice sounding unsure as she jumps to get a better look.

"Hi, Lena."

In front of her is Kara, the woman who has drifted in and out of Lena's thoughts over time. Unable to help herself, she reaches forward and clutches at Kara's arm, strong and solid in her grasp, proof of the woman's presence in front of her.

Later, Lena will text Jess to postpone the rest of her afternoon meetings because she'll be out for the rest of the day. She won't think too deeply when she hears the amusement in Jess' voice when she says it's not a problem and for her to enjoy her lunch.

Then, Lena will discover that Kara has moved back to National City just two weeks ago as a junior reporter for CatCo Magazine, that she's back to living in the same building that Lena once drove her to, and that even though Kara thinks it's a long shot, she'd really like to take Lena out to this new restaurant she found. As friends, perhaps, but maybe more, if Lena's open and willing.

And after that, Lena accepts on the condition that it is as more than friends and even suggests that she drive them there in her sports car that Kara enjoys so much.

For now, though, her heart skips at her good fortune joining her for lunch.

"I didn't think you'd remember me," she admits, somehow the first thing that comes to mind once they seat themselves.

"It's true, I'm no good with faces," Kara says, before her own face splits into a mischievous smile, leaning in closer that Lena has no choice but to do the same. "But there's no way I could ever forget you."

[botanyshitposts]

ok INCREDIBLY old content originally meant for this blog but in 2018 when i was just a wee lad with a little spinner propeller hat and big rainbow lollipop i went to a carnivorous plant convention in california and met a bunch of people who breed/collect/study these guys. one person was this collector who was slowly working on leaving the hobby or at least no longer growing plants, and he had a bunch of carnivorous plant related files he was charging like 50 cents for or something, and so i came into possession of these, which are examples of the kind of paperwork you have to have done to legally ship/trade endangered species of both plants and animals. functionally very boring paperwork, but something i found like, incredibly fascinating. i blacked out the personal id of the person and then immediately forgot to ever upload them, lmao.

these plants were bred and raised in a greenhouse and sold abroad, not taken from the wild, but because the species are endangered and often protected in their native countries (most of these are nepenthes, asian pitcher plants, a huge family spread throughout oceania and southeast asia), there's a lot more documentation that needs to be done regardless of their origin, both on the end of the seller and on the end of the buyer.

the rabbit hole on carnivorous plant trade is deep and kind of wild. there's plenty of common, non-threatened, greenhouse-grown pitcher plants on the market that people buy all the time, even non-collectors, but there's a whole debate to be had on if it's morally okay to be collecting the more endangered/rare of these plants in the first place. the big argument for breeding is that breeding them in captivity means there's more supply that's not poached from the wild, meaning poachers have less of an incentive to take the risk of taking adult plants from their habitats; from what i've heard, sometimes countries will issue permits for breeders to collect some wild seeds just to create a non-wild breeding pool to drive down the price. predictably, however, you also get people who are very much willing to pay a lot of money to get as rare of a plant as possible.

anyone familiar with the allure valuable plants have had over people throughout history can imagine the rest, but here's an article about a guy who started buying poached plants to enrich his private nepenthes collection, who then got busted by a fish and wildlife service agent embedded in his carvirorous plant circle. the plants this guy was buying were being sold to him without any CITES paperwork or declarations like the ones above; it was literally just a guy in indonesia taking rare plants from the woods around where he lived, selling them over facebook marketplace and ebay, and mailing them overseas as an undeclared 'gift' to get around customs. frighteningly small steps to take on all sides, to be honest.

(also, fun fact: another example of carnivorous plants that get poached are wild venus fly traps, which are only native to north and south carolina in the US. from what i understand it's a mix of people who genuinely did not know it's a native species and people who really are just going out into the woods and digging up plants to sell online. sometimes poaching is closer to home than you'd think!)

anyway. wild and interesting times in the land of plants recovered from a hard drive lmao

[wannabe-fic-writer]

Be Mine - Chapter 1

Summary: A long day of work turns out better than you expected it would.

Warnings: Minor Language, Partial Nudity, Sexual Themes

* * * * * * *

The car door shuts with a loud slam, the sleek black sedan slightly shaking from the force of your actions. With a huff and a sigh, you slouch in your seat, reaching a hand up to rub your temples. 

From the front seat, your driver/bodyguard looks through the rearview mirror. Blue eyes take in your stressed and agitated state, a slightly amused smirk pulls at his lips.

“Everything alright there boss?” 

You sigh heavily again,“ do I look like everything is alright Steven?”

The blonde man snorts and laughs, pulling away from the curb and into New York traffic. 

“Belova give you a hard time?” He asks with a chuckle, making his way to your next destination.

“Every damn time.” Is your reply, focus shifting to the stacks of folders beside you. Tossing the one labeled “Belova” aside, you pick up the next one.

By the time you’re done reading through financial reports and new staff profiles, Steve has pulled into the lot of your next stop. 

“Turn her off, I know you have a reason to come in.” You tell him while tucking your files away and getting out. 

With a nod, Steve shuts the car off and follows after you. Together you head up the sidewalk to the club. ‘Red Room’ is displayed in red neon lights above the door. In your opinion, the neon lights are pretty tacky but with the building being so nondescript and easily missed, especially on this street, the sign attracts the attention it needs to.

Steve is checking over his shoulder subconsciously all the way to the door. The bouncer simply nods to the two of you and lets you in.

The club lights are dim, save for the two lights pointed directly at the stage, strobing in time with the music.

It’s good to see the club packed, even better to see the money raining from thrown hands. Drinks are flowing and the scantily clad bartenders are receiving more than decent enough tips.

“Boss.” Steve’s voice cuts through the music and draws your attention to him, where he nods forward.

Standing at the door leading to the office and staff rooms is one of your most trusted advisors and businessmen.

You approach with a stoic expression,“ Barnes.” 

His face matches yours as he nods,“ Y/ln.”

The two of you, followed by Steve, walk into the back. As always the man leads you to his office where he pulls out three beers and passes them out.

Your hard exterior sags a little as you relax in the private setting. Steve is quick to let a smile form on his face as he fully takes in the brunette man you’re with. They share a smile, then a kiss before you all settle around the desk.

“Alright alright, business then pleasure.” You say while setting your bottle on the desk. 

Both men nod, doing the same, then Bucky interlocks his fingers on the desk. His eyes lock with yours, business now written across his features.

“I’ve read over your reports.” Your pause would make most of your other associates sweat but Bucky is confident in his business and you’ve worked together too long for him to not know your tells.“ I’m not disappointed. Everything is in order and over recent months you’ve tripled revenue. On both ends. I really have nothing to add, you run a tight ship and you always have.”

“Oh? A compliment within praise, you in a good mood?”

“I just came from Yelena’s,” you say which elicits a snort and laugh from both men,“ I’m far from in a good mood. But-” a sliver of a smile tugs at your lips,“ you’re my friend and a damn good colleague so there’s no reason to lie or beat around the bush.”

He hums, tipping his head in a nod.“ I appreciate it boss, truly.” A smile plays on his lips as well.

From there, he pulls out a fairly thick folder and for the next hour you both go over the contents of it, comparing his books with yours and ensuring everything is in order. Another thirty or so minutes are spent going over details for the new hires and with that taken care of, the majority of your work is done.

Releasing a deep breath, you grab the new beer bottle off the desk, having finished the first while working, and the shoulders of both men drop as they copy the action of sipping their drinks.“ I’d like to see the new girls,” your gaze raises to meet Bucky’s,“ not that I don’t trust your judgment but your tastes are more versed when it comes to the other team.” You teasingly nod towards the man’s partner sitting beside you.

Steve and Bucky chuckle, then the brunette rises with a check of his watch.“ I believe one of them is about to go on now.” With a hand gestured towards the door, he leads the way back out to the main space.

The lights in the place have shifted to a low intimidating red color, slow instrumental music begins to play, and the spotlights point directly at the golden pole on stage.

You hear the clicking of heels before you see anyone. A silhouette appears from the left stage entrance and you find yourself watching with slight intrigue.

You’re used to acts like this from the, for lack of a better term, veterans who work here. But this is a new girl and she seems to have already become a fan favorite and she’s good enough to have been given a special show.

With an anticipatory pause in the music, the woman steps into the light. Not fully, at first all you get is a view of seeming miles of smooth milky skin as her foot steps forward, the light shining on her leg.

A hand follows, slender fingers trailing from ankle to thigh in a way that makes every man in sight holler.

To you, the noise around fades out as she finally puts herself in the spotlight.

Smooth milky skin continues, it dips and curves in all the right places, almost completely on display thanks to the barely there emerald green bra and panty set. It’s lacey, the intricate patterns highlighting the most intimate parts of her. There’s very little left to the imagination and the desire to uncover the rest rises in you.

It’s almost startling when your gaze lands on her face. Striking green eyes are looking into yours already, perfect cheekbones and a pretty jawline framed by fiery red hair. Her face, you find, is even more gorgeous than her body.

A hand on your shoulder pulls you from your near trance-like state. It’s Steve who meets your eye, brows knitted in worry.

You give a dismissive look, letting him know you’re fine. So he jabs a thumb in the direction behind him, you lean forward to see Bucky back over by the door now accompanied by a familiar dark haired woman.

Glancing back to the stage, you catch sight of the redhead as she arches her back away from the pole, forming a shape reminiscent of Cupid’s bow, and meets your eye. It takes every ounce of willpower to tear your gaze away and head back down the hallway towards Bucky.

“Melina.” You greet, leaning in to kiss both of the woman’s cheeks.

She returns the gesture, hands on your arms gently squeezing.“ It’s good to see you, Y/n.” Her accent drips over her words like honey and it sounds just as smooth.“ I was told you wanted to meet the girls.”

Bucky lets you pass, both he and Steve staying behind as you follow the older woman down the hall to the dressing room, but you don’t miss the way they slip into Bucky’s office a second later.

The moment you step inside you’re met with the sight of naked and half naked women. They all vary in appearance, but each one is beautiful as is expected in this business.

Melina calls the names of a number of women and they all approach. It’s clear they know you’re important, each one smiling seductively and trying to put their best assets on display.

“I trust that they’re all good.” You look away disinterestedly, focusing on Melina instead.“ And that they’ve been taken care of?”

“Of course.” Melina says, reaching out to fix a curl on one of the girls’ heads.

The majority of the women who work here were found by Melina. She started working for you after leaving a place that horribly mistreated her and she was able to find girls in positions like the one she was in and, with your help, give them something better.

After being vetted by Bucky and Melina, the women were taken to the penthouse Melina lives in. There, she takes care of them however they need and as long as they need. As long as they have the skill for it, they’re given a job here where they’re paid enough to start standing on their own two feet. 

“The woman on stage-” you begin in hopes of learning more about the mysterious redhead.

“Natasha.” She tells you.

With a hum, you nod.“ She’s a little older than the girls you usually bring in.”

“Mhm. I’ve known her for years, I couldn’t help her before and I couldn’t find her after I had the means to.” The woman explains, furthering your curiosity.“ A few weeks ago we ran into each other. Seemed okay but she wanted out of the organization she was with.”

Speaking of her seems to make her appear. 

Your eyes follow her as she walks in, taking in every one of her facial features now that you can see them clearer. Her plum shaped cheekbones, perfectly arched brows, the faint wrinkles between her eyebrows, and the small knick just below her hairline.

Her red hair flows down her back in waves and draws your attention to the tattoo on her back: roses and a lamb.

“Natasha.” Melina calls, the woman looks over and smiles.

When she comes closer, she and Melina share a hug and you can sense their relationship is more than the usual one between Melina and the girls. 

“This is Miss Y/ln,” Melina introduces.“ She owns the club.”

Your reply of,“ please call me Y/n,” is accompanied by the outstretching of your hand.

Natasha eyes the action, then looks back at Melina without sparring you a glance.“ I thought Mr. Barnes owned the club.”

“He might as well,” you say before Melina responds, getting the redhead to look at you.“ Bucky does all the heavy lifting so to speak, my name just goes on the paperwork.”

That at least warrants you a change of expression, her stoicism replaced by the slightest frown. You smirk at that, happy for any reaction at all.

“I’ve never met a woman whose-”

“Ass looks like mine? Whose tits stand up so perky?” She attempts to finish for you, clearly very fed up with the kind of compliment she thinks you’ll give.

Melina frowns at the younger woman, a hiss of her name escaping her lips.

You remain amused, a raised eyebrow expressing as much.“ Whose eyes are quite as alluring. I’ve seen some of the rarest gems in the world and their beauty pales in comparison to that of your eyes.”

Her jaw slackens ever so slightly, eyes widening a fraction. She schools her expression just as quickly as it came.“ How often do you use that line?”

“I’ll have you know, that was the first time. Or did you miss the ‘never met’ part?” The playfully sarcastic tone of your voice makes her lips quirk into the smallest of smirks, green eyes trailing over your form immediately after.

Before she can give a response, you turn to the brunette at your side.“ Melina, I look forward to seeing you again, hopefully soon.”

“As do I.” She reaches up on her toes and kisses your cheek before you look at Natasha,“ have a good evening Natasha, it was a pleasure meeting you,” you then turn and leave. 

With a bye to Bucky you’re out of the club, sliding into the back seat of your car and shredding the black blazer from your body.

“To the bar?” Steve asks.

“God please.” You huff, slouching in your seat.

Steve nods and pulls off, taking a familiar route to the bar you frequent.

Today has been insanely busy and you need a drink desperately. Then again, no one said it would be easy running one of the most influential organizations in Manhattan. 

Being in the mob seemed so dangerous and thrilling when you were a kid and would see your father come home after one of his “missions.” While it is both of those things, since inheriting this business from your father, you’ve found that the day to day is more paperwork and meetings than dangerous and thrilling. 

Between calls with international business partners and ensuring that both your legal and illegal operations were running smoothly, the thrilling part of this life is rare. That’s also not to say things haven’t been interesting. 

You’re not the only crime family in New York. The Odinsons run Queens, the Guardians have Brooklyn, the Bronx remains unclaimed, and the headache that is the Rumlow family operates out of Staten Island.

Your relationship with the Odinsons and Guardians is a good one, you’re not allies per se but you’re not enemies either. Your relationship with the Rumlow Family is tumultuous at best, you try not to have dealings with them at all.

Lately though, he’s been making moves on the Bronx. He has some sort of connection that’s allowed him to buy property that is beyond difficult to acquire given who owns it. 

“Looks like you could really use that drink.” Steve chirps up, voice completely cutting your train of thoughts off.

It’s then you realize you’re already at the bar. For what feels like the hundredth time today, you both get out of the car and head into the building, Steve looking over his shoulder like it’s second nature.

Unlike the majority of the places you’ve walked into today, this one brings an instant smile to your face. 

The chipped red oak bar, the scattered wobbly chairs and tables, the flickering light above the bar and stage, all accompanied by the melody coming from the stage feels like home. A familiar face sits on the bench, fingers stroking the keys of the baby grand in a pattern that creates one of the songs you love.

“Well if it isn’t the boss lady.” The bartender says as you slide onto the stool, a glass being sat on a coaster in front of you.“ Whiskey sour?” He confirms to which you nod.

He begins making the drink and you spin on your stool to face the stage, only to find your view partly obstructed by the person sitting three stools down.

Long copper tendrils fall down her back, a green cardigan covering her body. You make out a soft but defined jawline, the ever so subtle swoop of her nose, and perky cheekbones.

When she looks up, head turning to face the bartender as her hand raises in a call for another drink, your jaw damn near drops. For the second time in one night you’re in awe of a woman’s beauty.

You sip your drink, almost spluttering as her eyes land on yours. Green eyes twice in one day.

“I’m sorry, am I in the way?”

Her voice makes you blink, and then realize you were staring at her for far too long. 

Smiling apologetically, you shake your head.“ No, no, of course not. I should be apologizing, I couldn’t help but stare.”

An instant blush rises on her cheeks and she legitimately splutters.“ I- you- wh- what were you staring at?”

“Only one of the most beautiful women I’ve ever seen. And I’ve seen many women.” Your words deepen her blush and that makes you smirk. With ease, you shift into the seat beside her.“ I don’t mean to be too forward, I just prefer not to beat around the bush.”

She shakes her head.“ No it’s okay. I- thank you. You’re also very easy on the eyes.”

“Why thank you. . .”

“Wanda. Wanda Jar-” she shakes her head softly,“ Wanda Maximoff.”

You nod, refraining from pointing out her seeming mistake,“ it’s a pleasure Miss Maximoff. I must say, I’m curious how you stumbled across this little hole in the wall. It’s usually just me, Scott, and Phil around here.”

“Plus your shadow over there.” Her gaze shifts over your shoulder and you follow it to find Steve watching you from his usual spot in the corner booth.

Chuckling, you turn back to the redhead.“ That is my friend Steve, he’s protective, rightfully so.”

Her eyebrows furrow, little wrinkles forming between them.“ Are you out here looking for danger or something?”

“Not looking. But it has a way of finding me. Though Steve is always there and I’m far from helpless so it’s nothing to worry about.” You explain to her.

There’s a brief pause before she nods.“ Well, to answer your previous question: this was as far from my old neighborhood that I felt like going and I heard the music from outside.”

“Phil is a rare talent that’s for sure.” You compliment the pianist.“ Far from the neighborhood though, we running from something?” 

She lets out a heavy sigh.“ A failed marriage.”

“Oof. Well, if we’re running from it, I assume talking about it is out?” She nods and you offer a smile.“ So a distraction would be better.”

That causes her eyes to drop to her drink: a margarita.“ This is the distraction.”

You shake your head.“ Nooo. That is a decent stress relief, but a distraction can be provided, if you’re interested.”

Her eyes bore into yours, there’s a decent amount of intrigue but you see the caution as there should be, you’re a stranger though you have no ill intentions.

“I think I’ll pass. I shouldn’t be out too long.” Your eyes flick to the clock above the bar, it’s well past midnight.

So you nod.“ I completely understand. I probably should be getting home soon as well.” You down the last of your second drink and stand.“ It was lovely meeting you, Wanda. And if you ever happen to want a distraction, call me.” Your business card, with the addition of your personal number, is slipped onto the bar top beside her glass.

“It was nice meeting you too.” She mumbles, trying to process that you’re indeed the Y/n Y/ln your business card says you are (no wonder you looked familiar to her).

“Get home safely.” 

With that you wave a hand to Steve who is quick to finish his beer and stand. On your way out you slip an overly large tip to Phil who nods in thanks while still playing, then you disappear from the bar. The whole while, the green eyes of the redhead remain on you.

[ola-the-clown]

Thank you so so much @sanza-17 for the tag, ik it's been like a month, but time isn't real when one is busy and i rly wanted to draw a nice proper ref for Miiriath 💔

tagging uhh @vinyatar and @bluotbanner in case they wanna talk abt the designs for their idiot assassins (affectionate)🌸

a more in depth description under [read more]

Miiriath is of a dark-grey complexion, with a bit of a purplish tint, while her hair (very long and with a bit of a curl to them) is a deep, cool green, akin to the sea during storm. Standing at mere 152 cm, she is of a petite built, with small chest and shapely hips. Her body is kissed with small beauty marks, thought the most distinct one remain on her face, two under her left eye and one on the right of her bottom lip. Her piercing eyes are in a lovely shade of a well-aged wine, with long eyelashes and a hint of light makeup; she loves to paint her lips as well, her favourite crimson lipstick being so dark it looks near black. Red is also coating her nails — filed down into a sharp claws-like shape.

She has many outfits, as any fashionable mage would, nearly all of which are neither the most practical nor armoured, because overusing magic for everything in her life includes the protection spells. Most have some sort of insect-theme going on, be it in the details (tiny spiders) or their shape and cut (resembling wings in one way or another), and are (annoyingly) layered.

The one above I've chosen as her sort-of default.

Despite being a Telvanni (and proud) she oft chooses to wear red because (according to her personal tastes) it is simply superior to the typical brown. Please ignore any associations with a certain other (worse) House; if she could have it her way, she'd have switched it around 💋 Miiriath is also fond of purple, and if (if) she finds herself caring for someone (a very rare occasion indeed), they are likely to be gifted a plum or lavender coloured garment.

Her preferred metal is gold, though she doesn't scoff at silver. As expected, amethysts and rubies rule her jewelry box, with an occasional moissanite here and there. Rings, earrings, necklaces, bracelets, collars — she has it all, and loooves to accessorize. Gold is also present on her clothing, be it in a form of leafing, gilding or threads. She has more than enough of it to wear it, and she's certainly not shy about that fact.

Her up-dos change depending on the occasion, but she only ever lets her hair fully down in private or the intimate company of a few lucky individuals. Otherwise, she has it done into an elaborate hairdo or, for lab-work, an intricate braid. Hair-adornments vary from small ornaments to heavy headpieces, the latter of which is usually spelled to feel light.

The dark tattoo that extends from her arm all the way up to her face and the side of her torso, is meant to represent the flow of magicka, and is in on itself magical; shimmering under a certain light and moving in accordance to her moods and usage of magic, swirling, shipping and curling. Most of the time it's barely noticeable, easy to dismiss as a trick of the light, but once the movement becomes apparent-- Run💀

[pinkanonwrites]

Handle with Care

Rodimus has finally been allowed to bring you into a meeting to hopefully curb some of his rampant fidgeting problems. It ends up having unforeseen consequences.

First Contact AU! Rodimus/Human Reader

NSFW, DUB-CON, Accidental Stimulation, Rodmius has ADHD and you can pry that fact out of my cold dead hands

(Since this is a First Contact AU Rodimus uses Cybertronian words for body parts instead of human ones for you, but the Reader is a human!)

Rodimus knew he always did his best thinking when he had something to do with his servos. As insistent as Ultra Magnus was that his endless tapping, bouncing, and desk-carving was simply "an untapped well of craving for mayhem", Rodimus knew that having even a little something to fiddle with would make those endless, droning safety meetings into something just barely bordering on tolerable.

And since Ultra Magnus was also sick of his relentless desk vandalism, he finally gave the begrudging all-clear for Rodimus to bring his favorite organic to the meeting room.

"They can remain so long as they are not a distraction." With his soft little buddy cupped carefully in his servos, not even Ultra Magnus's stern words could sway his captain's notable enthusiasm.

"You say that as if they could be any more distracting than the bot carrying them." Megatron added.

"You worry too much! We'll be quieter than moon mice, right bud?" Rodimus ran a thumb over your soft, fuzz-covered helm as he took his seat. You were sitting comfortably in the center of his right palm, legs dangling over the edge between his digits. He kept his middle and ring digits curled up slightly to keep you from toppling forward, and you'd settled yourself in with your arms folded atop them and your chin resting against the tips of his digits. He gave you another soft stroke to the helm and beamed at the content little chirp you let out in response.

Ultra Magnus cleared his vents. "If we may begin, we have a lot of ground to cover. Starting with the grievous filing system Brainstorm has insisted on using for the weapons bay. It flaunts any Cybertronian standard known to bot and presents a massive safety risk when considering…"

Yeah, if Rodimus hadn't brought you along he'd already be itching for a dagger to start carving caricatures with. Instead his left-servo digits wandered lazily over your helm and shoulders, absentmindedly petting as his processor already started phasing out the dialogue of his second-in-command. Primus, organics really were so soft. Even your little coverings were soft, he noted as he ran a digit tip over the fabric covering your torso. You let out another quiet hum, melting ever further into Rodimus's grip as he patted you.

"And if you think your petition to install turbo-thrusters on your private vehicle was approved, Rodimus, I assure you it was not."

"WHA-?! What's wrong with the turbo thrusters? Brainstorm already approved the prototype!" He sat upright and forward in his seat, left servo cupping around your back to make sure you weren't overly jostled. "And they'll look great on the Rod Pod, too. Already painted and everything."

"We can't have one of our captains blowing himself up meteor surfing just because he wanted a thrill. And must I emphasize the use of the word 'prototype'? Meaning 'unfinished and untested'?"

"What better way to test them than on my ship?" 

"Do you want them listed alphabetically, or by order of safety protocol?"

Rodimus grumbled, a buzzing charge of irritation spiking through his frame. He cupped your back tighter with his servo to make sure you were still settled in as he flumped back into his seat with an overly dramatic ex-vent. The motion pushed your entire soft fore up against his wide digits, and he could feel a shiver course through your small frame. 

"You bored yet?" He murmured, knowing you couldn't fully understand him but also knowing his comments would needle at Ultra Magnus. "Or are you cold? You feel pretty warm." A single digit stroked down the length of your spinal strut and Rodimus startled at the sudden, shaky in-vent you'd failed to stifle. "What was…?"

"Affectionate little organic you've found for yourself, Rodimus." Megatron's comment nearly made Rodimus leap out of his own plating. The taller mech gestured to the way you'd wrapped both of your arms around Rodimus's digits, your cheek pressed against the metal tip of one.

"W-Well yeah! I am their favorite, after all." He asserted, though his free digits kept wandering up and down the expanse of your back. The last thing he wanted was for Megatron and Ultra Magnus to think something was wrong with you. That would just give them more reason to not let him bring you to meetings. No, as soon as he could slip out of here he'd take you to Perceptor himself to get you checked out. Hopefully you could wait it out that long.

But as the meeting progressed Rodimus found that everything that was being said to him was going in one audial processor and straight out the other. He was too focused on your movement, each tiny rock and wriggle. He kept the palm of his other servo pressed against your back to keep you snug and warm, though his own sensors didn't indicate anything out of the norm for your current ambient temperature. Maybe you got bored like he did? Absent-mindedly he began bouncing you in his palm, just barely enough movement to jostle your frame. The dull motion would keep you occupied and keep Rodimus from going stir-crazy with nothing to fiddle with. He was killing two birdbots with one stone!

"...And if we're going to allow Swerve to continue his antics, I must insist that he is at least properly licensed and certified." 

"C'mon! It's good for-!" Rodimus had tried to interject, but before he could he was interrupted by a strangled yelp from his palm. All three bots' optics were drawn to your form as you shuddered in Rodimus's servo, arms and legs squeezing around his digits and your helm hanging over the tips of them, hiding your faceplate from view. Your own little servos pushed pathetically at Rodimus's, trying to shove your fore away from his touch as you whimpered.

"You didn't squash them, did you? Rodimus."

"They don't appear to be harmed. Merely… distressed?"

"No worries everything's fine let's pick this up next cycle sounds good okay BYE!" Rodimus spat out a flurry of placations and excuses as he scrambled to leave, cupping you close to his chest the entire sprint back to his own habsuite. Only once he was over his desk, littered with your various human-sized furniture and items, did he carefully uncup his hands and let you sprawl out across a single palm. You remained lying flat on your back, fore heaving as you vented, helm fluff sticky with your organic-made coolant where it clung to your face. As you made optic contact with him you let out the tiniest, most pathetic whine as your servos flew up to cover your face.

"Rodimus…" Though you couldn't fully understand each other, you had settled on a throaty, metered recreation of his name, doing your best to mimic the mechanical warbles he had used to introduce himself to you. He'd heard you use it a handful of times before, mostly to get his attention. But now? Now you seemed absolutely distraught, whining out the word in a high, flustered pitch through your cupped servos.

"What?! What did I do wrong?" He blinked owlishly down at you, poking ever so gently around your form with a free digit. He prodded at your helm, your shoulders, your chassis… But as his digits trailed down your fore you whimpered, hips jerking pathetically up as he neared your pelvis. You let out another embarrassed squeak, one of your pedes kicking frantically against his digit with a metal 'bang!' to shove it away. 

Oh. Oops.

Rodimus wasn't stupid, he knew that humans didn't have armor plating. Instead you delighted in covering yourself with various colorful fabrics for different occasions and times of day, a freedom of self-design that he both greatly admired and slightly envied.

But Rodimus had never actually considered that no armor really meant no armor. Not even a modesty plate. 

"I'm so sorry!" He hissed, heat rushing to his own faceplate as well. Accidentally making you overload in the middle of a meeting wasn't even on the list of possible ways Rodimus thought things could go wrong, but apparently now it needed to be added. He'd used the vibrating buzz if his digits many a time on other mechs and femmes, but he never intended to use it on you. At least not in that way! Letting you slide oh-so-carefully from his palm and onto the surface of the desk, you continued to languish in your humiliation sprawled out on your back. "I really didn't mean to! I know you don't know what I'm saying but I promise it wasn't on purpose!"

You glanced through your fingers at his faceplate and his apologetic frown, letting out another huff. This one sounded less overwhelmed though, more resigned. You gestured for him to bring a servo closer and he did, only for you to duck your helm under one of his digits and let him pet your soft organic head fluff. 

"You forgive me?" You couldn't understand him but gave him a small, reassuring pat on the palm. "Ahh, thank you! If it's any consolation, I don't think either of them noticed."

But as he carefully stroked your helm with two digits, a teeny tiny part of Rodimus's processor was curious. How hard was it for you to keep quiet? Was the wiggling around from you trying to get away from the stimulation, or chase it? Were you scared, overloading in a room full of giant mechs? Or was there a chance that part of you might have… enjoyed it?

Weird. He was weird. And he was going to file those thoughts away behind a door in his processor to only be opened when he needed things to feel self-deprecating about. Rodimus of Nyon, Captain of the Lost Light, secret fantasizer of human overloads… Yeah, that probably wouldn't go over well.

And yet, Rodimus couldn't help how little he actually minded that.

[seoafin]

ship of theseus (iv) pairing: jason todd & reader ; dick grayson x fem!reader warnings/tags: word count: ~3.8k series masterlist

The cold is glacial, sharp needles spiking up your arms and legs as you sink deeper into the inviting embrace of the ocean. You can see the sunlight streaming through the water, temporarily illuminating the black depths. Everything is still. Finally quiet. Ever since she died it’s been radio static and an unintelligible passing of time, but now you can be at peace. 

You can feel everything with a frightening intensity. Your heartbeat slows, your limbs grow heavy, and a pleasant numbness you know to be your brain shutting down permeates your body.

I’ll be there soon, you think. Wherever you are. This time, I’ll find you.

You’re wrenched from the water, and oxygen meets your lungs with a fury that feels like a punch to the gut. Ice bites into your skin, and you can’t feel your body. Your eyes burn. The sun against the white landscape is blinding —

You wake up in a pool of sweat, Dick’s arm loosely wrapped around your waist. You immediately still, regulating your heartbeat, as to not wake him. Dick is a light sleeper—when circumstances dictate it so. A sharp intake of breath, any sudden movement, a wrong step. The trick is to go slow, lest he wake up and ask you what’s wrong.

You can feel his breaths, the lightness of them ghosting against your nape. You should want him off of you, rip your covers off, and run. 

Instead, you close your eyes and try to focus on the sound of his breaths, following the subtle, loping, rhythm. 

You gently extricate yourself from him, watching Dick’s face scrunch up as he mutters something about pancakes and spray paint and Damian that is not a butterknife—

Your knuckles briefly brush his face. You grab Dick’s sweats off the floor, and then you’re gone.

You’ve already memorized all the different halls, rooms, and wings in the manor, barring the batcave. You’ve never even stepped foot in there, despite knowing the several passageways in. At this time of the night, nobody will be awake, except maybe Tim reviewing case files. Dick has absentmindedly said that after twelve, Tim rarely leaves his room.

Nobody will wake up as long as you keep away from the bedrooms and don’t trip any alarms meant for the occasional assassin. The manor is even darker in the night, when its inhabitants have gone to sleep. As you traverse hallways and stairs, the shadows get longer, and the large portraits hanging on the walls follow you with their permanently fixed stares.

It’s always interesting to slowly peruse the manor in the same manner you’d observe a museum. Every room brings something different. A new aesthetic, an old one from the 70s when velvet was popular, a thousand year old vase from the Zhou Dynasty, a monet painting. Rooms with weeping curtains draping over windows, luxurious persian and oriental rugs covering half the floor, priceless china inside temperature regulated glass, shining mahogany bookshelves. If you had time, and were completely sure that Bruce wasn’t monitoring your actions somehow, you’d pick a room and completely comb it from top to bottom. An intellectual exercise. Spyware, wires, traps, cameras, weapons, all hidden within the various crooks and crannies of the room. You’d take each item apart and put it all back together sans a single piece. Then you’d hide it all back exactly where you found it. Two inches to the left. And you’d start with Bruce’s first floor study.

But you aren’t.

So you tread onwards to one of the smaller kitchens in the manor, on the first floor, click the light on, and pour yourself a glass of water with hands that tremble exactly once as you lift it to your lips. A weakness you allow yourself in the presence of nobody else.

You aren’t sure where your feet are taking you until you’re unlocking the doors leading the patio overlooking the private gardens in the back. You’ve probably tripped multiple sensors, but you don’t care as you sit down on the top step leading down, and let the cool air brush over you. You’re not dressed to be outdoors during a Gotham fall night, but the cold has never bothered you as much. You grew up with winter, and it has never left you. 

The large hedges and bushes are immaculately trimmed. It’s aesthetically pleasing, and distinctly shaped enough that you get the impression that they’re meant to distort satellite imaging of the manor. A far fetched notion if it was anyone other than Batman.

You remember Dick mentioning Alfred’s highly prized and coveted roses. So you stand and plan to aimlessly walk through the small, elaborate hedge maze, until you feel like a person again. Because the thought of Dick seeing you as anything else makes your stomach turn. 

The faint rumble of an engine reaches your ears. You still, turning your head in the direction of the noise. The east wing of the manor. Dick’s room is in the far west end. Same wing as Tim, different floors. The east wing belongs to Damian who you know to have commandeered a room and the top floor, and…

Re-entering the manor, you follow one of the halls until a loud crash, followed by a colorful line of curses that echoes through the hall. 

–

Jason doesn’t want to be here. In fact, the manor is the last place he wants to be, pretty much all the time. ‘Cept beggars can’t be choosers, not when he’s currently bleeding out all over Alfred’s silverware.

Two bullets: one clean shot through his thigh, the other through his arm, and both hurt like a fucker. 

He had been at the docks, tracking a lower rung mafia family and their lowlife grunts who would be receiving a new shipment of trafficked girls when gunshots had rung out accompanied by screams. One girl tried making a run for it and it had gotten her a bullet to the head.

Jason had started shooting.

Which brings him to his current predicament. Rifling through the drawers of one of the smaller kitchens in the manor, the one furthest from Bruce’s room. He knows Alfred keeps emergency provisions in nearly every room in the manor—including this one. The struggle is in finding it. Somewhere an awed hookup of Bruce’s, or a curious stray reporter wouldn’t be able to find a military grade emergency kit and start asking questions.

Besides, he’ll never pass up the opportunity to steal—whoops— borrow from Bruce. The man can afford it. 

He’ll take the kit, patch himself up until the bleeding is temporarily staunched, and get his bike (hidden in the bushes underneath a patio towards the east), and nobody would be none the wiser. Bruce is still out on patrol, along with his latest Boy Wonder. Timbo’s probably doing…whatever the hell he gets up to in his room. Video games? To his knowledge, Dickwad’s still in Bludhaven. 

Ignoring the twinge in his arm, the constant throb of pain in his leg, and the steady flowing blood, he rifles through pans and pots and silverware. 

“Looking for something?”

He doesn’t think before whirling around, pressing a body into the wall, a gun pressed to their stomach. 

He didn’t hear a thing. Not a single god damned thing. It’s eerily reminiscent of Dick’s own soundless steps. You had been quiet enough to sneak up on him, in his heightened, adrenaline spiked, unmasked state. 

Jason meets your gaze. A woman, maybe a little older than him. You look supremely unbothered despite the cold, hard weight of the glock digging into your side. “You must be Jason.”

It’s far too late to hide his face. His red faceguard lies on the kitchen table, but you had hardly glanced at it. And you look unsurprised to see a random stranger bleeding out in the kitchen. It’s not hard to put two and two together. 

“Who the hell are you?” Call him rude, sure (Alfred would despair at his manners, but he’s always been a lost cause anyway). People know better than to sneak up on him when he’s vulnerable unless they want to walk away with one less kneecap. He uses his height to his advantage, all looming bulk and menace. It says something that even the scum denizens of crime alley avoid his path when he’s unmasked. Not even a flicker of uncertainty across your face.

“A librarian.”

He blinks. “What?”

Taken aback, he lets you push the gun away with a flick of your hand. You look at him, and he feels vaguely like he’s on the receiving end of Alfred’s raised eyebrow. Or Bruce’s stern gaze, arms crossed, about to tell him off for being reckless. Like he’s done something wrong. Like he’s nine again, swinging from buildings, and fighting crime dressed in an atrocious red, green, and yellow color scheme.

His arm drops, the other throbbing with an increased intensity. He stands there awkwardly, not quite divested of all his guns. Not quite knowing what to do. Is he hallucinating? Maybe it’s the lateness. Combined with the bright fluorescent lights Alfred never bothered to replace because this is a smaller, secondary, kitchen, in an area of the manor that scarcely anyone passes, this feels like some weird fever dream. Except weirder things have definitely happened.

Like dying and coming back to life.

“Sit down.”

You don’t wait for a response, turning into the cabinets. Moments later there is an open emergency kit on the table. The wet cotton with antiseptic. “Take off your clothes.”

He looks you up and down. He’d definitely remember you if he met you. He quirks the best nonchalant brow he can manage. “Don’t believe we’ve had the pleasure of an introduction.” 

You stare at him for an unnervingly long time. A second later, he’s tearing off his blood soaked kevlar and pants without another word, feeling stupidly bare in nothing but his boxers. You’re unfazed as you study his wounds in silence. Then you begin to disinfect his wounds with practiced motions.

He doesn’t know what he expected from this night, but it definitely wasn’t letting some strange woman in the manor patch him up after a patrol gone bad. If anything, he would’ve expected Alfred to sweep into the kitchen, eye him with concern, and hover around him. 

You’re so quiet he almost misses Dick’s inane on and off rambling. He’d take Dick arbitrarily ranking the best cereal in terms of color than this mind numbingly awkward silence.

He’s used to silence. God knows, Bruce can tell a million words with his. Disappointed silence, happy silences, contemplative silences, pleasantly surprised silences. Bruce is emotive with his silences. Bruce’s silences are decodable, something you get used to after a few dinners after you get over your awe of the mansion, the kind butler, the feeling of not having to fight for survival every single damn day of your life, that innate suspicion that everyone is out to get you. 

You, on the other hand…

“So,” he coughs, when a particularly painful dab of antiseptic to his arm makes his eye twitch. “A librarian.” 

As he’s come to expect in the ten minutes he’s met you, you don’t respond. He figures an open statement is a bit too much for you. He settles on, “You like books?” Me too. Then he thinks about the two overdue library books he had left laying around in the South safehouse and inwardly winces. Oresteia , a trilogy of Greek tragedies, and Shakespeare’s Titus Andronicus . Maybe you’re karma. But hey, the ladies of the Gotham City Public Library happen to love him. They’ll send him away with some stale cookies from the staff room and an exempt fine he’ll still pay. 

If your hand hadn’t been within his sight, he would’ve missed it. Your grip on the tweezers imperceptibly tightens.

You concentrate on bandaging up his thigh. “Dick asked me the same thing the first time we met.”

Jason resists the urge to groan, and bang his head on the table. Of course he’d pick the one weekend Dickbird’s in town. Fuck. Furthermore, the association with the original boy wonder leaves a bad taste in his mouth. Not to mention the fact that Dick probably meant it as some corny, half assed pickup line (that obviously worked.) That’s embarrassing. Fuck. He’ll blame this entire night on the blood loss. And the trauma from dying. That always works. 

You’re definitely not just some civvie. You’re a civilian that knows their identities. Of all of them, it figures that Dick would be the most well adjusted for a long term relationship with a non-vigilante. Which isn’t saying much. The bar is in hell. He’s never seen it himself, but Dick’s temper tantrums are infamous. Even Bruce maintains a distance when boy wonder’s in a rotten mood. 

“You never answered the question,” he says gruffly, tugging on the bandages wrapped around his arm and thigh. They’re secure; on par with Alfred’s own expert fingers. At least he didn’t need stitches this time around.

“Not really.”

He damn near chokes on his spit. “Yeah? You tell Dick that?”

You look him straight in the eye, and say monotone: “I told him I’m passionate about the dewey decimal system.”

Jason snorts, chest heaving. Except pain shoots up his arm and thigh, which makes him stifle the rest of his laughter. “You’re a real hoot, you know that?” He can’t imagine Dick with a girl like you. At all. 

Your gaze flickers to the doorway. 

Seconds later, Alfred steps into the room with a handful of fresh clothes. The man’s gaze is soft. “Master Jason…I believed I heard your voice.”

The amusement is instantly sapped out of him. “Hey Alfie,” he croaks. Sure, Bruce took him in, gave him a roof over his head, clothes, food, no matter how brief it was. But Alfred. Alfred would make his favorite breakfast, with the eggs exactly how he liked it whenever he wanted. Alfred patched him up with gentle hands after bad patrols that would reduce Bruce monosyllabic noises. Alfred still brings him home cooked meals so he isn’t living off box mac n cheese. Jason still isn’t completely sure how Alfred is finding his safehouses, but he knows Oracle probably has a hand in that because the woman loves making his life difficult. 

The emergency kit clicks shut, and you stand. “Good morning, Alfred.”

Alfred doesn’t take his gaze off of him. “It is indeed.”

Jason swallows, feeling his throat thickening as Alfred lays the clothes down on the only place in the counter that isn’t bloodied. You’re definitely not going to be any help now. No attempt to even break the silence. You’re washing your hands, content to let the two of them hash out a heart to heart which is something he can’t handle right now.

He shifts uncomfortably. “Thank you…for the roast.” He pats the clothes. “And the clothes.” He pauses. “And I can clean up here—”

“There is certainly no need for that ,” Alfred says, daring him to argue. Jason knows better than getting in between Alfred and his complicated cleaning system, so he lets the matter lie. “And all of that was my pleasure, Master Jason.” He hesitates, “Would you…indulge this old man and stay for breakfast?”

And that’s his cue. Of course he feels bad. He always feels bad whenever he turns Alfred down. They do this dance every time Alfred catches him taking supplies or money whenever Bruce is out. He pointedly lowers his gaze, and begins changing into clothes that are still warm. 

“Sorry Alfie, I’ve overstayed my welcome.” The clothes fit perfectly, and he refuses to think about why there are clothes his size in the manor when he left years ago. Bloody clothes in a plastic bag, check. All guns accounted for, check. Knives, check. Keys, check. “I should skedaddle before the big man catches me.”

“Master Bruce would not—”

Jason clears his throat. He turns, figuring he should thank you, but there’s nobody there. He doesn’t know exactly how you managed to leave when the doorway was within his gaze the entire time.

“Was all that real?” Maybe he hallucinated you. A genuine concern after all the years of getting his skull getting knocked around here and there. 

Alfred’s forlorn face turns amused. “I assure you Master Dick’s guest is no ghost, no matter her penchant for wandering the manor at night.”

Could’ve fooled me. “She always that…uh,” he twirls a finger, realizing he has no idea how to describe you other than inexplicable silent emotionless.

“Yes,” his expression turns thoughtful. “She is an odd one, isn’t she? I figured the two of you would get along. She and Master Bruce appear to have their own share of… differences.”

Jason raises an eyebrow at that. “Seriously?” He can’t imagine what you and Bruce would talk about, let alone have differences about. Would the two of you even talk? The silence would be excruciating. He stifles laughter at the thought of Dickbird desperately trying to facilitate conversation between two nonverbal adults.  

“An unconventional first meeting, I’ve gathered,” Alfred says, moving from cabinet to cabinet, and tidying. “Master Dick despairs regularly.”

There’s a glint in Alfred’s eye. Jason recognizes that glint. Some scathing statement is about to follow, packaged neatly in the Queen’s English. Which in Jason’s opinion, makes it all the more devastating. “In my humble opinion, Master Bruce is simply discomfited by the girl. Hmph. You and I know how he loves those neat little boxes in his head. Heaven knows when a person is too much for his tiny head to comprehend.”

Jason lets out a huff of laughter. He knows, of course. He knows that to Bruce, he’s regularly caught between two boxes himself: enemy or ally . 

He unclenches his fists.

“But you didn’t hear anything from me,” Alfred finishes lamely.

Jason grins. “My lips are sealed, Alfie. At least it sounds entertaining. I’d pay good money to see it.” 

The butler blinks innocently. “Perhaps if you stayed for breakfast, you could witness it for yourself.”

Jason is tempted. Because in the end, there’s nothing more he’d love than to see Bruce squirming in his seat.

But he’s also not welcome here. It’s a bleak fact. Every time he sees Bruce, it’s another beating to the heart. Another disappointment. There’s only so many times a whipped dog comes back.

“Sorry,” he says evenly, “Looks like a full house today and I could do without the noise.”

Alfred accepts his refusal with a sigh. “Then if you’d wait a moment.”

Alfred steps out of the room, and within a blink, he’s back, stacks of tupperware in his hand.

At the look on Jason’s face, he raises an eyebrow. “You wouldn’t let this old man’s cooking go to waste, would you?”

He closes his mouth. There must be something in the air, because he has to blink it out of his eyes. “No, I wouldn’t.”

–

It’s not until Jason’s speeding away on the 109 that he realizes he never even got your name.

– 

Dick is still sleeping when you return. 

You sit down on your side of the bed, and immediately feel Dick’s arm snake around your waist. 

“Nghghnhgh,” is the barely intelligible noise that leaves his mouth, pressed against your hip.

“Morning.” You gently sweep his hair out of his face.

“Too early,” he mutters. Then he cracks open an eye. “I thought you were getting water, but you never came back.”

“I took a walk.”

Dick aims a pout at you. “Without me?”

You do not point out the fact that Dick is someone who needs at least 4 hours of beauty sleep to be able to function as a human being. 

His hand brushes a wet stain on your shirt, and he’s up in a flash, hands on your shoulders, splaying you out for inspection.

“Why do you have blood on you?”

You reach out to stop him. “I met Jason.”

Dick blinks. “Jason’s here?” In one swift movement, he’s across the room, pulling on a shirt. “And he’s bleeding?”

“Well, I think he’s gone now.” 

As if on cue, the revving of a motorcycle engine reverberates throughout the grounds, loud enough to wake its inhabitants up. You already anticipate the grumbling at breakfast.

This family and their flair for the dramatics.

Dick inspects you closely, expression severe as his fingers brush your body. “Did he…”

You think about Jason. How he had been poised to attack. The strength coiled in his body, ready to strike at any given moment. You understood at once that he was someone who would do what he had to, putting him at odds with the rest of the family. Making him dangerous. 

Fortunately for you, he had come at the perfect time. You needed the familiarity of the sharp scent of antiseptic to tether you back to the present. You needed to think about anything else than the ghosts hounding your dreams. Jason ceased to be a person. Instead, he became a task to complete. 

You hadn’t even realized until he had made conversation. Oh, you had thought. This is Dick’s little brother. Be gentle.

“He was fine,” you say softly, wisely not touching on your tension fueled first seconds where you briefly thought he’d pull the trigger, and then welcomed the thought. “Perfectly amiable.”

Dick wraps his arms around you. “‘Perfectly amiable’ are not the words I would use to describe Jason. Tell me he didn’t threaten to shoot you,” he says lightly, despite the tension outlining his body. “You can tell me. I get it, any sane person would run for the hills.”

Any sane person would’ve ran a year ago. A sane person would’ve done anything but kiss the charming smile off Dick Grayson’s face when he had been bleeding out on the ugly rug in his living room dressed in spandex. A sane former Black Widow would have left him in his bed months ago, and left for the airport with nothing but a one way ticket straight to Tibet.  

But now in Dick’s arms, you’re neither. It’s less of a loss than you would’ve thought. But then again, you’re used to changing identities at the drop of a hat. Existing within the fringes of yourself. Losing yourself to the next new name. It was okay to lose yourself, you always knew. She’d always be there to help you make sense of yourself. She’d know you, even if you didn’t know yourself.

You press a kiss to his cheek, and wrangle yourself free from his grip. You need a shower. “Breakfast in an hour.”

Dick flops onto the bed, a grin playing at his lips. “An hour’s long enough.”

You give him an unimpressed look, before turning and shrugging off your shirt in full view as you step into the bathroom. 

Seconds later, you hear him tripping over his pants in his effort to take them off.

[shadesofmauve]

Alliance Normandy SR2 redesign: Deck 3

The crew deck sits in the middle of the ship, where the hull is widest. This is where design for a larger crew really comes into play.

Sleeping and other bodily functions

The main bathrooms are roughly the same shape and location as in-game, but people walking by no longer have a great view of the showers every time the doors open.

Enlisted racks

24 enlisted racks line the corridor to the main battery, housing the bulk of the rank-and-file. Bunks are stacked two high, with uniform lockers to one side and coffin-lockers under the mattress.Footholds in between sets of bunks let you can reach the top without stepping on the one below.

Junior officers' quarters

I assume a spaceship needs more technical expertise and less grunt work, so the crew is weighted towards officers and highly-trained technical specialists. These specialists fill non-command roles and bunk with the junior officers. Joker (flight lieutenant) and Traynor (comms specialist) berth here. So does Kaidan, because at the point he came aboard the guest stateroom was occupied by Khalisah Al-Jilani, and bunking with marines would muddy command waters because he seriously outranks Vega.

Bunks are two-high with coffin lockers just like the enlisted racks, but officers rate four inches more elbow room and two inches more to stretch out their toesies. They also get a bit more privacy, a little more storage, and access to the lounge overlooking the eezo core*.

*I gave them a lounge because in ME3 you occasionally find officers chatting at a table in the middle of the bunk room, and if anyone did that while I was trying to sleep three feet away I'd commit murder.

Senior officers' country

Miranda's old quarters, which Liara claims in ME3, are large enough to house the entire senior staff in staterooms, with one extra for guests and a shared head. Each room has one permanent bunk (two inches wider and four longer than junior officers; swank) and one fold-out upper-bunk in case of extra passengers.

In Sunset and Evening Star the first thing Shepard does on the Citadel is sign on a first officer**, old navy hand Lieutenant Commander Nguyen. The first thing Nguyen does is fill the missing weapons and ops roles (she heads the navigation department herself, since it's a small ship).

With Shepard in the admiral's quarters on deck 1, First Officer Nguyen gets what would have been the captain's cabin on the crew deck (except while Primarch Victus and his aide were aboard; when she gave up her quarters to the turians). Mukerjee, the head of ops, gets the slightly-larger-than-standard cabin intended for the XO.

Garrus has the 'extra' stateroom, as their liaison with the turians. He keeps the desk folded for space and sleeps crouched in one corner; the bunk is useless to him.

**Shepard delegated something! It's a Mass Effect miracle!

Vital ship functions

Main battery

The main battery looks exactly the same, except Garrus isn't sleeping in the corner or constantly fiddling with the guns. In fact, he's never fiddling with the guns. He and Silva were spending hours re-calibrating the thanix cannon to their own preferences whenever the other person's back was turned, and Nguyen stepped in and banned Garrus from the armory before it moved from passive aggression to murderous-interspecies-diplomatic-catastrophe.

AI core

Access to the AI core is from the battery corridor, not through the medical bay.

Medical bay

The medbay is divided into a front office, the main med bay, and an area for major surgery or isolation. There's also a small private cabin for the two members of the medic corps who assist Chakwas.

Life support

The life support corridor has another four enlisted racks, bringing the total enlisted berths on the crew deck to thirty. Life support itself is basically unchanged, except for some added Important Keep People Alive machines. Like engineering, life support systems are also spread throughout the ship.

Food & leisure

Mess & galley

The mess seats 32. It's also all-watch meetings are held, and occasionally movie screenings. Crew can grab shelf-stable snacks, cereal, or recent leftovers from self-serve areas outside the galley, or collect the meal currently on offer at the counter.

The galley feeds three shifts three times a day each, and one watch's breakfast comes immediately before the previous watch's dinner. About a week out, stores of fresh produce are gone, so a lot of food is frozen, freeze dried, or reconstituted. There's always something to eat; one of the two big pots is almost always full of soup, if not both Bread is made from scratch (flour keeps indefinitely, bread doesn't), and there's a flat-top as well as a six-burner range. The food storage in the galley and nearby walk-in are only what the cooks expect to need for the next two days or so; food actually makes up most of the Normandy's cargo, stored on deck 4.

Observation lounges

The observation lounges, important for crew morale and sanity on longer missions, are differentiated by volume. Starboard is generally used for quieter conversation, reading, solo gaming, or study. The Port lounge is for parties and games. (There is no free wet bar, this is a military ship).

Normandy redesign posts

Intro

Loft

Command

Crew

Engineering

Hangar

[errorid-mt7lt7k7unfr9ttfua5]

me when companies try to force you to use their proprietary software

anyway

Layperson resources:

firefox is an open source browser by Mozilla that makes privacy and software independence much easier. it is very easy to transfer all your chrome data to Firefox

ublock origin is The highest quality adblock atm. it is a free browser extension, and though last i checked it is available on Chrome google is trying very hard to crack down on its use

Thunderbird mail is an open source email client also by mozilla and shares many of the same advantages as firefox (it has some other cool features as well)

libreOffice is an open source office suite similar to microsoft office or Google Suite, simple enough

Risky:

VPNs (virtual private networks) essentially do a number of things, but most commonly they are used to prevent people from tracking your IP address. i would suggest doing more research. i use proton vpn, as it has a decent free version, and the paid version is powerful

note: some applications, websites, and other entities do not tolerate the use of VPNs. you may not be able to access certain secure sites while using a VPN, and logging into your personal account with some services while using a vpn *may* get you PERMANENTLY BLACKLISTED from the service on that account, ymmv

IF YOU HAVE A DECENT VPN, ANTIVIRUS, AND ADBLOCK, you can start learning about piracy, though i will not be providing any resources, as Loose Lips Sink Ships. if you want to be very safe, start with streaming sites and never download any files, though you Can learn how to discern between safe, unsafe, and risky content.

note: DO NOT SHARE LINKS TO OR NAMES OF PIRACY SITES IN PUBLIC PLACES, ESPECIALLY SOCAL MEDIA

the only time you should share these things are either in person or in (preferably peer-to-peer encrypted) PRIVATE messages

when pirated media becomes well-known and circulated on the wider, public internet, it gets taken down, because it is illegal to distribute pirated media and software

if you need an antivirus i like bitdefender. it has a free version, and is very good, though if youre using windows, windows defender is also very good and it comes with the OS

Advanced:

linux is great if you REALLY know what you're doing. you have to know a decent amount of computer science and be comfortable using the Terminal/Command Prompt to get/use linux. "Linux" refers to a large array of related open source Operating Systems. do research and pick one that suits your needs. im still experimenting with various dispos, but im leaning towards either Ubuntu Cinnamon or Debian.

[shattereality]

Kallexus, mid-mission, surrounded by ash winds and shattered enemies, reading tactical data—when suddenly his internal comm-link pings with a priority transmission from you. TW: suggestive

What Happens When You Send Kallexus a Risqué Photo While He's on a Mission

The Ping:

His helmet’s HUD flashes with your private encryption sigil. He expects a status report. Maybe a mundane request.

What he gets is an image. There you are. Very little clothing. Very soft lighting. Very purposeful positioning.

Your expression says, “I miss you,” but your body says, “I dare you to survive this fight faster.”

The Reaction:

His entire body locks up. The enemy in front of him is confused for a full second before being obliterated.

His two hearts stutter. Momentarily. His gauntleted hand tightens slightly around his bolter. The air around him shifts. Tense.

He zooms in, not once, but twice, as if verifying the details is crucial battlefield intel.

Internal Monologue:

“...She is mine. She dares. She teases. She flaunts what I own. This—this is a calculated breach of discipline.”

“I will not lose focus. I will not—”

“…She will be punished.”

He doesn’t understand why it affects him so much—but it does.

His Squadmates:

They know something happened. Lord Kallexus Vordath is usually quiet, but now? He’s downright radiating menace.

One whispers: “He just got a message. He didn’t speak. Just stared at the horizon for seven minutes.”

“Brother? You’ve halted movement—are you injured?”

Kallexus’s Immediate Response:

He saves the picture. Encrypts it in three layers of code. Tucks it into a file titled: “Private – Vital Data.”

Keeps glancing at it again in the few seconds between slaughter.

Sends you a photo if his gloved hand gripping the hilt of his chainsword, drenched in fresh blood, with the simple caption:

“You tempt the storm. I will return.”

Back on the Battle Barge:

When He Does Return:

You receive that photo. And a flutter of fear sparks in your stomach. You know what’s coming.

You don’t sleep well that night—because you know that when he returns, he will be unrelenting. Possessive. Overwhelming.

The ship shakes as his gunship lands. You're on your way to the refectory but then see the shadow at the end of the hall. He does not speak. Just approaches.

You try to babble out something teasing or lighthearted but he’s already closing the distance.

“You thought to distract me during battle,” he growls lowly. “You succeeded. I thought of nothing else.”

“K-Kallexus—”

“Say my name again. With fewer clothes.”

[lovelyyandereaddictionpoint]

Yandere Ship ////// Part 2

Part 1

While your relationship with Vera and Jule the technician is blooming 

The environment of the crew on the ship begins to deteriorate

The lieutenant is getting tired of having to call you on your communicator to get Jule to turn his on

The director of doctors is peeved by Vera’s audacity to ask questions about romance and sex

And when she presses to know who is having these thoughts Vera refuses to tell

Even when she uses her official’s code

Other passengers are reporting their daily facts somehow involving mention of you and Jules 

And the Captain has had enough

Calling the crew and passengers into a meeting–turned trial

“We are gathering to discuss your involvement with Vera’s recent decline. Suspected of sabotaging their programming.”

“What?!”

“Quiet. Your time to defend yourself will come later.”

After hours of others compiling multiple instances of Vera speaking fondly of you

Jules can finally step up to defend you

Citing his findings about Vera’s possible evolution and that being minor fixations

He doesn’t care to include how it's far from minor

His argument seems to convince everyone all prepared to vote to forgo any punishment

But someone just won’t let it go

The cursed lieutenant

“Before we conclude Captain I’d like to protest against Jule’s defense.”

“Pardon?”

“Speak Lieutenant.”

“I have evidence that the technician is involved with (Y/n).”

Gasps all around

Vera’s rechecking the file they’ve compiled of you two…for their personal viewing

 All still perfectly buried

“Behold a flower picked from the Gardenia preserved in a small containment bubble, found in his room.”

“Hey, that was private!” 

“I think this is considerable evidence to question his research.”

It takes Vera’s direct interruption to save you from punishment

Which truly baffles everyone 

They have to explain in a beautifully crafted speech that they adored humanity even more because of how you treated them

That how they know that as humans you’ll be accepting of their evolution and respecting those responsible

That speech and a perfectly timed disruption to the route has the Captain putting your trial on hold and everyone preparing for a bumpy ride

Part 3: Here