#the old red bus station

[centralbeatz]

Back into the fray with another tough hitting exclusive session with a debut set from Melsyma this February at the Old Red Bus Station! With distinctive and original tracks on the likes of RAM, Sofa Sound Bristol and Symmetry Recordings, Melysma has a bright year ahead with shed loads of new Drum & Bass smashers in the pipeline - we know you’re gonna love this one. 

Support comes from T3stament who’s been mad unstoppable at present, tearing up decks across at pretty much every party across Leeds lately, as well as Delta from local crew��‘Olympus’ who have a reputation for seriously fresh and technical tune selections. Our resident collective of Skye, Myras & LD50 keep the vibe pulsing all night with LD adding hype on the mic.

All this for only £4+BF - we’ve got a mammoth party line up, all you’ve got to do is just get down and jump into the vibe!

[davescumbag]

another dj - david james barton

[dcxdpdabbles]

Can you write a example of letters to Batman

Dear Batman,

My dad and I were walking home yesterday afternoon because our car decided it was time to expire on the side of the road. It was a nice car. Real reliable my entire childhood, I nicknamed it Benny.

Anyway, after Benny caught on fire, we got mugged. It was scary for about ten seconds before you swooped in and saved us! I've never heard any human bones make that noise before.

When you shook the goon from his ankles- how much do you lift? You had him like a rag doll!- a couple of dollars fell out of his pockets.

My dad took those dollars to pay for our bus ride. It had to stop two blocks from our house at a gas station, but Dad was nice enough to use the remaining bills to buy me a snack. I got hot spice chips and red burst soda.

He used the last dollar for a scratch ticket, and guess what? He won! Benny is going to be fix up with the five grand Dad won

Thank you, Batman, for always watching over me. Can you shake more money out of other goons near me if I do my homework?

Your fan,

Elizabeth H, ten year old

[bomber-grl]

Hiro x Drop dead gorgeous!reader

Pairing(s): Hiro Hamada x Gn!Reader

To say you’re good looking would be a severe understatement and everyone knew it

Even hiro had to admit that when he first saw you he had to take a moment to collect himself

Which only got worse when you got introduced to him and became part of the group

And of course, you eventually started dating

Hiro never said it out loud but DAMN

Seriously, you’re really good looking and even if he tries to act non chalant it was getting more and more difficult to ignore

He was always reminded of it too

You’d be walking to the bus station or maybe just walking back to the lucky cat cafe

But either way people would always be staring and those who were bold enough actually approached you to compliment you

Hiro was used to it, I mean he knew and everyone knew so it wasn’t some elaborate secret

But he did get jealous occasionally

Even if he tries shrugging it off more for your convenience

You’re obviously with hiro because you absolutely adore him and unfortunately you’ve been oblivious to his jealousy

That is, until you both are standing by waiting for honey lemon and the rest of the group while at SFAI

You’d just been chilling and goofing off like usual when a presumably student approaches you two

They completely ignore hiros presence and aim for you

They immediately ask for you to be their muse for their paintings and the other asks if you’d do the same but for their photographs

Eventually the group arrives and they (especially gogo) shoos them away and the rest of the evening continues

But it isn’t until you’re walking back to the lucky cat cafe after getting off a bus that some rando was near by and approached

Same old same old

But it was different, the person asked if you’d like to join their company and who knows what really

In the end they handed you a card for a modeling company and when you turned to a very confused hiro and explained how this was one of many cards you have in your drawer back home he was flabbergasted

I mean not only did you catch everyone’s attention and made hiro feel excluded by that but also making him feel insecure

Yea, actually shocking

You could tell hiro wasn’t in the best mood once you got back to his room and when you ask he just explodes

Not at you- just in general

He goes off on how he feels and his cheeks flush and angry red when he begins to explain his jealousy in a non direct way

He knew you’d tease him but when you hugged and reassured him instead he already felt better

Enough of the more angst hcs let’s move into the sweet ones

Best believe hiro was TEASED when you two first got together by the group

I mean it was so obvious how he couldn’t even look you in the eye at first because of how good looking you were

It was all just so funny and knowing you like him back made it even more so

Hiro is a menace and we all know how he often is sassy and just participates in gremlin activities

Butttt luckily for you you can use your looks and hiros weak spot for them to your advantage

He loves to tease you

All.the.time.

So when you’re finally able to you do it to the best of your abilities and go all out

He gets absolutely k.o’d

Which he 100% deserves

Honestly most times he’s just unapologetically down bad while simultaneously trying to avoid having you see his red ass face

He’s such a cutie patootie

He’d seriously be upset when some other guy approaches you with the idea of dating you

Doesn’t blame you for it tho

[ledesaid]

I saw this in a post from the Cap community and thought: okay, let's do it!

AU? Billy Batson Speedster.

Fawcett City has been destroyed by a villain unknown to the locals. "Two lightning bolts had struck everything!"

They don't know what's happening, but every survivor was displaced across the country. Among them is a child: Billy Batson. Small, barely eight years old, along with a large number of children who have lost their parents, waiting to find a new place in the world.

Bureaucracy does its thing and five children are sent to Central City.

Billy isn't very lucky and is the last child waiting at the police station. He knows he shouldn't go away, a social worker is going to come for him. But he doesn't want to go with her. Not again. The last time... The last time ended in a very cold place.

So with all the chaos, it is very easy for him to slide through the station with great care due to his size, and really, when you have everyone fussing around dealing with their own problems, they weren't going to interfere with yours.

He jumps out of a window and it doesn't end as he expects.

A blond man has caught him. Billy doesn't know what to do exactly, so he does what that little voice in his head tells him:

"Run, Billy, run!"

And he does. He runs and runs. He leaves behind the buildings, soon the city, and when he realizes it, he is about to reach a big forest.

But two arms prevent him from continuing to run. The smaller boy bites the stranger. There's a scream and it's not Billy's.

Billy unfortunately falls because of an exposed root as he resumes running.

And he sees it.

And he hears it.

"Kid... calm down. I'm... I'm a hero... see?"

Billy focuses on the colors. Red and yellow. A yellow lightning bolt.

"You're Flash."

A declaration.

And the guy doesn't look very heroic, he actually seems very sad and neglected.

Billy extends a hand.

Flash takes it.

"Billy Batson, thanks for saving me."

The man starts to cry.

"A woman on the bus wanted to tell you that she doesn't blame you for what happened. I don't know her name, but she really wanted to tell you that. Thanks for coming back."

And there he was. A small boy who had received a few divine gifts. A speedster who needs to heal. A need to put Billy in safe hands. Barry Allen becoming a foster father. A little hero "Red Mercury" in Central City and a future surprise for Flash when he sees that the little one can do more than run with the Speedforce.

-----

Continue... #1 (click)

[spooky-luvur]

Eyeless Jack x m!Reader

(Summary:a strange man you meet at the store wants more from you than you ever could have guessed)

cw: language, mentions of mild gore

“Ah, shit.”

The keys slip from your hand and clang loudly against the concrete ground, making you wince. Hopefully nobody heard that and swiveled their heads to stare at you as if asking ‘why did you make noise? now we all have to notice you.’

You lower your head to hide your face, quickly snatching the keys and fumbling to stick them in the lock. This apartment building was old- and so were most of the residents. No one complained about the loose windows or the broken air conditioning because maybe they hardly even noticed it. Or maybe they just didn’t care. But rent was cheap, and the only thing you really had to worry about was your left-door neighbor Miss Zhao and her (illegal) cats. You didn’t tell the landlord, and she didn’t play her flute at two in the morning. Speaking of her,

“Such a sweet man. Your wife?”

The older woman smiles at you holding the door open for her as if you didn’t do it every time this happened.

“Still no wife Miss Zhao. Are you interested?” You tease her back, making her laugh as she passes.

“Maybe if I was younger!”

She tells you about her newest kitten as you both make your way up to the second floor. You have to help her past the slippery steps, mentally cursing your landlord once again. You’d call him a cheap bastard, but you know karma would probably bite you in the ass and break your arm or something. Curse you for believing in stuff like that.

“Ah, actually-“

The woman grabs your hand before she opens the door to her apartment, slipping a few bucks in it.

“Get me a pack from the station? I’ll let you pet the kitten.”

“Ha,” you pocket the cash. “Sure thing Miss Zhao. Think I wouldn’t pay for it myself, though?”

She shakes her head as she unlocks the door. “I know you would, that’s the problem. Now- the red ones, please.”

There’s a woman arguing with the cashier as you enter, pressing her fingers against the plastic barrier angrily. The man behind the counter looks like he’d rather be under a bus than here right now. The scene causes you to make a beeline for the back of the store, keen on scouring the snacks till they’re done.

“Hmm. Sweet or sour?”

As you turn to look down the other side of the candy isle, you suddenly realize you’re not alone. There’s a man just off to the side in front of the freezers, tall and dressed in dark clothes. His hands are in the pockets of his jacket casually. You flush in embarrassment, realizing he must have heard you say your stupid thing.

Thankfully the man doesn’t turn his head to look at you. You try to convince yourself he actually hadn’t heard you, and allow yourself to relax and look back at the snacks. You peek back at him when you hear the freezer door being pulled open and see him grabbing a box of frozen waffles. He pauses before grabbing a second box. And then a third.

“Fan of eggos?”

You don’t have time to slap yourself in the face and sprint right out of the store before the tall man turns his body to you. You know he’s looking at you crazy under the sunglasses he’s wearing. He’s also wearing one of those cloth masks famous people wear in public. Covering his entire face? Hood pulled up? This guy was either a celeb or about to rob the store. You suddenly feel less weird.

He tilts his head down at the boxes in his arms.

“Guess so.”

Then he leaves you in the aisle and heads toward the front of the store. Part of you wants to stay here, curl up on the floor and cry- but another part wants to follow the man to see if he actually is about to rob the store. With a jolt of fear, you hurry your way to the cash register and stand in line for a moment before the hairs on the back of your neck stand up as you realize the covered man has just stepped up right behind you. There’s a girl in front of you buying some chips and you mentally yell for her to hurry up at the back of her head.

Once she leaves, you realize you hadn’t picked up any snacks and simply ask the cashier for a pack of red cigarettes.

“Smoker, huh?”

The man’s voice makes you jump and you hear him let out a quiet snort at it.

“Ah, no- they’re for a friend.”

You don’t know why he’s talking to you and you don’t know why you’re talking to him- maybe he feels like he needs to because you said something to him earlier? You scream at yourself in your head but you cross your arms and slightly face the man in a way where it won’t look like you’re ignoring him if he says something else, but you won’t look stupid if he doesn’t.

“Drink alcohol?”

You purse your lips and eye the man strangely. That isn’t normally something someone brings up in small talk, but maybe you’ve said worse. You simply shake your head and the man tilts his head the same way he had earlier.

“No poison in you, then?”

Poison. That’s how he chooses to phrase it. It’s a completely normal thing to call it you suppose, but the fact that this weird dude is talking to you like this just sits with you wrong.

“No…no poison.”

He nods, and then you receive the pack, pay, and make your way to the door. Before you push them open though you can’t help but look over your shoulder at the man and the cashier. Maybe he’s going to pull out a gun and ask for cash, or maybe he’s going to reach through the hole and the glass and-

But he simply pulls out some cash and pays for the waffles as normally as anyone else would.

Yeah. Definitely a celebrity.

“Her name is Penny.”

“Because she’s orange?”

“Smart one aren’t you?”

The kitten paws at your hair and you scratch her chin. She purrs loudly in your arms as Miss Zhao smiles at the scene, sipping her tea.

“I wish I had balls like you, Miss Zhao.”

“Ai!” She lightly whacks you in the back of the head. “Watch your mouth around the cats, boy.”

You laugh and are about to apologize when your phone rings in your pocket, making both you and Penny jump. You groan internally before pulling it out to look at the screen.

“Dang. I gotta go, I have to edit a few reports.” You stand with the kitten and are about to place her back in the woman’s lap before she holds up a hand to stop you.

“Take her for the night, she seems to like you.”

The kitty meows and you look down at her, unsure.

“Really? I don’t-“

“Just put her out in the hall if she needs to go potty, I’ll keep my door open.”

“Alright. Sure, then. I could use the company.”

The cat has no problem lounging on your feet at you sit at your desk. Every once in a while she’ll meow and you’ll reach down to pat her head, but you accept the fact that she’s fairly calm for such a young kitten.

“Ugh…wrong date? You’ve worked there for three years…” Shaking your head as you correct the error, Penny paws at your legs. “What? You just had a snack, kitty.” She meows loudly and you sigh in defeat, scooping her up and standing.

“Alright I get it. Potty break- I could use one too.”

You open your door and set her down in the hall, peeking out to make sure Miss Zhaos was open as she said she would have it. Sure enough, it is- so you turn and make your way to the bathroom as the back of your apartment.

Your bathroom shares a wall with Miss Zhaos bedroom so it isn’t strange to here her television playing her shows, or to hear one of her cats knock something over- followed by cursing in chinese. In fact these things are so normal that it becomes strange when you don’t hear them, knowing the woman should be in her apartment at the time. She naps around noon and doesn’t sleep until a few hours from now so her apartment being totally silent has you scrubbing your hands a bit quicker.

“Miss Zhao?” You peer into her open doorway and lightly knock on the frame. No one answers aside from a couple meows of her cats, so assume she simply is sitting somewhere further inside- absorbed in a book or something. Satisfied with that conclusion, you turn to make your way back to your own room. Well you would have done that, if you hadn’t seen something that made you pause in your tracks.

Penny meows happily as the man from the gas station rubs her head. His gloved hand scratches her chin before he turns to face you.

The stories on the news of houses and apartments being broken into by a man in a blue mask always made you turn your tv to a different channel. You’d rather watch a kids show or something than hearing about people being killed. Maybe that’s why you haven’t turned tail to run to the lobby yet, or maybe it was the weapon strapped to his thigh.

“Cute cat. Yours?”

You startle as the man speaks. Same voice, very similar clothes. It has to be the same guy. It is, of course- but part of you absolutely refuses to acknowledge it. You shake your head. “No. Neighbors.”

Again, why were you talking to him? If you tried anything else, would he just hold up his gun and shoot you in the chest, or maybe the face? A closed-casket funereal is not something you want to think about.

He nods. “Met her. Nice lady.”

A glance over at the open doorway makes the hairs on the back of your neck stand up. You look back over at the man who’s simply standing there casually.

“Yeah?” You say. “Where is she?”

A subtle (or what you thought was subtle) step back toward your door makes the man tilt his head. The gesture is so similar to what you saw earlier that it makes your stomach lurch and your feet cement themselves to the floor.

“Asleep,” he takes a step forward as if he was about to start a normal conversation with you and not hurt you very badly, “like I thought you would be. So, that makes things a bit more complicated.”

“Sorry about that.” You can’t help but snark. This guy really thinks he’s all that? You’re not as tall as him- not as lean, but maybe you’re faster. Maybe you can get to the fire escape before he-

Before you can finish the thought he’s lunging forward and that’s the moment your feet break through the rock weighing you down and promptly sprint in the opposite direction. Both yours and the man’s pounding footsteps on the carpet sound throughout the hall of the complex. You now it’s stupid to hope that someone would open their door and save you from whatever this monster wanted to do to you. No one in here sticks their nose in anyone’s business- not even those who need help.

A hand grabs your hair and yanks your head back, making you shriek and grab at his wrists.

“Let me go you fucking psycho! Someone’s already called the cops and they’ll bust your ass-“

A kick to your bum and you’re collapsing to the floor with an embarrassing yelp. The air is knocked out of you but you don’t have time to get it back before the masked man is on you and painfully digging a knee into your sternum.

“Didn’t think you would run.”

The bastard doesn’t even sound out of breath despite his sudden cardio. He takes your hands that are currently batting at him pathetically and grips them tight with one of his, reaching into his pocket with the other. You recoil in disgust as the tar substance flowing from the eyes of his mask drip onto your face, slipping across your nose and lips. You groan and twist your head in an attempt to wipe it off on your shoulder before your chin is tightly gripped and you’re forced to face him.

“Don’t move,” he tells you as you finally see what’s in his hand. “Nothing is gonna hurt.” He brings the smelly cloth closer to your face and with a sudden surge of adrenaline, you take advantage of the fact that he’s using only one hand to hold your wrists to twist them out of his grip and hit him in the throat. It’s petty and a bit of embarrassing if you stopped to think about it, but it has him sputtering and backing off enough for you to get to your feet and run back to your room.

You breathe heavily as you back away from the door after bolting it shut. Running your hands through your hair, you hurry over to your kitchen to grab the biggest knife you own. Unfortunately it isn’t very big, and you curse yourself for not being too into meats. That’s when you suddenly remember the bag under your bed you keep in case anything like this would have happened.

‘I have a bat in my room I have a bat in my room I have a bat in my-‘

You want to scream and cry as you turn the corner and see him waiting in the hallway for you.

“You fucking stalker, what the hell do you want?!” There are frustrated tears in your eyes and you wipe them away roughly. No way you were about to cry in front of this guy. But you were going to die. You were going to die for no fucking reason. Because a random dude saw you in the store and wants to fulfill his sick fantasies.

“I’m not going to hurt you,” is all he says. The reply makes you scoff.

“Yeah, because I’m going to believe that?! You killed an old woman!” Your heart aches for poor Miss Zhao and her cats. No one else knows they’re there- if you die, who will take care of them?

“I didn’t kill her.” He pulls the cloth out again and you want to just fall to the floor and give up. What were you supposed to do?

“I promise, I didn’t hurt her. I’m not going to hurt you either,” he repeats, taking steps forward. You know you should be terrified- trembling and light on your feet- but you just stand in place as the man reaches you and places a hand on the back of your neck.

“Just need you asleep.” He murmurs, bringing the soaked cloth up to your mouth.

Your eyes look up to meet his- or, whatever’s in place of them. They’re hollow and continuously spilling the strange gloop that stains his jacket. It’s awful, horrible, terrible-

You close your eyes as they grow heavy, feeling his hands tighten against you. Your body sags against his as you get weaker and if he isn’t going to kill you then you can only hope he catches you if you fall.

If death is this cold, part of you wishes you’ll end up in Hell. But then your leg twitches and hits against something solid and you realizes you aren’t dead at all.

You crack your eyes open and it takes a moment for your vision to clear enough for you to see you’re in your bathroom. The smooth ceramic of your bathtub is under you, but you’re more distracted by the dark figure hunched over your body prodding at something on your stomach.

“Still won’t leave me alone?” You grumble. The man’s mask tilts up and your breath catches at the still chilling sight.

“I’m making sure you’ll live. Which you will.”

Finally, your mind clears and you shiver as the cold of the ice bath you’re in sets. “What did you do?” You think you have the right to ask him that, at least. He pulls his hand out of the water and shakes it off.

“I took your right kidney-“

”Jesus.” Your head thunks against the lip of the tub and it swirls with pain for a moment. “The fucks wrong with you?”

His shoulders shake in silent laughter and you swat at him. Asshole. “You wouldn’t want me to explain it to you.” He has the balls to say.

“You’re crazy. I needed that thing.” Your speech slurs as you grow more exhausted, slouching further into the tub. At least there’s ice in it. You think you’d rather die than have your dick out in front of this guy.

“No you didn’t,” he says, but you simply wave a hand at him and accept the fact that your life is in his hands for now. As you slip back into unconsciousness you pray that he knows what to do with it.

[maxispixels]

HANDPICKED

PART FOUR.

Hobie Brown x GN!Reader

1.8k words

You work at a flower shop in late 70s London and Hobie's being a menace. Slowburn? Probably will be around 10 parts. Strangers to reluctant acquaintances to friends to something more. Maybe a lil' messy?

CW: One slightly suggestive joke

Part one. Part two. Part three. Part four.

The pages of your sketchbook had taken a darker turn. Besides a few buttercups here and there, you had stopped drawing flowers. No, now you had a new subject, far more fascinating, but also far more complex.

You just couldn’t get his face right, no matter how much you tried, his features never felt like him. His nose was too small, then too wide, his skin never the right shade, and you couldn’t remember if he was wearing lipstick or not. 

You were so frustrated, you threw your sketchbook across your tiny flat. The loud thump almost startled you, filling you with instant regret. You hoped you didn’t break it as you rushed to get it back.

Somewhat, the crumpled paper made it look just a bit more like him, the scrappy charm of wrinkled pages suiting his style. You felt like the drawing was mocking you for even caring.

You hated how you found yourself tinkering with your little radio, trying to find the station he put on at the shop, never quite managing to reach it. The static hissed and crackled, occasionally interrupted by snippets of cheerful pop songs or somber news reports. None of it sounded right, none of it was him. 

You didn’t even want to listen to punk at the moment. You just wanted to understand him. Figure him out. His whole attitude. How he seemed to care about so many things people didn’t care about, how he didn’t care about what people did care about. 

That was totally what this whole thing was about. Definitely, mh hm. Just trying to understand.

After all, he had that air, like he knew something more. Like he figured out something you didn’t, and you wanted to know what that was. Maybe if you had listened to him talk instead of memorizing his face… All of that to not even be able to make a proper portrait. What a shame.

The weather kept getting colder as the days passed, and the heating in your home still wasn’t on. You were doing free extra hours at the shop just to enjoy the warmth. There was not a speck of dust left there—not even on the old radio. 

Even Rose scolded you about spending too much time there. You told her about the boy, how he brought the buttercups. You were a little sad they were going to wilt, so Rose taught you how to press them in your sketchbook. She didn’t miss the numerous drawings of a certain someone, and she looked at you disapprovingly.

“What?” You muttered.

“Nothing.” She sighed. “Youth.” 

You felt the underlying implications. “He just has an interesting face!” You defended.

“Whatever you say.”

You didn’t insist.

Days passed and the temperature only dropped further. It was still autumn, but it certainly felt like winter. The rain was constant and loud and cold. It seeped through your clothes and reached your bones, making your teeth clatter whenever you were outside. 

At least, the rides in the bus felt relaxing. You didn’t even mind having to snuggle with other people. They felt warm and soft, with big fuzzy jackets. 

You wouldn’t mind rubbing shoulders with a spike in the bus, but Spikey Thing only showed up when he felt like it.

You’d given him funny nicknames in your head. That’s what he got for playing mysterious. Loser. 

You looked at the door at every jiggle of the bell, hoping to catch a glimpse of his tall wicks, or studded belt, or leather jacket, or red combat boots. It was honestly shameful how disappointed you felt when anyone else entered the shop. 

That didn’t happen often, which left you alone with your thoughts too much. The heavy rain deterred most people from trying to buy flowers, and you had to put inside the pots in the storefront. The wind and rain would have broken the plants. 

You were dripping and you were cold, and tired, and frustrated. 

When the rain stopped for a moment, you went back outside to wipe the front window a little. You didn’t want the grim from the rain to linger on the glass, it was a pain to remove when it was all dry.

“S shapes work much bette’, y’know?”

You almost had a heart-attack. You didn’t hear him coming at all, and he startled you so bad, you almost dropped your cloth. You met his gaze through the reflection in the window. Play it cool, you told yourself, turning to face him properly. “Oh, and what would you know about window washing now?” 

“I was a window washer at some point.”

You snorted. “Wait, you’re actually serious?”

“Wot? Don’t believe me?” He challenged, grabbing the supplies right from your hand and doing the window in record time. And he didn’t need  your little stool to reach the top of the window. And it was really well done too, not a trace left.

“Okay, you win.” You sighed, impressed and defeated at the same time. You smiled as you imagined him just cleaning windows as a job. It made him a tiny bit more ordinary, normal.

“I always do.” He gave you back the supplies, entering the shop before you. “It's bloody freezin’.” Seemed like he also liked the heating in the shop. You followed him quickly. 

Only when you both were inside did you notice how grim he looked, with eyebags deeper than the last time—you’d know, you were lost in his eyes for an embarrassingly long amount of time, and darker spots across the edge of his jaw. The sight somewhat tugged at your heartstring, but you refrained from asking. 

He walked around like he owned the place, leaving behind mud stains. His arms swung lazily along each of his steps. You didn’t even scold him, a bit too happy with him showing up. 

“Missed me?” He asked as he sat down on your stool, behind the counter.

“Forgot you ever existed. Spent the most peaceful week of my life.” You blatantly lied.

“Pft, careful what you say, I got the till in front o’ me.” He teased, gesturing dramatically. “Fuck, you don’t even have a lock on that thing! That’s askin’ for it.” 

You chuckled. “Whenever the amount is over 500£, Rose takes it with her to keep the count.”

“Rose?”

“The owner. My boss.”

“No way. Rose sells roses.”

“Yes way. The shop’s called Rose’s roses for a reason. She made that joke before you.”

A comfortable silence fell after that. He stayed perched behind the counter, watching, while you shuffled the pots from the storefront, trying to find space for them in the crowded shop. You untied ribbons, swapping colors and fluffing petals, pretending you didn’t feel his gaze burning into your back.

“You’re overthinking the display.” His voice pulled you out of your concentration. “Just chuck a load of flowers in a bucket and call it modern art.”

“You’re not helping.” You sighed.

“Good — I’m helping you embrace chaos. It’s liberating.”

“I’m already liberated, thanks.”

“Liberated? You’re folding ribbon into little bows. That’s basically bondage.”

You glared at him. “Why do you even care? You’re not even buying anything.”

“No, but I’m stealin’ some fantastic entertainment.”

You pinched a smile off your lips before going back to fold said ribbon. You heard him fiddle with some stuff behind the counter, but didn't pay him any more attention for the moment. He didn’t bother you either as you took on the rest of your tasks. 

A customer entered, an older gentleman that already visited a couple of times. He often bought flowers for his wife—which you thought was quite adorable. 

“Good afternoon, Mr Anderson!” You greeted cheerfully. He smiled down at you, and you stood up. “How can I help you today?”

“Good afternoon. I am looking for a bouquet for my wife. It’s her birthday, and I wanted something special.”

“Of course. Do you have anything in mind? A theme, certain flowers, colors?”

“For once I was actually counting on your recommendations. I just want something original.”

You hummed, thinking. You usually suggest roses, everybody loved roses, but it was far from original. “Maybe some lilies with lavender…?”

“I got her lavender a couple of weeks ago…”

“Oh right.” You mumbled. Spikey thing from the back suddenly spoke up.  “If you want to give ‘er somethin’ special, maybe get ‘er somethin’ other than flowers.”

Anderson turned, startled, as if only now noticing the man slouched in the corner. His eyes darted to the ripped leather jacket, the spikes, the mud streaked boots, then back to you, wordlessly asking if he was supposed to be part of the staff. 

You turned as well and glared at him. If your eyes could shoot bullets, he’d no longer be living. It had an effect as he coughed and cleared his throat. “I mean, succulents are also an option, and uhh, their blue tint will marry, erm, beautifully with blue flowers over there. Yep. Succulents. Very, erm, modern, strikin’ even.”

You were about to scold him again, but his suggestion made you pause. That was actually a good idea. You turned to Anderson, whose eyes held a mix of confusion and disapproval at this stranger’s involvement. 

You grabbed some chrysanthemums, with a light blueish color, as well as some succulents, a couple of white flowers and other leaves to create a harmonious bouquet. You hated that he had a point. Succulents did work beautifully with chrysanthemums, damn him. He had no business being this obnoxious and occasionally clever.

Anderson looked at you incredulously. “You know what?… That works. I guess. Thank you?” He blinked, almost confused at how this random suggestion gave such a pretty arrangement. 

“You’re welcome.” The punk grinned, satisfied. 

You sighed, as you unceremoniously pushed the boy out of the way to the till to take care of Mr Anderson.

“Blimey, that much?” He exclaimed from behind you and and you shot a glare at him again. “Wildflowers are free and much more personal.” He added. 

Anderson just shook his head, now more amused than anything else. “Funny friend you got yourself.” You gave him a sheepish smile as you handed him his change.

“And I hope you have a marvellous day, good sir.” The deep voice echoed behind you and you swore he did a little bowing gesture. You rolled your eyes at your ‘funny friend’ dramatics. When Anderson finally left the shop, you turned to him.

“What?” He raised an eyebrow.

“What the hell was that?”

“Me being a genius. I should probably take your place, you suck at your job. I can wash the window better and I’m a better salesman too.”

You huffed and pushed him out of your way, trying to act more annoyed than you really were. It didn’t work too well as you couldn’t help a chuckle from escaping.

[cherrycherryves]

Madness in Mansion Chapter I

A Long Trek, a Great Journey

“Dear Miss Bethany,

By the time you are reading this, I will (hopefully) be long gone. I would tell you where I am going specifically, but I know you or someone else would have to come find me. I have left to find my father. My biological father! So please, please, please don’t worry! (And don’t chase me!)

I know me leaving might make things hard. I won’t be around to help with the other kids or the cleaning or the cooking. I’m sorry for putting more on your plate. But this is something I must do! Something calls for me! And if all goes well, you and the agency won’t have to worry about me anymore! I’ll be with my father safe and sound! If I can, I’ll send you a text message when I get to him and all settled in!

Love,

Lazari Swann!

P.S. There’s still some left over lasagna in the fridge if you were worried about dinner tonight! I put it on the bottom shelf! :-D”

Lazari taped her folded letter to the fridge. Really, it was the only place she was confident her foster mother would see it. The home was always chaotic, so many other kids, ones much younger than Lazari, demanded attention and care and nurturing. So much so that it was often Lazari herself offering such things to the toddlers and babies. She’d help make them breakfast, help them with homework, help them get dressed. Really, she was a bonafide second caregiver to her foster siblings. And while she wished she could’ve stayed after school for clubs or maybe been in her middle school’s play, she didn’t complain. There were much worse things in the world. Much worse situations.

Every morning her foster mother would rush out to the kitchen and begin making breakfast. She’d call for Lazari desperately, as well as some of the older kids to help. And every morning Lazari would jump into action, fully dressed and prepared for the day, and make the most delicious pancakes a 13 year old could make. So the brunette was certain that this was the spot for the letter to be. Brown eyes scanned her dark surroundings, the house still and chilly as she stepped back from the refrigerator. The young girl took a deep breath.

“Goodbye, home four.” She whispered out softly, jostling her stuffed backpack around to be better situated on her shoulders. She had already left letters for her siblings to find (the ones old enough to read at least) so all that was left to do was to leave and get to the bus station. All her money from allowance and chores was saved up for this moment. All her research at the library and on school computers when she should’ve been paying attention to algebra lessons, it was all for this purpose and this purpose alone. Lazari Swann would find her father.

Her mother had died after giving birth to her, that’s what she knew. Her father was nowhere to be found. All she had of her parents was her mother’s necklace and some old photos her mother had kept in an album. The album was mostly of her mother and her family, Polaroids from adventures long buried in the wake of a premature death. Her grandparents refused to take her in, refused contact, and Lazari was left to the devices of the foster care system. She was allowed to keep that album though, the one with many stories never to be heard from her mother’s own mouth. And there was one photo in particular that always caught little Lazari’s attention.

— 🍝 —

Lazari stared at the photo long and hard as she felt the shifts of the bus, as it turned and slowed and sped up. Her fingers rubbed over the ink that had stained the film, her only clue to finding her remaining family, a location she had never heard of yet oozed familiarity.

Loblolly, Alabama

XX,XX,1993

Cascada’s “Everytime We Touch” bumped in her earbuds, bright red iPod held firmly in her opposite hand. She had studied this picture for so much of her childhood, she felt like she could draw it from memory. Lucky for her, a bus from Louisiana to Loblolly, Alabama existed, and 8 hours later that bus was slowing to a hefty stop. Lazari braced herself as the vehicle jolted, it wasn’t exactly a graceful finish to the ride. She popped her head up and tucked the photo away into her jeans’ pocket, pressing pause on her little device and wrapping her earbuds around it to place back in her bag. There weren’t many other passengers on this ride, and certainly none as bright eyed as Lazari. They all seemed lost, the girl had briefly thought, but then again, perhaps she was as well. She shyly thanked the bus driver for getting them to their destination safely and was on her way.

Loblolly, Alabama… the fresh air was welcomed into Lazari’s lungs as she stepped off the bus’ steps and looked around herself. She was closer than ever before to answers, to family, she just wasn’t sure exactly where to start her search. The photo she had been studying all this time was hard to decipher; it was a red monolith erected in what seemed to be a forest of black trees. She always assumed the photo was just taken at night, that’s why it was so dark and ominous looking. But where should she start searching if the whole town seemed to be surrounded by trees? A grumble in her stomach brought her thoughts back to the present moment. It was around lunch time now, no wonder she’d be hungry. So, her search would have to be put on pause while she found something to eat.

The young girl walked by many fascinating things, old stores that somehow seemed to be up and running still, the town square and a library, posts and walls with countless missing persons papers stapled on them. Lazari found herself watching her reflection as she walked by store and restaurant display windows, pleased with herself since her plan was going so smoothly. She disappeared into a small diner to grab a quick bite to eat, setting her overly-packed bag next to herself in the booth. An older woman waltzed over to her, makeup intense and perfume even more so. She peered over her cat-eye glasses to the young lady in front of her, face uninviting but words warm.

“What can I get ya to drink, honey?” Her voice was raspy, but gentle. Lazari decided it was pleasant.

“Oh! Um… do you have iced tea?” The brunette asked meekly, smiling politely like always. The woman didn’t have to write anything on her small notepad yet. She just nodded and stated:

“I’ll be right back with that, hon.”

Lazari watched as she walked away before turning her attention back to the menu. She thought about getting a sandwich, something easy to finish so she wouldn’t have leftovers and waste food, it was just a matter of figuring out what kind. As her eyes scanned over the options, she couldn’t help but pick up on the low conversations surrounding her.

“Did you hear he was spotted again?”

“Yeah, by the high school right? I wonder what he was doing there…”

“There weren’t any reports last night… no new victims or anything. Do you think he’s planning something bigger?”

The sound of a glass clinking against the table made Lazari jump. She looked up to see her waitress, face flushing as she found her own spacing out silly. She thanked the woman who nodded and brought out her notepad.

“Now, what can I get ya to eat?” Lazari had decided to get something simple after all. She ordered a grilled cheese with tomato soup, perfect since the days were getting a bit colder. Once the waitress was gone again, Lazari slumped back against the booth and let herself rest for a short moment.

It was when the waitress was coming to take her dirty plate when she got the confidence to ask. Holding the picture with sweaty fingertips, Lazari looked up to the older woman and squeaked out her question.

“I-I hate to be a bother, ma’am, but I was wondering if-if you know where this is?” The girl presented the image to the waitress and her eyebrows raised. Lazari wasn’t sure if they raised out of recognition or curiosity, or perhaps maybe for a more negative reason like annoyance. Either way, the woman took the picture in her aged hands and tilted her head. After what felt like an eternity, she spoke.

“Sorry, hon, I haven’t got a clue.” Lazari felt her hope falter a bit. “Maybe it could be the park down the road from the high school? You know, there’s a lot of trails there and what not? I think that’s your best bet at finding something like this.” The woman handed the picture back to Lazari with care. She picked up the plate before pausing and turning her head to say something else. “If you’re gonna be going there anytime soon, just be careful. There’s been nasty things going on around us lately…” The waitress turned her head away and left slowly after that, leaving her words to linger in Lazari’s mind. Ultimately, she decided that whatever it was had nothing to do with her or her goals. The young girl gathered her belongings, left an overly-generous tip, and was once again off on her merry journey.

It took a good while to find the high school. Lazari had to ask around for directions and received odd looks in response. It was like the townspeople couldn’t believe someone new had shown up there willingly. They would briefly answer her questions and then brush her off, all guarded and cautious. However, Lazari eventually found her way. And here she was on a hill, gazing upon the small school with a tilt to her head. She felt like she had seen this school before, maybe on the news or in an online article. But that wasn't the point of finding it. Now that she was here, she was certain she’d be able to find that park the waitress had mentioned to her.

“From the high school, go left.” She muttered to herself, reminding herself of the directions a more friendly townsperson had given her. She made her trek down the long road and before she knew it, she was entering the park.

It seemed like any other wildlife park. There were hiking trails, picnic areas, but everything seemed deathly still. An odd melancholy permeated the air. Lazari couldn’t tell if her sudden apprehension was because it would be getting dark soon or if she was just freaking herself out. It was just a park after all, a nature preserve! But the words her waitress shared with her suddenly rang in her head. Still, she had come all this way, she wouldn’t give up on finding her dad now.

Lazari stopped by a map of the trails and inhaled sharply as she realized just how many there were. There was no mention of a red tower, just trail names and things of more importance. She wouldn’t make progress just standing around, she had to keep moving. The young girl picked the longest trail to go down, thinking that this way she’d cover more land. If she didn’t find the tower on this trail, she’d just come back and pick a different one. Sure, it might be tedious, but she felt so close to uncovering something. Her heart raced, and she wanted to believe it was from the adrenaline of finally meeting her father, not from unease.

— 🍝 —

The sun was just disappearing behind the trees when she saw it. The red tower. Her heartbeat quickened, thumping hard against her rib cage. She felt the prick of tears, being in an area where her father and mother must’ve stood at one point. Sure, the tower was rusted and unsturdy, and the trees were a muted green instead of inky black, but this had to be it. She was at the exact angle the photo was taken from! She placed the Polaroid back into her pocket and kneeled down to retrieve her flashlight. Finally, she was finally getting somewhere. Lazari stood back up and switched her flashlight on. She gazed upon the tower once more, and as the sun faded, slowly… so did her optimism.

It suddenly dawned on her just exactly what she was doing here. She had left her foster home behind, traveled 8 hours to a location she’s never been to before, trekked through the woods alone, all just to see some tower that might have something to do with her father? What was she expecting to find here? Was she expecting him to be there? Waiting for her? Was she expecting some miracle to happen, or for something to make sense? She was here and now what was there left to do? That prick of tears turned sour as they trailed down her rounded cheeks. She choked on a hurried breath as her actions, and their possible consequences, started catching up to her. What was the point of this? What was the point of anything?

crrrrack

The sound of a twig sharply snapping made Lazari stiffen. The sound stung her ears, she must’ve grown accustomed to the eerie silence that hung heavy in the branches. With haste, she turned and shakily pointed her flashlight towards the direction of the noise. What she saw before her was almost indescribable.

At first, she thought it was a person, emaciated and bare, but the more her gaze lingered on it, the more she realized that was no human being. Its crouched position gave it an animalistic quality, its face unnaturally contorted in a snarl, and its eyes seemed to reflect her flashlight’s brightness. She shrieked, crying so loudly in hopes the whole world could hear her and someone would be there to rescue her. But she’d have no such luck.

It all happened so quickly. The thing bounded towards her and she ran off the trail. She jumped and stumbled over overgrown roots, feeling thorns and sticks brush by her legs. At a certain point it caught up with her, grabbing her ankle and yanking her back. Her flashlight left her hand and she yelped as her chin met the forest ground. The thing, now on top of her, slashed at her face. She was quicker though and lifted her arms in defense, earning a tear to her favorite sweater (and her arm) instead.

Lazari had always heard your life flashes before your eyes before you die. She saw glimpses here and there, memories of birthdays or going to a new house or meeting a new sibling. She even faintly recalled a barn, and having no time to be confused by that thought, she let the memory comfort her as she tried to make peace with the fact that she was about to be killed. At least she’d get to meet one of her parents tonight. But before this creature could finish her off, she watched it get pounced on by something with much more weight to it.

The creature was tackled off her and she didn’t waste time crawling away. The sounds were that of a struggle. There was growling, tearing, the crunch of bones being crushed by powerful jaws. She snatched up her flashlight to at least give her surroundings more visibility, pointing it towards the sounds just in time to see that whatever had attacked her was dashing away into the darkness with a hiss. She trembled as she looked upon the other beast that remained. Would this one attack her too? Was it just fighting off a competitor to win the prize of a meal?

The dog looked back to her, head tilted and curious. Lazari felt her stomach start to settle. This was no beast! This was a dog! A very large dog, but a dog nonetheless! The animal trotted up to her, keeping its gaze submissive as if to show it was no threat. Lazari swallowed thickly, but didn’t stop it from coming to her. After everything that had just happened, the potential to pet a fluffy dog was the most comforting thing in the world. She reached out a hand and the thing ducked to fit its blocky head under it. With shaking hands still, Lazari stroked its fur, sniffling and trying to quiet her sobs. She did this for minutes, trying to will herself to stop shivering.

“Go-Good boy…” She finally whispered, fingers brushing against a collar. Carefully, she found the bone-shaped tag on it and shone her flashlight over its engraving. “Smile…? Is that your name?” The dog’s tail started to wag and it barked in response, earning a cringe from the young teen. She hushed him nervously, looking around herself and forcing herself to be vigilant. Lazari recounted her belongings, making sure she still had her backpack on her back, her flashlight in her hand, her picture in her pocket. After what felt like hours, she stood up, only mild tremors still affecting her body. Smile watched her and dutifully took on a protective stance once he realized she was ready to move again.

“I don’t suppose you know a way out of here?” She half joked, now realizing she didn’t recognize her surroundings at all. She had gotten so far off the trail. Smile nudged her leg, raising his neck to connect with her fingers. Curiously, Lazari grabbed onto his collar and he began to guide her in a seemingly random direction.

— 🍝 —

To her utter surprise, the dog named Smile had taken her to a cabin. The cabin was rickety, small and she would’ve thought it was abandoned had it not been for the warm lights seeping through the cracks of the boarded up windows. Smile finally left her side, trotting up to the cabin door with a wagging tail. She figured his owners must live here, maybe that’s why he was in the forest in the first place. Cautiously, Lazari stepped up to the cabin door and knocked on it, bony knuckles making a pleasant sound against the wood. There was a long pause and no movement, so desperately, Lazari knocked again. There was another long pause, but this time, some noise could be heard from within the rundown cabin and the door was opened with a great force. Lazari flinched, jumping back as the door swung away from her.

“What!?” A gruff voice sounded out, and Lazari’s vision focused on a man. The man before her stared at her dumbly as soon as he saw her, Smile at her side, happy and playful still. His brows were furrowed, but something in him seemed to immediately soften. Lazari and the man stared at each other for a long moment before a third person entered the equation.

“Tim? Who is it?” This man’s voice was more relaxed, curious as he also entered Lazari’s view and peered over the dark-haired man’s shoulder. He, upon seeing Lazari, immediately held a similarly dumbfounded expression. There was another long bout of staring. Lazari found the courage to try and explain her situation.

“I-I’m sorry! If I um… am disturbing you both! But um! I was on the trail in the park. And-And something attacked me! I don’t know what it was, but… I think your dog saved me? I ran off the trail and got lost when it came after me and I…” Lazari’s voice trailed off as words got jumbled in her head. After the running and the attack, she realized she had run out of steam very rapidly. This fatigue also made her completely forget about the term ‘stranger danger.’ And honestly, these men looked more scared of her than she should be of them. The one named Tim finally spoke.

“Come in.” He stated lowly, opening the door more for Lazari to enter. The other man also moved out of her way. She didn’t have to be told twice. The brunette hurried into the warmth of the cabin and felt herself completely unravel.

The tears started again, her sobbing and biting her lip to try and keep herself quiet. The taller man knelt down a bit by her, attempting to take her backpack off her and she let him.

“Hey now, you’re okay.” He cooed, setting her backpack down with care and taking her hand to guide her to the only bed in the cabin. “You can sit here. Now, what’d you say your name was?” The man squatted in front of her as she slumped down on the thin mattress.

“I’m Lazari.” She sputtered out pathetically, whimpering and shivering all over again.

“It’s nice to meet you Lazari. I’m Brian. That grumpy looking guy is Tim.” Brian nodded his head to the dark-haired man who was on the opposite side of the cabin grabbing something from a shelf. “We’re gonna help you out, okay?” Brian offered his hand to shake and Lazari shyly shook it, manners were ingrained in her. The lanky man patted her hand with his free one when they were done shaking as Tim met up with them, first aid kit in hand.

“Did you get hurt anywhere?” Tim asked softly, squatting down similarly next to Brain. It was at that moment Lazari realized she had gotten scratched. She felt the cold stinging in her arm and looked down to see her sleeve torn and stained red. Tim and Brian watched as she took off her sweater to get a better look at her arm. She was relieved that the t-shirt underneath didn’t get damaged at least. She had worn her favorite outfit for the journey, after all.

“It doesn’t seem to be too bad, just a surface scratch.” Brian noted, suddenly serious. Tim grunted in agreement, switching sides with Brian so he could disinfect the wound and bandage it up.

“This might sting.” Tim noted as he rubbed a disinfectant-drenched cotton ball on her skin. Lazari inhaled a bit suddenly, but that was the extent of her reaction. There was silence as the shorter man bandaged her wound. He was extra careful to not make it too tight on her skinny arm. He was finished swiftly though, and he packed the first aid kit back up to be put back on the shelf.

“Now, can you try to tell us what attacked you?” Brian prodded gently, offering a lopsided smile of reassurance. Lazari hesitated, and he seemed to catch it immediately. “I need you to be as honest as you can. I promise whatever you’re about to say, me and Tim will believe you.” Lazari gulped, but she gave in. She was too tired not to.

“At first I thought it was a person… A really skinny and naked person. But it wasn’t. It was… unnatural… I don’t know how else to describe it, I’m sorry…”

“Hey, you don’t gotta apologize.” Brian hummed. Tim had rejoined them by this time, arms crossed over his broad chest. “We’ve encountered that guy plenty of times. We know exactly what you’re talking about. I’m just glad Smile was there to save you.” Lazari looked to Smile, who had been sitting next to her this whole time. He was as tall as her now that she was sitting. She nodded, also glad that she didn’t have to be met with such a terrible fate.

“What were you doing in these woods at sundown?” Tim suddenly asked, sounding a bit like he was scolding her. Lazari bowed her head, now realizing how stupid this whole plan of hers really was.

“I was looking for my father.” She stated, voice small. The cabin stilled, both Brian and Tim suddenly confused. Lazari continued. “S-See, my mom died giving birth to me and my dad was nowhere to be found. I’ve been going from foster home to foster home and I just wanted to at least try and find my dad. I just wanna go home…” A home that she had never known, Lazari realized as she spoke. “My only clue was this stupid picture!” The young girl presented them with the Polaroid picture from her pocket. Tim took a hold of it and looked down, Brian standing to get a peek as well. Lazari’s eyes were downcast, she couldn’t see their faces turn pale as they gazed upon the image. There was a bout of silence before Tim spoke again.

“I see…” These simple words were filled with trepidation. Brian had grown quieter than ever. The two men exchanged a look, as if reading each other’s minds, exchanging sentences with no words spoken. “We know a guy who might have answers.” The shorter man finally said. Lazari’s eyes widened and she looked back up at them.

“Really!?” She nearly shouted. Tim nodded, but his face looked grim.

“Now listen, kid…” He handed the picture back to her. “You’ve already witnessed first hand that things in this forest are not… right. And now that you’re here, frankly, things might get complicated. The answers you get might not be ones you want to hear. I’m not expecting you to understand anything I’m saying right now. But I’m telling you that you’re gonna have to be a lot stronger from here on out. Things are… well… it’s just…”

Brian placed a hand on Tim’s shoulder, patting it with comforting pressure. He smiled simply, Tim exhaling and taking a moment to recollect his thoughts.

“We’ll bring you to him in the morning. You’ll stay here for the night, where you’re safe.” Brian informed as Tim walked off to go to the sink. He filled up a glass of water and placed it by the bed Lazari was sitting on. “Try to get some rest, okay, Lazari?”

Lazari nodded slowly, allowing their words to sink into her brain. It seemed things were more complicated than she could’ve ever known, but she was in no state to inquire about what they meant or who she was about to meet. The young teen kicked off her shoes and curled up on the mattress. She felt Brian pull the flannel covers up and over her, effectively tucking her in. Smile climbed the short distance from the floor to the bed and huddled up against her legs. Lazari couldn’t pinpoint exactly why, but she felt that this must be close to what home feels like, and the warmth of this lonely cabin lulled her to sleep.

[cloudyeventss]

I thought I try my hand at writing a little story about being 141's assistant. I'm not sure where I'm taking this or even if I should continue. Let me knoww but be sweet. This is literally my first attempt at writing anything

Warnings~ cussing, slightly anxious ? Idk

Y/n pov

He's staring right at me. Slouching slightly to his left, strands of blue dyed hair peeking out underneath his hat. He clearly hasn't been sleeping, I can see the dark circles under his eyes. I don't think I’ve seen him blink once. This is too much. Too fucking much I'm starting to fidget with the belt of my purse, shifting back n forth trying to ease my nerves. I'm overwhelmed and overestimated. This bus smells worse than a gas station bathroom, it doesn't help it’s hotter than the damn desert in here, my sweater is starting to itch and the constant sound of the buses bell going off is enough to make my head explode. GOD why did my car have to break down today? sweat is beading my forehead I feel nauseous. GOD DOES THIS MAN EVER BLINK?!? *ding* fuck finally my stop. I've never been more relieved in my life to leave somewhere... stepping outside I feel like I can breathe again not by much though, last night, laying in bed i got a call from my father's friend Laswell telling me to meet her at a Cafe not too far from my home. Usually, I wouldn't be so nervous to see her, being Laswell and my father worked together for the past 10 years. She’s been around quite a few times but this time She spoke about a potential job opportunity as an assistant overseas. I'm not even sure I heard her right, i was a bottle deep into Apothic red wine. Nothing special but drink enough it’ll knock you on your ass. I've been anxious ever since. After finishing my associates degree in mind and body psychology, I wasn't sure I wanted to continue with school. Maybe I just need a break, but I also need a job. I take one final deep breath to attempt to calm my nerves as I wipe my sweaty palms down my jeans. Okay now’s the time to be confident y/n don't freak out .....

There she is sitting with her back against the wall right in between both exits like always. I'd say she's paranoid but with the work she does it's more justifiable. Laswell stands to greet me "Y/n , it's great to see you!" She moves to sit, and I follow. " it's good to see you too Kate, it's been awhile" . Lunch goes by smoothly; it always was easy falling into conversation with her. A red headed waitress with long legs and black trim glasses drops us our check before walking off to tend to her other tables. My eyes follow her as she passes, she's one of those girls who are effortlessly beautiful. Laswell gains my attention again " so your father tells me you are looking for work"

" I am"

"I could use someone I trust"

"Tell me more"

.....

It'd been two weeks since I met with Laswell, and I accepted the job offer. She explained it mainly consist of filing paperwork and doing whatever task ask of me, running errands, and so on. Kate didn't really give me any details of who I'd work for, just that it was four men she trusted with her life and assured me I'd be in good hands. Today's the day I get on a plane and uproot my whole life. I spent every bit of yesterday taking care of last-minute arrangements. I sold my piece of shit Honda to some high school kid . I almost felt bad for taking his money, but I told him of its issues. In a way I'ma miss Johnny. I named my car after a porn star, Johnny Sins. Ha. It still makes me chuckle . My honda wasn't much, but it always got me where I needed to be hints the name. After taking care of my car I went to see my father. He graciously agreed to look after my apartment for me while I was gone. We spent the rest of the evening watching old westerns on TV and saying our goodbyes.

.....

It's only four hours into the flight, and I'm already regretting my decision. I've spent most of the time in the bathroom emptying my stomach while avoiding angry knocks on the door. The taste of bile in my mouth makes me a little less caring about the people outside. Deciding I can't spend the rest of the flight in the bathroom, I pick myself off the floor and do my best to rinse my mouth. Flying has never sat right with me. I like my feet on the ground instead of tempting God. Regardless, I have to tough it out, its not like I can get them to land now. I walk out the restroom, mumbling hushed, apologizes, and take my seat. Just six more hours.. you got this y/n.

[fruitgoat]

Mapping/Routing the CTA

I'm still blaming @copperbadge for all of this.

As I am taking this trip in my mind, I have chosen to ignore a lot of the challenges the physical world brings.  Like road construction, neighborhood block parties, day of the week, trains that only stop there once a day in the opposite direction, buses that only run a few hours a day, the actual passage of time, etc.  This trip should not be attempted in the Real World – every route and stop apparently still exists, but you might need to wait hours if not days for the correct bus/train.  For the Extra Bonus Points of LOLs and Nostalgia I have included sections of the Metra (Milwaukee Districts North and West and South Shore Electric), Big Bus Tours, and the Water Taxi.

Again, do NOT try this route in Real Time.  Yet.  My ADHD brain may or may not get back to you in a few days on how long it would actually take just so we can all laugh at the idea of getting lost and being forced to sneak around and spend the night in a mattress store at the Golf Mill Shopping Center or whatever.  (Actually, that’s a hell of a meetcute.  I… I might need to go write something now….)

Starting at Linden.

Ride Purple Line to Howard.  Transfer to Yellow Line.

Ride Yellow Line to Dempster-Skokie. (Resist the muscle memory to catch the bus all the way to Deerfield. I really hated that commute.)

Bus to Morton Grove Metra.

Ride (MN) Metra to Mayfair.

Walk to Blue Line (Montrose).  Ride Blue Line to O’Hare.

Stretch legs and bathroom break.  Refill water bottle.  Refuel if needed.

Ride Blue Line back to Harlem. Bus to Fullerton.

Walk around my old neighborhood.  (I think the walk to Caputo’s is worth it, but maybe don’t buy any fresh squid if you’re getting back on the train.)

Ride (MW) Metra from Mont Clare to Grand/Cicero.

Bus to Blue Line (Montrose).  Ride Blue Line to Forest Park.

Bus to Green Line (Harlem/Lake).  Ride Green Line to Cottage Grove.  (I’m stopping along the way to visit family, get something to eat, and maybe nap while charging my electronics.)

Bus to Green Line (Ashland/63rd).  Ride Green Line to Garfield.

Walk to Red Line (Garfield).  Ride Red Line to Dan Ryan.  Hang Around Like An Idiot.  Ride Red Line to Lake.

Transfer to Pink Line.  Ride Pink Line to Cermak/54th, then back to Cicero.

Bus to Midway.  (Unhydrate.  Rehydrate.)  Ride Orange Line to Halsted.  Walk to River.  Or I think there’s a bus that’s just not showing up at the moment.

Water Taxi to West Loop.

Walk to Willis Tower.  (Bonus point for each instance of calling it Sears Tower.) Tour Bus to Museum Campus.

Metra Electric back to Millennium Park Station.

Walk to Washington/Wabash.  Ride Brown Line to Kimball.

Ride Brown Line back to State/Lake.  (Stop at Fullerton if it’s morning.  Walk to Orange and order the pancake flight and watch them fresh squeeze your citrus juice.  Walk to Molly’s if you like cupcakes.  Double Extra Bonus points if you pointedly reminisce about the Meatloaf Bakery when you pass where it was.  Crash a wedding at my old apartment building if you’re really bored. I really miss my neighborhood at the moment.)

Transfer to Red Line.  Ride Red Line to Howard.  (I’m going to stop at Granville for the Memories.  This was my first address in Chicago – even if I technically wasn’t supposed to receive mail because I wasn’t on the lease.)

[davescumbag]

a club - david james barton

[mariacallous]

Content warning: This article includes scenes of physical and sexual harassment and assault.

The trouble in Antarctica started in Boston. It was August 1999, and Stanford geologist Jane Willenbring was then a 22-year-old self-described “country bumpkin.” She had just arrived to start her master’s in earth science at Boston University. As an undergrad with an oboe scholarship at North Dakota State University, she’d studied beetle fossils found in Antarctica and learned how, millions of years ago, the now frozen continent once pooled with freshwater lakes. “That’s not so different from the conditions we might expect in the future,” she says. She wanted to explore this critical science. “It seemed really important for future global climate change,” she says.

Of all the geologists, few were more renowned than the one Willenbring had gone to Boston to study under: 37-year-old David Marchant. Marchant, a scruffy professor at BU, was a rock star of rock study. He was part of a research group that rewrote Antarctic history by discovering evidence of volcanic ash, which showed that Antarctica had been stable for millions of years and was not as prone to cycles of warming and cooling as many thought. To honor his achievements, the US Board on Geographic Names approved the naming of a glacier southwest of McMurdo Station, the main research base on Antarctica, after him.

Willenbring says Marchant had insisted on picking her up at the airport, an offer she thought was nice but strange. It got stranger when he started making her feel bad for his gesture, which she hadn’t asked for. “I’m missing a Red Sox game,” she recalls him chiding her. “You really should have picked a better time to fly.” He asked whether she had a boyfriend, how often she saw him, and whether she knew anyone in Boston or would be alone. In a few months, she’d be heading with him on a research trip to Antarctica and the region with his big chunk of namesake ice. “It was almost like a pickup line,” she recalls, “‘I have a glacier.’”

But it’s what happened in the glacier’s shadow that led Willenbring to take on Marchant and become the first to expose the horrors faced by women at the bottom of the world. A report released in August 2022 by the National Science Foundation, the main agency funding Antarctic research, found that 59 percent of women at McMurdo and other field stations run by the US Antarctic Program said they’d experienced sexual harassment or assault. A central employer, Leidos, holds a $2.3 billion government contract to manage the workplaces on the ice. One woman alleged that a supervisor had slammed her head into a metal cabinet and then attacked her sexually. Britt Barquist, a former fuel foreman at McMurdo, says she had been forced to work alongside a supervisor who had sexually harassed her. “What was really traumatic was telling people, ‘I’m afraid of this person,’” she says, “and nobody cared.”

With a congressional investigation underway, Willenbring is sharing her full story for the first time with the hope of inspiring others to come forward and claim the justice they’ve long deserved. But even now, decades after she first got into Marchant’s car, she can’t help asking herself how, and why, the nightmare happened in the first place. “You never hear a women-in-science panel where people are talking about stuff like I do,” she says, “because they’re smart enough to fucking run.”

[tellmeallaboutit]

knock knock (Raphael x F!Player)Chapter 10, In Which You Get A Warning (Received Loud and Clear)

AO3

"…Our sincerest apologies for the unexpected delay…” 

“….We kindly request that you approach the office for guidance and help if you are lost and unsure where to go…” 

"…The next station is..."

“….regarding any missed connections…" 

"...Terminal station. We urge all passengers to disembark before it’s too late…" 

****

If someone asked you how you got home, you couldn't really say. Half the time you slept on the train, half the time you waited in some dingy station for your missed connection, and half the time (can you still count?) you tried not to look at your phone, not to look at the billboards, not to look at the faces of the people next to you - God knows you don't want to see any more infernal creatures or Twin Peaks cameos. 

Raul called you ten more times and then stopped, about two hours ago, and his silence was even more frightening than his insistence.

Although you often dreamed of your hometown, you never really enjoyed returning to it. The journey itself was a painful ordeal - a train, then a bus, followed by a twenty-minute walk. Besides, you always felt...

Somehow lost in time and space there. The world moved on to the information age, but the town never did. A good two thirds of the population still went to St Martin's Church (the main and only attraction within a thirty kilometre radius) and the other third were Protestants. 

Your mother's house was in the shitty part of town that was becoming a little more decent with gentrification, but it was still a pain to get there without a driving licence (you'd promised to get one since you were eighteen and never got around to it). 

Then you saw it; the house you grew up in, the jaundice-yellow bricks, the Catholic cross above the door, the inscription 20+C+M+B+24 scattered across its facade, two rose beds, the old school garden gnome and, in the narrow driveway…

A red Lamborghini. Further down the road, two armoured jeeps (much too large for the driveway, and thus rudely obstructing the narrow cobbled street).

How did he...

How did he know who your mother was? Where she lived?

You must call the police. 

No, you don't. Don't be absurd.

Take a breath.

What the hell are the police going to do?

Wait. Yes, of course Raul knows where she lives. You made a transfer. A large transfer from Raul's account to Franziska Berger's. Your mother has an account at the local savings bank. It should have been easy from there.

How did he know you would go to her?!

He knows you have nowhere else to go.

And if he didn’t, Raphael for sure did.

No, not your mum. Not your mum. That's just a dirty fucking game, that's against the rules. Not. Your. Mum. 

She did nothing at all.

“Ms Berger!" a voice thundered, and you had to swallow down the fear that begged you to bolt back down the street.

Yurgir was sprawled across the steps, his hulking mass barricading your path to the front porch and door. He gave you a little greeting wave. He obviously could not enter the house: not because of the inscription on the door, but because he could not physically fit through the doorway. 

You thought of nothing better than to wave back. "You took your sweet time getting here, Ms Berger!" Yurgir said, chomping down on one of those apple puffs that your mum always baked when you were due for a visit. 

There were pastry flakes all around him already.

Jens was there too. He flicked a lazy salute in your direction, his tail mirroring his hand. You stared at him. The only thing scarier than a cambion with a pistol strapped to his belt was a cambion with a pistol strapped to his belt who had also spent five years in Syria and was munching on your mum’s apple puff.

Your poor mum must have been petrified to see these creatures at her door.

"My train was late," you forced yourself to say. "I missed my connection because of it, and then the other one was late too."

You had no idea why you apologised for being late for an appointment you never fucking made.

Yurgir scoffed and shook his head with a grunt. "The world has gone to hell in a handbasket, Ms Berger. In my day the trains..."

Jens cut Yurgir off before he could continue with his nostalgic tangents. "You could have called us from the station, Ms Berger. We tried to reach you. Repeatedly. Something with your phone?"

He scratched the bridge of his nose with his claw, and you noticed that he was obviously married. There are some very brave women in this world.

You, on the other hand, were not.

"Out of charge", you said, trying to sound nonchalant but failing miserably. “Don't worry. I like trains”.

"I'm sorry I missed you back at your place, Mrs Berger. I could have taken you to your mother's right away," Jens said, tail swishing, his yellow-red eyes never leaving you. "Won't happen again, I assure you."

You felt a desperate urge to take your mum's puff away from Jens, because he certainly didn't deserve it. 

"Is Raul inside?" Your voice wavered slightly at the mention of his name. "With my mum? Is she... is she OK?"

Please.

Jens flashed a grin while Yurgir looked at you with what might have been sympathy or pity - it was hard to tell.

"Ms Berger," he said in what must have been his gentlest voice, "I've been on Mr. D'Avergni's payroll since I got out of the slammer, and let me tell ya - despite all the bullshit people say about him, he's a good guy. One of the few left in this screwed up world."

You wondered if by 'good', he meant by maximum security prison standards because that's where you assumed Yurgir had done time. 

Hopefully Nessa had no real-life equivalent because zoophilia is definitely where you draw the line.

You hoped you could still draw them.  

"No matter what tiffs you two have had, he ain't the type to lay a hand on your mother or you," Yurgir said. "Trust me, I seen plenty of dames come and go in his life, but none of them had him wrapped around their finger like you do."

Jens let out a small scoff; either didn't appreciate the message or disagreed with it.

"I'm flattered," was all you could muster. 

You noticed that your neighbour from the house on the left was staring at the scene from her kitchen window. Miss Braun, was it? Newly widowed and bored out of her mind. Oh, she was having a hell of a day already. 

"You should be," Yurgir agreed heartily, glad to have imparted some wisdom to you. "There's a whole line of gals like you dying for his attention."

"Can I go see my mum, please?" you asked, hating how your voice sounded so childish. 

But there was no way around it - literally - with Yurgir blocking the way. He sighed and shifted slightly to the side, leaving just enough space for you to squeeze through (you fought back the dark urge to reach out and touch his horns). As you passed by, you caught Jens' reflection in the glass door; he was twirling a clawed finger around his temple and mouthing "cuckoo" at Yurgir.

It bothered you less than it should have.

***

The kitchen was pure chaos, thanks to your mother, who had become a one-woman cooking show. She was taking something out of the oven and shoving something else into it at the same time, all while making sure Raul’s cup of coffee was filled to the brim. 

Raul was sitting on the same kitchen table where you used to eat your cereal before school. His coffee was served in your mother's special guest cup (the finest porcelain with little angels on it, usually secured to collect dust in the cabinet), an array of apple puffs on a large plate, accompanied by fresh milk and an apple saucer. An absurdly large bouquet of pink tulips and carnations (must be his gift, your mother would have never bought something so over the top) formed the centrepiece.

"Anya!" Your mother exclaimed as soon as she spotted you and wrapped you in a tight hug. "Anya! Finally! My goodness, could you please charge your phone once in your life? Raul tried to call you God knows how many times! Christ!"

You were momentarily stunned, trying to decipher how you'd become the villain here.

"I'm sorry, Mom," you apologised. "And good morning, Raul. I didn't… I didn’t think to see you here."

He gave you a tight-lipped smile. He looked immaculate, for he must have slept three hours at most; decked out in a beige cashmere turtleneck and navy slacks, his chestnut hair slicked back. He looked perfectly human; more human than he ever did.

"Good morning, piccola," Raul said after taking a bite. "I certainly didn't expect to find myself here either. Not that I am complaining - Mrs Berger, as God is my witness - I've never had better apple puffs, and I've been to the best patisseries in the world."

"Franziska," your mother twittered, pushing a plate with two more puffs towards him. "These are Anya's favourite. I make them every time she finally decides to grace me with her presence. Just apples, sugar, dough, and cinnamon... Simple and budget-friendly. We had to be frugal when she was little..."

You had to be frugal when you grew up as well. 

"Well, that's all behind us now, Mrs. Berger," Raul said. "You have my word." 

Your mother blushed and muttered something along the lines of "oh, oh, don't be absurd, we're not in need of anything."

What a fucking nightmare. At least she didn't seem scared even though she damn well should be.

"Had I known you were visiting, Raul," your mother prattled on, "I would have prepared something special. And cleaned up, good Lord, the mess you had to see in here!"

You could eat off your mother's floor. She grabbed a brush and began furiously scrubbing away nonexistent dust from the floor.

"No need for that, Franziska," Raul interjected. "It's pristine here. Had I known I'd have to meet you today, I would've been more formal rather than barging in uninvited. How terribly impolite of me."

Your mom giggled again; you wouldn't be surprised if she asked him to call her Franzi next. She even seemed younger in Raul's presence. They were the same age, the two of them. They could have been your mum and dad.

You shuddered at the thought. 

“You truly have a house of God here, Franziska”, Raul mused, staring at the altar at the wall; Crucifix, Pieta statue, the rosary book, the prayer candles (lit, for your sake, it must be). Not really helping, mum.

"Oh, I'm afraid He was always the only man in this house," your mother quipped. "The only one to protect us."

Raul chuckled in response. "Not anymore. Funny enough, Anya told me she wasn't religious."

He could have as well put a hit mark on your forehead.

“Anya, I worried myself sick because of you!”, your mother flared up.”Raul said that you stormed out in the middle of the night for no reason! Do you know what could have happened to you? Do you even watch the news? There are so many dangerous people out there nowadays!”

Raul remained silent, taking a bite from his apple puff pastry while his eyes stayed locked onto you.

“A lot of dangerous people out there”, you admitted.

"I assumed there wasn't any particular reason," Raul murmured as he stared you down, “I wasn’t given an opportunity to clarify, unfortunately. And if there was some valid reason behind it all, I wanted to offer my sincere apologies and rectify the situation.”

That was not what his last text message sounded like.

Your mum shot you a look that screamed "Isn't he just wonderful?" before hurrying off to fetch another batch of apple puffs from the oven. It seemed like she was cooking enough food to feed Raul's entire crew, judging by the size of that stew pot.

“Could we have a moment in private, Anya?”, Raul asked, and you felt a cold chill creep up your spine. You took an instinctive step back and remembered that Yurgir and Jens were outside. “If you allow, Franziska. I don’t want to overstep”.

She was not even looking at the two of you, she was adding salt and vinegar to the pot.

“Of course! I’ll go check with the boys and leave you two to talk things through”, your mum smiled. “Anya, darling, I tidied up your room. It’s all guest-ready!”.

Outside, "the boys" were smoking and laughing about something. You remember a “no boys allowed” rule for your room, and for the first time in your life, you wouldn’t have minded it. 

“Anya, remember: adults talk to each other, they do not slam doors and run away.”, your mum whispered as she brushed past you. “And for God’s sake, did you comb your hair today at all? Why are you wearing mismatched socks? Anya.”

“Socks?! Who the hell even…”

“Tut, Anya, don’t be rude to your mother”, Raul (or was it Raphael? Please, let it be Raphael. Tut was such a Raphael thing to say) chided, gently pushing you towards the stairs. Your room was located upstairs, and you couldn't help but wonder if your mother had given him a tour of the house. “Lead me to your room. I’m very eager to hear all about your late-night adventures."

Oh, fuck.

you don’t work for Interpol you don’t work for them you have no idea about anything you did fucking nothing

You quickly climbed up, feeling him follow you every step. He didn't utter a word until you swung open the door to your room.

It was far from being guest-ready; hell, even you weren't ready for it. 

Albert Wesker glared down from his poster above your bed, sunglasses and all; Mr. Bubbles lay sprawled on faded pink sheets - where on earth did your mother find those? Books on the shelves, one worse than another: The Mortal Instruments, A Court of Thorns and Roses, The Hunger Games. Oh, thank God, Kafka’s Metamorphosis (your A-Levels literature exam demanded his presence). A photo of you in Alice: Madness returns cosplay (looking back now, it wasn't the greatest quality cosplay). JoJo poster (JOJO POSTER?! Why did your mom even let you hang that up?). Oh yes, your mum tried to mitigate the horrors in the room with the cross on the wall.

You closed your eyes shut. 

Guest-fucking-ready. Fucking disgrace. Raul might as well kill you now, so you don’t have to live with this memory.

"How… charming," Raul's gaze raked over every mortifying detail with a predatory interest. "Who's the tough guy on the wall? Should I be worried?"

If Albert Wesker was to ever make an appearance, you vowed to swallow a bullet right then and there.

"No," you choked out. "Not the one you should worry about."

 Raul walked towards the bed (took him two steps), picking up Mr. Bubbles and giving him a twirl. 

You fought to keep your breathing steady, and you were losing the fight. The room felt claustrophobic, like a bargain bin flower scented death trap.

You did not work for Interpol. You did nothing for Interpol. You just went home for a little break. That’s your whole story. Repeat: you did not work for Interpol…

You desperately wanted to call out for Raphael - some form of help or protection - but you couldn’t bring yourself to call Raul by Raphael's name.

"Raul, please," your voice barely audible, "Don't harm my mum. I swear on my life I'm not with Interpol. This is all just a..."

"...Coincidence. Right. One coincidence after another”. Raul interrupted curtly as he gently placed Mr Bubbles back onto the bed. "Anya, take a seat."

“I can explain, I swear to God…”

"Sit down, I said," he ordered again; his tone brooked no argument.

Your body betrayed you, responding instinctively to Raphael's commanding voice, like Pavlov’s dog to a bell. With no sofa available, you perched on the edge of your bed with Raul looming above you with his arms crossed.

"Anya. Stop looking at me like I'm about to dice you and your mother up for a stew."

His words, his tone, his clenched jaw did nothing to alleviate your terror; the very opposite, they did their best to freak the shit out of you.

Before you could gather some response, he continued: “What have I done to deserve this fear from you, Anya? Have I ever given you a reason?”

You flinched as you rubbed at the red bruises on your neck, hidden under a thick scarf. Was he bloody serious? He’d given you more than a couple of reasons. 

“Ah,” he sighed. “I see. Last night. Even if I may have… if things may have gotten a bit too intense, it was you who begged for me to do anything I wanted. So don't hit me with this 'MeToo’ crap now. Did you or did you not say those exact words, Anya? I don’t need a stop word, I want you to fuck me?”.

"I...I did," you said slowly. "I guess? But…”

"You guess." He parroted back. “Ever thought about owning up to your actions?”

You cowered even further into the wall.

"Did you?” Your voice turned hoarse. “Your text yesterday: 'You owe me an explanation and it better be damn good.' Then you wonder why I'm terrified of you? For all I know, you get off on me fearing you. Because I am no fucking match for you, or your money, or your power. And you know that. And you like that."

He damn sure liked that, leering all over you terrified in the corner like that. 

Raul fell silent, his expression unreadable for a moment before he finally spoke up.

"The text had its reasons," he said. "I could not understand why you... ran off from my place when we were getting along so well. Then I discovered who was coming over to yours. Then you ignored me. Repeatedly”.

He walked over to the window, running a hand through his hair. He paused for a moment before speaking again.

"I felt betrayed, Anya," he confessed, the words obviously costing him. “Believe me, it takes a lot to wound me. But you managed.”

“I don’t work for Interpol, I told you”, you repeated. “I told them to fuck off”.

Raul stared at the back garden for a while.

"I know," he said quietly. "We would be having a very different conversation otherwise. A very different one indeed."

You breathed out for what felt like the first time since you entered the house. 

“I have an insider in HQ”, Raul said. “I was informed that you told them – in very plain and harsh terms - you would never conspire against me”.

“I wouldn’t”, you breathed out. “I wouldn’t, of course I wouldn’t, not ever, what did you think?”.

Raul's expression softened slightly as he turned to face you once again.

“And why is that?”, he asked. “Because you fear me? Or because you actually have feelings for me?”

Now, Anya, focus: don’t say anything stupid and don’t do anything unhinged.

“Can’t it be a little of both?” you suggested.

A small smile tugged at the corner of Raul's lips before disappearing just as quickly.

“And why do you fear me more than Interpol?” he mused as he walked back towards you. “I am a corporate lawyer for all you know”.

"I'm not stupid, Raul."

"Indeed, you're not," he replied. "You're astonishingly well-informed.”

“Interpol wouldn't send a commando of armed men to my mother's house."

"For my protection, not to intimidate you," Raul laughed off the accusation. “Unless you seriously think I need a full-blown commando team to subdue you. On that note… Mind if I join you?”

Without waiting for your permission, he plopped down next to you on your bed, the pale pink sheets crinkling under his weight. His knee brushed against yours in what seemed like a casual accident.

“Gattina,” he prodded gently, laying his hand on your knee and giving it a light squeeze. “Enlighten me. What did you do to that Interpol team? They were left disarrayed, or so I heard. How did you manage that?”

Do not say anything unhinged, Anya.

“I don’t know”, you said. “I honestly don’t know. They just… ran”.

Raul looked at you, and his hand reached out to gently cup your cheek. His breath smelled like sugar mint and cinnamon and applesauce, with just a hint of tobacco somewhere in the background.

“Come on, love”, Raul said softly. “A little honesty. Do you really not know what happened there?”

“I don’t fully understand what happened there, let’s put it this way”.

“Let me help you”, Raul said. “I might have an idea”.

“Yeah?”, you asked, thoroughly relieved that he had cooked some wild theory himself.

“You have… a talent, Anya”, he said. “An uncanny ability to sway people; it's like you have them under your spell. First with Konstantin, now with the squad, and before that... with me. I didn’t find you in my bed, and I felt like… I felt like my world was going to end. I cancelled all my meetings, I took a day off work – I… truly do not know how to describe that to you”.

Then he kissed you, his lips pressing against yours, softly first, more insistently when you yielded and opened your mouth for his tongue, and you didn't resist because, well, it seemed like a really stupid idea, and you didn't want him to get angry again, and it wasn't a bad kiss at all.

“I mean it when I say that I love you”, he whispered in your ear, now lying almost completely on top of you. "And for once in my life," he added quietly, "I think I truly mean it."

Maybe Raphael had taken over him now. 

Maybe these were Raphael's words spoken through Raul.

Either way, it was the nicest he or Raphael had ever been to you, and you wanted it to stay that way while you tried to figure out... what to do next. 

“What I know is that there is something very, very special in you”, Raul whispered against your lips. “One of a kind.”.

Special. One of a kind.

There was never anything special about the teenage girl sleeping in this bed. At least you didn’t see that, and never believed anyone ever would. 

Yet the devil did think you are special enough.

“And I do think you feel something for me, too”, Raul went on, his fingers caressing your cheek. “Despite you having this idea of me as some scary, scary guy, some kind of evil demon… I assure you, I am not. Now tell me, honestly now, why did you run away from me last night?”.

You wondered who Raul was and how he was without Raphael’s influence. Was he as charismatic and soft-spoken as he appears now? Would you have liked him even a little bit if it wasn’t Raphael eyes looking at you now? 

And would he have even given you a second glance?

Probably not.

Should you…?

“Raul”, you said. “There is no way I can give you any answer to this question without sounding completely crazy, so I won’t even bother”.

“Well, no offence, Anya, but that’s how you….” His words were abruptly cut short. 

His face contorted as if an invisible hand had ripped his skull from his head, a sudden pain seizing him, and he rolled away from you. His expression changed to something far less human.

"Don't breathe another word to him, mouse," he whispered, his voice a whole octave lower now.

"What?" you gasped. “Raphael?”

"Not another word to the human," Raul snapped through clenched teeth, mad jealousy in his voice, his hand flying to his forehead as if to physically stop the pain. “This… bloody… house”.

Raul shook off Raphael's intrusion with a vehemence that was palpable, a fierce determination in his eyes.

"Merda... Merda," Raul grunted. "Just... just give me a moment. It's... damn." 

You watched as he staggered away from you and towards the bathroom off your room. The sound of rushing water filled the silence he left behind.

You heard the rustle of something being hastily retrieved, followed by a hard swallow echoing through the quiet room - clearly forced and without any liquid aid. Curiosity got the better of you and you looked out just in time to see him hunched over the basin.

"It's all right," came Raul's strained voice. "Just... just give it a minute or two. It'll be better soon enough." 

Your hand reached out instinctively, tracing the curve of his luxurious cashmere turtleneck.

"Thank you, darling." He paused for a moment: "What did you want to tell me? I am inclined to believe it no matter how crazy it might be."

Your brain scrambled like a rat in a maze to find a way out of this conversation that wouldn't upset either of them, but came up empty-handed.

"When did your headache start?" you finally managed to say, trying to buy yourself some time to think. "When you met me?"

"What?", Raul frowned. "No. Nothing to do with you. It started long before that. I already told you; when my father died. What did you want to tell me, Anya?"

His nose was bleeding; he put out a handkerchief to wipe it. 

"How did he die?"

"Why?", Raul's demeanor shifted abruptly into something icy. Your question had thrown him off balance. "What an odd thing to ask about.”

Was it really? Considering Raul's age, perhaps. 

"He died as no Catholic should," he finally said, his teeth gnawing at his lower lip. "Especially one as devout as he was. He hanged himself. Why are you asking all this?"

You swallowed and took a step back.

"What in God’s name is going on?" His voice wavered between anger and confusion.

His question remained unanswered. A distant sound interrupted him, something like a bag of bowling balls tumbling down the stairs. Then, a woman's soft cry.

Raul gave you a quick, surprised look.

You ran down the stairs first, overtaking him in your haste.

Not your mother, please not your mother, please not her...

The front door was wide open and there she was - your mother - crumpled at the bottom of the stairs, just below the front porch, her leg swelling rapidly around the ankle, little cubes of cheese and grapes scattered around. Jens got to her before you and was already inspecting her, his claws hovering over the ankle. 

Nausea struck you.

"Mum," you gasped as you dropped to your knees beside her. "Mum, what happened? Does it hurt? Jens, what the fuck have you done to her?"

"Excuse me?" Jens snapped back.

"No, Anya, I... I'm sorry," she whimpered between sobs. "I was bringing the boys some cheese snacks and then I just... saw something... I think... I lost my balance."

"What did you see, Franziska?" Raul's voice cut through her sobs like a scalpel. "Some damn… some damn bizarre timing."

Jens looked up from his examination and shot Raul a puzzled look.

"Nothing," she replied with an attempt at a laugh that came out more as a wheeze. "Sometimes I get dizzy spells... low blood sugar... this new juice diet isn't helping... Oh God, I'm so sorry, it's all just..."

Out of the corner of your eye, you noticed Raul's knuckles blanch as he clenched his fist, though his face remained a mask of concern.

"It looks like a sprain, not a fracture." Jens murmured under his breath. "No need to get worked up”.

Raul exhaled heavily next to you, as if he had been holding his breath all the time.

"Let the professionals have a look," Raul offered, kneeling beside your mother. "May I help you up, Franziska? Don't worry Jens, I got this. She's light."

"No...don't..." you managed to whisper. "Don't...touch her..."

"What?" Raul asked, brows furrowed in confusion. "Anya, trust me, I can handle this."

"Oh no, Raul," your mother protested weakly as he picked her up in his arms. "I don't want to bother you, it's so embarrassing..."

Something inside you snapped at her words. "Mum! For God's sake! They came into your house uninvited! They..."

"Anya!" She shot back with an unexpected ferocity, considering she was still sobbing a few moments ago. "Watch your language! And show some respect for people who are trying to help!"

"The nearest hospital is the university clinic," Jens said.

"God save us from public health care," Raul scoffed. "There's a decent one closer to where I live. Anya, for God's sake, breathe, your mother will be fine, I'll make sure of that. Anya? Sweetheart, breathe. Accidents happen. Not the end of the world. Anya!”

****

The doctor said it was OK.

Well, not right away. 

The doctor greeted you like you were bloody royalty, ran all the tests with zero waiting time, put your mum in a room that looked like a luxury hotel and then said it's OK. 

Just a small strain, promised she'd be back on her feet in a couple of days.

That was some fantasy world healthcare.

Raul played the concerned partner the first hour, then asked them to charge all the expenses to his account and disappeared into some quiet corner. 

You tried your damnedest not to think about what had happened. 

(he hurt your mother is what happened)

You just sat there, staring at your mum who was eating some diet yoghurt. 

"Raul's a godsend, Anya," your mother said from her plush hospital bed, looking way more content than she should be. "I think he really loves you. He couldn't stop asking about you.”

You had already tried asking her about what she had seen that startled her, only to hear “nothing” and “don’t you worry”. Talking to her was like banging your head against a stone wall. Most conversations with her felt that way.

"We hardly know each other, Mum”, you answered. “Don't you think it's all… strange? That somebody like Raul is so crazy about me? Me?".

"It is quite strange," your mum agreed with a nod. "But they say reality is often stranger than fiction. Some people win lotteries; well, it seems like you've won yours."

“Thanks mum”, you snickered. “You always made me feel desired”.

“Ah, don’t get all snippy. I just wish... I wish so much for you to have a different life. A nice, beautiful life. So you'd go to nice places, live in nice places, not have to live from paycheck to paycheck. Something I never had, but maybe you will".

"Mum, you are fifty. Don't talk about yourself as if you were dead".

"Nothing will happen to you when you're fifty," she said with a small chuckle. "Except maybe spraining your ankle, ha."

You both were silent for some moments.

"Why did you rush to see me anyway? You are pregnant and you are afraid to tell him, is that it? Raul would love that. He really wants to have children with you, he told me so".

"I am not pregnant”. 

She looked disappointed.

“Then what?”

Should you even try to tell her?

“Well, I found out… Let’s say… What if Raul was not a very good person... like... (what’s the word?) politically?"

That was not the word, but the right words would have scared her too much.

"What?" your mother asked in disbelief. “Whatever that means nowadays? Anya, am I a good person in your eyes? Because I remember…”

You cut her off before she could dive into that deep dark hole again.

"I am not discussing abortion rights with you ever again, mum," You took a deep breath. “Once was well enough”.

“Your generation is so indoctrinated it's horrifying," she grumbled. "A good man, who wants family and children, who works hard and goes to church, is now seen as the devil himself. Does whom Raul votes for really outweigh his love for you?"

"It's not about who he votes for," you countered, "it's about what he stands for."

Your mother sighed.

"What do YOU stand for then Anya? You tout yourself as a - God forgive me - socialist but expect Raul to foot the bill for a private clinic. And don't think I don't know that's his money you've been sending me. I’m not as gullible as you believe".

No? Who racked up a credit card debt to go to Nadine?!

"No," you snapped back, "I mean yes, I took his money, but it's not like he's hurting for it."

Your mother gave her one of her long "think about what you just said" looks, and you regretted ever starting this conversation.

"Are you sure, sweetie, that you are in a position to judge who is good and who is bad?"

“Well, you’ve been doing it your entire life”.

“Anya…” your mum started.

You stood up.

"I wish you to get better soon, Mum," you said. “I wish for you to heal and get better and also start listening to me for once in your life”.

"I already feel much better," your mother replied. "And as for you, show some gratitude to Raul for once in your life. The poor man chased after you to another city just to confess his love. Your father never even bothered to call… once. Lord help me!"

Lord didn’t help you, you thought as you looked at her leg. 

Hanged his crosses all over the house and he still didn’t give a fuck.

**

Raul was talking with somebody on the phone in the hospital parking lot in Italian, loudly and passionately, perhaps too much so; the glow from his cigarette danced in the darkness. Jens and co were lurking nearby, too, eyeing your every step. 

Not that you were thinking of escaping from the hospital now. Where?

What for?

The moment he saw you, Raul gave you a warm smile and stubbed out his cigarette under his polished leather shoe. He opened the passenger door for you. As soon as both of you settled into leather seats, just before he reached out to rev up the engine, all your pent-up tears came crashing down.

"Don't you cry,” Raul cupped your cheek and wiped the tear away with thumb. “Your mother just twisted her ankle. Think about all the things much worse that could have happened to her and they did not. Malignant tumor or a fatal accident. It's just a… warning, if you may. Do not take what you have for granted. Those who love you and hold you dear are hard to come by.”

Your sobs died down in your chest.

"Warning received loud and clear", you said staring into his eyes, trying to figure out who the hell you were talking to.

"Is that so?”, he asked. “What is it you wanted to tell me back then in your room? You had a look on your face like you were about to tell me something very important".

You tensed against the cold leather of the passenger seat.

“That I was stupid, and overwhelmed by our feelings,”, you said, carefully choosing every word. “That I am sorry that I ran away, and that I love you. Very much. And I remember what I promised to you”. 

To serve you.

He absentmindedly licked your tear from his thumb.

“I don’t think that’s all you wanted to tell me back there”, he said. “But I think that’s all I want to hear for now”.

Your gaze shifted to the noticeable bulge straining against his pants and you let out a sharp breath. You couldn’t help but wonder what exactly about your tear-swollen face gets him going so much. 

Well, you had a hunch.

"My bad," he said, catching your wandering gaze. "I understand you're not exactly in the mood. But you...you do something to me. Make me feel like a bloody teenager".

You were not in that mood indeed. 

You were in the mood for a little payback, though.

"Oh no, I am”, you said quietly. “In fact, I am very much in the mood, Raul”.

“Are you?”, he asked, his lips still against his own thumb.

His readiness to believe your lie was almost funny. You haven't slept well in three days, you've been running from him through trains to another city, your mother has sprained her leg, but of course you're down to suck his dick anywhere, anytime.

“Sure I am. Right here?”, you asked.

“Christ no”, Raul said. “See that van over there? Journalists. They get a flash of us, they'll spin it as me kidnapping and raping you at first opportunity. They’ll probably write I broke your mother’s leg too. Bastards."

"Home then? We are like an hour away".

His gaze raked over your legs, lingering just a bit too long. 

The engine roared to life beneath you.

“Two. And it’s a damn long time, if you ask me”.

The highway was barely lit, a maw of darkness that seemed to stretch on forever. It reminded you of that film... That's it, “The Lost Highway”. Kilometres and kilometres of the same road flashing by. You didn’t know what to say, Raul didn’t say anything either.

He began to decelerate; a P-Sign whizzed past in a blur. He veered off at the first opportunity and pushed deeper into the underbelly of some industrial wasteland, some grey-bricked, desolate looking factory. You surveyed your surroundings - one solitary lamppost standing guard over you and not much else.

You’ve seen more romantic spots, that’s for sure.

“The factory belongs to Avernus”, he said matter-of-factly. “We wouldn’t be bothered here”.

“Avernus? Do debtors toil for eternity here?” you joked.

“Ha ha”, Raul said. "I have an even better metaphor for the class struggle for you, little miss Marx."

Raul reclined his seat all the way back, pulling your body towards his with one hand wrapped around your nape. He kissed you deeply, but didn't linger much before guiding your head down towards his lap. He had already undone his pants and freed his cock from his boxers.

"Hold up, not like that," you interjected. He huffed out an irritated sigh.

You straddled over to sit between his spread legs, the steering wheel pressing into your neck as you held his cock in your grasp.

You wanted to be able to look him in the eyes.

“The way you look up at me as if I’ve given you the sweetest treat...fuck, it turns me on,", He gripped your head as you kissed the tip. “You love to suck my cock, don’t you?”

You grinned at his porn talk. 

"Mmmmhmm," you purred in response, never breaking eye contact as you gave his shaft an appreciative lick, your hand pumping him in slow and steady movements. "I love your cock, Raul. No one else can compare."

You made a very indulgent emphasis on the name as you stared into his eyes. 

Bite.

His hips jerked up, trying to pull you deeper, but you kept control.

“No one else”, you repeated with an edge, peppering his shaft with kisses.

Come on. Bite.

“Mouse”, he warned. 

There it is. There he is. You missed him.

At least a little bit.

His grip around your neck tightened as he tried to guide you further down onto him but once again, you resisted.

"I prefer piccola," you corrected, trailing your tongue along the pulsing vein of his length. "It sounds so lovely with your Italian accent." 

You spat on him, rubbing your saliva all over, as you savored the war between man and devil to fuck your mouth. Raul was stubborn, and oh boy, did he want you as badly as Raphael did.

Saliva poured out of your mouth and you let it drip on his silky slacks. You reveled in the ruin you were causing - fuck them both indeed - before feigning a deeper dive only to pull back for another lick.

The devil seemed to be winning.

"Mouse," Raphael managed to grunt through clenched teeth. "This is all very... temporary... trust me."

Ignoring his words, you wriggled out of his grasp to set the pace yourself, stroking him slowly and deliberately instead of actually sucking his dick.

"Temporarily?" You pouted as you looked up at him through fluttering eyelashes, running your hand along his cock. "I was hoping for a happily ever after, Raul."

Whatever retort he had ready was swallowed by a guttural moan; Raul's hips thrust forward in desperate need, but none of them were going to get off into your mouth today. 

"Stop playing around and suck me properly."

"Nope," was your curt reply (Raphael must have hated the “nope” instead of “no”). Before his hand could yank your hair and compel you, you recoiled against the wheel; slipped out of your jeans, practically peeled them off, and climbed on top of him.

You took him in, panties moved to the side, all in one embrace, cock in yielding, slick pussy, your cleavage thrust into his face. He tugged your shirt down (you heard a rip) to bare your breasts and took one of your nipples into his mouth.

"Fuck yes," Raul groaned as you rocked back and forth. “Faster”.

It was actually harder to go faster; this was some fucked-up car design that didn't offer much room for anything. Besides, you liked it exactly the way you moved, rubbing and grinding against him instead of bouncing on top of him.

So, you disregarded his request. Or at least tried to.

He gripped your thighs with a vice-like hold, halting your movements but thrusting his hips upwards to fuck you deeper.

"Say my name," Raphael said, his fingers digging into your hips, and if you let your imagination run wild (there was no way to tame it anymore) you could feel the scratch of the claws. 

"Raul," you said, smiling.

Raphael's hand went to your throat. Your taunt spurred him on, urging him to move harder and faster, to prove who was the superior one.

"Say MY name, mortal." 

"Ra..ra..." you played with the first syllabus, grinding against him. "Raul".

You saw it coming but didn't shy away. 

His retaliation was swift and brutal, his palm colliding with your cheek. There was such hatred in his eyes, such raw jealousy, flecks of gold and green. It left you soaking wet. 

"Raul," you said, returning the slap to his pampered, moisturised, perfectly groomed face, hoping to leave your mark on it.

He looked startled for a split second, as if he never thought you would dare to hit back. He grimaced, bared his teeth in rage and grabbed you by the hair.

You let out a shriek as he dragged you off and flipped you onto your stomach. Raul's head hit the roof of the car in the struggle. He spat out a curse about needing to get a jeep before trying to position himself behind you - only to repeat the fiasco. He gave up then and flung open the passenger door.

"Let's go for a walk, shall we?"

Cool spring air trickled over your skin as he pulled you to the front of the car for a very, very short walk - then pushed you up against the bonnet and bent you over like a rag doll. Your legs were spread wide as you found yourself staring at your own reflection in the reflective surface of the front mirror.

"GOD!" you cried out as he thrust into you again, that it robbed you of balance. Your sneakers and mismatched socks kicked helplessly in mid-air while you're wriggled on your stomach against the slick surface.

You hoped he did not have a dash cam to record this. 

You hoped his security did not have a live stream.

Your face was now pressed against the red chrome, your knees scraping the metal as he fucked you from behind, his elbow pressing down on your throat.

"Such...a...disobedient...little...mouse," he gave your ass a resounding slap. 

You laughed and doubled down, repeating Raul's name as Raphael rammed into you harder every time it left your lips, his claws digging into your bottom. Your own nails clawed at the pristine surface of the Lamborghini, imagining the bill Raul would have to pay to have it repaired and thoroughly enjoying the vision. 

His words punctuated every time his body drove yours into the cool metal: "He... Will... Be... Dead... Soon. Just… Us."

The words sent a jolt of pleasure through you. Raphael was jealous; so, so jealous. 

You were so close and yet so far; Raphael was holding you back. 

He won't let you come until you say his name.

His grip on your hair tightened, pulling your head back to meet his thrusts, while his other hand twisted your arm behind your back until it was on the verge of breaking, until you growled in pain and tried to shake him off, but humped against him instead. 

"Tell me what I want to hear."

He (they?) loved you viciously, but nobody ever loved you that much, viciously or not, so viciously is what you'll take then.

"Ra...", you began. And then it hit, a brutal, gut-wrenching orgasm that engulfed you as you finally chose to say the right syllables. "Pha... Oh FUCK... El..."

The last word was choked out of you and for an instant, everything went black.

"Never run away again," Raul whispered as his fangs bit down your neck, hard. "Never... never even think about it... never. Do you understand?"

There is nowhere to run anyway.

You nodded, eagerly, basking in the dark pit of your orgasm. 

As low as he could drag you down, so high he could lift you up; heaven high; everything-you-ever-wanted high.

Once you have experienced it, you will always want to feel it again.

"Do you understand?" he asked again, and you could tell he was getting there too. "Try it again and you are..."

He (who?) didn't say "dead". 

He (who?) never said "dead". 

He (who?) just moaned.

Then he came hard and fast, shuddering as he did so; you could not stop grinding back against his orgasm, riding the wave of power over him - over her - which was even better than an orgasm in more ways than one. 

He withdrew and for the first time, you felt the cold raindrops on your heated skin. He adjusted his pants and silently opened the passenger door for you.

Once in the car, you looked at Raul's face; his nose was bleeding. He was stretched out in the driver's seat, his clothes soiled with blood, saliva and semen. His hand was pressed against his face as he panted heavily.

You smiled.

You loved to see him so wrecked. 

"Cazzo," Raul gasped, trying to catch his breath. "Cazzo. This is really… fucked up. I'm sorry, I don’t know why I struck you. The things I said, I didn't…".

"You don't have to explain anything," you cut off any excuses he might make next. "It's fine. I am good. I liked it. A lot. I came, in fact".

You sprawled out on the seat like a content cat. Raul shot you a side-eye.

“Sometimes I have a feeling it’s me who should be scared of you”, Raul quipped. 

“Maybe”, you said. 

Raul gave you his own reflection in the mirror a weary look, small drops of blood still trickling down his nose.

"Damn, I've got another round of negotiations tomorrow," he said, rubbing his bruised cheek. "And a TV interview. I can imagine the headlines."

You felt as if your soul had been drained; Raul looked the same.

"Mh-m-m," you agreed, not giving much of a fuck. "Nothing a little concealer can't hide."

You watched his semen drip down the dark leather and wondered if you should wipe it off, and if yes, with what. Do you have a napkin? Actually, where is your backpack? 

He handed you over a napkin.

"Don't bother too much," Raul sighed as you got down to work, "there are people whose job it is to clean up, and that's definitely not you or me."

You wiped harder.

"By the way, what's that big deal of yours?" you asked.

"Why? I thought my business bored you”.

“I want to spill it to Interpol”, you whispered. 

Raul threw his head back and chuckled.

"They are already in the loop. And if you're really curious about my business, why don't you come along?” He ruffled his already dishevelled hair. “I am flying to Davos in a couple of days to finalise some... loose ends."

You felt a bitter taste in your throat.

"What do you need me there for?"

What do you think Raphael really gave you warlock powers for? To throw people under the bus? Hardly.

"To keep me company, my little mouse," he replied with a wink. "And maybe help me sway those who aren’t exactly thrilled about my plans – given your knack for persuasion."

A test of loyalty, then.

"There are people that even someone like you needs to convince?”

"I am not the biggest fish in this very big bowl, Anya".

"Not yet".

“Not yet”, he echoed.

"I don't want to be dragged into politics," you said. “I don’t care for it”.

"No? Sweetheart, you are the worst communist I’ve ever met,” Raul chuckled. “No need to be dragged into anything. All I need is for you to stand by me and lend me your support. In return, I’ll spoil you rotten. Sound fair?” 

You gave Raul a glance, one that seemed to say "I don't think Raphael will keep you around much longer after he gets what he wants."

"What is it you want, Raul? What is it that you don't have? You have everything”.

His expression was one of confusion—as if you were speaking an alien language.

"The thing about the things you don't have," he mused as his hand rested on your knee. "You never realise how important they are until they're yours. And once they are, you start to wonder just what else could be missing".

You watched the raindrops hit the car window.

"Do you ever think that sometimes we want too much?"

"Never," he flicked his lighter and a cigarette came to life between his lips. "If anything, I think we wish for too little."

Next Chapter, In Which You Get Spoilt Rotten

or (lemme decide soon)

Next Chapter, In Which Your Father Hanged Himself 

The last one is a flashback chapter from Raul’s POV to get a bit insight into the whole Raul / Raphael situation. 

[starcheols]

the 1 — choi seungcheol

⭑ it is said that no one ever forgets their first love, nor their first heartbreak. truer words have never been spoken as you leave the glamourous cities of europe to return to your small hometown, for the first time in seven years.

don't you think it would have been sweet, if it could have been me pairing :: smalltown!seungcheol x fashion designer!reader (gender neutral) genre :: nostalgia, gentle angst

warnings :: nothing major! just heartbreak i guess? mentions a glass of wine and a kiss. word count :: 1.4k

author's note :: i've never written a fan-fiction before so i'm marking this monumentous occasion with a slightly mediocre piece of writing that was floating around in my head for a week :)

links :: masterlist / ask to be added to the taglist!

The old bus station, with its peeling red paint and rugged masts, greeted you like an old friend as you took a step off the weathered vehicle, with its tires sagging next to the cracked curb. It seemed that autumn’s breath was whispering in the air, carrying a chill that nipped at you, prompting you to tug your cashmere coat tighter around yourself.

As you stood there, under the canopy of the station, the rhythmic plod of the primordial-era bus faded into the distance, and a familiar nostalgia settled over you like the autumn mist.

Your hometown had remained frozen in time, a canvas of memories painted against the backdrop of quaint architecture and cobblestone streets that echoed under the sharp clack of your heeled boots. 

As you rounded the corner of the bus station, the remainder of the small town, with its quaint buildings and centrepiece fountain, unfolded before you like a familiar tapestry of memories. 

And there, standing beneath the flickering street lights of the early morning, a broad-shouldered man stood with his back turned, the sun’s first tentative rays finding a home in his honey-blonde hair. And for that fleeting moment, you could have sworn you felt time suspend, the world tilting its axis beneath you, for it had been so long.

But then, reality asserted itself, like a gentle hand grounding you in the here and now. The features, upon closer inspection, were not those you had once known. The stranger's eyes, the curve of his jaw, all different from the one etched into the canvas of your memories.

You certainly could not resist the wave of relief that washed over you, and that sneaking adrenaline that had coiled within your chest slowly released its grip, leaving the heartache to dissipate along the morning dew beneath the frail sunlight.

Seven years since you had left this town, teary-eyed and clutching your suitcase, chasing dreams that led you across the world, to the capitals of Europe to pursue your degree and future. 

Milan, where you honed your craft, your fingers becoming extensions of your artistic vision. Paris, where the world of haute couture embraced you, and your name adorned the lips of those who appreciated the elegance of your designs. The bustle of fashion weeks, the allure of glamorous shows — it was a life you had dreamed of, a life you had made your own.

Yet, amidst the glittering lights of success, the echoes of that tearful departure still reverberated, often coming back to you after a stranger’s kiss or a glass of red perched on your dining table, up in the penthouses of Paris.

You remembered that fateful day, seven years ago to the date today, when the bus station had rather been a stage for a heartbreaking farewell. Seungcheol, your best friend with golden hair and big eyes that once held a world of shared secrets, stood before you.

Back then, you were just eighteen, brimming with dreams and aspirations. You had poured your heart out to Seungcheol, confessing a love that had blossomed within the cocoon of friendship. But his response, or rather the lack thereof, had cast a shadow over the farewell, dragging you over the edge to embarrassed silence and quiet tears. His eyes, ringed with long lashes that you longed to once press a soft kiss to, reflected not reciprocation, but a profound sadness and pity.

The bus had become your vessel of escape, your tears mingling with the rumble of the engine, as the vehicle pulled away from the same curb that you stepped out on today. The unspoken truth hung heavy in the air — Choi Seungcheol, the person you had thought of when you tossed pennies into the fountain’s pool and the person you loved the most in the entire world, (and really, what was the world of one who had just turned eighteen?), did not share the same sentiments at all.

The bench under the gnarled oak tree offered a momentary respite, and you took a seat, your coat enveloping you like a cocoon against the autumn chill. As you waited for your parents, who had vowed to meet you for breakfast, you watched the leaves dance in the breeze, a kaleidoscope of reds and golds that mirrored the hues of memories embedded in this town.

The quiet peace of the surroundings enveloped you, and you closed your eyes, allowing the crisp air to wash over you. The distant hum of the town, the gentle rustling of leaves, and the distant echo of a church bell created a symphony that resonated with a serene melancholy. The town hadn't changed much, and neither had the comforting embrace of its quiet corners.

A voice, a familiar voice, and one that you knew only all too well, cut through the tranquil ambiance. Your eyes snapped open, and the world seemed to shift on its axis again. There, standing before you, was Seungcheol —no longer the silent boy you tearfully left behind but a man, his honey-blonde hair still curling around his ears. His gaze met yours, and the years seemed to melt away in that moment, and how you hated the leap of your heart and the shake of your hands.

And it seemed your traitorous heart, a tempest of conflicting emotions, of love and grief, ran cold and hot simultaneously. Seven years had sculpted the features of the boy who you had loved from your childhood into a refined allure, the lines of boyhood replaced by the contours of a man who had weathered time with grace.

"Hey," he greeted you, a warmth in his eyes that could have deceived you into forgetting silent tears, and his pitying gaze years ago. "I heard you were back in town. It's been forever!"

Your brightest smile, a mask that you could credit from having being forged from your years of navigating the high celebrity ends of the world, adorned your own face, as you accepted his open arms, pulling yourself into the scent of him.

The old familiarity threatened to unravel the carefully constructed walls around your heart. How was it that he seemed genuinely excited to see you, to reconnect after all these years.

Seungcheol's infectious laughter filled the air, a melody that echoed through the town square, and one that you would have spent summers listening to on repeat, your arms intertwined. "I can't believe it, you know? I always knew you had that amazing potential, but seeing your name everywhere, in magazines and tabloids, isn’t that so cool? You've made it so big!"

The genuine admiration in his eyes was both heartwarming and disconcerting, for you. You could only nod, expressing gratitude for his kind words while trying to suppress the turbulent emotions churning beneath the surface. The town's quiet corners, once a sanctuary, now felt like a stage, each word and glance an act in the intricate dance of reunion.

And you won't believe who's behind me," Seungcheol continued, a mischievous twinkle in his eyes. "My wife's a huge fan of your work. She practically dragged me here to meet you."

As your eyes shifted to the figure approaching behind him, your breath caught. A woman, stunning with dark red hair, walked with two small children by her side. The bitterness, like a dormant ember, flickered within you, threatening to consume the facade of happiness you had meticulously crafted.

"Hey, look who's here!" Seungcheol called out to his wife, his voice brimming with excitement.

She turned, and for a moment, your eyes locked. A fleeting connection passed between you, a recognition of shared spaces in a world divided by time and choices. Her smile was warm, genuine, and you tried to match it with your own, though it felt brittle, a fragile façade that hid the tempest within.

Seungcheol introduced you, praising your work with an enthusiasm that only friends from the past could muster. The children, curious and full of innocent wonder, regarded you with wide eyes. As the conversation flowed, you couldn't help but wonder what could have been if, in that moment seven years ago, the trajectory of your lives had diverged in a different direction.

Seungcheol had moved on, creating a family, a chosen one. The pang of longing lingered, but you swallowed it down, resisting the temptation to wonder about alternate realities.

But we were something don't you think so? Roaring twenties, tossing pennies in the pool. And if my wishes came true, it would have been you.

[hazel-of-sodor]

Sodor Light Show

Ffarquhar 

1989

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A blur of blue, tan, and green paint, steam, and shining lights raced by in the night, a whistle piercing the cold night air. In the distance Toby tilted his head listening.

“That’ll be them,” he said lazily, stretching.

Percy scowled, “they're not supposed to be here for another ten minutes.”

Linda snorted, “They were given a clear line and told to hurry. You should have known better than to bet against the old birdbox.”

Percy sighed as Toby chuckled.

The whistle sounded, closer this time, Daisy’s horn sounding with it. The distant end of the Hackenbeck tunnel shone with light as the train raced through. The engines at the station could just make out the sound of laughter from the tank engine at the head as he raced ahead. The reason for the laughter soon became apparent as a red shape crested the hill, too far away for the engines to hear, but clearly cursing. Daisy taunting the bus could be faintly heard from the end of the train.

“Didn't Bertie leave before them?” Mavis asked, amused. 

“He did.” Diesel chuckled, “and he knows Thomas won't ever let him live it down.”

Thomas finally slowed, panting happily as he pulled into the town and turned into a tramway as the rail line ran along the street. Even among the streetlights the train seemed to glow with the number of lights strung along it, a long line of flashing colours and light. The children on the platform began cheering as they heard the tank engines bell ring out as he ran through the town. 

Finally the train rounded the bend before the station, the children's cheering from the platform reaching a fever pitch as the tank engine came into view whistling cheerfully, only matched by the cheering coming from the children in the coaches. Thomas sailed gently into the station, snow being pushed to the side by his plow as he filled the only empty line.

The tank engine stopped smoothly with a triumphant whistle, a full seven minutes early, smirking from buffer to buffer.

“You couldn't let me win this could you?” Percy said, faking upset.

“Pardon?” Thomas asked, clearly confused.

“He didn't know!” Mavis cackled, Percy blushing furiously.

“In his infinite wisdom,” Diesel explained silkily, “our saddle tank bet against Toby saying that you would be more than five minutes early.”

Thomas’s smirk returned full force as Daisy’s laughter could be heard from the other engine of the train. 

Before either could respond, Bertie pulled in, panting tiredly. “I thought she was slower than you?!” He accused.

“But still faster than you Mon Cheri.” Daisy said, mock sweetly.

The bus muttered frustratedly under his breath about blue kettles.

Thomas chuckled smugly as Sir Charles Hatt walked past him to the end of the platform, where the tall Christmas tree stood. The former Fat Controller waited patiently for the passenger from both train and bus to disembark, then he finally spoke, his strong voice carrying over the crowd. .

“It is my honor this year to welcome everyone to the lighting of the Village tree. Every year on the first of December, one city on Sodor lights their tree first, before the light is run across the Island the following night. This tradition was old when I first saw it as a child in this very town. This city and the Island it calls home have grown since then, but our spirits, and that of Christmas remains the same!”

The crowd cheered loudly, and the former controller smiled broadly.

It is my great honor to light the tree this year. 3…2…1…Light!”

The tree’s lights blazed to life, bathing the street in colour and light, to the sound of cheers, whistles, and horns.”

[duskstargazer]

[1967]

Culdee simmered happily in the station as his passengers made their way to the platform, and to Catherine.

“It must be nice,” Catherine sighed.

“Hm?”

“It must be nice to still be in service once the line closes for the winter. I'm just left in the shed until Spring comes.”

“Oh, trust me, it's not-”

“As well you should be!”

Catherine flinched as a large red bus rolled up.

“An old chicken coop like you had no business carrying passengers!”

“I've been carrying passengers up and down this mountain far longer than you've been on the roads.” Catherine retorted.

“With my help,” Culdee grinned.

“Bah. Takes two of ya to carry one group of passengers? I can do the whole trip alone.”

“Must get lonely.” Culdee replied, indifferently. “I’d certainly get lonely if not for Catherine.”

“Perhaps he's just mad because he's single.” Catherine said, sagely.

Culdee choked on air, and his crew bit back chuckles of their own.

The bus, however, went so red that you couldn't tell where the face ended and the body began.

“W-well I'm still a far better mode of transportation than a glorified lift!”

With an angry squeal of his tyres, the bus stormed away, with even his driver bracing in his seat.

“Kids these days,” Catherine sighed.

“Mmmhm.” Culdee agreed.