#salsa booth

[901dreamy]

[djinnewyorkcity]

How to Choose the Perfect Event Production Companies for Your Next Event

Are you planning a special event and want it to be an unforgettable success? You’ve come to the right place! Choosing the right event production company can make all the difference between a lackluster event and a memorable extravaganza. In this blog post, we’ll guide you through the process of selecting the perfect event production company that aligns with your vision, budget, and objectives. So, let’s get started!

1. Understand Your Event Needs and Objectives

The first step is to clearly define your event’s purpose, theme, and objectives. Ask yourself questions like: What is the main goal of the event? Who is the target audience? What type of atmosphere do you want to create? Understanding your needs and objectives will help you communicate effectively with potential event production companies.

2. Research and Shortlist Potential Companies

Time to hit the search engines! Look for event production companies in your area and make a shortlist of potential candidates. Check their websites, portfolios, and client reviews to get a sense of their expertise and reputation. Don’t forget to look for testimonials from previous clients to gauge their level of satisfaction.

3. Experience and Expertise Matters

An experienced event production company is worth its weight in gold. Look for a team that has successfully organized events similar to yours. A well-established company with a proven track record can handle any challenges that may arise during the event planning and execution process.

4. Budget Considerations

It’s essential to have a clear idea of your budget before you start contacting event production companies. Communicate your budget to the shortlisted companies and see if they can work within your financial constraints. Keep in mind that the cheapest option might not always be the best, as quality matters.

5. Creative and Innovative Approach

You want your event to stand out and leave a lasting impression on attendees. Seek an event production company that brings a creative and innovative approach to the table. Look for fresh ideas and unique concepts that align with your vision.

6. Excellent Communication Skills

Effective communication is the backbone of successful event planning. Choose a company that listens to your ideas, provides valuable input, and communicates clearly throughout the planning process. This ensures that everyone is on the same page and avoids misunderstandings.

7. Flexibility and Adaptability

Events can be unpredictable, and last-minute changes are not uncommon. Look for an event production company that is flexible and adaptable, capable of adjusting to unexpected situations without compromising the quality of the event.

8. Quality of Equipment and Resources

A top-notch event production company should have access to state-of-the-art equipment and a wide network of reliable vendors and suppliers. This ensures that your event is equipped with the latest technology and resources.

9. Check for Insurance and Permits

Event planning involves various risks, and it’s crucial to choose a company that has proper insurance coverage. Additionally, they should be well-versed in obtaining the necessary permits for your event, ensuring legal compliance.

10. Evaluate Their Team and Crew

The success of your event relies on the expertise and professionalism of the event production team and crew. Ensure that the company has skilled personnel who can handle different aspects of the event efficiently.

11. Social Media and Online Presence

In today’s digital age, social media and online presence play a significant role in event promotion and engagement. Look for an event production company that is well-versed in leveraging digital platforms to maximize event visibility.

12. Client References

Don’t hesitate to ask for references from past clients. Talking to previous clients will give you valuable insights into the company’s performance, work ethic, and overall satisfaction levels.

13. Sustainable Practices

If sustainability is important to you, inquire about the event production company’s green practices. Many companies are adopting eco-friendly approaches to event planning, which can align with your values and make a positive impact.

14. Compare Proposals and Quotes

Once you’ve gathered proposals from different event production companies, take the time to compare them. Look beyond the numbers and consider the overall value they offer, the level of service, and the extent to which they can meet your specific needs.

15. Trust Your Instincts

Last but not least, trust your instincts. If you feel a strong connection with a particular event production company and believe they truly understand your vision, it’s likely the right choice for your event.

In conclusion, choosing the perfect event production company is a critical step in ensuring the success of your special event. By understanding your needs, researching thoroughly, and considering factors like experience, creativity, and communication, you can find the ideal partner to bring your vision to life. Remember, your event is a reflection of your aspirations, so don’t settle for anything less than excellence!

Frequently Asked Questions (FAQs):

    1. Q: How do I find event production companies near me?

A: You can start by searching online or asking for recommendations from friends, colleagues, or other event organizers.

    2. Q: What should I look for in a company’s portfolio?

 A: Look for events they have organized that are similar in scale and style to your own event.

    3. Q: How can I ensure my event stays within budget?

A: Communicate your budget clearly with the event production company and prioritize essential elements.

    4. Q: Can event production companies handle both small and large-scale events?

A: Yes, many event production companies are equipped to handle events of various sizes.

    5. Q: What if I need to make last-minute changes to the event plan?

A: Choose a company known for its flexibility and ability to adapt to unexpected changes.

    6. Q: Do event production companies provide event promotion services?

A: Some companies offer event promotion as part of their services, while others may collaborate with marketing agencies.

    7. Q: How can I assess the quality of equipment used by an event production company?

 A: Ask about the brands and technology they use and inquire about equipment maintenance practices.

    8. Q: What permits are typically required for events?

A: The permits needed depend on the type and location of the event. Common permits include those for venue usage, food service, and alcohol if applicable.

    9. Q: Can event production companies handle virtual or hybrid events?

 A: Yes, many event production companies have adapted to handle virtual and hybrid event formats.

    10. Q: How soon should I book an event production company for my event?

 A: It’s advisable to book as early as possible, especially for popular event production companies with limited availability.

[karikarasuno]

part three | part four | part five

"no fucking way," nami nearly spits out her margarita. "that did not happen."

robin is laughing behind her hand. at least she's trying to be polite.

"not you sneaking out the back." you glare at franky, blinking blankly.

"sorry, i've taken his social media away," robin apologizes, wacking franky on the arm. he just shrugs and takes another swig of his beer.

"she'll never take tiktok away from me," he says, clearly way tipsier than any of you realized.

you have to ignore him for now, deciding on tackling franky's chronic online issue at a later date. because right now it's been a solid three days since you and law have spoken about what transpired between the two of you.

and it isn't for lack of trying this time. you just haven’t been able to catch each other between work and sleep. and stupidly, you never asked for his number. so it’s not like you can even text him.

“that’s just unlucky,” nami takes another sip of her drink. “i mean you finally get some after that disaster of a break up and you go and get interrupted by his entire family.”

“i know!” you groan, sinking further down into the booth. your hand plays with the condensation on the glass of your own margarita in anguish. you were so close to actually touching his dick. again.

“well, was it good at least?” robin chuckles, amused.

you roll your eyes. “of course it was good. i’ve had like three wet dreams about it since.”

franky whistles. “i do not miss those days. the mess, the hassle, the shame…”

“who invited him?” nami complains.

“he just kinda follows me around like a lost puppy,” robin smiles, leaning over and pinching franky’s cheek. which blushes profusely.

nami gags when she looks over at you. “i’ll never get it,” she whispers, forcing a giggle from you which you hide behind the lip of your drink.

you finish your margarita, pleasantly buzzed and stuffed with chips and salsa. it takes another twenty minutes for you all to say goodbye in the parking lot before you’re heading home for the evening. thinking of law the entire way.

which is where you make your mistake. because you’re a few blocks from home. driving slow in the residential, but you don’t see the wood panel in the middle of the road until it’s too late. until you hit it and hear a devastating pop from your front tire.

“oh, fuck me,” you hit your steering wheel, agitated. just your luck. you step out of your car rounding the hood to stare at the mess that is your tire. it’s practically shredded and you’re so close to home too.

you grab your phone looking to see if you had the stupid tow service included in your insurance since you don’t know how to change a tire.

“what did you do?” law’s voice startles you. you had seen the headlights coming your way but you didn’t expect it to be him.

“what did i do?” you whine, just shy of stomping your foot. “i didn’t do anything. i was driving home and a piece of wood with a nail in it murdered my tire.”

“do you have a spare in the trunk?” law sounds nasally, stuffed.

“i don’t know,” you say hopelessly, a true damsel.

law shakes his head and parks in front of you. when he gets out you note that he’s still in his scrubs. but that’s insane because he left for work before you did this morning. and it’s damn near 10pm now.

“are you just getting home?”

“long day,” law dismisses, really sounding congested. he leans into your open driver side door and pops the trunk. “i have a jack in my car, so it won’t take me long to replace. but you can’t drive on a spare for long so make sure you get a new tire soon.”

he sounds absolutely horrible.

“law, are you sick?” you can’t help the concern that seeps into your voice. this is just weird. and he’s acting so normal.

“i’m fine.” he moves the stupid shit you have in your trunk around and lifts the felt cover. so you do have a spare.

you stare in shock as he walks back to his car to grab the jack. and then walks back over to you to start changing your tire. “turn your flash on for me.”

you listen without thinking, only realizing after a minute or so that he shouldn’t be doing this.

“wait, you shouldn’t exert yourself,” you interrupt him. “i can just call a guy.”

“i’m already almost done,” he says, placing the tire iron over a lug nut and twisting. and you know for a fact that isn’t easy with the way he strains.

he stifles a cough and your eyes narrow.

“you’re sick,” you accuse, the hand that isn’t holding your phone props on your hip.

“it’s just a little cold. i’ll be fine after i get some sleep.” he pulls your tire off and starts fitting the spare.

“you shouldn’t be changing my tire when you feel shitty,” you argue again. feeling bad.

“too late,” he grumbles, twisting the final lug nut.

“law,” you sigh, hand slapping your thigh as he removes his jack and grabs your obliterated tire.

“i’m fine,” he stops in front of you and even without the flash you can see the exhaustion in his body and the lethargy in his face. and he genuinely looks ill.

your hand reaches up to touch his forehead, back of your hand brushing his skin. and it’s clammy. and feverish.

“you’re not fine,” you assert, dropping your hand. he nudges you out of the way with his leg forcing you to take a small step away from him.

“if you’re so concerned, you can follow me home,” he calls over his shoulder.

“ha ha,” you mock sarcastically, watching him throw both your tire and his jack in the trunk of his car.

"thank you," you say, grateful for his help, but worried about him.

he merely waves over his shoulder without another word. that's how you know he's not feeling well. you're sure he's mentally fatigued on top of everything as well. you'll just have to check on him tomorrow.

****

tomorrow arrives and you get home from work to see law's car parked in his driveway. you don't know his schedule, but something feels off. the bastard is absolutely sick.

so you make him chicken soup. you take the whole pot over when you're done along with a bag full of other sick supplies. but your concern skyrockets when you ring the doorbell and get no response. you wait a few minutes before ringing it again. still no answer. you try not to panic and convince yourself law isn't dead in his bed. because that would be dramatic.

crazy enough though you remember that you saw him put in his garage code once. what's even crazier is that you remembered it. maybe this isn't something you'll admit to him.

his house is eerily quiet and dark. all of his blinds are closed and his curtains are drawn. you peek into his bedroom since his door is open and he's laying there, in his underwear, tangled in sheets.

you're a creep, but this is for his health. so it's less creepy. you put everything down in his kitchen and grab the small towel you packed. you soak it through with cool water, also grabbing a bottle of gatorade and some ibuprofen before making your way to his room.

"law," you whisper and lean over to look at him. his breathing is ragged and huffing out through his mouth since his nose is obviously clogged. you put everything down except the towel, reaching out to lightly shake him. he barely stirs.

"law," you whisper louder and shake him a little rougher than before. he startles awake, his chest heaving as he looks around his darkened room bewildered.

when his eyes land on you he relaxes, but then he blinks, "what are you doing here?"

"i snuck in to check on you," you admit, a droplet of water from the towel drips down your wrist.

"how?" he's barely awake and his voice is so hoarse.

"it's better if you don't know," you respond as you push his shoulder so he's lying down again. his body naturally falls to the bed. his skin is burning beneath your palm and your chest aches at the sight. when you place the towel on his forehead he flinches, but quickly sighs from the relief.

you adjust law to place another pillow behind him so he's propped up slightly before handing him the painkillers and gatorade. he takes them without question, coughing a little after he swallows.

"you look like shit," you sigh, sitting on the edge of his bed.

"yeah, i feel like shit too," he slumps into his cushions, very much irritated about his current state. you do feel sorry for him. he looks quite pitiful if you're being honest.

"i brought soup. let me go grab some for you," you say, getting up quickly to head back to the kitchen. the soup is still hot when you serve it in a small bowl you found in the kitchen and head back to his bedroom.

you don't bother turning on any lights, surely he prefers the dark right now and since it's still daylight out there's just enough natural light filtering through the house to guide you. he's in the exact position you left him in except his eyes are closed and he's breathing carefully through his lips.

you sit down on the bed again. this time closer to him. he feels you sink into his mattress beside him and without looking he reaches for the bowl, but you pull it just out of his grasp.

"i got it," you say, stirring the soup so it cools off a little.

"you're not gonna feed me," he argues bitterly, like this is the last thing he needs.

"i am," you laugh as he opens his eyes just to glare at you. but with how sick he is, the stare doesn't hold very much weight.

"you really don't have to do that," he bemoans. poor thing.

"well, you didn't have to change my tire last night and you did." he doesn't say anything. "now open wide."

he begrudgingly listens, a very obvious pout on his lips before he parts them to wrap around the spoon you're holding out. you watch as the broth soothes his throat, the tiniest of moans crawling it's way out. you smirk to yourself, pride swelling in your chest.

he no longer argues as you feed him another bite. and another after that one. the two of you sit in comfortable silence as you feed him probably his first meal of the day. you can tell when he starts to feel more alive. he sits up further in bed, his breathing comes more naturally to him, and he eventually takes the towel off of his head.

he seems to forget he's practically naked. a fact that you have had to pointedly ignore. law's tattoos are far more extensive than you previously realized. they're so large that nearly his entire torso is covered. and you also know he's fit, having already made that conclusion after feeling him up a few times before. but jesus christ, his body is insane.

"you're staring." a hint of playfulness returns to his voice. your eyes snap up to his face and behind the sickly demeanor, there's the smallest bit of smugness in his features. your only response is to lift a spoonful of soup out the bowl and shove it into his mouth.

he chuckles around the spoon and then promptly coughs after he swallows.

"i just didn't expect you to have so many tattoos," you mutter, stirring the soup again to keep your eyes from wandering. he stretches his legs out, his thigh now pressing into you. you're not sure if its intentional, but neither of you move, so clearly you don't mind.

"i was a pretty rowdy kid," law says, his head falling to rest on his headboard. "ran around with some guys that i shouldn't have. definitely got into some shit i had no business being in."

"like getting tattoos?" you ask, scooping up some more soup.

"yeah," he nods, leaning over to eat from the spoon you're holding out to him. "it's how i met cora actually."

you tilted your head confused. "but isn't cora your brother?"

it clicks to law that you obviously don't know what he's talking about. he's usually not so open. "cora's adopted. my parents adopted him when he was 17. it was more of a formality if anything. i was 14 when it happened."

"how old were you when you met?"

"i was around 11, but i met his brother first. a real asshole," he shakes his head at the memory. "convinced me to steal some candy from the gas station and he'd pay me $20. and i did it of course, but i didn't find out until later that it was some weird initiation he did to recruit kids as a cover for him selling drugs because we'd get caught doing petty theft meanwhile he's selling coke and shit behind the building."

you're sure your eyes are wide and the spoon sits limply in your hand. "so you were in a gang?"

"pretty much," he chuckle-coughs at the look on your face. "cora's the only reason i got out to be honest. he snitched and told my parents i started selling too. i was pissed at him for months over it, but he was just looking out for me. he always hated his older brother."

you had no idea what to say. it's a lot to digest because he seems so unbothered by it all. but that makes sense since he lived it and its been years since.

"wow," you nod slightly. "where's his brother now?"

"maximum security prison."

"what?!" your jaw drops, absolutely stunned.

"i told you he's an asshole," law laughs, nudging you with the leg that's already pressed against you.

"i've met a lot of assholes in my life and none of them are in federal fucking prison," you say, still shocked by his admission. "and poor cora, that's so traumatizing."

"he's fine," law shrugs, gesturing for you to give him more soup, but you refrain.

"is he though? are you even?"

he snatches the bowl from you with a quickness he shouldn't possess with how ill he is, disappointment on his face when he looks down and realizes he ate it all.

"there's more in the kitchen, you baby." you take the bowl back and wait for him to answer.

"yes, we're both fine. i'm a surgeon, cora's a chidren's librarian. we are ok," he holds his hands up as if he's surrendering. "the tattoos on my arms i got as a kid, but the chest and back piece were years later."

"you have a back tattoo?" this man is quite possibly the strangest person you've ever met. purely because everything he said was so unexpected. you're currently still processing it all.

"if i show you, will you get me more soup?" he bargains, adjusting his body to prepare to flip over.

"fine," but you only agree as an excuse to continue ogling him without him witnessing it. it takes a fair bit of effort for him to turn over. his body weighed down by his cold. but you see that his back tattoo is just as large as the one on his chest and before you think better of it, your fingers are touching him. they trace the outline of the large circle and drag along the lines that extend from it. it's all thick black lines and it probably hurt like a bitch. his muscles are especially nice, all corded and firm beneath your touch. if he wasn't so sick you would absolutely sink your teeth into this man.

"i'm still hungry," he says, words muffled by his pillow. your shoulders jump and you hop off the bed hurriedly.

"right! i'll be right back." your face is warm and you swear you hear his laugh as you scurry out of his bedroom. he's too distracting.

this is a problem.

part six

[brittle-doughie]

Slight Detour (Grand Cookie Games)

———————————————————————

[Phone Booth, Parfaedia]

“Yeah, I might come back to the kingdom a little later then expected, Dumpling Cookie.”

“What? Are the cookies at the Flower City becoming an issue?”

“What? No! No no, I parted from there on good terms, it’s just…the airship had to take a quick stop at Parfaedia, one thing led to another and I got to meet some old pals.”

“Old pals? Old pals…Parfaedia…oh, you mean those three cookies you met during the Triple Cone Cup tournament…”

“Yeah. Prune Juice Cookie, Capsaicin Cookie, and Kouign-Amann Cookie. We were catching up when they brought to my attention another tournament, the Grand Cookie Games.”

“And you’re intent on going there?”

“Well…”

You looked back to see the three cookies standing a little bit away from the phone booth, looking on at you from anticipation. They backed off a bit and looked in random directions innocently when you catch them.

“I don’t think I could miss an opportunity to relive some fun with them, just like old times. Besides, erm, it would help in framing my mind off…matters.”

“I will make a note of that…I’ll have to bring this up with Salsa too. You’re lucky Crowned is visiting family, she’d hunt you down if she heard you were there…”

“Hehe, yeah. Thank you, Dumpling…”

“Just…be careful, ‘kay?”

“I will, don’t worry…”

You hang up the phone and stepped out.

“Hey, uh. Did it all go out well, buddy?”

“If there are problems, that’s ok. We can understand if you’re a little too busy for the games.”

“Though, it would be great if you were able to go with us! We can be on the same team again!”

Well, they were in luck, because you cleared up enough time in your schedule to go with them!

“Ha ha! I knew it! This is going to be awesome!”

“Not like I predicted you’d say yes, but really, how can you when you’re looking at moi.”

“Then why wait! Let’s go!”

———————————————————————

Ok, there was a lot more familiar faces at this tournament than you expected!

“Oooh! Is that Y/N Cookie over there? That’s, like, totes amazing!”

“Ha! I expected them to have the strength to come here! I’m counting on a match with them!”

“I wasn’t! Goodness, I knew I should’ve done up my hair more today!”

“Is that Y/N Cookie I’m seeing over there! Woo, I’m feeling all kinds of amped today, baby!”

“Oh, they’re here. That’s…that’s fine.”

“Black Lemonade Cookie, I know you’re as excited to see them here as much as we do!”

“I’m..not denying that.”

“Y/N Cookie? I wasn’t expecting ya to be around these parts. If so, I won’t be goin’ easy on ya, so give it your shot!”

“Ah, Y/N Cookie. You’ve showed up just in time for me to brainstorm up a new novel. The romance between the protagonist and their love is just getting started!”

“Have you come for the coins too, Y/N Cookie? I won’t be giving up on them so easily, I must make sure that no Cookie in the world goes hungry!”

“Y/N Cookie is hereeee. Maybe they’d like a shroomie!”

“AHAHAHA! Did they come to see us squash these bugs!”

“Maybe by winning these games, we can finally convert them over to our side! All without Pomegranate Cookie around to ruin it!”

The CoD were here? Again? Man, you were getting tired of handling these guys-on second thought, you prefer them over those horrid Beast Cookies at this rate.

“So you’re Y/N Cookie?”

Huh? You turned around to see..

This..Cookie that you’ve never met before.

“Yeah..that’s me.”

“Oooh! I detect something FASCINATING about you! Care to share?”

“I…don’t know you?”

“Not sharing? I’ll just have to MAKE YOU!”

Without warning, this cookie fired her blaster hands at you, to which you quickly dodged and leaped out of their way!

“Hey! What’s your problem?!”

“I have collected data on you from other cookies. It is incomplete, so I want EVERYTHING on you to complete my data!”

“That’s not a thing that’s happening.”

“Then we’ll make this quick.”

“Aha!”

You turned around just in time to block a hit with your sword, your opponent was another unfamiliar cookie that wielded a large knife.

“As long as I carry this blade, I must win, but handling you is my second top priority. I want to see if you’re capable of looking into the darkness.”

“I’ve looked into it and it was the one that blinked!”

You pushed her off and steadied your blade. These games just got a little bit interesting for you now!

[elinorasims]

Build | Strangerville | Ziggy's Diner

Lot Info

Type | Restaurant Lot Size | 30x20 World | Strangerville Value | 94,857 Baths | 3 CC | No Packs | Unrestricted Ziggy's Diner is a classicly retro mashup of Googie and passenger train inspired styles situated in Strangerville Plaza.

Ziggy's is a compact restaurant and bar combo with a Strangerville twist: classic red booths and an elongated mid-century modern bar layout meets sci-fi inspired and 50's-kitsch inspired cluttered decor..

It's giving the diner from the movie 'Paul'. I hope. lol

Ziggy's has a fully customised menu featuring some Mountain States inspired comfort dishes and some American classics (full menu below the cut).

DOWNLOAD >>

Interior Tour

Bar

Staff Areas

Floor Plan

| hi my loves

hopefully you like this one- it was super fun to build and I'm finding my feet a bit more building for this save, i think!

it's been playtested (briefly lol) and should be fully functional and a smooth enough restaurant experience for your sims to enjoy.

i love Paul so much aha we watched it this past weekend and i was immediately like 'yup. gotta go do a strangerville build now.'

| dag dag fn. <3

Ziggy's Diner Menu

Drinks water ; lemonade ; milk ; orange juice ; coffee ; cream cola ; fizzy fruity drink ; pitch black ; root beer float ; soda ; tang and zing ; boiler room ; eapa ; juice on the rocks ; wrench ; galactic vita-water ; silent film ; sour punch ; sunset valley ; alien juice ; cupid juice ; space energy drink ; jet juice

Appetisers chips and salsa ; mac and cheese ; bowl of olives ; bread roll ; french fries ; whole wheat bread ; popcorn shrimp ; garden salad ; cheesy bread ; grilled plantains ; seafood chowder ; soft shell crab cake ; empanadas ; watermelon salad

Mains mac and cheese ; chicken nuggets ; popcorn shrimp ; baked potato ; hot dog ; lobster roll ; veggie burger ; chicken and waffles ; fried chicken sliders ; mushroom waffles ; sausage and peppers ; scrambled eggs with bacon ; seafood chowder ; tofu dog ; fish tacos ; hamburger ; fried fish ; pancakes ; aubergine Parmesan ; sweet corn pizza ; mushroom steak ; french toast ; vegetable chilli ; egg white omelette ; mushroom soup ; bbq ribs plate ; blackened bass ; gumbo ; steak

Dessert neapolitan ice cream ; rainbow sorbet ; vanilla ice cream ; alien fruit tart ; cream filled donut ; cream snack cake ; honey cake ; plain waffles ; rainbow brownies ; hamburger cake ; chocolate chip cookie ; apple pie ; banana cream pie ; pumpkin pie ; simcity cheesecake ; fruit cobbler

[jordiemeow]

riff speaking to shark girl on the phone bc they'd both get their asses beat if anyone else knew about it... hngh

waittt this is so cute i see the vision

Thinking your relationship (loose term—are you official? who knows, certainly not either of you) is secretive for the most part. Anita would kill you (no sister of hers is getting down and dirty with a Jet) before Bernardo had the chance to get his hands on Riff if either of them knew about it. So you resort to talking over the phone when things get hectic, holed up in your shared bedroom with Maria (the only one you trust enough with your secret.)

Hushed giggles into the phone, twirling the phone cord around your finger, sitting on the floor with your back against your bedframe. Always keeping an eye on the door just in case your sister bursts in or Bernardo gets home early from work. There's something just so thrilling about it all being a secret, even if you wished you could just see him more in person. Teaching him salsa and taking him to all the local bodegas to introduce him to Puerto Rican cuisine. You aren't sure how he gets by on hot dogs and... whatever the hell white people eat. It all looks like flavourless slop to you.

"Heya, girly," comes that familiar drawl when you hold the receiver to your ear. You can hear the distant blare of traffic through the phone, a soft frown settling on your features.

"You're not using a landline?"

"Nah, I'm payin' by the minute. The boys are layin' low 'round my place. Run in with Schrank. Couldn't risk usin' the one there without being overheard," he replies. "Why? That a problem?"

“… No,” you reply after a moment. He’s paying by the minute to talk to you. You aren't sure whether you should yell at him or smile. “You shouldn’t waste your money on that, though.”

Riff scoffs in reply. “Nah. It’s worth it,” he replies, his voice quiet. He’s very keenly aware of the way the seconds are counting up on the payphone meter, and the fact his pockets are almost empty. “Worth it to hear your voice." Shit, he said that a little too sincerely.

He swallows, leaning one hand against the wall of the booth, cheeks flushing. He's always make a fucking fool of himself when he talks to you—time to pretend he can’t practically feel your little smile from the other side of town. “And I needed to know you weren’t gonna get on my case for callin’, y’know. Cause… I figured you might still be mad at me. After all that stuff that happened with ya brother-in-law 'n' the mural the otha day."

You don't even bother correcting him anymore about Bernardo not being married to Anita. A part of you is convinced he just doesn't like to say his name—it's sacrilegious to you both, a reminder that none of this should be happening. Which is why you move on from that topic fairly quickly. For someone with such a big mouth, he's always a little quieter when you're on the phone.

He sighs softly, leaning a little more against the phone booth. He’s got to admit, it’s nice just to hear your voice, even though you're not saying anything particularly groundbreaking. Telling him what you had for lunch and that your sister is working on a new dress for you. Something about that boy—Bernardo's 'good amigo,' apparently—Chino staring at Maria with hearts in his eyes on your walk together. Your voice makes him feel all tingly, for whatever reason. He'd listen to you read the damn dictionary and enjoy every word of it.

“Jesus,” he mutters, rubbing his free hand against the back of his neck. “You talk an awful lot, girly. Anybody ever tell ya that?”

“Lo siento, I just—“ A few beats of silence, before you turn the conversation around on him. “How are you? Didn’t get up to any trouble today?"

He snorts at the way you parrot his early question back at him. “Me? Trouble? Me? Nah,” he responds, his tone just shy of mocking, “Would never.”

"Right," you hum noncommittally. Bullshit, but you don’t say that. You both know it already.

“Jus’ been… chillin’ all day. Been thinkin’,” he says, histone shifting into something a tad softer. He really has been thinking; thinking of you all day like a total lovestruck dumbass, and not a gang leader. He’s still not sure how any of this even happened. He’s never felt this way about any girl before, not even Graziella, or the other girls he sleeps with. And yet here he is using up all his damn coins to talk to you like this because his boys are hanging around his place.

“Thinking? That’s surprising. You don’t do much of that, gringo,” you tease.

Riff scoffs and his face warms slightly at your teasing tone. He's glad he's in this damn booth and out of sight. He’s never been able to deal well with people making fun of him—too quick to throw a punch in return, or a jab that's far meaner. But coming from you? It’s different. You're not just 'people.'

“No, I think,” he retorts in faux indignation, a huff of amusement escaping him. God, you could say anything and he'd be laughing down the phone. “You just make me go dumb, girly. Can’t seem to think 'bout anythin’ but you.” It’s out of his mouth before he can stop it, and his flush deepens. His inner monologue is quick to jump on the sincerity of his voice: Jesus, Riff - why the hell’d you go and say that, huh? What are you, a fuckin' pussy?

A soft little smile graces your face at that. "Yeah? You're not going soft on a 'damn PR', are you, Riff?"

His teeth grit at the thought of appearing all mushy. He'd never hear the end of it from the Jets if he was ever caught seeming soft over a Puerto Rican girl, let alone one that shares blood with Bernardo's girlfriend. "Nah, hell no," he responds, with a tsk of disapproval. When did his palms get so sweaty? "I'm as tough as they come, girly. Tough as freakin' nails."

There’s a pause, and you can practically hear the way his jaw is gritted. You're almost worried you've said the wrong thing—you know how sensitive he is about his tough lil’ gangster image, or whatever. But when he speaks again, his voice loses some of the defensive bite it had just been inflected with. “But… maybe there’s another part of me… maybe… maybe you just make me real goddamn stupid, that’s all.”

There’s a soft breath of laughter from you, but it’s not mocking. No, quite the opposite. Your heart swells with fondness for this stupid boy. “… Lindo,” you say, mostly to yourself. You have no doubt he won't understand that, which is probably a good thing. He'd throw a hissy fit if he was ever associated with the adjective cute. You're sure that tantrum would be adorable, too. “How many minutes do you have left?”

He frowns a little at the Spanish term—he never knows what the hell you're talking about—but he lets it slide. Riff glances up at the clock, kissing his teeth and making a mental note to scrounge together more coins next time. He's not sure how, but he'll make it work. He's not above going back to his pick-pocket days if he really has to.

“Not a lot,” he responds regretfully. “This damn thing’s gonna run out any minute now. Wish I could talk for longer. Damn payphone."

“Mmm. That’s a shame,” you say, sounding just as reluctant. A silence follows your words and it's clear neither of you want to be the first to initiate a goodbye. “... But you’ll call tomorrow night, sí?”

That makes his breath hitch, the irritation at the stupid phone evaporating as a little warm bolt of excitement shoots up his spine. He'll never get tired of hearing that you actually look forward to these calls with him.

“Yeah, 'course I will. Nine o’ clock again?”

"Nine o'clock," you hum in confirmation.

He nods rapidly, even though you can't see him, lips twitching upwards into a crooked smile. “Nine o’clock,” he affirms again, and he sounds far too eager for a phone call with a girl than a tough ol' guy like him should. “I should probably go now, before I get charged for another minute. Or before this stupid fuckin' thing kicks me off the call."

You laugh at his frustration towards the inanimate object, but it fades into something a little more rueful. “Sí, sí. Save your coins for tomorrow.”

He lets out a short, soft huff of a laugh when he hears your own. Then he's rubbing the back of his neck as if he’s suddenly feeling a little shy, even though no one else can hear him. No one but you, just how he likes it. “Yeah, I’ll… I’ll talk to ya tomorrow, then.”

“Buenas noches, Riff,” you reply softly.

It's embarrassing the way his heart flutters every time you wish him a goodnight in your language.

“‘Night, girly,” he mumbles, a little awkwardly, like he isn't sure what to say now. You'd think he'd be used to ending these calls, but he always feels like a young teenager talking to a pretty girl for the first time.

He lingers for a second longer, until finally he places the receiver back on the holder (just before the minutes expire), and walks out of the booth, feeling simultaneously a whole hell of a lot better after talking to you, but missing your voice already. He lets out another soft huff, more of a laugh, really, and starts the walk back home, feeling like an idiot. He's so fucking screwed.

He’s still thinking about how much of a softie he just sounded like—“I’m dumb, you just make me dumb”?!—when he finally gets back to his apartment. Still hears your voice in his head, the sound of you saying buenas noches, and lindo (whatever the hell that means), and calling him a gringo like it’s a term of endearment. Still thinking about the way he'd actually blushed while Tony slaps his shoulder and welcomes him back.

Yeah. He's definitely bringing more coins tomorrow night.

[itdontmatter283472374]

What are we? Chapter 2

Okay, so the first post went surprisingly well—y’all are such a kind and supportive community. I’m planning to post Chapter Three on Wednesday night, maybe Tuesday if things go smoothly (got a few things going on).

Paige couldn’t stop hearing Azzi’s voice. “Well, maybe we should start.”

She didn’t know what Azzi meant exactly—or maybe she did, and that was the real problem.

Outside the car window, the world passed: blue sky, green trees, the occasional flicker of a masked stranger. Everything looked quieter than it used to, even though the song was still humming low and steady.

They pulled into the half-empty Chipotle parking lot, the glowing signage casting a faint green hue onto the dashboard. It felt like such a normal place for such an abnormal conversation.

Paige parked, turned off the ignition, but didn’t move. The air in the car was thick, like even the silence had caught something contagious.

Paige fiddled with the strap of her mask in her lap, stalling. “Do you… want to eat inside?”

Azzi looked over, and for once, Paige couldn’t read her expression. “It’s probably safer if we just take it back to mine.”

“Right,” Paige muttered, grateful and disappointed all at once. She wanted the distraction of burrito bowls and awkward small talk. She also didn’t want to sit two feet away from Azzi in a booth with nothing but history between them.

As they stepped out of the car, pulling on their masks, the cold hit her hard. It was the kind of weather that made her miss normal things—hot breath in crowded rooms, spontaneous hugs, brushing hands without flinching.

They walked in, the smell of grilled meat and disinfectant hitting all at once. Floor stickers told them where to stand. A kid behind the counter asked what they wanted, his eyes dull behind fogged glasses.

“Brown rice, no beans,” Paige said quickly, staring at the glass like it could give her courage. “Chicken. Uh… mild salsa.”

Azzi ordered next, casual and calm, like she hadn’t just cracked open the thing Paige had spent months trying not to think about.

Paige glanced sideways at her as they waited near the end of the counter. Azzi’s eyes were on her phone, scrolling aimlessly.

But Paige could still feel that sentence sitting between them like a third presence. Maybe we should start.

Start what?

She wasn’t sure if she was ready to ask. Worse—she wasn’t sure what she’d say if Azzi asked again.

The car ride back to Azzi’s house was thick with tension. Even with the music humming softly through the speakers, the unease sat between them like a third passenger—silent, heavy, impossible to ignore.

Paige kept her eyes on the road ahead, fingers twitching slightly on her lap. She thought about reaching for the volume knob, about saying something casual, neutral, safe. But the weight of everything left unsaid sat too heavily on her chest.

When Paige finally pulled into the driveway, she shut off the engine and Azzi got out almost immediately—too quickly, like she needed to escape the car. Paige blinked, still buckled in, watching her friend dart toward the house with an urgency that made her look slightly unhinged.

Okay then, Paige thought, unbuckling slowly and stepping out into the warm air.

Inside the house, the coolness hit them first, followed by the familiar scent of spices and laundry detergent. Jose, stood by the kitchen island, sipping something from a water bottle and scrolling on his phone. He barely looked up as they entered.

“Wassup,” he said casually, walking around the island and heading toward Azzi.

“Nothing. Just got Chipotle,” Azzi muttered flatly, dropping her bag onto the counter and sliding onto one of the barstools with a sigh. Her tone was clipped, distant.

Jose blinked, pausing mid-step. “Okay, damn. Be like that.”

He side-eyed her dramatically, then muttered something under his breath as he walked off down the hallway. On his way, he nearly bumped into Paige, who had been quietly trailing behind.

“Yo,” he whispered, glancing back to make sure Azzi was out of earshot. “What’s her deal? I literally just said ‘wassup’ and she hit me with ‘just got Chipotle’ like I personally ruined her day.”

Paige shrugged, her voice low and vague. “I don’t know, Jose. Just… give her space. She’s probably on her period or something.”

Jose made a face, like he wasn’t entirely convinced but also wasn’t invested enough to press it. “Whatever,” he muttered, walking off toward his room.

Paige lingered for a second longer in the hallway, then turned toward the kitchen, watching Azzi pick at the edge of her burrito bowl without really eating. The silence had followed them home.

And it didn’t feel like it was going anywhere

Paige slid onto the middle stool, planting herself right between Azzi and the end of the counter like she could somehow balance the mood just by existing in the in-between. She pulled out her phone and opened TikTok, letting the familiar scroll of chaotic, over-edited soundbites fill the room.

Azzi didn’t say anything at first. She just sat there, poking half-heartedly at her bowl, chewing like the food was more for distraction than sustenance. Every few seconds, another video blasted something random—someone shouting into a mic, a sped-up remix of a song they both used to like, someone yelling about iced coffee.

After the sixth one in a row, Azzi exhaled sharply through her nose. “Paige,” she said, voice edged with irritation.

Paige glanced up, eyebrows raised, blinking like she genuinely hadn’t realized she was doing anything wrong. “What?” she asked, the word soft, almost cautious.

Azzi turned toward her, fork frozen mid-air. “Why do we keep acting like this is normal?”

The question wasn’t loud, but it was loud enough. It landed in the space between them with the weight of everything they hadn’t said over the past few months.

Paige’s jaw tensed. She looked down at her phone, then slowly locked it and set it facedown on the counter. Her voice came out low, carefully measured.

“I don’t want to have this conversation here.”

Azzi’s eyes narrowed just slightly. “Why not?”

Paige didn’t answer right away. She picked up her burrito again, tore off a piece of tortilla, set it down without eating it.

“Because,” she finally said, looking at Azzi directly now, “your brother is literally in the next room. And we’re at the kitchen counter, eating takeout, like—” She stopped herself. “Can we just finish eating first? And talk upstairs?”

Azzi stared at her for a second longer. Then she nodded once, slow.

“Yeah,” she muttered. “Okay.”

They both turned back to their food, the tension still present—but quieter now. Like a pause instead of a wall.

And down the hall, the real conversation waited.

Later that night, the house had gone still.

Jose’s door was shut, the lights in the hallway off, and the only sounds were the soft ticking of the living room clock and the hum of the AC system kicking on. Azzi’s room was dimly lit by the glow of her phone charger and the faint wash of LED lights tracing the edges of her ceiling.

Both girls had already showered. Their hair was still damp, loose and soft against their faces. Azzi was curled up on her side of the bed, one leg tucked beneath her, blanket bunched up near her chest. Paige lay beside her, just a few inches away, turned slightly toward her but still scrolling through her phone with the sound off.

It was a comfortable silence—but not an easy one. The kind that buzzed with everything unsaid.

Azzi shifted slightly, her voice low. “So… can we talk now?”

Paige didn’t move at first. Then she slowly locked her phone and set it down on the nightstand, turning her head to meet Azzi’s gaze in the dim light.

“Yeah,” she said, her voice soft. “Okay.”

Azzi exhaled, more tension leaving her shoulders than she expected. “I didn’t mean to make tonight weird. I just—I can’t keep doing this thing where we pretend like we’re fine, like none of it matters.”

“I know,” Paige murmured. “I’ve been pretending too.”

Azzi sat up a little, folding her legs under the blanket. “It’s not just the kissing, Paige. It’s everything. The way you look at me. The way we… touch. Sleep. It’s like we’re already something. But then we just don’t talk about it.”

Paige sat up too, slower, like the truth was pressing on her chest. “Because I don’t know how to talk about it. And I didn’t want to ruin anything.”

“You’re not ruining anything by being honest,” Azzi said, quieter now. “But pretending it’s nothing? That kind of hurts.”

Paige blinked, eyes softening. “It’s not nothing. It never was.”

Azzi nodded, but there was still that small distance between them on the bed. Her hand twitched near the edge of the blanket, then stilled. “So… what are we doing?”

Paige looked down at her hands, then back at Azzi. “I don’t know,” she said truthfully. “But I want to figure it out. With you. Just… not like this. Not with us tiptoeing around each other.”

Azzi’s lips curved, not quite a smile but something close. “Then stop tiptoeing.”

Paige reached for her hand this time, fingers brushing, lingering.

And neither of them pulled away.

They sat there on the bed, the space between them now blurred by the weight of what they both knew but hadn’t said aloud—until now.

Paige’s hand was still lightly resting on Azzi’s, fingers curled but not holding. Just touching. Just enough to feel something.

“I’ve been thinking about it a lot,” Paige said quietly, her eyes focused on the tiny fray in the corner of Azzi’s blanket. “About us.”

Azzi didn’t move. Her heart felt heavy in her chest, but she just nodded, encouraging her to go on.

“I think we’ve kind of… been each other’s safe space,” Paige continued. “Like, we let ourselves figure stuff out. Without judgment. Without labels. It felt safe to explore things with you because I knew it wasn’t about proving anything. It was just… us.”

Azzi’s throat tightened. “Yeah,” she whispered. “Same.”

“And I don’t want that to change,” Paige said, finally meeting her eyes. “I mean it. What we have, it’s been everything. You’ve been everything.”

Azzi blinked, trying not to let the emotion creep into her voice. “But?”

Paige hesitated. “But… we’re seventeen and eighteen. We’re just—still figuring out who we are. What we want. And it feels… too early. Too serious. To name this. To be something.”

Azzi looked at her for a long moment, trying to read between the lines. “You don’t want to be with me?”

“It’s not that I don’t want you,” Paige said quickly, and that part came out raw—too raw. She took a breath and tried again. “I just don’t want to make promises I’m not sure I can keep. Not now. Not when we’re this young. It’s not fair to either of us.”

Azzi nodded slowly, even though it felt like her ribs were tightening around her lungs. “So you think we should stay best friends.”

Paige nodded back. “Yeah. I think that’s safest.”

Azzi looked down at their hands—still touching, but not holding. “Safe doesn’t always mean right.”

“No,” Paige said softly. “But sometimes it has to be enough.”

The silence that followed was heavier than anything they’d said out loud. The room was warm, the blankets soft, their bodies close—but everything felt distant now. Like a door had quietly closed, and neither of them had the strength to open it again.

Azzi leaned back against the headboard, arms crossed, trying to swallow the ache in her throat. “I get it. I really do. We’ve been each other’s firsts in so many ways. First kiss that actually meant something. First time we touched someone and didn’t feel weird or wrong.”

“Exactly,” Paige said, her voice a whisper now. “We were safe. We didn’t have to explain ourselves.”

“But if it was just experimenting,” Azzi said, trying not to sound bitter, “why did it feel like more?”

Paige didn’t answer.

She didn’t have to.

They both knew it had always felt like more. The way they looked at each other. The way they stayed up too late, laughing and brushing knees. The way their hands lingered too long after hugging goodbye. The kisses hadn’t been accidents. They’d been slow and full of meaning, even when they pretended afterward that they weren’t.

“It’s not just about being scared,” Paige said finally. “It’s about timing. It’s about not knowing who we’re going to be in a year. Or five. We might not even like girls in that way forever. Or maybe we do. But I need space to find that out without putting everything on us.”

Azzi nodded again, even as her chest ached. “Right. Yeah.”

They both stared at the ceiling for a while, trying not to let it feel like goodbye.

“I don’t want this to ruin us,” Paige said quietly. “I want to go back to being best friends. I need that.”

“I do too,” Azzi lied, and it tasted like rust on her tongue.

They lay back down, side by side, not touching now. The warmth from before had cooled, but neither of them made a move to get up.

The silence between them was different now. Not tense—but fragile. Like if one of them moved too fast, the whole thing would crack.

Azzi turned her face toward Paige in the dark. “So that’s it?”

“For now,” Paige replied, not turning to face her. “That’s it.”

And they both hated it.

Not because it was the wrong decision—but because it felt like the right one made too early. Before they were ready. Before they had the words. Before they had the courage to say: I want you. I want this.

Instead, they buried those truths beneath soft sheets and whispered logic, hoping it would be enough to keep the friendship alive.

But neither of them slept well that night.

[nadvs]

we need a second part of imperfect strangers where he actually comes and visits her for the weekends🤭 (random but i can so see them at chipotle being all cutesy)

aw tysm 💘 wrote a blurb and rly leaned into the goofy fluff but it’s NEEDED with zach imo!!

ˏˋ°•*⁀➷

continuation of this fic

Zach acts like a four-hour drive to your college is nothing.

You know he’s tired every time he pulls up in front of your dorm. You can see it in the bags under his eyes and the yawns he tries to hide from you.

But matter how many times you tell him he doesn’t have to come visit you every weekend, he won’t hear it. He’s determined to show you how badly he wants to see you, refusing to take the risk of hurting you again.

When you mention to Zach that you’re craving Chipotle the night before his visit, he finds the closest one to your campus while still on the phone with you.

The second you get into his car the next day, he kisses you before you can even get a chance to put on your seatbelt.

“Missed you, too,” you laugh when he pulls back.

After he buys lunch, you sit in a booth by a window in the restaurant, feet bumping beneath the table. He always wants to find a way to touch you, no matter how minor.

“This is a masterpiece,” he says, holding out his bowl, ridiculously competitive as usual. “I don’t know what that is.”

You gasp as he points at your meal.

“What makes yours so perfect?” you ask. He loves how you always play along with him, that you’re as much of a goofball as he is.

“Look,” Zach says, his delivery deadpan but his motive silly like usual, “I got the protein - the steak, of course…”

“Of course,” you echo amusedly.

“And brown rice, great for lowering cholesterol,” he says.

“You take one nutrition course and suddenly you’re a genius,” you sigh, recalling how he told you about one of his elective classes on the phone a few nights ago.

“Babe, I’m being serious here,” Zach says, the smile curling on his lips telling you he’s not being serious at all.

“Continue.” You take a bite of your lunch.

“Corn, a vegetable,” he says, raising his eyebrows, “salsa, extra cheese-”

“I think you’re cheesy enough,” you interrupt, putting a palm up. Zach laughs and nudges your knee with his.

“You love it,” he says. You smile, confirming it.

“Is this who you are now that you’re a local celebrity?” you tease. “All ego?”

A few days ago, a photo of him playing soccer in a home game was posted on his college’s Instagram account, celebrating the team’s most recent win.

As you expected, the top comment was by a girl who wrote what’s his @ i’m asking for a friend (i’m the friend).

“Afraid so,” he responds.

“I noticed you changed your profile picture on Instagram,” you say. It used to be his athletic headshot, but now his profile boasts an image of the two of you smiling outside of a café.

“Yeah,” he says plainly.

“Why?”

“What do you mean? Am I not cute in it?” he jokes.

“Zach,” you laugh. “Was it because girls were messaging you?”

His cheeks flush pink. He pulls out his phone and sets it in front of you.

“Yeah. I changed it so they know I have a girlfriend,” he says, gaze fluttering away. You know him so well. “And I didn’t message any of them back. You can check.”

“You’re so sweet,” you giggle. “I trust you, but I kind of want to look just out of curiosity to see what they’re saying.”

Sure enough, he has a few messages from pretty girls sitting in his inbox, some simple hi’s, others much more flirty.

“Can’t blame them,” you reply, sliding his phone back to his side of the table. “You’re hot.”

“Are you only in this for my looks?”

“I thought you knew that,” you say. “This is awkward now.”

Zach grins, bumping your knee again before sliding out of his side of the booth and settling beside you. You can smell his cologne, clean and gentle.

“Yeah, we’re the kind of couple that sits on the same side of the table, so what?” he mumbles, planting a kiss on your temple. You smirk, kneeling against his shoulder before sitting straight again.

“I’m sorry if that made you jealous, babe,” Zach says after a beat. At times, it’s hard to believe how sensitive he is. “I can ask them to take the photo down.”

“Oh,” you say with a laugh. He has a bit of a jealous streak stemming from insecurities, but you never felt it yourself, knowing how loyal he is. “I have a cute boyfriend. I can accept that it comes with a little competition sometimes.”

“There’s no competition,” he says resolutely, blue eyes hard on you. You squeeze his bicep and smile at him and he dips to kiss your fingers, right above the promise ring he gave you.

“You know that goes both ways, right?” you tell him softly. “You’ve ruined all other men for me, MacLaren.”

Your words send butterflies swirling in his stomach.

“Good thing we’ll be together forever then,” Zach says, a glint in his eyes.

“Good thing,” you agree.

(continuation blurb)

[solecize]

  ㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤ  𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐅𝐀𝐑𝐌𝐇𝐎𝐔𝐒𝐄 | 𝐣𝐮𝐧𝐠𝐤𝐨𝐨𝐤 𝐱 𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐞𝐫

𝐒𝐔𝐌𝐌𝐀𝐑𝐘: every summer on your grandpa's farm was real-life magic to your younger self, who left a piece of her heart in amber valley when the years went on and the town became nothing but a faint childhood memory. soon enough, you become rocked by his death and realize the dead end in your bustling city world. this leads to you making an abrupt decision.

despite knowing nothing but designer purses and the corporate ladder, you uproot your entire life to take over your grandfather's old farm in the town you were desperately trying to remember - alongside a familiar face from your youth that permanently finds his way into your heart.

𝐏𝐀𝐈𝐑𝐈𝐍𝐆: jungkook/reader 𝐓𝐀𝐆𝐒. inspired heavily by stardew valley, friends to lovers, childhood friends, cowboy jungkook, small town alternate universe, slice of life, grief, growing up, mutual pining 𝐖𝐎𝐑𝐃 𝐂𝐎𝐔𝐍𝐓. 4.6k 𝐍𝐎𝐓𝐄𝐒. writing fluff has drained me prepare to only feel pain from this point on

part four: the routine, the posters and the dancefloor  ㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤ   ㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤ   ㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤ previous. next. masterlist

 ix. the routine

  like many residents in the town, the saloon eventually became apart of your regular weekly routine. you found yourself in a booth every weekend, not necessarily to wind down with a drink on each visit, but to enjoy the company of those around you. after hitting the commencement of your mid-twenties, you lacked a ‘third place’ and a community you could lean on.

  “can you guys pay attention? this is the call to adventure in the hero’s journey,” yoongi snapped, interrupting a poorly hidden conversation between jungkook and namjoon. the two ceased talking in a way a child caught by their mother would. 

  similarly, the saloon served its purpose as a third place to your newfound friends. you learned about a book club hosted bimonthly by yoongi, which you were encouraged to observe, in hopes that they would gain a new member. there was a regular karaoke night, which jimin was apparently the reigning champion of, with the highest score seen amongst patrons. then, there were people like taehyung and seokjin, who came regularly to just participate and engage in whatever was going on that night.

  hoseok, as the manager of the pub, made every other friday fun with themed nights. tonight was salsa night and apparently, he did not warn yoongi of this, who also did not inform hoseok that book club night was moved.

  “i can barely hear you!” jungkook defended himself, hands in the air. 

  you’d been smiling and nodding the entire time in oblivion yourself, as the rapid dance steps and salsa music drowned out most of your surroundings. at least someone spoke up, you just wanted to be polite in consideration of yoongi’s invite to the club. 

  to your left, seokjin was dancing with mrs. oh, who was the middle-aged lady that owned the general store where jungkook worked. he originally arrived as a member of the book club, but was swept away by the addicting beat of salsa. he’d spent the last 10 minutes trying to convince the group to join in.

  “are you guys done now?” seokjin called out, having watched yoongi shut his book in frustration.

  namjoon nudged yoongi. “let’s postpone today’s meeting!”

  you laughed as yoongi made a dismissive gesture, which was cue for everyone to disperse from the corner that the club occupied. the others stood up, presumably to either grab a drink or join in on the festivities. meanwhile, namjoon tapped your arm when you rose, indicating for you to wait.

  “just wanted to check in to see how the farm’s going,” he began. “you know, our families have been close for years, so you’re basically family, too - even if i wasn’t around much during your time here before.”

  you got a sense that namjoon had his head on straight and while grounded, seemed so much bigger than the town. those around you seemed to respect him a lot. his kind attitude showed you why.

  “it’s a work in progress,” were the only words you could use. “i’m very lucky that my mom was looking over the property after my grandpa passed and even more lucky that jungkook was also looking after it.”

  namjoon’s raised eyebrows as if this was the first time he was hearing about this. “oh, he was? dang.”

  it was kind of sweet to think about - jungkook sneaking around to take care of the place out of the goodness of his heart. amidst that, though, it seemed like there was a lot on his plate, so you brought it up to namjoon.

  “yeah, he has jiwon and jiwon’s a good kid, but she’s still a kid to look after. of course, no one wanted to see her split up from jungkook and she would have likely been sent out of town to be matched with a foster family,” he sighed. 

  a few weeks prior, when jungkook first showed up to your front door to fulfill his promise of helping you fix your windows, is when you first began wondering about jungkook’s home life and where jiwon was. you also learned that day about how selfless he really was.

  summer vacation was in full swing by that june morning, with the sun beating you to a pulp and the only thing on your mind being corn season. that, and the anticipation of a handsome man expected on your doorstep at any given moment.

  your day begun at five a.m, but you made your best efforts to not let that show by ensuring your appearance was kempt prior to your visitor’s arrival. after tending to your morning tasks, you soon received the text that jungkook was at the front, as you were elsewhere on the property. specifically, you were fighting for your life attempting to close the garage shut. yet another repair needed to be addressed.

  hey, i’m out back. give me a few.

  it took twenty minutes out of your morning to shower and change into clothes that didn’t smell like cow shit because you didn’t want to look like a mess in front of jungkook. all for it to get ruined getting sweaty from putting all of your bodily strength into a broken garage door. there was no way you were going to admit you did all of that - though, you did mentally prepare yourself when you sent your reply to his text.

  a few minutes passed and you could make out jungkook approaching you from a distance. you waved, even though you wanted him to stay put and not walk all the way around. the sight of him briefly reminded you of when the two of you used your grandpa’s farmland to play hide and seek, running across the same fields you stood on. 

  “oh, i should’ve warned you about that,” jungkook started, putting a slight jog into his step as he came closer. “that garage door broke just before your grandpa passed.”

  you made an exaggerated, wide-eyed expression. “broken? oh, i was just fighting the door for fun, what do you mean?” you made sure your glare intensfied when he laughed at you. “would have been great to mention before i lost years of my life trying to close this thing.”

  “sorry, bunny,” jungkook replied, as he stepped past you carefully and put a hand on your arm as he did so. 

  he looked up at the door from the inside and smiled thinly. you mimicked his moves, trying to make out at what exactly he was inspecting. you knew farm and you knew finance, but you certainly did not know anything about repairing things. 

  “how did my grandpa get the tractor out if this door has been broken?”

  “crop production lowered in recent years because his body couldn’t handle as much. it was a low priority repair because we used the smaller one parked out by the front shed,” jungkook explained. “honestly, it’s quick fix, just looks like the cable and rollers need to be replaced.”

  you shrugged it off and checked the time. “well, this is a problem for another day.”

  as you began walking off, jungkook followed you with the same pace. you genuinely did not want to have another to-do item in your sight before you were finished with the rest of the day ahead of you. a list dedicated to repairs was an idea that you’d been toying around with, but you were afraid of how overwhelming it was going to be.

  “not to rain on your parade, buuut on my way, i noticed that your coop’s fencing might need to be replaced.”

  it was as if he read your mind. you would’ve been frustrated, but the irony was too funny to ignore. you did notice the fencing and it was definitely already on your hypothetical repair list. as a response, you only grunted and moved along.

  as you led him back into the house, the two of you made small talk. it was still odd to you, picking up a friendship where you left it off from thirteen years ago. the dynamic seemed to ease up, the more time you spent together, but you had to remind yourself that it was indeed thirteen years since you last saw jungkook and that meant thirteen years of catching up.

  “so, are you off work today?” you asked, as jungkook brought in a toolbox from the porch. 

  jungkook set his tools down by the front shoe rack, rolling up his sleeves slightly. “kinda. i don’t really have a set work schedule, i’ve just been helping out mrs. oh whenever she needs me. i did tell her i would be busy this morning, though.”

  you met remembered the oh family from when you were younger and they always gave you and jungkook free ice cream and twenty bucks each when you cleaned their store’s front windows. mr. oh was a high-ranking military general and mrs. oh owned the town general store since taking it over from her mother. their youngest son was born the last year you had visited amber valley as a child. 

  “their kid is old enough to man the front counter, huh?” you joked.

  he chuckled. “yeah. he’s in that weird pre-teen phase, though, acting like he’s cooler than everyone and anything. he used to hang out with jiwon all the time and now his new best friend is his ps5.”

  “aw, poor girl.”

  “right? too bad, hope he grows out of it. you know,” jungkook paused, glancing at the picture on the wall, “they reminded me of me and you.”

  the picture was of you, no older than eight, in faded overalls and the toothiest grin. it was untouched when you moved in and must have been framed sometime after you stopped visiting the town, having not recognized it when you came in. you didn’t have the heart to move it, knowing your grandpa put it up while you were gone. 

you weren’t sure what to say. “i hope she’s a better behaved kid than you were,” you remarked teasingly.

  “i was an angel compared to you,” jungkook shot back, rolling his eyes. “but, yeah, she’s a great kid. hardly gives me trouble. besides, anything i’ve ever needed help with? my friends, the oh family, mayor kim - i got the best support in the world.”

  pride and gratitute were intertwined in jungkook’s voice, as if he watched back the last six years before his very eyes. you couldn’t even imagine what that could have looked like. he was so young, just two months younger than you, and the idea of having the responsibility over a child at your age, much less younger, was unfathomable. 

  you didn’t want to push the subject of jiwon too much, knowing the circumstances, but you were appreciative of how jungkook allowed himself to open up to you. you leaned on the wall, listening to him talk about his little sister and it was clear he loved her very much.

  “you’re lucky to have that kind of community around you,” you said.

  “it’s your community, too, now.”

  you didn’t realize it, but you soon had spent a good chunk of time talking to jungkook, as he began the process of replacing your windows. there were other things you had to tend to outside, but the conversation flowed so naturally. at some point, you brewed a fresh pot of coffee and handed a mug to jungkook, interrupting his installation of what he explained was exterior stop moulding. 

  you were nodding your head, listening to him explain his employment situation with the oh family. “that’s real nice of you.” although jungkook had a very flexible schedule, he essentially helped with the operational portion of the store that mr. oh used to cover before he was first deployed overseas.

  “thank you for the coffee - anyway, they did so much for me when i first started taking care of jiwon, of course i would lend a hand.” he took the hot cup gratefully, cautiously taking a sip. “mr. oh hasn’t always been overseas, but even when he comes back, it’s just my full-time job at this point. they pay well and mrs. oh watches jiwon when i need it.”

  you replied, “if you don’t mind me asking, what were you doing before you worked at the store?”

when you were little, jungkook had always been academically gifted. he loved books and always used to brag about how he got better grades than you did. you always thought he was the type to leave amber valley and find success elsewhere.

  “honestly, there wasn’t really a ‘before,’ bunny. it kinda just went from me being in high school to me having to look after my sister. i worked part-time with jimin’s family when i was a teenager, sorting fish bait, if that’s what you mean,” jungkook was trying to be light-hearted, but you felt bad. 

  he noted your silence and said, “remember when we were kids and we promised to go to the same university when we grew up? and you’d show me the city instead of me showing you the valley?”

  “that was the plan,” you sighed. you nearly forgot about that and you could vaguely recall a pinky-swear being attached to that promise. “maybe there’s a universe where that happened.”

  in a phone call sometime earlier with your mom, she casually joked that she always thought that you and jungkook were going to get married. she and his mom made that bet when you were kids, mirroring the competitive spirit passed down to the two of you. you tried imagining falling in love with jungkook on campus - study dates in the library and sneaking into each other’s dorm rooms, all while being academic rivals in the lecture hall. 

  the man in front of you was neither the jungkook in your youthful fantasies or the little boy that collected seashells with you. nostalgia and daydreaming were dangerous things that couldn’t be trusted. just like you, he grew up. 

  eventually, you declared yourself a distraction and excused yourself from the living room to take care of the rest of your chores. catching up was nice, but you thought it would be better to take it slow. checking in on jungkook every half hour, it was early in the afternoon when he was finished replacing both sets of windows. 

  the sun was still unforgiving and the humidity was no different. the air conditioning system in your house was mediocre at best and there was a stand fan right where jungkook was working, along with two in the living room. you came in to offer jungkook another water bottle when he excitedly showed you his finished product.

  “not bad, huh?” he folded his arms across his chest.

  you observed his work and shook your head, impressed. “more than ‘not bad,’ jungkook. the new panels look amazing - thank you so much. i really, really appreciate it.” 

  it was hard to believe that he installed brand-new windows in such a short time span and the contrast was especially stark, given how old the broken set was. you’d been prepared to pay him for his work, but he warned you earlier that he would “beat you up” if you did so. something about revenge for spending years throwing rocks at him. 

  he grinned, as he began gathering his tools. you were a bit sad, which confused you until you realized why. however, you decided that this unresolved attraction would best be dealt with on a day where you didn't waste almost two hours talking to the man in question. you still ended up deciding this while staring at the way his tattoos looked against his flexed muscles. 

  “so, i’ll come by again for the fence?”

  “wait, what?” this question snapped you back into reality. the fence? you remembered what jungkook pointed out upon his arrival.

  he looked at you, seemingly feigning confusion. “yeah, you said you’d let me fix the fence.”

  “no, i didn’t. are you messing with me?” you narrowed your eyes at the way he slowly blinked at you. 

  “yeah, you said i can come by sometime in the middle of the week.”

  there was no way you promised such a thing. “you brat, when did i say that?”

  the conversation diverted your attention away from the way jungkook quickly bounced up and was opening the front of your door. he waved you goodbye and that he would text you before you could even process it. you made a beeline from the door, but that man was a damn fast walker.

  “have a nice day, y/n!” he yelled from afar and you could hear the laughter jump out in his tone. he knew what he was doing. 

  from that day on, you continued finding yourself in the whirlwind that was jeon jungkook. it’d been a few weeks and about two days in each week where jungkook has paid you a visit with a different excuse of a repair to “help” you out with. though you knew it was bullshit, the crinkle at the corner of his eyes everytime he greeted you at your front door showed that he knew the same.

  there was a silent agreement between the two of you that no one paid attention to when it was just the two of you in the farmhouse. even though you would have refused back and forth had jungkook actually asked if you wanted help, you took anywhere from one hour to a couple just talking to him. one of the times, he insisted he check the condition of your chimney for you. this occasion was more than obvious for the both of you, as you sat on your grandpa’s stiff, old porch bench the entire time and didn’t seem to mind.

  the routine of jungkook helping you out on the farm was getting dangerous. when you packed up all of your worldly possessions and abandoned your old life, you promised yourself that this was a new chapter for yourself. there was never a man in the picture or the end goal and the last person you thought it would be was the little boy that you once called your best friend.

  on the third day of jungkook’s mission to use your grandpa’s property as a level of house-flipper, you made lunch for the both of you. 

  “it’s really not a big deal, i ate before i came here.”

  jungkook was busy smashing a rail into place with a mallet when you approached. you clutched your cardigans a little closer to yourself, as the wind outside took aback. you looked up and silver clouds muddled in the sky. it was hard to tell because of the lack of sun, but it was nearing two p.m. 

  “you came here in the morning!” you huffed, tapping your feet. 

  it was a great deal of confidence in your chest for you to think that no one was more stubborn than you were. as much as you deflected help from jungkook, you were certainly beating his level of persistence. at this point, you would just have to shove food into jungkook’s mouth for you to take it over the top.

  he made an exasperated sigh. “bro, i forgot how annoying you can get.” even though jungkook stood firm with “helping” you with repairs, he was no match for your insistence.

  “let’s go - chop, chop.” your voice was dry, as you took the hammer from his hand yourself. 

  you turned to place the hammer back into jungkook’s tool box when you felt the first kiss of a storm on your bare legs. the sky never lied. you tilted your head up to meet the clouds again, but this time, the rain was sharp and doubled, then tripled. you heard jungkook call out your name from behind you.

  “this doesn’t look good, let’s go,” he said, taking the denim jacket tied around his waist. the cold sensation lightened on your back and you realized it was because he was holding the jacket between the two of you, with his right arm pulling you to his side and his left arm enveloping your body. 

  a clap of thunder interrupted your daze. you wondered if amber valley always stormed like this in your childhood or if you only embraced the happy, sunny parts. the town lived in your memories surrounded by dazzling waters and a rainbow, just like everything else did when you were nine. 

  you tried keeping up with jungkook’s pace, but your legs were failing. “can you slow down?” you panted. 

  jungkook couldn’t help but snort aloud. “if this was a zombie apocalypse, you’d be dead right now.” when you stomped on his foot with intention, he finally relented and slowed down for you, laughing when he did so. 

  the chicken coop was on the other end of the property from the farmhouse, so you were struggling for several minutes trying to make it back. the whole time, you and jungkook continued laughing at one another and cracking jokes. it made you momentarily forget your surroundings of a growing storm.

  the two of you stumbled onto the back porch, up the steps and nearly fell on top of each other. jungkook tightened his arms around you when he saw that you were about to miss a step and you let out a breathy “thank you” through your giggling. he shook his head and dropped his grip when the two of you made it under the gable roof. you shivered when he did so.

  “you didn’t check the weather forecast?” you wheezed, checking to see if your phone was in your pocket. 

  jungkook defended, “neither did you, genius.” 

  you two paused for a moment, before bursting out into laughter again and you looked out to see the unrelenting rain. when you looked back, you wondered if jungkook was standing this close to you the entire time. you also wondered if he could tell that you were trying not to look at the way his wet t-shirt clung to his body. daring to meet his eyes, you nearly choked on your own breath when you saw that he was looking at you, too. 

  his gaze lowered and then he cleared his throat. “well, that’s too bad. i was making good progress,” jungkook also turned to stare at the grey skies and flashes of lightning.

  “i guess you can just come tomorrow.”

  the statement surprised even yourself when it left your lips. jungkook raised an eyebrow at you, before nodding slowly and the corners of his lips quirked to form that charming, gentleman smile. you couldn’t help but turn around to hide your own smile, instead telling jungkook to stop standing outside like an idiot. the agreement was no longer silent.

  x. the posters

  around your newfound friends, the dynamic between you and jungkook never changed. it did leave less room for tension, though, and you saw more of the upbeat, heart-of-gold jungkook that he displayed for the rest of the world. despite that, some caught on faster than the others.

  “if i knew you guys were going to bicker the entire time, i would’ve just asked someone else. seokjin literally offered. or, actually, i’m pretty sure that even jiwon would have been better than the two of you. doesn’t matter if she can’t reach up that high.”

  the day prior, namjoon asked you if you and jungkook wanted to help him put up posters around town for the midsummer fair. it didn’t occur to you to question why he asked you for jungkook’s presence, but you ended up roping him into it anyway. unfortunately for namjoon, the two of you ended up arguing the entire time.

  “but, i’m right. aren’t i, namjoon?” you prodded. “jungkook’s idea is horrible!”

  jungkook shrugged. “why? it’s eye-catching.”

  “there is no way anyone will agree to dressing up as a clown to hand out fliers. we’re going to scare the kids away.”

  “tell her otherwise, future mayor kim,” jungkook said to namjoon, who groaned. 

  the reason why namjoon was tasked with the promotion of the midsummer fair was simply because his father told him to. it was a town event and he was always expected to lend a hand to whatever his dad needed him for. it seemed like every time he had to do something, it was all performed with reluctance.

  “oh, god. don’t start, you have no idea what speech my dad gave to me earlier today about ‘being a leader,’” namjoon shook his head. 

  you furrowed your brows. “oh, are you planning to run for mayor soon?”

  “definitely not,” namjoon instantly responded, not an ounce of hesitation in sight. “i have a master’s degree in fine arts, the last thing i want to do is be a politician.” the laugh namjoon gave was hollow. 

  “what we would all do to not be trapped here,” murmured jungkook and you almost missed it. 

  your gaze met his and quiet smiles were exchanged. there was an air of comfort grounding the two of you, now that you knew the weight behind those words and jungkook’s sacrifices. you did, however, miss the way namjoon caught this shared smile and turned around, keeping it to himself and letting the moment remain between you two only. 

  xi. the dancefloor

  during salsa night at the saloon, jungkook seemed to be in every corner of the room except yours. it had been a few days since you last saw him, with his latest excuse for the farmhouse being chalking on your silo’s roof. you didn’t even know what that meant, but you stopped arguing the same way he stopped insisting that you didn’t have to make him food. instead, you began texting him about what time he was coming, while he began taking leftovers home, since you always “accidentally” made too much food. 

  you and namjoon continued to chat when jimin breezed by, plopping down beside you. he was sitting off to the side of the dancefloor the entire time, lazily sipping a beer and talking to hoseok.

  “because i would embarrass everyone with my moves,” was jimin’s answer when you asked him why he wasn’t participating.

  namjoon chuckled. “he sounds like he’s joking, but he’s an insane dancer.”

  “it sounds like you’re good at everything, park jimin,” you teased.

  “you know who’s not good at anything?” it seemed like this wasn’t his first beer of the night. “jungkook. he’s horrible at pretending to not look at you. you should go up to him, i think he wants something.”

  there was a sense of confusion, but even with jimin under the influence, you also saw the way namjoon leaned back in his seat. it was as if he was relieved that someone other than himself spoke up about it. turning your head, you immediately caught jungkook’s stare, which he retracted like touching fire. 

  you widened your eyes. “is there something on my face?” 

  “no, you’re just a woman that he likes that’s wearing a nice dress,” jimin deadpanned. 

  “you’re a funny drunk, jimin,” you shook your head, chuckling. what he said didn’t even register in your brain. 

  to your side, namjoon only sighed. he stood up all of a sudden, tugging jimin in the opposite direction. you were confused even more. in a second, jungkook appeared in front of you and your words immediately left your body. 

  “book club over?” he asked, scanning the room to where the others dispersed off to. 

  bewildered at the dissolution of the club meeting, you could only shrug. you weren’t sure what even happened. then, you looked up at him and smiled. 

  you said, “jeon jungkook, you’re not going to embarrass me by asking me to dance, are you?”

  “i would never embarrass you. i’m definitely a much better dancer than you, anyway.” jungkook winked and extended his hand, gesturing for you to join him. 

  without missing a beat, you grabbed his hand and got up from your seat. thankfully, the senior community of the town was loving salsa night and made up most of the crowd. you and jungkook were able to hide your horrible dancing in between the retirees going wild.

𝐓𝐀𝐆 𝐋𝐈𝐒𝐓. @sstrongstyletyle @wobblewobble822@taiwan0618 @seokout @firelcrds @xwniazx

[wings-and-beskargam]

Trying to summarize the last few Mayday/Archer interactions - because this has been an absolute chaotically unplanned GAR Goth Night journey. 😅

This is possibly overly saccharine, but what can I say? I’m a sucker for that osik. Bear with me, Photo Booth art at the bottom!

Maydays’ Quest Continues

Maydays’ offer of the quest item rose caused Archer to feel a bit uneasy. Her beskar-clad exterior and quiet nature usually kept the aruetiise at a distance. This one was either confident or di’kutla. 😊

(Credit - @foxwithadarkside)

Unused to this sort of attention and uncertain what to do with the obviously smitten Mayday, Archer contemplated the risks of entertaining this sort of a connection.

She felt a growing sense of affection towards the man, after observing his quiet persistence, care for his vode, and unrelenting dedication. Given their respective professions, the type of connection he seemed to be seeking was dangerous, however. For both of them.

With an inward sigh and her characteristic reticence, Archer sent Mayday on an additional quest to learn some impressive dance moves. Sensing his quiet feeling of rejection and trepidation over the coming trials, Archer felt a twinge of guilt, but now she would have some time to think.

(Credit: foxwithadarkside)

Mayday carried on with his quest and learned some stunning (“the Mikkian pretze”, salsa!) and some questionable (drunk howling?) dance moves. We presently find Archer observing Mayday carefully taking notes while watching members of Clan Skirata flow through the powerful forms of the Dha Werda Verda, a Mandalorian war dance which seems to be popular with the crowd (and Archer)! It seemed, to him, that males conduct this ritual shirtless, so he prepared by removing his shirt too (RIP Hexx).

(Credit @eobe - the one who started this whole thing)

Standing amidst the rolling clouds of coloured fog, strobing lights, and crush of moving bodies, watching Mayday carefully study every movement of the dancers, Archer felt a wave of affection wash over her that was wholly her own. Beneath his exterior of confidence, this man possessed a genuine dedication and radiated such a wholesome determination that it was impossible not to like him. Resolve crystallized inside Archer, and she knew it was time to act.

She quietly approached him from behind as he watched Fi and Ordo move skillfully through the Dha Werda Verda. Placing a hand on Maydays’, shoulder she called for his attention. ”Al’verde?”

Mayday quickly spun around to face her, a surprised look on his face. Archer continued. ”I can teach you the Dha Werda Verda, if you want. But perhaps you’d like to check out the new Photo Booth with me instead?”.

Mayday felt a small thrill rush through him at being addressed by his rank in the Mando’a language and being approached by Archer for the first time. His gaze softened as he studied her and noticed the rose he’d given her, carefully pinned in her hair. He took a step closer to her and slid his sunglasses off his face, gently placing them atop her head. With a smile he offered his left hand and turned in the direction of the Photo Booth.

Returning his smile, Archer placed her hand in Mayday’s and he closed his fingers around it gently. She turned and began leading him toward the garishly-lit Photo Booth, revelling in the simple intimacy of holding hands, and feeling a small blush creep across her cheeks at being granted the cherished glasses.

(Credit: foxwithadarkside)

The purple curtain on the booth was closed across its’ entrance, but the booth appeared empty. Sliding his sunglasses down over her eyes, she pulled Mayday into the booth and reached across him to slide the curtain closed again. In such close proximity, the scents of cinnamon, mint, and cocoa washed over her, with just a hint of pine balsam. “Hmm. Fi was right” she thought with a tiny scoff.

Gathering her composure, Archer placed a credit into the payment slot, and pressed the button to activate the Photo Booth timer. “So…”Mayday began in a gravelly tone, just as a shutter sound indicated the first photo had been taken.

Swallowing her final reservations, Archer wordlessly lifted the sunglasses off her face, placed a hand on Mayday’s right cheek and dropped a kiss quickly on his left. A second shutter sound confirmed the look of shocked surprise on his face was captured by the photo booths’ camera.

Mayday quickly overcame his surprised stillness and, emboldened by Archer’s gesture of affection, stood to his full height and placed a soft peck on her forehead just as the third shutter sound signalled the end of the photo sequence.

Blushing furiously, he looked down at her for a long moment before saying “Shall we see how the photos turned out?” Backing out of the booth, he carefully placed a hand to the small of her back, bringing her with him.

Plucking the flimsi strip out of the receptacle, Archer flashed it in Mayday’s direction asking “What do you think?”.

“Mesh’la” he replied, his eyes never leaving hers.

Grabbing Maydays’ hand, Archer began confidently striding towards the music stage, towing him along. “Stay close, Al’verde. You still owe me a dance” Archer tossed over her shoulder with a smirk.

10/10 patience if you made all the way to the bottom! 😉

Grand theft Taglist: @ghostymarni @lonewolflupe @eobe @wings-and-beskargam @eclec-tech @foxwithadarkside @fiveminutetrash @crosshairs-dumb-pimp-gf @feral-ferrule @ladylucksrogue @nika6q @skellymom @vimse @gargothnightzine @sunshinesdaydream @noblelightfighter @returnofthepineapple @freesia-writes @covert1ntrovert @vikushat @nocturius8015ficore @mamuzzy @risavulpes @niobiumao3 @sazzujazzu @blackseafoam @thora-sniper @gars-weaponeer @leenathegreengirl @vodika-vibes @headphones-ct-09978

[silentwhsprs]

━━━━━ marthas diner , miles morales

miles and his family are dining in at your workplace, he embarrassed you infront of your entire class, remembering that miles has been missing out on a lot of spanish, so you’re using that to your advantage.

You washed the dishes that were leftover from your friends last shift. It was about 9:30 P.M. at night and nobody usually dined in around this time so you were left to close up after 10:15P.M.

You checked your phone ever so often since the gentle song of “California Love,” by Tupac was playing. It was a classic so you hummed the tune while drying off your hands. You noticed the sudden movement of shadows outside of the window shades and quickly hid behind a counter.

“Hun, you have to trust me on this! Martha’s Diner is where all the kids used to meet up at. They sold milkshakes for the price of 25¢! Are you hearing me! 25¢!” A voice exaggerated, “I know but I’m telling you, these waitresses are rude and don’t listen!” The lady-like voice replied.

“It doesn’t look like anyone’s here..” The man voice began, “Hello! Anyone here? Are y’all open!?”

You stood up from your squatting position and walked toward the group, you realized it was Miles’ parents, Rio and Jeff.

“Oh hey, I didn’t expect to see you Mr and Mrs. Morales! Is Miles tagging along with you guys tonight?” You smiled gently.

“Yes he will be. We all planned to end the night on a good foot even though Miles is grounded. He should be coming in here shortly. He had to grab something from the car.” Rio explained.

“Okay.. so table for three then? Follow me.” You said, walking over to an empty booth that sat in the corner, although it was in the corner it had the best view of Brooklyn in the entire diner. Many people often reserved to sit there.

“Thank you, amor.” Rio smiled, the abrupt ringing of the bell is what captured both of your attention. It was Miles, he had his usual blue and red jacket combo but his face was wet and his jeans appeared to be damped from the inside.

“Miles, trae tu culo aquí!” (Miles, get your ass here!) Rio shouted waving her hand over to the booth. As he walked over you reminisced of earlier that day when he called you out in class that you had slobbed all over your computer the previous night which led to your computer keys jamming. You were so embarrassed you ran out of class not even caring for the detentions you were given for the rest of the month.

“Ah, I’m coming, Mamá.” He groaned. He walked passed you and hung the wet coat over the booth top. “Okay, well it’s only you guys. So I can give you a 25% Family Discount, just don’t tell my boss.” You winked, pulling out your notepad.

“So.. to start off with drinks what would you like?” You asked, “We’ll start off with waters.” Jeff said, opening the menu that was set in the center of the table.

Miles focused his vision on you, looking you up down gazing at the dress you were required to wear. Usually, you had to wear skates but since your boss wasn’t there you wore your tennis shoes that had been set in your locker for a few months.

You took in notice of Miles gazing’ you didn’t know whether his parents noticed but you were sure that you were going to make sure they did. “Mis ojos están aquí arriba, pervertido.” (My eyes are up here pervert) You spat, Rio’s eyes almost bulged out of their sockets, Jeff didn’t understand a word that you just said but knew it wasn’t good.

“Aye! Miles! The 3 months of you being grounded has been turned into 5! And I swear if you miss another class, I will ¡estrangularte y enviarte al campo de entrenamiento!” (I will strangle you and send you to boot camp)

“I wasnt-“ Miles started.

“I don’t want to hear it! Can we get the chips and salsa?” Rio asked still glaring at her 15-year-old son. “Of course.” You said glaring at Miles.

You walked toward the back, and grabbed the clean cups and filled them up with water, you also grabbed the tray alongside the paper and filled it up with chips. Grabbing the larger tray you put all of the items on there and began walking toward the group.

“Here you guys go, These items will be on your bill as the appetizer, now is there anything you would like for your meal?” You asked, preparing the notepad once again.

“No love, how about you join us.” Rio said, moving over her purse to add room in the booth. “Oh no, I couldn’t.” You gently refused.

“Come on, I’m sure you’ll be a nice influence to this little knucklehead, he needs to find a young girl like you and not girls who refer to me by my first name.” She said referring to Gwen earlier that day.

“Ma, she wasn’t trying to provoke you, it was just harmless-“ Miles started, “Harmless?! You know your father and I hate being called by our first name and it’s no free passes to Gwanda or Gwen whatever her name is! Nor, Ganke!” Rio spat, slamming her hand on the table.

Jeff rolled his eyes at the situation, it was originally him and Miles but now it was between Miles and his wife. But, your awkward standing position was beginning to feel uncomfortable so you immediately sat down to ease the tension. “Okay.. Mrs. Morales, how about this. Puedo ear clases particulares a Miles en español, para que pueda pasar el rato con la chica blanca.” (I can tutor Miles in Spanish, so he can hang out with the white girl) You evilly smiled.

You knew Miles wasn’t ever in Spanish and when he was he was always zoning out as if he was ready to jump out of the window at any given chance, so you decided that since he decided to embarrass you in front of your entire class you would embarrass him in front of his parents.

Miles immediately shook his head instantly at your words which caused Mrs. Morales to look at him suspiciously, “Gracias (Y/N), Rees el único amiga genuino que tiene.” (Thank you (Y/N), you’re the only genuine friend he has) Rio thanked.

Miles threw his head back as Jeff started laughing, the entire salsa bowl was gone and the only chips that were left was just crumbs. “Hey Miles, how about we start off with a quiz just to assure that you aren’t a No Sabo Kid..” You smirked.

He glared at you, his honey brown irises piercing through yours. “Eres una chica sucia.” (You’re a dirty girl.) He growled. “Y eres un pervertido.” (And you’re a pervert) You smirked.

Rio looked shocked at the choice of words being transferred between you two, “Cálmate, todos son 15.” (Calm down, everyone is 15.)

Miles relieved the tension by slouching down, he knew he liked Gwen but there was just something about you that made his stomach turn. He loved bothering you and embarrassing you he loved how flustered you got whenever he pointed out the littlest things about you.

“Gay Amos a la parte de atrás, si quieres continuar con esto.” (Let’s go to the back, if you want to continue this.) You suggested, you also knew that Rio understood every word you just said, but did Miles?

“¿Qué?” Miles chuckled nervously. Rio’s eyelids begin to rise, but the sudden announcement of Jeff’s radio sliced the tension with a knife. “Ugh, sorry, honey. I gotta go. Deal with the kids, alright, I love you.” Jeff stammered attempting to climb over Miles and run out the door. Since his dad left the only thing you could do is get Miles flustered on how he made you flustered all the damn time.

“Well, your fathers gone. But I’m not done with you Miles Gonzalo Morales. Now help this girl tidy up. I didn’t even get to taste the food because your gordo de padre.” (fathers fat) Rio sighed, grabbing her purse. “Get her home safely Miles.” She said before hearing the last ringing bell.

The tension between you two was sky rocketing.

LMK IF I SHOULD MAKE A PT.2 OR MAKE ONE ABOUT EARTH 42 MILES. SEND ME REQUESTS SURROUNDING THE SPIDERVERSE ONLY PLS!!!

[alexstalkers]

Everything Has Changed-Part 2

Backstory: Carl Gallagher is a police officer, and you are studying Psychology with a minor in Sociology at the University of Chicago. You meet at a time in your life where you don't need distractions or a relationship, but the Gallaghers are hurricanes and Carl changes your world view. 

SONG INSPIRATION: Betty- Taylor Swift

includes: one black fem reader! slowly falling in love with carl gallagher; one slightly jealous best friend…

(Part 1)

(sorry this is so short)

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

Weeks had passed since that night at Cosmo, and life seemed to settle into a new rhythm. I found myself spending more time with Carl and the rest of the Gallagher clan after getting closer with him during him, Michael, Michelle and I's hangouts. It wasn’t just the club nights or casual hangouts; Carl and I had developed a comfortable, almost effortless connection. We’d spend hours talking about everything from his work as a cop to my studies at the university. It felt natural, like I had known him forever.

But not everyone was happy about this new dynamic.

Michelle, my best friend and roommate, had started to act differently. At first, it was subtle — a raised eyebrow here, a slightly forced smile there. But as the weeks went on, her feelings became more apparent.

One evening, after a particularly grueling day of classes, I came home to find Michelle sprawled on the couch, scrolling through her phone. She looked up as I entered, her expression unreadable.

“Hey, how was your day?” she asked, her tone unusually flat.

“Tiring,” I replied, kicking off my shoes and dropping my bag by the door. “I have so much to study for midterms, I don’t know how I’m going to manage.”

She nodded, but her attention seemed elsewhere. “Are you seeing Carl tonight?”

I hesitated, sensing the tension. “Yeah, we’re just going to grab some food and hang out. You’re welcome to join us if you want.”

Michelle’s lips pressed into a thin line. “No, it’s fine. I have my own plans.”

Her words were casual, but I couldn’t shake the feeling that something was off. Before I could press further, my phone buzzed with a text from Carl.

Carl: Hey, I’m outside. Ready when you are.

I glanced at Michelle, who was now staring intently at her phone. “I’ll see you later, okay?”

“Yeah, sure,” she replied, not looking up. “Have fun.”

As I stepped outside, the cool Chicago air hit my face, a stark contrast to the warmth of Carl’s smile as he leaned against his car.

“Hey, you,” he greeted, pulling me into a quick hug. “Ready for some food?”

“Absolutely,” I said, returning his smile. “Where are we going?”

“There’s this great little taco place not too far from here,” Carl suggested as we got into his car. “I think you’ll love it.”

The drive was filled with easy conversation and laughter, but I couldn’t shake the unease from my encounter with Michelle. It lingered in the back of my mind like a dark cloud. I really liked Carl, but sometimes I felt guilty being out with him knowing that my best friend liked him first. She reassured me that after their first few times hanging out, there wasn't much chemistry and she felt nothing for him, but every time I hang out with him alone, she seems like she doesn't want me to.

Nothing romantic or serious has happened between me and Carl, but I am starting to like him a lot and I which scares me because I don't want to ruin my friendship with Michelle if it does happen.

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

The taco place was exactly as Carl had described — cozy, with a warm atmosphere and amazing food. We found a corner booth and settled in, our conversation flowing effortlessly.

“So, how’s work been?” I asked, biting into my taco.

“Busy, as always,” Carl replied, wiping some salsa from the corner of his mouth. “But you know, it’s the kind of busy I like. Keeps me on my toes.”

“I can imagine,” I said, thinking about the stories he’d shared with me. “Must be stressful, though.”

“It has its moments,” he admitted. “But then I think about the good we’re trying to do, and it makes it all worth it.”

I nodded, feeling a swell of admiration for him. Carl had this way of seeing the world that was both pragmatic and hopeful, a balance I found myself drawn to.

After dinner, we decided to take a walk by the lake. The city lights reflected off the water, creating a serene backdrop for our conversation.

“You know,” Carl began, his voice thoughtful, “I’ve really enjoyed getting to know you, Y/N. You’re easy to talk to.”

I smiled, feeling a warmth spread through me. “I feel the same way about you, Carl. You’ve become a really important part of my life.”

We walked in comfortable silence for a while, the sound of the water lapping against the shore providing a soothing soundtrack. But eventually, the topic I had been avoiding came up.

“How’s Michelle?” Carl asked gently.

I sighed, my shoulders slumping slightly. “I don’t know. She’s been...different lately. Distant.”

Carl stopped walking and turned to face me, his expression serious. “Do you think it’s because of us?”

I looked down at my feet, the guilt I had been trying to ignore bubbling to the surface. “Maybe. I don’t know. She’s my best friend, Carl. I hate the thought of her feeling left out or hurt.”

He reached out, lifting my chin so I had to meet his gaze. “Y/N, you deserve to be happy. And so does Michelle. Maybe you just need to talk to her, let her know how you’re feeling.”

“I know,” I said, my voice barely above a whisper. “I just don’t want to lose her.”

“You won’t,” Carl assured me, his thumb brushing gently across my cheek. “Friendships have ups and downs, but if it’s real, it’ll survive.”

I nodded, feeling a little better. “Thanks, Carl. You always know what to say.”

He smiled, leaning in to press a soft kiss to my forehead. “Let’s head back. It’s getting late.”

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

The ride home was quiet, but it was a comfortable silence, filled with the unspoken understanding between us. When Carl dropped me off, he promised to text me later, and I walked up to the apartment feeling a mix of emotions.

Michelle was still on the couch when I entered, her eyes flicking up to meet mine. I took a deep breath, deciding it was time to address the elephant in the room.

“Michelle, can we talk?” I asked, sitting down beside her.

She set her phone aside, her expression guarded. “Sure. What’s up?”

“I feel like there’s been some tension between us lately,” I began carefully. “And I just want to make sure we’re okay.”

Michelle sighed, running a hand through her hair. “Y/N, I’m not gonna lie. It’s been hard seeing you get so close to Carl. I mean, I’m happy for you, but it feels like I’m losing my best friend.”

My heart ached at her words. “Michelle, you’re not losing me. I promise. Carl is important to me, but so are you. I don’t want you to feel left out or replaced.”

She looked at me, her eyes softening. “I know. It’s just...hard. I guess I’m a little jealous. You and Carl have this connection, and I feel like I’m on the outside looking in.”

“I understand,” I said, reaching out to take her hand. “But you’re my best friend, Michelle. No one could ever replace you. Let’s make more time for us, okay? Just the two of us.”

She smiled, squeezing my hand. “I’d like that.”

We sat there for a while, just talking and reconnecting. It felt good to clear the air, and I felt hopeful that our friendship would come out stronger on the other side.

As I lay in bed that night, I couldn’t help but think about how much my life had changed in such a short time. Carl had brought a whirlwind of new experiences and emotions, but it was the bond with Michelle that anchored me. I knew there would be challenges ahead, but for the first time in a long time, I felt ready to face them.

Everything had changed, but maybe that wasn’t such a bad thing after all.

[hazel-eye-coffee-shop-girl-blog]

Limelight Series - Chapter 2

Happy Monday Everyone! Here is chapter 2 of the limelight series! If you haven't read chapter one, click here to read it and then come back to read chapter 2.

This series came way of a message/ask from @hobby27 she asked:

"I would love something with Jensen and reader. He sees her when he’s at a convention and he’s bonkers for her. She isn’t so interested in a relationship with him because of the fame. So he has to woo her. Make her understand that he’s not a typical movie/tv star. Slow burn."

So I give you the Limelight series- It's a Jensen x reader (plus size, curvy girl) story, Jensen meets the reader in a bar, he falls fist, she is reluctant of course, but secretly she fell for him the second he walked through the door. So can a small town girl and a celebrity make it work?

Warnings for the whole series: language, multi-pov and switching between the pov mid chapters (sorry I can't help it), Jensen coming off aggressive for a hot second but then cooling off. Some douche side characters and some lovable ones, body shaming, angst, fluff, swoon, Jared is there and Micha is mention.

This story takes place an AU where Jensen is not married but Jared is and has kids.

This chapter is 3K+. Feedback, likes and reblogs are always welcomed. Please don't post as your own work, this is my work. If you would like to be added to my tag list, just ask, I am always happy to add you.

Thanks!

Once you're back in the safety of the kitchen, you finally take a breath. Oh, holy hell, you were breathing the same air as Jesnes Ackles!!!! And now you're cooking for him!!! AHHHH. You try to calm down, taking deep breaths. You have to play it cool. Come on, he's just a guy like everyone else. 

"Are you fucking kidding me!" James' voice pulls you out of your panic. 

You look up to see him standing on the other side of the small prep table that is between you, too.

"What?" You question. Feeling yourself come back together.

You familiarize yourself with the kitchen you used to know, like the back of your hand. Everything was the same; why wouldn't it be? You only gave up your kitchen and cooking career a few months ago. Turning on the deep fryer, and oven. You make your way to the small walk-in cooler.

"Are you serious? Were you going to leave me high and dry and not cook for them?" James questions as he follows you.

After surveying your limited options, you settled on nachos, picking up the ingredients and handing them to James to hold.

"No, of course not." You passively say, tossing items for him to grab, "I mean, I figured you would beg." You turn to face him, "I didn't expect his friends to be total assholes." 

Waving at James to move out of your way and back to the kitchen.

James sets everything on the table and watches you move around the room.

"Yeah, I think that Evan guy is getting his ass handed to him right now," James says matter-of-fact, picking up a tomato and tossing it back and forth in his hands. "Jensen seems kind of taken with you." 

You look at him, "Yeah, I am sure he's just a bit tipsy and being a good southern boy." You reply, dropping the tortillas in the fryer. "Plus, I am sure he doesn't want it to come out that he hangs out with assholes." 

As you return to the table, you snatch the tomato from James' hands to start making a quick salsa. "I don't know; I think there is something there." James sing-songs. 

Shaking your head in disbelief at James and his need to play matchmaker. "Just drop it. Shouldn't you be out there, ensuring no one runs off with the till or the liquor?" You question, really wanting some alone time with your thoughts. 

******

Since James had let the rest of the staff go earlier in the night, it was up to you to deliver the food. You loaded the tray and hooked the stand in your elbow to set it down once you got to the table. You prayed to anyone who would listen that you and the food would make it to the table in one piece.

You make your way towards the booth in the corner. Jared sees you first and gets up to offer assistance.

"Here, can I help?" he asks sweetly, giving you a half smile. His hazel eyes are slightly glassy from the drinking, and his long chestnut hair falls somewhat. 

"Umm, yeah, can you take the stand and open it up for me?" You ask, thankful that your voice is steady and that you're not feeling weak in the knees. You hold out your arm with the stand for him to take it from you. 

"Oh yeah," he replies, grabbing it, setting it down next to the table on Jensen's side, and then sitting back down.

You try to avoid making eye contact with Jensen but fail miserably. Sitting down the tray, you feel his eyes on you. You look up, and he smiles at you. Turning towards the table, you put on your best hostess smile.

"Well, boys, I hope you're hungry. I wasn't sure what you would be craving, so I did some of everything." You pick up the dishes individually and sit them on the table. 

"Classic bar food of wings, mozzarella sticks, beef nachos, and my favorite, perfectly crispy, hot fries." Setting the fries down closest to Jensen, your eyes linger a bit longer than needed.

Fuck, he is too hot for his own good. Slowing down your thoughts before they stumble out from your lips, you pull your eyes away and pick up the plates, napkins, and sauces to sit on the table. 

"This all looks amazing, sweetheart." Jensen's deep Southern voice breaks the silence. "Doesn't it?" he questions, his eyes staring down Evan. 

"Yeah, it looks great; thank you," Evan and his counterpart mumble. Evan looks up at you. "I am sorry about earlier, " he says, his voice cracking at the end. 

Shit, he changed his tone real quick.

You smile, "Thanks." No need to dish out anymore to him; you're sure Jensen already gave him enough of an ass-chewing.

Picking up the empty pitcher, you ask. "Need anything else besides another pitcher?" 

"Yeah, that would be great. Thanks," Jared replies, filling his plate with food. 

Giving the table a short nod, you pick up the tray to walk away and get some air. Are you star-struck?  Yes, you are a human. But you're also cautious and know under any other circumstances that if you weren't the only woman in the room,  none of the guys at the table, especially Jensen, would be paying attention to you. 

Setting the empty pitcher in front of James, he fills it up without incident. "So, you good?" He asks, focusing on making the perfect pour.

Letting out the breath you have been holding, "Yeah, why wouldn't I be?" You question. Running your hands through your hair and then glancing back at the table.

They're laughing and bantering back and forth, eating and enjoying life. If anyone was to come in and didn't know better, they would think they were just four average guys out for a good time on a Friday night. And really, that's all they are; regular guys, two of which have a bit of money and celebrity status. 

You look back to James. He sits the pitcher down, "I remember you having a major crush on Jensen for the longest time. Wasn't he on your list?"

Oh, of course, he would remember the list. The famous people you would fuck list if you ever had the chance. The stupid list that never comes true.  Shit why did you even tell him?

"Yeah, and I am pretty sure you had Misha on yours." You quip back, feeling your cheeks redden at the thought it might be possible.

"Yeah, but no one from my list is in the same room with me and has been giving me 'fuck me' eyes all night." 

"OK, whatever, you're seeing things. Besides, if you hadn't sent home all your waitstaff, Jensen would be making eyes with someone else. I am just the only one left with a vagina in the room."

James lets out an audible laugh that fills the room and gets the guys to snap their heads over to us.

"Yeah, OK, keep thinking that, Y/N." He distracted himself by running the bar rag over the bartop. "You know you're a knockout."

Rolling your eyes at this. Hearing comments like this always makes you self-conscious. After years of being overweight, fat, curvy, whatever you want to call it, you have come to terms with guys that look like Jensen, guys that are part of the 'beautiful people.' Despite their 'great personality,' they don't go for the average-looking girl with clothing sizes in the double digits.

Ugh, your negative thoughts are coming to the surface, and you don't want to deal with them right now or with the present company.

"You know, you can deliver this to them." You mutter, feeling the need to escape from prying eyes. You spin around quickly to be met with a wall of muscle.

"Hey, sweetheart," Jensen says, a smile on his face.

You slightly stumble and take a few unsteady steps back. "Whoa, sorry," you say, keeping your eyes down, not trusting yourself to look in those gorgeous green eyes.

"No apology needed, Darling. I was wondering…" his voice is smooth and sweet, with his Texas draw coming out.

His hands find your waist to steady you. "You want to join us, knuckleheads? I swear Evan will keep his mouth shut." He gives you a wink.

"Oh, no, thank you, that's nice of you to ask, but…" You stammer out. Your mind is slightly hazy with his close proximity and the feel of his hands on your waist. Nope, not your waist, your hips, actually. All this attention- the fact that it's him and you're sure his friends are now watching- is creating a pressure storm of fear in your chest.

Jensen does not pick up on your sudden mood shift, which is that you're having the start of a small panic attack. He thinks you're just being coy and hard to get.

"How about this, sweetheart? I have the Impala parked out back. We could ditch these losers for a while and go for a drive." His voice shifts from Jensen's Texas draw to full-on Dean's deep, sexy voice.

Whoa, what the hell! Pushing his hands off you, "Yeah, No." You step out from his hold. You will not be another notch on his belt.

"Do you think I would be grateful just because you stood up for me to your friend?" you ask, wondering why he was suddenly being handsy and pushy.  

"Your sweet, southern boy charm may work on most girls, but…ugh…just stop with the sweetheart, OK. You're leaning in hard with your Dean Winchester persona, don't you think?"

This sobers Jensen up. A boyish smirk falls from his face. "Umm..." he stumbles to backtrack a bit.

Well, that has to be a first—a female rejecting him—no wonder he's short-circuited and has no reply. Feeling disappointment wash over you, you want to go home.

"I have to clean up the kitchen." Keeping your tone neutral, you give James a side eye and head towards the kitchen.

*****

It's been half an hour. You have put everything back, cleaned every surface, and restored the kitchen to its spotless state. James only pops in to drop off the dirty plates and empty glasses. 

"You know, you don't have to do this. Go home, and I can finish cleaning up." He says, setting the beer pint glasses next to the sink where you were standing.

Picking up the glasses, you set them in the sink and wash them up. "No, I got it. Besides, I would rather wait until they leave. Feeling a bit embarrassed by my outburst." 

You've been replaying the whole night since you've been back here. 

God, what were you thinking! You're not saying you had to let Jensen put the moves on you, but was he? No, he was just being nice, that's all. Like you could ever get a guy like him. Feeling your cheeks go scarlet again. 

"You have nothing to be embarrassed by. Jensen's a grown-ass man; I am sure he has heard it before." James' voice pulls you from your thoughts. "Besides, they left a few minutes ago, so you're safe."

You rinse off the glasses and set them on the drying rack. "Yeah, I highly doubt Jensen has ever been rejected by a female in his life." You quip, pulling the bar rag from James' pocket and drying your hands.

"I am just lucky there weren't more people to witness my demise." You hand back the towel to James and cross your arms around yourself. 

"Again, you have nothing to worry about." Playfully knocking his shoulder into yours, "You want to talk about it? You seemed like you had something on your mind tonight." 

His voice is laced with concern for his friend.

"Nothing can get past you." You mutter, trying to play it off.

"I know you have dealt with your fair share of handsy guests. But this time, it seems to be the straw that broke you." Noticing your quietness, he adds, "But I get it; it's been a long night; we don't have to talk about it." Giving you the out that you desperately need.

You look up at your friend, his kind brown eyes saying so much. "God, what would I do without you?" You say out loud.

He pulls you in for a side hug, "You will never have to find out." Giving you a quick kiss on the top of your head. "You need a ride home?"

Shaking your head, no, "I am good."

"Good.  Now get out of here, please. You have helped me enough tonight; I owe you big time."

"Honestly, it wasn't anything special, but you're welcome." Playfully knocking your shoulder into his, you push yourself up from the sink.

"Night, James." You say, giving him a half smile, and head towards the back exit.

*******

The temperature has dropped slightly since you first entered the bar tonight, but not enough to warrant your jacket, so you sling it over your arm and enjoy the stillness of the night. The quietness and cool air are one thing you miss from working late nights at the bar. Getting into your jeep, you plug in your phone and see a text from an unknown number.

Unknown: Hey, it's Jensen. I wanted to apologize for my actions earlier. I should not have put my hands on you or asked you to leave when you don't even know me. I should have picked up that you didn't want to have anything to do with me. 

God damn it. James! This has to be a prank, right? 

You: OK, James, nice try. Like I said earlier, I am fine. There is no need to text me from your burner phone to make me feel better.

Unknown: Umm…this isn't James.

You know better than to keep engaging with a scammer, but this was too weird.

You: OK, fine, Keep it up, but you're not Jensen. Unknown: JPG. 

Staring back at you is a photo of Jensen in the same outfit he was in tonight. Giving you his best sad boy face. Sitting on a beige couch, no other recognizable things in the background. No fucking way. It can't be.

You: Nice. Look at you putting your Google skills to use. What did you type in the search bar: 'photo of Jensen Ackles looking sad?'

Unknown: JPG.

Another photo pops in. This time, it's Jensen holding yesterday's Detroit Free Press newspaper. 

Unknown: This is starting to feel like hostage negotiations or ransom demands. It's really me.

Fuck, Fuck, Fuck! How the hell did he get your number! 

You: How the hell did you get my number!?

Unknown/Jensen: So now you believe me? That's good. I hoped I wouldn't have to send you more 'proof of life' photos. James gave me your number after I begged, groveled, and bribed him. 

Are you fucking kidding me! Damn it, James! I am going to kill him. Feeling yourself wish for a sweet death. You try to even out your breathing. It's nothing; you're just texting the hottest guy ever. Getting some composure back, you reply. 

You:  So, how much is my number going for these days?

Jensen: A signed photo of Misha and possibly dragging his ass out to the bar soon. 

You: Wow, that's all? Not sure if James got a deal or if you got screwed. 

Jensen: I got the better end of the deal. 

You shake your head at this. Even through text, he can still make you blush!

You: Well, if you say so. Thanks for the apology, but it wasn't necessary. 

Jensen: No, it was. I was an ass, and you made it clear from the start you weren't interested in me. 

You: I wouldn't say that. I know I am not your first or 100th choice of female companion, that's all.

Wow, OK, where is this boldness coming from? Looking back at the message you just sent, you want to delete it or backtrack on your last comment, but you see he is already drafting a reply.

Jensen: Why do you say that? You're beautiful. I was dumbstruck if it wasn't obvious. so... you're interested in me?

His second message bubble gets you. What girl wouldn't be interested? You want to reply that you're not blind. 

You: You say that to all the local girls you meet?

Jensen: No, just you. I would really like to see you again. Are you free tomorrow?

Is Jensen Ackles asking you out on a date? For real? No, this can't be happening! If anything, it's not a date; it's more of a 'good press. Make things nice with the locals.' Feeling the tiredness of the day taking over, you want to keep the conversation going, but at the same time, you want to be in comfy clothes and your house. 

You: Can I get back to you on this?

Jensen: Yeah, no pressure. Whenever and whatever works for you.

You: Thanks, I am just tired, and I still have to drive home.

Jensen: Wait, you're still out? Where are you?

You: Sitting in my car, parked a few blocks from the bar. I saw your text when I got to my car. 

Jensen: OK, stop texting me and get home. You shouldn't be just sitting in your car late at night. Text me when you get home.

You: OK, Dad. It will take me about 20 minutes.

It's sweet that he's concerned, but it's Haven, not downtown Detroit - you are perfectly safe to sit in your car this late at night. 

Jensen: I am starting a timer now.

Oh shit. Guess you better get going.

*****

Pulling into your garage and leaving your car, your phone dings with an incoming text message.

Jensen: You home?

Shutting the car door, you shake your head at this. Part of you wants to make him sweat. Yes, it's slightly sweet, but he just met you! Waiting for the garage door to shut before going in, you quickly reply.

You: Yes, Dad, I just got in. 

Jensen: I am sorry. I'm just worried. 

Shit, of course, he is a good guy. Not used to this, are we? Kicking off your shoes, you go to the kitchen to grab some water, then head to your room. 

You: Sorry. I'm not used to someone worrying. Plus, the town is a safe place. I've lived here my whole life. 

Jensen: So, you're a local girl. I bet you know all the best places to go. Can you take me on a private tour?

You: A tour of Haven?  It won't be long. Plus, I am sure your schedule is jam-packed with convention stuff; you probably won't leave the city until you leave for the airport.

You're trying your best to give him an out and remind him of why he's here in the first place. You know that convention schedules are no joke, and the talent has little to no downtime. Schedule panels and photo shoots during the day and parties for the convention goers at night, where they must appear.

Jensen: I can move some stuff around. When is a good time for you?

Of course, he will 'just move stuff around.'

You: Jensen, seriously, I don't want you to move anything around for me. That's not fair to anyone at the convention. 

Jensen: But I want to see you again. Please? My evenings are free, at least from scheduled convention appearances. I wouldn't be canceling on the fans.

You: You're sure? I don't want to discover that you bailed on your fans for me. They can be brutal.

Jensen: I promise. So, dinner? You pick the place, anywhere you want to go.

You mulled over the idea of dinner with Jensen Ackles. God, you would be an idiot to turn him down! Besides, a nice dinner with a handsome guy might be fun. 

You: OK, 7 pm, I will meet you in the convention center's lobby.

Jensen: OK, great. Can I pick you up, too, so you don't have to drive into the city?

You: That's sweet, but I will be in the city anyway. See you then.

There is no need to explain tonight why you would already be in the city. Exhaustion is hitting you hard, and as much as you want to keep talking, your body has other plans. 

Jensen: OK, night

You: Night

To Be Continued......

Tag List:

@lmhf1 @kr804573 @smoothdogsgirl @n-o-p-e-never @stoneyggirl2

[forwards-beckon-rebound]

of the father and the son

warnings: major character death, referenced assault and battery, religious themes, weird references to cumbia and salsa, basically just every warning related to the events of jason's death

it started as all rendezvous do. knowing glances, a delicate chase between tomcat and robin. a dare: catch me if you can. his partner slips out of the room unbeknownst to all except his target. the game is afoot.

they meet alone in a room. it starts with a dance. a cumbia variation. right step, left step. cross body lead. a slide to the left, a turn to the right.

“agua!” his partner cries in delight. their movements are a blur as he fights to keep control. hesitation, block, check. and then, a change of place. a change of pace.

time comes to a stand still. his head dips. he has been ensnared.

but what type of dance would it be without music? there’s not much to work with, so they improvise a duet. his partner provides the rhythm, and if done well, his jaybird rewards him with an “a” note. it’s syncopated.

clang, a-lang, a-lang, a—clang, a-lang, a-lang, AH—

but every cinderella’s evening must come to come to an end. and the clock is about to strike midnight.

                               before they part, he leaves him a small gift.

                                a gentle caress of the cheek, so he won’t

                                                             forget

                                                              their

                                                              time

                                       to                   gether.

                                        the            wound,

                                               it burns.

the spell is broken. it is 12 o’clock. and the jaybird is all alone.

12 is a funny number. it was the egyptians, who had first decided to split the night into 12 parts based on the 12 asterisms. it was caesar, who had ordered the creation of a 12 month calendar. it was jesus, who had 12 apostles before he was betrayed and that number became 11. and soon, the 12 seconds jason todd had left were about to become

11.

on good days, his mother (no that wasn’t right. his real mother was the unconscious woman the joker had left sitting across the room from him. his mother was the woman who had brought him into this world just so he could die for humanity’s sins. her included, for she too was only human) caretaker was atheist. it was only on the nights when the electricity bill had not been paid and the snow piled high on their window ledge, that she began to pray. a private mass, just the two of them. a confessional without a booth, a church without a father.

10.

he had thought she was silly then, all pressed up against the wall to steal the warmth from the next unit over as she preached of loving thy neighbour. they were bundled up in as many layers as they could wring out of the closet. under the last-washed-in-august comforter, he wore a puffer and under that, his sunday best. it was the warmest he had, all wool and short around the ankles, with a bulky security tag pressed against the small of his back. it was the only thing his father had ever left for him. he had hated her perpetual prayers that kept him from sleep. now, he longed for those days. at least then, he wouldn’t have died alone.

9.

our father, who art in heaven. did jesus pray like this too, when he was on the cross? did he ever curse the fact that even as he bled out, he could not say “my father”? for everybody is a child of god. even the prostitutes who sold themselves for a full stomach and a roof over their heads. even the criminals on either side of him, who committed sins much worse than telling the truth. even the very soldiers who had hung him there and pierced holes in him that would never mend. did jesus ever wonder why, out of all of god’s children, he had been the chosen one, born to die?

8.

he had always been taught that good things come to those who do good. he had always tried to do good by others. he had stopped his classmates from being bullied. he had fought that mugger who was about to take some old lady’s purse. he had tried to take down the joker all alone despite orders because he had wanted to save his mother. surely, those were all good actions. surely he was good.

7.

did jesus’ father ever take pity on him? god must have seen him bleeding out. even if he had accepted this fate, surely every parent’s instinct is to protect. the child’s role is to be foolish, and the parent’s role is to forgive. so surely, his own father could overlook this mistake one time. he would be rescued and they could pretend this was nothing more than a bad nightmare. but jesus hadn’t made it off his cross alive, had he?

6.

everything would be alright. his father wasn’t god. his father was batman. and batman would never let anybody die on his watch. hell, even if it was the joker locked up in here with the bomb about to go off, his father would probably save him too. god, though? god couldn’t even save his son.

5.

what was he worried about? his father would break through this door with a badass kick and save him just in the nick of time. that would show that stupid clown.

4.

any second now, his father would break through this door and save him in the nick of time.

3.

any second now, his father would come to save him.

2.

his father would come to save him.

1.

dad…save me

0.

.

.

.

they created a lovely tableau. a broken figure, no more human than he is alive, cradled in the lap of a parent he no longer fits into. mother and son, engraved in marble. father and son, covered in ash. time continues on its lumbering path, but a parent’s grief never changes.

[yougavemeyourheartyouknow]

On thin ice (Hockey player! Miguel O’Hara x Ice skater! Fem! Reader

A/N: hiii, the usual, not proofread, Miguel might be ooc. There will be 2 chapters left in this series before I end it 😭🫶🏼. Also I need ideas for a costume for Miguel in the last chapter, if you have any ideas lmk in the comments.

(Y/N)- Your name, (N/N)- Nickname.

Cursing, mentions of throwing up, alcohol use, Miguel finally growing a fucking pair (reader too). Miguel being just a very very lowkey creep.

Word count: 2.1k

Series Materlist

Chapter 13: Crawlin’ back to you.

—

“I don’t get it, he keeps giving me the most mixed-fucking-signals.” You sighed, leaning your head into your palm, your elbow resting on the wooden table you were sitting at with Logan, Kate and Kate’s boyfriend. “Like how are you going to kiss me, then start dating another girl, then kiss me again, without saying any sort of explanation? For all I know he cheated on her with that last kiss.” You continued to rant, your free hand spinning your straw in your six dollar Chili’s Halloween themed margarita.

“Well… maybe things would be a lot less complicated if both of learned how to stop being stubborn and just, I don’t know, fucking communicated.” Kate lectured you (for the umpteenth time this month) as she grabbed a chip from the basket before dipping it into the small salsa bowl, then taking a bite out of said chip.

“Babe chill, you act we weren’t ‘just friends’ when you would sneak into my dorm room every night all of last year.” Kate’s boyfriend (whose name was Xavier) defended you with a sly smile, wrapping his arm around her waist, pulling her closer as he nuzzled his nose into the crook of her neck. You couldn’t help but feel a slight ache of jealousy in your chest as you watched the two, they were so cute…

Kate scoffed and rolled her eyes at her boyfriend’s reply. “Whatever…” she grumbled, causing Logan to let out a small laugh as he leaned against the wall that was connected to the booth.

“Hey at least you guys were actually acting friendly towards one another, when (Y/N) and Miguel aren’t dry humping each other like horny teens-“ you sunk your face into your hand as a heat of embarrassment rushed your cheek, you couldn’t believe that Logan has the audacity to say that in a crowded restaurant, and it wasn’t even a true statement! You would only make out like horny teens… “then they’re at each other’s throats.” He finished as he playfully nudged you with his elbow, causing you to almost spill your drink, but he ignored your scowl as you brought your drink closer to you before taking a sip.

“It’s giving enemies to lovers.”

“Do you really have to relate everything in real life to book tropes, babe?”

“Yes, yes I do.”

“Okay-“ you jumped in, putting your hands up near your shoulders in a defensive manner, sitting up straight in your seat, “how about, let’s stop talking about my pathetic and complicated love life. Let’s talk about something else, like Logan’s pathetic and complicated love life.” You said with a small smile, your gaze shifting over to Logan as you attempt to shift conversation topics, your sentence causing Logan to scoff and roll his eyes.

“No thank you, next topic.” He murmured, before taking a bite of a french fry from his plate.

“Aww come on Logan, did you end up going on that date?” You teased him with a smile,going to snatch a fry from Logan’s plate but he swatted your hand away as he sent you a glare.

“Shut up, (N/N).” He grumbled. Obviously, it didn’t go well.

“All I’m gonna say (Y/N), is he either wants to one and done hatefuck you,wants a situationship, or he’s secretly madly in love with you and wants a relationship but is afraid to tell you.” Xavier chimed in, “and you can trust me because I’m a guy, and I know how guy minds work, right Logan?” Your skating partner just nodded his head in response.

“Well if it’s not the last one, I think it would be better if my delusions weren’t fed into…” you sighed, taking another sip of your drink. “Anyways, we should get going.”

—

“Alright guys, we've got a home game tonight, so don’t get too fucking wild.” Miguel said in a stern tone, his face in its usual scowl as he gets out of his car’s driver seat and walks towards the team, pointing his finger towards his teammates who had already been waiting for him to arrive in the parking lot, gathered in a small circle, some leaning against the other cars that they had traveled in. It was Friday night, the end of midterms and the beginning of fall break, and as a small celebration The spiders had decided to all go out to eat before the game.

“It’s a fucking Chili’s O’Hara, how wild can we get?” One of them asked rhetorically, as they all started to walk towards the restaurant together.

“There’s a reason we’re not allowed into Dave and Busters guys...” Miguel mumbled with an eye roll, causing some of the other members to snicker at his reaction.

It was honestly surprising how quickly they were able to get a table to seat 26 people despite it being fairly busy on a Friday afternoon. Miguel only had to remind the group twice as they waited for the table to not get absolutely hammered or not overly gorge themselves on food to avoid throwing up mid-game, the last thing he his coach ripping him a new one as he tried to keep the team focused while half of them were throwing up into their helmets or in a nearby alleyway while the other half way too drunk to walk let alone skate.

Miguel sipped on his coke, looking over at Peter as he listened in on him ranting to the goalie about the newest comic issue of Spider-Man that he had just finished reading, when he suddenly felt a hand lightly tap on his chest causing him to look away and turn his attention to Ben Reilly who was sitting to the right of him, once he his head was turned, he’s eyes followed the direction that Ben’s finger was pointing at, the words that were spoken from Ben not really completely registering due to the all the noise happening around him at the table. He really didn’t give a good look in the direction Ben and now a few of the nearby Spiders were looking at, a fleeting glance at most, half expecting them to be looking at a waitress that they thought was attractive or something in that nature. He was in the middle of turning his head back towards the opposite direction again when he caught a glimpse of a familiar face walking into the direction of the hallway where the bathroom was.

“Isn’t that ice princess?” One of the hockey players that was sitting a bit closer to Miguel asked in a teasing tone, but Miguel didn’t give him the satisfaction of responding, he didn’t give a response to some of the ones who overheard to question and attempted to provoke him, chuckling, or making sly comment, a few making kissing noises. Rather he stood up from the table, rather abruptly, causing some of the others to look at him in confusion and curiosity, and as if his body was suddenly possessed, he started to walk in the same direction you had. He didn’t know why he was following behind you, if he was being honest with himself he felt kinda like a creep, but he couldn’t get himself to stop and turn around. You haven’t even noticed him, you didn’t even glance in his direction, fuck-you didn’t even know you were in the same building as him, but your presence was like one of a siren to him, and he was the sailor caught in your entrancing song.

He didn’t care if you led him towards his inevitable demise, he’d gladly drown for you.

The second you disappeared into the women’s restroom, he came back to reality, his head filled with thoughts other than you once again. In an almost panic state, he quickly rushed into the male’s bathroom that was right in front of him, thanking the gods above that you didn’t turn around and saw him. He walked over to the sink and splashed some water on his face, before leaning against the bathroom sink and taking some deep breaths to help slow down his heart rate, he was thankful that no one else was in the bathroom with him. After a few minutes, he heard the faint sound of a door creaking on, for a split second, he gambled with the idea of leaving the door and hopefully be granted the opportunity to “accidentally” run into you, but before he could properly and rationally think about it, he found his hand already pushing open the door.

“Hey! Watch it-oh shit- sorry Mig, I didn’t know that was you…” You dusted yourself off, grateful that your hand shot up to the side of the wall to prevent you from falling down butt first on the Chili’s tilted floor.

“It’s okay, I didn't see you either.” Technically speaking Miguel wasn’t lying. He didn’t see her. “You okay? I didn’t hurt you right?” He asked in a slightly softer tone, a hand quickly coming up to gently grab your chin and moving your face slightly side-to-side as if checking for injury, his brows furrowed together as those ever familiar wrinkles appeared on his face. Your heart fluttered from the sweet and nurturing gesture, Miguel’s kindness was a trait of his you saw very rarely, at least towards you, so you couldn’t help your stomach from flipping. You brought a hand up after a second, a smile slowly but surely forming on your face (as well as a blush) as your hand came up and over his, and slowly brought it away from your face and back down.

“I’m okay Miguel, don’t worry.” You reassured him in a similar quiet tone, neither of you noticing that your smaller hand was still holding onto his larger one. Your response caused Miguel’s worried expression to turn into one of relief, his hand leaving your and going up to his chest instead as he left out a breath he didn’t know he was holding. You attempted your best to not allow your facial expression to falter as you ignore the sudden ache in your chest once his warm hand leaves yours.

“Look…” Miguel begins after a second, hand traveling up to the nape of his neck and his gaze drops to the floor for a second before going back up to meet yours. “I wanted to ask you, if you would come watch our game tonight, it starts at 7, you could bring your friends if you want. I’ll make sure you all get good seats near the front if you do.” God he felt like he was asking his middle school crush to go on a date for the first time all over again. How did you manage to make him feel like a nervous wreck, make him feel like he could combust from anger and jealousy, make him feel like he’d never deserve you but also make him feel like he was meant to kneel and worship the ground you walked on. Is that what love felt like to him???

“Really?” Your face scrunched to one of confusion and you tilted your head to the side a bit. “Why not invite your girlfriend?” The question you just uttered took Miguel a second to process, girlfriend? What girlfriend? He didn’t-

Wait…

Ohhhhh…

He forgot he never got the chance to tell you he dumped her ass the same day he surprised you at the ice rink.

He brought his hand down and put it into his jean pocket, letting out a small chuckle as he shook his head before replying,

“Oh, no. I, uh, I dumped her.”

Was it bad that you felt relieved?

“So is that a yes?” His lips pulled up in that classic Miguel smirk, and you couldn’t help but give in.

“Okay, okay I’ll go.” You nodded with a smile, it took all of Miguel’s being to not grab you and pull you into a kiss. “But-“ you continued, bringing a finger up, pointing it at him. “If I go, you have to come watch me and Logan perform at Regionals next week, deal?” Miguel couldn’t help but let a small playful scoff leave his lips as he smirks.

“That’s it ice princess? Sounds fair enough.”

You smiled, despite his cockyness coming back at full force you couldn’t help but be a bit excited at the whole idea.

“You promise?” You asked, and Miguel chuckled, you sounded so adorable when asking that.

“Of course.”

Without another word you brought your hand back up towards him, all the fingers being curled into a fist except your pinky finger, that was outstretched. Miguel rolled his eyes and his smirk widened, releasing a small chuckle as he spoke.

“Really? What are we 5?” It was only a tease, but despite the tease he copied your movements, taking your pinky into his.

“Pinky promises are legally binding.” You joked, your smile growing as you giggled, your blush growing darker as well.

You really were gonna be the death of him.

—

Taglist: @tayleighuh @cowboylikeevie @coralineyouareinterribledanger @jukioku @loser-alert @miguel-ohara-eater @serpentstarr @littlexscarletxwitch @darksidescorner @sukioyakio @minimari415

[smallgodseries]

He doesn’t need to be a purist.

He doesn’t need to concern himself with oil temperature or fluffiness or finding the perfect fold.  He doesn’t care what ingredients are used, as long as eggs (or egg substitute) are among them, and he’s not here to debate the difference between an omelet and a scramble.  He just wants everyone to have a filling, fulfilling breakfast, or lunch, or midnight meal after the concert, when they need something to settle their stomachs and make them feel like the world is going to be beautiful again.  He’s here for the people who need soft foods for one reason or another, the ones who drown his works in cheese and salsa, and the stoners out at two in the morning, settling into their padded booths at one of this twenty-four-hour temples.

Let the chefs and the pedants argue endlessly about the finer points of the culinary art, about the difference between omelet and crepe, or quiche, or any number of other egg-based dishes.  The only argument he cares about is fresh fruit and cottage cheese vs. home fries and pork products, and he doesn’t even care about that very much.  He wants everyone to have whatever side dish their heart desires, drenched in butter or lightly sprinkled with herbal salts or devoid of all seasoning save for its own juices.  Elvis isn’t here to judge.  Judging is the task of other gods.

And as to those other gods, well…he is happy to feed them all.  He just wants the world to be full and content and peaceful, and if his way of achieving it involves mise en place and shredded cheese, can anyone really question his methods?  Can he really be blamed for thinking a properly browned piece of toast can help to bring about world peace?

Anyone who tries is probably just hungry.  Come, and eat, and be fulfilled.