#sanitization booth

[chrliekclly]

[commandertartarsmoocher]

Tartar, what would u do if one of your sanitized smooched you

Tartar seems to have a strong aversion towards any sort of affection...

[writersdrug]

My brain is open to your bartender Ghost thoughts

Give me them all 🙏

Lordy this au isn't even an hour old and I have so many thoughts

He doesn't really know what to expect when you come in the morning after the interview. At eight am sharp, he watches as you trudge inside, wearing ripped tights, shorts, knock off combat boots, and a baggy shirt that's messily tucked into your waistline. It looks like you had put on eye liner last night and gone to bed, black lines smudged in a perfect "bedhead" look.

"Really?" He asks, arms folded and muscles buddging. "Come t' the interview in a skirt 'n dress shirt, n' show up t' the first shift lookin' like a wannabe biker chick?"

You scoff, pulling your hair up into a bun. "Didn't realize I'd be walking into the asscrack of "The Devil Wears Prada"..."

He huffs and shakes his head. You hve tough skin - good.

He had Soap come in early that day - poor man usually worked between 4 pm 'til whenever Ghost decided to close. He's still rubbing his eyes and yawning when a pen and spiral notepad are shoved into your hands, Simon pushing you towards towards the cook's table with a hand on your back.

"Hey, welcome to the 141." You say, no attempt at politeness in your tone. Ghost huffs fondly, appreciating how you cut through the bullshit. "Any appetizers today?"

"None o' that keech," Soap says, squeezing his eyes shut and pinching his brow. "Canna have a rusty nail 'n th' smash grunded, wel doon 'n with the bun scud - cannae stand th' aoli. Chips oan the side."

You stare at him, eyes wide in disbelief, before turning to Ghost. "Do they all sound like that?"

He grunts. "If they're drunk."

"Are you drunk?" You ask Soap.

"Feck if I know, tryin' tae figure it oot myself." He groans.

Ghost helps you decipher the words Soap had vomited out. You successfully punch it into the POS, only needing a few pointers from the giant over your shoulder. For the rest of the morning amd afternoon, he taeaches you which button on the soda gun was which, the difference between tonic water and club soda, how to run the industrial sanitizer - with a "ye best make sure that shite is rinsed 'fore ye stick em in there" from Soap - where the new kegs go when Gaz brings them in, where to find napkins and condiments in the walkin, how to cut fruit for the bar, and lastly, how to split your tips.

"But why do I have to pay you?" You ask Ghost, sitting at a table with your calculator app on your phone and a basket of fries between the two of you. "You make loads of tips just pouring liquor."

He chuckles, watching you pop a fry into your mouth. "'N you get a cut of sales from the kitchen, since you're part of it."

You perk up at that. "I do?"

"Seven percent." He confirms. "A decent payout on weekends."

"And Soap doesn't get tips."

"Johnny boy gets paid by th' hour."

"I don't?"

"If ya do well enough, ya won't have to." He says, resting his meaty forearms on the table. "You'll be walkin' out with hundreds."

You chew your lip nervously; Simon's eyes linger on the movement, shifting his weight - the polyester seat creaks beneath him as he observes you fretting silently, the silence only broken by the sound of Soap prepping in the kitchen. "Don' worry too much 'bout it. You're young - jus' keep a smile on 'n you'll be fine. Soap 'n I got your back tonight, but I'm not pickin' up your slack after the week passes."

The fry you're steering towards your mouth falls to the table as Simon stands up. "Tonight?!" You exclaim, shimmying out of the booth.

"Yep. Sixteen hundred."

You glance at your phone. "That's in an hour!" There are kegs stacked by the front door, unpolished and enrolled silverware on the bar top, and half of the chairs are still stacked on the countertops.

"Best get to work then, hmm?" Ghost says, grabbing a container of lemons and moving behind the bar.

[vague-humanoid]

The Wall Street Journal has an incredible story today. The National Archives museum, under Biden-appointed U.S. Archivist Colleen Shogan, has been working to reshape its narrative of American history in order to make white conservatives more comfortable. The Journal describes a pattern of efforts to shape its newest upcoming exhibits to better fit right-wing narratives of U.S. history. The museum has removed references to Martin Luther King Jr., Japanese internment, Native Americans, union organizers, and birth control, because presenting American history honestly would make Republicans upset. 

The changes to the new exhibits are remarkable. A photo of King was replaced with one of Richard Nixon meeting Elvis Presley. A “proposed exhibit exploring changes to the Constitution since 1787,” including “amendments abolishing slavery and expanding the right to vote,” was reduced in size, and employees were told that “focusing on the amendments portrayed the Founding Fathers in a negative light.” Shogan “told employees to remove Dorothea Lange’s photos of Japanese-American incarceration camps from a planned exhibit because the images were too negative and controversial, according to documents and current and former employees” and her aides “also asked staff to eliminate references about the wartime incarceration from some educational material.” An exhibit on coal communities “cut references to the environmental hazards caused by the mining industry.” Shogan’s aides “also ordered the removal of labor-union pioneer Dolores Huerta and Minnie Spotted-Wolf, the first Native American woman to join the Marine Corps, from the photo booth, according to current and former employees and agency documents.” A photo of Betty Ford wearing an Equal Rights Amendment pin was removed from a video, and in an exhibit of “patents that changed the world,” the birth control pill was replaced with, of all things, the bump stock. The Journal notes that "Shogan’s changes have delayed the opening of new exhibits, initially set for next summer, and are expected to add at least $332,000 to costs."

The explicit justification here was that the facts would hurt the feelings of guests who didn’t want to hear about union organizers and Native Americans. Visitors shouldn’t “feel confronted,” the Archivist said, but rather “welcomed.” Of course, Japanese Americans or Native Americans are unlikely to feel “confronted” by exhibits on their history, so the archivist was clearly referring to making white conservatives feel more at ease. In fact, an employee was specifically “told to look for success stories about white people.” And, looking over an exhibit about westward expansion, Shogan asked a staffer “Why is it so much about Indians?”

@britomartis @el-shab-hussein @ubernegro

this is making me actually insane..... this is how we fight fascism? by whitewashing history in a nationalistic myth?

[joongtreasure]

Cupcakes and Kisses

Mingi x Fem Reader (ft. ATEEZ members) Word count: 6.6k Genre: high school au, jock Mingi, kissing booth au Note/s: Based on the film Kissing Booth (2018). This was in my drafts since 2021? + Mention of Changbin of Stray Kids <3 hehe Photo credits: 1, 2, 3

High school—it's the period for the most embarrassing moments of your life. Not only was it the time for raging hormones and puberty, but also a time for wrong decisions.

And today was no exception.

Today was the last day of the pitch for the spring carnival at KQ Prep. The student council required every club in the school to set up a booth for the event. Or else, no extra funding for club activities.

You were the vice president of the culinary and baking club, or as others would like to call it, the foodies. It's not that bad or insulting, to be honest (depending on you if you take it to heart). It is certainly not for your best friend, Jung Wooyoung, who was also the president of the club.

You and Wooyoung were like a tandem, a buy-one-get-one-free deal. In many ways, you and Wooyoung fill each other up: you were the shy and patient one, while Wooyoung was the confident and loud one. There was never a boring moment with him, but that doesn't mean all moments with him were good. Like right now...

Wooyoung, with a firm grip on your school blazer sleeve, dragged you across the hallway, whining, "It's a good idea!"

You, on the other hand, tried to pull away, saying, "No, it's not!"

Wooyoung grumbled. "The water sports are doing a toss and dunk booth! We have to beat their sorry asses!"

"You just want to beat Changbin!" You tried to pull away again but Wooyoung's grip was so firm that your school shoes were starting to skid against the school floor. "How is a kissing booth by us any better?!"

"It will be a hit!"

"It spreads germs!"

"We'll provide sanitation and mints!"

"We could be sued for public indecency!"

Wooyoung sighed and let go of your hand. "Oh, come on, live a little, Y/N."

You shrugged. "Can't we just make a bunch of food for the carnival? I know everyone will be hungry."

Wooyoung gave you a pointed look. "Everyone is going to sell food and trinkets at the carnival."

"Well," you jutted your chin out in confidence, "we could do, uh, well, an apple bobbing competition?"

Wooyoung scowled at you. "That's boring." He sighed. "Look, the majority of the officers already agreed to the kissing booth, Y/N. Except you."

"That's because you implied that San will be in the lineup of kissers," you stated. "Even though you haven't even asked him yet."

"That's because he and I think alike. Trust me, he would agree."

You pouted. "And trust me, the food will sell."

Wooyoung smiled and patted your head. "Oh, sure, you do that," he said before turning around and scurrying towards the student council's office.

You sighed.

-----

You slumped on the empty front steps of the school, sporting a frown on your face. Wooyoung was taking so long in the meeting. You hoped the kissing booth was rejected by the student council.

The doors of the school opened, the sound of the creaking metal startling you out of your thoughts. You looked back to see Song Mingi, the star of KQ Prep's basketball team, exiting the building and looking fresh out of a shower. He probably just finished practice.

You looked away before he could catch you staring. Mingi was one of those guys who looked straight out of a movie—tall, handsome, athletic, always wears a varsity jacket, drives a Jeep, and center of the school's attention. But it would be foolish to think that he's arrogant and proud like the trope. He's one of the sweetest and nicest people you ever met. 

You had a few classes with him. You could say that the interaction between the two of you is funny. He could be playful yet gentle and respectful at the same time. And in time, you also found yourself liking him like the entire student body.

Unbeknownst to you, as soon as Mingi saw you alone on the steps, he smiled and slightly hurried down. "Hey, Y/N," Mingi greeted, plopping beside you on the warm pavement.

You internally freaked when you saw Mingi next to you. The loose shirt, the sweet scent of his shampoo, and the dopey grin were too much for your poor heart. 

"You had a club meeting today?" Mingi asked.

"Not really," you responded. "I'm waiting for Wooyoung to finish his pitch for the spring carnival."

Mingi nodded. "And what will your club be doing?"

You groaned. "Don't remind me. It's embarrassing."

Mingi chuckled. "Why? It can't be that bad."

You sighed before muttering, "it's a kissing booth."

Mingi's eyes widened in surprise. "That's... interesting."

"It's all Wooyoung's idea," you shrugged. "Nothing better than to capitalize on teen hormones, right?"

"Right," Mingi said monotonously.

Seeing his somewhat dry response, you slumped. "I told you it was an embarrassing idea."

"No, I mean, yes—I mean," Mingi stuttered a response. "It was just unexpected, that's all." Mingi somewhat looked conflicted, but he still smiled softly at you. "Is it alright for me to ask if," he paused.

"If what?"

"If you—I mean, would you be joining?" Mingi asked.

You blinked in thought. "What do you mean?"

Mingi studied your confused expression before shaking his head. "Nevermind," he said, standing up.

You groaned. "Great, now you got me curious."

"It's nothing." Mingi laughed. "But, hey, if teen hormones bring you the money, then, why not?" He said, making you laugh as well. "Got a ride home?"

"Yeah," you smiled, "I'm riding with Wooyoung."

Mingi nodded. "Alright, I'll see you around then, Y/N."

You blushed. "Yeah, see you," you said as Mingi continued his way down the steps.

"Hey," he turned to you one last time, flashing you his oh-so-perfect smile. "You look cute as always, Y/N," he said before heading towards the parking lot. You swore you could've melted right on the front steps that day.

-----

It was no surprise the council approved the kissing booth idea. You totally blame Wooyoung. The boy could probably smooth talk himself out of jail if the situation calls for it.

Your club already started building the podium and mini stage for the booth in the school courtyard because there wasn't room in the Home Economics classroom. The weather was too perfect to ignore by anyone who had free period at the time.

"I'm going to get more paint," Wooyoung said to you before jogging towards the doors and into the building.

You were left alone with a few of your members, who were engaged in a hushed conversation while you minded your own business. 

You took a peak at the guys playing at the basketball court. It's no surprise that Mingi and his friends were playing. They always do during free period. They must really love the sport. 

It is also no surprise that they have a few spectators as well. It's the only time you would ever find Mingi and his friends setting their blazers aside, donning only their school shirts that accentuated their build so heavenly. Not that you were staring…

Speaking of, Yunho and Mingi laughed among themselves as Yunho tried to shoot the ball. Mingi effectively blocked him with his hand, however the ball bounced out of the court. It bounced until it was rolling over the pavement and stopped right where you were painting. You were able to grab the ball before it could barrel into the newly painted podium.

Seeing where the ball ended, Mingi ran towards you. "Hey," he greeted as he picked up the ball and crouched down next to you, "it's looking great. What's it for?" He asked, referring to the podium.

"It's for this week's carnival," you answered with a sigh.

"Right," Mingi chuckled awkwardly. "Umm," he paused, "so what will you be doing while," he drifted off, evidently conflicted as he pondered over his words carefully.

You looked at him funny. "While...?"

"While, you know," Mingi shrugged, "while people are kissing."

"I'll just man the booth," you said nonchalantly. "I'll leave it to Wooyoung and the others to facilitate the germ spreading."

Mingi laughed, looking somewhat happy and relieved at the same time. "Still haven't warmed up to the idea, I see."

"Never."

Mingi grinned. His face morphed into embarrassment as Yunho called for him from a few meters away. "Are we going to play, or are you too busy mingling, Mingi?"

Mingi rolled his eyes before smiling at you. "I gotta go. I'll see you around, Y/N."

You waved at him as he stood up and went back to his friends. You chuckled at the sight of Yunho giving Mingi a headlock and basically hauling him back to court. The boys laughed between themselves before returning to their game with their other friends.

You were feeling blissful, like how you always felt whenever you and Mingi talked to each other. You truly liked the guy. However, the blissful feeling was short-lived as a wild Wooyoung plopped down next to you. "What was that?!" He asked.

You blinked curiously at him. "What was what?" You looked at the spot you were previously painting. "I'm almost done. I didn't miss a spot as far as I could tell."

Wooyoung rolled his eyes. "I wasn't referring to the podium. I was referring to you and Mingi!" He exclaimed.

You looked at him funny. "It was just a friendly conversation."

"Friendly?" Wooyoung sighed exasperatedly. "Oh no no no, honey, you didn't see what I see. The guy is into you!"

"Don't be ridiculous, Wooyoung," you shook your head. "We have always talked like that. He's just super nice—"

"Na-ah! Again, you didn't see what I see," Wooyoung replied. All of a sudden, Wooyoung's face broke into excitement. He started slapping your arm, making you groan not in pain but in annoyance. "I just thought of the most brilliant idea EVER."

You frowned, not liking where this was going. "What?"

-----

"This is worse than you pitching the kissing booth idea to the council."

"Oh, come on," Wooyoung said as he kept pushing you towards the gym where the basketball team was training. "I will be of service to you forever if you manage to get him."

It was already past class hours when Wooyoung dragged you into putting his idea into action. He said you guys should have a meeting about the spring carnival after class. But alas, he deceived you again. That sly fox, you thought.

Wooyoung faced you towards him. "Alright, your uniform is clean, no evidence of your lunch anywhere," you rolled your eyes as Wooyoung checked you up and down. Wooyoung scrutinized your face before smiling triumphantly. "No booger or drool in sight too," he said.

"You—!" You exclaimed, but Wooyoung turned you around again and shoved you closer toward the gym doors. Sighing, you walked toward it, and right when you were directly in front of the entrance, you looked back at him. "How is this the most brilliant idea you ever had, again?"

Wooyoung shrugged. "The plan here is simple: talk to Mingi and his friends into joining our lineup of kissers so we can get more people to come to our booth."

"I don't want to use him, Woo."

"The man's too soft for you," Wooyoung smiled. "He will do whatever you want, I guarantee."

You gave him the most innocent look you could ever muster in an attempt to change his mind. But Wooyoung just shooed you with his hand and raised his eyebrows pointedly. With a defeated sigh, you opened the doors and entered.

The basketball team was in the midst of a practice game. You immediately spotted Mingi, running while dribbling the ball across the court. When he managed to outrun his opponent, he immediately made his shot, the ball flying through the air and into the hoop. You stared at him, awed as he was in his element. 

A bunch of squeals echoed in the gym. There was an audience watching with excited grins and squeals near the team's benches. It was an open practice after all. Sighing, you sat awkwardly at the side.

The coach blew his whistle, signaling that training was over. The players rejoiced and immediately jogged to their bags scattered on the benches. There were a few girls who called for Mingi, but he only smiled sheepishly and went to his gym bag. 

"Hey, Mingi," Yeosang, his friend and teammate, spoke between his breaths. "Isn't that your friend?" 

Mingi looked at wherever Yeosang was pointing. And true enough, you were there at the edge of the bleachers, awkwardly twiddling with your fingers.

"Yeah," Mingi said, dumbfounded at the thought of you watching their training.

"I think she's looking for you," Yunho, Mingi's best friend, said. He shook his head in amusement, eyeing Yeosang knowingly as Mingi started wiping his sweat and combing his hair deliberately to the back. Mingi hastily gathered his things before approaching you.

"Hey," he greeted with a smile.

You stood up awkwardly. There was something about a wet-haired Mingi in a basketball jersey that had you tongue-tied for a moment. "Uhh, hi, umm, Mingi."

"Were you waiting for me?"

"Umm, yeah, can I talk to you about something?"

"Sure, have a seat," Mingi said as he sat a bleacher apart from you, not wanting you to smell his sweaty state. "What's up?"

"Well, our club is hosting a kissing booth for the spring carnival," you slightly frowned at your awkward self. "Umm, but I think you already knew that."

Mingi chuckled and nodded amusingly. "Yeah, you might have mentioned it once or twice," he joked.

You let out a small laugh. "Yeah, I did, didn't I? But, well, you see, Wooyoung asked me to ask you about something."

Mingi nodded again, urging you to go on.

You sighed nervously. "Can you," you cleared your throat, "can you be—wait, I must emphasize that it was Wooyoung's idea."

"It was Wooyoung's idea," Mingi repeated. "Got it. Crystal clear. Now, what's up with Wooyoung's idea?"

You sighed defeatedly. Well, here goes nothing, you thought. "Can you be one of the kissers for our kissing booth?"

Mingi's eyes turned wide. "What?"

Your lips formed a thin line. "Umm, can you be one of the kissers for our kissing booth?" You repeated, less confident this time.

Mingi blinked unbelievably. "Why me?"

You sighed. "Well, Wooyoung was hoping your friends too. He said that having the players of the basketball team would bring revenue to the booth."

"Oh."

You frowned. "I'm sorry, I told Wooyoung you might be uncomfortable with it, but he insisted that I should still ask you."

"Why would I be uncomfortable with it?"

"I don't know," you shrugged. You were busy playing with the ends of your school blazer as the conversation pursued. "I guess, I didn't pin you to be the type to openly kiss strangers, or show public displays of affection."

"Maybe," Mingi side-smiled, "maybe not. Or, maybe it depends on the person."

"Oh," you muttered, "sorry. I didn't know."

Mingi then leaned on his knees, getting a better view of your slightly flustered face. "Do you want me to be a kisser?"

"What?" You stared at him blankly.  "Well, Wooyoung said—"

"I mean, do YOU want me to be a kisser?" Mingi emphasized, "You as in Y/N L/N, and not Jung Wooyoung?"

You didn't reply immediately, pondering over what his question meant. "Why are you asking me?"

"I don't know," Mingi said. "I feel like I should listen to you."

Why, though? This conversation was going nowhere and it was making you more nervous than before. Not to mention Mingi's inquisitive gaze that had you looking anywhere but him. 

Do you actually want him to, though? I mean, the kissing booth opens so many opportunities, but you were uncomfortable with the thought of him... the thought of him kissing...

"No," you said.

Mingi smiled, nodding at your answer, which confused you. "Then I won't," he sat properly again against the bleacher, letting his intense gaze turn into a soft one. "I won't join then."

"What? Why?" You were dumbfounded. 

"Just tell Wooyoung I'm busy or something," he said. "But I will try to talk to my friends, though. Emphasis on the word 'try.'"

"W-Would you have joined if I said yes?" You probed, but Mingi already stood up as if the conversation was already over, smirking at your confused look.

"Do you have a ride home?" He asked.

"Umm, yeah, Wooyoung's right outside," you answered.

"Well, then, I'll see you around." Mingi smiled at you for the last time before exiting the gym.

You sat back on the bleachers. Though your stance was already relaxed due to the conversation being over, your mind still couldn't wrap around what just happened in the conversation. Would he have agreed if I said yes?

The doors of the gym creaked as someone entered. It was Mingi again. He approached you with a different glint in his eye this time. What now?

"Hey," Mingi greeted. "Could you hold this for a moment?" Before you could ask, he put the object he was referring to in your hand. It was a set of keys—car keys, in particular. "Don't lose it, okay? I'll be quick, I swear." And just like that, he left again.

You stared at the keys in your palm. You really like Mingi, but he was seriously giving you a whiplash at the moment.

Your phone buzzed in your blazer pocket, indicating that you received a text message. You pulled it out to see a text from Wooyoung.

There's an emergency at home. Had to pick up Kyungmin from our grandma's house. Go get your man!

-----

You walked back and forth in the hallway, in front of the boy's locker room. You didn't know why Mingi left these keys with you, but you figured you had to return them to him before you leave for the bus stop. You couldn't just leave it somewhere and message him about it. Someone could steal it. Or worse, someone could steal his car.

Just in time, Mingi exited the locker room, fresh out of the shower and now sporting a big hoodie and sweats. "Hey," Mingi smiled.

"Hey, you gave these to me for some reason," you jiggled the car keys before placing them on his palm.

"Right," Mingi chuckled. "Shall we?"

You stared at him. "Shall we what?"

"Wooyoung already left, didn't he?"

"How did you know?"

Mingi chuckled. "The hallway was empty when I left," he shrugged, putting his hands in the pockets of his hoodie, "I figured he went somewhere."

"Ah, yeah, he said he had an emergency at home," you responded, following Mingi outside the school. 

Truth be told, Mingi met Wooyoung in the hallway.

---

Mingi smiled as he saw Wooyoung in the hallway. "Hey," he greeted. "Sorry, I don't think I can join. I think I have to visit my grandma that day."

Wooyoung slumped. "Oh, okay. Where's Y/N?"

"She'll be right out, I guess," Mingi replied. "See ya—"

"You like her, don't you?" Wooyoung asked.

"Uhh," Mingi blushed. "I-well, I, umm—"

"Yup, you like her," Wooyoung smirked. "Why won't you ask her out then?"

Mingi sighed. "I don't think she's interested in me in that way."

Wooyoung scoffed. "Believe me, she does." He started walking away. "I'll be taking my leave. Hope you get the guts to ask her out."

Mingi sighed again when suddenly he remembered, "Hey, aren't you her ride home?"

Wooyoung turned around and started walking backward with a smirk. "Am I?" He waggled his eyebrows before disappearing in the hallway.

Mingi grinned and shook his head in amusement before rushing back inside the gym to leave you his car keys.

-----

Mingi glanced momentarily at you with a smile. He would have to apologize in the future for using your kindness like that. But he hoped that doing this would drive him to ask you confidently out on a date.

Mingi opened the school doors wide enough for the both of you and waited until you were completely outside before closing it. 

"Come on, I'll give you a ride," Mingi offered.

"Oh, no thank you," you hastily refused, "I'll take the bus."

Mingi shook his head. "I'm not taking no for an answer. We live a few blocks away, anyway, so it's really convenient."

"But I don't want to impose," you sighed.

"You're not, Y/N," Mingi said. "And you won't. Like ever."

You sighed again. "But—"

Mingi shook his head then snatched your school bag. "If you ever want to see this bag again, you're going to have to catch me," and with that, Mingi ran towards the parking lot.

"Hey, no fair!" You followed him, pouting as the distance between the two of you widened. Damn his athletic build.

You chased after him, groaning in annoyance when Mingi reached his car and wiggled your bag as if to spite you. But you both found yourselves laughing as soon as you almost barreled into him and he caught you before you both could barrel into his jeep.

"Come on, Y/N, it's really not a bother," Mingi said, opening the passenger door.

You sighed. "Fine," you huffed as you grabbed your bag and settled in his passenger seat. "Just this once," you told him.

"Oh, don't count on it," Mingi said, winking at you before closing your door. You swore he would be the death of you.

As Mingi drove his jeep out of the school lot, you both fell into a casual conversation. "So why don't you want me to be a kisser?" Mingu asked.

You narrowed your eyes at his teasing expression. "Oh, stop smiling. I don't want anyone to be part of that"

"I guess, you didn't have much say on the idea?"

You slumped against the car seat with a soft 'yeah.'

Mingi looked at you momentarily before focusing on the road. "What was your idea?"

"Nothing special." You smiled. "I was thinking of just baking cupcakes or pastries."

"I think that's a great idea."

"Yeah, right," you muttered sarcastically.

"No, I swear. I think your baking's great," Mingi stressed.

"How would you know?"

"Because I bought and ate a lot from last year's fundraiser." Mingi smiled and chuckled, almost as if he could smell and taste your fresh batch just by thinking about it. "Especially those cupcakes. I swear, they're good."

"Huh, no wonder the cupcakes sold out easily," you chuckled. "We had an influencer."

"Or," Mingi drawled, "your baking is just that good." He smiled, switching his gaze back and forth between the road and you.

"Said no one ever," you shot back teasingly.

"I just said like seconds ago that they're good." Mingi shook his head in disbelief. "You don't take compliments very well."

"Maybe because I don't usually get them," you retorted.

"Ahh, all the reason for me to compliment you more then."

You looked at him before turning away upon seeing his smirk. "Oh, stop it," you said jokingly, but your heart felt like it was ramming against the seatbelt of his car.

The car slowed down to a stop just right in front of your house. You were about to thank him when Mingi suddenly exited the car. He rushed to your side before opening the car door.

"Thanks for the ride," you said. "You didn't have to do that." 

"I don't mind," he replied, following you to the front door.

"And you didn't have to walk me to the door." You chuckled. "It's literally like a few steps away from the fence."

"But I want to, though." Mingi shrugged and put his hands inside the pockets of his hoodie.

You both arrived at the front door. You were too busy finding your keys to notice that he was lingering to stay with you longer. As you opened your front door, you finally noticed his awkward stature. "D-Do you want to have dinner with us?"

"Oh," Mingi snapped out of it. "Uhh, maybe next time. My mom's waiting for me at home."

You nodded in understanding. 

"Y/N," Mingi sighed. "Do you want to...?"

"What?"

"I mean, umm," Mingi scratched his head awkwardly. "Do you—do you have any of those cupcakes lying around?"

"Oh, could you wait here for a minute?" You smiled before disappearing into your home.

Mingi palmed his face in frustration, muttering 'stupid' and 'dumbass' to himself. He pulled himself together when he heard your footsteps nearing.

You came out again with a small box in hand. "I baked them last night but they're still good," you said, handing out the box of cupcakes to Mingi.

"Thanks," Mingi grinned sheepishly nonetheless. "I'll give some to my mom."

"You better," you smiled.

"Thanks again, Y/N. I'll see you at school," Mingi started walking backward with a soft smile.

"See you," you waved at him. "Thanks for the ride."

Mingi winked at you before hopping into his jeep. As soon as Mingi's jeep disappeared into the night, you slumped against your front door and tried to calm your blushing self.

-----

It was the day of the dreaded carnival. The field where your school held the said carnival was almost in full swing, the lights and excitement gradually increasing as time passed by.

Your club has been there since early morning to finalize everything for the booth. Despite your judgment against the club's concept, you still had to do it for the sake of the team. 

Although, you had convinced Wooyoung to sell baked goods nonetheless. Your point was to remind the audience that you were still the culinary and baking club of the school. Thankfully, he agreed.

So, here you were, setting up a separate table for different baked goods beside the registration.

Wooyoung surprised you with an arm around your shoulder and a big grin. "I can already feel wads of money in our laps." He dramatically inhaled for effect. "I mean, look at our lineup so far."

You begrudgingly looked at the people readying themselves on the mini-stage. 

Leave it to Wooyoung to invite people from the top of the high school food chain. Everybody likes Wooyoung anyway. At least there were a few friendly faces—school mascot San, street dancer Seonghwa, up-and-coming celebrity Jongho, and... student council president Hongjoong?

"How did you get him?" You almost giggled at Hongjoong's icy demeanor just standing in the middle of the lineup.

"Oh, he owes me," Wooyoung said nonchalantly. When you gave him a look, he just replied, "Don't ask."

You shook your head as if to shake the idea of Hongjoong in Wooyoung's debt. It's an amusing sight, though.

"So where's your pretty boy's friends?"

You shrugged. "I don't know. I haven't seen them ever since."

You knew it was too good to be true. Your moment with Mingi lasted only a day as you haven't seen him for the rest of the week. Not even on free period. And when you had a class together, he looked like he was about to doze off and fall from his desk. You didn't want to be a bother.

"Oh, wait, nevermind. Here they come."

You immediately glanced up to see Mingi, Yunho, and Yeosang walking toward your booth. You could feel the crowd starting to buzz upon seeing the star players approach the kissing booth. Your gaze landed on Mingi who sported a plain oversized shirt and ripped jeans. So simple yet so handsome.

"Hey," Mingi greeted with a smile, never looking away from your gaze.

"H-Hey, how have you been?" You tried to keep your blush at bay.

"Well—"

"We're so glad to be here, Y/N. Mingi really convinced us to be here," Yeosang smiled in a��teasing?—manner, which you responded to with an awkward chuckle. 

"Yeah," Yunho chimed in. "Mingi really, really wanted us to join your kissing booth." Yunho smiled widely at Mingi, who only rolled his eyes.

"That's great, great news!" Wooyoung rejoiced. He quickly winked at you before ushering Mingi's friends to the lineup.

When you and Mingi were the only ones left, you smiled sheepishly. "I hope it wasn't much of a trouble convincing your friends."

"Don't worry, Y/N, it wasn't." Lie(-ish). Yunho and Yeosang complained a lot and made Mingi do whatever they liked for the past few days. From doing their homework to washing their cars, they were relentless. He hadn't gotten any proper sleep because of it. But, it wasn't really much of a trouble since he was doing it for you. Well, your club. But mostly for you.

Mingi stared at the table of baked goods in front of you. "I see you convinced Wooyoung to continue with your idea." He smiled.

"He still listens anyway." You chuckled. "Do you want one?"

"Definitely. I'll take a—" 

Before Mingi could finish, Wooyoung appeared and dragged you away from Mingi. "Sorry, Mingi! We're about to start now!" He yelled, but not before freezing on the spot as an idea popped into his head.

Wooyoung went back to Mingi with you in tow. "Actually, can you do us a favor and man the table? I need Y/N for the register."

You clicked your tongue and were about to protest when Mingi immediately said, "Sure."

You looked at him curiously. "Really?"

"I don't see why not," Mingi smiled.

Deep inside, Wooyoung was popping confetti. Wooyoung thanked Mingi before going to the center of the mini-stage. You placed yourself at the registration table as Wooyoung shouted, "And the kissing booth is officially open!"

----

You thought you could handle the smooch-fest behind you. But... you thought wrong. The amount of kissing and hooting was too much for your poor heart. Thank the heavens the registration continued to pile up and you had to put your sole focus there. Well, not entirely.

You would sometimes peek at Mingi who had his own long line to attend to. Mingi manning the food table seemed to generate a longer line than the kissing booth, which made you chuckle softly before turning your attention back to the registration.

It wasn't long before Mingi managed to sell everything on the table and he approached you with the funds he generated. You dumbfoundedly accepted and stared at the small lunchbox where he put the money. 

"I hope I did well, Ms. Y/N." Mingi smiled.

"You did, Mingi," you replied. "Thank you so much for helping us."

Mingi shrugged. "It was no problem." He looked at his watch. "Well, I have to do something for the time being. Will you still be here later?"

You nodded. "I'm here 'til it closes."

"I'll see you then." Mingi winked before disappearing into the carnival crowd.

-----

If you were being honest, the rest of the afternoon felt slow despite the buzz around your booth. With Mingi gone, it suddenly felt boring. You didn't show it though. You still wanted to be presentable to the carnival-goers. 

As night rolled in, the excitement started to die down. The crowd dissipated until only a few people were passing by the booths. The kissing booth was more successful than you thought, thanks to Wooyoung and his lineup of volunteers. 

As Wooyoung set aside the podiums, you counted all the money you had raised from the kissing booth and food table. You were halfway done when Wooyoung finished packing up and stood beside you. "So, how much did we earn?" He asked.

"I'm not done counting," you said. "But, we already have enough to win the student council's favor and have some extra funds for our own," you happily gleamed.

"Yes! Let's get drunk and party!" Wooyoung cheered.

You glared at him. "You're joking, right?"

Wooyoung forced a smile and patted your head. "Of course, I'm joking," he said, though his tone didn't sound as sincere as you had hoped.

You tutted before turning back to the money in your hands. For a moment, Wooyoung was quietly watching you count the bills. Then, all of a sudden, he spoke, "Oh, would you look at the time, it's getting late. Gottagohomenowbye," before scurrying away.

You looked up confused, your eyes following his seemingly excited figure before landing on a tall one that was walking towards the booth. You tried to hide your fluster as Song Mingi stopped in front of the registration counter with a smile. "Hey," he said.

"Hey," you smiled sheepishly. You can't help but notice the oversized windbreaker that he is now sporting. "Umm, we've closed already."

"I know," Mingi said, "I just came here again to talk to you."

"Oh, what about?"

Mingi scratched the side of his head. "Uhh," he mustered, "nothing in particular. What are you doing?"

"I'm just counting all our earnings," you referred to the bills in your hand. "Thanks again to you and your friends. I think you were the ones who attracted the crowd, Yunho and Yeosang especially."

Mingi scoffed. "If the crowd knew how weird they are, they wouldn't be lining up at all."

"And you're not?" You teased.

Mingi raised an eyebrow. "Who wanted me to join your lineup again?"

You rolled your eyes. "That was Wooyoung, not me."

"Sure, okay," Mingi shrugged with a smirk. 

You shook your head, wanting to wipe that smirk off his pretty face. You turned back to your money and jotted down the numbers under the last person to register. "Weren't you interested in our lineup of kissers? I can't thank you enough for helping us and being here and all."

Mingi leaned over the counter and crossed his arms. "No, not at all," he answered as he watched you work.

You looked at him and chuckled. "So you just came to watch your friends make out with a bunch of people, then?" 

"Well, I did to maybe get some material for blackmail," Mingi chuckled then cleared his throat, "but I was also waiting for someone."

"Oh," you said. You sounded so dry that you wanted to beat yourself up for seeming affected. "Who?"

"For you, actually," Mingi answered without a hitch, making you blush madly. "I—uh—also got you something." He placed a small chick plushie on the counter. 

You smiled uncontrollably as you grabbed and squeezed its fluffy material. "Where did you get this?" You happily asked.

"The claw machines rented by the robotics club," Mingi sighed. "My talent is limited to basketball I guess, since I only got one."

"It's cute," you chuckled. "What is this for anyway?"

"I figured a gift is better than $5 for a..." Mingi trailed off, unsure of how you would react.

Your face morphed from happy to surprise upon realizing what he meant. You looked him in the eyes to see whether he was joking or not, but eventually, you avoided his intense gaze. And you suddenly realized how close he was as he continued to lean over the counter, waiting for your response. "Stop that," you mumbled, "please."

"Stop what?"

"That," you said, not looking at him as you pushed him gently away from the counter. "Stop messing with me." 

Mingi sighed as he stood properly, shoving his hands in his jeans pockets. "I'm not messing with you, Y/N. I," he paused, plucking up the courage, "I want to kiss you—no, I want to ask you out first because I like you a lot."

You bit your lip anxiously. He wouldn't mess with you, right? You continued to stare at your feet. You can't bear to see if he was joking or not.

Mingi leaned over the counter again in an attempt to see your face. "I can see that you're holding yourself back. What's stopping you?"

You sighed, meeting his eyes for a moment before looking back down. "You're Song Mingi—"

"Nope, don't start. I don't wanna hear that bullshit. Give me a logical one like, I don't know, you don't like me back?" Mingi said sternly. His deep voice made the hairs on your nape stand. "I can date whomever I want. And that's you, Y/N. I like you for who you are. You're sweet and kind to everyone. You're one of the smartest people I know. You even stand up to your best friend for what you think is right."

You bit your lip again in a fluster, still too shy to make your move.

Mingi sighed. "If you don't like me back, it's alright, Y/N. I'm not going to be mad." He smiled softly. "I'm sorry for bombarding you with these things. You don't have to answer when you're uncomfortable." He moved to walk away, but you instantly grabbed the lining of his jacket to stop him.

"No, I—" you gripped the material nervously. "I like you too, Mingi. I—" You paused again, not knowing how to say your problem.

Mingi's eyes widened in surprise but waited for you to finish.

"I like you, Mingi. I—" you gulped. "And I also want to kiss you."

"But?" Mingi asked. "I feel like there's going to be a 'but' there."

You looked down at the counter. "But, I don't know how."

"I'm sorry." He smiled apologetically. "We don't have to kiss right now. We can just have dinner for now—"

"But I want to," you blurted out, which you immediately apologized for nonstop.

For a moment, you thought Mingi was going to laugh at you. You guessed that most of the people your age had already gotten their first kiss. Heck, your club's booth was a testament to that. So you were utterly embarrassed by your confession. 

However, Mingi did no such thing. "Move over," he said. You didn't know what he meant until he climbed over the counter. You almost tripped backward when he jumped down right in front of you. He caught you just when you were about to stumble.

"What are you doing?" You mused.

"Can't you tell?" Mingi teased as he held your face tenderly. "I'm trying to kiss you properly."

You shook your head in disbelief and amusement. This guy is really sleek. 

"C-Can I kiss you, Y/N?" Mingi asked. He rubbed his thumb against your cheek, comforting you.

You were extremely flustered by the warmth, not to mention the anticipation of what he was about to do, so all you could do at the moment was nod silently at his question.

Mingi smiled. You thought your heart was going to explode as Mingi came closer. You thought he was going to kiss you on the lips right away, but he planted a soft kiss on your forehead first. Then on your nose. You had to refrain from giggling, given the soft moment. Then he slowly came closer to your lips. You closed your eyes when you felt it against yours.

You couldn't explain it, but you felt warm and fuzzy inside despite your heartbeat ramming against your chest. The air felt soft yet exciting at the same time. It was definitely more than what you had imagined it to be. 

You slid your hand against his chest and rested it behind his neck. His hands softly slid against your waist and pulled you closer. You could faintly hear Mingi humming in delight. And a few moments later, you both stopped to gaze at each other.

Although, you still had trouble maintaining eye contact with his intense ones. And Mingi just chuckled lightly at the sight. "You still don't want me to be a kisser?"

"No, I—" you pouted and Mingi just laughed.

"Don't worry, you're the only one I want to kiss," he murmured before kissing your forehead. "Dinner?"

[transformersclandestine]

Bar Talk

Inside the dimly lit barroom of Maccadam’s Old Oil House, there was a fervent ease. To most of the patrons there, it was the end of the work week; a time to relax and celebrate another cycle of hard work and accomplishment. To the two ‘bots sitting in a corner booth however, there was uncertainty and a bit of melancholy.

Orion Pax played with the glass holding his Engex. Double-shaken, just how he liked it. But despite his initial positivity towards the trip to Maccadam’s, he had to admit that he really wasn’t in the mood for drinks.

Neither was Megatron, Orion’s best friend who sat across from him in the booth, his glass also remaining untouched. Megatron was never one for drinks, but Orion’s infectious enthusiasm convinced him. And yet he too sat in uncomfortable silence, gazing out the nearest window as the bar around him was teeming with life and laughter.

Orion, naturally, was the first to speak up.

“So…any ideas for a new job?” He asked Megatron, whose only response was a subtle shake of his head.

Megatron, formerly an Energon miner by the name of D-16, had just this evening been arrested for assaulting his foreman at the mine. The foreman, of course, had incited the incident as Megatron was not one for unprovoked violence. Like clockwork, when Megatron was arrested, Orion was the one to pay the bail and free his friend. The data clerk was also an effective peacekeeper and had managed to convince Nitro, the foreman Megatron attacked, not to press charges. However, the negotiations were not without sacrifice from Orion’s side as Megatron was fired with cause from his mining job. In Orion’s eyes, it was a necessary action lest Megatron spend most of his early years rotting in a Kaon prison cell.

Megatron sighed and placed his head in his hands.

“I don’t know, Orion. I can’t believe I attacked Nitro. I don’t know what came over me.”

Orion placed a comforting hand on Megatron’s arm.

“You said it yourself: a lapse in judgment. It happened, there’s nothing you can do, now. You just have to move on to a better you.”

Once again, thought Megatron, the uncharacteristically inspiring librarian has done his magic. Orion’s positive message cemented itself into Megatron’s mind and he slowly relaxed, taking a sip from his Engex.

“Thanks, bud. I’m still clueless about my career, though”, Megatron said.

Orion rapped his fingers on the table in quick but deep thought.

“I can try to scrounge up something at the Vaults. Wouldn’t pay as much as the mining gig, probably sanitation duties, but it’s something.”

Megatron shrugged and took another sip.

“At this point, anything’s worthy.”

Orion finally began drinking his Engex. A little room temperature now, but all good just the same. 

“Another round?” He asked Megatron who had gotten to the bottom of his glass faster than Orion. He shook his head and waved his hand.

“Nah. Not unless you’re buying.”

Orion laughed. 

“After all the shanix I just spent bailing your hide out of jail? You’re a shrewd customer, Mr. Megatron.”

Megatron laughed back. He took his glass and Orion’s and headed towards the bar. 

Maccadam’s crowd made it a bit snug for Megatron to walk through. Squeezing his way between ‘bots of all shapes and sizes, he made it to the barkeep, ordering another round of Engex for him and Orion. Across the bar, a boxy, faceplated ‘bot with a piercing red visor stared intently at Megatron. He left his post and approached the unemployed miner.

“So you’re the Megatron I’ve heard about,” the visored bot uttered. His voice was chillingly electronic, what sounded to Megatron like the effects of consistent and unregulated cygar use. 

“Depends on what you heard,” Megatron shot back.

The visored bot sat next to Megatron on an unoccupied barstool.

“It’s not every day you hear of a Kaon miner fighting back against the ongoing worker’s oppression - literally,” the stranger chuckled. Megatron was slowly growing leery of this bot’s tone, as if he was implying something sinister. The stranger noticed the unease and placed his hands on the counter innocently.

“Don’t worry, I’m no cop. Just a scouter looking for potential and talent.”

This got Megatron’s attention. 

“What kind of talent?”

“Strong of will and strong of chassis.” The stranger’s chest opened, and he produced a holographic business card, handing it to Megatron. On one side was a purple symbol, opposite was a scannable code that Megatron’s internal systems registered as a communications frequency.

The stranger got up from his stool and turned to leave Megatron to him and Orion’s newly-arrived drinks.

“If you’re looking for a substantial career, give us a call.”

Megatron looked again at the strange symbol. When he glanced up, the stranger had already disappeared into the crowd. He nervously looked around before paying the bartender for the two drinks and walking them back to him and Orion’s table.

“What kept you?” Orion asked playfully. Megatron cautiously set the drinks down and carefully hid the business card on the inside of his hand before resting it on the booth seat. 

“Long line at the bar,” Megatron lied. It seemed to work as Orion shrugged and took a swig from his drink.

“But yeah,” Orion continued, “let me talk to Codexa after the rest cycle. I’m sure I can manage to get you in somehow.”

Megatron smiled and nodded. He raised his glass as did Orion in turn.

“To the future,” Megatron toasted.

“To our future,” Orion added.

The two clinked glasses and continued their weekend pleasures.

———

Megatron slid the door open to his apartment. It wasn’t a pretty place but it did the job insofar as providing him with a place to recharge and relax during the rest cycles. It was decorated with mementos of his past, including more than a few copied data tracks Orion had made him for their various celebrations. There were also some tasteful electronic paint murals adorning the living space though these were standard with the building and not a choice of Megatron’s. 

Closing the door and locking it behind him, Megatron fished into his side compartments and pulled out the stranger’s business card. Scanning the code on the back, he downloaded the frequency and began a call. It took a few minutes, but Megatron finally heard the other line pick up. Immediately, he recognized the gravely tone of the stranger from Maccadam’s.

“Seems like you’re interested,” the stranger growled over the line.

“I’m willing to talk,” Megatron replied.

“Excellent. Before we begin though, a few pleasantries now that we’re on a secured channel. Name’s Soundwave. It’s a pleasure to be working with you, Megatron.”

[gmbeowulf]

I've got a dozen anonymous messages this morning calling me an idiot, telling me to kill myself, telling me to log off, all that jazz. And, of course, mixed in were two scammers with fake Gaza gofundmes, just for good measure.

Y'all fell for propaganda and didn't vote, Trump won, and now America, Palestine, and the rest of the world are going to be thoroughly fucked.

This isn't the only reason, of course. Fox News gets big props as mainstream water carriers for the Republicans for two decades. Mainstream media outlets like the Times and the Post have been "sanitizing" Trump for months. Musk and other bad actors poured billions into voter suppression activities.

But right here, right now? The person on Tumblr reading this and getting mad at me for calling them out? Yeah, you swallowed a year of antisemitic propaganda without questioning it, decided you were too morally pure to ever touch a voting booth, and absolutely participated in getting Trump elected.

[eowyntheavenger]

By Emily Strasser | August 9, 2023

At the theater where I saw Oppenheimer on opening night, there was a handmade photo booth featuring a pink backdrop, “Barbenheimer” in black letters, and a “bomb” made of an exercise ball wrapped in hoses. I want to tell you that I flinched, but I laughed and snapped a photo. It took a beat before I became horrified—by myself and the prop. Today is the 78th anniversary of the bombing of Nagasaki, which killed up to 70,000 people and came only three days after the bombing of Hiroshima that killed as many as 140,000 people. Yet still we make jokes of these weapons of genocide.

Oppenheimer does not make a joke of nuclear weapons, but by erasing the specific victims of the bombings, it repeats a sanitized treatment of the bomb that enables a lighthearted attitude and limits the power of the film’s message. I know this sanitized version intimately, because my grandfather spent his career building nuclear weapons in Oak Ridge, Tennessee, the site of uranium enrichment for the Hiroshima bomb. My grandfather died before I was born, and though there were photographs of mushroom clouds from nuclear tests hanging on my grandmother’s walls, we never discussed Hiroshima, Nagasaki, or the fact that Oak Ridge, still an active nuclear weapons production site, is also a 35,000-acre Superfund site. At the Catholic church in town, a pious Mary stands atop an orb bearing the overlapping ovals symbolizing the atom, and until it closed a few years ago, a local restaurant displayed a sign with a mushroom cloud bursting out of a mug of beer.

Oppenheimer does not show a single image of Hiroshima or Nagasaki. Instead, it recreates the horror through Oppenheimer’s imagination, when, during a congratulatory speech to the scientists of Los Alamos after the bombing of Hiroshima, the sound of the hysterically cheering crowd goes silent, the room flashes bright, and tatters of skin peel from the face of a white woman in the audience. The scene is powerful and unsettling, and, arguably, avoids sensationalizing the atrocity by not depicting the victims outright. But it also plays into a problematic pattern of whitewashing both the history and threat of nuclear war by appropriating the trauma of the Japanese victims to incite fear about possible future violence upon white bodies. An example of this pattern is a 1948 cover of John Hersey’s Hiroshima, which featured a white couple fleeing a city beneath a glowing orange sky, even though the book itself brought the visceral human suffering to American readers through the eyes of six actual survivors of the bombing.

The Oppenheimer film also neglects the impacts of fallout from nuclear testing, including from the Trinity test depicted in the film; the harm to the health of blue-collar production workers exposed to toxic and radiological materials; and the contamination of Oak Ridge and other production sites. Instead, the impressive pyrotechnics of the Trinity test, images of missile trails descending through clouds toward a doomed planet, and Earth-consuming fireballs interspersed with digital renderings of a quantum universe of swirling stars and atoms, elevate the bomb to the realm of the sublime—terrible, yes, but also awesome.

A compartmentalized project. The origins of this treatment can be traced to the Manhattan Project, when scientists called the bomb by the euphemistic code word “gadget” and the security policy known as compartmentalization limited workers’ knowledge of the project to the minimum necessary to complete their tasks. This policy helped to dilute responsibility and quash moral debates and dissent. Throughout the film, we see Oppenheimer move from resisting compartmentalization to accepting it. When asked by another scientist about his stance on a petition against dropping the bomb on Japan, he responds that the builders of the bomb do not have “any more right or responsibility” than anyone else to determine how it will be used, despite the fact that the scientists were among the few who even knew of its existence.

Due to compartmentalization, the vast majority of the approximately half-million Manhattan Project workers, like my grandfather, could not have signed the petition because they did not know what they were building until Truman announced the bombing of Hiroshima. Afterward, press restrictions limited coverage of the humanitarian impacts, giving the false impression that the bombings had targeted major military and industrial sites—and eliding the vast civilian toll and the novel horrors of radiation. Photographs and films of the aftermath, shot by Japanese journalists and American military, were classified and suppressed in the United States and occupied Japan.

The limit of theory. Not only is it dishonest and harmful to erase the suffering of the real victims of the bomb, but doing so moves the bomb into the realm of the theoretical and abstract. One recurring theme of the film is the limit of theory. Oppenheimer was a brilliant theorist but a haphazard experimentalist. A close friend and fellow scientist questions whether he’ll be able to pull off this massive, high-stakes project of applied theory. Just before the detonation of the Trinity test bomb, General Leslie Groves, the military head of the project, asks Oppenheimer about a joking bet overheard among the scientists regarding the possibility that the explosion would ignite the atmosphere and destroy the world. Oppenheimer assures Groves that they have done the math and the possibility is “near zero.” “Near zero?” Groves asks, alarmed. “What do you want from theory alone?” responds Oppenheimer.

Can the theoretical motivate humanity to action?

One telling scene shows Oppenheimer at a lecture on the impacts of the bomb. We hear the speaker describe how dark stripes on victims’ clothing were burned onto their skin, but the camera remains on Oppenheimer’s face. He looks at the screen, gaunt and glassy-eyed, for a few moments, before turning away. Americans are still looking away. As a country, we’ve succumbed to “psychic numbing,” as Robert Jay Lifton and Greg Mitchell call it in their book Hiroshima in America, which leads to general apathy about nuclear weapons—and pink mushroom clouds and bomb props for selfies.

On this anniversary of Nagasaki, the world stands on a precipice, closer than ever to nuclear midnight. The nine nuclear-armed states collectively possess more than 12,500 warheads; the more than 9,500 nuclear weapons available for use in military stockpiles have the combined power of more than 135,000 Hiroshima-sized bombs.

If Oppenheimer motivates conversation, activism, and policy shifts in support of nuclear abolition, that’s a good thing. But by relegating the bomb to abstracted images removed from actual humanitarian consequences, the film leaves the weapon in the realm of the theoretical. And as Oppenheimer says in the film, “theory will only take you so far.” Today, it’s vital that we understand the devastating impacts that nuclear weapons have had and continue to have on real victims of their production, testing, and wartime use. Our survival may depend on it.

[bed-chemist]

❝on my cloud, i got some space for you.❞

Chapter Summary: the sweetest baker is surrounded by love on the anniversary of her parent's passing.

Chapter Warnings: language, alcohol, slight age gap (F!MC and Joel are 6 years apart), symptoms of anxiety and depression, panic attacks, grief, fluff, comfort, lmk if i forgot something.

Series Tags: chef! Joel, single! father Joel, no outbreak! Joel Miller, slow burn, dual-pov, fluff, flirting, friendship, eventually established relationship, eventual smut, original character, black!fem!MC, no y/n.

.𖥔 ݁ ˖ series masterlist ⋆ spotify playlist ˖ ݁ 𖥔.

My throat croaks out a couple of notes as I hum along to the song in my ears on Wednesday. The calming smell of lemons wafts through the room reminding me of my mother. She always used to bake lemon cookies and cakes. Now the smell of sugary citrus envelopes me like a hug. 

I take a break, reaching for my water bottle when I feel a tap on my shoulder. Abandoning my attempts to take a sip, I take out my earbuds.

When I turn around I see Chloe standing behind me, looking past my body at what I’m making. “I'm not trying to be rude but are we rebranding or something? Everything's lemon-flavored,” she points out with her thumb towards the front of the store.

Perspiration instantly begins collecting on top of my skin. “Oh, shit. No, I’m sorry,” I apologize, wiping my hands on my apron. “I don't know why I did that,” I murmur and my eyes drift behind her.

I’ve been in an odd daze all week, unable to focus and even Joel has noticed. I’m pretty sure he told Ellie to take it easy on me this week since she hasn’t been around much. Then again, she has been hanging at the Austin a lot more since the whole Thanksgiving fiasco. I can’t put my finger on it, but he promised he was going to take off and help support me all day today. I wonder if he likes lemon cakes. 

Chloe waves her hand in front of my face, snapping me out of my thoughts. Her brows knit and concern washes over her face. “Are you okay?” she questions.

I nod, stepping past her to wrap up in the kitchen. ��Yeah. I don't know what's up with me today. I just feel weird,” I remain vulnerable with her.

Chloe approaches the island I’m standing at, putting her hands on the table and leaning forward. “Ginny, love,” she looks at me as though I should already know what’s going on.

I pick up a sanitization rag and wring it out to begin cleaning the tabletop. “What?” I snip. I hate suspense.

She bites the inside of her cheek, hollowing out her mouth. An awkward silence fills the room and I curse myself for sending the others home so early. “You usually don't work today,” she points out.

I work every day, that’s the perks of owning your own bakery. “What are you talking about? it's just Friday,” I point out when the double doors to the kitchen smack open, letting in a cold gust of air.

Leo stomps in with his arms crossed, wearing black shoes and a matching tie wrapped around his neck. “Why are you working?” he chastizes, as he gets closer.

My once slow movements of cleaning pick up in frustration. I begin furiously scrubbing a stain in the metal that will realistically be there forever. “Why do people keep asking me that?” I groan.

My eyes return to focus on the stain. The fucking stain has to come out. Right now, right now, right now. “Imogen,” Leo sighs kindly. He puts his hands on my waist, pulling me backward from the procrastination. “Let’s go chat, hmm?”

I sigh, passing the cleaning products to Chloe and following Leo into the front of the bakery. He heads straight for my favorite booth, secluded in the back of the bakery towards the widows. 

“You're scaring me,” I divulge, sliding into the Tiffany blue pleather seat. 

Leo’s eyebrow raises before he seemingly realizes his facial expressions, reeling it back in. Men. “Relax. Have you talked to Joel today?” he questions.

“Yeah, this morning. He said to call him if I needed anything today.”

Leo leans forward across the acrylic table. “Ginny, it's December 18th,” he rasps and his words hit me like a truck.

December 18th. The day that my parents were crushed between two trucks on Interstate 290. It was unexpected and their business ties to Europe left me suddenly alone and having to clean up their shit for myself.

It took months to secure an end to it all. Although I wasn’t as close with my dad as I was with my mom, I still miss him just as much.

They say after traumatic events there’s an increase in marriages, divorces, and disappearances. As soon as I got the call, I quit and became fully invested in doing only the shit I wanted to. One of which included opening my bakery. I divorced nursing, disappeared further from the north side, and married baking.

You knew. Of course, you knew. That’s why you’ve been feeling weird all day. My head innately tilts as I stare off into space. 

My spiral of cataloging my every movement to assign guilt to them begins. I should’ve known and now half the day is gone without me honoring my parents. “I’m calling Joel,” Leo’s crip voice snaps me out of my thoughts. 

My head begins to shake. I don’t want to worry him for no reason. I just need to take some time away from the bakery, that is all. “No. It's not that big of a deal. I don't want to bother him,” I plead with Leo to spare the poor single father.

Leo ignores it and pulls out his phone, unlocking the device with the face sensor. “You're not bothering. Poor guy is probably just giving you space and waiting by the phone,” he explains.

Leo’s fingers tap on the tempered glass before he puts the device on the table. I look down, seeing it’s already on speaker and the ringing fills my ears.

Joel answers after two trills, per usual. “Hey. Ginny need me?” he suggests, voice dripping with honey.

I open my mouth to decline but before I do, Leo speaks up, “Yes.” If I weren’t so short I’d reach over the table and smack his head. So instead, I scold him, “Leo!” Why the fuck would he speak for me?

“My bad, Joel. She didn’t know we spoke before I came in. Yes, she does need you. I have a meeting at 1 and I need you to come by. Maybe cook her something,” he requests and the corners of my mouth quirk up in a smile. Despite what I said on the first day of our meeting, I love everything that Joel specifically cooks. 

Leo pauses and her eyes look me up and down judgingly. “She doesn’t look like she’s eaten today,” he adds and I scowl at them both.

This time, I’ve had enough of Leo’s bullshit and I kick him beneath the table. He lets out a groan, shooting daggers in my direction with his eyes. But, skipping breakfast due to anxiety isn’t a cause for concern.

Joel doesn’t skip a beat, immediately answering, “Be there in 10.”

“Thanks, man,” Leo exhales, probably glad to be relieved of his suicide watch duties for the day. Maddie and Leo stayed with me during the emotional rollercoaster of this day last year, and although they’re my best friends, I don’t expect Leo to want more. Especially when I have a partner now.

He clicks the red circle on the screen and I practically collapse on the table between us. “God, Leo. I'm going to kill you,” I groan into the hard material.

“He's your boyfriend. He's supposed to be the one comforting you and not me, right?” he questions and I can’t say I disagree.

“You’re right,” I complain one last time before lifting my head and fixing the mess of curls around my head. “Okay, you can go. I’m just going to change my clothes.”

“Are you sure? I can cancel this meeting,” he placates. No, he shouldn’t. And that’s okay. I don’t want his life to stop just because mine is currently.

I try my hardest to plaster on a fake smile, but it causes me mental anguish. “Positive. I’m going to get comfy so Joel can snuggle the shit out of me,” I tell him my plans. 

He grimaces, probably from my gushy words. His dark brown eyes search my face for any sign of discomfort. Once he’s satisfied, he nods. “Alright, I’ll call later. I’d stop by but you’ll be getting fucked as a distraction,” he smirks, before standing from the table and darting out of the bakery.

My jaw drops in shock. I most certainly won't be screwing my boyfriend on the anniversary of my parent's death. But maybe tomorrow, like early tomorrow. As soon as the clock hits midnight. 

How can I even be horny at a time like this? There’s gotta be some unnatural demon inside of me. I drag my hands down my face, trying to pull myself back into reality before standing from the booth. Walking over to the counter, I lean over to talk to Chloe. There are still patrons in the bakery and I don’t need them hearing about my personal life. “I’m going to retire upstairs. Let me know if you need anything. Joel should be here soon and you can send him up,” I list, quietly.

Chloe nods before taking my hands in hers. “Don’t worry, I got it. This is why I’m your manager,” she eases my anxiety.

I nod, bidding her goodbye before walking towards the back of the bakery. Tears start to collect in my eyes again and I repeat my favorite mantra. No crying in public, Ginny. You just have to get upstairs then you can let it out.

But it doesn’t work.

By the time I’m climbing up the staircase, the tears are already streaming down my face causing an uncomfortable burn on my cheeks. When I reach the top, I slide the barn door open to my living quarters at an alarming rate.

The wood smacks into the door frame and I rush into the space, careful not to let the mewling kittens out behind me. I softly shut the door, watching out for their tails with strained vision.

Okay, you’re alone Ginny. Let it out.

I don’t know what I expected to happen. I couldn’t foresee myself ever falling to my knees and sobbing on the living room floor, but that’s exactly what occurs. My chest becomes tight as I choke on my own spit, babbling niceties about my mother and father.

I don’t know how long I’m crouched on the floor when I hear my living room door slide open. My knees feel sore from the hardened floor beneath me but my tears don’t stop, creating a wet stain on my grey top. “Damn, sugar,” I hear Joel say before he slides the door shut behind him. 

I look up to find him rushing towards me, joining me on the floor. His typically messy hair looks freshly washed and I can tell he's used the start of the day to tame it’s unruliness. His green flannel shirt is opened nice and low, hugging his biceps deliciously. “Deep breaths. Know it’s hard but you can do it,” he encourages, rubbing warm circles onto my back. 

His words barely register and as I try to get my breathing under control, hiccuping in between breaths. With each uneven breath, I attempt to keep a hold on my digestive system and not let out a sad fart. Or worse, vomit in his lap.

“After Sarah died, I had panic attacks too. Still get ‘em sometimes,” he divulges. 

His hands trail up my spine to the back of my neck. His thumb traces soothing designs into my skin, effectively grounding me. My rocketing heartbeat slowly starts to steady and I allow myself to close my eyes knowing that Joel is here to catch me if I fall. His arms envelop me from behind, pulling my body so I’m sitting in his lap.

He softly caresses my hair and I tune him out as he begins whispering affirmations in my ear. I stare off into space and I jerk slightly in his hold when Joel presses a soft kiss to my neck.

I know where I am, but the last 30 minutes feel like a blur. Disassociation is a bitch.

When I finally feel aware again, Joel is still murmuring into my neck, but this time he’s talking about our future. “We’ll always be here. Me 'n Ellie through whatever,” he promises, pausing to take a breath.

I nod to let him know that I’m actually back this time. He rubs my back and I hear a soft meow coming from the floor. Toph is looking up at me with her green eyes, seemingly afraid. “We’ll have to get a bigger place for the 5 of us,” Joel adds, and I chuckle, scooping the orange kitten into my arms.

“Thank you for coming and just,” I start before gesturing to his body with one hand. “Being you,” I finish before a hiccup roars through my chest.

Joel positions himself more comfortable on the floor so he’s sitting in front of me. “I mean it. Every word,” he emphasizes, pressing a quick kiss to my wet cheeks. I smile at him, grateful for his presence.

Toph paws at my chest, snuggling into my body. Like always, Katara becomes jealous of her sister's attention, and she comes slinking behind the couch up to Joel. She struts up his leg, plopping down in the middle of his lap and shutting her eyes. 

“They’re fuckin’ somethin’ else,” Joel sneers, stroking Katar’s grey fur. I snicker in agreeance, setting Toph down in the sunlight on the floor in demonstration. Joel accepts the permission to remove my cat from his personal space, following suit carefully.

I glance at Joel’s face, admiring the constellation of freckles beneath a layer of dark circles. His hair is pushed back neatly with pomade and god, he looks edible. My heart quickens when I realize, I probably look a mess with makeup running down my face. 

He catches me staring and he licks his lips before asking, “What do you want for lunch?”

My brain mentally catalogs all the groceries Joe’s bought and stocked in my fridge. He figured if he’s going to make every meal, he might as well have what he needs. He insists he’s content with us staying in our respective lanes. After all, he’s just as excited for the dessert surprise at the end of the meal as Ellie is. 

Figuring I can’t be picky since I’m not cooking, I decide to let him choose. “Whatever you want. I’m going to go clean myself up and get changed,” I inform him, frowning at my appearance.

Joel seemingly notices my self-judgment and sits up, pulling my face closer with my hands. “I think you’re gorgeous, sugar,” he compliments before pressing a chaste kiss on my forehead.

My skin tingles from the warmth and I can't help but smile into the sign of affection. However, my insecurity doesn't drown, grabbing my hair and pulling me back from the gorgeous man I call mine. “You’re a liar, but it’s fine,” I murmur, using his shoulders to stabilize myself as I stand.

His strong arms wrap around my body holding me close. “I wudn’t lie to you,” he promises, and I nearly become weak in the knees from that accent.

I hum in reply, deciding it’s my turn to steal a kiss from him. I haven't tasted him in a couple days when I visited him and Ellie, and I’m starting to feel like I'm forgetting a piece of him. My body lowers until we’re at eye level, and the air between us zaps. 

He never fails to make me feel this way. Thunder rumbles in my stomach and lightning strikes low in my abdomen. It’s confusing, but I welcome every second of it.

Joel becomes impatient with my hovering and he brushes our lips together. The kiss is sweet and I smile into it before parting my lips. He swirls his tongue around mine while cradling my body into his. 

We continue for a few moments before I need to come up for air, and I disconnect immediately looking down at his reddened lips. I press one final peck to them before getting up, for real this time.

Joel pats me on the behind as I walk out of the room before he stands himself with a grunt. Toph trails behind me into my bathroom, brushing up against my leg with a purr as I look in the mirror.

My reflection makes me want to start crying again. My throat fills with ache as I try to stuff the oncoming tears out. Sometimes I feel like I’m the only unattractive person I know. 

I push the thought out of my head and for my headband, securing my hair away from my face. After pumping face wash into my hand, I hum while massaging my face. The sticky layer of tear stains rinse down the drain and I feel a sense of relief.

Once my face is clean, I reach for my towel to dry it off when I feel something particularly fuzzy. I open my right eye, peering at the counter to see Toph's tail underneath my hand. “Fuck off, cat. No counters,” I scold my shadow, lifting and setting her on the floor with wet hands.

She wines as her paws hit the floor, and I grab a clean towel from the drawer. Why did I get two cats?

After patting my face dry and discarding the towels in the hamper, I walk out towards the kitchen. As I tip-toe down the hall, I can hear Joel shuffling about. When I round the corner, I lean against the wall with my arms crossed. It’s nice to admire him in moments like this, although he’s bound to look up towards my bathroom any minute.

As if the universe hit the play button on my vision, his eyes snap to mine. “Come,” he waves me over with a welcoming grin.

I stroll over behind him before I snake my arms around his waist. My front presses into his back and I catalog every flex of muscle in his body. His arm begins sliding with precision, perfectly cutting the potato in front of him into thin slices. “Fries?” I question out of curiosity. 

“And a burger your way,” he glances over his shoulder at me before returning to his chopping.

I press myself up on my tiptoes, placing a kiss on his shoulder blade. This man is perfect for me in every way. Caring for me, cooking for me, and giving me countless orgasms. My relationship with Ellie is just the cherry on top. Even if Joel and I ended things, I’d still want to be in her life.

The realization hits me like a truck and without thinking I stammer, “God, I lo–”  before cutting myself out.

My body chills to ice and the oxygen is sucked from my lungs in an instant. Joel pauses his movements and stands frozen in place. I take a step back from him, turning away from him.

I need to do something to distract him from the fact that I almost just said I love you.

I reach for the kettle to set some water on for tea, fumbling about with the top of the lid. “What’d’ya say, sugar?” Joel asks from behind me.

I shake my head, feeling the hole he’s staring in my head. If I confess right now, he might leave me like everyone does. He’ll call me a crazy person and forbid me to see Ellie.

Joel’s warm hand covers mine and I jerk, before peering down. I blink rapidly at the water spilling over the top of the filled pot. “Fuck,” I swear, turning off the water and dumping a bit out of the metal container.

I shake my hand dry before my eyes meet Joel. “You sure you okay?” Joel questions with furrowed brows.

I nod, putting the lid back on the kettle. It’s a mistake, him seeing me like this. All overwhelmed and in disarray. I obviously can’t even string together a cohesive thought.

My hands fiddle around with the stove, pressing buttons until the electric burners turn red. I set the kettle down on top, turning back to face Joel. 

My face turns scarlet when I see he hasn’t moved. He has instead settled into a position with one hand resting on top of the counter and the other on his hip. “I won’t call you a liar. But whatever it is, ’m here when you’re ready,” he offers lowly. 

And as if nothing happens, he moves back to preparing the potatoes. I finally exhale the breath I didn’t know I was holding. Thank god he’s not hell-bent on embarrassing me today.

Deciding to take the glorious out he’s presented me, I slide into the bar seat across from him, ready to watch my favorite pass time: Chef Joel Miller cooking in my kitchen. His brows furrow and his tongue sticks out of the side of his mouth when he’s intensely focused.

A lightbulb goes off in my head and I realize, I haven’t checked up on his Michelin Star journey. “Have 3 stars to your name yet?” I ask as he turns to fill a pot with water.

“Not quite. Heard rumors we’ve already got 2 visits though,” he explains and his voice bounces off the large window in front of him.

I nod and the corners of my mouth turn up. All I want is for those around me to succeed and he’s one step closer to his goal. “That’s great, that’s only one more left. It can’t be long now,” I chirp.

Joel leans on his left leg impatiently and I focus on his back. He inhales a long deep breath and I can tell he’s not as confident. “Yeah,” he grunts.

I brush a stray curl out of my face before observing, “You don’t sound so sure.”

He sighs before turning off the water. “I am. Thought about what you said that day and ’m worried my employee's customer service is being affected by my words, Gin.”

Fuck, he’s never called me Gin before. What I said must’ve been weighing on him. Shit, shit. Code red, Ginny. “Joel, it's fine. You’ve made the changes and the reviewers will see that,” I blabber out.

Joel carries the pot over to the stove. “I know, ’m just stressed and all,” he says while fiddling with the same buttons I was moments ago.

My body begins involuntary twisting and turning in the bar stool. Joel takes notice of the fact that I've used the tea water as a diversion, switching off the kettle as he goes. I snort and shake my head at how well he knows me.

“Wait until you actually get the stars,” I emphasize the horror of his future.

Joel picks out a pink towel from the drawer beneath his waist, quickly whipping his hands off.  “Yeah, I’ll be busy as hell."

“And it’ll be nice to have Ellie back in the bakery more,” I add excitedly.

Joel sighs and shakes his head. “I’ll have to get her into an afterschool program of some kind,” he responds.

My brows knit on my forehead watching him begin to prep the burger patties. “Why?” I ask.

He sets a bottle of seasoning down with a thunk and I know he means business. His deep chestnut eyes connect with my hazel ones and I know I’m no longer talking to my sweet, timid, Joel. I’m interacting with Chef Miller. “Cause you shouldn’t have to be responsible for her,” he grits through his teeth.

My lips purse and I cross my arms, slightly offended that he’d suggest I can’t handle hanging out with Ellie. “I think I can manage,” I theorize.

“I’m serious, Gin,” he argues.

“So am I. Ellie is the closest thing I have to a daughter. We already–” lied to the principal and staff at her school about our relationship. “Erm, she’s already here until close. What’s a few extra hours?” I finish as smoothly as possible, but I’m not sure Joel is buying it by the look on his face.

He raises a brow and his head tilts ever so slightly. “Are you sure?” he asks and I roll my eyes. If he asks again, my answer may be different.

There’s no reason for Ellie to join an afterschool program when she’s already comfortable here. “Positive. You are my boyfriend, Miller,” I conclude, quite finished with this conversation when the aftertaste from my words hit. “Partner,” I correct myself, looking down shyly.

“I love it when you call me that” I hear him say, causing a chuckle to slip from my throat.

We sit in comfortable silence for the remainder of the time Joel spends cooking. He occasionally glances up at me while bustling around the kitchen. Every time we make eye contact, my skin sets ablaze and I have to look away.

It seems childish to look away when your partner catches you staring. But he’s so goddamn sexy, I can’t help it. If I don’t look away, my carnal desires will replace my grief, and I’m not ready for that.

I wonder if Joel ever felt extremely horny and inappropriately happy in his grief. There’s only one way to find out.

I clear my throat, rapidly blinking away the fuzz of my thoughts. “Joel,” I murmur to get his attention.

He looks up from the set of plates, giving me a half smile. “Hmm. You ready to eat, sugar?” he asks, probably assuming I’m rushing him for food.

I don’t move from my spot to not give him the wrong idea. “Yeah but uh,” I start, pausing to pick at my nail polish.  “Can I ask you something?” I question softly.

Joel pops a French fry he dropped on the counter into his mouth. “Anythin',” he utters.

He slides my favorite meal over to me and I just about see stars. It takes everything I have in me to focus on the task at hand and not swallow the burger whole.

“How long did it take you to stop feeling guilty about being happy? You know, after…” I trail off, not wanting to bring up Sarah’s passing so bluntly.

His eyebrows raise and he leans back as if he was physically impacted by my words. Shock etches over his tan face and I immediately pick up a couple of french fries, awkwardly stuffing my mouth full. “Two years and Ellie was the first person I let in. Then you came along shortly after,” he confesses.

I quickly chew my food before gulping harshly. “Oh,” I murmur.

“Oh?” Joel counters with a tilt of his head.

I nod, picking up another fry. “Yeah, it’s not bad. It’s just that I don’t think I have two years,” I think out loud.

My eyes scan the counter for Joel’s signature barbeque sauce, anxious to dip try it with the crispy potatoes. “Be patient, sugar,” he scolds.

Joel seemingly notices my attention is elsewhere and suddenly, a tiny bowl of the brown condiment is set in front of me. I blush and give him a silent thank you with a half smile. “Never been too good at that,” I admit.

Picking up the burger, I examine it to see which side is the best for the first bite. “Oh I know,” I hear Joel say before our eyes connect. He tilts his head with a mischievous smirk on his face that sends fire into my cheeks. 

I shake my head at him before taking a huge bite of the juicy burger. The flavors dance on my taste buds reminding me of summer barbeques. “Mmmm, this is orgasmic,” I compliment my sexy chef.

He swallows his bite before asking, “Changed the seasoning. Taste alright?”

I nod, already ready to inhale the entire meal. “Joel, I didn’t know your burgers could get better. This is amazing,” I express.

“Well, if my toughest critic says it’s good, I’ll trust it,” he jokes and I chuckle.

Delicious food, passionate sex, and god's gift to humanity. I am the luckiest woman on earth.

The door flies open sending my eyes flying open and me jerking into Joel’s stomach. He groans before smoothing my curls with his palm. “It’s just Ellie,” he informs me she’s back from school.

I sigh, cuddling further into his body now that my anxiety has eased. “Hey,” his teenage daughter grunts when she comes into view.  

Ellie begrudgingly kicks her shoes off and drops her backpack to the side. If her body could talk, it would scream. “Bad day at school?” I observe.

She nods, picking up Toph who’s sitting in her spot on the couch. “Mmhm,” she grunts out just like her dad as she takes a seat.

“Well,” I start, tossing her the remote. “I’ll let you pick,” I offer her the once-in-a-lifetime chance.

She snickers, “No, you won’t.” She gives me a pointed look and asks, “What are my options?”

I purse my lips. She’s right, I’m just shitty she knows me so well. “Grey’s or SVU,” I answer.

Ellie nods, extending the remote in her hand to click through the app. Joel begins practically petting me again. “Sugar, you sure? Don’t wanna see you cryin’ no more,” Joel growls lowly as if seeing me cry and him not being able to control it pissed him off.

I can understand if he needs control over something, but today isn’t that day. “Positive,” I reassure him.

He nods, before placing his hand under my head and gently lifting it. “Sorry, sugar,” he grunts as he stands.

He turns towards the L-shaped couch with his hand on his hip, accentuating his slender waist and I practically start drooling. “What do you two want for dinner?” he questions, looking back and forth between us.

I prop my head up in my hand and look at Ellie who looks particularly glum. She’s curled into the couch, holding Toph like the animal is her lifeline. I sigh, feeling the urge to punch someone for hurting my baby creep into my veins again. “El, you can pick. I already had my favorite for lunch,” I urge her.

“Grilled cheese and tomato soup,” she requests, not even looking up at her father.

Joel clears his throat and raises his eyebrow. Ellie looks up and her eyes dart back and forth between me and Joel. I raise my eyebrow at her because she should know what he’s looking for.

It only takes Elle a few seconds when she gets it. “Please?” she adds, looking at Joel for confirmation.

He nods and walks off to the kitchen, away from earshot. I look over at Ellie whos depressed body language hasn’t changed. My hand pats the couch next to me. “Why are you so far away? We both know this is the best TV-watching spot,” I invite her over.

When she comes over, she’s usually right next to me giving me all the school gossip. But maybe it’s because Joel is here. She slides over, sinking into the cushion. “What’s up, El? You look all…” my voice trails off and I mimic her body language.

She huffs and rolls her eyes. “Dina,” she answers.

“Okay, what about Dina?” I ask. Fuck, teenagers are hard. I wish they’d just tell you the problem the easy way.

Ellie’s head snaps in my direction. “She has a crush,” she snips.

My eyebrows raise and I tilt my head. “And I’m guessing by your body language and your fucking tone,  you’re not her crush,” I lightly correct her.

She looks behind me and I assume she’s checking to see if Joel is still making us food. “No,” she states and her entire body shrivels. The rejection washes over her face and I want nothing more than to hug her.

My respect for her boundaries overrides my need for comfort. “Who does she have a crush on?” I counter.

Ellie gnaws on her lip for a moment like she’s reluctant to tell me. I understand, after all, Dina is working downstairs for me right now. “Jesse,” she tells me.

I rapidly blink, stunned by the news. “Jesse, delivery boy, Jesse?”

Ellie nods and my mouth forms an ‘o’ in response. I nod, understanding the gravity of this queer love triangle. Her shoulder hunch over even more and I decide it’s time to cheer her up with some words of encouragement.

“You know when I was a teenager, I had a crush on a girl who was dating our guy friend,” I divulge some of my past. Although she doesn’t know it involves Madi and Leo, she doesn’t need to know that to get the point.

“Really?” Ellie asks dumbfounded.

 I answer tight-lipped with a nod, “Mmmhm.”

“What happened?”

“I let it play out between the two of them. If it’s meant to be, it’ll be,” I tell her.

Ellie’s face scrunches and she looks weary of taking my advice. “Look, you don’t know if Dina likes you back right?”

Ellie shakes her head no. “Right, so don’t mess with the universe. If you’re meant to be, you’ll be. You never know, maybe a girl will come into the high school and shock the shit out of you,” I theorize.

Ellie rolls her eyes and scoffs, “I doubt that.”

“Keep your options open, El. Until you put a ring on someone’s finger,” I advise her. She’s a hot commodity and I’m going to tell her that every time she needs reminding. 

Joel’s head comes into view as he bends down to press a kiss on top of Ellie’s head. She lets out a blech noise, shrugging as far away from him as possible.

I laugh at the interaction while Joel simply shakes his head. “Dinner’s ready,” he alerts us.

When I peer over my shoulder, I see a delicious spread laid out. As always, Joel has beautifully plated 2 servings of grilled cheese and tomato soup. “Ooh, that looks good,” Ellie compliments her dad, setting Toph down and shooting up from the couch.

She darts into the breakfast nook, diving for the sandwich first. Her head tips back and she groans with satisfaction. “Good?” I slightly shout from the couch.

She nods her head, already moving on to try the soup. Joel chuckles and extends his hand to me. He knows I typically climb over the back of the couch and ever since my foot got caught on the couch that one time, he’s insistent on helping me over.

“Thank you,” I purr lowly, leaning in to press a quick kiss on his lips. 

When I lick my lips, I taste savory remnants of tomato from him tasting the soup. I blink rapidly at him stunned, feeling a similar wave of emotion as earlier. My butterflies erupt in my chest and my heart skips a beat, stumbling over the current.

Yup, that's definitely love.

I love Joel Miller and everything that comes with him. I love his deep raspy morning voice and the way his nostrils flare when he can’t quite get a recipe right. I love his southern twang and the furrow in his brows when he’s angry. 

The type of love I feel for him possesses every fiber in my body and takes over my brain. It wraps around my nervous system, acting on its own. It takes away all control I have and I don’t mind at all.

I adore Ellie and consider her to be one of my daughters. We’ve become so close these past few months and I can’t imagine a day without them in my routine. They’re the only two people I can stand around me all the time.

Joel clears his throat, bringing me back to the present. Reality smacks me like a truck and I blush. “You alright there, sugar?” Joel questions, voice laced with concern.

The corners of my mouth curve into a smile. “Yeah, I genuinely don’t know what just happened. I look at you and my mind goes blank. I think I'm going nuts,” I chuckle, slightly lying. 

When I look at him, my eyes turn into hearts and pop out of my head with my tongue rolled out like the red carpet. When our eyes connect, he makes me feel like I’m the only person he’s ever been interested in romantically. Which can’t be possible considering Sarah came from somewhere.

We join Ellie and the kittens playing by her feet at the breakfast nook and a comfortable silence falls over the table. My mother always said you know the food is good when it’s silent, and we’re not much for dinner conversations around here.

Joel reaches forward and pours me a glass of wine before pouring himself some. “Guess you two are staying the night?” I ask, pointing out that whenever Joel drinks with me, they usually end up crashing.

Joel raises his eyebrows as if he’s daring me to contest, taking a sip of his wine. “If that’s okay with you?” he questions, probably trying to hide the fact that he’s not going to leave me alone tonight.

I pick up my spoon, dipping it into the soup. “It is, but I was thinking I’d come to yours tonight. El has school in the morning,” I attempt to compromise.

Ellie rolls her eyes and groans, “That sucks, my bed here is more comfortable.”

Joel begins prepping to eat and I’ve never seen someone be so meticulous about such a thing. He lays a cloth napkin into his nap and I raise my eyebrow, wondering what hell of a closet he dug those out of. 

“It’s not your bed, Ellie. We don’t live here,” Joel corrects her and I shovel the soup in my mouth. It’s the perfect amount of savory and sweet. 

Joel picks up the sandwich and takes a bite, nodding at the taste. While his mouth is full, I decide to insert a suggestion, “No, but El, next time you’re here, you should bring some clothes just in case. That way you don’t have to wear my clothes whenever you want to stay over.”

Ellie responds without skipping a beat, “Sounds good.” 

I turn my attention back to my meal and my mind mentally drifts off. Christmas is soon so maybe I can tell him then. I don’t want to trauma bond with him right now and Christmas is a happy time. “I cleared a drawer out for you already,” Joel announces and I nearly choke on my sandwich.

“You what?” I blurt, my mind swirling with information.

In my peripheral, I see Ellie’s head going back and forth between me and Joel. “That too much? I’ll fill it back up. ‘s just some of my long sleeves,” he stammers.

“No!” I shout a bit too loudly, my body becoming hot when I realize the gravity of my tone. “I mean no, the drawer isn’t too much. I think it’d be too much if I moved in right now,” I add.

Joel nods, content with my answer, returning to his meal. “When you two move in together, can we move here?” Ellie asks, refusing to read the weight of awkwardness in the room.

Joel clears his throat and he straightens his posture a bit. Sensing his uncomfortability, I step in to talk for the both of us, “We haven’t talked about that yet, El. But when it comes to it, I’d be happy to have you here.”

“Yay!” Ellie celebrates and I take a bite of my grilled cheese. It has the perfect amount of pull and my eyes are probably sparkling with admiration for Joel at the moment.

I chew and swallow before adding, “We’ll have to move eventually though. We need a house that we’ve all picked.” I would never sign a dotted line on a new place without Ellie and Joel’s approval at this stage in our relationship. I think we’ll be together for a long time, so I want to be considerate.

Ellie perks up again, “Really?”

I nod, glancing at Joel who has completely stopped eating at this point. “Mmhm, by then you’ll be 18 and you can have this place,” I continue my conversation with Ellie, knowing he’ll holler at any time he feels I’m overstepping.

Joel’s jaw clenches as I fight a snort, assuming he’s started stewing. “The bakery?” she asks, voice laced with confusion.

I set my spoon down and give her a knowing look. “No, El. Do you like baking?” I quip.

She shrugs, dipping her sandwich into her bowl. “Eh, it’s not my calling,” she admits before taking a bite.

“Exactly. I was talking about the apartment. You can have it when we eventually move out,” I foretell, motioning between me and her father with my hand.

“Gin,” Joel pulls my attention to him. When I glance down, his hands are balled tight into a fist, one wrapped tightly around a stainless stem spoon.

If he squeezes any more, he’ll bend my cuterly. And it’s completely unnecessary. “Joel, I’m not letting your child pay $1,000 in rent when we’ll have at least one empty apartment that’s completely paid off. Try again,” I dare him to argue.

Joel sighs but his body stays wound up. “She’s gonna be spoiled.”

I whip my head in Ellie's direction. “I don’t think you’re spoiled, are you, El?”

“Not in the slightest,” Ellie says through a shit-eating grin.

My head whips back toward Joel who isn’t the slightest bit amused by our display. “See, she gets the apartment, we get a new house,” I pause waiting for his face to change. When it remains stone cold, I add my secret tactic by purring, “alone,” into his ear. 

When I straighten my back, his eyes look like they’re about to pop out of his head. Anticipation flickers in his eyes and I know I’ve hooked him to the idea.

Joel’s body slowly starts to relax, but Ellie puts the cherry on top. “And everyone’s happy. Maybe Dina would move in with me. Holy shit this is gonna be awesome,” she practically bounces, and the wood beneath her creaks.

“Slow your roll, kiddo. You’ve still got 4 years,” Joel warns and I kick him lightly under the table for taking the excitement out of everything. I want her to keep a hopeful possibility of romance with Dina and he’s ruining it.

Ellie opens her mouth but I step in before the pair can start arguing. “Speaking of totally awesome, what do you want for Christmas, El?” 

“I’m getting something for Christmas?” asks dumbfoundedly. 

“Umm, yeah. Why wouldn’t you be?”

Ellie shrugs and a rain cloud of trauma drifts in over her head. I watch as the sorrow rain falls on top of her head and my heart drops to my ass.  “I don’t know. Guess I’m just not used to it.”

I bite my lip, trying to keep it together for her. No child should have to go a December without a gift. I try my best to plaster on a fake smile to perk her up. “Well, I already have most of your gifts but I thought I’d ask you,” I tell her.

As if on command, the cloud of depressing memories is swapped for a blazing sun. “Really?” she gleans.

“Really. I love Christmas. It’s the busiest holiday for the bakery though.” I mentally curse the upcoming bustle, taking a sip of my wine.

Ellie chomps the last of her sandwich down, chewing slowly like she’s in deep thought. A sparkle comes over her eyes when it looks like she’s finally got it. “Well, some new paintbrush sets would be nice. I saw some watercolors on Instagram that are cool,” she hints.

“Send them to me,” I request.

“Okay,” she smiles, reaching into her back pocket to pull out her phone.

I smile at my hunky boyfriend, ready to point out the receipts of Ellie’s personality traits. “See, Joel. That is not a spoiled child. Madi would’ve asked for a Gucci bag and a stamp on her passport when we were younger.”

Ellie’s head perks up from her phone. “Wait, that’s an option?” she clarifies sarcastically. 

“No,” Joel barks at the same time as I offer, “Ask Madi.” 

Joel frowns in my direction and I quickly add, “We don’t have that type of money but Madi does and she’s always ready to spend it on someone. If you want something really expensive, she’s the one to ask.”

Joel's elbows come down on the table quite hard and he puts his head in his hands. “Gin,” he groans.

“What? Madi’s like her aunt or whatever now. She’s obligated by girl code to help her out,” I inform him, picking up my spoon. At this point, the utensil is useless. The food’s so good, I’m ready to drink the rest of the bowl down.

“Spoilin’ her ain’t helpin’,” he scolds me.

I blow the steaming liquid in front of my face. “No, but Ellie knows the value of money to know the difference between dinner at the estate versus dinner at the breakfast nook,” I say before taking a bite.

“Yeah, this sucks,” Ellie sarcastically grumbles, before picking up the soup and slurping the last bit of it.

I snicker, dipping the last of my sandwich into the soup. I never thought I could be this content after my parents passed but here I am, enjoying the anniversary of their death with my two favorite people.

I peer under the table at the sleeping cats and smile. I need to focus on the two people that I have a future with and a life with, not the two who are long gone. It’s what my mother would want for me, anyway. The girl that hooked me onto the man that I love. Fuck. I’ve got to find a better time to tell him.

[plaguedoctormemes]

I was about to write a long-winded post illustrating how, from visiting my first pride 13 years ago with my lesbian grandmother to now after visiting what i think may be my 8th or 10th time and attending Pride across at least 4 states, Pride has only gotten more sanitized, more commercialised, more “safe” and apolitical- and thus, more disappointing. Pride in a lot of places including places like LA has become a half-assed rainbow-colored trade show.

Huge kudos to the 13 year olds running on all fours with furry masks and paws on and the sole kink booth with 3 people at it at my most recent Pride in one of the more liberal areas of the South. And Kudos to Pride when i visited Seattle more than 5 years ago that was actually a PRIDE with activism and nonconformity and radical love in a massive unorganized march down through the city. I haven’t quite lost all hope yet, but we desperately need Pride to become queerer and unprofitable. We need to agree to stop letting Pride just be a outdoors lackluster comic convention.

[alostlovergirl]

Bucky barnes or sebastian stan X innocent reader, where the reader goes to the doctor because she is constantly wet and feels tingling down there, and she doesn't know what it could be, so she goes to seek medical help, in a super beautiful clinic, with super cute doctor clothes, and still more with the nice and good doctor, bucky will take care of solving your problem in a very professional way (you know ;), 2,3,... X until she can't take it anymore, tying her legs wide open, talking dirty and manipulating her, and after finishing bucky says that every time you feel it you have to look for him, only he can make it stop, and gives the address of the "private clinic" to look for him. if there is any problem, I hope this fic is a little long.sorry if there are any mistakes, everything came from google translator

Open wide- Bucky Barnes x reader:

Summary: Taking a visit to the doctor concerning a private and embarrassing problem leads to some fun.

Warnings: Virgin reader, rough sex, rough taking of virginity, slight manipulation, crying.

Notes: I am so sorry anonymous for this taking so long. I have been dealing with a lot lately and I had to finish this quick. I hope you like it and I hope it is long enough for you. Thank you for your request!

Dr. Barnes is the best sexual therapist / Doctor around the Brooklyn area. He has dealt with multiple cases of couples with sexual frustration or non-communication with things in the bedroom. He has helped many achieve what they were looking for out of sex. Now, he was dealing with a case of a 21 year old woman, who apparently never dealt with sexual frustration in her life. Or never heard of sex. Or never had a sexual thought in her life ever apparently. It excited the older doctor. His mind wandered to a nervous, innocent woman opening up her tight, wet heat to him. To be seen by him for the first time, other than her parents. Bucky never thought of himself as a bad, uncomfortable doctor, but he has found it increasingly hard to control himself. After seeing pussy and the rare occasional virgin all damn day has had him in his office rubbing one off. So having a patient that has never heard of sex meant that maybe he could manipulate the woman to lose her precious virginity to his fateful techniques.

...

When he walked into his office with a pair of jeans and forest green sweater, binder full of files and right hand holding a black coffee, he didn't expect to see a shaking, small woman sitting in the cotton chair. She hair a blush on her increasingly not face and seemed mildly uncomfortable, squirming in the chair. ’ This was her?’, he thinks to himself, continuing past her and past the secretary booth, in pursuit of his office. She was gorgeous and her thighs would provide a great handle for him to pull her back on his aching dick.

Bucky sits in his plush seat, yawning before smiling to himself. He sends his nurse to get the young woman sitting there, waiting patiently. For a painful hour, he waits until he is ready to see her. His cock was throbbing in his pants, thinking about the wet mess that would be laying in front of him. He wasn't disappointed when he walked into a dripping wet pussy, facing the door. He had to hide his perverted side away and put on his friendly side.

"Good Morning, Miss." he says as he puts on some hand sanitizer and puts on his latex gloves. " How are we today?"

He hears the young women let out a sigh and breaths, shakily before speaking. " Nervous... ", god her soft voice was perfect. Shaky and quiet. It just made his dick jump in his pants again, but he has to control himself. ‘Don't freak her out more’ he tells himself before sitting himself in between her legs, putting his gloved hands on her warm thighs. He takes a deep breath, sneakily breathing the scent of her drenched, virgin pussy.

"Why ya nervous, dear? I'll help you out. Just tell me what's going on, alright?" he smiles when she nods in agreement. " What’s going on?"

He sits back and listens to the story over a 21 year old woman that never experienced hornieness or hormones. It's almost amusing to listen to the innocent woman laying on his table, rubbing her sticky thighs together. He acts professional, but in his mind, he was thinking of every way to " treat" his poor patient. As soon as she finishes, he scoots forward, putting his hands on her inner thighs and pulling them apart. " You know what you need? Some good old fashion relief.'' He is slowly losing his composure the longer she sits there with her pussy out in the open. " Let me help you."

He pushes her legs wide open, rubbing her inner thighs. He feels her tense, trying to close her legs. " Relax, darling" he presses his gloved thumb against her button. The little gasp she let out was music to his ears. She started to squirm, more arousal coming out of her little hole. He moves his thumb away only for thick strings of arousal wetting the gloved digit. He listens as her breathing quickens as he rubs his thumb against her sensitive nub.

"D-Doctor, what are you doing?” Her body temperature is slowly rising up as he continues rubbing her clit. Bucky smiles to himself, tracing his finger down to her opening, running it around her hole. He grips her thigh with an iron grip as she squirms around, trying to push back into the pleasurable feeling.

" You are so cute. This is all you needed to do, hun... But don't worry. I'll take care of you now." he chuckles, opening his mouth a bit, pushing his digit inside. She lets out a wanton moan. Bucky groans to himself as his cock was begging to let out of the ever growing tight jeans. He had to get a taste of her dripping wet cunt. Holding her thighs open as wide as they will go, he dips his head down, licking a firm stride along her cunt.

“D-doctor!” She lets out a gasp and closes her legs around his head. Bucky didn’t mind being trapped in her legs, close to her cunt, but he couldn’t breathe too well. He grabs her thighs and pulls them apart. He holds them tight enough to leave bruises while he works his magic mouth on her, sucking on her clit, relishing in her sweet taste. Virgin pussy has always tasted the best in Bucky’s opinion. He pulls away from her pussy, spits on it and goes right back down on her, hearing her moan out loudly, grinding on his face. His fingers climbed to the top of her cunt and pulled back the hood, giving him a more sensitive surface. He drools on her pussy, letting it dribble down on the table as he continues going down on her like a thanksgiving feast.

He feels a gushing sensation against his face, almost cutting off his airways. Bucky pried her legs off his neck and pulls away coughing. She was squirting everywhere, on the table, on him. Bucky groans, standing up, dripping wet. He takes off his sweater, and lab coat. He ties her up and smiles. “Look, you may be my favorite patient, but that doesn’t mean you can drown me.” He chuckles, shaking his damp hair. “Let me finish what I started darling.”

He starts taking off his belt, listening to her soft, quick breaths. She sounded scared, but Bucky was too horny to care at the moment. He got a taste of her virgin pussy, now he needed that virgin pussy on his cock. He needed to feel it squeezing around his every vein, every fucking inch as he forces himself into her tight hole. Bucky ties his back up and rubs his tip in her wet folds, smiling at the trembling woman, who was drooling a bit.

He aligns himself at her hole and pushes inside of her, bottoming out in her tight, warm pussy. It felt fucking amazing, the warmth made him feel like he was already about to fill her up. He grabs her thighs, thrusting inside, listening to pained groans and moans from the woman on the table. She squirmed against the confines of the lab coat and sweater tied to her wrists. Bucky moved his hips slowly, relishing in the pleasure of her cunt. “D-doctor..”, she groans out, breathly. The pleasure shot up her body, her eyes rolling back. Bucky pants to himself, eyes slightly crossing, loving the tightness and warmth.

He already felt like he was about to cum. Her pussy felt fucking amazing. The sticky, warm mess was more perfect then he could ever imagine. He looked down at her face, smiling as she was looking away with tears in her eyes and redness all over her face. He groans and wraps a gentle hand around her throat, so as not to scare the hell out of her. He turned her head back towards him, moving a bit faster.

Her hands grab onto his arm, whimpering and drooling. “D-dr. Barnes… Please… Please harder..”, She begged, getting redder with every word she said. He groans and stalls his hips, picking her up and fucking her into a wall. She cried out, scratching at his shoulders. “Bucky!”. She started to push on his chest, the pleasure became too much, but he didn’t stall. He holds her arms against the wall and pounds her little pussy, making it sticky and creamy. Her arousal drips down his cock and her legs, onto the floor.

He groans and pulls out, only to slam back into her. “Ah! F-feeling weird? L-lots of pressure”, tears run down her face. He smiles and decides to move slower. He makes sure that she could feel every inch and every fucking vein in his cock. He pushes her face into the wall as she started to fight back against the overwhelming feeling in her lower parts. She claws at his hand, shaking under him. She feels warm wetness run down her thighs and an overwhelming pleasure. Bucky kept going, chasing his orgasm. She pants, letting out little whines, being completely out of it. He kept going before pulling out of her and cums on his stomach and pussy. He coats his perfect body in his thick, white ropes. She looks at him with wide eyes, still trembling in his hands.

He gently put her down and helps her get cleaned up. She sits on the table, still tearful from being sore and confused. Bucky writes an address down on a piece of paper and gives it to her. “If you ever feel like that again, come to this address anytime… I’ll take care of you”, He pats her thighs, putting the crumbled piece of paper in his hands, smiling. He helps her out of the clinic and goes back to his office, satisfied. He is sure that she will be coming back to her every single fucking day.

[burnwater13]

Garsa Fwip's Sanctuary in Mos Espa, on Tatooine. Image from The Book of Boba Fett, Season 1, Episode 2, The Tribes of Tatooine. Calendar from DateWorks.

Grogu had heard of ‘Cantina Culture’, but honestly he thought it had something to do with infectious disease control. All sorts of people travelled to Tatooine and as a planet with a limited water supply, hygiene practices that were typical on Corellia or Chandrila couldn’t be readily employed. You had to bring your own sanitizer and you had to understand that the sanitizing stations at the space port near Mos Eisley had run out of sanitizing anything a long time ago. 

He was explaining that all to Peli Motto when she began to laugh, loudly and with more gusto than a serious discussion of public hygiene deserved. 

“Buddy, ‘Cantina Culture’ isn't about that kind of biology. It’s about the people who go to a cantina and the sort of things they expect of that cantina. For instance, here, everyone who goes into the cantina knows ya gotta be able to play sabacc. If ya can’t play, ya stay. Simple rule. Now, take Mos Pelgo…”

Grogu waved his hands to interrupt her to no avail.

“They… Okay, okay, Freetown, whatever. Any how, up there ya gotta have a spotchka. Ya gotta share the latest gossip. Ya gotta laugh at the Marshal’s jokes. That’s how they roll up there. Over in Mos Espa, well, there you better have more credits than ya know what to do with. Those Twi’lek dancers and servers will spend it for ya before you can say, ‘No, I don’t want my boots polished’. Even if I had boots needing polishing I wouldn’t let them do it at three times the cost of having the pit droids do it. Ridiculous waste of credits.”

She stopped talking to take a breath and then didn’t start back up. 

“Where was I? Oh, yeah, depending on the town, the people, the products available, and a bunch of other factors, every cantina you walk into is nothing like the last cantina you were in. That’s ‘Cantina Culture’. I’m surprised yer dad didn't explain that to ya. Although, come ta’ think of it, do Mandalorian’s even have cantinas?”

Peli was looking at him expectantly as if he and his dad had been to a bunch of them over the course of their adventures. He shrugged at her. He didn’t think that Mandalorians bothered with stuff like that. They were too busy trying to make sure that ex-Imps weren’t hiding around the corner from everywhere they were.

“Well, when yer dad gets back, he can tell us all about ‘em.”

Peli had settled the matter to her own satisfaction and then walked back to her office, yelling at the pit droids to get her boots and start polishing them. Grogu giggled at that. You never knew which part of a conversation you had with her was going to be the part that stuck. Grogu doubted that she’d remember to ask his dad about Mandalorian cantinas and what kind of culture they had. 

Grogu thought that was a silly question any way. Based on everything they already knew about Din Djarin and the handful of other Mandalorians he’d met, Grogu could tell you just what a Mandalorian cantina was like. 

First, it wasn’t called a cantina. It was called a ‘bar’. It was called that because cantina sounded too fun and tavern was too friendly. ‘Bar’ conveyed the right sort of purposefulness of the establishment. Get in, get out, get back to work.

Mandalorians were very deliberate people and they didn’t mess around with subtleties. You lined up at the bar top and were given a drink with a straw and you put your foot on the bar at the bottom of the structure to allow you to rest a little. No chairs. No tables. No booths. No music. No decorations. No problems. 

Grogu had no doubt that they entered and left in shifts and were only allowed there at certain times of day and on certain days of the week. Organized, methodical, routine, predictable, boring certainty. 

Then he considered what a Jedi cantina would be like. He sighed and laughed at the same time. His first thought was that it would be empty and his second thought was it would be the absolute opposite of a Mandalorian bar. It would be filled with sound. At least two or three different sources of music would be present and playing at the same time. You would just focus on the one you liked better and you wouldn’t even notice the others. The furniture would look like it had been found at a recycling center. It would be every size, every style, every color and just pushed into the large room in a manner that would immediately suggest that it had once been used to barricade the entry. 

Grogu didn’t know who would have been foolish enough to try and attack a Jedi cantina. Only a bunch of fools. Of course the Jedi wouldn’t have called it a cantina either. They would have given it a semi-ironic nickname like a ‘watering hole’ or a lounge. The images those names evoked were almost opposites and that's just what the Jedi would have been counting on. No reason to advertise that the location was primarily about goofing off and playing chess or darts with your fellow knights and masters, no padawans allowed. 

He giggled at that. He suspected that rule would apply to younglings as well, but he couldn’t imagine a Jedi watering hole that would have been able to keep Ian out. His friend had an absolute sixth sense for spaces like that and had made a regular study of them at the Jedi Temple. That’s how Master Yoda’s private swamp ended up hosting a younglings festival night when the powerful Jedi had been called away to travel to Trymant IV.  Grogu wished that event had established a youngling cantina culture, but you couldn’t hide a fifty foot water slide from Master Yoda, no matter how many of the younglings worked together to make it disappear.

“Hey buddy, I’m back. Peli said you wanted to go to the Cin Vhetin.”

The Mandalorian was suddenly there and seemed pretty happy for a change. 

Grogu asked why.

“Peli said you wanted to see a real honest to B’Omarr Mandalorian drinking establishment. One just opened here in Mos Eisley. If we go now they’ll still have Fire Stacks. You won’t want to miss them.”

Huh? A Mandalorian drinking establishment that served food? You could have knocked Grogu over with a feather. His dad wanted to get something to eat that wasn't a ration pack? Grogu jumped up into his dad’s arms and bumped his head against the Mandalorian’s helmet. He thought it was important to encourage his dad to go new places and try new things, especially when he was along for the ride.

[gotham25052]

Dark Waters

Part 6

Contents: Part 1 Part 2 Part 3 Part 4 Part 5 Part 7

As the social fabric of Gotham begins to fray and the Joker's intrusion into her life escalates, Anna struggles to maintain control. But is she threatened by the Joker or by something within herself?

Author's note: Annie has some visitors at the hospital...

TW: 18+, violence, mild sexual content, heavy themes including contemplation of death, mention of morgue, body bag, funeral homes, suspected/inferred necrophilia (nothing graphic)

Dark Waters, Part 6

At first, everything that was happening blurred together for Annie at the hospital. She didn't remember very much from day to day. The parade of doctors and nurses never ended - so many faces passing by her bed. They were constantly checking her heart rate, drawing her blood, sending her for scans. An exhaustion like nothing she had felt before pursued her, and she just wanted them all to go away so that she could sleep.

She felt in the beginning like they were killing her with all the testing, but when she started to have longer breaks between coughing fits, she realized the antibiotics they were using were working. The first time she slept through the night without waking up in a struggle to breath, she felt like she was in heaven.

The sameness of the days was filled with repeated moments - breathing treatments, short walks in the hospital's hallways - until she wasn't sure how many times she had followed the same routine. But she could see from the calendar the nurses refreshed each week that about a month had passed since she entered the hospital.

She had some difficulty acting as if she was her new pseudonym, Sarah Lilton, but her usual reticence to talk and her stoicism served her well and helped her avoid mistakes when talking. Silence was her ally.

One of the doctors, the one who seemed to be in charge, she thought it was Dr. Breall - he always studied her vitals with wide eyes, as if she posed some serious danger to him. It was hard for her to understand. She didn't think she came across as very threatening, here ill in the hospital. She had no idea that the Joker had threatened this particular doctor with impromptu surgery if she didn't recover. Though, perhaps it was somewhat naive of her not to guess that some type of intimidation had happened.

The one thing that gave her an anchor in this new world was the image of the Joker in her mind. His voice, his dirty hair, it was so far removed from this sanitized existence. She dwelled on all the details of him, clinging to them like a lifeline to the outside world.

She watched the news each day on the TV in her room, hoping to catch a glimpse of him, some reminder that he was actually out there. But hardly any information about him surfaced. Instead, stories about Dent's passport system and the checkpoints took up most of the broadcasts. Little incidents had begun to happen - a small demonstration of peaceful protesters had tried to walk through a checkpoint, refusing to show their passports, and had been disbursed with tear gas and arrested. Bizarrely, a few of them were wearing clown masks - Annie could hardly believe a peaceful demonstrator was wearing the same mask as the Joker's armed thugs. But in such a divided city, the citizens of Lower Gotham seemed to be embracing anything that was against Dent's checkpoints.

The news was full of other related events. A new mother with her baby was held up for hours because she didn't have paperwork for the newborn; stores were short on inventory because of truckers' difficulty passing the border between the two halves of the city. But these events were trivial compared to the last one the news had covered - the details stayed with her and made her feel uneasy. A man had pulled out a gun when passing through the main checkpoint on the largest bridge between Lower and Upper Gotham. He had mortally wounded two of the officers staffing the booths there and was also killed himself. The story explained that he was a father with three children, an average man who had never shown any signs of violence before. Something about the situation in Gotham now had pushed this man to extremes he never would have come to otherwise. Annie wondered what would happen as the weather warmed into spring and the city's residents returned to the streets.

"Well, Sarah, you have someone famous coming to visit you today," the nurse said one morning. "Lucky lady, the best room in the hospital and important visitors." Annie's brow furrowed, her first thought of someone famous that she knew being the Joker, but knowing that the nurse wouldn't be excited about a visit from him. The nurse seemed to expect a response, so Annie responded with a hollow, "Yes, I'm very lucky." She attempted an awkward smile, but knew it must have not been convincing. The nurse just shook her head and laughed, finishing up recording her vitals for the morning.

The nurses and staff straightened up her room and encouraged her to brush her hair. There was some kind of strange excitement in the air for this visit. Annie could barely control her nerves - anything out of the ordinary was concerning to her. She had no idea how or when she would get out of this hospital, and she was constantly afraid of giving away her identity. Someone even put a bouquet of flowers on the table by her bed, but they had no meaning to her - she knew they were there just as decoration, to be inviting to whatever guest was coming. She suddenly felt quite alone, quite a lot more alone than she had felt at any time during her stay in the hospital so far.

Later that morning, her fear only increased when she saw two police officers enter the room, throwing her into a panic. She maintained the same stoic composure she had adopted for her entire stay in the hospital, but under the surface she knew she may have been discovered.

However, when the next person strode in, she knew the officers were just a security detail. It was Mayor Dent, looking much larger in life than he did on TV screens. He walked in with practiced ease, looking cheerful despite the bleak hospital walls. He sat down in the chair by her bed, and her gaze was suddenly far away, thinking of a very different person who had been there in the same chair when she first arrived.

Her faraway stare and look of concern didn't seem to phase Dent, as he regarded her and said "Good morning, Sarah, I'm sorry to be intruding on you like this," with the easiest affability in the world. She looked at him with his signature blond hair and tailored suit, everything painting the picture of a dedicated and charismatic public servant. Anyone would be disarmed by his politeness, his attractive appearance. But Annie was not just anyone, she had experience with lawyers and the legal system, and she was not so easily charmed. Her vigilance was only increased by his smooth demeanor and polite words.

"How are you feeling," he asked, seeming to really want to know the answer. She was hoping he wouldn't ask questions and was already at a loss as to how to answer. "Um, I feel good, much better," she said, looking at him anxiously. "Ok, that's good," he replied, seeming to smile away her awkwardness.

"Well, it's a beautiful day outside, hopefully you'll get to go home soon and enjoy being free from this hospital. I know you must be tired of the long stay you've had here."

She nodded silently and he shifted in his seat, clearly ready to pursue a different line of inquiry.

"Sarah, I came today to ask for your help. Do you remember… how you got to the hospital?"

Her eyes rolled to the side, already feeling suffocated. This must be why he was here. "I remember some of it, not all," she said carefully.

"Well, you must remember the man who brought you here, he would be hard to forget, with the makeup and all," another easy smile spread across Dent's face, as if he was dismissing the Joker's appearance, making light of the clown that was terrorizing Gotham.

"Yes, yes, I think it was the Joker, right? Or maybe someone pretending to be him? I've seen him on the news before. Yes, it was all very strange for me." She had at least thought about what she might say if asked about how she arrived, during her long weeks of recovery in the hospital, so she had some idea of how to respond to these types of questions. The words felt strange in her mouth, though - she had always preferred silence to lying.

"We are just wondering why he went to the trouble to bring you here. He took a huge risk when he came to this hospital. It would be odd to do that for a stranger - are you sure you've never met him before?" his face had become more serious, the interrogation skills of the lawyer becoming more apparent.

"Yes, I had just gone out to try to find a clinic, because I was so sick, and I couldn't handle the snow and fainted. I have no idea why he was there, why he brought me here. He does seem… unpredictable? Maybe it was some kind of a… joke?"

"Well, I suppose that's possible," said Dent, frustration beginning to creep into his voice. It was clear to her that he had something else up his sleeve, something he was going to throw at her. He clearly didn't believe her story.

"So Sarah… Sarah Lilton, right?" She nodded her head slowly. "Let's hear a little more about you - where did you grow up? Where do you work?" His words had become icy, and his demeanor was no longer the affable politician. He was instead the clever lawyer.

She paused, knowing she couldn't answer those questions convincingly. She took a deep breath, following her only option at this point. "I'm feeling tired, please, I don't want to answer any more questions today."

"You can't even tell me where you work?" he said with mock surprise.

Her demeanor changed too, and despite her small frame and the clear marks illness had left on her, her eyes held him in a clear, unflinching gaze. "I don't think I have to answer your questions. If you are accusing me of something, then I'll need a lawyer, please."

She could hear him exhale, his anger finally rising to the surface.

This interview had not gone in the way he had hoped, at all, he realized. How could this clown draw these types of people to him, with their insane loyalty? Dent himself didn't have those kinds of followers - his people had turned on him as soon as his popularity in the polls began to fall. How did the Joker inspire this kind of devotion? They must all be lunatics. Dent cursed the fate that had pitted him against such a foe. He wished that he could have brought his gun to the hospital, but of course that wasn't allowed. Looking at her, somehow he doubted even that would make her give him away.

He was already sitting quite close to the bed, and now his arm shot out and grabbed her wrist. He wasn't able to yell or threaten her there in the hospital, but all his anger was channeled down into his grip on her. His face contorted with stress and the effort he was putting in to squeezing her wrist. She drew in a sharp breath with the pain, feeling like her bones would break, but her gaze remained unwavering and never left his face.

He finally let go with a sigh of frustration and got up. He didn't look at her again. He spoke to the officers at the door. "As soon as she's well enough, book her, get her down to the station. She goes directly from the hospital to the station." He walked out of the room, resuming his usual easy manner, so that the doctors and nurses didn't even know what had happened. They had been remarking on how their patient and Dent could have almost been brother and sister, or even an attractive couple, with their similarly light colored hair (though hers was slightly darker than his) and delicate features. They both looked almost angelic.

She had felt somewhat trapped before, not knowing how she would leave, but now the hospital became a prison for her. She knew they would come for her, and from there, she knew that the police could bypass some of her legal rights if they submitted her for a psychiatric evaluation and deemed her to be Arkham material. All her fears of the mental institution flooded back now, and she began to wish the Joker had left her there in the snow. She only knew the rumors about Arkham, but they were enough for her to recognize that she wouldn't survive there.

She didn't completely lose hope that there would be a way out, but any expectation of freedom seemed very doubtful with the increased security that seemed to have begun after Dent's visit. The false kindness of his words also stayed with her. It was frightening to see the monster behind a man with such a good public image and wholesome appearance.

The flowers at her bedside were starting to wilt. She wondered if they would come and discard it, or if she should try to take care of it. She hadn't paid any attention to it, assuming it was some kind of decor that was meant to make her room more attractive for Dent's visit. But now, regarding it, she noticed it was quite an unusual collection of flowers - dark purple irises next to yellow lilies and pale pink roses - the colors clashed more than they complimented one another. She studied it more closely, noticing that there was a note in the small plastic holder. She reached out and took it, her curiosity now taking over. She opened it and read the simple message, "Wait for me."

Somehow it made sense that he would have left a message for her hidden in plain sight. She held it close to her for a moment, feeling warmed from within knowing that he was working on a way to get her out. She came back to herself and realized she needed to hide it. She placed the message in her waistband - she realized the best thing to do would be to flush it. At this point it was possible they would be going through the wastebaskets in the room.

It was late afternoon, the time that the janitors usually came around to the rooms to clean the floors and bathrooms. She often observed them working, just as a distraction from the boredom of being stuck in bed. Today she quickly realized that something was different - only one person entered the room.

He had his back to her, but she recognized him immediately from the smooth lines of his tall form. She might also have noticed it was him from the strange, abrupt way he mopped. Somehow it looked like the mop was guiding him instead of him guiding the mop. Otherwise he looked very much like anyone else in the hospital - he had his curly hair pulled back, erasing its unique texture, and there wasn't a hint of green in it.

She gasped as a nurse walked into the room, and she quickly looked away from his figure in the corner, not wanting to draw attention to him. The nurse took care of the equipment around her, noting the various readings from the monitors. "Your heart rate is high, Sarah, are you feeling all right?" she asked.

"Um, yes, just - I think I had a nightmare, like a flashback to when I was out there in the snow," Annie stumbled out.

"Yes, you have been through a lot. I'll check on it again later."

Annie closed her eyes and turned toward the wall to avoid talking further. She wasn't sure when the nurse left, but she realized there must be no one else in the room when she felt his face in her hair, his nose pressed to her scalp as he gathered the rest of it in handfuls and brought it around his face.

She would have been surprised if she could have read his thoughts. In fact, when he found her, seeing her hair strewn out on the snow had affected him in a way he didn't fully understand. He was the Joker, he personally sliced open bodies without a second thought, nothing phased him. Maybe it was some suppressed memory, or something about the contrast of the warm color of her hair on the unforgiving whiteness of the snow, but the image had stayed with him and allowed him little rest. Now he just wanted to feel it around him, to feel her warmth in the strands.

She stayed motionless, unsure of what to do and how to respond. He finally pulled back, though his face was still quite close as he knelt there by the bed. She turned her head to look at him. He had none of his usual makeup, his face naked in a way that had surprised her before on the rocky seawall. The surgical mask he had likely been wearing while cleaning was pulled down under his chin, revealing the familiar outline of his scars.

Her eyes ran over the jagged, protruding marks branching back from his lips. Here in the hospital they just looked like mundane injuries, injuries that needed to be fixed. They were old wounds that had hurt him, weakened him. She suddenly understood some small part of why he painted his face. The paint made the scars a prominent mark of his identity, something that distinguished him and struck fear into the viewer. They were no longer just a damaged echo from his past.

But the origin of his scars seemed too intimate, too personal, for her to dwell on. Despite her new understanding of her own feelings, he was still a remote being for her, hard to grasp. Her eyes explored the rest of his face. He looked tired, worn, dark circles under his eyes, his face washed-out and colorless.

She didn't know what to say, but she felt somehow responsible for the challenges he was facing in the effort to get her out of the hospital. "I'm sorry I did this…. I'm sorry I put you in this situation," she said guiltily.

"Shhh, no kitten, this is fun for me, I like a challenge," he said quietly, a toothy smile overtaking the normality of his face and making it clear he was no less than the Joker, even with the makeup off.

"What's this," he said, suddenly picking up her arm. His eyes had caught the discolored ring around her wrist, the bruise spreading black and red on her pale skin away from where Dent had held her several days before. "Have they changed medical practices recently? Is this some new treatment?"

"It's nothing, it will be gone in a week. Please, don't worry about it." She pleaded with him, knowing that she didn't want to stoke the fires between him and Dent any further. She feared that the explosion that would happen when the two met would blow them both away.

"Mmm hmmm," he said noncommittally. "Dent did this, didn't he? My people here on the inside, they told me he visited you. I guess it didn't end too well." His eyelids half closed and his expression became completely blank, in a way she had not seen before. But she knew instinctively that this must be his look when he was in his most dangerous of moods.

"Forget it, please," she repeated, and he shook off the trance he had been in for a moment. "Ok, kitten, we don't have much time. We have to go over the plan to get you out of here."

He stayed on his knees by the bed, looking at her and combing her hair back with his fingers, reordering it after he had messed it up so badly wrapping it around his face.

"It's going to be difficult, getting you out. Dent has gotten smarter, meaner."

He took a strand of hair and smoothed it back carefully behind her ear.

He quietly shared the details of what would happen, and she grew more and more alarmed. "No clothes?" she said. He nodded and continued to explain, and she was liking the plan less and less as he went. He pulled a small vial from the pocket of the scrubs he was wearing and placed it in her hand. "This will help, it will make your skin paler and will slow your breathing."

"Will I be asleep?"

"No, not exactly. You'll just feel very… sluggish. And this too" he pulled out another small container. She opened it, revealing a bluish cream. "Just put a little around your eyes and on your lips. It won't fool someone experienced, but for anyone not really paying attention, it will work." The idea of being put in this situation terrified her, and she showed it on her face.

"Listen, Annie, you know as well as me that the first thing they'll do is send you to Arkham. I don't know exactly what you've heard, but it's ten times worse than any of the rumors about it. This is our best chance to get you out of here."

She sighed. "I'll do it. I don't know if it will work."

"It will work," he said. "I'm stacking the odds in your favor."

He was finishing with the final few strands of her hair, taking them back away from her face.

"You follow my plan this time, but I'm telling you something you should remember - you should never trust someone else's plan. Next time, you make your own plan, and then you have a second plan ready if that one fails too. That's the only way to survive in this world."

She looked at him, confused. She could barely handle the plan he had given her.

It was clear that he would have to leave now that he had finished sharing the details with her. Every second he was here added to the risk that he would be discovered.

She wondered how he would say goodbye - they both knew there was something between them, but there was certainly no precedent for what to do in such a strange relationship, in as unromantic a setting as a hospital. She looked at him with wide eyes, dwelling on his face and worried that she may never make it out of the hospital at all. He began to rise to leave, but while still on his knees, he brought his face to the side of her head and came close to her ear, the ear he had so carefully uncovered while smoothing back her hair. She felt his lips brush against it, and then his teeth gently closed on her earlobe, sending a chill down her neck. He quickly withdrew and walked backwards, grabbing the mop, his smile disappearing as he placed the surgical mask back over the lower half of his face. He became anonymous again with the addition of the mask and turned around, disappearing quickly into the hallway.

She thought she had felt alone before. Now she truly did.

She was glad that only a week had passed between the time she learned about the plan and the time she woke from a nap in the evening to the nurse's aide whispering, "It's time." She had dreaded the day and simply wanted to get it over with, whatever the outcome.

She had seen this aide before, but never knew that she was working for the Joker. "Ok," said Annie, with little else that she could say or do. She had gone over the tasks she needed to complete several times before in her mind. Drink the contents of the vial, put on a little of the blue makeup… After her first experience with one of the Joker's concoctions, that time involuntarily, she was very reluctant to take it. But she recalled the reason for all this, and the threat of Arkham, and she drank it in one swallow. The mild sweet taste caught her by surprise. But she soon felt dizzy and knew she didn't have a lot of time. She dabbed on the makeup and took off the flimsy hospital gown, hesitating for a moment before she placed herself into the cold plastic of the body bag on the gurney that the aide had brought. The dizziness was becoming overwhelming now, and the nurse's aide looked down on her with a concerned expression. Annie managed to say, "Please help, zip it for me?" And the aide complied, zipping up the bag almost but not completely, as she'd been instructed, but not before she tied on the toe tag.

Annie lay in the dark inside the bag, all of her senses numbed somewhat and her powers of movement slowed. But she could feel the gurney being pushed down the hallway and into an elevator. She knew they would be heading to the hospital morgue, the transit point that the Joker's escape plan centered around. According to him, they would just check the tag and place her into a compartment, almost like a drawer. She felt completely powerless and the dizziness was now joined by nausea, making everything worse.

The gurney finally halted, and Annie heard the aide talking to someone, a man. It sounded like this was where she was being handed off at the morgue. All was silent for a while, and then she heard the man's voice somewhere at a distance, saying, "Ok, good sir, there you go. All tucked in for the night." Was there someone else in the room? Her thinking was dulled a bit just like her movements, but she finally put together that he must be talking to the bodies. Was he inspecting them before he closed the morgue for the night? He seemed to have nicknames for each one, which was quickly becoming disturbing.

She suddenly heard the sound of the zipper above her face and used all the self-control she had to stay as still as she could. He unzipped it all the way down to her feet, and she felt the cold air of the morgue hit her naked skin. "Oh, a young one, this is out of the ordinary…" the man began, immediately putting her on alert. She could feel him near her shoulder - he must have been taking a strand of her hair in his hand. "And such pretty hair." She could only guess that he must be staring at her, and she knew the gig was up. If he touched her skin, there was no way she could remain still. Her movements might be slow and awkward, but she would most definitely give herself away. The Joker's plan would be up in smoke, and she was sure the security around her would be heightened a thousandfold with this escape attempt.

She was surprised to feel a cold line under on her upper lip, like someone holding a piece of metal there. She still managed to stay motionless, but knew it couldn't bode well. The feeling disappeared and she knew the man must be gone. She didn't dare open her eyes.

The man had left her there, poking his head out into the hallway. "Hey Dr. Breall, is this one of your patients? She's here in the morgue, but she seems to be breathing." He pulled the doctor in from the hallway. "Oh my God," he said, when he saw the fog on the mirror the man held below her nose.

Dr. Breall wasn't stupid, he guessed this was some plan the Joker had to get her out. And the sooner she was out of his care, the sooner he would be off the hook with the Joker's threat. He turned his attention from Annie to the man, a decisive look taking over his panicked face. He would take a risk in an effort to keep himself out of trouble.

"Look, Ethan, I've had my suspicions about you down here in this morgue. Your job is to check the toe tags and put them in the drawer, that's it. So why is the bag completely unzipped on this body? I may be able to turn a blind eye to whatever you do down here if you listen and do what I say: you take this body, and you put it in a drawer like you would usually do, but don't you dare lay a finger on it. Just leave it be, don't pay any attention to it. My life is on the line here, so you better be sure if you do anything differently, I'll have your name plastered in the papers with whatever you do down here. Do you understand?"

"I don't do anything wrong…"

"Maybe you don't. But if the overseeing doctor of Gotham General accuses you of something, how do you think that will end up for you?"

"Yeah, I understand." She could hear the zipper being closed and she felt some relief at simply being covered again, though it was small comfort with such a thin protection.

She soon felt the hard platform she was lying on raised and placed on another surface, and then all the light she could see through the slots in the zipper were gone and she was in complete darkness, cold and silent. It was clear with the receding sounds and doors closing that the morgue attendant had finally left for the night. She was afraid of falling asleep in the cold, with the effects of the drug she had taken. She was frightened that she may never wake up. She hardly knew she was doing it, but suddenly she realized she had gone far back, deep into her mind, and she was reciting verses she remembered from her youth. They didn't hold particular meaning or comfort for her in this situation, but the simple act of remembering and keeping her lips moving refreshed her and kept her from sleep.

It would have been quite terrifying if a bystander had walked into the morgue that night. If they listened very carefully, they would have heard whispered verses, enunciated clearly and quietly, from the more unsettling parts of the Bible, from Revelation, from Job. She went through all the verses she knew that night. She was one of those who had memorized several books of the Bible, so it kept her occupied for much of the night. Luckily, no one entered to hear the muffled whispers in the otherwise still metal room.

Morning finally came. New staff had arrived at the hospital morgue for the day shift, and hearing voices lifted Annie's spirits. The drug also seemed to be wearing off, making her feel more aware and able to move freely. She would have to hope that they did not unzip the bag to look at her. The voices came closer to the compartment she was in and began to open the drawer. She made an effort to breath as shallowly as possible to avoid giving herself away. Luckily, they seemed to not be paying much attention to her.

"Huh, Langendecker funeral home? I've never seen this one," a man's voice said. Another man answered, "Well, they seem pretty anxious to get this body, they said the family wants the funeral as soon as possible."

"Ok, well, whatever." One of them opened the bag from the bottom to check the toe tag, making it clear that it was a two-way zipper. The fact that the morgue's night attendant had opened the zipper from the top became even more disturbing in her mind.

"Yeah, that matches. Ok, lets get it out there and be done with this one at least." She felt them lift the bag onto some other surface, and then she was being wheeled through some large room in the morgue. When they reached the loading dock doors and headed outside, the sunlight filtered through the gaps in the zipper and the stripe of light gave her hope that she was done with her ordeal.

She felt herself being transferred yet again. One of the morgue staff asked, "Langendecker, you guys new in the area or something?"

"Oh, we're based more on the outskirts of town, you probably haven't heard of us before," a new voice answered.

They seemed to have loaded her into a vehicle. In another few minutes, she could feel movement and knew they were leaving. She felt more relieved the more the distance grew between her and the hospital, though the deep cold that she had felt throughout the night and the strange aftereffects of the drug made also made her ill. Someone unzipped the bag over her face and the sun blinded her. Her hands involuntarily went up to her face to protect them from the onslaught of light. "Kitten, it's me," his familiar voice said. She leaned back, now allowing the shivering that had been building all night to break out with vigor. He took a blanket he seemed to have brought for the occasion and draped it over her as he unzipped the bag. She quickly picked up on what was happening and wrapped the blanket around herself, both for warmth and to cover her body. She was sitting next to him in a large van, shelves arranged on one side - it must be a funeral home's van, meant for transporting bodies from the hospital. She was thankful it was empty except for the Joker and his men.

"Here, sit up. Drink this." he said, handing her a thermos. "It's a great antidote."

"I don't know if I want to drink any of the things you mix up," she said, her teeth chattering. "Just drink," he said, smiling.

She took a cautious sip. "Is this… hot chocolate?"

"Yeah, it is. It helps, trust me. I tried that stuff you had a few weeks ago. It's awful."

The familiar warm taste did seem to chase away the remaining numbness that the drug had induced, and warmed her from the relentless cold that had plagued her at night.

He seemed to be in a delighted mood; she wasn't sure if it was because he had gotten her out or because he had fooled Dent again. She suspected it was probably a combination of the two. He must have decided the occasion was worth his full attire - he was wearing his suit, purple jacket, everything - and his face seemed freshly painted.

"The woman who helped me - will she be all right?" Annie asked.

"Well, she wouldn't be, if she was still here, but she is flying to back to her home country right now, to her family, a very wealthy woman now. It's what she wanted, for her help," he answered, giving Annie some consolation. She didn't want to be personally responsible for someone else's imprisonment.

"I brought you some clothes, kitten. You really don't have much to choose from, you know."

The trivial topic of her wardrobe struck her as incredibly out of place considering the ordeal she had just been through. She took the shirt and pants he handed her.

"Go ahead," he said casually. Her eyes roamed over to him and then to the other two men in the back of the van, and then up to the driver. He rolled his eyes. "Ok, kitten, we'll find a way."

He went up to the front and talked to the driver, who pulled over into a small, empty parking lot.

"We have to stay here in the van. We don't want you on any security cameras in the city."

"Uh, everyone look away, the kitten is going to change." The men looked confused but when they saw the Joker's face, they moved to the front and started smoking together. "Give me the blanket. Come on, I'm not looking." He turned his head and closed his eyes, holding his arms out for the blanket, looking incredibly comical in his intimidating attire in such an unusual posture. She unwrapped the blanket from around her body and placed one corner in each of his hands. She put on the shirt and pants, thankful to be covered in normal clothing again.

"Are you done?" he drawled impatiently. "Yes," she said, pulling the blanket from his hands and wrapping it around her shoulders. "Let's go, to the exchange," he yelled to the front, and the driver took off again.

They drove for a while longer, until they found themselves on one of the subterranean streets of Gotham. These places always frightened Annie - she avoided them when alone, but often saw them through the bus windows as she commuted from home to work. They came to an area that was mostly free of onlookers, except for one seemingly homeless man wandering near an abandoned car. The funeral van pulled up right next to the car, the Joker announcing, "Time to move."

The men quickly exited the funeral van, getting into the car. The Joker took Annie by the arm, guiding her into the car, and they were soon speeding away again. Looking back, Annie saw the van suddenly burst into flame. The man under the bridge must have been instructed to burn it once they were far enough away. It occurred to her that it must have taken a huge amount of planning to get her out safely and she looked at the Joker, in awe of his ability to work miracles like this. She realized she didn't have to be Sarah anymore and breathed a sigh of relief, leaning her head back in the seat and closing her eyes. He glanced over at her, a knowing smile on his face, and then resumed watching the city go by out his window.

"You're home," she heard him say, and woke up - she must have dozed off in the car.

"Home?" she said, confused.

"Yeah, your apartment…" She came back to herself, realizing they were indeed pulled up in front of her apartment building. It felt very strange to be back. He took her arm and helped brace her as she walked up the steps - she was still unsteady on her feet. "You're not worried about being seen?" she asked, looking around them. "No, kitten, we took out the security cameras around your apartment months ago. And we're in Lower Gotham now." He pointed into the distance, where a small group of young men was gathered on a corner. A couple of them wore clown masks, and it was hard to tell, but it looked like one wore the distinctive white, black, and red clown makeup. "Copycats," he said, "No one knows who the real one is now."

She let the information sink in, feeling like she had landed back in some alien world, not her own small corner of Gotham. But if there were gangs of disorderly clowns roaming the streets, it was hardly more dangerous to her than the police would be now. And the way he was supporting her gave her comfort, making her feel protected in this new world. As they finally came to her door and opened it, she realized that he and his men must have cleaned up the mess she had left here when she was ill.

He took her by the hand, the unusual gesture sending warmth up through her arm. His hands were so warm without the gloves. He must have taken them off. He sat her on the bed, and took a place beside her. He put his hand on the side of her neck, guiding her chin upward and turning her face toward him gently. His fingers touched her ear and his thumb glided over her unmarked cheek, feeling the smooth unbroken skin. His steadfast gaze and absolute concentration on her hit her deeply. Everything around them seemed to stop - she wouldn't have been surprised if the clock on her bedstand had ceased its endless ticking. "I want you to rest. I want you to get stronger," he told her, his voice wrapping around her like velvet. "I'm going to go now, you tell my guys outside if you need anything."

He began to rise from the bed, but she didn't let go of his hand.

He turned back, sitting down beside her again. She saw his eyes scanning over her face, and knew he must be realizing what a mess she had made with the makeup he had given her. It suddenly occurred to her that she must look hideous, with the blanched skin that probably still remained as an effect of the drug and her already hollowed-out countenance from her illness. She looked away, embarrassed. Her eyes darted back to him quickly though, when she felt his breath on her skin and his lips pressed against hers. They looked at one another, each wanting to see the other so close like this. The green and brown sparks danced in his dark eyes - they reminded her of the first time he held her in the ballroom. His eyes were so much more familiar now, but she still didn't understand the fire behind them.

The makeup on his lips gave them a strange slippery feel, but with the softness and warmth of them, she quickly grew accustomed to the feeling and the waxy taste that entered her mouth. She was surprised when he pulled back and reached up with his free hand, pulling down her lower lip. She half smiled, wondering what he was doing. "They're crooked," he said, running his thumb over her bottom row of teeth.

"They didn't believe in going to the dentist, where I grew up," she explained.

"Why?" he asked.

"Well… they believe that God should heal you if you have a problem. No doctors, no dentists," she said slowly, looking down, clearly remembering some unfortunate consequences of that belief. It was something more serious than crooked teeth, though it was hard to tell if her memory related to her own past or some other unfortunate soul's experience in that community.

"I like it," he said, bringing his face close to hers again. "I'm glad God didn't heal you." Their lips met and she could feel his tongue run along her teeth. They both closed their eyes this time, lost in their concentration. The hands they had been holding slowly fell to the bed as all their focus centered around the kiss. His hand surrounded hers and he pushed it down into the mattress distractedly.

The warmth of his lips, the light touch of his fingers on her neck, she didn't want it to end. It was a wonderful antidote to the numbing medicine she had taken in the hospital and the bleakness of the cold drawer she had spent the night in.

She felt so different about the way he kissed her - in her past experience, she had been kissed greedily, guiltily, as if her husband had wanted to take something away from her. This kiss was the opposite - it was warm, generous. It was as if he wasn't taking anything from her but instead giving her everything. She was completely lost in it. In some corner of her mind she recognized the absurdity of the worst criminal mastermind in the history of the city, having a kiss that was so delicate and accommodating to her. Or, the strange thought flitted across her brain, still overwhelmed by the day's events and the aftereffects of the drug she had taken, perhaps the devil's kiss is always sweet…

She curled her legs up onto the bed, drawing her knees beside him, hardly noticing she was doing it. She wanted to be closer to him, she wanted to wrap herself around him.

He drew back, his eyelids drooping, a warm breath passing out through his open lips. His expression was unsettlingly reminiscent of the look of extreme anger he had when he saw the mark Dent had left on her arm in the hospital. The intense feelings of hatred and lust both seemed to shape his features the same way - giving him a serious countenance and half-closed eyes.

He brought his hand up to smooth back his unruly hair, shifting his expression.

"Are you seducing me, kitten?" he asked lightly, turning his head and looking at her from the corners of his eyes.

He slid down to sit on the floor beside the bed and gave her a gentle push with his free hand, urging her to lie down. "Go to sleep now, I'll stay here for a while. Just sleep."

She obediently lay down on her side, allowing her gaze to roam over his hand around hers and explore the intricate colors of his hair. She felt like she was feasting, seeing him so close there. She was incredibly tired, and yet she was enjoying the free reign she was giving herself to look at him. His eyes finally rolled up to meet hers, as if he was telling her that playtime was over. She finally let her eyes close, and sleep quickly overtook her exhausted body.

When she woke up the next day, he wasn't there, but she found a white and red blur where his face had been, on the sheet hanging down over the mattress. She remembered the time she had sat in the same position all night long, when he had slept in her bed, so long ago. It seemed like lifetimes ago now. She knelt beside the bed, running her hand over the smear of makeup, wondering when she would see him again.

Additional notes: The hot chocolate is my nod to holiday cheer. :)

[spoiler alert] Sorry about the morbid aspects, but I thought there are two ways out of the hospital, and the morgue seemed more interesting than the front door.

This is fanfic, so of course I don't own any characters from The Dark Knight (Joker, Batman, etc.). The main female character is original.

[holly-fixation]

Seraphic and Sinister: Ch 7

Summary: Sephiroth learns that he has a child, a lab made specimen existing under the same terrible conditions he was raised in. In a moment of pure rage, he rescues his child. However, his fate has long been sealed, but the child’s fate is unknown. 

Never did he expect the cadet that killed him to take responsibility for the heir of His planet. 

Inspired by various asks to @rottenpumpkin13

Chapter 7: Recognition and Recall

After the inevitable retrieval Barret's daughter, the group checked the clock, the ticking deciding the short time before departure. 

“You better come back okay, ya hear?” the little girl with short brown hair and a dollish pink dress copied her father's tone exactly. 

Barret gave a hearty laugh as he lifted her into one last hug. “I promise, Baby Girl. You won't see a single cut!” He tossed her up once, and she laughed too as he lowered her back down. 

Jessie gave Tifa a friendly punch to the shoulder. “Hold down the fort while we're gone.”

“You'll still have a place to drink when you get back. Count on it,” Tifa smiled. 

“You still make the best dumplings!” Wedge added. 

“Well don't scare her off or we won't have a place to sleep.” Bigg smacked his teammate on the back with a smirk. 

The child in the hoodie stood rigidly in front of the blonde. “Be careful. Come back to me.” 

Cloud ruffled her hair through the hood. “Always. I've got this.”

Inhuman eyes stared desperately but turned after a moment of silence. 

After the final exchange of goodbyes, the bar owner, the daughter, and the child Cloud arrived with remained. 

The child began walking to the corner when the daughter blocked her path. 

“You have really nice eyes.” 

Tifa cringed.

“...thanks. But it's a secret from everybody. You can't tell anyone.”

“I won't! I'm good with secrets!” She held up two fingers, nearly jumping with joy. “This is how many I have.” She counted and held up another. “Well this many now.”

“Three.”

“Mhm! How many do you have?”

Sera crossed her arms, turning away. “Too many.”

“How many?”

“A lot.” She walked past Barret's little girl. 

“That's so cool!” Marlene followed. “What are you doing?”

Sera didn't answer, only grabbing the rags and sanitizing solution once again. 

“Cleaning? That's boring. Why don't we do something fun?” 

“I don't get time for fun.”

“That doesn't make any sense!”

“Girls,” Tifa opened a drawer and placed papers and crayons on the bar. “Why don't you two draw?”

“I like drawing! Do you like drawing, Sera?”

“No.” She scoured the bar for any untouched surface with the slightest speck of dust. 

“Sera,” Tifa placed a hand on her shoulder, and the girl stopped but did not look at her. “Those cleaning supplies aren't cheap. You've done enough.”

“That section of floor looks better than the rest.” 

Red eyes followed to a slightly more vibrant section of wood. She sighed. “You're tearing off the polish. It might look better now but it fades faster than the rest and now it's not as protected.”

“...I apologize. I'll make it up to you.” The girl walked out of her grip and traded the cloth and liquid for a dustpan and broom. 

“Marlene, why don't you hang out in the hideout for a little while?” 

She pouted. “But I want to play with my new friend!” 

Tifa crouched down. “I promise. Give me a few minutes and I'll get her to play, alright?”

The girl in pink lit up before running to the pinball machine and smacking a specific sequence of buttons. The panel clicked and began to descend. 

The child stared hard, turning away only when a fake section of floor replaced the secret passage. 

“What's your deal?” Tifa's fists clenched as she dropped the parental tone, biting and harsh as she stepped toward the Inhuman child.

“You're being so kind. I have to pay you back.”

“That's not what I'm talking about.”

Sera didn't answer, squatting down and sweeping under the booths. 

“You're lying to me and you're lying to Cloud.”

“You're lying to Cloud too.”

Crimson eyes hardened. 

But the child continued with her task. “He's… weird. You've noticed it too.”

“What's your plan with him?”

“Plan?”

“If you hurt him, I swear I'll-” The clanking of the broom falling to the ground cut her off. 

“I will never hurt Cloud.”

“If you hurt him or get him hurt, I'll make sure you regret it.”

Reptilian slits burned against tiny moons. “Why do you hate me so much?”

“You should know why.”

She shook her head. “I don't. I really don't.”

“Look in the mirror.”

“...Because of my dad?”

Tifa's eye twitched, fury boiling in her chest. “So you know?”

“My dad only tried to help.” 

“And you repay my kindness with blatant lies?”

“I'm telling the truth! That's what he told me!” She cut herself off, water welling in mako blue eyes. “My dad died five years ago…” She shook her head rapidly. “We both know we can't tell Cloud what we know. He just…” More hidden truths as the girl switched the statement. “The less information we both know the less we have to hide.”

“You'd love for me to not say anything when he clearly doesn't know who your father is.”

“It's pretty obvious who my father was.” She tugged her hood back into place, starry hair shifting into knots. 

Tifa tightened her gloves, flexing her grip. “Last chance. What are you trying to do with Cloud?”

The child's hand hovered above her hilt. A balanced moment passed before she took a breath and softened her stance. “...I don't know what I'll do if I lose him too...”

The woman stepped forward. She tried to hide the small shake of her body. “You have the audacity to talk about losing people?”

Sera growled, her hovered hand clenching to a fist. “You don't have to like me. You don't have to trust me. I don't want to take Cloud away from the only other person he knows but we have to protect each other.”

“I have to protect him too.”

Inhuman eyes softened again. “He's not making sense and I don't know what else to do…”

Her grip loosened. 

“He told me to be kind to Cloud and I'm trying with everything I have but he's not making sense. He's forgetting things he should know,” the panic made her voice waver. Tifa heard the true age of the child for the first time: a young helpless child only trying to survive. “I don't know what I'm doing. I don't know anything.”

“Who told you to be kind to Cloud?”

“It doesn't matter because he's dead! I buried him myself!”

Silence claimed the building. 

The child turned away, gaze and expression hidden by the hood. “So you can do or say whatever you want, but I'm not going anywhere without Cloud if it's the last thing I do.”

‘She's practical.’ Cloud's words rang in her head. “...I can't believe you if you can't tell me the truth. I have to know something even if it means more secrets to keep.” 

Serpentine eyes roamed the floor as if skimming a book for the answer she needed. She curled up before answering slowly, “The morning before Nibelhiem burned, I attended your morning aerobics class… the one for the elderly… Because my dad left me with the SOLDIER…”  

Tifa's eyes widened. 

“I was across the street and tried not to draw attention but you saw me and smiled… I never said a word but neither did you...”

Tifa held a hand over her mouth, attempting to deflect the memories that came with the town beyond the child's lineage. “...So when Cloud said he found you on the the run from Shinra-”

She shook her head. 

The older woman sighed. “Well if you're not leaving without Cloud, at least be nice to Marlene.”

Sera stared, her expression blank. 

“By playing.”

The little girl looked away, gripping her arm. “...I can… try…”

“And no more cleaning.”

Her brows furrowed. “...for today?”

Another released breath. “Sure. For today.”

“Deal.”

* * * 

Security officers, automatic turrets, automated soldiers and house sized robots, nothing could take Cloud down.

Collapsing pillars, comrades pinned to the ground, forces coming from all directions. All met the same condition. 

Mission objective accomplished. The mako pipe of Mako Reactor One was destroyed, but the resultant explosions far exceeded what AVALANCHE planned for. Next goal: returning to Sector Seven while shaking security forces off their tail. Cloud had no doubt they would spot him eventually. 

He was a mercenary. He knew what to do in the face of combat. 

At the moment, the team split up, agreeing to return to the train station without drawing attention as a group. 

Citizens screamed as they ran through the streets. Parents pulled their children out of burning and collapsing buildings. Roadways were blocked with debris and fire. 

Cloud climbed fire escapes, traversed alleys, and weaved through crowds to keep moving forward. But the sight of windows filled with fire, the knowledge that those within would be dead before help could arrive, the inevitability of the orange glow coupled with death he could not prevent-

The brick and concrete buildings around him faded, fusing with wooden homes and triangular roofs. Dirt paths intercepted the asphalt road. A windmill stood at the tip of a radio tower. 

…mako fumes. This must be a hallucination caused by mako fumes. Despite logic telling him the truth, the heat of the flames, the sight of his hometown, the overwhelming stench of smoke, and the sight of tall silver hair clad in black leather and white pauldrons claimed his senses.

“It's fake…” Cloud told himself out loud as he followed the stride he could never forget. “It's fake… it's not real, get it together…” 

Yet the overwhelming flames continued. Sweat dripped down his brow. He legs refused to move faster, his chest too tight to run through and prove the falsity quickly. 

The man with silver hair stood tall, walking casually through the fire. Cloud saw no other choice but to follow into an alley. 

There, in front of the destruction of his childhood home, he saw the man's face. The angelic beauty and inhuman eyes that took everything he loved away from him. 

“You…” Cloud's strength fell to weakness. “You're dead…” He felt his heartbeat in his throat. 

But the man before him didn't answer. Cloud expected the smallest sadistic grin, one of the last expressions and emotions the man before him could portray. Yet all he saw was rage. Eye brows tightened just so. The curt upper lip was almost snarling. Mako blue slits seared like an inferno, the faux flames around them nothing but candles in its presence. 

“I… I killed you with my own-” Clouds hands raised. When did they start shaking?

The man said nothing, predatory eyes hardening. 

The blond felt a chill up his spine. He grabbed his sword. 

“Run, Cloud…”

Mom…?

“Run away… You have to leave… You have to live…” 

It was her voice. A moment he would never forget. A moment that played in his mind every day for years. 

Still, silver stared back at him. 

Sephiroth stared back at him. 

“You bastard!” Cloud launched into the air. The Buster Sword collided against the ground and the flames around him vanished. 

A hallucination. He sighed in relief, panting to regain his thoughts. Just the mako. Just the mako…

.

.

.

.

To be continued…

Chapter list 

Thanks for reading!

[mymamadontlike-u]

necessities

journal ; to poeticize the mundane

macbook ; to take photo booth selfies and watch modern family (useless for anything else)

speaker ; for when you wanna listen to azealia banks and headphones aren’t enough

digital cam ; for cute candids

black bow ; don’t use bows. it just looked cute ;)

polaroid cam ; for cute mems

lip liner and lip gloss ; never leave home without my lip combo

mascara ; so that when you cry, you can look mysterious

hand sanitizer ; germs

old iphone ; to look like you belong in 2014

perfume ; never be stinky

[ya-boi-haru]

I did a thing...

I'm no writer, but inspired by my Coffee shop au (linked) i did a little sample piece for funsies/writing practice... idk what will come of this but it was fun and interesting to get back into actually writing a fanfic piece again...

(context at the end)

Bars always seem to be a completely different atmosphere when it was day time.

All you could hear was the rustling and clinking of staff putting away the new merchandise or cleaning the equipment and the hum of the air conditioners. The faint scent of sanitizer mixed with alcohol hung in the air, strong enough to tell that the surfaces had just recently been wiped down.

As he sat patiently at one of the empty tables, Centross’ eyes glazed over the figures and trinkets that surrounded the bar. He could tell each one had been placed carefully and each section had its own theme. The tables and booths had a more ‘on deck’ feel. Pictures of great ships and sea creatures hung along the walls, surrounded by ropes tied and hung from the ceiling like shrouds or fishermen nets. The wooden tables were decorated with small ships to hold up the menus and the chairs had an aged leather look to them, which were surprisingly comfortable. The bar itself had a large, long statue of a dragon, made of a seaweed green glass displayed against the back wall, surrounded by the shelves of various amounts of alcohol.

The more you looked the more you saw, but unfortunately Centross didn’t get to look around much more as Kai, the owner of Sea Dragon, came out from the staff only doors. He stood up to meet her, extending a hand to introduce himself.

“Hey, you must Kai. I’m David, it’s nice to meet you” Centross was a little nervous. It had been a while since he was considered for an interview, he even had to buy a new button up shirt since the old one was worn out and faded.

“Yeah, I know who you are” Kai responded, her tone not doing a good job at hiding her snark and her, a bit too firm, handshake was not helping either.

“Oh, right, I guess you would after reading my resume” He tried to brush it off and lighten the mood, thinking he was just being paranoid about the way she was acting.

Kai gave a hum and the forced smile made Centross think it was meant to be a laugh. “So why do you want to work here, David?” She asked, cutting straight to the point.

Centross took a breath, trying to let the advice Wolf had given him and their practice questions come back to him.

“Well, I do have experience behind the bar, honestly, I’ve grown to love the work, it keeps me on my feet. I’m fully licenced, I have-“

“Yeah, yeah I’m sure your credentials and achievements are very nice,” Kai interrupted, “What I meant was, why here at the Sea Dragon?” she clarified.

Centross gave an apologetic look, as he stumbled to correct himself. However, while trying to come up with an answer, he noticed the daggers Kai was glaring at him.

“Have I done something to upset you?” Centross asked defensively. Gee, he had just met the woman and she acts like he spat in her face.

Kai barked a laugh at his question, looking at him with disbelief, her last bit of professionalism, now washed away.  Seeing Centross’ face made her realise, he really did not know.

“You still don’t do your research do you?”

Ok, now Centross was really confused. “Are you… not the owner?” he tried.

Ocie chuckled again. “I’m Kai. Kai Feywild”

Realisation slowly set on Centross’ face. “F-Feywild?” Ocie nodded. “As in… Strawberri Feywild- oh fuck!”

“My sister” Kai confirmed, as Centross dropped his head into his hand in defeat.

So, this wasn’t an interview, it was an interrogation. God, how the hell did he not know this!?

“Hey man, ill give you this: I’m impressed by the fucking balls you have to come in here, asking me for a job, after you did?” Kai, pointed her sharp nails at him to emphasise her accusatory tone.

“Listen i-“

“No, you listen,” Kai snapped. “I’ve worked my fucking ass off to get this business up and running and I’m not going to let it all go to shit because a deadbeat, drug pusher wants to get back in to business!”

“I’m not- we didn’t-“ Centross let out a frustrated groan, running a hand through his hair trying to find the words. “Look, that was a long time ago, I’m sober and clean and it’s not like I was the one making it-“

“No, apparently you weren’t, you’re just the one who insisted on selling it with my nephew and making my sister your dealer!” Centross gave a defeated sigh. “The only reason I called you in was to make sure you weren’t going to start this shit with me or my Strawberri again. She’s been through enough”

Centross took moment to answer, all the previous interviews and questioning coming back to him like a montage of fails. He knew he wasn’t going to get on her good side, maybe ever, but especially not right now. He had been through this enough times to know when it wasn’t working out.

“I know you probably don’t want to hear it, so ill spare you the details. But believe me when I tell you I am not here to start that again. The Ominous Coffee Bean is gone, it crashed and burned before it could even get off the ground, I wouldn’t even know how to get access to that stuff again and, again, even if I did, I wouldn’t know how to make it, that was Icarus, testing out their fancy chemistry, nerd shit and it failed miserably. I spent my time getting sober and clean, just like the others and I am trying to do better, Kai, but I no matter what I do, no one will even give me the time of day – which is understandable I guess but” Centross took a breath, feeling like he was just wasting breath at this point. “I truly am just looking for a job, a fresh start. Bills can’t pay themselves and I can’t keep living out of my boyfriends’ pocket. He’ll deny it, but I can tell that I’m just weighing him down. He deserves better than that and I just want to at least help him”

Kai took in everything he had said and Centross could see her processing, it all. She’d look him up and down and down at her hand, then back to him, the gears in her head turning trying to decide her next move.

Centross knew what it would be. Fuck, he should have just left as soon as he learned she was Strawberris’ sister. Maybe he can try his luck elsewhere, surely there’s somewhere that his reputation hasn’t touched.

“Alright,” Kai simply said after a long moment of silence.

“Alight?” Centross repeated, waiting for her to add on.

“You will be working the floor and are also on washing duty. You’ll start with four days a week for a trail to see if you can handle it and to see if you’re a good fit here. After that time is up, we’ll see how you’re doing and that will determine if you can stay and maybe we’ll talk about you working the bar. How does that sound?” Kai listed her conditions firmly, leaving no room for negotiation, her eyes never leaving Centross a she spoke.

Centross stared back, not processing what was happening.

“Wait, you’re… You’re giving me the job?” he asked, almost like he didn’t trust what he had heard.

“I’m giving you a chance. Do not make me regret it” She warned.

Centross had to contain the smile that seemed to spread on his face, releasing a breath of relief as the weight on his chest lifted just little.

Holy shit, he fucking did it.

-----------

So for some context, Icarus, Centross and Easton tried to start a Barista place together called The Ominous Coffee Bean ("the name will get people curious about it") and Icarus tried to do their thing of infusing flowers into tea. Little did they know that Delosperma Cooperi can be toxic, like a bad drug or alcohol when extracted/infused. They told their business investor (they found online) about their new drink and and Centross received an email back encouraging them to keep selling it and they could use Strawberris flower business to get more of the flowers in.

They were eventually got investigated and they all got arrested for selling of narcotics and Strawberri got done for suppling.

Icarus made first bale, an anonymous pay to bale *and* hush money.

Kai had to come down from a couple towns over to bale Strawberri and Easton out and thankfully they were all given the bare minimum punishment due to bale + they didn't know the extremes of what they were actually selling and their investor couldn't be tracked.

All four did get put on a probation and Icraus, Centross and Easton had to attend clincs to get clean and to help go through withdrawal. Centross made bale late as Rae had to scrap together enough money and even ask his Uncle for help to get him out.

Icarus got hush money, Easton was seen as "the poor kid who didnt know any better" and Strawberri also left in the dark. Centross basically got the short end of the stick and his reputation wasnt good.

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idk i was just playing around with ideas for Ominous Bane equivalent??? its still a W.I.P but let me know what you think????