#cute carpet turkish carpet

[handmaderugoods]

Iranian Carpets: Unveiling the Jewel of Art

Iranian Carpets: Timeless Art in Every Thread. Rich history, unique craftsmanship, and cultural charm woven into every design.

Iranian carpets are widely regarded as a symbol of elegance and craftsmanship worldwide. In this blog post, we will delve into the history, production processes, and unique features of Iranian carpets. 1. Heritage and History: Iranian carpets boast a history that spans thousands of years, originating from the Persian Empire. This rich heritage is woven into each carpet fiber, filled with…

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#anatolian carpet #arcade carpet #bedroom carpet #big carpet #bohemian carpet #carpet bagger #carpet for bedroom #carpet morocco area carpet #carpet rug #carpets bazaar #custom carpet #cute carpet turkish carpet #flat weave rug #handmade carpet #handmade rug #handmade wool carpet #kilim rug #large carpet #living room carpet #red carpet backdrop #rug kilim #small carpet #small orientalcarpet #vintage carpet

[0zzysaurus]

Marivert Marivert!! Tell me about ur Marivert hcs :>

Just the same ones as usual :]] I might throw out some cute flatmate au ideas/prompts/sillies tho:

- Marius covertly adopts a street cat, it sits on the wheelie bin outside the kitchen window and he feeds it ham. He wants to bring it inside but Javert said he hates pets and thinks they smell bad

- smash cut to six months later where Javert does his paperwork w the cat curled up in his lap because there isn’t a grumpy man on earth who said “no get that thing out of my fucking house” and didn’t then grow to love it like flesh and blood

- they often do not pay their bills on time and Marius will get woken up by furious yelling when Javert takes his morning shower and the boiler’s been disconnected

- neither of them can cook. Ready meals are their lifeline and the microwave is worshipped like an idol. And yet somehow Marius still finds a way at least once a month to put something explodable in it

- Javert will regularly direct Marius to the “appointments charter” (notebook with coffee stains that lives on the kitchen counter) to mark down house-guest requests. Sometimes Marius just wants the amis guys to come over !! (denied. They are criminals. Get better friends.)

- “Hey, your partner looks familiar… have I seen them somewhere before?”

- “Oh my god you have to let me know the next time he/she comes over because their dad/daughter CANNOT know about us” — cue elaborate setups to get Valjean or Cosette out the house without either of them realising what’s happening

- on the flip-side Valjean and Cosette both think to themselves “hey… it’s weird that his roommate is some random guy from the street that I’ve definitely seen give funny glances to my daughter/father in the past… what a weird coincidence…”

- 90% of the time they are arguing. 9% of the time they are chilling in the living room eating cereal out of the box and watching How It’s Made. 1% of the time they are rawing it from the back and trying not to gaze into each other’s eyes for too long

- Javert wants the Snoopy Moped fucking gone. Marius still has his L plates too. It’s so embarrassing please get rid of it. (Marius has the matching snoopy goggles helmet to go with it he’s keeping it for life)

- they are both the worst roommate ever. Javert is super meticulous and strict and demands that the house be respectable. Marius attracts mess wherever he goes, often forgets to do even basic housework, and is regularly making a fiasco of the place often by no fault of his own (he is still trying to convince Javert that it was Grantaire who spilled a pitcher of gin and coke on the Turkish carpet)

- the mug incident is still my favourite au prompt for them btw

#marivert

[lianabrooks]

ALL I WANT FOR CHRISTMAS IS A GARGOYLE Bonus Scene!

This is a bonus scene from the ALL I WANT FOR CHRISTMAS IS A GARGOYLE Collector's Edition.

I'm sharing it here for funsies.

You can buy the regular edition anywhere you buy books.

BUY THE BOOK

THE TABLE READ (Max's POV)

(set 18 months prior to Chapter 1)

Two degrees Celsius was, technically, above freezing, but not enough to convince me that leaving my cozy warm bed for an oh-eight hundred table read was sensible. I managed to shuffle from my suite to the hotel conference room without running into anyone. Unfortunately, that’s where my luck ended.

The largest conference room at the resort was packed with the cast of Shattered was going over the first of the season four scripts. Swirling around them like fireflies around a mulberry were the various support teams; wardrobe minions handing out goodie bags with measuring tape and reminders, personal assistants taking behind-the-scenes photos for social media between hair touch-ups, and the hotel catering staff working desperately to make sure every surly son of a bi-

“Taeyong-a!”

“Max,” I said automatically in a perfect American accent that had cost me more money than I wanted to admit. Foreign-born Korean, fluent in English, French, Korean, and Japanese. That’s what they would remember. Lots of education and dark, dangerous looks.

Although not today, because I wasn’t changing out of my warm, black sweatpants and hoodie for anything short of an actual red carpet today.

Kim Jihun bounced beside me looking more like an over-eager puppy than the lead visual of a Kpop group and Shattered’s resident hero. Everything from his ink-black hair to his shining eyes screamed Idol. “Max,” he said, a perfect mimic, “how are you?”

“Awake before noon.”  I  gratefully took a mug of something warm from a passing assistant. “It’s cold. I’m out of my blankets. I’m dealing with people.” I swept the room with my signature disgruntled scowl, daring anyone to meet my eye, and clashed.

Burning bright brown eyes met mine as a stranger walked into the room. Her brown hair bounced off the collar of her olive trench coat as a wide, wool plaid skirt swirled around her ankles, and her chin lifted in defiance above the lovely bow of her cream blouse that I had an urge to untie. There was a fight in her eyes, and I was invited.

Suddenly the morning was looking very good indeed.

I let my gaze slide in lazy caresses down the length of her, wondering just how hard I’d have to work to get that bow undone. I ran my tongue along my lips, tasting the morning coffee that would never satisfy my growing hunger. Working my way back up long legs to that proud chin and high cheekbones I met her angry eyes.

One eyebrow arched up in perfect dismissal.

I smiled.

The woman’s lip curled in an unheard, “Ugh.”

“Yummy. Breakfast.”

“Where?” Jihun looked around in confusion. “Is it donuts?”

“No.”

The woman looked around, wide-eyed and furious, as the rest of the cast slowly worked their way to their spots at the table. After a moment that seemed less like hesitation and more like resignation, she took a spot by the name Iris Muhly.

“Oh!” Jihun perked up. “My new secondary love interest. She’s cute.”

“She’s delightful.”  I  sipped my coffee and reached down to swap cards with Hakan Gazi, their resident Turkish actor and show veteran.

“What are you doing?” Hakan muttered.

“Trading you views.”  I sat down directly across from Iris, staring blatantly.

She met my gaze and held. Unafraid. Unapologetic. Untamable.

I smiled.

She rolled her eyes.

“I don’t think she likes you,” Jihun whispered.

“That’s fine.” I was the villain. I was supposed to be memorable, not lovable. “She’ll come to the dark side eventually.”

#Liana Brooks #All I Want For Christmas Is A Gargoyle #Romance #Tropes: #He Falls First #Fake Dating #Bad Boy and the Good Girl #Secret Identity #Workplace Romance #Face Claim: Kim Woo Bin #Max Kang #Iris Muhly #Kickstarter #Collector's Edition #Kdrama #I moved to Korea #so my new book is set in the city I live in #let's all be shocked #I usually don't write this close to home

[sailorgreywolf-german]

A Winter Retreat

Summary: Russia invites Prussia to spend time at his dacha so that they can have private time together. For @ruspruweek for the prompt ‘Warm’

Characters: Russia and Prussia

Word Count: 1.2K

The sled stopped in the middle of a gentle snowstorm, and Prussia let out a breath in the cold air. He glanced at the cabin tucked into the woods, and it looked like something out of a fairy tale. He said, “This is cute.”

Russia was busy securing the horses, but he turned to say, “I'm glad you like it. I built it myself.”

Prussia was certainly impressed. But he also felt his cheeks growing hot at the idea of Russia felling trees and lifting large piece of timber. It was especially intriguing considering how strong he knew the man was. He replied, “You built a house on your own?”

Russia finished trying off the horses, and joined Prussia where he was standing. He wrapped his arms around Prussia and said, “I did. I wanted an escape from the court, somewhere that could be my own sanctuary. Somewhere away from the emperor and all the scheming nobles.”

He was holding Prussia firmly, but his touch was also gentle. Prussia could feel the tickle of his fur coat on his cheek, a comforting reminder that he was pressed against Russia’s chest.

He replied, “And yet you invited me. The scheming kingdom, according to my cousins.” Russia kissed him softly on the cheek and said, “I know that you are not Bismarck. You’re my rabbit.”

Prussia was certain that Russia could see the way he blushed at the nickname. He wished he had any control over how red his face got, or that he had gotten used to the nickname over the years.

Russia gently turned him so that they were face to face, and said, “And you promised that there would be no politics on this trip.” Prussia nodded, “I did. Even if it is going to be a struggle.”

Russia smirked and said, “Oh, it won’t be that hard. I have planned to keep you very busy.” Prussia smirked and said, “I’m hope you will.”

He assumed that the point of this invitation was to have a quiet place to enjoy each other without being interrupted. Russia seemed to understand his meaning, and leaned in to join their lips for a moment. It was just enough to make Prussia’s heart beat faster. Then Russia said, “You feel chilled. Let’s go inside.”

Once the fire was lit, Prussia was able to take off the layers of fur and be comfortably warm. The cabin was certainly small, but it felt cozy, like a little escape from the winter outside of the windows. The gentle snowstorm had grown into a blizzard, and he could hear the howl of the wind over the sound of the crackling fire.

He was looking around, taking every detail of the place that was so dear to Russia. The room was filled with furniture covered in sumptuous blankets and pillows, all of it patterned with floral motifs. There was a gorgeous Turkish carpet on one wall. Though Prussia was no expert in decor, he assumed it was silk. Carved reliefs of sunflowers filled the space between the other pieces of decor.

His own taste was much more spartan and practical, but he could admit that the space felt very comfortable and welcoming.  It also felt like it fit Russia in ways that he could not quite explain. That warm and welcoming soul that hid beneath a wintery exterior.

Russia emerged from the kitchen with two cups in his hand. He handed one to Prussia and said, “A cup of tea for you, my dear. It’ll warm you up.”

The cup was a charmingly painted piece of porcelain, and it was pleasantly warm in his hands. He took a sip as Russia settled himself beside him on the settee. Prussia shifted his position enough so that he could lean against Russia and put his head on his shoulder. It made it slightly harder to take an elegant sip of tea, but it was worth it to be able to touch Russia. There was no need to cuddle for warmth, but his goal for this trip was be as close as possible.

There was a moment of comfortable silence before Russia said, “I must ask, what did you tell Bismarck you were going to do?” Prussia chuckled and said, “I thought I was not allowed to mention him.”

It had seemed implicit in the memorandum on politics. It was impossible to bring up the Chancellor without mentioning politics in the same breath. Russia took a sip of tea and then said, “I do not want you to bring him up. But, I’m curious.”

It seemed to be a light enough question that it wouldn’t lead into the complexities of the political situation. Prussia answered, “I told him that I was going to strengthen diplomatic ties.”

He saw Russia smirked, amused by the lie. This was no diplomatic trip; it was a self-indulgent retreat to be together as men rather than countries. He replied, “I rather like this kind of diplomacy.”

He put his hand gently under Prussia’s chin and tipped it up so that he could kiss him gently on the lips.  Prussia spoke once they parted, “And then he rolled his eyes and told me to have a good time. So, I think he may know what we are doing.”

He had been prepared to tell the Chancellor that he was going to Russia whether he approved or not, but Bismarck had been surprisingly supportive. He suspected that it was a way to bolster the Russian alliance, but he was not going to argue with the permission.

Russia said, “I’m just happy to have you here.”

Prussia took a long drink of the tea, and it was pleasantly warm as promised. He changed the topic to the object of his own curiosity, “Did you really make everything here?” Russia nodded, and answered, “Most of it. That-“ He gestured to the carpet on the wall, “I took from Sadik when I defeated him years ago. I like to have the reminder. I have that for now, and one day I will have Constantinople.”

Prussia was well aware of the grudge that existed between his close ally and the Turks, but he had never heard this particular ambition voiced before.

Prussia decided not to pry when Russia was already being vulnerable. It already felt like he was being let into a secret part of the other’s soul that very few people had experienced. He said, “It’s beautiful. Has anyone else ever seen it before?”

He had a feeling that this sanctuary was deeply personal. Russia pet his hair lovingly with his free hand before he answered. Prussia felt like he could have closed his eyes and been perfectly content. He was comfortable and warm, and it felt like he was safe in his lover’s embrace.

Russia answered, “No, you’re the only one.” Prussia looked up at him and realized how special the moment was. He was being granted access to something intimate. Prussia said, “Thank you, Vanya.”

#RusPruWeek2021 #hws russia #hws prussia #ruspru #sometimes I just write things with an aesthetic in mind #this is one of those things

[songofclarity]

I heard today is your birthday and since I saw you like catboy!WRH so I will rise to you cat!WRH

When he's young WRH finds an old scroll in the Wen treasure room, the scroll is so old and damaged it's unreadable but WRH never backs down from a challenge and decides to decipher it.

After months of hard work WRH figures out the scroll contains instructions on a array that allows the caster "to turn into a powerful and fearsome beast at will". WRH is very intrigued and immediately tries the array but to his shock he doesn't turn into a powerful and fearsome beast! Instead he is only a cat!

"useless" WRH thinks.

He spent months racking his brain to understand the scroll and in the end it turned out to be an elaborate prank some ancestor of his thought to play on their descendants!

"What a waste of time!"

Forget that shape-shifting is an extremely difficult skill very few cultivators mastered through history. WRH thinks being a cat is silly and not worth the spiritual energy!

Frustrated, WRH burns the scroll and forgets about it.

Years later WRH learns to appreciate his secret skill. Being a cat is especially useful for sneaking around and spying on things undetected, also after he becomes a sect leader turning into a cat becomes WRH's go to method to get a break on days people can't seem to leave him alone. If his duties get too much and he needs a moment to himself WRH will turn into a cat, spend a whole morning chasing butterflies all over nightless city, feast on a nice plump chicken he stole from the palace kitchen, and then spend the entire afternoon napping in the sun and watching his attendants lose their minds looking for him.

Another upside to being a cat is he can be as petty and rude as he wants to be but often can't when human.

He will for example relieve himself on JGS's new insanely expensive carpet after the latter spent two hours earlier in the day telling him the story of how he had the carpet especially commissioned and imported all the way from Persia.

Or he will sneak into YZY 's personal quarters and use his tiny but very sharp cat claws and fangs to destroy her best robes after she made him sit through the most painfully awkward dinner in his life when visiting lotus Pier to discuss sect matters with JFM.

Or he will go under LQR's window after midnight and practice his best impression of a demon cat in heat for hours and then in the morning he will find out where the lans hang their laundry and drag all their pristine newly washed robes in the mud because LQR made a thinly veiled remark about his manners the day before.

Or he will climb into NMJ's lap to annoy him but NMJ only looks mildly surprised at the strange cat that's currently laying in his lap looking very smug and proud of itself before he starts to pet it, WRH is shocked, confused, baffled... NMJ is doing a great job at petting him, his hand is very big and warm and he knows exactly the best spots to pet and scratch and he smells so nice and his lap is actually very comfortable! Soon WRH is purring and drifting to sleep when he catches himself, pukes a hairball on NMJ's robes, and runs away...

I'm also thinking WRH would be one of those very pretty "tuxedo" cats that are all black except their mouth, belly, and "socks" that are white

I am now a big, BIG fan of cat!Wen RuoHan, thank you for this!

"The reason cats are so pissy is they're God's perfect killing machines but they only weigh 8 lbs and we keep picking them up and kissing them" applies to young cat!Wen RuoHan vs. adult cat!Wen RuoHan getting his revenge game on with “It’s a beautiful day in the cultivation world, and you are a terrible cat.”

I'm imagining people in Nightless City picking up young cat!Wen RuoHan and kissing his cute little kitten head...! “Useless,” he sputters! “What a waste of time!” he thinks, after spending the last thirty minutes chasing a fuzzy toy on a string. He has important sect leader training and cultivation to get to!

But those sweet, lazy days lounging around as a cat are too tempting to ignore~

I am HOWLING (although not like Wen RuoHan lmao) at cat!Wen RuoHan making a racket outside of Lan QiRen’s room at night. (I have a headcanon that Wen RuoHan has a particular yet subtle dislike for the Lans and all their rules, so this is delightful.) RIP to all the Sect Leaders, nothing you own is sacred or out of bounds...

And then Nie MingJue prizing nothing but his saber, which Wen RuoHan knows better than to touch, leaves only Nie MingJue’s person as a target. His lap? Vulnerable! Enjoy getting fur all over your nice robes, Sect Leader Nie!! Feel the conflicting dread of not wanting to push a warm, innocent animal off your lap as your legs go numb and you go hungry!

Wen RuoHan getting unexpectedly nice scritches from Nie MingJue:

A powerful counter-attack...

I love tuxedo cats with their gorgeous, tailored coats! Although because I also love Wen RuoHan maintaining some red in his coloring, might I also suggest him as a turkish van! Those amber eyes, pure white bodies, and the colorful tails are just gorgeous.

#drawing-kitty1 #asked from above #wen ruohan #animal transformation au #i literally have a cat sleeping on my lap rn #so this was timely ahaha #this really is delightful and i want to read a serialization of wrh's adventures #ty for thinking of me on my bday! #please help yourself to some 🍰

[pabulumm]

For the tea meme: lady grey, Irish breakfast, Turkish tea, peppermint, and green tea

lady grey:favourite outfit? my pajamas lmao which are an oversized graphic sweatshirt, oversized graphic t-shirt, and uniqlo’s 3/4 relaco “shorts” which i just discovered this summer and i am never going back

irish breakfast:what country do you want to visit? i’d love for my mom to show me around germany where she grew up, where we still apparently have relatives. she used to live above a bakery! how cool is that!

turkish tea: where have you travelled? oh boy i can already tell this will be a long boy so forgive me. most notable trips: florida x a million? (orlando in particular bc 1) my grandparents used to live there and 2) my mom is obsessed with disney world; also went to the keys one time), california (lake tahoe, san francisco, sacramento [near where my sister used to live], also saw SEQUOIA TREES--bucket list item), arizona (sedona, the grand canyon), nevada (las vegas, hoover dam)... the big notable cities: new orleans, atlanta (georgia aquarium for WHALE SHARKS), philadelphia (saw sebastian stan and chris evans here hahaaa), chicago (2x), nyc (2x - saw chris evans on broadwayyy for my birthdayyy), toronto (2x @ TIFF--got to see seb on the red carpet here ahhh) and last but not least: japan. which was my big bucket list dream trip. mostly spent time in kyoto and osaka but also went to tokyo for a weekend. also nara for the deer obvs. and a few smaller towns in shiga prefecture where i stayed with a very generous friend for an entire month. whew okay that felt like a lot of bragging fff i love all my travels tho and i’ve been very lucky to go to so many places before i got old and developed near crippling anxiety lmaooooo

peppermint:what’s your favourite holiday and why? can i say i like the lead up to halloween? does that count? just all the cute fall decorations and changing leaves/cooler weather and pumpkin spice lattes with cider donuts fff. it’s such a low pressure holiday too, in terms of like. mandatory family gatherings or mandatory gift buying... you can go all out dressing up to the nines or just wear orange and exist with the trees. pick your own adventure it’s all good. but i also sort of see the leadup to christmas as a distraction that keeps me from wanting to off myself in the winter time LMAO. i'm prone to depression in wintertime ok and i need shiny distractions. also i kind of like some christmas movies.

green tea:where do you feel most at peace? alone... home in bed, reading fanfics on my phone. hahaaa. (i have anxiety about leaving my house ok like i can do it but i hate it every single time)

OMG I TALK SO MUCH i’m sorry ahhh but thank you @beeawolf it’s fun to do these :)

#beeawolf #answers #memes #personal posts

[almondharry]

the pages of summer

Prompt: Romance 101: Y/N is participating in a study abroad program for school when she meets Harry; who is in the same place writing his new album.

This is prompt 12 of @always-jackedup Sarah’s 25 days of summer challenge. This is my first time writing a y/n blurb! Here is what I came up with! Do give a click to the other prompts done by the talented authors who are apart of this!

word count: 9k

————

Studying abroad for a semester was Alice’s idea. She was the loud-mouthed girl who had taken the empty seat beside you in your freshman Intro to Asian Civilization course. You’ve been super glued at the hip for as long as you can remember; she’s the first number on your speed dial, the only one who can make sense of your nervous ramblings. The building blocks of this friendship stacked up one after the other, from stressing over impending midterms to complaining about shitty boys, and of course, empty tequila bottles.

She was the type of girl who thought going to the movies alone was embarrassing, so it wasn’t a surprise when she claimed she needed someone to go halfway across the world with.

“Think of it as a grad trip!” she exclaims with arms thrown in the air, her eyebrows almost touching her hairline.

The carpet on the floor is itchy against your bare thighs from where you’re sitting on her bedroom floor, legs pretzled. Your finger twirls the loose fray of your denim shorts.

Alice has a huge rectangular cardboard display in front of her, the type students used for science fairs, but without the flaps on the right and left. It’s no longer the plain white that you remember it being when she bought it from the dollar store years ago. Instead, it’s full of cut outs in all different shapes and sizes; you particularly like the tiny airplane stickers dotted at the right corner. Your eyes catch a magazine article clipping—Travel on a budget now!—and a picture of some exotic beach; the highly saturated water meant she pulled it off of google images. This moodboard has been a work in process for as long as can be.

Alice started it as a motivator to get her through the times where she desperately wanted to drop out of university. She’d always said that she would reward herself with a trip at the end of her studies.

“We’re not graduating for another semester, Alice.”

“So what? Let’s call it a pre-grad trip! We owe it to ourselves!” She gathers her pin straight hair an inch below the crown of her head before fastening the shiny black strands with an elastic from around her wrist. “You’ll be off to law school and I’ll be starting a full-time job. We can’t really push it to after graduation now, can we?”

A gust of air leaves your lungs in a sigh. She’s right, there is no denying it. Who knows what flexibility your schedules will allow if you delay this into the future. You recall back to the relentless hours you spent in preparations of your LSAT exams. You had deprived yourself from a social life for months, studying for the most important test in your life did take off some years of your life span. Now that your acceptance letter came in you think you can treat yourself to jetting away for a semester with a great friend. You’ve earned it, you tell yourself.

Alice is looking at you with expecting eyes. The anticipation that gleams in her eyes is childlike, the look is enormously similar to a little kid about to open a christmas present they’ve been yearning for.

As a smile slowly crawls on your lips, her eyes double with realization. You agree. The rate at which she jumps up and throws her lanky arms around your neck suggests someone lit a round of firecrackers under her. Her high pitched squeals leave your left ear ringing.

You roll your eyes and laugh into her bony shoulder. “Alright, alright! Let’s bring the globe.”

***

The reason why Alice and you get along so well is because you agree on the same things. You’ve decided to stray away from common study abroad places such as London, New York, Toronto, for your semester. You want to experience life somewhere completely different. Also the fact that those placements have already been snatched up by other students narrows down your pool of options by quite a bit.

You both settle on the city of Tariz. It is a secluded area with a decent population, not large enough to be a well known staple city, but enough to have a bustling sense of community. Their language is a mix of Turkish and broken English.

The brochure you are given and the exploratory google searches here and there only feed your excitement.

Most of the architecture of the city is ancient. High arches and intricate stones decorate multiple streets. The streets are more like tight valleys, the rusted bricked walls of neighboring houses and stores transport you into another time period completely. There is even a dated sculpture planted in the middle of the town circle, it’s details are so well preserved that it seems life like—you’re dying to feel the smooth stone under your fingertips.

Your laptop displays all the potential flight times and costs. With a tap of your finger, the plane ticket is confirmed.

***

The first words you learn are Kirree and Poffasa.

Kirree is local drink of Tariz. It’s a bitter coffee with a splash of milk and two drops of essence that smells like roses. You prefer to sweeten it with honey, rather than sugar. Poffasa translates to please. The combination of these words are used every time you step into the corner shop located on Cardin Street.

The bell clanks above you and signals the worker behind the counter of your arrival. A welcoming grin pulls at his lips, you’ve come in enough times for him to remember your name. He knows to talk to you with more hand gestures and use short words.

You found this family owned cafe on your second week here. It’s situated beside a book store and a florist. There is an open patio outside which you take advantage of every once in a while when the humidity won’t poof up your hair. When the wind blows your way, it carries a strong scent of light florals—it’s quite poetic. It’s also only a ten minute walk from the university you are taking your courses at and two streets down from the apartment Alice and you rent.

“Kirree?” The man behind the counter—Amjad—inquires with a raised brow.

“Poffasa.” You smile.

He taps your order into the system and you drop some copper coins in the cup of his palm. Amjad moves with ease behind the counter, his fancy coffee machine makes a churning sound as he holds the rim of a cup to its long narrow mouth. He stirs milk and essence in a way you’ve seen him do countless times. Although you miss seeing a Starbucks within every ten steps, you’re grateful that you are able to experience a sip of someone else’s culture.

Amjad passes you the drink, it’s a simple latte cup with a bleach white plate at the bottom. Another smile is exchanged between you two, this is usually where the conversation stops.

“Tib tu,” you say. It’s a casual thanks people say to one another, you had picked it up recently.

Amjad’s eyes brighten up instantly. His smile becomes impossibly wide in a way that tells you he’s proud of your slowly developing ability to communicate. You can’t hold a fluent conversation just yet, but enough to keep a casual one going.

“Tib tu!” He laughs and wipes the counter with the rag previously rested on his shoulder.

You are engrossed into your course review settled at a circular table. Your laptop informs you of the requirements for the essay due next week, you crack open the novel and highlight potential quotes to help support your thesis. It is a simple Wednesday afternoon, business is slow, which is ideal because it doesn’t interrupt your concentration.

Hours pass by and you bob your head every once in a while to the soft radio filling the small shop. Neon yellow ink bleeds over a particular line you find interesting when the bells above the door chime and bring in a gust of humid air. Your upper lip curls in disdain momentarily because of the thick sticky air cuts through the coolness of the AC. You lick the pad of your index finger and flip the page.

The steady thump of boots against the floor gets louder as the person nears the counter to your right. Amjad had ducked in the back a moment ago so the customer waits patiently. This would’ve been fine, but then they begin to whistle a tune under their breath. Your focus on the essay in front of you shatters like delicate china.

You look up to see the artist behind this pesky noise. From your position, you are granted the view of his side profile and your eyes widen gradually. Sharp jaw, wavy hair, high cheekbones. He is cute. Something about him screams so familiar; maybe it’s because he has the same build as your ex or maybe the tattoo on his arm is close to the one Alice has. Your brain tells you you’ve seen him before, but you can’t quite put your finger on it.

Amjad comes out from behind swinging doors and your head drops back to your books.

“Zerki! Tim tu ga?”

“I’m sorry—English only.” It’s a British accent, the words are timid and he blends the first two together.

“Ah!” Amjad nods quickly with a wide, understanding smile. You can tell he is excited because this is a new customer. Although this cafe isn’t a tourist location, the university located near it brings in countless study abroad students. You assume he is another student somewhere from Britain.

Amjad swipes a plastic menu from behind him before placing it in front of the customer. You remember him showing you this on your first day here. The descriptions didn’t help much because it wasn’t in English, but the corresponding pictures did clarify some fog.

He puckers his lips and the deep frown between his brows is enough to say he hasn’t been in this city for more than a couple days. His index finger taps a picture and he looks up expectantly to Amjad. You pick up bits and pieces of the conversation. He is trying to ask a question about an ingredient, but Amjad thinks that’s what he wants to order. There is a lot of hand gestures and frowns and crumpled brows as they try to understand each other. This goes on for about five minutes until Amjad looks around the shop with a sigh. His eyes land on you and he instantly brightens up.

He calls your name and your head shoots up. “English? You English speak?”

You remember giving this information when telling Amjad what you’re studying in uni. Your eyes bounce back from the customer to Amjad before slowly nodding. He wants you to briefly translate something for him. The legs of your chair screech against the tiles as you get up and walk towards them.

When you come to stand beside the customer, you can smell the shampoo he uses. The citrus wafts into the air and when mixed with the smell of fresh brew, it is an odd yet pleasant scent. “What are you trying to ask?”

“I just want him to take the sweetener and milk out of this.” He points to the image on the laminated menu.

You raise a brow. “You sure? The Kirree is going to be really bitter, like worse than black coffee.”

“Yeah, that’s what I like.”

You give him an odd look but turn towards Amjad. “Kirree, na sarr, na dou.”

“Ah!” Amjad nods right away, plucking a cup from a tall stack before grabbing a marker. “Nama?”

You meet the green of his eyes. “He’s asking for your name.”

There is a pregnant pause in the air. It lasts long enough for you to second guess if you said your sentence loud enough. Then you see the beginnings of a smile ghosting his lips, the corners are upturned, but barely. Like he knows something you don’t.

He brings his index finger to rub horizontally below his nose. “It’s um, Harry.”

The scratchy sound of Amjad scribbling letters on the cup fills the silence. He turns his back to prepare the drink at the counter.

“Thank you,” Harry says.

“‘Course, it’s no problem.”

You occupy your previous spot and get lost in developing the arguments for your body paragraphs.

***

It’s childish. A part of you prides yourself on the fact that you are a regular at the cafe. You come here so often that you can find your way even if you were left blindfolded on the street. Amjad and you have gotten to know each other so well that he doesn’t have to ask for your order anymore. Hell, the table that you religiously sit at probably has your name neatly engraved on it. It is your quiet cafe.

Then you see Harry. You don’t think much of it when you see him after a week. Then he comes once again, four days later. Then again, two days after that. The days between his visits get shorter and shorter to the point that he is here everyday. You feel the crown that you’ve titled yourself with slowly slipping off your head.

He doesn’t make much noise because he reads—a lot. His designated place is at the table on the other end of the shop, you catch yourself stealing glimpses of him. Sure, it’s attractive that he’s a cute boy who likes to read, but what really gets you are his expressions when he finds a specific line or passage interesting. You’ve seen his brows draw in when he is upset. You know the two deep dimples that poke his cheeks when he finds something witty. You’ve witnessed his lips part slowly when he reads something poetic.

Right now, his chest vibrates and the corner of his eyes crinkle as he shakes his head. He is wearing a plain black sweater. A string of planets coloured in pink, blue and yellow, start from one shoulder and end at the other. You want to drag your finger over the knit material.

It’s slow. The swirls begin in the pit of your stomach and gradually increase in size. The last time you felt something develop this quickly was when you were in grade school, toes hidden in hot playground sand and eyes fixed on to your crush. You could’ve sworn he had an ever present halo hovering above his head. You still have one thing in common with your eight year old self, you both admire from afar and never build up the courage to go after what you really want. One sided pining and yearning is all you know.

Your attention gravitates towards the window when you become numb to the words on your laptop screen. You allow yourself these little breaks to lessen the stabbing strain your eyes develop. You lean back into the chair, from this angle you have a perfect view of the fountain outside. A butterfly flaps its wings insistently to keep its little body afloat, it circles the pointy tip of the structure. The water sparkles under the setting sun, it looks like a picture cut and pasted out of paradise. You wonder what it would be like to thread your fingers in its ripples rather than gripping a pen to your notepad.

You entertain this daydream for a moment longer. Then something pricks your skin, like a million tiny thumbtacks. The feeling of being observed passes over you; it’s silent and formless. You tear your eyes away from the scenery and your line of sight reflexively falls on soft green eyes. They are already focused on you, imploring and bated. A jet of warmth shoots down your spine.

You bite the inside of your cheek and deliberate looking away, but there is something magnetic about holding his stare. It’s playful, yet holds a pulling weight. He isn’t giving up either, hasn’t made one effort to try to blink away. It’s like you both hold one end of a rope, challenging tugs are given from each side to see who will break first.

A smile spreads across his lips, it’s slow like dripping molasses, and suddenly the butterfly isn’t circling the peak of the fountain. It has made a home in the pit of your stomach, thrashing wildly against your ribcage.

The bells clank above the door as a new customer walks in, and like a delicate twig under a heavy stomp, the moment is broken. It’s a middle aged woman with a toddler balanced on her hip. You blink away quickly and pretend to type a sentence on your keyboard. An Indian summer heat bites at your cheeks.

The sigh you release is deep rooted in your belly. The moment you shared was like clutching a fistful of sand. The grains quickly slipped from your hold and before you know it, you’re left with dry, empty hands.

***

A bead of sweat drips down the nape of your neck and trickles down your spine. Your cheeks are splotched red and baby hairs are matted to your forehead. The humidity levels are sky high today. The short walk from your lecture to the cafe is equivalent to a small marathon. You take a right at the intersection and the figure walking in front of you looks disgustingly familiar.

It’s Harry, and he is also walking towards the cafe.

He wears a simple black cotton t-shirt which shouldn’t make your heart skip like a stone over water, but it does. His shoulders slope in humble curves, but hold strength. The material moves with each step he takes and clings to his shoulder blades. Your mouth goes dry from the way his muscles flex under the fabric.

Your gaze flickers down to his left arm, it’s covered in detailed ink whereas his right arm is more sparse. A particular floral tattoo grabs your attention, the petals of the expansive rose begging to be traced. In his palm he clutches a worn leather journal, a long tie of the same material wraps around it multiple times. You’ve seen him spend hours with hunched shoulders and a pen pressed tightly to the papers, you wonder what secrets it wraps. In the same hand, he holds some sort of novel, you see a dog ear folded near the first few pages. You don’t have the opportunity to analyze a title because he is pulling the heavy glass door of the cafe.

The door doesn’t open fully, it stops awkwardly at a forty-five degree angle when he catches your image reflected in the glass. You don’t miss the slight jump of his brows when he first notices that it’s you.

He shuffles to the side with his fingers still wrapped around the handle of the door. With his movements, the door opens wider. The crisp, conditioned air flutters from inside the cafe and goosebumps pimple the skin on your forearms. It takes you a second to realize he is holding the door open expectantly.

“You first.” He cocks his head towards the shop.

You press your lips together to hide a budding smile.

It’s just a door, you tell yourself. People hold open doors for others all the time. It’s a common courtesy. Nothing extravagant. As you step in the space, you can’t help the warmth that slowly spreads in your chest—like a drop of watercolour staining a white sheet.

You don’t have time to overthink this simple act of kindness, you take in the shop you notice it is brimming with people. Kids and teens sip colourful refreshers and lemonades and almost everyone has an iced drink to combat the heatwave passing over today. As you notice most of the tables are being taken up, your eyes immediately pull towards your designated table. A relieved breath escapes your lips as you see that it is the only vacant spot. Your feet rush to it in a hurry and you drop your bag on the chair to stake claim.

You make eye contact with Amjad and gives you a nod, as if saying he’s already in the middle of preparing your drink. Harry is the second person in line and browses the pastry options while scratching the scruff on his face. You take this time to get situated by pulling out your agenda, laptop, and a textbook.

You’ve opened up your last draft and skim over some lines to jog your memory of what you left behind. You had grown accustomed to the quietness of the cafe, but today, the lack of it makes it harder for you to focus on the words in front of you.

The wave of light citrus in the air causes you to halt your typing. Your eyes catch the plaid printed trousers that taper in at the ankles from the corner of your eye. You lift your line of sight to see a simple blank shirt tucked in at the waist. Higher are the ringed fingers which grip two plates that are topped with Kirree cups. Finally, you look up to see it’s Harry, a journal and novel is tucked under his armpit.

His eyes are a muted green, framed with thick lashes. Reading glasses are perched on his head, they keep the few disobedient curls from sweeping over his forehead. You know he gets annoyed by them when he reads or writes, especially when they poke his left eye.

He releases his bottom lip from behind his teeth. “Amjad sent this over.” The Kirree in his right arm raises towards you.

You quickly reach forward to take hold of the plate, making extra sure you don’t let the steaming liquid trickle over the rim, or even worse, accidentally brush your skin against his. You’re positive the latter would leave a deeper burn. “Great, thank you. You didn’t have to bring it over.”

“S’alright. I was headed here anyway.”

You tilt your head to one side, silently urging him to continue.

He scratches the back of his neck, the curls at the nape of his neck shift. Harry’s neck cranes as he looks around the shop. His jawline sharpens when he looks completely to the left. Today everything is bustling. A kid pulls the hem of his mother’s dress with a deep frown to get her attention. Two little girls with matching pigtails fight over a specific coloured crayon two tables down from you. A group of students fill up the remaining tables; from their flashcards, it seems as though they’re conducting a study group. The whole town has chosen this cafe to seek refuge from the brutal heat.

The time he takes to analyze the buzzing environment, you press the rim of your drink to your lips.

“The only other empty chair is this one.” His eyes flicker to the simple white plastic from across you. The tips of his ears are impossibly red. “Mind if I sit?”

You almost choke on your sip, but you contain the liquid from spluttering out by downing the scalding gulp. “‘Course.” The urgency behind your immediate reply makes your face hot.

He lifts the chair slightly before pulling it from the table. The small courteous act of avoiding the ugly screech against the floor sends your heart flooring.

You think your heart would tire eventually, but the annoying thing continues to jackrabbit even after a solid ten minutes of him being seated across from you. Your palms are sweaty and your brain is firing up with a thousand different thoughts every second. How long had you wanted him to sit across from you? How long had you wanted him to exchange more than a smile with you? You’re getting words from him. He’s actually talking to you. It’s all a bit overwhelming.

Hours later, you’re fed up with the mundane reading. You had set a goal to read 800 pages, but you can make it barely through the 200 mark. It stares back at you from your laptop screen, challenging and daunting. A deep defeated sigh leaves your lips and your shoulders sink.

“What are you reading?” He asks, his eyes trained on the novel in front of him.

“It’s a reading for my modernism course. I rather individually pluck my eyelashes out.” He purses his lips to suppress a smile; A candlelight flame dances in your chest. You squint at the cover shielded behind his fingers, but you can’t quite make out the picture or title. “You?”

“Bukowski.”

Your lips part slowly. “Oh.” His eyes follow your movements when you raise a hand to gently tuck a lock of hair behind your ear. “Sorry.”

“No, no it’s okay—it’s hard to see because the cover is well loved.”

“No, I meant I’m sorry that you have shit taste in books.”

His face is blank for a minute, not giving away anything as he mulls your words over in his head. Then the corners of his lips poke up. When you see the dimple is more prominent on his left cheek, you almost let a strangled, breathless Fuck slip out. “You think so?”

You scrunch your nose and nod.

“You should try something by Murakami.” Multiple titles run through your mind and you purse your lips as you mentally browse which one to offer. Something about recommending a book, a song, or another piece of art, can be so vulnerable because people only like things they can see themselves reflected in. You pray to whatever higher powers that exist that Harry won’t think twice about it. “Have you read Norwegian Wood?”

He wets his lips with his tongue. They become a vivid pink, like fresh peonies or a sickening sweet birthday cake frosting. “I’m afraid I have not.”

Your fingers dip into the slit of your bag and before you can register what is happening. Your copy of the novel is slightly curving at the corners and feels more weighted from when you first bought it. This is because countless sticky notes and page markers you’ve stuffed in between the front and back cover. You can’t believe you’re freely handing over your annotated book, it’s full of all your thoughts and views and it seems intimate to give him access to that. You think to take a moment to rip out all your work, but your arm is already extended and he clutches the other end of the book.

***

“He held a door for you,” Alice notes.

“That doesn’t mean anything.”

“He sat with you. For hours.”

“—Because the place was full.”

“You caught him staring at you! This sounds exactly like a dreamy movie!”

“It’s not, it’s just—” Your palm gestures vaguely in the air. You’re at a loss for words because if you’re being honest with yourself, you don’t know what this is. What you do know, is the childlike glee you get around him and the stolen glances you pocket away and the shy smiles you exchange. “—Harry from the coffee shop.”

Alice stresses your name in a pointed tone. “Please.” She drags a tiny brush over the sparse area of her toe nail, the fushia pink compliments her newly tanned skin. The smell of polish and acetone is poignant in the living room. “We both know you’re clueless as can be about these things.”

Your jaw meets the floor as you prop up your weight on the cushion of the sofa. “Am not!”

“Are so!” Alice twists the cap on the nail polish tightly. She flips the small bottle and shakes it to insure it won’t drip. “You need people to literally spell out if they like you or not!”

“Being clear is a good thing!”

“But… where’s the romance in that?” You should’ve known telling Alice about Harry would get twisted into something. Alice is adamant that he has a thing for you, but you can’t connect the dots. You thought asking for an unbiased perspective on this situation would bring some clarity, but all Alice knows are the countless rom coms on Netflix and the wall full of cheesy lovey dovey novels she collects. “From where I see it, you both are longing from a distance. How long has this been going on for?”

“Like almost two months.”

Her eyes double in size. “Jesus!”

“I know, I know.” A palm comes to rub over your face to hide the red colouring your cheeks.

“Before we leave you need to do something about him.”

“What do you mean?”

“Find a moment, grab him by the shoulders and lay one on him. It’s not like he’ll see you again.”

You roll your eyes.

***

Harry doesn’t sit alone at his table like he previously used to do. After that day you gave him the novel, he has glued himself to the seat across from yours. It’s nice. You both work in amicable silence together with occasional conversation; you switch between your laptop and novel and he scribbles some words in his journal. It’s not a stream of consistent thought, the words are broken and spaced out and formatted differently. You assume he writes poetry.

It’s an unspoken rule that you’ve both made together. Every week you pick something new off the chalked menu items and alternate buying. Today you pick a slice of carrot cake. You remember him saying in passing that he was fond of it and wondered how different it would be from traditional American or European cake.

The plate sits dead center of the table, a fork at each end. You dig the metal to the pointy end of the cake and cup your palm underneath the utensil when you bring it to your mouth. Harry does the same except he doesn’t use his palm. It’s endearing that a crumb is stuck to the left corner of his top lip. You make deliberate eye contact while you both chew slowly. A rating becomes more clear in your mind as time passes and you see the same behind his eyes.

“Love it,” he concludes.

You continue chewing your bite for a little longer, he’s waiting, expecting to keep this conversation going. Harry scans your features as you derive your final thoughts. He doesn’t realize this, but his eyes have a weighted tenacity that you find yourself squirming under. It’s not uncomfortable, more so intense—He makes you feel like you’re an exceptionally important person. You run a tongue over your teeth before letting yourself speak.

“It’s good.”

“Just good?”

“Good,” you confirm.

He has gotten a sense of your rating scale without you defining it for him. He remembers the coconut slice was mind blowing. The strawberry was amazing. The peanut butter, nutella and banana was exceptional. He recalls you closing your eyes briefly because they rolled back in bliss. The indulgent moan you let slip through made his brain short circuit. The high points of his cheek were the same colour as the cherry drizzle that topped the rhubarb cake.

He digs his fork once more to grab another bite. You refrain.

A sweet smile dances on your face as you tuck your chin in the palm of you hand, your elbow anchors your weight on the table. You don’t know when to tell him that with each bite he takes, he adds on a couple more crumbs to his face. A part of you doesn’t want to tell him at all because it’s so adorable.

“What?” He prompts when he sees you observing him.

“You’ve...” You trail off, but then roll your eyes last minute, deciding not to let him in on it. It’s a miniscule thing. “Nevermind.”

“Now you’ve got to tell me.”

“It’s fine.”

The sinking feeling in his stomach knots his intestines together. A plunging fear of his identity being revealed is something he doesn’t know that he’s ready for. You had asked him what his name was for Amjad to write on the cup. You clearly didn’t know anything about him. He wanted to see how long the cloak of invisibility spell would last on him. There’s something about meeting someone without them having preconceived notions set about him. It’s rare and refreshing for him and he wants to prolong this with you. He gnaws at his lip momentarily, do you know?

“Did you google something?”

You splutter a confused laugh. “What?”

“It’s—I” He threads his fingers through his hair. A panic bounces in his eye. He knows the inevitable, you will find out sooner or later. Should he just tell you now? “Did you—”

Before he gets a chance to finish his sentence you crumple a napkin in your hand and lean slightly across the table.

He is taken aback by your sudden closeness, but relaxes his tense shoulders when the floral notes of your perfume floats around him.

You drag the napkin at the corner of his mouth and collect the persistent crumbs. You feel his eyes trained on one side of your face. There is a charged intimacy in the air that both of you don’t acknowledge. This innocent act speaks louder than any words between you two could. You tell yourself that maybe this feeling is one sided, a complete travesty, but then you see his adam’s apple rise and fall has he swallows a nervous gulp. It’s enough to let you know he feels it too. To keep yourself from doing something you might regret, you pour all your focus to the task at hand. This moment lasts for a couple seconds at most, but the fervor behind it could outlive even the oldest stars.

“There,” you say, your back meets your chair once again. “That was all.”

***

“How much have you gotten through?”

“I’m at the halfway mark. A few scenes have stuck out to me.”

“Oh, yeah?” Your eyes immediately flick up meet his. Curiosity and anticipation pull at each end of your lips to form a smile. Your wrist finishes jotting down the last of correction on your essay, the red pen in your grasp moves on autopilot because Harry has once again captured all your attention. He’s done it numerous times before, it’s just something he is good at. “Which ones?”

There is a soft grin on his lips. “When Toru lets go of the firefly on the roof.”

“Why did you like it?”

“It was such a simple act, but probably meant so much more.”

“You’re right, it did.” You nod. Red ink strikes out two sentences, but your ears are still perked up. “What else?”

“Naoko’s birthday.”

“Really?” The pitch of this word is higher than your previous ones, you’re surprised. You once had a conversation with someone who passionately claimed the scene should’ve been ripped out Norwegian Wood. You stop writing completely and give him your utmost undivided attention. You elbows press to the surface of the table as you lean it slightly and drop your volume to an octave lower. “Is it because they fucked?”

“Yeah,” he nods after a moment of contemplation. You shoot him a look, not because of his scene choice, but his lack of explanation, and he backtracks immediately. It would be awfully disheartening if that is all he had to say about that. “No, no, no. It’s not what you’re thinking. It was just so sad and lonely and—” He takes a deep breath and his nostrils flare. “I really felt for Naoko. It’s an oddly relatable thing—being in that state of mind, feeling that, all while giving yourself to someone. I don’t know, it’s just—”

His words hang in the air, but from the crumpled look on his face, you know exactly what he wants to communicate. The impervious silence between you two stays for a moment.

Talking about books with him was something you look forward to. He likes when you push him to read certain books. He admits once with a bashful look that he was intimidated by you. Your list of recommended books—it only went up to five, ink scratches on tissue you handed him one night before parting—made you seem very well read in his eyes. You dismissed it quickly with a wave.

A smile quirks your lips. “That was one of my favourites too.”

The praise balloons a feeling in your chest that would only contribute to one-sided feelings. You told him your list is no match to what is really out there; your goal isn’t to be a pretentious well-read girl, but it’s to find more titles that make you feel a spectrum of emotions.

He takes a minute to absorb your words. With an understanding nod he goes back to writing in his journal. You think you pick up on a musical note or chord, but you can’t be sure.

***

The blanket of humidity suffocating the town finally breaks on a Friday. In the wee hours of the early morning, you hear the clap of thunder rip through the clouds and pour down a bucket of water. It transitions into a romantic drizzle as noon rolls around.

It was one of those odd days where you are at the cafe before Harry. Your plain black umbrella sits in his chair, drops of water fall off the pointy tip and splatter against the floor.

“What’s this?” Harry grips the hooked handle of the umbrella as he lifts it up. The folded flaps of the fabric move like the arms of a ceiling fan before hitting against each other. “You’ve replaced me already?”

He has a pleased look on his face, clearly too proud of his joke.

You drop all traces of expression from your face and force your eyebrows to curl in a deep, confused frown. The slight tilt of your head to the left completes the faux look. “I’m sorry, do I know you?”

He rolls his eyes, pinching his lips to on side in an effort to subdue the smile you both know is about to flourish. “Funny.”

You laugh under your breath. He wipes away the remaining droplets of water on the chair before taking his seat. Fingers comb back his hair, you notice it is a darker brown, a wet curl curves at the shell of his hair in a perfect swoop.

Like always, hours go by without you noticing. The sun has long bid its farewell. You’ve shared casual conversation, another slice of cake, and another book recommendation.

Amjad begins to flip the stools upside down on their respective table, the sound makes you look up. The lights are toned into a dim buttery yellow rather than the stark white you’re used to. He’s closing up for the night. It’s just you and Harry in the space, both of you begin to collect your belongings. You tuck your laptop into its sleeve before plucking your highlighter and pen into your bag. The novel you used is carefully bookmarked and pressed into your tote bag.

“Shit,” Harry hisses. Through the glass window you see the sky is an angry black, flashes of white remind you of when you had taken your high school graduation pictures. The rain is no longer a shy drizzle, it’s a wrath coming down so hard as though it seeks age old revenge.

You are thankful that you’ve brought your umbrella, but Harry can’t say the same for he is looking at the scene in front of you while scratching the back of his head. As he turns to you, you can see the same thought floating in his head.

“It’s alright, I’ve got one.” You wave the umbrella in your hand as you hike up the straps of your bag to your shoulder.

“You sure?”

“Yeah,” you nod. “We’re headed the same way anyways.” You know your stop comes before Harry’s, it’s only a short walk from the cafe, you plan to pass the umbrella to him so he can continue his path back home.

As you near the door, you call out a farewell to Amjad. “Ta ra!”

“Ta ra!”

The sound of rain drowns out the clanking of the bells as the door shuts behind you. You quickly press a hidden button and the metal arms of the umbrella spread wide open. You shelter yourself under it and shuffle so Harry has enough room under it.

“You’re good at it, you know?” He says as you both begin the trek. The raindrops make a muted pattering against the material of your umbrella.

You face him and raise a brow. “What?”

“Just—living here, communicating, and all that sort. I would’ve never guessed you weren’t from here until I heard you speak English.”

“Yeah?” You breath in the smell of fresh rain, the wind mists some water on your face and a calmness seeps into your bones.

Harry shoves his hands into the pockets of his trousers, his shoulders cave inwards. “Would’ve probably just sat at my table like a fool and wonder why you come here so religiously.”

A smile pulls at your lips. “You would wonder about me?”

“Maybe.”

You laugh at his reluctance to say a proper yes. You know it’s a solid yes. Your eyes focus on the potholes in the sidewalk, rain water creates puddles and you strategically place your steps. “I would too—about you.”

“Now, you’re just saying that.”

“No, I’m serious.”

“Sure,” he hums.

A cool breeze circles the lonely streets, the thin hair on your arms stand up tall. The silence that makes itself prominent is comfortable. You decide this a perfect moment to tell him. You can’t begin to imagine the hurt on his face when he steps foot into the cafe and you’re not there. You’ve been practicing a speech in your bathroom mirror for two weeks now, trying all sorts of combinations to find the right words. Nothing has stuck so you bite the bullet and blurt the first thing that comes to mind.

“I’m going home.” Your heart is in your throat. Your voice is no where near bold and sure as you’d like it to be. It’s a timid whisper and you’re just thankful you haven't stuttered from the bundle of nerves in your gut.

He doesn’t reply immediately, you begin to ponder if the sound of rain submerged your sentence.

“We both are.” He gives you a weird look.

“No—I mean, I’m leaving Tariz. My semester here is ending, for the study abroad thing.”

Though the humidity in the air is long gone, you feel a thick heaviness in it.

“Oh.” The tone of the word suggests that he wasn’t expecting this. Harry scratches the back of his neck looking down at the pavement. “When’s your last day?”

The silence speaks for you.

His eyebrows jump. “Really?”

You roll your lips together before replying. “I’m afraid so.”

“Well, did you like it? The experience.”

You grin. Of course he could ask you this. You haven’t given much thought to this question up until now. You know when you go back home this will be the first thing people ask you, you take the opportunity as a way to practice an answer.

“Loved it,” you say without a shadow of doubt. “It went beyond my expectations.”

Harry gives your hand that fists the umbrella stem a push from below, urging you to raise it slightly higher. When you look up to see him, you realize the material grazes the top of his head. You mumble a quiet sorry before complying, he ignores your apology by prompting another question. “Favourite part?”

“There are loads. But the Kirree, the culture—”you take a brief pause, it builds the anticipation. “Amjad.”

“Amjad?”

“Amjad,” you confirm. It takes so much from you to not laugh at his ridiculous tone. “Why?”

“I don’t know.” The shrug of his shoulders is anything but casual. “I just thought, nevermind.”

You chuckle, shaking your head while trying to keep your smile at bay. “You’re so obvious.”

Wet hair strands glue to your face with the help of the rain. Your fingers peel them from your skin before tucking them behind your ear.

A deep sigh leaves him.

“I am, aren’t I?”

You both stop at the abandoned intersection. A red palm glows from the other side of the road, halting you from taking a step. You both could make a run for it because no cars are zooming the streets at this time, but you don’t. You feel the heat lift off Harry’s shoulder, there is something so intimate about being under the same umbrella on an empty street with him.

A sigh slips through your lips. You’re going to miss him the most. The routine, the secretive smiles, the tension. Alice’s words inject into your skin like a long needle. Do something.

“I liked meeting you too, for the record,” you say after a moment.

“Yeah?” His nose scrunches up as he looks to you. The traffic light above waves from the wind, a colourful glow lights up his profile emphasizing the sharp cut of his cheekbone and jaw. “It was good, seeing you every day at the cafe. Liked it—quite a lot actually.”

The sentence would’ve been fine as is, but the last four words he tacks on the end adds a double meaning. They put a tangible definition to the feeling that you both had been dancing around since day one. A painful silence settles between you two, it’s razor sharp and so prominent. You both know that it’s something you can’t avoid for any longer.

It’s a brush of fingers at first. Innocent enough to be an accident between strangers on the subway or two people walking in opposite directions on the same side walk. Then it happens again. This time his fingers slot between yours. The silver metal of his rings are frigid against your heated skin. You hope the relentless pattering of rain against pavement masks the boistourius thumping of your heart.

You think you’re imagining it all, but then he shifts his body towards you. His towering height looms over you and he leans in slightly. His breath is warm as it puffs on your cheek, a dizzying contrast against the cool drops of water that rest on your skin. Your lips slowly part in awe and his eyes immediately flicker to them.

The sharp tug he gives your hand is enough to pull you in a step closer, chests press against one another. The touch makes you tighten the grip on the handle of your umbrella, your knuckles become a snow white.

“This okay?” He asks softly. It’s a whisper, silvery and light, but flares a torrid heat in the pit of your stomach.

A stated latency is introduced into the wet atmosphere around you, it traps your bodies into a secluded bubble. His thumb brushes a long stroke from the diviot where your thumb and index meet all the way up to the tip of your pointer finger. The slow, tender pace of it almost makes you whimper.

Only when he sees your chin move in a nod does he press the tip of his nose to the skin of your cheek. You almost cry then. It’s a cruel, calculated torture for him to drag his nose from your cheek to your temple. Your fingers slip from his in favour to clutch the fabric of his sweater. You pull the threads closer to you, a silent plea to move his lips near yours. You feel his smile press against your temple. His palm rests on your hip then gradually slides to your lower back. Your lashes flutter momentarily before resting on your flaming cheeks.

His lips brush the smooth, thin skin of your eyelid twice, he plants a gentle kiss at the corner of your eye. He moves down to the apples of your cheek, the cupid bow of his lips lovingly traces the skin there. Your fingers crawl up from his chest and rest where his shoulder and neck meet. As he continues his innocent torment, the pad of your thumb traces the bump of his adam’s apple.

He brings his free hand to tilt your chin up, he aligns his forehead with yours. You both stay there for a moment while taking calming breaths. You notice his skin his warm under your fingertips and the rise and fall of his chest isn’t steady. You never put sugar in your Kirree, it’s always been honey for you. This is because the grains don’t fully dissolve and sit stubbornly at the bottom of your drink. As you crack your eyes slightly open, you see he has something golden on his lips. Shiny, sticky, inviting.

“Please,” you breathe.

His lips are warm, slick, and sweet against yours. You’d seen them quirked up in a smirk, in bashful smiles, in teasing grins. You wonder what they look like pressed so delicately against yours. The pads of his fingers dig into your flesh as he pulls your bottom lip between his teeth. His tongue laps in just the right way—slow, with the tiniest bit of pressure. You cradle his cheek and follow the line of his jaw with your finger.

When you sigh into his mouth, he lets out a tremulous whimper. Harry was like a cup of freshly brewed coffee; scalding hot and tempting. The steam dancing above the rim would blister your mouth, but you took a sip of him anyway. You know when weighed, all the benefits surpass the costs. You’d rather feel him on the roof of your mouth all day than never at all.

His arms snake around your waist and hold you in place. Your lips part for the length of a blink, the glistening of his mouth is mesmerizing under the light of the lamp post hovering above. You can only draw half a breath before he’s leaning in once more. This time his lips are ferocious. The iron grip you have around the nape of his neck pulls tightly at the curls resting there.

Every nerve ending in your body is screaming, ablaze with the same intensity of molten lava. Your mind is swimming with too many emotions, you don’t begin to label what they are, it will be useless in your dazed state. Your palm presses flat against his chest, you feel his heart jackrabbit through his sweater. There is a tingling sensation in your palms that shoots sparks up your arms.

When you both finally pull away, he doesn’t let go of you. He keeps you close to resume his light brushes; his lips against your cheek, chin, temple. It’s when the tip of his nose bristles against the bridge of yours, your shoulders sag with a deep sigh.

“We...” the word wavers when you say it.

“Yeah?”

You gulp. “We missed our walking signal.”

The slow grin that crawls on his face says he is willing to miss a million more.

***

“Aww,” Alice coos towards her laptop screen. A dopey grin splits her face in half. It tells you she’s either looking at the current royal wedding pictures or reading another one of her romance novels. “That’s so cute, she must be so lucky.”

“What are you on about?” You inquire from your position on your bed. Although you had no complains while studying abroad, you firmly believe there is something so delicious about sleep in your own bed.

“I’m reading the Rolling Stone article about Harry Styles’ new album,” she says without turning back. He is her newest celeb obsession, you think it will pass over in a month. Alice has her laptop situated on your work desk that you’ve placed in the corner. From her position, her back hides the screen she is reading. “He said he wrote a song about a girl who he met in Tariz when working on his new album. Isn’t it crazy how small the world is, like we were there just last year.”

“We were,” you agree from behind a parted novel. It’s another Murakami novel. You woke up today and your fingers had a mind of their own when they plucked him off your reading shelf. Something in your bones was begging you to read it. “I’m glad you took me.”

Alice ignores what you say, she’s too busy gushing over the guy on her screen. She is speaking way too fast and going off in a million different tangents all fueled from her excitement. You think you hear her say something about psychedelics and sex. You shoot her a worried look and before you know it, she’s pushing the device onto your lap.

“Here, just look!”

The fans of the laptop start up and blow a gust of heat on your thighs. As you blink to the article pictures in front of you, your heart drops to your stomach.

“Alice,” you say breathlessly as if you’ve just seen a ghost. You blink quickly to help clear the image, maybe you’re seeing things. But the longer you stare at it, you become more and more sure of the face staring back at you.

“What?”

Sharp jaw, wavy hair, high cheekbones.

“Oh my God.” Your mouth is dry. “Oh my God.”

“What! What is it?”

You point an accusatory finger in the direction of the webpage. “It’s him! That’s him!”

Alice’s forehead wrinkles. “I don’t follow.”

“The guy I snogged from the cafe in Tariz!”

Her eyes become the size of Saturn. “No...”

“Yes...”

As the confirmation is uttered in the air, a stillness floods in. You both stare at each other, blinking slowly with blank faces. The suspended silence makes it harder for you to draw a breath. You see the gears turning and locking in place behind her eyes as she grasps onto this new piece of information.

The high pitch squeal that comes from her wind pipes can be easily mistaken for a hyena sound effect. “Fuck!”

“I’m—” Your face is burning and your palms have a sheet of sweat, but your neck and chest is like ice. You fan yourself with your palms. “—I think I’m having hot flashes.”

“I would too if I snogged Harry fucking Styles.”

Blood rushes to your face. “I didn’t know!”

“How did you not know?!”

“Because I live under a rock, you know this. I just thought he was another study abroad student like us!”

“This is so fucking funny.” Alice is howling with laughter. She clutches her stomach and leans forward without any shame. You can’t blame her though, if the tables were turned you doubt you’d react differently than her.

“Fuck, he wasn’t writing poetry.” The inside of your palm slaps your forehead. You feel a sharp throbbing pain pulse at your temples, so you clutch your head and clamp your eyes shut. “Those were probably songs, oh my God, I am so stupid!”

“Babes, babes.” Alice drags the pad of her thumb under her eyes to catch fallen tears. “We’re buying tickets.”

The pillow you throw at Alice lands with a loud smack.

“There is no fucking way I’m going to another study abroad thing with you—ever again.” Your arms limply flail about. “Look what this first one made me do.”

Alice scoffs. “You made out with a rockstar.”

The pointed look you shoot has enough strength to bring down civilizations. “Not the point.”

“Well, I wasn’t insinuating buying a ticket to another place.”

Your lips part with confusion. “Then what?”

“We’re going to catch his show.”

————

Don’t ask me where the city of Tariz is in the world, I made it up. Also all of the language is made up. So is the drink. Lol. Can you tell I didn’t want to do research? My mc is dumb, that scene in NW was ass. Anyway, let me know your thoughts? 

Thank you for amina @harrysdodgyankles for editing the moodboard

My wonderful betas are the best. Thank you so so so much to @drivingmekiwi @midnightcities @shelvesandwhelves @fireawaynjh

#1dff #harry styles fanfic #harry styles prompt #harry styles blurb #harry styles fanfiction #self insert #y/n fic #harry styles writing #one direction fanfiction #harry styles one shot #harry styles #let me know what u think? #summer

[elisabeth-carrion]

2020 was... a year. Tbh, 2019 was worse for me. Ive read my 2019 diary and i dont know how i managed, and in the end i was still optimistic. 2020 was supposed to be my year of spoiling myself and doing new things. Of course not everything went according to the plan.... but i managed to do a few things.

Lets see

This year i did two things i thought i would never, ever do. Like even last year, i didnt even consider it. 1. i got a tattoo. The idea came to me at the beginning of the year, the plan was to do it in spring, but then quarantine happened, then renovations, and in the end i had it done in september. Its a flower and i love it.

2. i left academia. last year i got accepted into phd program. It was a mess and in the end, i had enough. Ive stayed a few months longer for the scholarship money, and resigned. I am now academia free and enjoying my very frist study free christmas break. Im vibing

among other thing, there are: 3. i cut my hair. it was waist lenght and i cut it shoulder lenght. I dont know why it was such a huge deal for me, but it was. The hair grew back real fast and i had it cut again in november. I think im gonna keep it this way. Or shorter. I’ll see.

4. had my ears pierced. I had one set of earrings, now i have two. I bought a lot of earrings. I really like it. More jewerly is better jewelry.

5. discovered the band breaking benjamin, very nice

6. discovered the book captive prince. ive read it three times already. would recommend

7. made a candle out of what was left of other candles. easier than i thought, but putting dried flowers into it wasnt a good idea

8. made a hat. and then another hat. im kinda proud of them. didnt get to wear them outside yet tho

9. made a brooch. out of an old notebook cover and christmas decor. its kinda big. i dont mind

10. made a head band. this one needs some improvements tho

11. i thought online classes and im still alive. i prefer real life classes but i managed. i learned about teaching too, i hope i can improve my knowledge next year

12. renovated my kitchen! it was old and disgusting. now its nice and clean and pretty and i love it

13. started french, german and turkish on duolingo somewhere around march. im still doing it every day. kinda like it!

14. tried embroideiry. it was fine. i want to go to embroidery class after the plague is over

15. started taking my own outfit photos. i got a cheap tripod for it and it works! 

16. honesly i didnt count it, but i did some writing. I didnt finish anything, but i wrote significantly more than in the past. I want to finish something  next year

17. started using reusable pens again. sadly the ink doesnt really work on some of my cheap notebooks... it leaks. But i do when i can

18. expanded and cleared my wardrobe. I love every single dress i have. I cant believe i really do have a full wardrobe of pretty dresses! its a dream that came true

19. shaved my eyebrow. they grew back darker. now i have visible eyebrows for the first time in my life

20. got a resuable shaving blade. it looks baddas and i have so many razors they will last me a lifetime

21. met the google car! cant wait to see myself on google street view.

22. i learned kanji like crazy, im over 1700 now. Thats enough for the n2 exam, i will try to take it in december next year

23. renovated my room and rearranged the furniture. It is now the cute pink room i wanted for some time. I got a cute carpet and a vanity table. I feel like a princess and for the first time i feel that all my belongings are in order

24. started studying and doing tarot. i got cards for birthday and got really into it

25. assembled a diy tiny doll room. It was fun! its like puzzles but 3d. Its not perfect but i really enjoyed it

26. seen Laura Makabresku exhibition in Sosnowiec. It was nice.

27. Seen tour de pologne race. kinda randomly, i didnt plan to, but it was nice

28. went to a watercolor class. i really enjoyed it!

29. survived the plague so far 

30. started counting calories again. in the past i did it to control, to restrict, and to punish. Now i just want to know

Ive tried new things. I wrote down every single one of them, even the tiniest: 1. kurtosz in both sweet and sour verson

2. Kitkat in the following tastes: melon, peanut butter, salt caramel, gold caramel, strwaberry, salty lemon

3. okonomiyaki

4. carrot kissiel

5. smoking . yes im doings some back to the teenage years things. it tasted like ashes. i still have some left i dont know what i will do with them

6. spring rolls /sajgonki

7. chinese take out fried pasta

8. dandelion and burdock tea

9. mushroom bun - a polish street food with pieczarrki

10. pancakes with juice instead of milk. kind of accidently but it is a thing

11. boiled corn

12. lavender lemonade

13. vegan subway

14. salty licorice

15. vegan sandwich from żabka

16. oyakata soy ramen

17. halvah wafffles

18. gingerbread twix

19. shampoo in a bar... like soap but its shampoo. very nice

20. tofubar

21. bora bora black tea that tastes like roses

22. chocolate coated ginger

23. flavored coffe: five flavour mix, marzepan, raspberry meringue

24. Visited a few new coffe shops and restaurants [sowa, we coffee, mont blanc, zicherka, pod prosiakiem, kaffka, zielona krowa, proper coffee, suzette, starbucks, coffee faza, pigal] and places [zamek sielecki, this one park that has no name but has rainbow lights]. It may seem insignificat but for me its a big deal to visit a new place even if its just a coffee shop.... and its stressful. so yes im proud of that

i must say that i changed. im not the same person anymore. ive grown, ive learned my wants and needs, i started giving myself what i want and what i need, and maybe even more importantly, ive stopped punishing myself. No more of that. I deserve everything and im gonna get it :)

#i hope the list next year is going to be longer!!!!! #with bigger dreams accomplished!!!! #elisabeth no hitokoto

[wavyhalu]

Turkish style sheets and pillow sheets🇹🇷❤️

And the blue one is the Amulet 🧿 in Turkey.

It’s so cute 🥰🥰

I need to get Turkish lamp 🪔 and magic carpets ✨🧞

[handmaderugoods]

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[iphoenixrising]

I said I was kind of going on a hiatus. Too many things in my brain pan, but I connected with such a wonderful person, @careamorran, and had to write a thing based on a spectacular piece of art :D The post is here, and I really just wanted a little fun and maybe a little angst ;)

**

The blast of sunlight in his eyes is the conscious train rolling down the track. You know, right at his face.

After his syrupy thoughts evaluated the stabbing to his eyes as something non-lethal, the need to throw something sharp and vaguely bat-shaped at the defenseless windows fades enough that he can squint at the alarm clock on the bedside table.

Dammit.

He and Jay have plans for the day. Partially because it’s been two years today, and since Jason Todd is actually a sentimental cinnamon roll underneath the intense murder you vibe, Tim had managed to wrangle his reluctant significant other into finally getting the new ident set-up. It’s been a long time coming, and they’ve been arguing on and off about seeing to the details for weeks.

(“Things like a driver’s license, Jay.”)

(A careless shrug with a mouth full of meatball sub, “I drive, Timmers. I drive all the time.”)

(“Legally. The key here is legally.”)

His boyfriend had finally caved for their anniversary, and Tim would be damned if they missed the opportunity because of a long night in Gotham’s seedy underworld.

(Black Mask? Totally an ass hat, and no, he gives no shits about ruining the guy’s night. Seriously, fuck him. Mask literally hit on the Red Hood, right in front of him.)

With a soft groan of the newly conscious, Tim sits up, still wavery, and in desperate need of caffeine.

Desperate. Need.

The yawn is jaw-cracking, and he’s already reaching over for the lump of still-snoozing, just a tuft of dark hair peeking out from under their fluffy comforter in Jay’s room at the Manor.

If he grins a little, thinking someone as bad ass as the Red Hood is incredibly cute, well, no one else would ever have to know.

“Jay,” his voice still husky is bordering on fond, “we should get up, it’s late.”

He’s expected the inevitable, “where’s m’ good morning kiss, Timmy?” and to be pulled back down because Jay is really just as bad as Dick when it comes to pre-consciousness cuddling.

The hand moving fast to grab his wrist, to stop him from making contact isn’t necessarily unexpected because of reasons like ingrained instincts and Robin training. The occasional accidental injuries aren’t anything new. At times, it might be things like terrible nightmares or remnants of the Lazarus Pit. On the flip side, it might be residual panic because instead of Kon or Bart or Steph or Bruce, it’s Jason spitting out a mouth full of blood and gripping his harness with wide eyes and stuttering heart.

“Hey, calm down, it’s just--”

And whatever he’d been about to say in the usual soothing way dies in his throat when Jay turns, still in the t-shirt he’d thrown in before they’d fallen into bed last night, and--

Tim’s eyes go wide in shock and surprise.

Who the fuck is in bed with me!?

The set of jawline and ensuing frown is so painfully familiar--

From that time when Tim was a kid with a camera and Robin dove in out of the night to save him from a thug.

A Robin in his prime.

A Robin that’s fifteen instead of twenty-five.

Holy shit, Batman.

“Oh…” is about all his half-wired brain can muster.

Those eyes, the same ones from the painting in the main hall that used to be one of his safe places, the eyes without the green flecks, take stock, roving over Tim’s sleep-mussed hair, his face, his bare throat and chest, his too-big boxers.

And something seems to click.

“WHAAT THE FUUUCK?!!”

Is about as horrified as you can imagine.

The ensuing fight is really anticlimactic. Jason has aged-down equivalently, so while he can still duck, dodge, and fight better than any average person, he doesn’t have memories further than now meanwhile Tim hasn’t lost an ounce of his edge.

“You need to calm it down, Robin,” he tries while blocking a punch that is decidedly lower than what he’s used to. Yeah, throwing out that little bombshell is really a 50/50, but nothing else he can possibly say would help either:

*I’m your boyfriend, and you will be seriously pissed at yourself if you hurt me.

*I was the Robin after you, promise.  I only got pants because those green panties were a hard ‘no.’

*You haven’t tried killing me in a whole year. Can we stop trying to break the record?

As it turns out, maybe he should have because those eyes go wide and the fight takes on a more desperate turn.

Well, fuck.

He catches the knee before it takes out his jaw, his suddenly longer reach catching the much smaller fist in the palm of his hand. “That’s enough, Jay. You’re going to--” get yourself hurt.

But the younger is panting and red-face, gritting his teeth with narrowed eyes, and an obvious plan in the works when he realizes he’s not going to beat Tim.

“Who,” and the tone isn’t as low and growling as the Red Hood, but it still jars Tim right in all the places where he’s still mesmerized by the second Robin, “the fuck are you and how didja find out?”

“You wouldn’t believe me if I told you, so I’m going to let Bruce and Dick fill you in,” he replies, easing back slowly.

The teenager’s eyes narrow in suspicion.

“How about this then: you hide books all over the Manor. Alfred found A Separate Peace, The Outsiders, 1984, To Kill a Mockingbird, and The Once and Future King just to name a few.” He leaves the ones he’s found off the list just because the memories of his post-Robin life are apparently gone, and Tim is in no hurry to fill him in on the horrific events starting with the trip to Ethiopia.

Jason’s mouth falls open in a little ‘o’ of shock.

“One more just so you feel better about this: the first time B got hurt, seriously hurt, defending you, you called Dick at Titan’s Tower in New York.” His hands up in that not dangerous pose, he eases just slightly closer, tilting his head to actually look down. “It was that time with Killer Croc and you were freaked out.”

“How--” the teenager struggles, blinking at him with those blue, blue eyes, all of it without the Pit’s influence riding him.

With that realization, a horrible kind of plan hits Tim right in the brain pan.

“I know you’re Robin, so there’s some evidence, Mister Junior Detective.”

Jay gives him a huffing sneer, “real wise ass, ain’t cha?”

“Learned from the best,” he deadpans with a sad half-smile and fond eyes, “So, I vote we go downstairs, find Alfred so I can have some coffee, and then Bruce so he can have a holy shit moment of his own.”

Still staring at him, still calculating the risks and possible nefarious plots afoot, Jason only follows because he’s planning the best way to take this guy he’d woken up with down (and maybe staring down at his ass) while they went down the grand staircase.

Luckily, as it happens to go in Wayne Manor, at least someone has the patience to deal with things like utter fuckery.

That person will always be Alfred Pennyworth.

“Good morning Master--”

If Tim wasn’t as light and fast on his feet, there would be a whole lot of smashed ceramic all over the floor.

“My-my word, Master...Master Jason?”

“Mornin’ Alf,” the teenager waves a little, grinning sheepishly. “Found Slick here runnin’ the halls, so’s I thought maybe ya know who he is.”

(Slick? Tim arches a brow at that because really)

Alfred blatantly looks over, immediately getting back his usual calm, cool, and collected. “I do hope the scuffle I heard upstairs did not result in any bloodshed on the Turkish carpets, Master Tim.”

“I’m hurt at your complete lack of faith in my kick-ass skills, Alfred,” he waves a hand on his way to the sideboard where wonderful things (like coffee, please, please, please give him coffee to be able to deal with this and what he should very much not tell Jason) waited. He pauses to get his thoughts together, makes a mental Venn Diagram of the potential backlash of both scenarios, and adds cream with a little sugar so he doesn’t down the first mug liked boiling lava.

“I’m Tim Drake. Nice to meet you, by the way. It’s much nicer when we’re not trying to kill each other,” and yeah, that’s Alfred clearing his throat just a little. “I’m also a vigilante, so of course I’ve heard of Robin,” luckily, the way to trip up Jason’s radar is to tell the lie with just enough truth mixed in, “and I do work with Batman sometimes on out-of-town cases. I also do data collection and reconnaissance for the Titans, who I’m sure you’ve at least met at this juncture.” First few desperate sips accomplished, he moves to take a spot at the table and wait until Jason warily joins him, scrappy and scrawny, eyes that take in everything.

And he moves lighter on his feet, without a hell of a lot of burdens and probably a mass of missing scars from things like crowbars and insane psychopaths that deal in megalomaniacal delusions of grandeur. It’s a Jason Tim’s only known with a mask, and it’s a rough moment to stop himself from reaching out across the table to grip those twitchy fingers, but all he can do is swallow his heart back down in the vicinity of his chest, glance at Alfred with a little Batanese using just his eyebrows.

Without giving the his younger boyfriend an opportunity to ask, he cuts in with, “occasionally, B lets me stay over when a case gets...rough. It was last night anyway. I’m sorry I surprised you, but I’d been awake for about seventy-odd hours by then, so I was pretty compromised.”

Pretty much all true.

During the distraction, Alfred turns to busy himself at the sideboard. A glow in Tim’s peripheral is probably the butler texting the fam. B, Come downstairs immediately; Damian, please do not yet come downstairs. I shall bring breakfast up straight away. Dick, your presence would be appreciated at the Manor. It seems we have a situation. To make it a little more obvious he’s being serious, Alfred completely takes advantage of a displaced Jason, too busy staring Tim down from across the table, to snap a discreet picture to follow-up all those texts.

A fresh glass of juice and a side cup of coffee makes some of the tension ease from Jay’s shoulders, “sounds pretty stupid, you feel me? First rule of being a cape: take care a’ yerself. What we got against these crazy assholes? At the end of the day, it’s yer fists and yer brains, so ya gotta make sure ya got enough in ya ta take the beating.”

And it’s a fifteen-year-old Jason pointing a finger at him around his juice and all mock-serious, which it totally why he starts laughing without snorting coffee up his nose. Points for him.

“You are terrible at mocking B in lecture-mode. Terrible,” he shakes his head a little once he’s sure he isn’t going to choke, “more practice, okay? You’ll totally get there, but don’t think you’re ever beating out Dick. He is the official runner-up in the Best Dad Lecture category.”

A heartbeat and Jason starts to crack a grin, laughing out loud in that younger voice, the blue of his eyes without the Pit lingering, without the grim realizations of the day he’s going to die (again). He’s so heartbreakingly innocent of it all (and Tim just wonders how Bruce is going to take this because things like tears and BatDad are going to go down soon--he can feel it).

So by the time Alfred emerges from the kitchen with warm eggs and fluffy waffles, the tension has eased down between the former Robins by the way they throw stories back and forth.

“Yer kiddin’ me,” Jason deadpans back.

“All true, I swear. Freeze and Ivy watched him bust his bat ass--”

“Y’know, there was one time he fell through a crappy roof right inta a ladies’ shower, right?”

“I’m sorry what now?”

“That ain’t what she was thinking, Timmy. Just takin’ a shower and boom, there’s the Bat admiring the decor an’ shit.”

The mental image is enough to get him started all over again, laughing while huddled over his precious, beautiful coffee and lost staring at the fucking beautiful sight of his younger, unburdened significant other. Even better, more evidence in favor of the formulating plan clicks into place with Jason’s easy laugh and wild gestures. But it all comes down to basic facts: fifteen or twenty-five, this is the crazy idiot he loves. And if this is a golden opportunity to give the guy a second chance, one without the Joker and ticking bombs, without being buried alive, and thrown in the Lazarus Pit, it might well be worth the effort.

#based on fanart #love this panel #thank-you for letting me write something! #tim drake #jason todd #de-aged Jason! #someday I'll write more about Jason patrolling as Robin #you know B has BatDad feels #my fic #my writing

[ellennichoksmk619]

15 Spectacular Home Decor Ideas Hallway Prodigious Ideas

Cute Home Decor

Discover all the details about vintage Turkish rugs! Learn how to layer your Kilim rug on carpet, where to find them, how they're cleaned, dyed and more!

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[amyfichtneywdy072]

15 Spectacular Home Decor Ideas Hallway Prodigious Ideas

Cute Home Decor

Discover all the details about vintage Turkish rugs! Learn how to layer your Kilim rug on carpet, where to find them, how they're cleaned, dyed and more!

#15 Spectacular Home Decor Ideas Hallway Prodigious Ideas #Diy Home Decor

[ardellvandaitu150]

15 Spectacular Home Decor Ideas Hallway Prodigious Ideas

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Discover all the details about vintage Turkish rugs! Learn how to layer your Kilim rug on carpet, where to find them, how they're cleaned, dyed and more!

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[keeleyuntayjvo452]

15 Spectacular Home Decor Ideas Hallway Prodigious Ideas

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Discover all the details about vintage Turkish rugs! Learn how to layer your Kilim rug on carpet, where to find them, how they're cleaned, dyed and more!

#15 Spectacular Home Decor Ideas Hallway Prodigious Ideas #Metricon Homes Interiors

[karryterpshqkf320]

15 Spectacular Home Decor Ideas Hallway Prodigious Ideas

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Discover all the details about vintage Turkish rugs! Learn how to layer your Kilim rug on carpet, where to find them, how they're cleaned, dyed and more!

#15 Spectacular Home Decor Ideas Hallway Prodigious Ideas #Contemporary Home Decor