#this neighborhood has otherwise been decent for years

[bobcatmoran]

I didn’t make anything for Barricade Day this year, but I did go to Hugo, Minnesota, which is named after exactly who you think it is, and said “hi” to a certain neighborhood.

[whirlybirbs]

— NOISE COMPLAINT ; eijiro kirishima ; 切島

summary: red riot feels really bad about absolutely wrecking the shit out of your treasured plants, or eijiro kirishima falls in love at first sight. pairing: f!reader / pro hero!red riot word count: 3.7k tags: mutual pining, fluff/comfort, humor, very gentlemanly make-out, reader is a fan of red riot, mention of ingenium thirst (truth) a/n: kiri might be a twenty-seven year old pro hero in this fic but he is an absolute lovesick virgin who gets all his romantic cues from k-dramas. you cannot force me to think otherwise.

This is exactly the sort of night you needed.

The television, low and quiet, drones on as a deep-dive video on terrariums plays. Your apartment is clean — dishes done, laundry folded and trash taken out. There's a new candle burning on the coffee table, and a Dynamight-themed, cucumber-melon eye mask plastered to your delightedly thoughtless expression.

It's supposed to be good for dark circles. It kinda burns. You wonder if maybe that's, like, part of the gimmick. Y'know. Burns. Dynamight. 

Whatever.

No thoughts. Only the pleasure of turning everything off — brain included — for a perfect Friday night, complete with a mediocre glass of wine and no pants. 

The oversized Red Riot t-shirt clinging to your frame is your favorite. You've had it since college — it's a simple red tee with REAL MEN RIOT blazoned across the front, complete with your favorite hero popping a cheeky, shark-like grin and a double bicep. It's faded, stretched out, and broken in but it's also clean, and it smells like fabric softener and comfort.

This is the life. 

Even Twitter is decidedly pretty calm tonight. 

You're scrolling through your timeline, snickering at your friends' recent thirst tweets over Ingenium's recent GQ Japan shoot when it starts.

Apparently, your upstairs neighbors are home.

You thought those guys were out of town for the week. 

You've had beautiful, silent bliss for too long. The buck stops tonight, you suppose.

There's a shout overhead, then a scramble. Another voice joins the fray, and you swear you hear someone call someone else an idiot. You frown deeply as your eyes trail upwards. You wait, expecting more noise, but unsettling silence follows.

Your eye twitches.

Annoyance tips into a simmering rage.

The apartment complex is old. It's in decent shape, and the rent isn't half bad, but the walls are thin. Your upstairs neighbors have been like this as long as you can remember: shouting, stomping, fighting... Some nights it's like being subjected to musical chairs, modern contemporary tap dance, and experimental sound drum solos all at once. 

Your first week was the worst. You dragged yourself up the back to knock on their door and politely negotiate some silence — but the man who opened the door was less than pleased to have his little dude-bro circle-jerk interrupted. He told you to fuck off, get bent, and leave him the fuck alone. 

Then, before he slammed the door in your face, he procured the sort of audacity only assholes possessed and laughed at your Red Riot shirt — which is just plain unforgivable, frankly. 

"That guy's a fuckin' pussy." 

Sure, sure, sure, right, right, right.

The interaction told you everything you needed to know about the two (or four?) men who lived upstairs. They were losers. And they were fuckin' annoying. 

And, as it turns out, manufacturing bad batches of Trigger. 

You don't know that yet, but truth be told it isn't exactly shocking.

Maybe it's your fault for picking an apartment complex in this part of Tokyo. This part of Arawaka Ward is rarely found on those top-ten-neighborhoods-for-young-professionals lists, but it's affordable! And for day laborers like you, it worked. And hey, in recent months, the crime rate has gone down at least 5% — which only quelled the anxieties of your mom and dad by about the same percentage. 

The candle on the coffee table flickers, and you're about to turn back to your slow Twitter feed when there's another bang upstairs — this one admittedly loud enough to send a wave through your wine beside you. You slip your eyes slowly to the glass, perched on a coaster, as another bang rattles your apartment. You reach to still the vibrating glass on the side table. 

That's when the shouting really starts.

And it's when you notice the growing brightness of red and blue lights outside the window.

The apartment complex is pretty big. There are about sixty residents and six floors. You lucked out and managed to snagone of the last available Western-facing studios with a balcony — which made for a perfect plant haven. 

It was a recent hobby, but one that quickly became your calm after the chaos of the day-to-day. Working for the city's Heroics Response Department left you picking up the physical pieces (literally) of a lot of lives. Your quirk might be the usual, run-of-the-mill strength-based ability, but it comes in handy in the aftermath of property damage due to — what the Nation's Safety Commission has labeled — "villain-aggressed encounters". 

All in all, it's a good gig. It's physically demanding but rewarding. The pay is good, you've got union benefits, and you even have a per-diem schedule. It keeps you busy, and though it's not your father's construction business, it's a career path your parents are proud of. 

The slice-of-heaven balcony is bustling with plants. Some are happier than others, sure, but it's pretty. You've admittedlyformed an emotional bond with those vines, leaves, and flowers. 

It's perfect.

It's also perfect for snooping whenever things like this go down in your complex, or the sister complex across the parking lot. 

The shouting match upstairs is escalating, and you take the moment to tip-toe towards your balcony door to peek outside. It looks like two or three police cruisers have pulled up outside. Maybe someone called for a noise complaint? Maybe the property manager was tired of dealing with those losers?

Cackling to yourself, and hoping for a vindicating show of revenge (NO ONE CALLS RED RIOT A PUSSY), you yank open your balcony door and slip outside just as the sound of a pot crashing meets your ears.

Then:

"Shit, shit, shit—"

There's someone on the balcony. That someone's boot is currently stuck in an empty terracotta pot you were saving for spring. Your eyes are wide as you watch the shadow leap to his other foot, lose his balance, and unceremoniously knock over your entire, six-foot-tall, and well-treasured plant stand. You slap a hand over your mouth mid-shriek, hands flying to try and save whatever you can. 

You fail.

Eijiro Kirishima freezes.

What the fu—

It takes a second.

Like, a full second. Maybe even two. Your brain can't make sense of the sight before you. Neither can his, really. 

There's a girl on this balcony. A pretty girl. Like, mega pretty. Like soft and warm and cute and you smell kinda like vanilla — and there's... You're wearing his merch. His merch and... nothing else. Nothing else but a Dynamight eye mask and a pair of fluffy socks. 

...Is this what it's like to fall in love at first sight?

Shit.

Red Riot is on your balcony.

The Red Riot.

Red Riot, the hero in question, catches himself staring. His wide eyes openly wander over your figure (woah, okay, hello thighs), and the second he realizes it, he quickly snaps his eyes up to your face with a mortified expression. "Uh... hi!"

"...Hi...?"

Your expression is tied between shame, fear, and sheepishness as you blink once at him, then twice at the mess of your hobby's destruction. There's dirt everywhere, a plant stand blocking the doorway, and carnage. Your precious babies have been murdered. 

By Red Riot.

And... Red Riot is on your balcony. 

You repeat: Red Riot is on your balcony. 

Abort mission, abort mission.

Your lips part, your mouth hangs open, and every single thought in your head seems to stutter. Kirishima winces as you look down dejectedly at your plants (or, what remains) before he speaks.

"I, uh— is it cool if I..." he points upwards, "Use your balcony?" 

You're speechless.

You draw your mouth shut and nod hurriedly.

"Thanks," he grins, giving you a thumbs up — and a smile. A toothy, cute, nervous smile, "Lemme just... I gotta handle something. B-But, I'll be back. I'll help fix this mess — just... five minutes, okay?"

It hits you suddenly that his voice sounds different from all those interviews you've watched. It's a little warmer, a little raspier, a little less heroic. It's cute. 

Your brain is still having a hard time connecting the words coming out of his mouth to the scene before you — like, yes frontal lobe, this is real. This is happening.

Red Riot is real and Red Riot is on your balcony. 

He's shockingly gentle when he finally frees his boot from your terracotta pot, setting it down with purposeful delicacy — he even whispers 'please stay' as he props it upright — and then steps back to eye the balcony above yours like an athlete remembering a gameplan. 

He's trying to figure out the best way up. 

How he even got up here is news to you. 

(It was Uravity, as it turns out. They've been patrolling together more in this Ward.)

Red Riot is huge. Like, huge. 

Broad shoulders, rippling biceps, and long, fluffy crimson hair. It's daunting to realize how tall he is in person. The guy is a beast — everyone knows it — but his chivalrous nature is that thing that usually draws in his fans. It's no secret that Red Riot is sweet. He openly champions the need to be a good role model for men everywhere. Y'know, you can be strong and nice!

A sharp canine glints in your apartment's light as he pokes his tongue out and thinks for a second. 

Then, he settles on his plan. 

"You might wanna head inside," Red Riot says as he rolls his shoulders and bounces on the balls of his feet; he's readying up for a fight — and you blink as the beautiful realization dawns on you, "This could get kinda loud."

Loud?

Oh my god.

Is he here for your upstairs neighbors?

Oh my god, he is. 

Your jaw falls open as you bark out a laugh — it's an incredulous rasp that sends you into a spiral of joy; you're not a vengeful person by any means but...

"They're gonna shit themselves," you grin, your eyes alight with pure delight and a spark of something that reminds Kirishima a lot little bit of Bakugo, "They called you a pussy—"

Kirishima's brows shoot upwards as he pauses. He was about to jump and dig his hands into the underside of the balcony, but his quirk is stalling at your words. There's a roaring fire blazing in your eyes, one that screams retribution. 

It's... comical.

You cackle again at him with a wide grin, hissing conspiratorily. "They made fun of my shirt!"

You point down at the REAL MEN RIOT tee with both hands, your face set in a look of vindicated glee. Then, the second realization of the night hits — that you've got no pants on, and that stupid, goofy Dynamight eye mask is still on your face. You make a soft sound of embarrassment and tug your shirt down lower, trying to cover up. He cannot see your underwear. No. No way, no fucking way. Without a single word, you reach up, snatch the Dynamight eye mask off your face, and whip it off the balcony without a second thought. 

Slowly, Kirishima's face splits into a pointy grin. 

Holy shit, he's so fucking hot. 

"Oh, man," Red Riot rumbles, his face cracking into a sharp, playful smirk, "That's real rude. I might have t' teach these guys some manners."

Your smile returns, washing away the wobbly look of embarrassment sticking to your cheeks. 

Man, it sure is cute.

You are really cute, Kirishima realizes.

"Right! And who calls Red Riot a pussy?" you counter excitedly, before reigning it in and awkwardly lowering your arms as you try to tug your shirt down to hide the tops of your thighs again. Your glee has stifled a little bit, but it only reaffirms Kirishima's duty to wrap this all up. 

"Yea, that's, like, super misogynistic," he muses as his quirk kicks in and his hands flick into a hardened state. It's insaneto witness the way his large hands transform into weapons with a single breath. You can see the jagged extension of his quirk working up his large arms, too, "Lemme just have a lil' word with these boys, alright? Head on inside, I'll be back in a sec'."

Then, with graceful ease, he hops upwards with a little hup before latching to the base of the upstairs neighbor's balcony. 

It's insane how effortless it is for him to haul himself up the balcony, his hands dug into the cement. His upper body strength is insane. He's scaling the terrace, alternating his grip. He disappears into the dark, swinging his body upwards and reaching his destination.

You tamp down your awe in favor of heeding his directions: head inside.

You're closing the balcony door when you hear Red Riot's voice greet the unexpecting gaggle.

"Hey, fellas! I heard you guys are some super fans. Got anything you want me to sign?"

You snicker to yourself as you hear the beginning of a fight. 

Again, as it turns out, the guys upstairs sucked. Like, mega sucked. They'd been responsible for several recent Trigger overdoses; Uravity and Red Riot were working with law enforcement to track the small-time manufacturers — which explains why they'd been so quiet lately. They suspected someone was on their tail. 

As Red Riot scaled their balcony, law enforcement waited to break down their door. They arrested the four men (Seriously? Four? In that studio?) without much incident — however, you did spy a broken nose on one of them as they were hauled into the back of the awaiting cruisers. 

Sweet, sweet revenge. 

By the time your neighbors are carted off, you've shimmed into some sweats and made a half-assed attempt to look sort ofpresentable, all while firing off a few contextually incomprehensible texts into your group chat.

red riot has seen me in my underwear wtf do i do know kiss him?

You're really weighing your options when there's a knock on your balcony entry. It's gentle and cordial. You turn, head snapping, and spy that trademarked (and a dozen times retweeted) smile through the glass. He waves. 

Your heart leaps into your throat. You try to remember to breathe as you shuffle over and tug the balcony door open. The night air is cool.

Be like the night air.

Stay cool.

Eijiro feels so silly. And guilty. And honestly? Really into you. 

You're still wearing that shirt — the one with his face on it. You have opted to put on pants, but Kirishima still reminds himself to keep his eyes on your face. No ogling. That's not very gentlemanly. 

There's a beat of awkward silence as the two of you wait for the other to speak, and Kirishima is the one to break it with a raspy laugh.

"I wanted to apologize about your plants," a large hand moves to rub the back of his neck, "I cleaned up as best I could. I'm really, really sorry."

You wave him off, leaning into the doorframe. "No, it's okay! It's nothing I can't... fix. I think?"

You look beyond him to the catastrophic mess of plant matter. He must have tried tidying up while you rattled off the rapid-fire texts in the group chat. 

Red Riot's face warbles into something tied between mortification and guilt. "Please forgive me."

"Seriously!" you cry, waving your hands as you try to placate his dejected expression, "Please don't feel bad. It's a fair trade, y'know. Those guys upstairs were, like, the worst."

"I can only imagine," Eijiro concedes, frowning a little, "They didn't give you too much trouble, did they?"

You shake your head and laugh a little, "Aside from insulting my favorite hero to my face? Not really."

Kirishima can feel his face get a little hot. He shifts from boot to boot. His smile is a little woozy. "So... you're a fan?"

You don't need to tell him the underwear you have on matches the shirt — red, with an embroidered RR on the front. You keep that to yourself. You just nod happily.

"Really?" his grin cracks into something so excitable it makes your entire stomach flip, "I don't meet a lotta fans who are..."

His words drift off.

He's staring at your eyes. You're so... soft. Warm. Your eyes are swirling with quiet, astonished adoration and it's making Kirishima feel like he's floating. 

"Who are...?" your brow quirks as you lean deeper into the doorframe, trying to coax out the rest of the sentence.

"Gorgeous," he breathes, his posture relaxing a little as he soaks in your expression.

It's like getting sucker punched to the sternum.

All the wind rushed out of your lungs.

The soft moment only lasts a beat, because suddenly Red Riot's face screws up and he waves his hands hurriedly. "Wait, no. Hold on, I mean — all of my fans are gorgeous, because, uh, they're my fans and I love them, right? It's not like they're not gorgeous, I just — I'm... I... My fans are, like, usually dudes? A-And that's totally cool because dudes can be gorgeous, too, y'know? But—"

You're laughing.

Kirishima is realizing he was not paying enough attention in his agency's PR training last month and you're laughing.

"I get it," you giggle, crossing your arms and grinning up at him, "I mean, I definitely don't think I'm gorgeous but—"

"You are," he assures firmly, his expression serious.

Are you dead?

Are you, like, literally ascending to a higher plane right now?

There's no fucking way this is happening. 

Your lips part in quiet shock as you bite back a smile that threatens to cramp up your cheeks. Kirishima eats it up, his posture perking up at the way you seem to melt at his compliment. His smile is boyish — almost dizzy. 

You duck a bashful look towards the tiled floor of the balcony, not really giving a singular shit that your beloved monstera has been stomped on.

Kirishima clears his throat, then — in a move he totally hasn't swooned over in those K-dramas he's secretly obsessed with, that'd be ridiculous — he props his arm up against your door and leans over you. Your faces are close in the warm light of the balcony. 

Your eyes stutter up his abdomen, chest, jaw, lips, and eyes. Kirishima notices. It's really, really cute.

"Are you, uh... Are you seeing anyone?" 

Of course, Red Riot would ask that. Red Riot, the king of chivalry. How is something like that so endearing? For the tenth time tonight, he makes your stomach flip.

You shake your head no, a little too stunned to speak.

"Cool," Eijiro musters over a shake of nerves, "Cool. Okay. Uh, then would it... would it be okay if I bought you some new plants?"

You nod, swallowed entirely by his shadow. He's so fucking huge. 

"And if I took you to dinner?" 

Another nod.

"...And — shit. You're, like, so cute," the smooth persona he's put on melts a little as his eyes roam your face; you feel so... shy, "I was gonna ask you something else but..."

"My number?" you offer, fiddling with the hem of your shirt as you maintain eye contact. 

Is it hot? You're sweating. Is he sweating? He's hot. 

Eijiro nods, absolutely mesmerized by the way you tug your lip between your teeth. "That. Yea."

He has to fight back the urge to bite his knuckle when you turn away and move towards your kitchen to snag your phone. Kirishima stays put, allowing himself one moment of ogling. When you turn around, he's clearing his throat and crossing a boot over his ankle. 

He's still leaning up against the doorway.

"Here," you slip him the phone.

Eiijiro takes it — then hesitates for a second.

"...You're not gonna leak my number, are you?"

You have to laugh. You rub your cheek and shake your head before crossing your arms and looking up at him. "If you think I'm going to do anything to fumble this, you're wrong." 

Fumble this? Fumble him? He's the one that is at risk of fumbling, are you serious?

Eijiro barks out a surprised laugh as he enters his number, shoots a quick text his way then ignores the buzz in his back pocket. He hands your phone back and tries so fucking hard to ignore the way your fingers brush his. 

He got your number.

Holy shit, he got your number.

"Hey, Red Riot?"

He blinks down at you. "Y-Yea?"

You gesture for him to come closer, and he obeys easily — he bends a bit at the waist, his hair falling along his shoulders as he smiles down at you in the threshold of your apartment.

"Is everything alri—?"

You pop a chaste kiss against his cheek. 

Or, try. 

As you hop up onto your tippy toes to kiss his cheek, Eijiro is turning his head at the sound of Urvaity calling his name simultaneously. Trajectory failed, and now it's lips and lips instead of lips on cheek — and honestly? He owes Ochaco one for this. 

Red Riot melts — actually, truly, genuinely melts. His posture slumps down as you let out a shocked little sound of apology. But, Eijiro doesn't mind, and fuck, neither do you — because one hand braces against the doorframe above your head while his other hand is suddenly on your waist. He steadies himself, and damn. Damn. 

He breaks away when Uravity calls his name again. Kirishima is breathless and blushing, and your knees feel like jello. 

"I... Uh, I gotta go—"

"Yea, totally," you breathe, swallowing down the burn of unfiltered attraction, "Sorry, I was trying to kiss your cheek—"

Another call of his name. Red Riot curses softly before hollering a 'COMING!' over his shoulder, out past the edge of the balcony. 

When he turns back, he's fast to sweep you into another kiss — this one hotter than before. This one draws you into his chest, sending your hands colliding with the hot skin of his chest. There's muscle and scars and heat beneath your fingertips. His hand curls around your lower back, and you nearly moan. 

He peels himself away with an apologetic look as he backs towards the edge of the balcony. "I gotta go — I'll text you once patrol is over. Is that okay? I'm serious about the plants. And dinner." 

All you can do is nod.

Eijiro is kinda proud of himself for stunning you stupid with that kiss.

This is exactly the sort of night you needed.

[evieismol]

Big Bend - Chapter Two

Cw: cursing, mentions of man eating giants (nothing comes of it)

Previous

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.

.

Texas was really fucking big. Yeah, I knew that was like it's whole thing - “everything's bigger in Texas” - but I still hadn't been expecting it to be this big. I'd been driving all day, and I'd watched the sun move from the east to overhead to west and then finally disappear behind the horizon, leaving the faded orange sky that currently sprawled in front of me. I'd entered the state while the sun was somewhere between east and overhead, almost seven hours ago, and based on my phone's map, I still had another hour to go before I'd reach my destination. 

Growing up in Connecticut and having spent the last three years mostly staying in the same neighborhood in Seattle, I found myself more than a little shocked.

 I probably should have expected this, I thought. I mean, what was I expecting taking a job in the state with the aforementioned motto, at a place called Big Bend. 

Well, I wanted to get away from things, and by the looks of it, I've certainly succeeded at that at least.

Miles of desert stretched on for as far as the eye could see in every direction. 

Yup. Nailed it. 

Despite still being an hour away, I felt anxiety bubbling up in my stomach as I approached what was going to be both my new job and home. I'd never worked at a national park before. Granted, I'd only be working there as a gift shop clerk - not a cool job like being a park ranger. Still, it was entirely out of my comfort zone. Several days of driving out of my comfort zone, to be exact. 

The job offered room and board, though, and when it was between spending the last of my money on gas and driving to the other side of the country versus hoping to get a bed at a women's shelter that already didn't have enough beds, I would apparently choose the first option. 

I just really hoped I didn't regret it. 

The dim orange sky continued to fade as I drove on. Hotel California played faintly over the radio. When the sky was almost entirely dark, I finally saw it. 

The large wood sign sat on the side of the road. There was just enough light left to make out the words. I slowed to a crawl as I drove past.

“Big Bend National Park,” I murmured. “Here goes way more than nothing.” 

I continued on, the sign fading into gray dusk as I sped up again. It wasn't long before lights appeared in front of me. They grew larger quickly. Soon, the navigation on my phone showed I'd arrived at my destination. Panther Junction. As I stared at the lights in front of me in the otherwise dark desert, it hit me that I hadn't quite arrived at my destination. Not exactly. I'd been told to go to Panther Junction, where I'd be working and living, but instructions beyond that were unclear. The series of roads, parking lots, and buildings in front of me left far more options than I would have liked. The main visitor center, a two story building with what looked like a balcony, was dark. That eliminated that option, at least. The parking lot in front was also empty, and seemed like a decent enough place to park and start looking for someone who might know where I was supposed to be. 

I mean, someone has to know, right? I just really hoped that someone wasn't solely me. I pulled into a parking spot, turned my car off, and climbed out into to crisp night air. Looking around, it seemed like the lights I'd seen were behind the visitor center, so I decided I'd start there. 

God, I'd so be the first person to die in a horror. In fact, I'm pretty sure I've seen a horror movie that starts like this. 

I pushed those thoughts aside and started walking, reminding myself that this wasn't a horror movie. The walk towards the lights was silent aside from crickets. It grew steadily larger in front of me. 

Wait. 

As my eyes adjusted to the darkness, and I neared the lights, I realized something was off with the perspective. They were growing larger far too fast for any building I could imagine existing out here. Not only that, but they seemed to be sinking lower. 

If that building is so big, shouldn't they be getting higher up? 

It took several moments for me to figure out what I was staring at. All the while, I edged closer to the lights. 

Maybe it's an optical illusion? A mirage? Those happen in deserts, right? 

I was hardly an expert in deserts, but I felt like I'd heard somewhere that mirage had something to do with sun and heat, both of which the night was currently lacking. 

As I drew closer, I became even more confused. The lights belonged to a building that sat in a canyon in front of me. That alone wasn't weird. What was, though, were both the size and proportions of the building. It looked like a camper. The vintage kind that wouldn't seem out of place on a postcard from a national park. However, it was at least several hundred feet tall, obscured only by the canyon it lay in. Speaking of the canyon - I should be nearing the edge. I cautiously lifted my phone’s light from directly in front of me to further out. Just as I'd guessed, there was a sharp drop off about seven feet away. It was just barely illuminated by my phone's light. Deciding I didn't want to add “falling off a sheer cliff in the middle of nowhere” to the day's activities, I started to trace the edge of the cliff with my light, moving it to my left.

 And then almost dropped it seconds later. 

It took me a moment once again to process what I was looking at, and when I did, my eyes widened. The person sitting against the cliff wall to my side was huge. Even that descriptor felt like an understatement. He was large enough that my brain had registered him as another rock formation in the darkness as I'd been walking up, because surely a living being couldn't be that large. 

Well, I guess that explains the giant building. 

And raises about a dozen more questions. 

He was tall enough that my flashlight only actually illuminated a portion of the green sweater he was wearing. He noticed me mere moments after I noticed him, and his eyes widened. I felt like he probably also would have almost dropped his flashlight if he'd been carrying one. He quickly took out his airpods - or airpod lookalikes, since I wasn't sure they made airpods that big. 

"Sorry. I didn't mean to startle you," I said quickly. 

"It's fine," he said, looking more confused than I felt. "I mean, I'm sorry. I didn't hear you walk up, I was listening to music." 

"I'm kind of surprised you heard me at all. Wait, should I be talking louder?" I wasn't really sure what the etiquette was for talking to giants, admittedly.

In fact, the term ‘giant’ in itself was something of an umbrella term. There were technically several kinds of beings from various realms that were referred to as giants. Some more humanoid than others, some larger than others. The most well known, and common, around Earth were Tyastrons. I'd worked with one briefly during a summer job when I was in high-school. I was fairly certain I didn't remember her being anywhere near the size of the young man in front of me, though. She had been around 40 feet tall. That was still positively ginormous to me, at 5’5”. The giant in front of me would have easily dwarfed her, though. Even sitting down, he was at least 100 feet tall. 

 He shook his head. 

"No, you're good. Really good hearing is like an Aphirial thing-" 

"You're an Aphirial?" I asked, realizing I cut him off halfway through my question. I cringed internally. 

I remembered hearing that name a few times in the past. Mostly in connection with campfire tales or horror films. They were like, super scary man eating giants, in both of said works.

Fuck, I would so be the first person to die in a horror movie. 

“...yeah.” He answered my question in a cautious tone. 

Now that my eyes had adjusted more, and I was focusing on him, I could make out some more details of his appearance. His hair was his most striking feature. It was a pale blonde - almost white - that I would have assumed was the result of bleach, if I wasn't unsure as to whether or not Aphirials could or did bleach their hair. It fell down to his shoulders, framing a pair of green eyes and a face that looked about my age, despite being several times the size of my entire body. 

Said eyes glittered with apprehension. His brows were drawn together. Overall, no indications of human eating or any other kind of malice. If he wanted to hurt me, he had already had plenty of opportunity to do so. It wouldn’t take much effort for him to reach up and grab me. He made no move to do so. 

Okay, so he’s probably not going to kill me. Right now, at least. 

I probably should have been more concerned at that possibility, but I’d had a very trying past couple of months. 

“So…you like, live out here?” I asked finally. 

“oh-yeah! I'm going to work here. I mean, I live here because of that. I'm going to be a park ranger here.” 

The last sentence made something click in my memory - a tirade from Jack I'd almost forgotten about. One of many, and one I'd been too relieved hadn't been about me to remember. A few months ago he'd been upset about some national park hiring an Aphirial. 

"That's cool," I said. Mostly because it was the first thing to come to mind.

 "I wanted to be a park ranger when I was a kid."  That had been the second thing to come to mind.

 I thankfully didn't say the third thing, which was that I probably didn't have to worry about him eating me then if he was a park ranger, because that had to go against job rules. Instead, I skipped to the fourth. 

“I'm going to be working here too. Not as anything as cool as a park ranger. Just in the gift shop. Speaking of which…I'm glad I ran into you then, because I just got in, and I wasn't really sure where I was supposed to go, but I saw your lights off in the desert and thought maybe someone would be out here.” 

“Huh," Easton said, in a way that made me pretty sure he was also thinking about my lack of survival instinct in wandering off into the dark desert. “I'm not entirely sure. I'll try to help figure it out, though - I bet John might know, or know someone who knows anyways.” 

Before I could question who John was, he continued. “You have no idea who John is, though. Uh, he works for the IMA, technically, but now he also works at the park. As my supervisor. Which I think is a fancy way of saying handler - anyways, uh, why don't I just go get him?” 

“Yeah, sure,” I said. “Thank you.” 

“Will you be alright here?” He asked, gesturing to the dark desert around us. 

I shrugged. “Oh, yeah. What's the worst that can happen, a flesh pedestrian mimics my late mother's voice and lures me out into the night to steal my skin?” 

He gave me an confused look. "I-uh-what?'

"Just joking. I'll be fine,” I said, wincing at my awkward attempt at humor. I'd never been good at it. Or really talking to people in general. Apparently that hadn't changed, even if the person in question was the size of a building.

“Right. Uh, okay, I'll be back in a just a minute,” he said. “I'm just going to stand up and walk over to the trailer.” 

I thought it was a bit unnecessary for him to announce his movements, until he actually stood up. Even though I could have guessed he was somewhere around two hundred feet tall based on his size while sitting, the reality of what that meant hit me like a freight train as he drew himself up to his full height. His face had been almost level with the cliff edge I stood on previously. Now he towered over me. And the cliff itself. I swallowed. It was somewhere between surreal, terrifying, and really cool to be looking up at someone the size of a small skyscraper. To be interacting with them. 

The giant paused, looking down at me. 

“Sorry, what was your name?” 

“Oh, right. I'm Zoey. Zoey Summers. What was yours?” 

“Easton Parks.” 

“Park Ranger Parks,” I noted with a small laugh.  

“It is a little ironic, isn't it? You can just call me Easton, though.” He laughed softly as well. “Anyways, I won't be long getting John, and I'm sure he'll at least know who to contact.” 

I nodded, then wondered if he could even see it, between my size and the darkness. He gave a short nod of his own in response. Apparently he could. 

I watched him turn and begin to move toward the giant trailer. As he did, I noticed a sort of tremor in the ground beneath me. It took me a second to put together it was caused by his footsteps. 

Damn. 

He disappeared into the trailer shortly, leaving me alone in the dark desert once more to ponder what had just happened. Out of all the things I'd been expecting to find out here, an Aphirial was very much not one of them. Still, he seemed quite nice, and he was helping me. I'd take a helpful Aphirial over an unhelpful Human any day, I decided. 

It didn't take long for Easton to return. He seemed to be just as alone at first. As he drew nearer, though, I could make out that he was holding something in one hand. It wasn't until he had announced he was going to crouch down, and was once again almost eye level with the cliff, that I realized what it was. Or more, who it was. The man in the center of his looked older than both of us by at least a decade. Despite the fact that he was literally in someone's hand, he possessed an air of authority noticeable even from where I stood. Easton slowly lowered his hand to the cliff. The man - John, I guessed - climbed off smoothly. 

“So, you must be Zoey.” 

Next

[petrolstationflowers]

You've been all over - Lucky Palms, Strangetown, Neighborhood 1 - but have you ever headed for the bright lights of Vegas and the wasteland beyond? For those who are looking for a cheap place to live and employment that's open to anyone, the New Simfornia Republic Army might be the career for you! Based on Fallout: New Vegas' New California Republic Army faction, but with a Sims twist!

This is a branched career that splits at level five. You can choose to take the Combat or Political branch -- are you looking to become President of the New Simfornia Republic, or are you looking to be at the helm of the Rangers? The choice is yours. As always, you will need NRaas Careers for this to work!

Levels and other info under the cut!

For the initial five levels, there are a few custom tones:

Run Laps (builds Athletics), Maintain the Barracks (builds Handiness), and Tend Crops (builds Gardening).[/list]

For the Combat branch, we have:

Perform Weapons Drills (builds Athletics), Spar With Fellow Recruits (raises Martial Arts), and Write Reports (builds Writing).

The Political branch, on the other hand, has:

Prepare Talking Points (builds Charisma), Study (builds Logic), and Network With Other Politicians (builds Gambling). As this is a hidden skill that comes with Lucky Palms and the casino content, you will need that world downloaded for the skill to work correctly. Otherwise you may be able to alter this through MasterController.

I have made three opportunities that appear for Level 10 at both branches. These are to read a book, throw a party and invite a coworker, and attend a meeting. This is my first time making these so please let me know if you have any problems! There are also no carpools as thematically they wouldn't make sense1

Here are the levels and descriptions for the initial five before the branch:

[*]Wastelander - 10 simoleans p/h - M-F Description: New Simfornia is an okay place to live. Electricity runs for at least six hours a day, and the water supply is mostly clean. But there’s bills to pay and food to put on the table; scavenging pipes from the scrapyard and selling mutated wildflowers just doesn’t pay like it used to. The New Simfornia Republic Army is looking more appealing by the second… Recruit - 20 simoleans p/h - M-F Description: You’ve hiked your way out to the barracks and impressed the recruiters with your enthusiasm. Now it’s time to show them what you’re truly made of; mud, sweat, and dubious rations shipped from Strangetown. Hope you like green meatloaf and hard tack so solid you could use it as a weapon! Labourer - 25 simoleans p/h - M-F Description: Boot camp is over and done with, thank the Watcher. Now you’re stuck with menial labour; dull, but safe. You’ll spend your days planting crops, making flour, or putting together weapons on the factory line. Long hours for half decent pay, it’s not a bad life (unless you actually like scavving or fistfighting the creatures in the mine for food). Auxiliary - 30 simoleans p/h - M-F Description: An actual uniform, your own dog tags, and a waterproof pair of cowplant hide boots, it’s like every Snowflake Day come at once! At least now you’re inside most of the time, even if the most exciting thing you do is drop off letters from Sunset Valley and listen to gossip from Vegas. At least there’s free coffee. Private - 40 simoleans p/h - M-F Description: Your commanders have made a big deal about how they’re trusting you with patrols now, where you’re let loose with a basic weapon and have the tiniest bit of authority. Citizens might respect you and you’ll get to see the sights of Strangetown and Lucky Palms, but you know what they say; patrolling the Simoran almost makes you wish for…

Then for the combat branch levels:

[*]Captain - 70 simoleans p/h - M-F Description:You’ve spent your years slogging away as a cog in the machine and now the higher ups have finally recognised your efforts. You’re leading your own team, which can somewhat be like herding cats, but at least you get to go on more interesting missions now and have so say in the logistics. Even if those command meetings could have been an email. Major - 80 simoleans p/h - M-F Description:Your own office, specialised assignments, and the authority to get someone else to clean the bathrooms… the life of a major isn’t a bad one. But it does come with a price; you’ll be leading troops into battle and having to command the bigger outposts, which is a headache in itself. Solving squabbles over caravan routes and shipments of energy drinks, followed by a firefight at the New Simfornia border? All in a day’s work. Colonel - 200 simoleans p/h - M-F Description:You’ve moved somewhat away from petty disputes, but even if the pay is better, the responsibilities increase with it. You’re looking after entire regions and their platoons, making sure troops are dispatched to the right areas and civilian areas are kept safe (as much as they can be). Ranger - 500 simoleans p/h - Monday, Tuesday, Thursday Description:You’re finally the ranger with the big iron on their hip and hefty bounties to track down. You’re the one they call when the alien threat gets out of hand and the two-headed bears start rummaging through cabins on the Hidden Springs lakesides. You’ve got the chance to earn decent money on your own terms, provided the ghouls or yetis don’t take you out first. Chief - 750 simoleans p/h - Wednesday, Thursday, Friday Description:You’re out in the field less these days and spend more time dispatching the rangers under your command to get the jobs done. Still, you get a cut of the bounty that they bring back, and you don’t have to scramble through radioactive swamps to take out a target! It doesn’t get much better than that.

And the political branch levels:

Intern - 50 simoleans p/h - M-F Description:You’ve got a knack for bright ideas and saying the right things at the right time. This hasn’t gone unnoticed, and your superior has suggested working in the political branch of the New Simfornia Republic Army. At the moment it’s more running missives and making coffee of dubious quality, but everyone has to start somewhere! Law Maker - 75 simoleans p/h - M-F Description:After many, many years of dealing with the general public and your fellow squaddies, you’ve gained enough knowledge to know what needs to change – and spent plenty of time daydreaming how to do it. It might not be a seat of power, but determining which laws make it to the senate and writing detailed bills is a step in the right direction. Senator - 250 simoleans p/h - Tuesday, Wednesday, Friday Description:Finally, you’re where you deserve to be. Away from the dust and dirt of the Wasteland, your days involve a freshly cleaned suit and arguing with your fellow senators about the day’s agenda. Even if people don’t know you, they still have a healthy amount of respect for you (and maybe some fear). What you say, goes, and after all – you know best. Councillor - 500 simoleans p/h - Wednesday, Thursday, Friday Description:Unlimited power! … almost. You’re the one pulling the strings, whispering in the President’s ear and making sure they’re steered along the right track. You mostly work from the shadows now, only making appearances when needed, but your words are weighted like the finest Aqua Pura. Use them wisely. President - 1000 simoleans p/h - Wednesday, Thursday, Friday Description:The sky’s the limit; everything the light of the bomb touches is your kingdom. Whether New Simfornia flourishes or fails is entirely dependent on your whims. The army? Your personal bodyguards and playthings. The populace? Dolls to rearrange and position as you please. Watch out, Vegas; a new sheriff’s in town…

Translations: I've included the English Strings in the file; if anyone is talented enough to translate, I would be incredibly grateful, so please let me know in the comments!

With thanks: A huge thank you to all the kind people on MissyHissy's Discord server for helping me to test and troubleshoot, and to the person who requested this career and very kindly made the icon for me!

[marble-hand]

[ manny jacinto, cis-man, he/him ] Look who just landed! VALERIO “VAL” DIZON, I sure hope you packed all you need. Perhaps you’re not worried as FORCE LEADER of THE OVERSEERS. The city has plenty of spots for a 34 year old HEXTECH USER like you. You’ll be known in the city soon enough as THE MARBLE HAND, being RIGHTEOUS and CREDULOUS.

OOC INFO

OOC: Jun, PT, any pronouns/siya

Muse’s Name(s): Valerio “Val” Dizon

Tagging System: Below

Interview: Here

STATISTICS

Full Name: Valerio Dizon

Nickname: Val

Date of Birth: October 4, 2371

Gender: Cis-man

Pronouns: He/him

Sexual Orientation: Pansexual

Romantic Orientation: Panromantic

Current Age: 34

Modification: Hextech User – White Titanium Gauntlets AKA The Marble Hands

Affiliation: The Overseers

Birthplace: Marwar District, New Jakarta

Current Neighbourhood: Sora, New Jakarta

Occupation: Force Leader of The Overseers

Known Languages: Tagalog (native), English (native), Mandarin (conversational), Bahasa Indonesian (conversational), Japanese (conversational)

APPEARANCE

Faceclaim: Manny Jacinto

Height: 5'11"

Eye Colour: Dark brown

Hair Colour: Black

Clothing Style: Usually in uniform, otherwise minimal, clean, and comfy a la Scandinavian Minimalist core 

Jewellery: Multiple rings to fidget with if he’s not wearing his gauntlets, but very deliberately keeps his ring finger free

Tattoos: N/A

Marks/Scars: A few burn scars from his time in the bakery, numerous scars from front-line duty, and a larger scar on this back that he got during “training” when he first got recruited into the Overseers

Modifications: Hextech user

Scent/Fragrance: Like freshly baked bread

FAVOURITES

Likes: Any sort of freshly baked bread or pastry, Filipino drink desserts, a good time in karaoke

Dislikes: Criminals with no remorse, disorderly conduct, people who leave less than 5 star reviews about his mom’s bakery 

Hobbies: Basketball, baking, recipe development

Habits: Fidgeting with rings or the crystals on his gauntlets, code-switching between more casual and formal talk off/on duty

One Cherished Item: A personalized apron and oven mitt set from Santi for their six month anniversary

BIOGRAPHY

Always "Val," and never "Valerio Dizon"—unless it was his mother scolding him for staying out too late. Val was the kind of guy who made people feel at ease. Popular, good-natured, the one who’d help walk an old lady across the street without a second thought or share his lunch with a classmate who’d forgotten theirs. Up until high school, he never aspired to be anything more than what he was, a regular kid with a decent life in New Jakarta’s Marwar District.

Born to a single mother who ran the family bakery, Valerio’s Bake Shop, Val’s life followed a comfortable, if predictable, routine. The bakery was a local favorite, known for its warm, flaky pastries and the kind smile his mother greeted everyone with. For Val, the future seemed simple: he’d take over the bakery, maybe work part-time during college, and continue the family tradition. Ambition wasn’t something that had crossed his mind. Why would it? Life was normal. It was fine.

But even in his laid-back existence, he held an unwavering belief in justice. Though he was one of the popular kids, Val always made sure everyone was included, that no one felt left out. He’d step in when the neighborhood kids got too rough, making them apologize if they bumped into someone. Laws and order kept life safe, and that’s how Val liked it. Stable. Secure.

Until it wasn’t.

The robbery was a shock. A bakery of all places. The desperation in New Jakarta was growing, people were hungry—not just for food, but for survival. Val remembers running home, heart pounding, fearing the worst. The storefront window was shattered, glass littering the sidewalk, but his mother, though shaken, was unharmed. Relief washed over him, but reality punched him straight in the face—their safety had been an illusion, a fragile thing easily broken as the bakery’s window.

At the scene, Val’s eyes were drawn to an Overseer, an imposing figure clad in sleek armor, weapons glowing with the eerie light of Hextech crystals. The Overseer moved with authority, surveying the damage with a calm, focused demeanor. Val had never seen anything like it. The man approached him, asked if he was the owner’s son. When Val nodded, the Overseer placed a heavy, gloved hand on his shoulder. “Be strong,” he said, his voice steady. “Protect your mother. We won’t always be here.”

Those words struck something deep within Val. The Overseer’s presence, the power he wielded, and the responsibility he bore—it all crystallized in Val’s mind. He wanted to be strong enough to protect those he loved, to uphold the laws that kept people safe. For the first time, Val felt a drive, a purpose that went beyond the bakery and the simple life he’d always imagined.

From that day on, Val’s path shifted. With less than a year before his high school graduation, he poured himself into his studies, especially anything that would help him understand the law, justice, and the workings of the city. He trained his body, pushing himself to physical limits he’d never considered before. His mother supported him, proud of his newfound determination, even if it meant a different, bigger, future than she’d envisioned.

Val joined the Overseers as soon as he was able, climbing the ranks with a mix of hard work, innate talent, and that fierce belief in justice that had always been a part of him. He specialized in Hextech weaponry, just like the man he admired all those years ago. His titanium white gauntlets becoming his signature, earning him the nickname “The Marble Hand.”

Despite his rise, Val never lost that good-natured, approachable side. He was known for his fairness, his refusal to bend the rules, but also for his empathy. He argued for mercy when he believed people were victims of circumstance, remembering his own past and the desperation he had seen in the eyes of those who had turned to crime.

Now, as the Force Leader of the Overseers, Val is in a position of power he never sought but fully embraced. He sees himself in the new recruits, those young, eager faces that remind him of the boy he once was—the one who had no real ambition until the day his world was shaken. Val takes it upon himself to mentor them, to instill in them the same belief in justice that drives him. He’s seen the darkness in the city, but he’s also seen the light, and he’s determined to guide the next generation of law enforcers, and anyone else he can bring along, towards that light.

RELATIONSHIPS AND CONNECTIONS (More TBA)

Mother - Marigold Santos Dizon

Val had always admired his mom. Growing up, he was a bit of a brat—he can admit that now—but looking back, he feels a little sorry for the way he acted. It wasn’t until he got older that he realized the situation they were in: a single mom running a bakery by herself, keeping everything together with sheer willpower and ungodly early mornings. Val remembers how she would wake up at 3 or 4 in the morning to get the day’s stock of baked goods going, a routine that seemed as natural to her as breathing.

By the time Val was in high school, he couldn’t just watch her do it all alone. He started getting up early too, helping her out before heading off to practice. It wasn’t much, but he wanted to do his part. Those early mornings taught him perseverance, a trait he knows he inherited from her.

Now, as he climbs the ranks in the Overseers and dreams of a better future for both himself and the city, he wishes he could do more for her. Val hopes to see her retire soon, but he wonders if she could really let go of the bakery. It’s been her life’s work, her pride. Would she find fulfillment in retirement, or would she miss the routine, the sense of purpose it gave her?

One thing Val does know, however, is that she keeps asking when he’s going to get married. She says it doesn’t matter who, as long as he’s happy. Val finds her persistence amusing and endearing, a reminder that no matter how much his life changes, some things—like his mom’s unconditional love and prized pandesal recipe—will always stay the same.

Boyfriend - Santi Amarin-Zhao

The words were already spilling out of his mouth before he could think. He had just finished a routine line of questioning, and before Val knew it, his next question had him asking out New Jakarta’s most eligible bachelor and X Academy’s CEO on a date. Val’s heart nearly stopped as he realized what he’d done—he’d never fumbled like that before when asking someone out. He was about to apologize, to take it back, but then Santi said, “Sure.” Just like that. 

They’ve gone on quite a few dates since then, and Val likes to think they’re going steady, exclusive even. But he can’t help noticing the walls Santi has put up. Their relationship isn’t public, Santi avoids any kind of PDA, and sometimes he feels just out of reach, even during late nights when it’s just the two of them in bed. It’s like Santi’s there, but not fully there.

Still, it doesn’t shake Val’s faith in him. He trusts Santi. They both want the same thing, right? For this city to be better, safer. Val tells himself that’s enough, even if getting closer to Santi feels like trying to touch something through glass.

[worthless-weight-in-gold]

text by @mutatedangels from here She has to breathe and take in his sentence for a moment. They're a lot to swallow. First: the audacity to even say something to her after their mountainous history. (Wasn't the last thing Peyton ever said to Riah, get the fuck out of my life?!) Second: the words themselves. She's aware how loquacious she is, but god dammit if she isn't an independent woman who won't take any of his shit. She'd already had enough of it when they were dating. Her tongue swipes out onto her glossy lips and she tilts her head up at him. If it were any other night she would have flashed him her middle finger and left the premises. Tonight, though, she's hellbent on facing her demons, her penchant for danger seeping into her otherwise pristine life. Before she tells him off, she eggs him on, stepping up until they're neck and neck, figuratively speaking. The seduction is only bait to throw something back at him when she gets the chance. She thinks she's a clever girl. "Oh, yeah? What are you thinking, Ri?"

    There were a lot of ways Riah would describe his feelings for Peyton, and a lot of them were directly at odds with how he actually felt about Peyton. Especially now that he's not hurting for money, and doesn't have to go through all those pathetic and sometimes humiliating games to get at hers.

He reached out a gloved hand to brush her hair off her neck, so he could lean in and whisper against the skin there. "Any type of gag so you don't go waking up the whole neighborhood again. Was what I was thinking, princess." A pet name that started out of sarcasm, for the daddy's girl who was given wads of cash whenever she wanted, but ended up sticking hard. Mostly because of her reactions to it, which had shifted dramatically as Riah started to use it less often sarcastically in casual conversation and more often genuinely in more intimate situations.

Riah would also describe himself in a lot of ways, and a lot of those were directly at odds with how he behaved with Peyton in the picture. He didn't give a fuck about people, except her. He didn't salivate over anyone, except. Didn't get jealous, didn't miss someone, would rather die than give up his freedom just to keep someone around -- except, except, except.

Trailing up, lips ghosting over skin until they landed behind her ear and Riah dropped a light, quick bite there. He pulled back, "Lemme take a look at you," hands on her arms, and enjoyed the view. Turned her around so she was facing away, hooked an arm around her waist to tug her in flush to his front.

Then back to talking into her ear. "Wanna dance first, though?" After all, throughout their years of mess and insanity, another constant was that the way Peyton danced with him drove Riah up a wall and there were a few times he'd been disconcertingly close to falling to his knees on the dance floor itself. If Peyton was in the mood Riah thought she was -- and at least, he'd gotten halfway decent at recognizing her moods -- he had a feeling she wouldn't turn down the opportunity to rile him up.

[fenmere]

Sunspot Coffee and Tea

Against our promise to avoid writing for a bit while recovering from a minor burnout, I wrote something here tonight. It might have been therapeutic to do so, honestly.

It's a coffee shop AU self insert crossover fanfic of Wildow's Otherverse and the Sunspot Chronicles, titled "Sunspot Coffee and Tea". It takes place on this Earth, though. Descriptions of Others, Practicioners, Aware, and the Seal are from the work of Wildbow, A.K.A. John C. McCrae, and belong to him. We reference them here with love, and no intentions to make any profit from them, even if we stretch their intended canonical possibilities a bit. References to everything else not of this Earth, including Ktletaccete, beshakete, and `etekeyerrinwuf, are of the Sunspot Chronicles and belong to us, the Inmara. All the characters are headmates and therefore real people.

The Black Drop was a real coffee shop that was really like that, and we miss it. A lot.

We'll probably put this up on AO3 later. No warnings are necessary for this fic. It's 6093 words, light, hopefully cute, and totally self indulgent:

In Tanasbourne, Hillsboro, Oregon, in one of the strip malls there, there used to be an Insomnia Cafe next to a brewpub.

It’s still a cafe. Of a sorts. It was bought out a couple years ago, however, and has a new name. It’s called Sunspot Coffee and Tea.

There are some interesting things about this cafe, not the least of which is that they don’t accept money. How they manage to stay functioning without actually doing business is a total mystery to all of their neighbors and patrons, but if you want any sort of drink or pastry there, all you have to do is walk up to the counter and ask for it. Of course, the pastries have to be available, and it’s first come first serve for them. But they produce them quickly enough that if they’re out of something, you just have to wait thirty minutes or so. At most.

Before it became the Sunspot, it was like most cafes of its sort, especially in that neighborhood, attracting working class people who had at least some decent income. And that part of Tanasbourne wasn’t really known for being accessible to the less fortunate.

However, after it became known what their new mode of “business” was, people in need would take the MAX and the bus from all around to get a free meal, and they were quite welcome.

The clientele changed quite quickly, and this created something of a controversy in the neighborhood. Theories sprang up and circulated when efforts to bring the law down on them failed utterly. Stories about the mafia, or even more unbelievable things. One of the stories is true.

Eventually, things settled down, and everyone got used to the new culture and routines that the Sunspot brought to Tanasbourne.

I happen to know exactly how that all played out and why, but I’m not telling. I’ve taken oaths. I’ll give you hints in this story, though, because I think I can get away with it, and it’s kinda fun.

In any case, it was under these circumstances in that cafe that I got to watch a connection made that I had never expected to see. One that may well lead to the kind of quiet, sweet partnership that causes the world to glow just a little brighter at the ambient level, without most people quite knowing the source.

Of course, it started during a day when Eh, our boss and Senior Captain, was working the counter.

I was sitting at a table with Gesedege and Gnargrim, enjoying a round of Brekken’s tea while slowly discussing the intersections of public relations and security for the shop. Which is to say that we mostly sat, quiet, watching steam rise from our drinks, looking around at the guests and just soaking up the joy of seeing people rest who might not otherwise get to. And then, occasionally, one of us would take a sip or say a word or two, and the other two would nod or take sips as well.

And a new person walked in. Someone we’d never seen before. And I could tell by the way they entered the shop, they hadn’t yet heard about who and what we were. They hadn’t got the story yet. They probably thought this was a typical coffee shop.

They put on a double layer of masks before entering, which was good. Largely unnecessary in the Sunspot, but with covid still running rampant in the rest of the world, despite all the propaganda suggesting otherwise, their N95 disposable under a metallic hot pink mermaid print etsy number was a really wise idea. And it certainly put most of our guests at ease, even though they weren’t wearing masks anymore themselves.

But there were some smirks as this person reached into the pocket of their navy blue sleeveless cloak to pull out their card purse as they navigated through the tables and easy chairs to the counter. The long, black feather in their wide brimmed black wool hat bobbed as they went, boots squeaking on the wood floor.

Eh smiled as they looked up from a drink they were preparing for someone else.

And it was at that eye contact that the person realized they’d walked into something different.

They probably hadn’t noticed the lack of a cash register or POS yet. They’d obviously missed the appearance of me and my compatriots, since they’d been absorbed in arranging their garments and fishing out their method of payment, and had glanced at the other guests. They’d just happened to look the other way as they passed our corner, which was right near the door.

If they’d seen us, they might have had the same reaction they were having at the sight of Eh.

Eh is tall. They tend to keep their height low enough that they don’t have to crouch while in the building, but their antlers will just miss scratching the ceiling when they straighten up from a task like decorating a mocha. Their tail has a tendency to fill the walkway from the kitchen to the front counter, and their wings will block the view of the front from the rest of the staff who are in the back. And through clever programming, they’ve managed to turn the outer skin of their body into a satiny dark purple that seems to be full of stars and nebulae and is somehow constantly rim lit, regardless of the actual lighting of their surroundings.

Most human beings, upon seeing that vision, will later describe it as having been like walking right into VRChat. Only, I’ve logged into VRChat, and nobody has yet been able to create an avatar of that detail and refinement.

“How may I help you?” Eh asked.

The newcomer looked around, clearly startled and worried, and caught the vision of Gnargrim, Gesedege, and myself holding our tea cups up in greeting.

If you look at my tumblr icon, you’ll know what I look like. I’m slightly smaller than Eh, and like to sit in my easy chair backward, resting arms and chin on the back. 

Gnargrim, built like a cross between Eh and myself, also uses chairs in a similar way. 

Gesedege, however, has taken to dressing like a human, and will stow their tail away in order to sit in a chair. But their muzzle, parabolic ears, and pair of horns tend to give away their origins as easily as Eh’s countenance.

Most new people at this point tend to freeze and gape, and it takes a certain amount of talking and coaching from the other guests to get them to relax and start to feel at home.

This person, however, scowled, brows knitting together above their mask, eyes squinting. They reached into their cloak to where a metal handled antique cane was hooked into an inside pocket and pulled it out with their right hand, clapping its point to the floor.

Gnargrim raised an eyebrow my direction.

We hadn’t seen this reaction before at all.

They whirled to speak to Eh, and asked, “Are we in the presence of Aware?” They lightly gestured at the other guests.

Eh opened their mouth for a moment, tongue and teeth glowing, pausing to think, before speaking, “Everyone here is aware of who we are, yes.”

The newcomer relaxed and bowed their head, then looked up and spoke more softly, “I’m sorry. My name is Anne. She/her. I’ve just moved down here from Washington, and didn’t realize a place like this was here. The Lord of Portland made no mention of the Sunspot, of course, but nobody else did either. I would have thought it would be recommended or warned about. Am I welcome here?”

Eh tilted their head, “Lord of Portland?”

Anne took a step back, and said, “Asterix. Right?”

Eh shook their head lightly, “I have never heard of them.”

“Him. How?” Anne corrected, then asked, tense. Then she shook herself out and stammered, “Sorry! Sorry. Please pardon my rudeness and short language. This feels like a very unusual situation and I’m finding it hard to mask.”

“You are wearing one,” Eh pointed out.

Anne looked around, then back at Eh and said, “I’m the only one here wearing one. Do you have a ward of protection up against pathogens?”

“You… could put it that way,” Eh said. “The air is heavily filtered and everyone here is personally protected with our technology. It should be safe for you to remove your mask here. If you wish to have your own personal protection, you’ll have to give us your consent to give it to you. It comes with side effects, however. You are also very welcome here. I am assured that this is considered a safe place to be, even though I have never heard of Asterix or a Lord of Portland.”

Anne hesitated midway through taking her hat off to remove her masks, then decided to proceed. Her long brown hair had a freshly trimmed sidecut, and her face was covered with a fine layer of stubble. Like many people in the Pacific Northwest, she didn’t wear any makeup, but she had earrings and an eyebrow piercing. Her glasses had little dragons sculpted into the sides of the rims. 

She smiled hopefully as she put her masks into her pockets, cane hooked into the crook of her arm as she worked.

“Can I order a coffee?” Anne asked.

“You may have one,” Eh said. “I’d be more than happy to make it for you.”

Anne paused again, blinking, then asked, “How much is it?”

Eh smiled, “It is free to anyone who asks.”

“Even a twelve ounce decaf mocha?” Anne asked, gesturing at the drink that Eh had just finished up.

Eh nodded and said, “Yes. Even that.” Then they looked across the cafe and called the name, “Maxwell?”

A man in an orange knit skull cap and a blue puffy jacket got up from his seat and wandered over to get his drink, thanking Eh and nodding to Anne before sitting down again. Anne’s eye followed the checkered handkerchief that hung from Maxwell’s left back pocket. She didn’t seem to have any strong emotional reaction. It seemed like a reflexive look followed but a decision to be satisfied with it.

Then she looked at the line of big pride flags along the wall, and smiled back at Maxwell, nodding.

“OK. Please let me know if anything is expected from me. I’d like to be a good guest,” Anne said. “I would very much like to have a decaff twelve ounce mocha, with no whip cream. And, do you have pastries?”

Eh nodded, then gestured to the case to Anne’s left, which held all the available pastries.

Anne bent to look, leaning on her cane.

“Are those cheese danishes?” she asked.

“They are!” Eh replied.

“I’d like one of those.”

“Certainly!” As Eh began to work on Anne’s mocha, they reached over with a foot and slid the back door of the case open. And then they did one of our little tricks, turning their extended hind limb into a tendril with a hand on the end of it and used it to select one of the danishes and pull it out of the case to put on a plate.

Anne watched this with an intense curiosity, completely unalarmed.

It was obvious that the other guests who were still watching were impressed with her reactions, but they also largely started to turn their attention away. To them, she might as well have been a regular at that point.

Not to us, though. She was behaving somewhat strangely. She was speaking of things that were established to her, such as the Lord of Portland, that we knew nothing about. I could see in Eh’s eyes that they were avidly intent on learning more. And I made a note to ask Morde to look into it if Eh did not.

It looked like Anne was about to ask another question when Eh beat her to the punch, “So, what brings you to Tannasbourne?”

“Ah, my girlfriend,” Anne said. “I’ve moved in with her.”

“Oh! Wonderful!” Eh said.

“Of course, what with Practice and the Seal, now I’ve got business here, too,” Anne said, a little less brightly, in a humorously onerous tone as if Eh should know what that meant.

Eh nodded absently but didn’t say anything, letting Anne think what she might think for the moment.

“How long have you been here?” Anne asked. There wasn’t anyone behind her, so she felt like she could stand and chat.

Which suited Eh just fine. Eh replied, “We arrived about eight years ago, and set up shop two years ago, after the pandemic hit the cafe that was here particularly hard.”

“And, if you don’t mind me asking again, you don’t know the Lord of Portland?” Anne asked. “How is that?”

“Well,” Eh said amiably. “We didn’t know that there was one, to begin with, if you’re really not talking about the Mayor.”

“I’m really not,” Anne said. “That’s kind of amazing.”

“Is he kind of like Emperor Norton?” Eh asked, referring to Joshua Abraham Norton of San Francisco, who had declared himself Emperor of the United States in 1859. We knew about him from one of our regulars.

Anne turned her head sideways slowly and drawled out, “nooooo? Not really. Though, I think Emperor Norton might have been a Practitioner.” She said that with an emphasis that gave me visions of both italics and a capital letter. “Asterix is an Animus,” she explained. “A surprisingly strong one, too, for his origins.”

“An Animus?” Eh asked, clearly dawdling on Anne’s drink to maintain the excuse to do something while talking.

Anne didn’t seem to mind, but she did sway side to side on her feet a bit, still leaning on her cane. I had to admit, even though her back was turned to me I was still watching her expressions via our surveillance channel. Really Gnargrim’s job, but I was very curious about her. As were we all. She looked like she was trying to concentrate. Not frustrated, but maybe confused.

I’ve been studying human expression pretty avidly, so I’m fairly confident about that. But I could have been wrong.

“An Animus,” Anne confirmed. “You know. An Other that is a manifestation of an idea or common emotion?”

“Oh!” Eh exclaimed, stirring chocolate into the shot before pouring the foamed milk into the cup. “We do know one of those, but it didn’t follow us here. It was afraid there might be others like it, and it didn’t want to encroach.”

“OK, so you do know what a Lord is?”

“No,” Eh said. “We really don’t.”

“But, you’re Other and you know what an Animus is, and you’re here.”

Eh held up a claw with one hand, and the milk pitcher in the other, “I am friends with a thing that can be described by your definition of Animus, yes. But that’s not our word for it, though. And I’m not sure what you mean by ‘Other’. That sounded like it had a weight to it and a context that I don’t know about.”

“But you’re not human,” Anne said.

Eh shook their head, then began to pour the milk into Anne’s cup.

“So you must be Other,” she concluded.

“So,” Eh carefully waved the pitcher to create a rosette on the top of mocha. “Other, in this context, means not human? Such as an alien, yes? I’m assuming you wouldn’t call a cat or a bird an Other.” Eh was managing to verbally put that capital letter on that word, just like Anne had been doing.

“No?” Anne said cautiously, putting a question to it in uncertainty. Then she asked more firmly, “What do you mean by ‘alien’?”

Eh glanced at Maxwell with a bit of a smirk, and said, “You know, like in 3rd Rock from the Sun.” We’d all watched that show on recommendation from our eldest regular.

Anne straightened up and did the backward step again, blinking.

Eh offered her her drink.

She squinted at them long and hard, then turned to my trio and did the same to us. I noticed that her pupils glowed a bright pink. Which is not something I’ve seen outside of our own Network before.

“You’re not Other,” she muttered.

“We’re not?” Eh asked.

“You don’t look like Others through my sight,” she replied.

“Interesting.”

“So, you’re aliens? Is that what you meant by ‘arrive’?” she asked.

“Ktletaccete,” Eh said. “Our word for aliens is ‘beshakete’, or Outsiders. And to you, we are Outsiders, yes. But we call ourselves Ktletaccete. It’s fascinating that you don’t detect us as Other, though. What does that mean, exactly?”

“You all have strong Selves like humans typically do. The spirits react to you as if you do, and you might be able to Practice, if you’re not doing it already,” Anne said. “You absolutely don’t resemble any of the Others I know about. My sight is particularly attuned to that kind of thing.”

Several of the guests were paying attention again.

“I think I need to sit down,” Anne said. “But, can we keep talking?”

Eh nodded, saying “Certainly.” And then commanded a chair to form from one of the bins, graphene colored clay crawling out of what people often took for a trash receptacle and slithering across the floor to shape itself into a seat particularly suited to Anne’s height and shape. Eh gestured at it.

Anne watched this and then pointed at the chair, stating, “That’s not Practice.”

“Ninite clay,” Eh said. “It’s part of how we got here.”

Anne experimentally sat down in the chair, and then looked surprised at how comfortable it was. It molded itself to her body and adjusted itself to her needs as best it could without the neural link.

Watching, Eh said, “The nanites are also how we provide protection against pathogens for those who consent.”

“Can they replicate?” she asked, with a tone of nervousness in her voice, moving as if considering standing up again.

“Yes,” Eh said. “But not without explicit command.”

“I thought that wasn’t possible!” Anne exclaimed. “I remember reading on Wikipedia…”

“The prevailing theory is that our Animus helped us make them,” Eh said. “If it is an Animus.”

“Oh.”

“Can you tell me what you mean by ‘Practice’?”

Anne took a sip of her mocha and raised her eyebrows in appreciation, “Magic. Through vows to keep true to one's word and uphold the old pacts, humanity can command the spirits to do work. Move energies. Alter reality a bit. Summon Others. Travel places. That sort of thing. Magic.” Then she looked startled with herself, and looked back fearfully at the other guests.

Maxwell grinned and waved back at her.

“Wait,” she hissed, turning back to Eh. “If you’re aliens and you don’t know about Others and the Practice and all that, then, what about everyone else here? Are they all aliens too? In disguise? Please tell me they are.”

“No, sorry. We cater to humans,” Eh said.

“Oh, shit,” Anne said, looking up at the corners of the room.

“What’s wrong?”

“I think I just said a whole lot of too much,” she shrank into her seat with dread.

Eh settled onto their haunches and leaned on the counter with their elbows, lowering their head with deference and concern, “That sounds bad. What are the consequences? Can we help somehow?”

Anne glanced at the other guests again, most of whom were now watching with various looks of surprise, concern, and enlightenment. Some of them were clearly putting two and two together for the first time regarding things we still had no clue about. Others seemed to be familiar with what Anne was saying, and maybe displaying concern for her. And the rest might have been hearing about this all for the first time.

Anne slumped and looked down at the floor, “I’m gonna take a big hit. I don’t know that there is anything you can do. I’m responsible for what everyone knows now.”

“Don’t sweat it, Anne,” Maxwell called from his seat. “We all know they’re aliens, right?” He looked around at the rest of the room, and was met with nods. “I don’t think anything you’ve said has really changed any lives here. Except maybe theirs, you know?” He gestured at Eh and the rest of us. “But, I bet you the Kletachitay don’t fall under the protection of the Seal, right?” He pronounced our people’s name with a distinctly West Coast accent. Most people around here did.

She rose slightly out of her seat to turn and look at him.

He nodded solemnly, with an inclination of encouragement, gesturing with his drink. Then, when he was sure she took that sentiment, he turned to relax back down into his own chair.

“It’s probably true,” someone else said.

Anne visibly relaxed and grinned nervously at Eh.

“Tell you what,” Eh said. “If you want to keep having this conversation in private, we can arrange that. If it would be better for you. We have our own secrets. We understand. But I would also like to learn more about this Lord of Portland, and maybe I should meet him at some point?”

Anne nodded.

Eh smiled, “There are a couple of ways we could do this. We do have a back office, which we could use, if you like. Or – well – we don’t really have hours, but it’s usually super quiet around 4 am. Sometimes we don’t have guests here at that time. But that’s not guaranteed. Or, you could consent to a neural terminal, and we could meet over the Network, if that’s not likely to mess with your, uh… You do Practice, right? Would your spirits reject the nanites?”

Anne’s eyes went wide as she took in a breath and held it, looking up at a corner of the room in thought. She looked fearfully back at Eh and said, “I don’t know. I’m kind of afraid to try. Um. Yes, I Practice. Yes. Um.” She glanced around the room again. “Through a bit of a loophole I can tell you about later.”

“A loophole?”

“Later.”

“OK.”

While they were having this part of the discussion, I witnessed yet another thing that was unprecedented to us.

Maxwell gave several of his fellow guests meaningful looks and exchanged nods. Then, some of them got up and spoke very quietly to other guests. And as Anne and Eh negotiated how they might talk in private, the presumably human guests of the Sunspot cafe began to gather their things and file out of the shop. Some of them waved to Eh or to me, Gnargrim, and Gesedege.

Eh looked just as surprised and bewildered as I did, and Anne noticed, so she looked back at the rest of the cafe to see what was happening.

“Don’t worry, Anne,” Maxwell said. “We’ve got your back. We’ll keep as much Innocence as we have left for you. Might come in handy, right?”

Anne looked utterly flabberghasted.

“After all,” he explained. “You’re family.” Then he gestured at the trans pride flag with his paper cup, and smirked.

He tugged the fold of his hat as he passed me, uttering my honorific, “m’Drah.” 

Maxwell’s one of my favorites, but he surprised the hell out of me that day.

Anne stared at the flag for a few seconds then looked at the door closing behind Maxwell’s back, eyes brimming with tears.

“I never thought I’d find a replacement for the Black Drop,” Anne said in the now emptied shop. “I thought that was an era that was gone forever.” She heaved out a couple of silent laughs, shaking her head. “But this place. How do you – ?” She trailed off, apparently unable to complete the question.

Eh brought themself back from their own bewilderment and replied, “We have some secrets we’re not going to divulge to even you. At least, not until our Council can agree to it. It looks like we could convene one right now, though.”

“Let’s go a bit more slowly than that,” Anne said, shakily.

“Sure.”

“Um,” Anne said. “I’m not exactly human, myself. I mean, I’m human enough now that I can Practice. Gaining a human enough Self was… a neat trick. I’m not sure I can explain it without giving you a whole education on the different kinds of Others and how Practice under the Seal works, though. Let’s just say that I’m old enough and experienced enough that I’m absolutely mortified that I was that careless. Bewildered, in fact.”

“Was the Black Drop -” Eh started to ask.

“A coffee shop where I came from,” Anne replied. “They weren’t like this. I knew only a few Others and Practitioners from there, but you couldn’t talk about that stuff in their lobby. You could talk about everything else, though. You could talk openly and loudly about your weirdest special interests, about being plural, or what it meant to you to be queer, and no one would bat an eye. And they called me family the first day I walked in the door, too. We had to chase the occasional bigot out a few times, but it was home in a way that no home ever was, you know?”

“I’ve heard Maxwell say something like that about the Sunspot,” Eh said. “But I don’t really know? I can’t. I can approximate from my own experiences, but I’m not human or Other, as you describe it. I didn’t grow up in this world.”

“Yeah, that makes sense,” Anne said, finally trying her danish. She gestured with it, “This is phenomenal!”

“Thank you.”

“You really should meet with the Lord of Portland, though,” Anne said. “I think I can arrange that. I’m really surprised he hasn’t reached out to you. Maybe he doesn’t know you’re here for some reason? But he should. By virtue of his station, a place like this should be known to him. Your presence should be felt.”

“Could it be possible that someone we’ve done business with covered that without telling us how it all works?” Eh asked. “Kind of like how we operate here legally?”

“Maybe,” Anne said. “Also, you’re not Others and you’re not Practitioners, so you technically don’t fall under his rule. It’s just that you don’t really belong here, either. How did you get here?”

“Oh, that’s a long story,” Eh said. “But I think I can summarize it intelligibly.”

“I’ll try to understand it,“ Anne said. 

They were both so much more relaxed now, and my Crew mates and I fell still to let them continue talking as if we weren’t even there. Eh never gave any indication we should leave, though, so we did stay and watch. I don’t think I’ve ever seen Eh so at ease with anyone before, honestly. I’ve known them through… so many lifetimes. I wondered what was different about Anne. Something was obviously clicking between them now. The speed with which they responded to each other picked up.

“One of our people, with help from `efeje`e, our Animus or whatever it is, figured out how to warp space/time and transport a vessel over hundreds of thousands of lightyears without aging significantly inside it,” Eh said, as if this was nothing more than discovering and developing a new Art. “We let her leave the original Sunspot on her own journey, with a Tunnel aboard so we could keep communication. And she’s been jumping around from star to star, exploring the galaxy since. And she’s been collecting a bit of a crew for herself in the process. But, um… That’s several novels worth of story. Anyway, she’s gotten pretty good at sneaking onto and off of inhabited planets without being noticed.”

Anne dropped her jaw and squinted, shaking her head, and said, “This sounds just like any science fiction story.”

“It feels like one, yeah,” Eh agreed. “The idea that we can bend space/time like that is phenomenal. After hundreds of millennia of evolution and development, you’d have thought we’d have discovered it sooner, if it was that possible. But, it did take help from `efeje`e, you know. And our agreement with it was also unprecedented.”

“So, maybe your warp drive was a kind of Practice?” Anne asked.

Eh shrugged, “Maybe.”

“But, wait,” Anne tore her danish in half and gestured with part of it. The chair had a cup holder when she needed it. “How did you get here, if you didn’t go with your explorer?”

“The Tunnel,” Eh said. “We can send consciousnesses through it. Everyone here is what we call Crew. We ascended long ago, our original bodies dying, and now live in the Network created by our nanites. When Molly told us about this planet, a few of us decided to transfer over and stay here. She dropped off a bin of nanites and we started making a new home here, as quietly as we could. But it became apparent humanity could use a little help, and our local Council decided to start being a bit more overt.” Eh gestured at the cafe in demonstration.

“And you’re doing this,” Anne gestured at the cafe herself, “without the help of Practice? I don’t even see Glamour at work.”

“As far as I know, yes,” Eh said. “Though, it seems Maxwell is aware of Practice, at least.”

“You’ve definitely cultivated a clientele full of Aware,” Anne remarked. “Which I supposed shouldn’t be at all surprising. You’re a bunch of extraterrestrials giving away food for free. Of course you’re going to attract the Aware. They need people like you. And they have a tendency to take weirdness like this in a certain kind of stride, because weirdness is part of what made them Aware. And if you haven’t even been visited by witch hunters, then someone’s gotta be covering for you.”

“Kinda figures, I guess,” Eh said.

Anne looked at Eh for a while, danish in one hand, drink in the other, then asked, “You look a lot like someone’s idea of a dragon.”

“I’ve been told that, yes,” Eh said. “We think this is what Ktletaccete looked like before we took to the stars and started tinkering with our genetics and life itself. Our oldest language hints at a shape like this, and it’s what felt right to me when I decided to stop being how I was born.”

“That sounds a little like something I’m familiar with,” Anne said, before taking a bite of the last of her danish.

Eh inclined their head, twitching it in the direction of that particular flag, “we’re family?”

Anne swallowed and looked at the flag, “You have trans people in your culture, too? Assigned gender?”

“Ah,” I couldn’t help myself from vocalizing, and Anne glanced at me. I grinned back, and nodded at Eh.

“Not the Sunspot. Or, the `etekeyerrinwuf,” Eh said. “We made sure our new world, our own Exodus Ship, didn’t have assigned gender. But Fenmere, Gesedege, Gnargrim, and I were all born on a ship that did. Or something close enough to it that it’s basically the same thing. We didn’t have the word ‘trans’, obviously. But, again, close enough. We weren’t able to end dysphoria by ending gender, though. Even with technological interventions before birth, eugenics even, as abhorrent as it is, we can’t stop some people from being born with the need for physical change. Sometimes it develops later in life, too. It’s better to accommodate it when it becomes known. Anyway, I digress. We have an understanding with your transgender people. We get it. It’s ultimately why we’re here.”

Anne, apparently, was stuck on the first few words of Eh’s explanation, “Can - can I ask? How old are you?”

Eh smirked, but I wondered if Anne would read it as a smirk. Anne was too focused on the subject of her question to be bewildered by Ktletaccete expressions like a lot of other Earthly people often are, though.

“Do you want to know my age by my own personal years experienced? Or from your perspective, taking into account relativity?” Eh asked back.

Anne grimaced, “Let’s go with years you’ve experienced.”

Eh titled their head and looked at the ceiling as if to calculate. I knew this was a hard thing to answer for a Ktletaccete of our age. I don’t like thinking about my own age, myself. It kind of defies memory. Causes a kind of dysphoria itself. I could see Eh’s face twitch as they settled on an answer.

 “I’m going to give you an estimate,” Eh said. “Calculated in your years, but for my experience. And really rounded off. At a certain point, the thousands digit means as much as the ones digit.”

Anne looked what I’ve come to discern as incredulous.

“Two hundred and some millennia,” Eh said. “Maybe thirty? Maybe fifty? It gets squidgy.”

Anne blinked and deflected internalizing that with an observation, “You use English vernacular like you were born here.”

“We’ve been here eight years, and we live in trillions of tiny machines that can house the consciousnesses of millions of us,” Eh said. “Our ability to translate and learn your language is… enhanced.”

“Two hundred thousand years?” Anne asked, back on the topic.

“Yes,” Eh said. “More or less. Mostly more.”

“Well,” she said. “At least you’re not embarrassingly older than me. Just a smidge, though. A bit of a smidge. Like a civilization or two. Well, technically, it’s off the other end, and there weren’t civilizations back then, so…”

Eh drew their head back and raised their lure in surprise, asking, “How does that work? If you’ll excuse me for asking. How does a human live that long? I thought your civilizations were less than a few thousand years old at this point. You only had your industrial revolution two hundred years ago or so. Your computer technology is less than a century old.”

Anne grinned, licked the icing off her fingers one at a time, and then rubbed her hand dry on her cloak as she stood up. She held out her hand as if to offer a handshake to Eh, and said, “Former Primordial Goddess of Hospitality and present trans girl, Anne Other Problem, at your service. Welcome to Earth, I guess!”

Eh straightened up and sloughed off a considerable amount of nanite clay, reconfiguring their body to be about the same size of a human, but otherwise the same shape as before. The excess clay oozed toward the large bin in the back, reverting to its graphene color almost immediately. Then they stepped around the counter to stand before Anne and took her hand to shake it.

“My name is Eh.Though, that’s really a title. My name is Yenfiri. My pronouns are they/them. Former Senior Captain and Founding Crew of the `etekeyerrinwuf, revolutionary, trans enby as you’d say, and co-Artisan of Sunspot Tea and Coffee,” Eh said. “And it is a real pleasure to meet you. Thank you.”

“I don’t have anywhere near the power I used to have,” Anne said. “But I’ll do my best to step back into my old role for you. Your customers… Or, I guess they’re your guests? Their actions speak very well for you and what you’ve done for them. We need places like this. But let’s try not to make too many waves. I think you’re in a more fragile position than you realize.”

“You’re our hostess,” Eh said, glancing at me. 

I nodded. The Council would accept this. We had a habit of still treating Eh like Captain, anyway. 

Eh concluded, “We’ll follow your lead.”

“Asterix might want you to pretend to be human from now on,” Anne said. “It might be for the best if you did, honestly. But that might also depend on what kind of protections you don’t know you have.”

Eh grimaced, “If it comes to that, we can comply. But it will hurt. Some of us will have to front more than others. Whatever it takes to do what’s safe, though.”

Anne nodded, “Let’s go see the Lord and find out what he has to say.”

“Sounds good.”

And nodding and waving to us, they walked out the door, just like that. Though, before they took their third step beyond the threshold, Eh had changed shape to their human disguise, which looked remarkably like Yenfiri had before their body had died. Just a different species, obviously.

[electricbluebutterflies]

Joel/Tess + neighbours AU

Didn't expect this one to end up close to 3k but here we are. Modern AU, rather nsfw (didn't plan that either), also on ao3.

Tess needs a change of scenery, or at least the different horrors of a middle-ring suburb. Somewhere it’ll be a little harder for her tendencies to get her in trouble, or at least different trouble, and-

On paper this is a hell of a slightly early midlife crisis, but something about her sees the words “fixer-upper” and thinks she’s watched just enough renovation shows in waiting rooms to at least turn this into a good distraction for a couple years or however it long takes her to DIY her way out of this. Never mind that she has no idea what she’s doing. She’s under-stimulated at work and kinda likes the idea of living somewhere the kids outnumber the purse dogs. This’ll be fine.

Or at least it would be if her new neighbors weren’t Those People.

She understands the appeal of outdoor maintenance, despite her own black thumbs – she killed a cactus with neglect, she was just out of town for a destination wedding, those things are supposed to survive months but it didn’t last a long weekend – and lack of interest in yardwork. She gets that most of the neighborhood does things the same way she’s inclined to, keeps it all neat and maybe a hanging basket out front but not overkill. But of course she goes and moves in next to someone who clearly has compulsions or something, whose yard looks like someone actually planned it, and that’s just the part visible from the front, their backyard has what looks like a complicated vegetable-growing setup and-

Tess is prepared to hate them on sight, whoever they are, whatever kind of people they otherwise are and it’s coinflip odds on sweethearts or assholes and she’s never been lucky. She is also prepared to spend the next couple months as indoors as possible, questioning every home-décor choice ever made in the 1970s, she’s pretty sure part of the reason the house was unusually cheap is the last owner died here – in their sleep and their mid-80s, if she heard right, but still – and good grief somebody liked orange a little too much and-

How she managed to get this place instead of one of those industrial demolition companies, she’s not quite sure, but she’s going to make it work.

She’s having a moment of frustration a couple weeks in – most of a weekend down an internet rabbit hole does not make her any more confident about removing what could politely be described as a chandelier – and it occurs to her that she doesn’t actually have a ladder high enough to safely get her hands up in that thing, and it occurs to her that Those People, who she has yet to actually interact with, probably do and will probably be horrified enough by her currently apathetic appearance to let her borrow it for a few hours. And possibly, if she brings it back without damage, other fun things she might need out of their inevitably thoroughly equipped shed and/or garage. Tess is nothing if not perceptive, and she’s half surprised she hasn’t gotten a please-make-sure-your-grass-is-even note in impeccable handwriting, and-

She’s not sure what she expects when she knocks on the door, but the man who answers – scruffy, gorgeous, just older than her enough to be hot – is somehow not it. To the extent that she has a type, this is her type, and fuck she’s finally going to add intentional homewrecking to her list of accomplishments (it doesn’t count if you don’t know for fact the other person has a tiny cute wife at home, fight her) and-

“I just moved in next door,” she says before this can get weird or she can do something fabulously reckless. “And I was wondering if you had a decent ladder I could borrow?”

Normal people do this, she tries to remind herself. Normal functional people who live in mid-ring suburbs occasionally ask favors from people nearby and it’s not weird at all. She’s used to a series of apartment complexes occupied by people who acted more like feral animals, and there’s a bit of that in her by association, but-

“What do you need it for?” the man replies, more curious than judgmental if she’s hearing him right.

“Taking down… fuck, I think somebody thought it was a chandelier but…”

Tess does not do the learned-helplessness thing, but apparently it’s obvious how far she’s in over her head. “Need an extra set of hands?”

“Never had someone I don’t know want to watch me get electrocuted,” she laughs.

“So, yes.”

She’s not going to say no, and she’s not going to waste an opportunity for what she swears will stop at light eyefucking, and she does notice there’s no indent of a wedding band on his hand but she’s seen the well-equipped truck out front and that may be more of a profession-related choice than useful information and-

The garage is as full of everything possible as she’d expected, but also a little more chaotic than everything publicly visible, and she almost has questions, and-

“Compromise,” he says like he knows what she’s thinking. “The kid’s not allowed in here.”

And now Tess has more questions, and… this is not the time, she decides, not while she’s testing the limits of someone’s patience. She can feel out the details of the personal situation later, after…

Her own living space is only neat because most of her worldly possessions are still in boxes, and there’s almost nothing in what must’ve been designed as a dining room except for the goddamned light fixture and-

“I don’t do a lot of electrical, but… you flip the fuse first?”

“Yeah. At least those were labeled.”

To be fair, she’d just meant to borrow a ladder, not make this entire project someone else’s problem, but… she’s also not complaining about that, and she’s going to have to return the favor somehow and she’s pretty damn useless as a person and-

She has a type, and how apparently competent this man is just makes her more interested, and she needs to run damage control against herself before she does anything and-

“You have time for this?” she asks, figuring that’s a safe opening.

“You mean like…”

“Anybody wondering where you are right now?” Fuck, that sounds creepy now that she’s said it, like she’s going to do something violent when the worst she’s actually thinking is how to get him under her, like-

“Kid’s doing something with her friends. That’s… it.”

Oh. Well.

Tess’s surprise must register or something, and she in general is apparently more expressive than she thinks, because her silence is enough to get her new acquaintance off the ladder and looking at her with more worry than she thinks another human has directed at her in her adult life. Oh, if this is how she makes it awkward…

“Saw your yard and I thought…”

“Kid watches too much TV. Her ideas and my hands.”

“How old?”

“Sixteen. Her mom left… a while ago. We try.”

Not objectively helpful information, Tess thinks – if anything, the implications that this man has been doing the single-parent thing impeccably for a good length of time just makes him more hot – but also exactly what she wanted to know and-

“I’m sorry if I got weird earlier. I make bad first impressions and… y’know, I try to behave but I’ve got eyes and you’re-“

“It’s alright.”

“Should’ve at least introduced myself first. Tess.”

“Joel. Nice to meet you.”

“I will… if you’re determined to save me from myself here, I will pay you. I’m not-“

“Conversation with an actual adult feels like enough.”

If she counts as an actual adult, the world is probably screwed, but…

“How much does that get me?”

* * * * *

It becomes something of a routine, after that.

Tess is determined to do as much of this minor renovation herself as she can, and turns out painting walls is a good way to burn off energy after work, but occasionally there are projects that she’s either not sure how to do or legitimately needs an extra set of hands for and that’s where the nice man next door comes in. Every time, she offers to compensate for the effort; every time, he turns her down. She’s covering materials and apparently that’s enough, and-

Every time, the thoughts about what could happen between them get a little more vivid.

They’re working on bathroom tile when she decides to actually do something about it, a project that she’d feel bad about if it wasn’t such a small space. Theoretically simple like everything else she’s tried to do, but her eye for detail isn’t great and it’s turned into her new friend doing most of it while she watches and hands him things and she probably owes him a kidney for this particular adventure alone and-

“So it’s just you here?” he asks, like he can read her damn mind and honestly she wouldn’t be surprised.

“Yeah.”

They’ve avoided most of the deep personal questions, instead talking mundane stuff like favorites, filling the space between them with whatever they can. They’re compatibly damaged people, she’s figured out that much, and he’s good like she’s not sure she is, and-

“Figured, but… had to ask.”

“Me trying to flirt with you still makes you think I’ve got somebody out there?”

“Can’t rule out an open relationship…”

Tess laughs – she does that more around him than most people, something inherently stabilizing about this dynamic they’re working out. “No judgement to anyone else, but I’m way too territorial for that. What’s mine is mine.”

He’s quiet for a while, places a few more tiles absolutely perfect, lets the tension rest. It’s not awkward, exactly, but the energy is different and-

“Understood.”

“Wasn’t saying… shit, I’m not sure if I wanna ask you out or pin you to a wall or-“

“I’d let you.”

She puts that information aside for as long as it takes to finish the project, until they’re cleaning up and she’s aware she looks good in this tank top, hair already a mess but she thinks she’d break him if he ever saw what she looks like when she tries and-

“Can I kiss you now?” she asks, just a little softer than necessary.

Joel leans down and puts his mouth on hers and it’s everything she wants, scruffy and warm and just a little hesitant, and she’s going to melt and she’s going to do something that’ll ruin them and-

“That good for you too?” Adoration in his eyes, she’s not sure what to do with this, she’s not sure-

Normally she does casual and easy to disconnect from, and she is well aware that screwing her neighbor is neither of those things and will, if it ends badly, ruin her life. But what if it doesn’t, she thinks. What if this is good? What if…

“We’ve got all the major stuff done,” she murmurs, thinking out loud. “If this gets weird…”

“You have your priorities,” he replies, almost playful.

“Been thinking about you all over me since I saw you, but… yeah.”

He takes another kiss, deeper this time, and she feels what he’s not saying, that he’s been having the same thoughts for a couple months now and wasn’t sure it was a good idea but fuck it they have nothing to lose and-

“You think I’d do all this if I didn’t like you?”

“Guess this is how I’m repaying you.” She’s seen that part coming for a while, the inevitability of it, and she doesn’t mind, she doesn’t-

“Not like that.”

“A little like that.”

She moves her body against his for emphasis, and she wants, she wants-

“Not like that,” he repeats.

“Think of it however you have to,” she replies, deciding this is as good a time as any to shed her tank top.

It’s been a while since she’s been with anyone under quite these circumstances – daylight in a hallway with someone she actually knows. A dry spell since the move hasn’t helped, enough of a crush that she’s lost interest in her previously normal routines, and-

While she’s stuck in her head, he gets her against the wall and gets on his knees for her, and she’s half confused and-

“This look like you repaying me?” he asks, hands on her waistband.

“Don’t know your preferences enough to know.”

She doesn’t push him away, and he takes that for the let’s-see-what-happens consent that it is, and… most of the men she fucks don’t go down on her, and she’s pleasantly surprised that this one wants to, and-

Something about how he undoes her makes her think he’s also on the tail end of a much longer dry spell, not that she’s complaining. She’s easy to work open, and he’s apparently as good at giving head as anything else he does, and she’s going to get herself ruined, and-

“Stay with me,” he breathes against her thigh. “Keep your eyes open.”

She doesn’t, when it matters. Something about the combination of factors gets her off faster than she’s used to, and that doesn’t stop him working her through, making sure she’s properly wrecked before he stops batting her clit with his tongue. They are ridiculously compatible, and she can’t remember the last time a partner gave her that much attention, and-

“That clear enough?” he asks, back on his feet and still way too clothed for her preferences.

“You want me to return the favor?”

“Stop talkin’ like that.”

Well, if this is how she ends up pinned to a wall, she’s not complaining.

She’s usually more assertive than this, but if someone wants to make clear how much they want her, she’ll go with it. It takes some pawing to get his shirt off before he lifts her up, and it’s just as well he was so thorough with his mouth because he’s as solid between the legs as everywhere else and-

Tess is pretty sure she’s in love, and pretty sure that’s not a normal thought to have when being fucked against a wall, and pretty sure she doesn’t care about anything else right now. She hasn’t been done this well in quite some time, maybe ever, and she doesn’t get off again but she at least gets warm enough to have a good time, and-

“Shit,” he says after, after he falls apart inside her with a sharp bite to her shoulder. “You on anything?”

“Implant. Don’t trust me with anything I have to think about more often.”

“Should’ve-“

“At least you’re asking now.”

“Still.”

She’s still half pinned to the wall, and she turns it into an embrace and oh they fit right with their bodies separated too. This better work out, she thinks, this better-

“What now?”

He gets a hand back in her hair, now thoroughly messed up. “Think that shower will fit both of us?”

Like she’d know, she’s tempted to murmur, but it’d ruin the moment. “Only one real way to find out…”

* * * * *

They make it work.

Desperate-hot sex and home-improvement projects are a weird combination to start a relationship on, but Tess is pretty sure she’s never actually dated anyone before, and Joel hasn’t in years upon years, and… at least they’re useless together, at least there’s that. At least they’re winging their way forward, slowly drifting into…

She keeps her own spaces, even when things get serious. It’s a better situation for both of them.

Her yard is still, no matter what she does, even when she lets the kid (Sarah, sweetheart, decides she likes Tess surprisingly quickly) try to help, the disappointment of the block. It’s fine. Comparison helps no one anyways.

A couple years later, just as Tess is starting to think that it might be time to propose now that she’s on the other side of forty and about as domesticated as she’s likely to ever get, she gets a phone call and apparently owes someone a huge favor and ends up sharing space with a teenage girl who reminds her a lot of the purse dogs she thought she moved out here to avoid and…

It all turns out okay in the end. Somehow.

[foxymoxynoona]

Currently reading Amended and all I could think was a middle class 27 year old had that much savings amd bought a freaking house...what in the millennial wet dream is that? Can't relate 😄😄 then I remind myself it's fiction. LOL

Story is good though. Kinda addicted atm and binging on it.

Lol some millennials do own houses so it's not totally outside the realm of possibility! Through whatever combination of good luck, bad luck, timing, location, etc. I did calculations for his annual pay and budget and searched for real estate in the area they live in to make sure it was at all possible --remember he's been making decent money and barely spending anything for years, didn't have loans/debt, plus she gets money from what little her grandma had to pass on and the sale of the old house in a neighborhood marked for gentrifying to cover a down payment as well.

There's definitely still a position of fiction privilege though, basically everything going right for him for years (while everything was going wrong for Isabella for years). I think the big additional boost for him that made it possible (which I hope came across in the story) was the privilege from his job. They expected to buy a small fixer-upper but they got something much better than they would otherwise have been able to afford. The story tries to look at a lot of types of privilege or lack of privilege (along with inheritance and legacy), and his job provides him access to one type, though it's a means to privilege he has to ultimately really examine what it costs him to have.

But yeah, easy home ownership with such a nice house is so young is totally the fantasy lol. With a family nearby who can handle any house repairs or renovations. The chapter where he pays off all her debt was the real 🥵 one for me haha. Let me dream, ok???

I'm glad you're enjoying the story!!

[snehagoogle]

After Earth

After Earth

Paradise of Mars

Revolves around the Sun

Day and night are of 25 hours

Full rotation but

Facing the Earth for two years

Full rotation but

Facing the Earth for two years

After Earth

Paradise of Mars

Revolves around the Sun

Day and night are of 25 hours

Full rotation but

Facing the Earth for two years

Full rotation but

Facing the Earth for two years

is one of the centuries

this sequence

otherwise it might not have happened

The earth is till today

at the same place

It is appropriate for Mars to stay

It is appropriate for Mars to stay

is one of the centuries

this sequence

otherwise it might not have happened

The earth is till today

at the same place

It is appropriate for Mars to stay

It is appropriate for Mars to stay

After Earth

Paradise of Mars

Revolves around the Sun

Day and night are of 25 hours

Full rotation but

Facing the Earth for two years

Full rotation but

Facing the Earth for two years

After Earth

Paradise of Mars

Revolves around the Sun

Day and night are of 25 hours

Full rotation but

Facing the Earth for two years

Full rotation but

Facing the Earth for two years

There was no collision

Billions of trillions of years have passed

Mars Earth two there

In between the planet Theia

collided at the beginning and

Theia's journey was uneventful

Theia's journey was uneventful

There was no collision

Billions of trillions of years have passed

Mars Earth two there

In between the planet Theia

collided at the beginning and

Theia's journey was uneventful

Theia's journey was uneventful

After Earth

Paradise of Mars

Revolves around the Sun

Day and night are of 25 hours

Full rotation but

Facing the Earth for two years

Full rotation but

Facing the Earth for two years

After Earth

Paradise of Mars

Revolves around the Sun

Day and night are of 25 hours

Full rotation but

Facing the Earth for two years

Full rotation but

Facing the Earth for two years

It is said that billions of years ago, a huge planet called Theia used to revolve around the Sun between Mars and Earth.

Know how Planet Theia collided with Earth while revolving around the Sun.

And that journey of Planet Theia between Mars and Earth had become extinct from the entire Solar System right from the beginning.

Did the Solar System really have nine planets?

With Planet Theia

The solar system currently has eight planets, but there is a possibility that there was once a ninth planet: 

Current planets

The eight planets in our solar system are Mercury, Venus, Earth, Mars, Jupiter, Saturn, Uranus, and Neptune. 

Possible ninth planet

In 2016, researchers proposed the existence of a ninth planet, dubbed "Planet Nine" or "Planet X". This planet is estimated to be about 10 times the mass of Earth and to orbit the sun between 300 and 1,000 times farther than Earth. However, scientists have not yet seen Planet Nine. 

Theia

Theia may have been a planet that collided with Earth in a violent event. Some believe that fragments of Theia may be found deep in Earth's mantle. Computer simulations in 2023 reinforced this hypothesis. 

4.5 billion years ago, another planet crashed into Earth. We ...

National Geographic

https://www.nationalgeographic.com › premium › article

1 Nov 2023 — A new study suggests that portions of the moon-forming impactor Theia survived throughout Earth's history deep in our planet's mantle.

9 Ghostly Planets

Britannica

https://www.britannica.com › Demystified › Science

Humanity has sent probes to every planet, so we now have a decent idea of what’s in our neighborhood. Even before that, astronomers tracked the movements of the solar system for millennia. Sometimes their eyes (or brains) played tricks. Or did they? What ever happened to the ghost planets, those worlds that never existed or once were but are no longer?

Theia

The origin of the Moon was long a mystery, and, beginning in the 19th century, three competing theories emerged to solve it. In one, Earth and the Moon formed together in the same spot in the primordial solar nebula. In another, the early Earth spun so fast that it hurled out a blob that became the Moon. (One version of this theory held that the Pacific Ocean is the hole left behind.) In the third, the Moon formed elsewhere but was captured by Earth. However, none of these theories could adequately explain the current Earth-Moon system. In the 1970s a new proposal emerged: that a giant impact had formed the Moon. The impactor would have been the size of Mars and was given the name Theia (after the mother of Selene, the Greek Moon goddess). In the impact, Theia was destroyed, and the debris became the Moon. The debris may even have formed two moons, one smaller than the other. They eventually collided very slowly in what is described as something like a large landslide. The landslide side became what is now the Moon’s far side, and this theory would explain why the near and far sides of the Moon are so different.

After Earth

Paradise of Mars

Revolves around the Sun

Day and night are of 25 hours

Full rotation but

Facing the Earth for two years

Full rotation but

Facing the Earth for two years

After Earth

Paradise of Mars

Revolves around the Sun

Day and night are of 25 hours

Full rotation but

Facing the Earth for two years

Full rotation but

Facing the Earth for two years

is one of the centuries

this sequence

otherwise it might not have happened

The earth is till today

at the same place

It is appropriate for Mars to stay

It is appropriate for Mars to stay

is one of the centuries

this sequence

otherwise it might not have happened

The earth is till today

at the same place

It is appropriate for Mars to stay

It is appropriate for Mars to stay

After Earth

Paradise of Mars

Revolves around the Sun

Day and night are of 25 hours

Full rotation but

Facing the Earth for two years

Full rotation but

Facing the Earth for two years

After Earth

Paradise of Mars

Revolves around the Sun

Day and night are of 25 hours

Full rotation but

Facing the Earth for two years

Full rotation but

Facing the Earth for two years

There was no collision

Billions of trillions of years have passed

Mars Earth two there

In between the planet Theia

collided at the beginning and

Theia's journey was uneventful

Theia's journey was uneventful

There was no collision

Billions of trillions of years have passed

Mars Earth two there

In between the planet Theia

collided at the beginning and

Theia's journey was uneventful

Theia's journey was uneventful

After Earth

Paradise of Mars

Revolves around the Sun

Day and night are of 25 hours

Full rotation but

Facing the Earth for two years

Full rotation but

Facing the Earth for two years

After Earth

Paradise of Mars

Revolves around the Sun

Day and night are of 25 hours

Full rotation but

Facing the Earth for two years

Full rotation but

Facing the Earth for two years

Translate Hindi

पृथ्वी के बाद

मंगल की जन्नत

सूरज को करता है प्रदक्षिण

25 घंटो का है दिनरात

पूर्ण परिक्रमा मगर

पृथ्वी दो साल संमुखीन

पूर्ण परिक्रमा मगर

पृथ्वी दो साल संमुखीन

पृथ्वी के बाद

मंगल की जन्नत

सूरज को करता है प्रदक्षिण

25 घंटो का है दिनरात

पूर्ण परिक्रमा मगर

पृथ्वी दो साल संमुखीन

पूर्ण परिक्रमा मगर

पृथ्वी दो साल संमुखीन

सदियां में से है

यही सिलसिला

अन्यथा न हुआ कदाचित

पृथ्वी है आज तक

वही जगह पर

मंगल की राय लगा टिकना समुचित

मंगल की राय लगा टिकना समुचित

सदियां में से है

यही सिलसिला

अन्यथा न हुआ कदाचित

पृथ्वी है आज तक

वही जगह पर

मंगल की राय लगा टिकना समुचित

मंगल की राय लगा टिकना समुचित

पृथ्वी के बाद

मंगल की जन्नत

सूरज को करता है प्रदक्षिण

25 घंटो का है दिनरात

पूर्ण परिक्रमा मगर

पृथ्वी दो साल संमुखीन

पूर्ण परिक्रमा मगर

पृथ्वी दो साल संमुखीन

पृथ्वी के बाद

मंगल की जन्नत

सूरज को करता है प्रदक्षिण

25 घंटो का है दिनरात

पूर्ण परिक्रमा मगर

पृथ्वी दो साल संमुखीन

पूर्ण परिक्रमा मगर

पृथ्वी दो साल संमुखीन

हुआ न टक्कर

बीता अरबों खरबों साल

मगल पृथ्वी दोनों वहां पर

थे बीच में थिया प्लैनेट

टकराया था शुरू में और

थिया का हुआ निश्चिह्न सफर

थिया का हुआ निश्चिह्न सफर

हुआ न टक्कर

बीता अरबों खरबों साल

मगल पृथ्वी दोनों वहां पर

थे बीच में थिया प्लैनेट

टकराया था शुरू में और

थिया का हुआ निश्चिह्न सफर

थिया का हुआ निश्चिह्न सफर

पृथ्वी के बाद

मंगल की जन्नत

सूरज को करता है प्रदक्षिण

25 घंटो का है दिनरात

पूर्ण परिक्रमा मगर

पृथ्वी दो साल संमुखीन

पूर्ण परिक्रमा मगर

पृथ्वी दो साल संमुखीन

पृथ्वी के बाद

मंगल की जन्नत

सूरज को करता है प्रदक्षिण

25 घंटो का है दिनरात

पूर्ण परिक्रमा मगर

पृथ्वी दो साल संमुखीन

पूर्ण परिक्रमा मगर

पृथ्वी दो साल संमुखीन

कहा जाता है अरबों खरबों साल पहले मंगल ग्रह और धरती के बीच एक जबरदस्त ग्रह ही प्लैनेट थिया सूरज को परिक्रमा करता था

जाने कैसे कैसे प्लैनेट थिया सूरज को परिक्रमा करते करते धरती के साथ ही टकरा गया

और मगल धरती के बीच की वो प्लैनेट थिया की सफर सपूर्ण सौरमंडल से चिर निश्चिह्न हो चुका था शुरू शुरू में ही

क्या शुरू की सौरमंडल सच में नौ ग्रह था प्लैनेट थिया ग्रह को लेकर

सौरमंडल में वर्तमान में आठ ग्रह हैं, लेकिन संभावना है कि कभी नौवां ग्रह भी था:

वर्तमान ग्रह

हमारे सौरमंडल में आठ ग्रह हैं बुध, शुक्र, पृथ्वी, मंगल, बृहस्पति, शनि, यूरेनस और नेपच्यून।

संभावित नौवां ग्रह

2016 में, शोधकर्ताओं ने नौवें ग्रह के अस्तित्व का प्रस्ताव रखा, जिसे "ग्रह नौ" या "ग्रह एक्स" कहा जाता है। यह ग्रह पृथ्वी के द्रव्यमान का लगभग 10 गुना है और पृथ्वी की तुलना में सूर्य की परिक्रमा 300 से 1,000 गुना अधिक दूरी पर करता है। हालाँकि, वैज्ञानिकों ने अभी तक ग्रह नौ को नहीं देखा है।

थिया

थिया एक ऐसा ग्रह हो सकता है जो हिंसक घटना में पृथ्वी से टकराया हो। कुछ लोगों का मानना ​​है कि थिया के टुकड़े पृथ्वी के मेंटल में गहराई में पाए जा सकते हैं। 2023 में कंप्यूटर सिमुलेशन ने इस परिकल्पना को पुष्ट किया।

4.5 अरब साल पहले, एक और ग्रह पृथ्वी से टकराया था। हम ...

नेशनल ज्योग्राफिक

https://www.nationalgeographic.com › प्रीमियम › लेख

1 नवंबर 2023 — एक नए अध्ययन से पता चलता है कि चंद्रमा बनाने वाले प्रभावक थिया के कुछ हिस्से पृथ्वी के इतिहास में हमारे ग्रह के मेंटल में गहराई तक बचे रहे।

9 भूतिया ग्रह

ब्रिटानिका

https://www.britannica.com › रहस्योद्धाटन › विज्ञान

मानवता ने हर ग्रह पर जांच भेजी है, इसलिए अब हमें इस बात का अच्छा अंदाजा है कि हमारे आस-पास क्या है। उससे पहले भी, खगोलविदों ने सहस्राब्दियों तक सौर मंडल की गतिविधियों पर नज़र रखी। कभी-कभी उनकी आँखें (या दिमाग) चालें चलती थीं। या उन्होंने किया? भूतिया ग्रहों क�� क्या हुआ, वे दुनियाएँ जो कभी अस्तित्व में नहीं थीं या एक बार थीं लेकिन अब नहीं हैं?

थिया

चंद्रमा की उत्पत्ति लंबे समय से एक रहस्य थी, और 19वीं शताब्दी की शुरुआत में, इसे सुलझाने के लिए तीन प्रतिस्पर्धी सिद्धांत सामने आए। एक में, पृथ्वी और चंद्रमा आदिकालीन सौर निहारिका में एक ही स्थान पर एक साथ बने थे। दूसरे में, प्रारंभिक पृथ्वी इतनी तेजी से घूमी कि उसने एक बूँद फेंकी जो चंद्रमा बन गई। (इस सिद्धांत के एक संस्करण में कहा गया था कि प्रशांत महासागर पीछे छूट गया छेद है।) तीसरे में, चंद्रमा कहीं और बना था लेकिन पृथ्वी द्वारा कब्जा कर लिया गया था। हालाँकि, इनमें से कोई भी सिद्धांत वर्तमान पृथ्वी-चंद्रमा प्रणाली को पर्याप्त रूप से समझा नहीं सका। 1970 के दशक में एक नया प्रस्ताव सामने आया: कि एक विशाल प्रभाव ने चंद्रमा का निर्माण किया। प्रभावक मंगल के आकार का रहा होगा और इसे थिया (ग्रीक चंद्रमा देवी सेलेन की माँ के नाम पर) नाम दिया गया था। प्रभाव में, थिया नष्ट हो गया, और मलबे से चंद्रमा बन गया। मलबे से दो चंद्रमा भी बन सकते हैं, एक दूसरे से छोटा। अंततः वे बहुत धीरे-धीरे टकराए जिसे एक बड़े भूस्खलन जैसा कुछ बताया गया है। भूस्खलन वाला भाग अब चंद्रमा का दूर का भाग बन गया, और यह सिद्धांत समझाएगा कि चंद्रमा के निकट और दूर के भाग इतने अलग क्यों हैं।

पृथ्वी के बाद

मंगल की जन्नत

सूरज को करता है प्रदक्षिण

25 घंटो का है दिनरात

पूर्ण परिक्रमा मगर

पृथ्वी दो साल संमुखीन

पूर्ण परिक्रमा मगर

पृथ्वी दो साल संमुखीन

पृथ्वी के बाद

मंगल की जन्नत

सूरज को करता है प्रदक्षिण

25 घंटो का है दिनरात

पूर्ण परिक्रमा मगर

पृथ्वी दो साल संमुखीन

पूर्ण परिक्रमा मगर

पृथ्वी दो साल संमुखीन

सदियां में से है

यही सिलसिला

अन्यथा न हुआ कदाचित

पृथ्वी है आज तक

वही जगह पर

मंगल की राय लगा टिकना समुचित

मंगल की राय लगा टिकना समुचित

सदियां में से है

यही सिलसिला

अन्यथा न हुआ कदाचित

पृथ्वी है आज तक

वही जगह पर

मंगल की राय लगा टिकना समुचित

मंगल की राय लगा टिकना समुचित

पृथ्वी के बाद

मंगल की जन्नत

सूरज को करता है प्रदक्षिण

25 घंटो का है दिनरात

पूर्ण परिक्रमा मगर

पृथ्वी दो साल संमुखीन

पूर्ण परिक्रमा मगर

पृथ्वी दो साल संमुखीन

पृथ्वी के बाद

मंगल की जन्नत

सूरज को करता है प्रदक्षिण

25 घंटो का है दिनरात

पूर्ण परिक्रमा मगर

पृथ्वी दो साल संमुखीन

पूर्ण परिक्रमा मगर

पृथ्वी दो साल संमुखीन

हुआ न टक्कर

बीता अरबों खरबों साल

मगल पृथ्वी दोनों वहां पर

थे बीच में थिया प्लैनेट

टकराया था शुरू में और

थिया का हुआ निश्चिह्न सफर

थिया का हुआ निश्चिह्न सफर

हुआ न टक्कर

बीता अरबों खरबों साल

मगल पृथ्वी दोनों वहां पर

थे बीच में थिया प्लैनेट

टकराया था शुरू में और

थिया का हुआ निश्चिह्न सफर

थिया का हुआ निश्चिह्न सफर

पृथ्वी के बाद

मंगल की जन्नत

सूरज को करता है प्रदक्षिण

25 घंटो का है दिनरात

पूर्ण परिक्रमा मगर

पृथ्वी दो साल संमुखीन

पूर्ण परिक्रमा मगर

पृथ्वी दो साल संमुखीन

पृथ्वी के बाद

मंगल की जन्नत

सूरज को करता है प्रदक्षिण

25 घंटो का है दिनरात

पूर्ण परिक्रमा मगर

पृथ्वी दो साल संमुखीन

पूर्ण परिक्रमा मगर

पृथ्वी दो साल संमुखीन

[clatterbane]

Yep. I now live in a city in Sweden which is pretty well known for being easy to get around on foot or by bike, as a full-time wheelchair user. However, some of the infrastructure planning quite obviously took pedestrians and cyclists into account much more than people who use mobility devices.

Very similar situation with some of the sidewalks and curbs here, including in our neighborhood. Never mind the amount of unavoidable cobblestones, which are not limited to older parts of town. On many occasions, I have been glad to be at least a moderately skilled manual chair user who is otherwise pretty strong, and able to stubbornly maneuver through in ways that not all folks could. I can just go up and down curbs and over more obstacles if I have to. Trying to get around can still turn more exhausting and frustrating than it needs to, unpredictably and fast.

One pretty good demonstration of how much trickier navigation can be, in ways that most pedestrians wouldn't even consider:

(NAVIGATING UNEVEN STREETS & CAMBER IN A WHEELCHAIR)

The cycle infrastructure here does at least tend to make things less tricky, being designed with wheels in mind! (And well away from cars, as usually another sidewalk lane.) In busier times/areas, though, it is best to avoid being basically a slow-moving truck taking up a solid chunk of the bike lane. 😬

This is unfortunately not the case everywhere, even though this should be a win-win accessibility situation. In too many cases, localities have tried to turn public access into a zero-sum game--and pit particularly cyclists and disabled people against one another, in order to justify doing the absolute minimum and suiting basically nobody's needs. And, too often, making things less accessible for disabled people in the name of reducing car traffic.

@MikScarlet has posted rather a lot about this on Twitter, especially looking at how this has been playing out around him in London and elsewhere in the UK. I was in Greater London for many years before moving here, as a frequent cyclist until mobility problems got in the way. (Partly to avoid dealing with public transport as much as was feasible, tbh.) The streets/sidewalks were enough of a nightmare for both bike and disabled access already, before all the shit that local councils have been getting up to the past few years.

I'm not really going to get into the availability of decent public transport, or how accessible it might be for variously disabled people. A lot has been said about that elsewhere on this post. Let it suffice to say that there is SO much room for improvement, even in places where "good" public transport systems do exist.

One addition, though, regarding areas which are explicitly considered pedestrian and cycling friendly? In too many cases, public transport does seem to be set up assuming that users are going to be primarily relying on walking and cycling in their daily lives. Including for getting themselves to/from stops. This can pose some obvious problems for those who don't really have that option, for whatever reason(s).

A lot of the actual conflicts here could be alleviated with more emphasis on universal design. It doesn't have to be like this. Very frustrating.

”walkable cities is ableist” has to be a psy-op. you can’t be this bad at understanding what the term means.

[cryoverkiltmilk]

I haven't written anything about Ukraine, because my perspective isn't exactly valuable in this moment. But in case anyone actually needs a quick primer and hasn't gotten it yet, the only salient facts are:

This isn't about NATO expansion. It's not about "de-Nazification." It's not about oppressed Russian ethic minorities. It's not about Hunter Biden.

It's pretty simple. Putin wants the territory of the old USSR back. He kept Ukraine as a puppet state for years. When they started to warm to the West, instead, he tried rigging their elections, poisoning their leading presidential candidate, and sending separatist guerrillas to wreak havoc on everyday Ukrainians for a decade. Even the last few weeks, he made some half-assed attempts at manufacturing provocations as cassus belli, but in the end, was pretty clear that he just wanted Ukraine.

So he's doing this because he can. No other reason. Because he knows nobody else wants to use military force to stop him. He doesn't care about casualties, Ukrainian or Russian. He's willing to stomach economic sanctions.

All of those other excuses are obviously bogus, directly from Putin's own words. He doesn't think the ex-Soviet republics should have been allowed to leave. He wants them back. He said so himself.

A decent percentage of the American right has idolized Putin and his strongman antics, because they wanted to criticize Obama as weak by comparison, or thought he was an avatar of crushing LGBTQ people or wokeness, or that he was a powerful white Christian leader (ironically, the only Christianity he allows is Russian Orthodox.) They've made excuses for his atrocities over the years because they thought they shared a common enemy. Many have suddenly started pretending they never said such things. Others are doubling down.

Now this war has begun. The first open war in Europe in a generation. Not to discount the many deadly conflicts that have killed millions in, say, Africa, but this marks an ominous level of instability we all hoped we would never see again. Innocent men, women, and children are dying. They're huddling in subway tunnels to avoid falling bombs. Old men are saying goodbye to their families and picking up AKs to defend their neighborhoods from shock troops. University students are making molotov cocktails to throw at tanks.

It's not complicated. Big countries shouldn't invade small countries. Small countries shouldn't invade small countries. Autocracies shouldn't invade democracies. Democracies shouldn't invade autocracy. Quibbling about semantics or both-sidesing this is morally reprehensible. Choosing to bomb and shell innocent civilians is evil and must be condemned.

Serious people are debating how we, the world, responds.

Unserious people are using this moment to try to score cheap and incoherent political points.

The kind of people who only have one response to every scenario - joking about "multiple genders" or "Pride flags" or complaining about diversity or blaming everything on Joe Biden - are predictably shoehorning those same tropes into this conflict.

Not only do they not belong here, but all these statements prove is that these commentators are not capable of serious, sober thought even during serious, sober times. The irony, of course, being that the implied is joke is that pluralist societies spend our time on frivolous things like letting gay people be themselves - while the posters themselves prove that they are only capable of frivolous thought during deadly serious times. This is not a conflict for memes and trolls. And a world of conformity at gunpoint, the world offered by the Putins and the Xi Jinpings, is not an improvement on pluralistic liberal democracy, even if it really upsets your domestic political opponents. If you think otherwise, you really don't understand that whole "freedom" thing.

We are not sending US troops to fight in Ukraine. It's ok to acknowledge that. But that doesn't mean we can't acknowledge the obvious barbarity of this assault and respond diplomatically and economically, and it doesn't mean we will be completely unaffected here. There will definitely be some spillover damage to the rest of the world, in the form of increased energy costs and trade embargoes. And there are very serious concerns that Russia may escalate with cyberattacks in response to sanctions, which may lead down a slippery slope to a larger conflict. Which is why this is a time for careful, rational analysis.

So far, the world has done a pretty decent job of coming together in unified opposition, with a few notable exceptions. NATO isn't divided, and now Finland and Sweden may feel the need to join. Even China, which has allied with Russia and issued financial support and excuses, is suddenly making noises today about respecting Ukraine's territorial integrity.

There are a lot of incredible examples of bravery to witness right now. The Klitschko brothers, rich former boxing champions who could have fled, choosing to stay and take up arms to defend their people. The Ukrainian President, a former comedian, giving inspirational speeches in the face of likely death. The videos of Ukrainian troops defiantly telling a Russian warship to Fuck Off before being murdered, or the old lady who told the Russian soldiers to go away, or at least fill their pockets with sunflower seeds so flowers would grow from their corpses.

Members of Ukrainian Parliament are taking up arms in defense of their country rather than fleeing. I doubt many of our political elites would do the same.

And the heroes in Russia, protesting in the streets against this war of conquest, knowing it will lead to their arrest or worse. The Russian athletes, chess masters, orchestra musicians risking their necks to publicly oppose a dictator. This war is not popular, even in Russia.

Abroad, countries like Ireland and Canada are opening their doors to displaced Ukrainian refugees. And we better be prepared to do the same. We and many of our allies have cut Russia off from importing semiconductors and other vital technologies.

The only constructive thing I'll really add is that as ever, a lot of this is driven by money. Putin may be the world's richest man, having siphoned hundreds of billions from the Russian state coffers. He's surrounded himself with a power structure of pet oligarchs, who have all become phenomenally wealthy suckling at his teat.

Today, we and Europe finally sanctioned Putin personally, as well as his foreign minister.

But as many have said, it's time to start really going after those oligarchs and making life unpleasant for them. They've spent their fortune buying friendship from powerful people all over the world. They own famous soccer clubs, huge amounts of real estate in London and New York and Miami, super yachts and private planes. They're used to being welcomed in high society in metropolitan capitals around the world.

The Russian people have paid for these oligarchs' greed. The Russian economy is shot. Their stock market collapsed yesterday. And it will only get worse. But as in so many strongman empires, the wealth of the politically powerful has insulated them from consequences.

These people should be persona non grata in every country. Those mega yachts and tax haven condos should be seized.

Putin doesn't care about the will of his own people. He doesn't care about sending teenage Russian boys to die for his wars of conquest. But if the people have who have looted the Russian state can't fly their mistress to Paris on the weekend, and the Russian aristocracy becomes divided, that along with widespread dissent domestically may well weaken the regime and force them back behind their own borders.

[bokutosworld]

sick day | tsukishima kei

pairing: tsukishima kei x gn!reader  word count, genre: 1.7k words, college au, fluff, childhood friends to maybe lovers.  warning: none!  summary: you and tsukishima have been friends for as long as the both of you can remember. and when you’re down with the flu, he’s left with no choice but to take care of you. 

“Can you drop by their home and give them this paper?” 

Tsukishima stares blankly at the piece of paper and back at the girl who approached him. He hasn’t even gotten up from his chair when Yachi stopped him. 

He already knows who she was referring to and was quick to turn her down. “Move. I’m packing my bag.” 

The girl grumbles, moving out of the way but continues, “Come on! You know where they live.”

“Correction, you know it too.” Tsukishima retorts. He walks past her, striding with his long legs over to the door and exiting. But Yachi was hot on his trail. “Why don’t you do it yourself?” 

Yachi groans, “I would but I’m too busy with the school paper right now. I have to head to the office to assist in lay-outing this month’s release.” She stops in her tracks, catching Tsukishima’s wrist and turning him around. “You live in the same neighborhood. Please, I promise I’ll repay you.” 

She waves the paper in front of him, and eventually, he’s left with no choice but to do the task. He sighs before snatching the form and turning on his heel, “You owe me.” 

— 

As he walks the familiar route towards home, he wonders about the last time he saw you in campus. It had actually been three days since then. Worried, his mind runs about hundreds of possibilities about why you hadn’t showed up in classes.  

The only possible thing that he could think of was that you were down with a flu. This predicament that he was in right now oddly reminds him of a time in middle school when you were absent for a week because of a severe cold. Growing up, he’s noticed that you were extremely prone to getting sick and Tsukishima always berates you for not taking care of yourself properly. Especially during flu season. 

When he passes by a convenience store, he decides to buy some instant porridge, water, and medicine. He wonders if your family were at home but gets the answer that he was looking for when he’s arrived in front of your house with the lights off. 

He eyes the building and notices the faint light coming from the side which he knows was your room.

Tsukishima enters the door, unlocking it with ease as he inputs the passcode he’s known since the both of you were kids. He feels for the switch on the wall and turns the lights open. 

He makes his way to the kitchen and places everything on the counter. He’s in the process of boiling some water when he hears footsteps walking closer. 

“Who’s there?” Your voice sounds weak and when Tsukishima turns, he sees you, cozily bundled in a hoodie and holding on to a blanket as you lean on the wall for support. 

He’s quick on his feet to help and sit you down on a chair. “You shouldn’t have left your bed,” he mutters under his breath. 

You recognize the voice, “Kei? What are you doing here?” 

He was back on the counter, opening the pack of porridge and filling it with water to cook for five minutes. He hands you a glass of water and you down it. “Yachi told me to tell you about our final project in Literature.” He takes the paper from his bag and sticks it on the refrigerator with a magnet. “Here’s the reference. Don’t lose it.” 

You manage to let out a small chuckle. “Look at you, being kind for once.” 

“Shut up.” But his words say otherwise when the look in his eyes are soft, watching over you to make sure you didn’t fall from the chair. “Where’s everybody?” 

You put your head on the table and groan. “They’re out to visit the grandparents in the countryside. Said I couldn’t make it because of school requirements but here I am.” 

“You’ve been alone this whole time?”

“Yeah,” you say with a yawn.  

He tuts at you to show his disapproval, “Why didn’t you tell anyone you were sick?” 

“Eh, no one would have bothered anyway.” 

He hands you the hot dish and you take it with a whispered thanks. You devour it in silence, relishing in the warmth that fills your body. Tsukishima hangs back, saying nothing and only observes as you eat what looks like the first decent meal you’ve had since you’ve been sick. 

“I would.”  

His sudden answer almost makes you sputter the food out from your mouth. You look at him, and though it was dark, you could make out his features and the way he was staring at you with such intensity. 

“I mean, I’m here now, aren’t I?” He takes a seat beside you, taking the cup from your hands and feeding you the last few scoops. “My parents would have made me come here either way to check on you.” 

You curse the way your heart flutters at his words. The heat on your cheeks not anymore caused by your fever but by Tsukishima who was sitting way too close for your comfort and helping you finish the porridge. After he gives you the medicine, he extends his arm out and you look at him in question. 

“Come on, I’m bringing you back to your room.” When you don’t make a move, he pulls you up to your feet and hooks one arm around your waist to keep you steady by his side. The two of you begin the slow trek to your room. 

He’s careful to lay you down on the mattress, cradling your head as he fluffs and positions the pillow under you. You seem to be already lost in your dreams when he pulls the blanket over your body, tucking you in and making sure you were warm. When he’s done, he kneels down by the side of your bed and gazes at you. 

He’s transfixed on memorizing the outlines of your face—the one thing he’d never admit he always liked to do whenever he went to your house for sleepovers years ago. Absentmindedly, he traces your features, sighing as he wanted so badly to tell you off about not properly taking care of yourself.

“Kei.” 

Surprised, he pulls back his hand, “What?” He knows you’d tease him to no end when you saw what he was doing. 

“You should be like this all the time,” you say sleepily with a smile. “Who knew you had a sweet and caring side in you?”

He smirks, “Don’t push your luck.” He puts the back of his hand on your forehead to determine whether your fever has gone down. It was still hotter than normal and Tsukishima only sighs, “You should really learn to look after yourself.” 

Burying yourself deeper in the blankets, you hum, “But I like having you take care of me.” 

He’s surprised, mostly at the way your voice sounded so calm and soft when you said those words. Because he knows that on any other day, you’d have responded with a smart quip and maybe a punch to his arm. He’s aware it could be the flu talking, making you bare your true feelings similarly to how a drunk man would reveal their sober thoughts. But will you remember them when you wake up tomorrow? 

He laughs quietly before leaning to press a kiss to your temple, “I don’t mind it too.” 

But you were already fast asleep to have heard anything. 

—

The following day, you woke up as if you never had intense fever the night before. The bad headache and chills that you felt was gone and you could move your body without feeling heavy. So not wanting to miss out more on lectures, you got ready and finally went back to school. 

To say that Yachi was overjoyed to see you was an understatement. Your friend sighed of relief and ran to tackle you with a hug the second she saw you step foot on campus. She caught you up to speed about everything that has happened and the tasks that your professors on your shared classes has assigned. 

The two of you were settling in your seats when she remembers, “By the way, did you receive the paper about our Literature project? I had Tsukishima bring it to you.” 

“Really? I didn’t receive anything.” 

And just as she was about to complain about Tsukishima, the door opens loudly and the said boy enters the room. 

“Oh, Kei! Great timing, we were just talking about you,” you greeted as your childhood friend headed straight to your desks. 

Meanwhile, Yachi complained, “Tsukishima, I told you to pass over the reference to them.”  

The boy just walked past her, and stopped in front of you. He stuck out a pack of banana milk (your favorite drink) and some fruits, making you confused at the sudden gesture.

“What’s this?” 

“You skip your breakfasts, right?” You were shocked that he knew about your unhealthy habit. “I don’t want you getting sick again so make sure you eat properly.” 

Yachi’s jaw dropped at his nice attitude. You’re wary as you take drink and snacks from his hand, looking at him as if he grew another head on his body. “You’re being suspicious, Kei. What do you need?” 

He takes the seat beside you, laughing when he turns towards you with a wicked smile that has your heart beating faster. 

“I’m just doing what I need to do as your friend.” He resumes to fix his things on the table. “Besides, weren’t you the one who said you liked me taking care of you?” 

You stutter, cheeks feeling hot as vague snippets from when Kei visited you and took care of you came flashing in your mind. Yachi was now giggling and congratulating you for finally confessing. As you watched the grin on his face, you wished for a hole to appear on the ground and swallow you whole. 

Because your crush on your longtime childhood friend was something you never wanted him to know. 

But that thought was quickly erased when Tsukishima leaned close and whispered, 

“For what it’s worth, I like you too.” 

And since then, Tsukishima started keeping you close and took care of you in the little ways he knows how just so you never have to experience a sick day again. 

[pennylanewrites]

I got seven different asks about the College AU so here are some headcanons I have about them! (imagine aiura is in the picture I couldn’t find a good one with all of them)

I definitely didn’t mean to make this so long but I can’t help it I love them all so much<3

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Saiki Kusuo

→ marine!!!biology!!!major!!!!!!!!

→ doesn’t need to study but he still does bc he finds marine life so fascinating

→ read all of his textbooks on the first day bc he was so excited eeeek

→ always wears his germanium ring in class so he can stay hashtag focused

→ him and aiura have to bail toritsuka(didn’t go to college) out of jail once a month

→ speaking of aiura, she somehow has convinced him to go on a date on five different occasions

→ i think after high-school he realised he didn’t mind a kind of casual not-relationship with her

→ lets her hug him to greet him and sometimes he hugs back bc college boys stare a lot and he is just worried for her okay?

→ maybe I’m just projecting bc I kin aiura

→ does not go to parties unless he absolutely has to

→ if he does go to a party he’ll drink something quietly in a corner, just watching the crowd

→ a perv laced Teruhashi’s drink and almost lured her up the stairs so of fucking course Kusuo sprinted to help her, holding her on the way home bc men are drawn to her like bees to honey

→ she didn’t let him live it down ever

→ he rented a studio apartment and keeps it super clean, minimum clutter but enough to look lived in

→ cooks amazing food that Nendo smells from upstairs and next thing you know, they’re all bringing chairs to Kusuo’s apartment and have dinner

→ nothing excuses the fact he makes at least eight servings every time–

→ such a dad to everyone honestly

→ usually studies at a library or teleports back home if there’s a big test

→ mrs. saiki was banned from visiting every two days but she still ends up there somehow

→ not that he minds bc he’s the biggest mama’s boy ever

→ probably graduates a year early

→ doesn’t move away even though he got a job at the aquarium at the other side of the city help–

Kaidou Shun

→ fine arts major you can NOT change my mind

→ doesn’t do good in theoretical subjects but mans can draw some good bowls of fruit

→ wears those stained from the paints t-shirts all the time bc ‘no they’re not dirty it’s art!’

→ him and aren have small designated spaces in their apartment so they can focus on their hobbies/studying

→ his corner at the living room has newspapers on the floor to protect it from the splattering paint, some canvases propped up on the wall and a lot of unfinished projects

→ hides all of them when Nendou comes over

→ can not cook or clean to save his life

→ so he calls his mum to help clean up when Aren is at work

→ got over his 8th grader syndrome at some point

→ still wears red bandages bc he’s edgy

→ volunteers at the neighborhood exhibit centre

→ got asked to showcase his own works for a night and hasn’t shut up about it since

→ goes to yumehara for relationship advice and braids her hair as a thank you

→ couples sleepovers with Yumehara and Teruhashi (yes they’re dating shut up)

→ always makes something for Aren at special occasions (birthdays, anniversaries etc)

→ at first he went back home every saturday bc he missed his family :(

→ Aren helps him get over it though!!!!

Nendou Riki

→ got in on a sports scholarship

→ we already know he couldn’t be accepted in a college otherwise

→ in the chiropractic major bc he wants to be one of those athlete doctors

→ has failed way too many exams and classes

→ Hairo helps him so much though!!!

→ the last one in the group to graduate but somehow gets a job first (excluding Saiki)

→ him and hairo get up at 5 am for jogging or to hit the gym

→ and then he goes and gets noodles bc ‘if noodles aren’t for breakfast why do shops open at 6 am?’

→ hasn’t stepped foot in class in months

→ he gets decent grades after failing the first semester and it’s totally not Saiki’s doing

→ he ends up signing up for way too many clubs

→ attends all of the meetings and has so many friends through them

→ I would be his friend too in college honestly

→ a fraternity wanted to get him bc he’s so good at sports

→ he declined bc he does not understand how fraternities even work

→ is the life of EVERY SINGLE PARTY change my mind you can’t

→ whatever you do don’t imagine nendo surprising his boyfriend with flowers after every practice

→ *dies cutely*

Kuboyasu Aren

→ SOCIOLOGY MAJOR

→ idk I just think he would enjoy Marx’s Capital

→ debate club? hell yeah

→ gets in philosophical conversations at the school yard for HOURS

→ kaidou has to drag him away

→ only shops at thrift stores and makes coffee at home bc “capitalism is not accepted in this household”

→ rides his motorcycle to college even though he lives five minutes away

→ grew his hair out in a mullet again and he looks *chef’s kiss*

→ thought he would be moving too fast if he asked Kaidou to rent an apartment together

→ aiura convinced him it was fine

→ cooks kaidou’s favorite foods every day

→ participates in student rallies, human rights protests etc etc

→ comes home with bruises and kaidou thinks he looks so hot but still yells at him

→ Aren’s favorite place to study is his balcony or at a coffee shop

→ always with kaidou! cute boyfriends who do everything together!!

→ gets so drunk when they go out

→ drunk karaoke with kokomi yes yes yes

Hairo Kineshi

→ did someone say Athletic Training?

→ does every single sport and is amazing at it

→ will cheer for his bf if they have a game at the same time though

→ it was his idea to move in together bc ‘hey we’ve been dating for three years now might as well’

→ volunteers at a nearby elementary as a coach for the kids

→ SO GOOD WITH KIDS

→ wants to be a P.E. Teacher and he’s going to be great at it

→ does everything he can at campus

→ helping random clubs, making posters, cleaning up the hallways, helping the cheer squad with their new routine

→ dances ballet as a hobby even though he’s so good at it that he could be a professional

→ makes everything a competition with Nendo so they never get bored

→ once made everyone get up to jog with them and they ended up sleeping on random benches while Hairo and Nendo were halfway across town

→ will punch someone if he sees them catcalling a girl

→ doesn’t drink at all and eats super healthy

→ designated driver for the group’s outings downtown

Aiura Mikoto

→ THEATER MAJOR

→ is so good at stage acting it’s unreal

→ lands the lead role almost every time

→ is also an amazing singer so she gets great roles in musicals as well

→ doesn’t have to get a job bc she gets all her money from doing readings on campus

→ gets coffees and pastries from all the coffee shops around campus and sits Kusuo down so he can taste them

→ they have a little taste-testing date in his apartment until they decide none of them are as good as the ones at Cafe Mami

→ she totally doesn’t make him teleport there every morning and he totally doesn’t listen to her

→ moved in with chiyo bc they wanted a nice place that they couldn’t afford on their own

→ teruhashi told them to move in with her but they already loved their little place

→ aiura’s bedroom is the most comfortable and cozy room ever

→ their apartment is also the hang out spot for the group bc it’s just so homey

→ hangs out with her theatre group a lot, especially after class

→ they can’t compare to her friends though:(

→ everyone goes to her when they’re worried and she loves it bc she’s the mummy of the group

→ she makes everyone coffee and their comfort food before big exams:)

Yumehara Chiyo

→ psychology major one thousand percent

→ you know how they say that people choose psychology bc they don’t know what major they want?

→ that’s exactly what happened except she fell in love with it immediately

→ such a good student!!!

→ always does her assignments on time and still manages to have a social life

→ teruhashi asked her out at the end of their first semester and that’s the first time chiyo missed a deadline

→ practically lives with teruhashi, insisting it’s just to leave aiura alone

→ she’s just IN LOVE OKAY?????

→ would want to be a sorority girl at first

→ changed her mind when she realized how much shit they all talked

→ her and kaidou drink wine and talk about their relationships and studies

→ she’s so sleep deprived it’s unreal

→ she doesn’t need sleep anymore though

→ coffee is her best friend

→ makes asks Aiura for readings twice a week

→ brings all her psychology friends home and they analyze their textbooks

→ once she got the hang of it, she decided to examine Kusuo

→ she told him he needs actual medical evaluation

→ he almost threw her out the window when she offered some Xanax for his nerves

→ chiyo is a neat freak one hundred percent

→ hates when Aiura throws everything on the floor, but she loves cleaning

→ opens her own office after school

Teruhashi Kokomi

→ PRE-MED

→ lesbian doctor :)

→ just wanted to get away from her perv brother at first

→ she always wanted to be a doctor though, preferably a neurosurgeon

→ she’s super duper smart and hates when she gets good grades bc of her good looks:(

→ makes it her goal to show her professors that she’s more than a beautiful girl

→ hasn’t failed a single exam

→ helps everyone with their studies even though she’s drowning in work

→ drops the perfect girl image at college and decides she should try and aim for something normal

→ gets invited to every single party

→ in a knitting club bc it would get disbanded without one more member

→ knits!!!matching!!!sweaters!!!for all of her friends!!!

→ asked Chiyopipi out while drunk

→ never regretted it though

→ her and aren get so drunk when they go out with the group

→ it’s honestly unreal how much they can drink before passing out

→ has to get carried home

→ wakes up after getting drunk and runs to her class before remembering it’s Sunday

→ her penthouse has the perfect view of the sunset and sunrise and is all she could ask for in life

→ does get lonely so she’s practically living with Chiyo and Aiura

→ once she realized she didn’t like boys she made it her goal to get Saiki and Aiura together

→ people wonder how she has so much time to play matchmaker and volunteer while she’s in premed

→ does her internship at a hospital

→ ends up working there as a neurosurgeon after her Doctorate degree

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[marveldc-imagines-hub]

Subtitles: Episode 1, Filmed Before a Live Studio Audience

Subtitles Masterlist

Summary: [Y/N] has been living in Westview for more almost a month now and yet to properly put down roots. What they hadn’t been expecting was to work so much, have unpacking be so hard, and for a new couple to move in the other house for sale, directly across the street.

Word count: 8,425

Warnings: Sit down and grab a snack because this one’s a bit long! Otherwise nothing, really. Maybe second-hand embarrassment caused by a thirsty Reader.

~~~

    Ever since you left both home and family behind some years ago, you’ve always felt a little out of place in the world. It was a hard time for you, leaving everything you knew behind and instead branching out and trying to find your place in the world. Actually, not only was it a difficult time in your life, but a confusing one; when you attempted to reflect on those memories, all you get is a head of foggy feelings, including a particularly sick sensation that leaves you out of commission for the rest of the day if you’re not careful.

    When you settled in Westview, it was like a breath of fresh air. Finding a home in a nice neighborhood was easy and the moving was done in a pinch thanks to a local moving company helping you get the boxes to your door, though you couldn’t afford to pay for them to do more. You were even lucky enough to find a street with not one but two open houses to pick from; you chose the smaller, more modest abode, as you had no family in town and no intention of getting married or starting a family any time soon. Despite this lack of them nearby and generally solid memories, though, you knew you had a good relationship with your family because as soon as you found a place, you were receiving housewarming gifts and postcards and letters from not only your family but close and extended relatives alike. Needless to say, it didn’t take long for your new house’s already installed fridge to be covered in pamphlet-worthy pictures of places across the nation and kind words from your mother, grandmother, and cousins. 

    There was still unpacking, now of both the furniture and gift variety, that needed to be done before anything else. Then there was the question of a proper source of income—while the money you received from your relatives would cover a month or two while you got yourself settled, you suspected there wasn’t going to be anything else for a long while and, either way, you wanted to be able to fend for yourself. Finally, after the necessities were dealt with, there was the matter of making your house and the neighborhood your home and by making some connections; while you were perfectly content living alone, it would be nice to not feel like such an outsider, to have friends to go out on the town with or take the occasional trip with on the weekends. These were normal goals, you figured, and, with as easy everything else has been so far, they should be simple enough to complete.

    Right?

    Well, at least getting a job was easy enough, you thought as you sat on the stack of boxes that, over the last month, had become a chair by the door that you used to pull on your shoes before work, as you were doing now. It also functioned as a coat and hat rack, as proven by your growing collection of jackets and headwear piled on it, and the occasional bookshelf after a trip to the local library. It used to be a place to hold your keys but you have yet to make that mistake again after sitting down one day and getting a sharp jab to the backside. 

    You were right that getting a job was easy enough—you received a callback for a secretary job at a computational services company only after a week of job searching—but you had yet to follow through with your other aspirations. It’s not like you haven’t tried, but when it came to unpacking, your job left you with very little energy to do much other than collapse on a couch-shaped collection of boxes when you get home and only a semi-decently decorated bedroom to show for your work. In terms of bonding with the locals and making some friends, let’s just say that Dottie is convinced you purposely spilled red wine on her perfect white parlor gown—who wears white when drinking red wine?—and now all you received from the neighborhood husbands were side-eyes and grumbling after telling them you found their attempts at humor in poor taste. At least you’d managed to charm your boss and his wife when they came over for dinner and now Mr. and Mrs. Hart invited you over for the occasional drink and gossip; Agnes, a woman from across the street and down a house, was also among your few successes, and she was a hoot to be around in a big sister or wine aunt type of way, despite her loudness. 

    Speaking of which—

    “Hey, [Y/N],” Agnes hollered from somewhere outside, “haven’t seen you out of the house yet! Better hurry up, the streets are antsville today! Or, at least, you could come with me to say welcome the other new neighbors!”

    Agnes came knocking on your door the same day you moved in and since then, she’s apparently committed your daily schedule to memory because if you’re not heading to work right on time, you get a holler from across the— Wait. New neighbors? You hopped up from your boxy perch after making sure your shoes were secure and peeked out the nearest window. Sure enough, the other house that you had considered moving into, the one immediately across the street from your own, no longer had a FOR SALE sign stuck in its yard and the yard and curtains appeared to have been decorated. Your heart lept into your throat as you wondered when that had happened; you desperately hoped that it hadn’t happened too long ago because you’ve been on a work rampage for the past few days and haven’t noticed much else. Yet another thing you haven’t done correctly. 

Agnes was also by the front yard, leaning against the fence and chatting with the mailman as he walked by. After he passed, she looked up and caught your eye, grinned, and waved. “Come on, [Y/N], no time like the present!”

You wanted to join her and introduce yourself to the new neighbors, you really did. Unfortunately, you would definitely get to work late if you didn’t get a move on, especially if the streets were as crowded as Agnes mentioned them to be, and you definitely didn’t want to greet the neighbors without a housewarming gift in hand. Perhaps you could stop by a shop on the way home and pick up a plant or a pie and welcome them this evening.

“Now, don’t flip your lid, Agnes,” you teased back with a smile as you walked outside. This response earned you a mock scowl, then Agnes’s smile again; you walked over to your vehicle and tossed your bag into the passenger’s seat. “I wish I could join you but you caught me; I am in fact looking to wind up late and I’ll be cruisin’ for a bruisin’ if I don’t leave now. I’ll try to stop by after work!” 

“Well alright then,” came Agnes’s reply, while you hopped into the driver’s seat and started your chariot up. “I’ll tell them you say hi. Congrats on no longer being the new guy!”

Too bad I still feel like the new guy, you mentally grumbled, rapping your fingers on the steering wheel. You took a breath, checked that your hair was in place and your shirt wasn’t wrinkled in the mirror and headed on your way.

“Oh, hello dear; I’m Agnes, your neighbor to the right! My right, not yours. Forgive me for not stopping by sooner to welcome you to the neighborhood. My mother-in-law was in town, so I wasn’t.”

Wanda watched the woman on her doorstep, visibly a bit perplexed but smiling either way. She was confused about what special event she and her husband were supposed to be celebrating tonight after seeing a heart on the calendar but now that she had an unknown woman—no, not unknown; one of her neighbors—here, Wanda couldn’t possibly be a bad hostess and turn her away. 

Not that the woman, Agnes, would have let her do so anyway. She shoved the plant she was holding into Wanda’s arms and walked inside, talking without giving Wanda any space to chime in. “So, what’s your name, where’re you from, and most importantly, how’s your bridge game, hon?”

Wanda quickly shut the door and trotted after the woman. She was newly stressed over the unknown event but now also giddy; this was the first neighborly welcome of many, she was sure of it! She reached Agnes’s side and stretched out a hand with a big smile. “I’m Wanda.”

“Wanda,” Anges repeated as if to see how the same felt on her tongue, before taking Wanda’s hand in a solid shake, “Charmed.” She paused, glancing around the house—Wanda felt an odd pang of anxiety—then continued, “Gol-ly, you settled in fast! Did you use a moving company?”

Wanda struggled momentarily for an answer. Of course, she didn’t; she’d used her powers to unpack and decorate quickly, but she couldn’t say that to this stranger. She decided to go with an affirmative answer as it was the easiest route. She went to reply—

“If you did,” Agnes went on, “I should get the name from you. Our other new neighbor across the way still has a house full of boxes!”

Wanda blinked, her head tilting to one side out of curiosity. “Other new neighbor?”

“Why the house directly to your front!” Without waiting, the other woman walked to the front window and yanked back the curtains; she gestured to the house in question. “[Y/N]. They live on their own, you see, and probably could have done well with the help. Actually, they were going to stop by with me but they were running late for work. I told them I’d tell you hi for them—Hi for them!”

The loud car Wanda had heard a few minutes earlier must have been this other neighbor rushing off to work. It was nice to know that even though it hadn’t happened, there had almost been a party of two to welcome her and her husband to the street; it’s too bad that he had left for his own job only a while earlier.

Wanda made her way over to the window as well and took a look. It was more modest in size and build than Wanda’s own home, much more suited to house a single person. Despite Agnes’s claim of them having not unpacked, a few lawn decorations were set up and a pair of [F/C] curtains hung neatly framing the home’s front window. Wanda could make out various boxes leaning up against the window, evidence to Agnes’s statement, but otherwise, the place seemed well-kept. The yard was taken care of, though Wanda wondered if it was because the person had moved in just as recently as she and her husband did or if they just enjoyed garden work.

Apparently, she’d wondered this aloud because Agnes responded, “They’ve been here for about a month, just been too busy making a good impression at work and making a fool out of themselves to the other neighbors to make their house a little more homely. Poor thing’s a darling but struggling in the social department.”

Wanda continued to watch the house as if this other, slightly older newcomer was about to drive back up the street to home. Consider her interest piqued. Wanda wanted to know more about [Y/N], all of her neighbors really, but more importantly, why there had been multiple houses open and if it was common. She hoped this neighborhood was as friendly as it seemed and that it wasn’t danger or unkindness that had made multiple people move out. She opened her mouth to ask—

However, Agnes had moved on to a different subject, as well as a different part of the house. “So what’s a single gal like you doing rattling around this big house?”

“Oh no,” Wanda, sighing softly, switched gears with her and replied, “I’m not single.”

You gulped down a gasp of air as you tumbled out of the elevator of Computational Services Inc, which earned you a few odd looks from unknown coworkers passing by. You’d bumped into one of them while skidding to a halt and you felt a blush creep up on your cheeks and ears and you stepped away, apologizing profusely. You tried to reach your desk in a quick but professional manner, only stopping briefly to make sure your clothes and hair were still in order in the reflection of an office window. As you got closer to your desk, a small thing in an area separated from other employees, you heard the comforting sounds of typing and radio music. You got to your desk, pulled out your chair, sat your bag down, and began to sit, only for a voice to catch your attention.

“Yes, as a matter of fact, there is. Would you be so good as to tell me what exactly we do here?”

A British accent? Not something you hear every day around here. You pushed your chair back into place to prevent another worker from bumping into it and walked over to peer around the corner. You recognized Norm, a kind and well-mannered employee that filled out computational forms in this section of the building, standing and chatting with a taller, paler, glasses-wearing man that you didn’t know.

The British voice spoke again and now, at least, you could put the voice to a face. “Do we make something?”

The British gentleman was very tall indeed and quite handsome. He had light wavy hair in a side part, with a sliver’s worth that looked like it could fall into his eyes at any moment; you felt the strange urge to push it back before the idea of running your hands through a stranger’s hair made you blush again. His suit fit his lanky body well, though you’d expect nothing less as Mr. Hart was very strict about his workers’ appearance. His tie was interesting, a dark color with a simple, lighter print of four spots, two larger ones encased in a rectangle, and his glasses framed his curiosity-ridden face very well. Above his lovely-looking, light-colored eyes, his brows were furrowed as he looked animatedly around, as though his workplace was a puzzle he was trying to solve. You noticed he talked with his hands quite a bit and you also noticed that his large, long-fingered hands seemed slightly out of place compared to the rest of his body. They seemed like nice hands, though, and they probably did their job well.

Goodness, [Y/N], now you’re just being ridiculous. You squeezed your eyes shut and pressed your head against the wall you were hiding around. No, not hiding, because that would make your creeping seem even more bizarre. Definitely not creeping. Investigating.

You shook your head to refocus and looked towards the men, listening again. He is a bit of a dreamboat, isn’t he though?

Norm was answering the man. “No and no.”

“Then what is the purpose of this company?” the stranger continued.

“All I know,” Norm replied with a smile, “is since you’ve gotten here, productivity has gone up three hundred percent!”

Three hundred? That was a startling thought, almost enough to give you a headache. So you’re the reason I’ve had more files on my desk.

The stranger picked up one of said files and flipped through it. “Yes, but what is it that we’re producing?” 

He’s quite interested in figuring out the answer to that question, isn’t he? You felt another pang in your temple. How strange.

Your brows knitted together as you, curious, leaned into the pain a bit. The pain seemed to follow the British employee’s questioning, so you focused on it.

What did they do here anyway?

The harmless pangs quickly turned into a full-blown migraine, similar to what would happen if you thought too hard about your past. You grimaced in pain and reached for your head, only to lose your balance completely and fall forward, into the room you were observing. You hissed as your knees hit solid ground and you braced yourself with one hand while the other gripped the hair closest to your temple. You tried to look around for something else to focus on but your vision was blurry and you couldn’t tell if you were even moving your head.

Then there was shouting, which didn’t help the throbbing pain at all, and you felt what seemed like a hundred pairs of hands grasping at you. You couldn’t understand the yelling other than recognizing the voices as male; you tried to tell them you were alright, shake the hands off and get yourself some space, but nothing in your body seemed to be working quite right. Because of this, the voices and the various hands—or was there just two hands?—didn’t know what you wanted and instead of space, they crowded you. You felt grips on your shoulders and arms, even on your back— Then you were being lifted. Completely off the ground or only to your feet, you couldn’t tell.

Then the hands—only one on your back and another pair holding your arm now—guided you to a place where you could properly sit.

It was quieter now and you could feel the floor beneath your feet and an office chair holding your weight. You realized your eyes were closed so you opened them and you found your vision beginning to refocus. You looked around. 

“Goodness, are you alright?”

You could feel how red your face was—it was probably bright enough to be used as a neon stop sign—when you found yourself staring into a man’s torso. A torso that was quite close. You looked up and directly into the face of the British man, who no longer looked troubled by curiosity but rather quite concerned by you. 

Oh, yes, definitely a dreamboat, you thought without really meaning to.

Then Norm came rushing over, a cup in hand. “[Y/N], are you alright?”

“[Y/N],” the stranger repeated. He took the water cup from Norm, who hovered nearby, and squatted down to be at eye level with you. 

You wouldn’t mind hearing him say your name again.

Good Lord, stop it, you almost passed out!

“That is my name,” you managed. You even managed a definitely awkward smile, a couple of seconds of definitely awkward eye contact.

“Here, you should drink this.” He offered you the cup and once you took it, he pressed the back of his hand to your forehead. “You’re burning up!”

I would imagine so, with how I feel. You sipped the water. Maybe you didn’t look as bad as you thought you did.

“Looks like you’re about to throw up too,” Norm very helpfully added.

Thank you for the commentary, Norm.

“[Y/N],” the other employee said, drawing your scowling gaze back from Norm, “do you have someone you could call? You look ill; perhaps it would serve you well to go home.”

“I’m fine,” you assured him. He did not look convinced but you pushed on, whipping up a quick white lie to cover up your jarring headache. “I didn’t eat this morning and I rushed to work to escape the antsville. I must have gotten overheated on the way and I’m sure an empty stomach helped that. Sorry for worrying—”

“What is going on out here?”

You both jumped to your feet; you moved too fast for having just recovered and stumbled but luckily both Norm and his colleague caught you and straightened you up before you fell over. No one wanted to be seen out of place by the boss and you were currently both out of place and sorts. Even though you knew Mr. Hart already saw you—hell, he was standing directly in front of you three—you glanced around for a place to hide. Instead, you saw files and papers scattered across the floor, the result of your migraine-induced fumbling. You groaned and dropped your head into your hands. 

“Well?”

There was a moment of silence. You felt Norm take a step away from you and you expected the other man to do so as well. He didn’t but you raised your head and squared your shoulders, preparing for the worst.

“Sir—” you started.

“Sir,” the British gentleman interrupted, taking a step forward. “[Y/N] here was walking back to their desk and tripped, and in my haste to help them, I knocked over a pile of files on my desk. I apologize for the racket and the mess I’ve caused; I’ll deal with it right away.”

Mr. Hart looked from him to you to Norm, who was quaking in his nice shoes, then back. There were yet a few more moments of quiet before he spoke again. “Vision.”

Vision?

“Yes, Sir.” 

You glanced at the man to your right. Vision. What an interesting name for an interesting person.

“You better hope dinner tonight goes well after this charade,” Mr. Hart barked. “This better be cleaned up by the next time I come out here.”

Rather than looking upset or stressed, Vision looked relieved. He made a heart with his hands and muttered, “Mr. Hart. Of course…”

“And you,” the boss’s glare now settled on your face. “You were late this morning. In my office. Now.”

“Dammit,” you muttered after Mr. Hart had turned his back. 

“Sorry, don’t think I can help you that one,” Vision chimed in. He was rubbing the back of his head and squinting at Mr. Hart’s back. “You’ll be alright?”

“Promise, it was just a bit of the spins.” You gave him a friendly pat on the arm and made your way to hopefully not get fired. “Nice meeting you!”

“You as well, despite the unfortunate circumstances. Good luck!”

    Mr. Hart was waiting for you by his desk when he entered. He gestured for you to shut the door before he sat and as you did, you saw Vision beginning to clean up your mess before the phone on his desk started ringing.

    “Ugh, I’m exhausted.” You were exiting a shop downtown, squinting against the light of the setting sun. You held the door open with a toe of one shoe while you adjusted the bags on your arms, then moved around to properly hold the door for Agnes, who strolled out after you. “Hart was an absolute villain today! Barks at me for coming in late and not getting work done but then does it for an hour! Well now who’s keeping me? Then this British gent—I swear I’ve never seen him before but he’s apparently the cause of my last few busy work days!”

    “The looker?”

    You blushed a bit; Agnes will never you live it down now that you’ve slipped up and said you’d found the man attractive. “I may have mentioned that earlier—but I digress! As charming as the man was, helping me out even after I knocked over a bunch of his things, he’s still a powerhouse of an employee. Tripled my load of work with his own; now I get what Norm meant when he said productivity has gone up by three times! Imagine, being yelled at by my boss—who was one of the few well-off relationships I’ve had since moving to town—for an hour, and then, when you finally get back to business, your desk is buried in files! I’m barely breathing at this point! Ain’t that just a bite.”

    “Who’s flipped their lid now?” Agnes said with a cheeky grin. You responded with a tired glare and she scoffed. She moved her own bags to one arm so she could give your shoulder a good pat. “Just teasing you, dear! We can’t all be superhuman, unfortunately. Although you’re damn near close; thank you for helping me home, by the way. Ralph had a last-minute “meeting” with some “coworkers” tonight and I’m helping out our new neighbor plan a very important date!”

    That’s right, you had a new neighbor across the street. You’d almost forgotten. You knew there was a reason you’d felt the urge to pick up a small houseplant on your way through the checkout.

    “You have the mouth of a sailor, ‘Nes,” you quipped, cracking a grin.

    “And a drinking tolerance that would put any soldier to shame!” Agnes agreed with a short laugh. After a quick pause, she added, “It’s not like I said ‘fuck.’���

    That time both of you laughed and for the first time since your disastrous day, you felt yourself relax. After bringing up sailors and soldiers, Agnes lept into one of her half-complaint, half-stories about how, one time, her husband Ralph got drunk and tried to fight an entire bar—“Everything including the stools!” While she talked and you escorted her to your car, your mind wandered, curiosity about your new neighbors piqued again. You reached the sidewalk’s curb and helped Agnes stepped down, then opened the vehicle’s passenger door and took her bags. 

    Instead of sliding inside, Agnes watched you as you moved around to the other side of the car and put the bags in the backseat. “You’re a bit of a flutter bum yourself, dear. Look at those manners; you’ve been out and about all day and still came to help me with the groceries! And that voice! Absolute apple butter sometimes, when you want it to be. I’m surprised you aren’t already circled with a couple of children along the way!”

    You snorted as you opened your door and slid behind the wheel. “Just not in my plan, I suppose.” You gestured for her to join you in the car and started it up when she did so. “You didn’t see me today either. Creeping around corners, then these annoying headaches got to me and I was stumbling around knocking down everything! Not to mention the new guy, sweet as pie, saw me do all this and go absolutely red just from looking at him. Sweating, cottonmouth, everything. I must have seemed bonkers! It was awful.”

    Agnes offered, “I’m sure it wasn’t as bad as you think.”

    “I’m sure if he ever sees me again, he’s going to turn heel and walk in the opposite direction,” you stated. Then you shifted into gear, pulled away from the sidewalk, and turned towards home.

    You were in the one room in your house that wasn’t a part of the United Boxes, your bedroom, standing in front of one of the few pieces of furniture you’d managed to unpack since moving in. You fussed over your reflection in the mirror, pushing your damp hair from one side to the other, adjusting your tie one moment then readjusting it the next, holding up various hats and cardigans.

Your casual wardrobe was much more unique than the business attire you kept for work, which was generally neutral in both color and style. Tonight, you wore a collared button-up in a bright pattern of your favorite color paired with a tie that was darker in shade but equally bright in color, and you were debating between various cardigans in complementary colors. The pants you wore were more muted, a neutral color to go with the shiny black dress shoes and good quality belt that you usually only broke out for special social occasions. For a little more pop, you also wore a few colorful bracelets on each wrist and a ring or two. You even added a little more color to your still tired-looking face, despite you feeling much better after a nap, shower, and change of clothes. 

You finally settled on the combination of a brighter colored cardigan a more muted hat to pull your entire look together. Slipping the cardigan on and flattening out any creases, you flashed your mirror self your friendliest smile for practice’s sake. Then you gave yourself a twirl, craning your neck over over your shoulder to make sure everything looked just as nice from the back as the front. 

Now we’re cooking with gas, you thought. Hopefully, the neighbors think so too.

Satisfied, you made your way out to the living room where your outfit-appropriate handbag and housewarming gift waited. The young plant, a pachira, sat in a pot whose color accented the color of the house you were going to visit this evening as opposed to the simple white it’d come in. The pot itself wore a big ribbon bow that you’d attached yourself and sticking out of the soil was a card welcoming the neighborhood’s newcomers. 

Perhaps you’d finally make some friends tonight.

You picked up the plant-based gift in one hand and placed it securely in the crook of your arm, then picked up your handbag in the other and made your ways outdoors. It was a quick walk across the street and once on the neighboring house’s doorstep, you steeled yourself with a deep breath. You smiled, then frowned, then smiled again and repeated this a couple of times to make sure the first smile your neighbors saw wasn’t a strained one and raised your hand to use the oddly realistic-looking lobster door hanger.

Much to your surprise, however, the door opened before your hand ever reached it.

And there, in front of you, looking just as shocked as you felt, was your boss and his wife. 

“Mr— Mr. Hart?” you stammered, stumbling backward and almost dropping the plant under your arm. Remembering the last time you and your boss “conversed,” your friendly face twisted into more of a deer in the headlights look. “Mrs. Hart? What are... What are you doing here? You didn’t just move in, did—?”

“Is there a problem, Mr. and Mrs. Hart?”

Not only did you recognize the Harts but you recognized the British voice that came from behind them and the face that appeared with it. 

“Vision?”

“[Y/N]?”

The two of you stared at each other in surprise. That is until Mr. Hart cleared his throat; he and Mrs. Hart still stood directly in front of you, with Vision unintentionally blocking them from stepping back inside. You yelped an apology and stepped to one side, then had to catch yourself on the doorframe as you almost tripped down the front steps.

“Yes, that’s right,” Mr. Hart said slowly as he stepped outside, giving you a particularly unpleasant look, “[Y/N] here lives in the neighborhood as well. Say, you live directly across the way, don’t you?”

“Yes, sir,” you responded immediately with a tilt of your head in the direction of your home. Then you glanced over at Vision and raised the pot you held slightly for him to see. “I was just coming over to introduce myself and offer a housewarming gift.”

Mr. Hart gave a strained nod, clearly still out of sorts about your work performance today. “Well, we were just out the door after the first dinner with the Maximoffs.” He made it sound like having dinner with your boss, while important, was something more of a religious experience. 

You hoped Vision did well. 

“He did just fine,” Mrs. Hart piped in.

There you go, accidentally wondering things aloud again.

“Congrats!” you chirped in Vision’s direction. You noted that he seemed as uncomfortable being in this situation as Mr. Hart acted and you felt. Perhaps you should have just visited in the morning.

Out of the group, Mrs. Hart seemed to be the only one unphased. She gave your shoulder a friendly squeeze and complimented your outfit—the one that her husband eyed distastefully—then lowered her voice so only you could hear. “I heard about your little brawl at work today. Don’t get bent too out of shape about my husband’s behavior; he has to work the weekend and he’s about excited as a cat that doesn’t get fed on time. We’re still on for bridge this weekend, right?”

You always liked Mrs. Hart. She was a good counterweight to her ever so charming husband and she always made sure to make you feel at home here in Westview, even if you struggled to do so yourself. You gave her a smile and a nod. “Of course, ma’am. You look stunning tonight, by the way.”

“Charmer.”

As you were talking to Mrs. Hart, Vision settled things with the mister, and things finally seemed to be calming down. However, Vision was wishing the Harts a safe way home, and you gave them a “Good night!” and a wave while wondering if you should just go home yourself, when a clatter came from inside the—what was it?—Maximoff household.

A voice followed, “Vis? Is everything alright out there, dear?”

You felt yourself deflate a bit; you already forgot that Mr. Hart had mentioned Maximoffs. Maximoffs, not one Maximoff. You were somewhat disappointed that, from what it sounded like, your new dashing British acquaintance had a partner, not that it was a surprise. He must have had people throwing themselves at him at one point in his life before he settled on The One and they immediately got married and moved into their cozy-looking, bigger than your own, house. Or, perhaps, maybe he was the awkward one falling all over himself to impress the person of his interest and when they finally picked him, he felt like his heart exploded into a billion heart-shaped butterflies that found their home in his stomach.

Of course you were the only one on the block who was single and living alone.

You wondered if they had kids.

“... come in!”

You zoned back in from being lost in your thoughts to catch only the end of what Vision was saying. He stepped back from the doorway and held the door open for you and looked at you expectantly and, not wanting to make more of a fool of yourself that you already have in front of him today, you made your way inside, just hoping he hadn’t said anything important while you had been wondering about his romantic life. You felt heat on your ears and cheeks.

Vision, on the other hand, didn’t seem bothered in the slightest. Now that the Harts were gone, he appeared much more relaxed, leaning on the door with one leg crossed over the other and even smiling at you as you walked into his spacious and already unpacked living room. 

That was the first time you’ve seen him smile, you noted. He had a very charming smile, one of those that made his eyes smile too and seemed much more in place on his face than any other expression. 

Vision closed the door behind you as you looked around the space with mild surprise—how long have they been moved in? How had they gotten unpacked so fast?—then he gave you a friendly squeeze on the shoulder. It was then that you noticed more clattering coming from behind a door that you assumed belonged to the kitchen.

“If you’ll excuse me for just a moment,” he said, making his way to said door, “As you know, my wife and I just finished dinner with the Harts, and my darling Wanda is doing all the dishes. I’ll tell her to wait a moment and come join us! Do you drink fluids?” You must have looked at him oddly because then he stumbled on his words a bit before clarifying, “Alcohol? Or would you like water, juice?”

He certainly did talk with his hands a lot. You liked the way he clasped his hands and fiddled with his fingers while trying to untangle his words.

“Water’s fine,” you replied with a friendly smile.

Seeing that you weren’t bothered by his slip-up, he smiled back and made his way into the kitchen. Halfway through the door, he chirped over his shoulder, “Please feel free to take a seat! I’ll return momentarily!”

Being alone again for only a few minutes still had you beginning to feel the weight of the day’s chaos again. You placed your housewarming gift on the coffee table and rubbed where the pot had been digging into your arm, then wriggled your toes; because these were shoes for special social occasions only, something you didn’t go to very often, they weren’t very well broke in and your feet were beginning to hurt. 

The clattering in the kitchen had stopped but now the muffled voices of Vision and Wanda, which was somehow comforting. You looked around, taking in the classy but simple room. How on earth they’d managed to get unpacked so fast unless they used a company or stylist or somehow bought the place pre-furnished, you had no idea—well, you had a few, clearly. It was still surprising though. However they managed, you hoped your own living area looked half as nice. When you got around to it.

You perked up again as you heard the kitchen door creak… and then felt like your heart exploded into a billion heart-shaped butterflies that immediately found a home in your stomach.

If Vision was a dreamboat, his wife was a, well, literal vision. Wanda wore a dress that was just as simple and charming as the house she lived in, paired with a pretty necklace and pair of heels. Her curled hair perfectly framed her face and despite appearing as frazzled as Vision had when you first showed up at their doorstep, she wore a smile so gorgeous that your heart, which had apparently recovered from its explosion of butterflies, decided it preferred to do somersaults in your throat.

The pair of them were standing hip to hip with Wanda carrying a set of glasses and Vision a pitcher of water. They were chatting lightly about how well dinner went as they walked into the living room before turning their set of beaming smiles in your direction. 

Your body couldn’t decide whether it wanted to melt, tie itself in knots, or spontaneously combust. You decided to make it stand to properly introduce yourself instead.

Just living in the same neighborhood as these two was going to be cataclysmic. 

“Wanda, darling, this is my coworker [Y/N], the one I told you about earlier this evening.” Vision detached himself from his partner’s side and began snagging glasses from her hands to fill and place on the coffee table as she walked closer. “And [Y/N], this is my wife, Wanda.”

You and Wanda watched him hop around from her to the coffee table and back two more times with amusement, then Wanda looked at you and gave an incredulous shake of her head, offering her hand. “Hi, hon. Don’t mind him; he’s not usually this dancy but dinner with the boss was a bit unexpected on both our parts. I had to pull something together last minute and he’s trying to make up for it.”

“You did so much in such a short amount of time,” Vision added, finally settling on the couch beside Wanda after the two of you shook hands and got seated. “You deserve a break. I can handle filling a few glasses and doing up the dishes.”

“Speaking of which, I hope you got a break yourself, [Y/N].” Wanda’s comment and concerned look made your eyebrows raise with confusion. She elaborated, “Vision mentioned covering for you at work today.”

You flushed slightly and rubbed the side of your neck. Vision noticed and gave you an apologetic look.

“Oh, yes,” you replied, “I get these awful migraines sometimes. One just happened to hit me at a particularly bad time today and I fell and knocked over a bunch of files. Your husband was an angel, did something he absolutely didn’t need to do and said it was all his fault.”

“And yet you got punished anyway,” Vision said, still looking apologetic. He wrung his hands a bit as well; you wanted to hold them to make him stop.

Wanda did instead, giving him the sweetest smile in the process. 

“But if it weren’t for you,” you chirped, “I may have just gotten fired. So I have to thank you for that. And I can’t imagine how that may have affected your dinner tonight, if I had known you were having the big boss dinner tonight, I wouldn’t have let you. I’m so sorry, by the way, for barging in immediately after your dinner, too; you two must be exhausted!”

“Oh, nonsense,” Wanda piped up again. She patted you on the wrist; you kind of wished she’d left her hand there but she went to pick up her water instead. “Dinner went quite well actually, if not a bit ill-planned. We had a bit of a misunderstanding of what the calendar said.” She gave Vision a playful glare and he responded with a bashful smile that he tried to hide by running a hand over his face.

“I drew a heart, for Hart,” he explained. “We forgot and thought we missed an anniversary instead.”

You thought back to when Mr. Hart mentioned the dinner at the office and Vision had made a heart with his hands, then tried to suppress a grin of your own. “That’s an easy misunderstanding. Happy to hear I’m not the only one good with planning, though, no offense.”

“Well, maybe you two should be married.” Wanda glanced between the two of you, the playful look in her dark eyes paired with her suggestion making your throat dry.

“You couldn’t remember it either, darling,” Vision countered, giving her a peck on the forehead, “If that’s the case, maybe all three of us were meant to be.”

You went to swallow and ended up having to suppress a choke. You reached for your glass, only to see it empty—when did you do that?—but Wanda was quick to refill it.

You gave her a sheepish smile and soft “Thanks” in return, took a drink and decided to play along. “That would explain why we ended up living directly across from the street and why I’ve been single almost my entire life.” 

You mentally kicked yourself for mentioning that last part and coming off way too desperate. However, when you glanced the couple’s way, Vision was chuckling, and Wanda was giving an understanding nod with a pleased look on her face. Maybe she thought her joke was going to hit wrong? Maybe it hadn’t been a joke?

Don’t get your hopes up, you thought.

Then Wanda spoke again. “You must be joking. You’re living on your own in that house?”

    You shrugged and responded, “I have a fish.”

    “I’m sure they’re wonderful conversation,” Wanda quipped back. 

    “No romantic interest in sight?” Vision asked. 

    Well, I wouldn’t say that but I’m certainly not going into that right now. You shook your head and decided to shift the conversation to a topic that was less likely to make you feel, if either or both of them did happen to ask you to marry them at that very moment, as if you would immediately throw yourselves at them. “Speaking of houses and all that, what a coincidence that we happen to find each other living next door the same day we meet. That’s what I originally came over to do, introduce myself to my neighbors and give you a housewarming gift.”

    You gestured to the pachira on the coffee table and Wanda reached over to touch its leaves, then used Vision’s still-full water glass to water it. “That’s right. It is a lovely plant, thank you very much. I think it will look nice in the kitchen, or perhaps over by the window.” 

    “It’s supposed to bring good luck to the house,” you offered, “and red ribbons are often associated with it but I’m not sure why.”

    “Well here’s to good luck then,” Wanda said, clinking Vision’s empty cup with your half-full one. She read the card you’d attached, smiled, then picked up the plant and offered it to her husband. “Here, dear. Since you’re taking on the role of house-husband tonight, why not take this and see how it looks over by the window.”

    Vision was already standing and taking the plant from her hands before she finished her sentence. “Of course, darling. Tell me where you think it looks nice.” Then he added to you as he walked by, “I may be skilled many things, like filling out computational forms, but the interior decorating is all her. I’m practically color-blind. And furniture-blind. And generally design-blind. Possibly blind-blind, if I’m being honest.”

    Wanda rolled her eyes but she still giggled, then pointed out where she thought the plant would look best. It was off to one side of the window and she explained that she thought it would be visible from your window as well, and thus give both houses good luck. 

    “Maybe it will give me the luck to finally unpack and decorate like you two already have,” you pondered allowed, finishing off your water a second time; Wanda promptly offered to fill your cup again but you politely declined. “The two of you have been here, what? At least a few days now and your home is already made in the shade. I’ve been here in Westview a month if not more and I usually spend my time lounging on a couch made of crates and boxes.” 

    You noticed Vision glance oddly at his wife as he sat back down but Wanda didn’t seem to catch it. Still, she answered quite quickly, “We used a company.”

    “Ah.” You glanced between them but the strained energy that suddenly appeared just as quickly as it came when Wanda gave you another sweet smile and offered to write down the company name for you. “No need, I couldn’t afford it anyway. Thank you, though.”

    That response didn’t seem to please Wanda all that much. She pursed her lips in a way that looked partially pondering and partially pouty—it was a very cute pout—before leaning over to Vision and muttering in his ear. His attention was immediately drawn to focus only on her and they chatted quietly among themselves for a few moments.

    You suddenly felt awkward again and took to looking around a bit. You first looked at your feet and noticed how close one of Wanda’s own was to yours; in fact, the three of you were sitting so close together that her dress poofed out over your leg. Then you happened to look over at where your arm was resting across the back of the couch. Vision’s was too and you suddenly became keenly aware of how, if he were to start talking with his hands like he does, his would most definitely brush your own. You wondered if it already had while you were too engrossed in conversation to notice, then you wondered if you should move farther to the other side of the couch.

    You began shifting to do so when Wanda suddenly leaned back to her normal spot and grabbed your wrist. “Why don’t we come over sometime this weekend and help you unpack?”

    You blinked. She seemed closer than she had been earlier, or maybe it was just the fact that hand hadn’t pulled away yet. Her eyes were as bright and welcoming as they had been since you first saw them, eyebrows raised in what you could only place as eagerness, and you officially decided that if you were to look up the word “sweet” in a dictionary, there’d be a picture of her smile.

    You were so suddenly flustered that for a moment all you did was stare while you figured out how to talk again. When you did, you were surprised at confident your voice sounded when you replied, “Sure.”

    “Great!”

    Wanda and Vision looked equally excited when you looked at them both, which confused you before you remembered that you were only the second person from the neighborhood to visit them since they moved in. Thinking of it now, you were also feeling energetic from the conversation and not just because you happened to be sitting next to a very attractive-looking pair. This was the first time you sat down with people from the neighborhood and it did not only go well but you were thoroughly enjoying yourself; you also enjoyed spending time with Agnes but Agnes was just outwardly friendly to everybody and even if you ran out of things to say, she had enough stories to add filler to seven different conversations at the same time. Wanda and Vision seemed to be just as awkward as you, making unusual jokes that might not make it through and fumbling over themselves and on occasion just being awkwardly silent at times, but it was a weird kind of awkwardness that also felt comfortable, comforting. You felt like you were among friends. 

    Conversation flowed easily for the rest of the night. The three of you made plans to spend the next day at your place, unpacking and decorating and just getting to know each other better, then conversation shifted smoothly from one random topic to another. Wanda had a lot of questions about the neighborhood and the people in it and she and you swapped stories of first meeting Agnes. You were somewhat fascinated with Vision’s almost eidetic memory and couldn’t help quizzing him on random subjects but luckily, he seemed to be just as eager to answer. Wanda mentioned Vision’s ability to play ukulele at one point and he felt is was absolutely necessary to perform and after mentioning Wanda’s breakfast cooking ability—and your stomach grumbling in curiosity—she brought you to the kitchen and made the best breakfast you’d ever had, despite it not being morning, while Vision kept to his word and washed the dishes. Eventually, though, the night caught up to the each of you and you said your goodbyes, hugs included, at the door and you headed back home with a goofy grin on your face. 

    Upon getting home, you kicked off your shoes that you’d long since forgotten were causing your feet pain and went to your bedroom. You quickly stripped, put on your bedwear, and faceplanted onto your sheets. You laid there for a moment in comfortable bliss before turning your head and catching yourself in the mirror. Though looking utterly exhausted, it was mixed an almost childish happiness. You finally felt content in Westview, like you’d finally found your place. 

    You scrambled around to get under the covers and curled up. Quickly dozing off and still grinning, you muttered, “I think I’ll like it here.” 

[fanfic-scribbles]

Smile

Fandom: MCU Captain America/Avengers

Summary: Bucky gives you some reasons to smile.

Quick facts: Romance – Bucky Barnes/Reader – Female Reader

Warnings: Fluff, puns, cheesy jokes, so cheesy

Words: 3344

A/N: I’m going to admit it upfront, about 40 percent of the time spent on this fic was spent on writing it. The other 60 percent was spent on finding the jokes. Also, this story is semi-inspired by the fact that my face is not nearly as expressive as it feels (I basically look like the polite cat meme when I really try and I can’t do it for long before my face hurts too much) so this goes out to other people who get accused of resting bitch/asshole face. And get written up for it. Anyway, please enjoy this goofy little Bucky/Reader get together.

  ~

‘How do you make a tissue dance?’

‘Put a little boogie in it.’

Bucky snorts and coughs when he accidentally breathes coffee instead of air. ‘That’s disgusting,’ he texts back but Sam just replies with an obnoxious smiling face. Bucky shakes his head and goes back to his coffee. It’s actually not so terrible today.

He doesn’t hang out in a dive, but this coffee shop is a type of quiet he almost never sees in the city. It’s too far from the tourism path for convenience and just outside the neighborhood purview where there are many other local (better) favorites. It’s clean enough and decently sized, but it’s decorated like it was supposed to be trendy ten years ago and the place is barely staffed, to match its perpetually nigh-empty interior. There was a short-lived attempt at hiring another person, but after a ridiculous amount of turnover the owners, or whoever, apparently cut their losses and the only constants that remain are Bucky, the lone customer, you, the person actually working the counter, and your manager.

You’re nice. You always speak kindly to Bucky and, when you think you can sneak it, upsize his cup without comment or charge. Also, one time when his glove broke and slipped off, you hadn’t even commented on the arm; you’d even helped him stop panicking enough to see it hadn’t gone far and helped secure it temporarily with a rubber band.

Your manager, meanwhile, is a dick who glares at Bucky and once made a snide comment about him leaning too close to the register, and only talks to you in demanding barks. Like now– but the five minute “hushed” conversation is winding down and soon it will be safe for Bucky to go get his refill.

“I’m writing you up,” the manager says.

You jerk back in shock. “For not smiling enough?”

“It’s what we got marked down for, it’s what’s going on your record,” he says, turns on his heel, and retreats into the back to do jack shit. Bucky glares at his back as he goes. His harsh expression turns to a milder frown when he looks at you, hunched over and staring at the counter with a dead expression on your face.

He looks at his phone, looks at his empty coffee cup, and makes a quick decision.

“Can I get a refill?” he asks when he’s in front of you, startling you out of your stagnant misery. You look up at Bucky and after a second force an unnatural smile on your face. He winces on your behalf.

“Of course,” you say softly, and turn to refill the cup.

When you hand it back to him Bucky shuffles, hesitates, but finally asks, “Why are colds bad criminals?”

You blink. “Uh…why?”

“Because they’re easy to catch.”

You blink again, and then let out a startled laugh. Bucky smiles slightly at the sound, and smiles more at the more natural, smaller turn of your lips as you say, “That’s…that’s a good one.”

“It’s pretty terrible.”

“All the best ones are,” you say, and the door chimes making Bucky break away. But as he watches you talk to the delivery man like normal he nods to himself. He leaves with his coffee to start the day and fires a quick text to Sam: ‘Where do you get your dumb jokes?’

~

The next day when the door chimes and you see your one regular customer, you let yourself smile a lot more naturally than you have been. Your face is starting to hurt and your boss is probably napping in the back, so you take the chance to relax.

“Hi,” you say. “The usual?”

“Please,” he says, polite as ever as he hands you exact change and you go to fix his cup. When you bring it back he asks, “What did the fish say when he swam into a wall?”

“What?”

“Dam.”

You giggle despite yourself. Bucky’s smile is small and guarded, but you haven’t had a moment yet where you haven’t been grateful to see it. Maybe this ‘smiling’ business is all it’s cracked up to be. If only it didn’t hurt your cheeks so much.

But as he tips his cup to you and goes to his favorite corner, you find you don’t mind the ache as much.

~

Every time he comes in now, he brings a new joke.

“What do you call a fake noodle?”

“An im-pasta.”

“What does a clock do when it’s hungry?”

“It goes back four seconds.”

“Why did the bike fall over?”

“It was two tired.”

The delivery is fairly flat but there’s always at least the hint of a smile and, you don’t know, it might be his absolute seriousness that sells it, because every one of them raises your spirits. You don’t know why he’s suddenly telling you jokes. For anyone else you might think they’re flirting, but you don’t get that impression here. He’s handsome, always looks put-together in quality clothes even if they seem picked for comfort over anything else, and even before this he has always been unfailingly polite. If he wants someone, he has to have someone just as lovely. Right?

You can’t help but think about it even after he comes back. And the wonderfully terrible jokes, thankfully, don’t stop.

“Why did the mushroom go to the party?”

You keep pouring the coffee while you ponder an answer. “I don’t know,” you decide and lift your head as you hand Bucky his drink.

The way he smiles is very fetching– not quite a smirk, it’s a little too unsure for that, but it tilts up to the side and gives him a boyish charm that would make anyone weak in the knees. “Because he was a fungi.”

It makes a smile big enough for you to feel, but considering how self-conscious you are now you quickly tell him, “I liked that.”

“I know,” he says. “You smiled.”

“You can tell?” Maybe you aren’t as bad off as you thought. Or maybe he’s just being nice. But he seems honest, and he nods decisively.

“I get not being the most…expressive.” He shrugs. “But anyone can still see it, if they look.”

The implication that he cares enough to look stuns you both to silence. He ducks his head shyly and lifts his coffee cup in thanks before retreating to his corner. When you finally have working vocal cords again you say, “Have a nice day.” It might be the first time you’ve ever really meant it.

~

“What’s the opposite of coffee?”

Bucky’s eyes widen and narrow in quick succession as he goes from surprise to contemplation. He weighs your question with all the dramatic seriousness you could hope for before he says, “I don’t know. What is the opposite of coffee?”

You grin when you say, “Sneezy.”

His smile is bright and he nods his head. “Not bad, not bad.” He leans on the counter, looking more relaxed than you’ve ever seen him. It’s…shockingly warming. You have to remind yourself not to get too close. He showed up out of the blue and he can be gone just as quickly. Just because he’s nice doesn’t mean he has any attachment here. In fact, you hope he doesn’t– you’d question his sanity otherwise. “Why did Mozart hate chickens?”

“I don’t know,” you say, eager to hear the answer.

“Because when he asked them for their favorite composer, they said, “Bach! Bach! Bach!’”

You laugh– that is, of course, when your supervisor pokes his head out of the back and scowls at you. He should be happy that you’re ‘smiling enough’ but you know full well anything you do is never going to be good. You freeze whatever expression is on your face as Bucky’s mood darkens and your heart sinks. “Enjoy your coffee,” you say, infusing meaning into every word. That ekes out a small imitation of a smile as Bucky raises his cup and goes to his seat.

Your supervisor starts to stalk over to you but you are saved by the sudden ringing of a phone, and he blessedly turns on his heel and goes to answer.

You sigh and start cleaning up the counter. Bucky is in his corner, hunched over and quiet as usual. He looks fine, but you feel bad for the interruption, even though you get the impression he understands. Still, this is one nice thing you’ve had in this otherwise miserable job and you’re not going to lose yet one more good person to your superior’s shitty attitude.

You push out a roll of receipt paper, scribble ‘Why did the espresso keep checking his watch?’ on it, and stick it in your apron. You walk over to wipe down an untouched table and, before heading back, make a little detour to drop it next to Bucky’s arm. He grabs the paper as you’re scooting away (plausible deniability in case your boss comes out) but it isn’t until you’re back behind the counter that you realize what that just looked like. Does he think you just dropped your number? He hasn’t opened it yet. Is he trying to figure out a way to let you down? You suddenly regret playing into this so much; he was just trying to be nice, he probably didn’t expect you to latch onto it so–

He opens the paper, reads it, and shoots you a little smirk. You breathe a sigh of relief and mindlessly wipe things down and rearrange well-organized creamers and straws until Bucky comes up for his customary pre-leaving refill. You’re a little disheartened it’s that time already, but it means you’re that much closer to the end of your shift, at least.

“Why?” Bucky asks quietly. It takes you a second before you remember the receipt paper and you surreptitiously check the back to see the door is closed.

“Because he was pressed for time,” you say quietly as you hand back his cup.

He chuckles. “I like it,” he says and takes a sip. “Thanks,” he adds as expected, but then he winks and you…you just stare at him as he leaves.

Should you have dropped your number?

~

A few days later, Bucky is caught off his guard and pays for it.

“What’s this?”

Bucky doesn’t get to his coffee cup fast enough and Sam snatches it and reads. “Sam,” Bucky grumbles but there it is, Sam’s eyes go wide and he turns that stare on Bucky. “Don’t look at me like that,” Bucky snaps and snatches his drink back.

“You’ve been using my jokes to hit on a dorky barista?” Sam asks and follows him across the room.

“I’ve been using jokes from the site you steal yours from to share with the nice woman who makes my coffee,” Bucky says and sits in a chair. He never stays for Sam’s group VA sessions and he should have left sooner, damn it. “I wouldn’t use yours. They’re gross.”

“Potentially inappropriate for a lady,” Sam says. Bucky opens his mouth to argue but, no, that’s exactly it, even though Sam’s tone implies something completely different from what Bucky would have said. “What’s her name?”

“Bucky?”

Steve has never been more of an actual hero to Bucky than he is right now. Right on time to walk back home with Bucky, Steve wanders in, sees the two of them, and stops. “Oh, should I…”

“Let’s g–” Bucky is immediately stopped by Sam’s hand on his shoulder.

“Bucky’s got his eyes on someone,” Sam says, immediately centering himself as Bucky’s most hated arch-nemesis.

…Okay, maybe not, but if Bucky didn’t have real problems he would be.

“I do not,” Bucky grumbles, because he knows it’s pointless and Steve is immediately sitting in front of them and leaning in like he’s the last girl at the sleepover.

“Really Buck? That’s great!” Steve says. “Have you…are you going to make a move?”

“No,” Bucky says and quickly runs down the situation, hoping that it will clear things up but knowing his friends too well. Indeed, Sam and Steve share smirks before looking at him again.

“You’re a real hero,” Sam says, only partly joking.

“I hate you,” Bucky says, ducking his head down. He doesn’t really blush anymore, if he ever did, but the motion is instinctive.

“You don’t.”

“I wish I did.”

Steve grins, as does Sam, and Bucky wants to duck into a hole. Goddamn mother hens, they’re going to want to–

“Should we come by?” Sam asks and leans back in his chair. “Be real wingmen?”

“No,” Bucky says, harsher than he means to. Sam and Steve don’t look bothered– they’ve weathered worse emotional snaps than that– but they wait for him to explain and Bucky doesn’t know if he can. Because what if this is leading to something? Is he ready for that? He thinks he might like you, but would he be okay putting in the effort of getting to know you? What if he can’t handle it? What if Steve and Sam walk in and they’re all you see? Both of them are plenty distracting, and charming, while Bucky can hardly put one foot in front of the other, some days. And what if this isn’t leading to anything, you’re just nice, and it’s nice, but Sam and Steve find out and look at him with all the pity they can muster?

“I just…want to see it through. On my own. Whatever this is.” ‘Or could be’ he leaves unspoken, because hoping for anything still feels like too much.

“Okay,” Sam says first, because of course he does, but Steve nods along quickly. It’s enough to make Bucky exhale deeply and relax muscles he didn’t know he had tensed. He rolls his eyes and stands up to cover for it.

“You’ll keep us updated though, right?” Sam asks, an easy grin on his face as he lounges in the chair.

“Like I’ll be able to avoid it,” Bucky mutters, finishes his drink, and lets Sam know they’re okay by throwing the empty cup at his head.

~

The fact that you’re running out of coffee-related jokes is stressing you out. You wanted to keep on theme but too many more days of this and you’ll be scouring the internet for whatever jokes Bucky hasn’t used yet. There are some coffee-related puns, but…the ones you like carry a romantic hint to them, and you were hoping to save those in case Bucky showed any interest. So far you haven’t picked up on anything, but you’re also very oblivious, and your roommate thinks you’re an idiot and he’s obviously into you.

But he might not be.

You do what you’ve been doing since your boss snarked at you about flirting on the clock and get Bucky’s cup ready with maybe your favorite joke.

‘How did the hipster burn his tongue?

He drank his coffee before it was cool.’

And smile proudly at it. Your small handwriting is getting better– Bucky barely has to squint at it this time, and he gives you a conspirator’s smile when he slides his twenty-dollar bill across the counter at you, with the neatest print writing along the margins.

‘What do you call an alligator detective?

An investi-gator.’

It’s cute and you snicker to yourself as you gather his change and place it gently in his gloved hand. He doesn’t retreat to his corner right away, though, and shuffles in place. “I was…I just wanted to say…” But then his eyes glance to your side and his face freezes in an unfortunately familiar way. “Thank you for the coffee,” he says woodenly and raises his cup just so.

“Of course. Have a nice day,” you say as robotically as possible and watch him go. Your supervisor clears his throat pointedly and you pretend like the place isn’t as clean as it was since the last time you went around. But now you’re thinking. About how awkward Bucky looked, and how he mentioned wanting to say something…maybe…maybe he is open. To you. Potentially.

Tomorrow, you decide with a thrill of nauseating adrenaline. Tomorrow you’re going to bring it up.

~

The next day you arrive at the shop at your usual time in the pre-dawn cold only to find an extra padlock on the door and a note in the window.

You stare, dumbfounded, and read the note. You read it again. And again.

‘Out of Business.’

But nobody called you.

You immediately grab your phone and dial your supervisor’s number. When he doesn’t pick up you call it again because this cannot be real. The job was shit but it was a job, and you knew what to expect, and you’ll never see Bucky again, will you?

It takes almost half an hour for the asshole to pick up– or maybe more, as the sun is starting to show up– and upon answering, he snaps, “What?!”

“What happened?” you ask, just as unkindly.

Your boss grumbles unintelligibly but you wait. “Did you see the sign?”

“I was working yesterday; no one mentioned anything about this.”

“Corporate called last night.” He yawns loudly. “I tried to call you.”

That’s a lie if you’ve ever heard one, but your tongue gets tripped up in anger and he says, “Sorry but there’s no room at the other branches for you, your last check is in the mail,” and hangs up.

You stand there for a while, trying to blink away tears at the sudden upheaval of your life. You should have found a replacement job while you had a chance. You should have asked your co-workers where they were going. You should have given Bucky your number.

You stand there for a little while, debating spending money you shouldn’t on a nice breakfast to wallow in, when the sound of footsteps coming up behind you makes you turn around.

“Oh, Bucky,” you say and rub your face. You think you’ve managed to hold it in, but it’s chilly and any exposed skin feels frozen.

“What’s going on?” he asks and peers around you at the note.

“Um…” You gesture uselessly. “Apparently this location is no longer in business. Just found out.”

Bucky’s jaw drops. “That asshole didn’t even call you?!”

The amount of anger on your behalf startles you. Startles both of you, actually, but just as he’s about to say something you laugh and say, “At least that asshole isn’t my problem anymore.” You sigh. You have savings, and the other job, and there’s always some other crappy job waiting for someone like you. But there’s something here that won’t be, and you pull out your phone and start typing. “Um…Bucky…there’s something I wanted to say to you. But it’s hard to say.”

“Okay?” he asks. You squeeze your eyes tight, brace yourself for impending rejection, and hold out your phone.

‘I like you a latte,’ followed by your phone number, hopefully gets the point across. After a few seconds your phone buzzes and you jump and bring it back, hoping no one texted you anything terrible while Bucky was staring at your phone.

It’s a new number, and the text reads, ‘It’s hard to espresso my feelings for you.’

You look up at him and he’s smiling, mouth parted slightly, and you start smiling so hard your cheeks hurt. But it’s okay. “I only had two more coffee jokes left before that line,” you confess and save his name to his number.

“Maybe you can tell them to me over breakfast? My treat,” he says and extends his arm.

You don’t even have to think about it. “Your treat this time,” you say, and link your arm with his. “In return, I’m going to show you where to get some good coffee.”

“Oh I don’t know,” he smirks at you. “The last place had its perks.”

Lacking a good comeback, you push your face into his shoulder to muffle your laughter. He leans into you, and doesn’t pull away even when you’ve gotten under control.

It’s the beginning of a brew-tiful relationship.