#All Patrons Is Can Cause Problems. All Patrons Is Welcome

[2percentsugar]

am also a library worker and would like to cosign this with the addition that: even when homeless patrons cause a problem, so what? don't you have moments in your day where you pace, scream, or cry? don't you have a private place in which to do it?

for many of my library's homeless patrons, the library is their private place. it is either unsafe or uncomfortable to express the worst of their emotions outside, so they reserve a study room or go to the bathroom, because those are places they can be alone for free. wouldn't you have some pretty ugly emotions if you didn't have a home to go back to?

it is true that the 1% of homeless patrons who cause a problem are usually much more cooperative with staff than housed ppl doing the same. but even if they weren't. even if that number was 10% or higher. even if you think that someone sleeping in the library is reprehensible. they have to go somewhere, and if the library is not somewhere, then what's the fucking point?

my coworkers in public safety see, at least, an overdose a day. it's pretty common toward the beginning and end of the day, and certain bathrooms they patrol more often than others for this reason. but, crucially, most of those ODs survive. they're found right away and get the medical help they need. if the library -- which to be clear, is the last public space they can even be -- didn't allow them in, they would die.

don't get me wrong. it's fucking absurd that library workers are the last line of defense here, when social workers or shelters should be adequately funded to provide better help than we can. but the solution to that is not taking away the last line of defense for an entire group of people. even if some of them do disruptive things.

if you dislike seeing homeless people sleeping in the library, you should join the local fight for housing justice. i can promise you there is already organizing in your city, and that it'll do a hell of a lot more good than yelling at library workers about the smelly guy muttering to himself.

cos, listen. even if we kick him out, he still exists. he's still your neighbor, your community member, and a human fucking being. and where else is he going to go, except the library?

A question I get asked a lot while working at a public library is "how do you deal with homeless people?"

And the answer is, we don't.

The unhoused people who come here seeking refuge 99% of the time understand that they will be kicked out if they misbehave.

The people you have to watch out for are Jessica, who only came because the kid she didn't want had to visit for a homework assignment and she just *needs* to yell at her child for asking to borrow two books or stay an extra five minutes, or Michael, who came in to look at porn on our computers for whatever fucking reason, or Karen who just wanted to come by to throw a fit that the particular book she wanted was checked out and harrass our staff about our collection being too limited.

99% of the time, the people we need to ban are middle to upper-middle class white people while the homeless and mentally ill/disabled people mind their own damn business and are honestly some of the best patrons we have.

[writingmysanity]

Commit to the Bit (2)

Pairing: Sanji x Fem!baker

Word count: 4445

TW: slight violence. Jeff is a jerk and Sanji kicks him out... literally. Peter is an angel.

AN: Sorry this took so long to get out! Holiday, Family, Kids field trips, unplanned.. everything. Of course it all happens at once lol. There *will* be a part 3. Thank you so much for all of the love on part one, it really brings me so much joy to know you guys love them as much as I do.

<<part one part three>>

========

Morning comes sooner than you wished it to, earning a soft groan as you roll yourself out of bed. The far too close cry of your neighbor's rooster, who you've found often decides to scream whenever it pleases, startles you as it stands outside of your window as it does every morning. Yelping, you slip from the side, landing painfully on your butt as your blankets fumble to the floor around you.

For a moment, there is silence as he peers in the window, eyes locked on you as you stare back, eyes heavy with sleep.

“Can I not have one morning of peace?” you growl out, narrowing your eyes. At this, the creature squawks at you before bounding off from the ledge. As if congratulating itself on a job well done, you can hear it babbling to itself all the way back to its coop. Huffing, you push yourself to your feet slowly, tossing your blankets back onto the bed before moving to get your day started. 

It isn't long before you are standing before the bakery, keys in your hand, limbs heavy with the sleep you wish you had gotten. The warm night does nothing to aid in waking your sleeping thoughts, your body moving purely on auto pilot. 

“Good morning,” you hum to the body waiting for you by the door as you approach. “You’re on time.” you can't say you aren't surprised. This is an ungodly hour to most on a good day, but you had stayed up entirely too late the night before, conspiring with the strawhats on how this will play out, and what the plan will be. 

He seems almost offended that you expected him to be late, but sighs. 

“I get up this early every day,” he grouches a bit, pressing the door open once you unlock it, motioning for you to go in first as he holds it open. You pause, offering him a small, sleepy smile. 

“Thank you.” your voice is barely above a whisper, but you know he can hear you. He nods with a small smile of his own. 

“You’re welcome,” he says quietly back as you both wander into the bakery. You automatically start into your morning chores – sweeping, placing the chairs down from the table tops, wiping down the countertops. Sanji falls into step around you, helping you settle the heavier things properly, even if you didn't need the help. He just waved off your protests on being able to do it yourself with a smile. 

“Just because you can do it by yourself, doesn't mean that you should.” he stated clearly after Angie had left for the morning, as if it had been the most obvious thing in the world. Without another word, he moves to wipe down the various panes of glass around the shop, muttering about dirty pirates leaving scuff marks. 

As the morning drags on, his quiet quips continue, each one earning a huff from you as you work to keep your laughter to yourself. Though, the shake of your shoulders gives you away each time. 

You don't catch the way his eyes light up at the motion until later. 

Sanji is, of course, wonderful in the kitchen. You had hoped as much after learning about his culinary roots. This, of course, caused a slight problem for you both as you had to utter a sentence you never thought you'd have to say as you eye the way Marines continue to hover outside your door.

“Ruin the pastry, Rudy,” you hiss quietly at him when a few patrons come barreling through the doors. Sanji looked how you felt – scandalized. It hurts your heart to think of the wasted dough, but you have already put entirely too much into this bit. The unfortunate truth being, you can't let his own talent ruin it. He is still standing at his post in the kitchen, dumb founded, when you are whisked away to fill more orders. 

“Hello!” you sing everytime. “Welcome in.” 

You can feel his eyes on you, though you ignore the sensation. On more than one occasion, he has meekly brought you a ruined platter, eyes large and upset. You know he is upset at having to ruin a dish, something he never thought he would aim to do in his wildest dreams. In fact, it seems he is currently living his worst nightmare. Yet, he sells it well, whispering apologies when he “thinks” the current patron isn't paying attention. 

“What did I do wrong on this one?” he sighs, knowing full well what went wrong. 

Sabotage. 

The customer before you is quick to assure him with a smile. “It takes time, young man,” she states clearly, her smile turning teasing as her eyes turn to you. “You should have witnessed the dishes this one was turning out when she first started.” flushing, you wave her off with a pout.

“We don't talk about my apprentice days,” you huff, looking down at the pastry. Sanji does his best to keep the amusement from his expression. “I'll meet you in the kitchen here in just a moment and we can figure it out together” you offer patiently. He just nods, ducking back into the kitchen with one final glance at you that you don't catch, but your customer does. 

“But of course,” she muses, eyes twinkling in the bright morning light. “He’d perhaps make fewer mistakes if he could keep his eyes on what he is doing.” you raise an eyebrow at her as you finish wrapping her pastries. 

“Hm?” she just snickers. 

“It’d take a blind man to miss how he looks at you dear,” she hums delightedly. “And dare I say, you could do so much worse.” her tone turns almost sour as Jeff walks through the door, earning an amused huff from you as you hand her the wrapped package. 

“Thank you, Marie. It is always a pleasure to see you,” you say softly as she places a hand over yours with a wink and a nudge towards the kitchen before she turns to glower at the tall man standing behind her attempting to earn your attention through his normal antics. The huffs and whines do little but irritate you as he continues to wait impatiently, scuffing his boots on the panels that Sanji had painstakingly cleaned that morning. 

Oh he was going to hate that.

Marie stalls as long as she can, a mischievous smile stretched across her face as she listens to Jeff’s attempts to gather your attention to him grow louder and more frequent. You continue to answer her questions, your own amusement sparkling in your eyes as you watch her enjoy herself in irritating the man. 

“Well,” she finally calls slightly louder than she had been talking, after killing another five or so minutes asking various questions about the cooking processes and local yields. “You have been so hospitable, dear.” she hums happily, listening to Jeff grunt behind her in irritation. Even he wouldn't be rude enough to cut the woman off, being one of the few local elders left on the island. “Thank you for indulging an old lady.” 

You smile brightly, nodding to her, laughing softly. 

“You are always welcome, Marie.” you state softly. “Any of your curiosities, I am always happy to indulge in.”

Jeff, surprisingly, waits until she is out of the door before approaching the counter. His face is contorted somewhere between elation and mild annoyance, his smile twisting slightly as he says nothing at first. 

When you don't move to grab anything, he huffs. 

“Are you not going to get my order?” you raise an eyebrow at his tone, rough and harsher than usual as his smile twists down slightly. 

“You haven't ordered anything yet,” you answer, voice tight. You're proud of yourself when you manage to keep the smile on your face. 

“I order the same thing every time,” he insists, the elation falling from his face as the annoyance twists at his brows.

“I figured you wanted to try something new after not even touching the tart I fed you yesterday.” you raise an eyebrow. He may irritate you, but you haven't ever done more than turn down his advances and do your job. Perhaps it is your own restlessness of the situation you have put yourself in, the exhaustion from your late night, or the fact that he has spent the better part of the last 10 minutes acting like a spoiled child, but you can't seem to find it in you to placate his feelings at the moment. You watch as his jaw tightens, his eyes narrowing for a moment in thought. 

That would be a fair assessment for any other person, he deems. But you should know better.

And to be fair, you do. But you can't find it in you to care. 

“My normal,” he grouches, setting the coins on the counter top this time. The piles leave his hand, only half of them stacking into the nice piles he normally leaves while the rest skitter across the glass top. “Please.” he adds almost as an afterthought as he turns to settle into his seat next to the window. 

Without much more thought, you move to fill his order – a cup of coffee and a strawberry tartlet. 

The movements are almost routine, fluid in a way that is born out of years of repeated motion and muscle memory. Like every other day, you can feel his eyes on you, tracing your every move. Swallowing your urge to wretch, like you do every time, you turn with a small smile, moving to his side, placing his order before him. 

“Here you go,” you state, immediately moving to turn and walk away. Instead, like many times before, his fingers wrap around your wrist, keeping you from leaving his side. 

“When are you going to stop playing hard to get?” his earlier irritation bleeds through, though much more pronounced. The sting of being ignored and your general lack of excitement to see him finally coming to a head in his mind. When you move to pull your hand from his hold, his fingers tighten painfully, earning a small yelp. The noise startles him enough that his grip loosens just enough for you to snatch it from his hold, cradling it to your chest. 

“That hurt,” you hiss, rubbing the tender muscles there. The noise, unfortunately, caught the attention of the blond in the kitchen because he is coming out of the doors, concerned words dying on his lips, as Jeff is starting in on his response. 

“It's your own fault,” he snarls, reaching for you again. “If you'd just stop with your games, I would have already had you in my bed.” This time, his hand is knocked away as Sanji wedges himself between the two of you. 

“That is no way to talk to a lady,” the taller man growls, the timbre reverberating in his chest as he simultaneously presses closer to Jeff and gently pushes you further behind him, the heat of his glare making you shudder. Jeff is halfway to his feet when he recognizes the man before him, though sanji doesn't seem to care about that fact at the moment. If looks could kill, Jeff would have been obliterated several times over, seared into the earth with nothing more than ash left to be whisked away by the wind accompanied by the memory of his existence.

“I refuse to take advice from a pirate,” he spits the word, tone dripping with poison. “This matter doesn't concern you.” 

“Not a pirate,” you grouse, trying in your own stupor to keep up the charade. 

“You made it my business when you hurt her,” Sanji’s voice is steady, the chill of his words seeming to lower the temperature of the building, making you shiver. Nose to nose, neither man seems to want to back down. And you are quite certain of who would win, given it became physical. 

“Rudy,” you rasp, tugging at his arm lightly. “He isn't worth it.” you can already feel the emotions bubbling up. The pain in your wrist is little more than a dull throb, but you find it doesn't bother you nearly as much as the thought of the man in front of you getting hurt, or worse, killed, because of the trust fund man-baby before him. 

He allows you to tug him back, his eyes never straying from Jeff’s as he steps back enough to allow the man passage towards the door. Jeff snorts a laugh, lips tugging up in a mocking smirk. 

“Listening to a woman,” he huffs, shaking his head. “How pathetic.”

“Not nearly as pathetic as being unable to take the word no the first time,” Sanji bites back, lips curling into a smile, though it reads much more as a warning. His snarl hardens the gesture far too much for it to be anything but a threat. “At least I don't need to lay hands on a woman to prove I'm a man.” 

Slowly, then all at once. 

You almost don't see the way Jeff’s arm raises, his fist making contact with Sanji’s chin, a snarl on his lips. Automatically, you swing between them, a hand coming to rest on each of their chests in a weak attempt to separate them. Sanji does nothing to push past you, but Jeff tries to lunge forward again. His weight agitates your injured wrist, a resounding yelp tearing through the otherwise silent space. Without warning, you are moved. Sanji’s arm wraps around your shoulders as he brings you securely into his side. 

Before Jeff is able to make a move again, Sanji growls, kicking his body away from you. 

“Get out,” even Jeff is able to read the warning in his words, the unspoken promise lying just underneath, as his body crashes to the floor. He skitters through the door, not bothering to look back. Sanji doesn't move for several moments after the glass stops shaking from the force of the way Jeff had slammed it in his haste. It Isn't until you move to pull away from him that he stops glaring at the door, his arm tightening slightly over your shoulders for a moment before he relaxes enough for you to take a step back. 

When you move to reach for his face, the angry mark already beginning to blister purple and blue, he takes your hand gently with a shake of his head. 

“I am fine.” he insists, gently tugging your injured wrist into his hand. He cringes when you whimper at his tug, immediately apologizing. His fingers are gentle as he inspects it. “It isn't broken.” he states quietly, thumb rubbing soothing circles just below the blooming bruises of your own. 

“That’s something, I suppose,” you sigh, bringing your wrist to your chest again, cradling it there. He nods with a frown, gently ushering you into the seat as he busies himself with going to find the first aid kit he saw in the kitchen earlier that morning. You had barely enough time to fully process that he was gone before he was back, kneeling before you. Flipping the lid open, he rummages around until he finds some wrap he deems sturdy enough. 

“May I?” 

You don't hesitate to rest your wrist in his hands, watching quietly as he wraps it slowly. He is careful to keep it from being too tight, but tight enough to give the support you need. It's silent for several moments before he speaks up again. 

“How long has he been bothering you?” sighing heavily, you lean back in the seat, twisting your arm to inspect his handy work. It's clean, precise, and obviously well practiced. You don't look at him as you trace over the bandages, barely able to even feel the pressure of your fingertips through the wrap. 

“Years,” you admit. “Though, this is the first time he has gotten so physical.” 

He is silent as you sit there, allowing the moment to swallow you whole. You had never broached the subject with anyone, not even your father. Deep down, you knew it wasn't just Jeff’s forward tendencies or childish ways that made you uncomfortable. Sure, they didn't help, but they weren't the reason for placating the man's feelings for all this time. 

There was always a threat, a quiet red flag waving in the distance in the back of your mind when you were alone with him. 

Sanji doesn't say anything, he doesn't push where he already knows the answer. Sighing, he offers you a smile, soft and kind – heavy with understanding. And you hate it. 

“Perhaps you can help me understand what I did wrong with that pastry now?” he offers, standing slowly, offering you the hand that isn't holding the first aid kit. He is offering you a distraction, a way out of the spiraling thoughts weighing on you. Sighing, you nod.

“Okay.”

================

The rest of the day is calm, if not slightly awkward. Customer after customer filing in, seeing both of your states and immediately trying to figure out what happened and who would do such a thing. 

Some routine customers, patrons who live on the island, many are pirates who Sanji is heavily debating on if he should feed them Jeff’s name to let them deal with him. You are beloved, more so than you seem to realize as you just file around with a smile.

“Who did it?” one pirate asks, gruff and glowering as his eyes narrow on your wrist. As if sensing the topic, your head whips around, eyes zeroing in on Sanji with a slight pinch to them – a quiet warning that neither man misses. The pirate snorts, taking the neatly wrapped package from Sanji sending the blond man a motion. 

Later. 

Because of your wrist, Sanji has taken to doing all of the wrapping. And the lifting. And the stirring. 

At one point, you find yourself sitting and pouting at the counter like a dejected child. Your regulars chuckle at your antics, watching and admiring how well Sanji seems to have picked up the slack, swirling around you like a one man band.

He's doing the cooking, cleaning, baking – with your careful instruction – and often tending to the customers while you sit and watch. You hate how flawlessly he takes over, turning the quiet, calm atmosphere into something much more lively and brilliant. A change that many seem more than happy to lean into. His energy is quite infectious, despite the deep love for your gentle, quiet, care. 

One 

He counts to himself as he spins from one table to the other, placing a plate before the patrons with a grin and flourish as he spins away. 

Two

He sends a smile and a non-committal wink to the lovely older woman before him, earning a girlish giggle from her. The attention makes her feel the need to smooth her hair back, to check to make sure her appearance is in order. He and her husband chuckle as he sends the man a nod – a silent gesture that he means no harm. The older man just grins. 

“Blushing, honey?” The comment deepens her flush, earning a whack and a jovial laugh from the three of them. 

Three 

He finds himself nearly spinning himself into the wall to keep from toppling on top of the over exuberant body that flings through your door. Laughter echoes around you from the various tables as Sanji sputters to a stop with a confused pinch of his brows, and Peter finally finds himself settled before you with a grin. Laughing along with them, you put your hands out to steady the small body. 

“Peter!” you laugh, allowing the boy to fall into your arms happily. “You’re early for lunch” you coo. He tries his best to look sheepish, though it falls short. You don't catch how Sanji softens at your exchange with the small boy, already on your feet to gather the things you had been working on all morning. 

It had been the one thing you had been absolutely insistent on that you be the one to work on. 

Peter stands there politely, his arms pinned firmly behind his back, though the stance does little to distract from the way his body seems to vibrate from its need for movement. Smiling to himself, Sanji watches him try so hard not to move – to be good. He was always rewarded when he was good. Shifting before the counter, Sanji starts to help pack the items you bring to the front, humming happily. 

Peter is silent as he watches you both work together, a fact that you nearly comment on until he opens his mouth. His eyes flit between sanji and yourself before he speaks, a frown on his face, as if he is concentrating too hard.

“Are you her husband?” The question startles you both, and earns sharp laughter from the older couples lingering at the tables. Both of you are gapping at him, trying to find your answers to such a simple question.

“No, He’s-” you begin.

“I’m not-” Sanji starts, both of you fumbling over the quick denials. Peter doesn't concern himself with your obviously flustered states, eyes zeroing in on your wrist and Sanji’s jaw. 

“Who hurt you?” he asks bluntly. “Do I need to put a wanted poster back up?” The comment earns a harsh snort from Sanji, who in reality would love to make sure a poster for the overly confident, and abusive, merchant. But you won't let him, for whatever reason. He watches you retrieve a tartlet that you had set aside earlier, choosing to ignore Peter’s insistent gaze and his very blunt line of questioning. 

“Here.” you grumble, shoving the sweet thing into his hands. 

Almost immediately, he seems to drop the line of questioning, eager to shove his reward in his mouth, strawberry filling being smeared against his cheek. Laughing softly, you reach up to swipe the mess from his cheek, wiping it on your apron. 

“Messy boy,” you hum sweetly, earning a blinding smile from Peter, and unbeknownst to you, Sanji. “Come now,” you state, clapping your hands to your thighs to gather his attention again when it drifts to the pirate standing beside the counter. “I am sure your mother is hungry, as well.” Peter just grins, nodding quickly. 

“She loves your food.” he agrees, lifting his hand to present some berry to you. The same berry he has been trying to bully into your hands everyday for the last year, judging by the familiar tears. Shaking your head, you curl his fingers back around the money, ruffling his hair with love. 

“No,” you state simply, handing him the bag. He pouts a bit, shoving it back in his pocket.

“Tomorrow,” he huffs. You laugh, ignoring the pointed looks from those around you. Repeat customers know better, their eyes downcast though they do nothing to hide their smiles. Newer groups do little to hide their curious gazes. 

“We will see, little one. Now, off you go.” he just nods, taking off out of the door, though more carefully as to keep from spilling any of the food. In silence, you watch him go, smiling as he disappears into his mother’s shop. 

“You feed them,” Sanji comments softly after a moment. Blinking, you shrug, turning to take the remainder of what couldnt fit in the pack back to the kitchen. Sanji glances around, ensuring that everyone is cared for. No one seems to want to rock the gentle bubble created. 

They loved your gentle loving care. 

Without thought, he follows you into the kitchen, your voice barely reaching his ears as you busy yourself with tidying up. 

“Sometimes,” you agree. He watches you, Peter’s last comment echoing in his mind. 

Tomorrow.

“Daily,” he corrects you, his tone gentle. You pause, nose twitching, eyes narrowing – immediately on the defensive. 

“Listen,” you grouch, turning to glare at him, your ire catching him off guard. His hands lift quickly, hoping to show you that he means no harm, but you continue ranting though your irritation seems to fade. “If you're going to lecture me about business practices, making money or anything else – save it.” you sigh. 

“I didn't intend to do any such thing,” he assures you slowly, moving to take the knife from your hand, setting it back in the sink. You turn to face him more, arms crossed as you lean back against the counter. He doesn't force himself any closer, in fact, he backs off some, resting his hips to the other counter across from you. 

“What is your point, then, Rudy?” he snorts, his smile easing some of the tension in your shoulders. 

“How long?” he asks after a moment. You pause. 

“A year,” you sigh. “Maybe longer, at this point. I'm not sure.” he just nods. You expect many things, many questions. Why? What's the point? Why not make more money? Sell it at a discount. Poor business strategy. 

You weren't expecting the softness in his eyes, nor the gentleness of his touch when his hands settle on your shoulders, a quiet intensity burning in his eyes as he bends to maintain eye contact as he speaks. 

“What you're doing for them,” he starts slowly, as if trying to find the right words to convey how he feels. He struggles to find the words he wants –  his large vocabulary, the flowery words he peppers into every conversation, the seemingly endless stream of compliments. They all seem too small, too insignificant for how he's feeling, so he settles on, “it matters.” The sincerity behind the words startles you. 

Swallowing the emotion building in your chest, you force a smile, hand moving to rest over his as your head thumps to rest against his chest. You find yourself unable to take staring into the depths of his eyes any longer. The emotions swimming there crashing like a storm at sea, washing over you with their intensity. 

“It doesn't feel like it's enough,” you whisper, words thick as you hold back your tears, clutching at his shirt, an anchor in your storm. His arms shift from your shoulders to wind around your waist, tugging you deeper into his warmth, his chin coming to rest on top of your head. 

“I assure you,” he murmurs, flashes of Zeff and that blasted rock flickering behind his eyelids, a distant memory fading to various shades of gray where it had once been so vibrant. The only thing still flickering in color is Zeff before him, like a scene from an old movie. “It's everything.” 

==========

tag list: @fanaticsnail @sordidmusings @gingernut1314 @stray-kaz @short-honey-badger @ren-ni @rustypotatospork @@katiemrty @team--edward @gothgirl13 @terarria-sunflower

[augustinescruelsummer]

SPILT | CP10

IN WHICH Christian has to learn how to properly communicate and control his insecurities, or else he risks losing his favorite girl.

Christian Pulisic x F!Reader (She/Her)

WC: 3.6k (got carried away. sometimes I like writing.)

GENRE: angst -> fluff (my fav genre)

INCLUDES: jealousy (christian), odd dude, christian struggles to communicate his feelings, happy ending, reader puts christian in his place, healthy resolution of an argument, curse words

CLINK. The glass goes flying to the ground before her hand can reach out to grab it, the pieces splintering onto the hardwood floor. A gasp comes from the bartender at the mess. Her smile fades quickly, staring blankly down at the hazardous shards under her feet. She swallows nervously at the sharp cut edges enveloping her.

“I am so sorry,” the apologies begin flowing out of her mouth as the ongoing patrons turn their heads curiously at the commotion. Her head begins to go dizzy at all the attention. The spilt drink’s owner, a slim-built boy with a polo shirt and khakis, looks at her unaffected by the debacle.

“It’s seriously not a problem,” he says, his squeaky voice greasing her axnieties into a higher gear. She hops off her chair, crouching down to attempt to grab the pieces into her hand, refusing to get caught in a trap by a trust fund baby. The sliver of flirtation in his tone was causing her hot temper to flare alongside the boiling anxiety.

“Hey, hey!” The boy says pointedly, “Don’t do that. You’ll cut your hand open, we can’t have that.” He places a greasy hand onto her shoulder, the action causing her shoulder’s to jolt forward at the unwelcome touch. Her mind was racing over the spilt glass, her anxiety doing its best to remain present. Her mind was swimming of outlandish theories. Was the bartender going to banish her permanently? Would Chris be mortified if he saw the mess she made at his favorite celebration spot?

She had gotten here early to surprise him, after he informed her the team was going out to his favorite bar to celebrate his game-winning goal in overtime. She had watched from home, her heart beating like a drum as he the ball soared into the net at the last second, the camera catching a joyous Christian, the sight her favorite thing in the whole world. Greasy-hand waves his hands around frantically to call a busser over to aid with the cleanup, suddenly deciding to be concerned with the glass splitting open her fingers. She rolls her eyes at the action, he had spent the last three minutes ogling her form crouched over said glass. Probably a good thing it's on the ground now. Karma?

The female bartender manages to calm her down, informing her she would not, in fact, be removed from the bar for a simple accident. One that truly was not her fault. “He should have known better than to sneak up on you like a creep,” the bartender had added when she explained how it happened.

Greasy-Hand had decided to stop ogling and make his way over to her, placing his glass down in front of her by reaching over unexpectedly, without the slightest introduction. The random touch (sound familiar with this dude?) had caused her to send the glass flying onto the ground. She watched nervously as the kind woman swept the glass pieces up, sending warm smiles and reassurances as she huddled by the crime scene. Her nails were bitten down to the cuticle from the anxiety of the situation. She had completely zoned out in her own world, meaning she was unaware to the greasy hand lurking on her shoulder. The hand sent incredibly (un)welcoming feelings down her back, causing shivers to go down her spine at the circles being drawn, snapping her out of her trance. She removed the hand with a frown, looking into Greasy-Hand’s eyes. The notion made her miss Christian dearly, hoping he would walk into the door at any minute and put her frantic worrying to rest. 

Christian was yet to show up, and she sat at the bar with a downturned frown staring into the abyss of her whiskey glass. She unlocked her phone once again as Greasy-Hand jabbered on, searching for a sign from Christian. No texts, no calls.

“Excuse me,” she told Greasy-Hand without looking up from her phone, sliding off her barstool and into the bathroom. Her eyes were glued to her phone as she made her way into the women's restroom at the end of the hall. She didn’t even care if he was still in the middle of a sentence, the overwhelming fear that Christian had curved her was overwhelming. Was he leaving her? Her last message sat there, read.

From: Chris&lt;3

The team is going to The Hook soon. Potentially see you within the hour?

To: Chris&lt;3

Kk! See you soon!

Her message sat there delivered from two hours ago, the receipts showing he had read it thirty minutes following send. She locked her phone and fixed her hair in the mirror, hoping she didn’t look as anxious as she felt. Busying her hands with retucking her Pulisic jersey into her bra, she thought about her game plan. She was going to march out of this bathroom, turn Greasy-Hand down, and take her ass home to cry at Christian’s inability to properly communicate. Right. Sounds like a plan.

She swung the door open with a newfound confidence, finding Greasy-Hand still lurking by the bar. He was beginning to start rambling again, but she held a hand up, not allowing him to continue. 

“Look, I appreciate you looking after me when the glass shattered, but I’ve been stood up by my own boyfriend. I appreciate your rambling company while it lasted.”

What the fuck was that, she thought, that was so unsmooth.

Greasy-Hand, once again, placed that chilling hand on her shoulder and began another ramble about how happy he was to be able to fill Christian’s shoes. Which was not at all what she had just told him. Clearly he had missed the point.

“New couple alert?” A rich voice asks loudly as he approached the bar, irises darkened, locked in onto the greasy hand stealing the soul out of the circulation in her shoulder. Her stomach dropped at the sight of Christian, in his trousers and Team USA t-shirt pressed perfectly to him, an angry expression plastered on his beautiful face. She tried to communicate with her eyes, signaling nonverbally to the hand on her shoulder. Christian, in his immature fit, completely ignores the signs and continues to comment, his notorious green streak coming out mercilessly.

“I wish,” Greasy-Hand says to Christian, not realizing his importance in her life. She grimaces internally at his comment, hoping the bar floor would open up and swallow her whole. She would never have to face this level of embarrassment ever again. Christian sends him a tight lipped smile, leaning against the bar casually. “She’s quite the flirt, isn’t she?” He says to Greasy-Hand cooly, looking straight through her. The dropped stomach bottoms out, her blood turning cold at his insinuation. He slides his card across the hardwood to the awaiting bartender. She attempts to push his hand off her shoulder harshly, expression fading as he clamps it back down.

Christian, observing the struggle sharply, suddenly kicks back into a conscious state of mind, not consumed by his childish fit of jealous rage. “Let her go,” he barks angrily at the knockoff frat boy. He pockets his wallet before crossing over to the pair with two strides. Greasy-Boy grins wickedly, “I thought you were encouraging me to have a turn, though?” He spits mockingly at Christian, tightening the arm and pulling her into his sweaty body. Her face contorts with uncomfortable panic, Christian recognizing the signs of an upcoming panic attack. “I’ll split your fucking skull if that hand isn’t removed in five seconds,” he says calmly, grabbing his drink from the bartender without letting up eye contact. Greasy-Hand’s face pales, suddenly clicking the name on the back of her jersey and the man in front of him’s connection together. “That’s what I thought,” he smiles mockingly as the scared-shitless boy busies himself to the other corner of the bar.

Christian opens his mouth to being apologizing for his behavior, watching as she stares up at him with a blank expression, riddled with anxiety behind it. She doesn’t give him the chance, shoving off the hand encased over hers. “No boyfriend of mine will ever disrespect me like that!” She tells him, staring him daggers as her heel spins and marches towards the bar entrance. The cold air hits her the moment she steps outside, ignoring the calls of Christian after her. She manages to lose him during the short trip to their temporary flat, only a half mile away. She angrily twists the key into the lock, flinging it open. She knows Christian is not far behind her, because he never lets her walk home by herself at night, no matter how angry he is. She throws her shoes haphazardly, grabbing a fork and ice cream pint before marching up the stairs. The door opens hurriedly as she reaches the top of the stairs, making a dramatic show of slamming their bedroom door closed and locking it after.

He reaches the door in a matter of seconds, banging on the door to announce his presence. How kind. 

“Open the fucking door, baby.” 

She snorts internally at his false change of heart, opting not to respond. Secretly, she already is beginning to fold in her independent stride just by thinking about the tight fitted jersey. She stabs her utensil into the ice cream, letting out a groan when realizing she had grabbed a fork. “I know you’re in there,” he adds after hearing, to which she rolls her eyes. Can men just go away sometimes? “I don’t want to speak to you, Christian,” she says through gritted teeth, suddenly more concerned with how she was going to eat this ice cream with a fork. 

She thought he had gone away due to his silence, giving her peace to weigh the consequences of shoving her hands into the tub. Suddenly, the door knob began to shake and in comes her (not) knight in shining armor. 

“Did you just pick our fucking lock?!” She asks inquisitively, adding unsafe bedroom lock to her ongoing list of problems. 

“I’ll fix it later,” he shrugs nonchalantly, strolling his way into the bedroom like he owns the place. Well, I mean.

“That’s not really the issue here,” she sits up, waving her fork in his direction for emphasis, “what the hell am I going to do when someone breaks into the house and kills me because our LOCK can be picked with a hair pin.” 

Christian softly chuckles at the aggressive change in subject stealing the opportunity to come stand in front of her. “I’d be awake and ready to slaughter them before they even reached your side of the bed, sweetheart.” He softly runs his knuckles down her cheek, his thumb stroking her jawline. “Can I talk about what happened tonight?” 

“I thought you were leaving me,” she told him honestly, running the number ten pedant along its chain anxiously. “He reached over me and caused me to drop my glass, and I assumed he was talking to me because he felt bad for the accident. I wasn’t even focused on what he was saying, I was too worried on if I had done something to upset you, but then I realized there was nothing I could have done. See, I’m your number one fucking supporter, but your refusal to communicate with me and causing me unnecessary anxiety is getting old. Something has to change, Chris.” She shut her eyes, willing the tears to stay at bay and prove she was not going to back down into his touch. When they reopened, two tears simultaneously fell down, causing Christian to reach out and wipe them with his thumbs.

“Don’t cry, please. Not over me,” he said breathlessly, resting his forehead on hers. 

“How can I not?” She wailed, a sob overcoming her at the selfish statement. “My own boyfriend doesn’t even trust me? Instead of helping me out, he makes an assumption I’m cheating on him and humiliates me in a locally frequented bar? Instead of grovelling and mumbling your sorry-ass apologies you tell me not to cry over you? What else is there left to do Christian?”

Her head sits in her hands, a cry of frustration leaving her lips at his silence. Christian takes a step back, his mouth opening and closing. She begins to grab her pillow and blanket, gathering them up into her arms. He reaches out to grab her arm, “This conversation is far from over.” His tone was soft, but the words enraged her even more. “If I remember correctly, a conversation takes two people. Sitting there and gaping like a fucking fish because I finally put you in your place is not that.”

“Jesus Christ, I just need a moment to put my thoughts together!” He exclaims, running a hand through his hair. 

“Christian, don’t you dare start raising your voice at me as a way of deflection because you’re too fucking scared to put your pride aside and own up to your own actions.”

She breezes past him, the door slamming in her exit. Christian stands in her wake, the room suddenly way too cold and empty. “Fuck!” He screams out, standing in silence by himself in the shared room. His heart races in his chest, hands shaking. 

They both go through their nightly routines on separate sides of the apartment, the unresolved argument somehow causing tension even with the distance. Christian can practically feel the knots in his back and his chest, from the thought of losing you and intensive soccer. He brushes his teeth in the mirror for the first time without you somewhere near him, his heart dipping at the realization as he spits into the bowl. He shuts the lamp off and climbs into the cold bed, a sigh and a singular tear escaping him once he realizes he can’t roll over and pull you into his side. 

He’d been wallowing in his own mistakes and tears when the bedroom door creaked open slightly, the light from the hallway illuminating her face. She was wrapped in their favorite blanket, her makeup smeared down her face, making his heart twist into knots. The sight of her looking so distraught made every part of his body set on fire in fury at himself. “Hi baby,” he croaks, his voice raspy from crying, “Are you ok?” She stuffs her hands into his men’s national team hoodie, taking a deep breath. “I just wanted to tell you I love you,” she says, her voice cracking halfway through. He swears his heart simultaneously cracks and heals at the words, knowing he still has a shot at fixing things. “I love you,” he responds, sitting up in the bed that now seemed way too massive for him.

She tried to ignore the way her heart dipped at the sight of him, his curls sticking up in every way, his shirtless torso somehow gleaming from the minor light. She knew it was a bad idea, and she was still no where near being over the events, but somewhere in her brain she knew neither of them would be sleeping tonight without each other. She also knew it was essential for her to uphold her golden rule of life, always tell the person you love them. Her feet pad over to the edge of the bed, now standing in front of Christian’s side. He scoots over hopefully, outstretching his arms nervously. She climbs straight into them, snuggling her face into his chest. 

He grabs onto her tighter than he ever had before, his fingers gracefully scratching up and down her back. He reaches his head down and presses a chaste kiss to her collarbone, his light stubble and the sensitivity of the area making her giggle. He switches them into a spooning position, his leg locking over her to freeze her in place. “So you don’t run away in the morning and I can give you the best apology you’ve ever heard.” She lets out a complacent laugh, easing his heart into a stable beating.

The morning sun woke Christian up instantly, the golden light illuminating his golden eyes. He attempts to not get completely sidetracked by her and the way morning light makes her angelic. Although, to him, she always looks that way. He tumbles out of bed, the events of the night prior rolling through his head. “God, I’m a dick,” he mumbles to himself walking down the stairs, straight into the kitchen. Acts of service, he recalled in his head as he unloaded the mini waffle maker. He tended to be an awful cook, but his relationship was riding on these damn waffles. 

6 failed attempts at waffle batter later, he had three relatively presentable waffles to give his lady. He prided himself on his ability to make coffee for you, and was not about to break his hot streak. If even, this coffee would be his best. After plating his masterpieces into an appetizing breakfast, he wandered into the laundry room. He stared down into the hamper with a scrunched nose. “Jesus,” he mutters as he catches a whiff of his soccer clothes. He picks up his jersey from last night, holding it outstretched with one hand before taking a risky sniff. “Dear God,” he says at full volume, shaking his head at your poor soul doing his laundry for him. “I’m a grown fucking man making my girlfriend do my laundry, especially my soccer clothes. What the fuck is wrong with me?” He says as he throws a tide pod into the fresh load of disgusting soccer clothes, shaking his head at his own antics. He turns to the dryer, taking out specifically your clothes and folding them into neat little piles according to article of clothing. She had so many clothes it seemed like a load of laundry was his whole closet. He grabbed her favorite hoodies out of the dryer as well, throwing them into her pile. His fingers snag on a flashy undergarment, humming to himself. “Hope I get to see this soon.”

Christian plasters a smile on his face a half hour later. The dishes have been unloaded, he folded and put your laundry up, and is now carrying up your homemade breakfast to the shared room. He gently shakes you awake after pit stopping in the bathroom, making sure he smelled of her favorite aftershave. Christian also spent a considerable chunk of time analyzing his sleeve of tattoos, silently willing them to look extra attractive today. He gave a quick flex before walking out and shaking you awake. 

She wakes up groggily, her hair a knot on the top of her head, the soft material of Christian T-shirt almost putting her back o sleep instantly. The sight of Christian, shirtless with her favorite sweatpants of his laying low on his hips jolts her awake. He sets the plate and coffee down on the nightstand, a sheepish smile on his face. “I believe the panel would like to hear me give a speech.” You laugh lightheartedly at his joke, dramatically motioning for him to continue. Coffee in hand you tilt your head up at his nervous expression, “Your beloved panel is ready to continue.”

He runs his hands threw his hair one last time before giving himself a quick pep talk. I can do this. It’s not like her breaking up with me is my greatest fear. That’s not going to happen, though, because I’m about to prove how great of a man I am. “I lost my shit last night for no good reason. I have no backing for why I did what I did, beside the fact that I can be petty and have a gnarly green streak. Those are not, and will never be in this relationship, a valid reason for the way I behaved. I’m apologizing not because I just want you to forgive me, but because I want you to know that I hold your love and trust like it’s the most important thing in the world, and last night I didn’t show that. I love you for many reasons, but especially for your ability to challenge me to consistently be a better man for you and prove that you deserve the finest. I appreciate you keeping me In check more than you know. I know I’ve been lacking recently, and I can only say the fast paced change to AC Milan Is draining all of my energy. You didn’t know that, though, because of my dumbass’s inability to communicate, which is going to change. We’re a team and I need to treat us as such. Safe to say I will be keeping my green monster in check from now on, because you mean more than anything to me. I have a streak of insecurity and that was what took over me last night, even though it was my fault you were left alone. My inability to communicate my feelings and plans to you is changing, and I’ll prove it to you.”

A moment of silence enraptured the room, her jaw falling open in shock. Christian communicated his feelings. The first step in progress. “I folded and put away your laundry, started a new load, and undid the dishwasher. Just the beginning of proving how committed I am to this relationship and keeping it strong on my part, which I’ve been failing at.” What the fuck, Chris? She takes a long slurp from her irresistible coffee, staring up at him through the mug. He nervously shifts from foot to foot, and maybe it made her sick, but she was partly enjoying him squirm over losing her. It made a woman feel powerful, what can she say? She sets the mug down, silent tension cutting the room.

“Christian,” her voice cuts through, with a chiding tone that made his heart start palpitating. “Kiss me and prove it further.”

—

babe wake up augustinescruelsummer finally fucking wrote again.

[haleysgf]

irrevocably, absolutely.

Emily x Reader

Summary: Emily not realizing that the Farmer is smitten with her and that she’s smitten with them for a good portion of the fic.

Or

What I imagine when I romance Emily

Warnings: None!

A/n: ty for requesting! i think i went kinda crazy with this one. this is a formal apology for the Emily angst i posted the other day

w.c. 1.5k

--♡--

When the new Farmer moved into the old abandoned farm, Emily wasn’t sure what to think. In all honesty, after hearing some information from Robin at aerobics, she worried that the sudden shift from large city to small town would only be cause for the Farmer to move back out of the valley.

She didn’t see the farmer for the first couple days that they moved in, well, she hadn’t talked to them. There seemed to be no opportunity as she watched the Farmer walk in and out of Pierre’s multiple times a day, clothes caked in dirt, face grim, sweaty, and flushed as they hauled seeds and other wares to the farm.

The first official time she spoke to the farmer was at work. She had been polishing a glass (besides Fridays, the Stardrop Saloon barely had any patrons) when the door opened and a face poked inside.

Emily turned at the initial noise, and her eyes widened and the corners of her lips quirked up as she identified the individual.

“Welcome to the Stardrop Saloon!” Gus chimed, this was likely his first meeting with the Farmer as well, if the curiosity in his eyes was anything to go by.

The Farmer gave a charming smile as they slid into a barstool at the counter, quickly introducing themself to Gus. They then turned to Emily, and the charming smile grew slightly.

Emily felt a tug at her stomach as she made eye contact with the farmer. From this new proximity,(and the evident lack of dirt and grime on the farmer) she could see their face clearer, eyes roaming the Farmer’s face, taking note of particularly attractive aspects. She had known ahead of time that the Farmer was attractive, Haley had said as much at dinner when the latter had met the Farmer for the first time.

Although she didn’t doubt her sister’s statement, she noted that the Farmer wasn’t simply physically attractive. The way they held themself, the timbre of their voice, and their aura all contributed to the slight tug in her stomach.

They looked relaxed on the stool, like they had figured out the problem that had their eyebrows tense and pulled together when Emily had seen them last.

“I can tell on by your face that you’re going to love it here.” She shoots them a wink, and the Farmer chuckles and raises the drink Gus had handed them in a toast.

Emily beams and she knows that she’ll be seeing a lot more of the Farmer.

As the days rolled by, Emily notes that she was right. It seemed like the Farmer came by the saloon most nights, greeting Gus before striking up conversation with Emily.

They listen as she polishes the glasses, sometimes pouring a beer for Pam, chatting about the dream she had recently, or the most recent piece of clothing she’s been working on. They talk about the sustainable farming practices the Farmer is implementing, and the different flowers that they hope to plant.

It’s nearly every night that the Farmer comes to chat, and each little ring as the door opens causes a little tug in Emily’s stomach. She chalks it up to excitement to talk to someone who listens as she indulges herself by talking about magic in the valley, or any other “odd” or “weird” (as Haley would put it) topic of conversation.

The farmer never criticizes or makes a face, they simply listen with rapt attention and give their two-cents on the topic when Emily pauses meaningfully.

There’s also the matter of her request posters. Every time she puts up a “help wanted” sign at Pierre’s, it seems like the request is filled within the day. A sheepish farmer holding out whatever flower or fish she had requested before they delve into their daily conversation. If her heart gives a small squeeze each time it happens, it’s her business.

And, if she went to see Harvey just in case these heart squeezes were abnormal, that’s her business as well.

And then the dream happens.

Emily can admit to herself that she might be a little odd. There’s nothing wrong with that, she’s simply more in tune with her chakras and energy than most other people are. But dreaming about someone definitely has at least some implication.

The farmer showing up in her dream just means that their destinies are intertwined. She was right in telling the Farmer that she knew they would love it in the valley.

She gnaws on her lip as she stares at the door the evening after the dream. Anticipation eats at her stomach, and she brightens each time the little bell rings.

When the farmer comes in, Emily’s eyes widen at their state.

In the month or so that the Farmer had come into the Saloon to chat with Emily, she thought she had seen it all. Sweaty, caked in dirt, chicken feathers stuck to their clothes, even sopping wet after running in from the rain.

But, she had never seen the Farmer hurt. And so nonchalantly as well.

There’s a small gash on their face, the blood and dust smeared to the side. Their clothes are dusty and dirty, and their backpack looks heavy.

“Where on earth did you go?” Emily moves fast, wetting a clean towel kept behind the counter and offering it to the Farmer.

“Went to explore the mines.”

Emily’s heart races and her heartbeat grows faster.

“That’s so dangerous! Why would you go down there?” She watches as the Farmer dabs the gash on their face with the towel, and Emily vaguely thinks that the Farmer looks attractive with the gash.

“To get this.”

The farmer places the towel on the counter and digs through their bag.

Emily is sure she hears the clinking of rock against rock, but she doesn’t say anything.

There’s a moment as the farmer digs through their bag, eyebrows furrowed as they search for whatever it is they’re looking for. Emily takes the moment to trace her eyes over the Farmers figure, eyes lingering on the strain of their bicep against their shirt fabric.

Once the Farmer finds what they’re looking for, they make a noise signaling that they were successful, and Emily flushes red.

A bright purple stone is placed carefully on the table, and the air rushes out of Emily’s chest.

“It’s beautiful.”

One of her fingers comes up to gently run along the edge of the amethyst, feeling the ridges and smooth planes that make up the stone.

“It’s for you, happy birthday.” The farmer’s smile is soft and affectionate, and Emily’s eyes widen.

Her heart thunders in her chest as her mouth drops slightly.

“Oh, it’s beautiful. I hope you didn’t put yourself into too much danger for this.” She can’t seem to take her eyes off of the stone, not hearing the pleased hum the Farmer makes at her.

“It’s supposed to protect you right? I get worried sometimes when you walk alone at night after your shift. Maybe you’ll be safer if you carry it with you.”

Emily had told the Farmer about the different properties that gems held about a week ago, and she thought the soft contemplative look on the Farmers face was simply a reflection of their understanding.

But, no. The farmer had been planning on going down into the dangerous mines, simply to retrieve a stone that Emily had expressed desire for. And not only that, had remembered the properties of it and worried about her.

Emily’s cheeks heat up as she looks up at the farmer.

She’s sure there’s a fierce blush riding high on her cheeks, and she self-consciously tucks a strand of hair behind her ear. Her heart thunders in her chest, and she’s finally able to connect the tugging feeling in her stomach to the anticipation for the Farmers arrival to the squeezing warmth spreading through her chest.

Emily manages a soft “Oh.” and the Farmer smiles in understanding. It seemed like no matter what she did or said, the Farmer understood.

She had been seen for who she was.

The following weeks maintain a pattern, the farmer would come into the saloon twice a week, later than usual, holding a new shiny rock for Emily to gasp over, heart thundering at the gesture.

And soon, just the sight of the farmer had her heart thundering in her chest. The farmer and their easy smiles, quiet laugh, and genuine hums as Emily spoke.

It was easy, the year continued on, and Emily allowed herself to privately think about the Farmer and the quiet way they took care of her, daydreaming about what it must be like to live on a farm.

Everything came to a head when the farmer burst into the Saloon right as Emily clocked in. Emily has no time to react to the flushed Farmer in front of her before there’s a bouquet of flowers between them, and the Farmer’s easy smile looks a little nervous.

And she crashes head first. Melting at the gesture, all of her feelings and thoughts and everything make sense as she nods out a yes and the Farmer breathes a relieved sigh.

As if there were any doubt that Emily wasn’t irrevocably, absolutely in love with the Farmer from the moment they walked into the saloon.

[bitchfitch]

The town called Starfall looked exactly like every other Tago had passed through since escaping and that made his scales chafe. A sandy main road lined with businesses preying on the ranch hands of the surrounding lands. A sky that never held clouds. An energy of everyone distrusting the outsider amongst them even as they smiled and welcomed him to open his wallet in this boot shop or that inn.

It was to be his home for however long it took for him to be chased out again. Coco, his dear mare, deserved a stable to call her own after all she'd been through getting him here.

There'd been a stranger in town for a week now and no one thought to warn Whiskey about it. That had them getting short with every patron that they knew had met the new snake in their midst. Whiskey may not be elected like the mayor or sheriff, but there was no denying that Starfall was Their town. They were who it was named after, if anyone cares.

Sure, people didn't Usually need to tell them when a stranger was passing through, but the snake had hidden himself so fully it wasn't until their daddy sent him to drop off a cart of new stock that they even knew he existed.

He was tall. Whiskey didn't like that. What's a man need to be that tall for? Scaled with eyes like a cottonmouth, snake inside and out this one. And he wore a thick rag tied around the lower half of his face and another over the top of his head, his hat holding it in place and making it look like long hair from a distance. Whiskey didn't like that either. What's he hiding?

He's hiding a lot that is. Whiskey could tell you every little thought that happened in this town, but this snake? Not a single hint as to what was going on in that bald head. They could feel the outline of his mind like coils wrapped around a rat so they knew he Had one. They just didn't get to see it.

It didn't help one bit that the snake stared. The entire time Whiskey was counting over the stock of bottles and jars to make sure this "Tago" fellow didn't pocket anything he just stared at them. Kept his head down so his eyes were in the shade.

"Uh, my apologies. I was only told one of y'all's name..." he finally drawled out. He had a nice voice, Whiskey didn't like that.

"It's Whiskey, Whiskey Rivers," they responded using both of their mouths. He should know they were only one person even if they weren't connected. If he weren't guarded against them he wouldn't have even had to ask such an awkward question.

"Both of you- uh- I uh, I've never met twins with the same name," he scratched the back of his neck, "Tis nice name. I get why your folks would use it twice?"

""We" aren't twins. I'm Whiskey. That's me too," they pointed to themselves dismissively. "Whatcha take from this?"

"Nothing Ma'am- I mean Sir I mean-"

"Just Whiskey is fine."

"Nothing Whiskey. I'm real grateful to your father for giving me work, I'm not stealing anything from you all."

They eyed him up. They didn't like not being able to see in his head one bit.

"What's wrong with you?"

"What-"

"I asked, what's wrong with you? There's something going on no hiding it. I can tell you aren't right. Anyone else? I can see inside their head no problem, but You? It's like youve got nothing. I can't tell if you're lying or telling the truth."

Tago wilted the entire time they spoke. his polite and straight posture curling and getting tense as he finally looked away.

"Nothing I did. Promise. I don't know what would cause it. My adopted mother, she was a witch. Must've done something to me," he rambled. "I got to go, just let me unhitch Coco and I'll be out your hair."

"Mhh -hmm. Get," Whiskey kept an eye on him the entire time he got his horse free from their daddy's cart. He moved quick and it made his jacket ride up just enough to flash the handle of the shiny revolver he had tucked in his pants.

"What a man like you need a gun like that for?"

"Uh-" his hand went to pull his jacket back over it, "It was a gift. I'm a good shot. I promise I don't mean to start any trouble in your town."

"Let me guess. You don't mean to start nothing but trouble finds you anyway?"

"Yeah, something like that..."

The next time Whiskey saw that Tago fellow he was being true to his word, at least.

It wasn't that trouble had a tendency to find Tago, more so it was that trouble is hunting him down to collect on a bounty no amount of begging for his life could match.

Today trouble looked like two of the ranch owners spotting him while he was walking down to the Starfall Saloon to drop off a gift for Whiskey on behalf of their daddy.

The two men didn't make their approach subtle. Tago could have pulled Missy out of where he kept her holstered and ended the encounter before it began, but he was liking his life here too damn much. Maybe he was mishearing them. maybe he wasn't the snake faced motherfucker they were looking for. Maybe he could make it to the saloon before they worked up their courage.

He walked faster, kept his shoulders straight. The soft blue painted doors were in his sight. No fighting on the saloon, Whiskey may not like him, but they seemed the sort to not let their rules be crossed.

Rapid steps behind him and then a shock of pain through his jaw as he was tackled through the saloon doors. Tago managed to stop his fall, but the impact with the floor sent a knife of agony up his bad arm. He twisted in the grip around him. Instinct more than active thought driving him to snap at the face of his assailant. His fangs closed around nothing but his own face cover. The rancher having pulled back in time to avoid a lethal bite. Tago's head wrang as the brute knocked his head back against the wood boards with a mighty strike. His knuckles bruising the skin under Tago's scales.

"What do you lot think you're doing!?" Whiskey was there. Both of their halves grabbing the brave rancher by the back of his shirt and hauling him off Tago like he weighed nothing. "What's my one rule Steve? It's no fighting in my damn saloon."

They shoved him back, Tago couldn't pick his head up to watch. The room was spinning bad enough to make him feel like he was back in his home river getting whipped along by hidden currents.

"There's a bounty on that one worth a 100 head herd-"

"And do that mean you get to break my rule? No. Out! Stevenson you too, I want to see none of either of you until you learn your damn manners."

One half of them, the one Tago had mistaken for a man, comes to bend over him, their nighttime black eyes squinted as they tried to decide what to do with him while the lady half dealt with the ranchers.

Tago's head was too fuzzy to put two thoughts together, but he'd come here for a reason dammit. He reached into his jacket to pull the small, slightly crushed, parcel he'd been sent to deliver. Holding it up to them as his vision started to go grey.

"Y-your d-daddy sends h-his regards."

[museywrites]

Xiantober 2023 - Day 5: InnKeeper!Xian

Word Count: 1,149 Pairing: Wangxian Tags: InnKeeper Wei Ying, Prince Lan Zhan, meet-cute, flirty Lan Zhan

A soft sigh left Wei Ying's lips as he cleaned down the bar for the fiftieth time that night. 

Normally, Suibian Inn and Tavern was loaded with patrons, bustling with traveling merchants, and crowded with gossiping travelers. It was what he loved the most about running the place. He loved the hustle and bustle, the steady flow of rumors, gossip, and cash.

But for the past three days, the whole town had virtually deserted, and there was no chance of anyone coming through for a few more days at least.

Apparently, some big shot prince was having a grand party to find a bride. Pah! Who needs a party to find a bride?! The whole continent was pretty much invited, commoners included, so everyone hightailed it for a chance at the crown. 

Wei Ying had no desire to go.

So when the bell rang as the door was pushed open, Wei Ying nearly let out a surprised scream. Thankfully, he refrained, maintaining what little dignity he had.  

He did jump though, but no one was witness to see it, so it never happened.

Silver eyes watched as the cloaked figure made their way into the tavern. "Welcome to Suibian Inn and Tavern. You're quite a ways away from the festivities, yeah? I don't think you'll make it." 

"Oh, no... I'm trying to avoid them." The stranger admitted, removing his hood.

The glass in Wei Ying's hands hit the ground with a violent sound, shattering into hundreds of pieces and causing both to jump. 

"Ah, shit, that was my favorite glass.. hng, damn butterfingers." He scoffed, moving to grab the broom.

Who knew seeing someone so stunning would cause such a problem? He had not been prepared for such beauty!! 

"Avoiding the ball, huh? That's odd. Didn't everyone wanna go?"

"You're here." 

"I have a business to run." He countered. "Besides. The prince is looking for a bride."

He hummed. "Not some bar keep." 

"Was the party not extended to everyone?" 

"Oh, it was, but let's be real. What prince is gonna pick a  peasant. It's all just a formality. So I'm fine staying here. Besides! I'm pretty sure I'm the only Inn open for miles."

"Mm, I've passed several, they are all closed."

Wei Ying grinned and finished cleaning up the glass. "So tell me, gorgeous, what can I get for you? An ale? A hot meal? A room? Maybe me?" He winked. 

"Sounds like a rare house special. How much for all four?" He countered.

For a moment, the innkeeper was stunned. No one ever took his flirting seriously!!! And for someone to be /this/ good looking?!

Wei Ying eyed him suspiciously. "You're not some crazy murderer, yeah? That why you're avoiding the capital?"

Surprise colored the man's face before he huffed a soft laugh. "No, not at all, I assure you."

"Oh, assure me, do you?" He grinned. "Alright. Three silvers and you can have a drink, a room, and a meal~ that fourth option you gotta work a little harder for. Can't just be cute."

"You think I'm cute?" The man questioned, raising a brow with the faintest hint of a smirk and Wei Ying felt his knees go weak.  

He sputtered wildly and flicked his rag in the attractive patron's direction. "Aren't you cheeky~?"

He turned and grabbed a wooden pint mug, but before he could fill it, the man cleared his throat a little. "On second hand.... can I just have some water?" 

Wei Ying popped his hip and cocked a brow. "What? Why water? I've got all the best alcohols in the land!" He grinned.

"I even have the best of the best, emperor's smile~ all the way from the capital." 

"I... do not handle alcohol well." 

Wei Ying blinked at him a few dozen times before he threw his head back and laughed. "Oh, you're cute! Alright. I'll be nice. Water it is."

"I would rather remember my night if I get to spend it chatting with someone so lovely." 

Once more, Wei Ying was left sputtering as he slammed the mug of water down and busied himself working. "Alright, charmer, what'll you have to eat?"

"I am guessing you are not on the menu?"

Wei Ying all but tripped over his feet and looked at him with a flushed face. "I... you.... I walked into that." He cleared his throat and gestured to the menu. "So... what's your name, charmer?"

"You can call me A-Zhan.""

"Well, A-Zhan~ you can call me Wei Ying. You lemme know what you'd like to eat and I'll whip it up."

He nodded and did just that.

Wei Ying disappeared into the back to prep the meal and when he realized he was getting no conversation out of the other while he ate, so he busied himself with cleaning the already spotless tavern.

After, the two found themselves sitting side by side, Wei Ying telling A-Zhan all about the beautiful places he had been to in the kingdom before he settled here with his tavern.

"Sounds like you're quite the adventurer."

"Perhaps! But what about you?"

"I do not get out much, sadly. Though... I am forever grateful I decided to come here tonight~"

Wei Ying cleared his throat before he stood and made his way to the front door. He locked up and slipped over to a board behind the bar and grabbed a metal key.

A-Zhan watched him curiously, but when Wei Ying moved to the steps and tipped his head, he followed eagerly.

The pair made it to the bedroom and Wei Ying barely had time to unlock the door before he was pressed to the smooth wood.

The sound of the door slamming shut was certainly not the last sound heard echoing through the quiet inn that night.

The next morning, the pair lay in one another's arms, sharing lazy kisses as Wei Ying snuggled up to the perfectly sculpted chest.

"So, A-Zhan..."

"Mn?"

"How are you going to explain to the kingdom that you ditched your own bridal ball~?"

His eyes widened in disbelief. "Wh-what? How did you--"

Wei Ying laughed, his eyes shimmering in delight. "Everyone knows our Prince's name is Lan Zhan,

and your cloak has the royal insignia on it."

The prince's ears went red and he frowned. "I apologize, I did not mean to deceive you--"

"Hush." Wei Ying kissed him sweetly. "I'm not mad, but I am curious how you're gonna get out of trouble for this~"

"I will simply tell them I was with my bride all night~" He grinned lightly, rolling so he was on top of Wei Ying

once more.

The room quickly filled with giggles and soon after, moans as the prince and the innkeeper enjoyed each other's company.

When wedding bells chimed no more than four months later, the kingdom was in shock to see the chatty innkeeper at his side~

[dragonflight203]

Mass Effect 1 replay, wrapping up Artemis Tau and Hawking Eta:

Sparta:

-Antalya once had an atmosphere and liquid. Now the atmosphere is stripped and the liquid is frozen. No one's sure why. Could it have been the Reapers?

-There's a bio-dome in an asteroid with a Prothean disc. Were they possibly hiding from the Reapers?

-Why can't the distress beacon be disabled? Yes, I killed the Thresher Maw, but that's optional. Maybe we should turn it off so no one else gets lured into Thresher Maw territory?

-What's up with that burning Mako? If it's from the team that got killed, why is it on fire? It's no where near the Thresher Maw

-Why do I need to travel to the Citadel to inform Kahoku? He's been on the phone this whole time. Can't I call him?

-Cerberus is Alliance black ops in ME1, only recently went rogue, and is cartoonishly evil. ME2 retcons a hell of a lot.

Macedon

-Patavig is suitable for Volus colonization. So the Alliance is negotiating it with their patrons, the Hierarchy.

I was not expecting that. You'd think the Volus, the setting's merchant race, could handle their own negotiations about planet rights.

If they can't - no wonder they don't have a Council seat. If they can't even handle negotiations for their own species, how can they make decisions for others?

-Shepard to Dahlia: You should have trusted me.

Dahlia to Shepard: We have trust issues in my family.

That got a cackle. I wish Dahlia had come back, I quite like her.

Athens

-What were the original plans for this system? It's the only that has no planet to land on or ship to explore. Surely something must have been intended for it. What was that, and why was it left in as it is?

Century:

-According to Hackett, Kyle convinced his followers that the Alliance is the source of all their problems.

I don't think he's entirely wrong. Kaidan suspects that several element zero exposures were intentional. The early amp implants cause all kinds of problems. Brain camp killed several kids and traumatized the hell out of the rest.

The only place that will reliably welcome biotics is the military. That's not the Alliance's fault, but are they making any steps to improve the perception of biotics to the rest of humanity?

-Hackett wants Kyle brought back for treatment. How accurate is that? He's responsible for the death of two Alliance negotiators.

The wiki doesn't specify what happens if Kyle is persuaded to surrender. Is he actually treated for PTSD, or thrown in a cell?

-Klendagon's Great Rift is from a Mass Accelerator 37 million years ago.

I think the general assumption is that this from whatever killed the Derelict Reaper. Is that confirmed anywhere?

-Gotta love Shepard. (Fine, me, but it's not like the game gave me renegade points.) Finds prefab buildings and loots them before finding out the status of the inhabitants. Hope they didn't need those supplies!

-I think the game in general doesn't do enough to convey how charismatic Shepard must be. The blue paragon options just don't seem special enough, for example, to talk Kyle around when the negotiators weren't able to.

Squad Talks

-I think something is bugged. Garrus, Wrex, and Tali all talk as if we're near the end game. I've done one main mission!

-Garrus: Will we ever find Saren?

Good question, since I haven't actually been trying to do that. Sorry Garrus, there are a lot more UNC worlds to visit.

-Garrus seems to take Saren's actions very personally. He wants Saren dead. Is this really just because Saren's a rogue spectre? It feels like they have a history, but the games never indicate such.

-Why is Garrus's dialogue handled so differently than the others? Wrex and Tali have investigate options you can always check. They update through the game. With Garrus, it's always a new conversation or just "Shepard".

-Wrex is so burned out at this point. He's given up on everything. Despite what he says, he clearly doesn't like killing Krogan mercenaries when they're numbers are so low. But he's so depressed he'll do it anyway.

-Tali: "Near the end with Saren"??? Tali, we haven't even seen him yet. All we've done is find Liara, and that was a dead end.

Citadel:

-Using Conrad's wife to talk him out of becoming a spectre is amusing, given that in ME3 his wife isn't real. No wonder he's so confused when you bring her up.

-There aren't any human merchants on the Citadel except Dr. Michel. Intentional, to show how new humanity is?

-The armor humans and Asari can wear is called human armor. Is that just a human convention?

The Asari have been around much longer than humanity. Does everyone else call it Asari armor, and think it's weird that it just happens to fit humans too?

Or is Shepard just too cheap to buy Liara proper armor? :) You have Barrier, Liara! My old armor is close enough, put it on and throw barrier up. You'll be fine.

-The inventory micromanaging in ME1 is exhausting. I dislike how ME2 eliminates nearly all of it, but ME1 had so much room for improvement. There were so many small tweaks they could have made to improve the experience.

[gender-critical-analytical]

I deleted the spam ask that's like 'by being angry at and afraid of men, you're letting them win' because it's a stupid bait ask and I'm above putting my effort into it, but I do just want to share, for anyone who sends that copy and paste and genuinely believes it:

By forcing yourself NOT to think about what men have done and are still doing to you, you're doing exactly what is expected of you. By giving men indefinite chances, by sidelining your fears in favor of benefit of the doubt, you are always going to be taking the more dangerous route. Men do not win when women share what they've done and fight to protect ourselves and each other, men do not win when we stop giving them the benefit of the doubt and giving them more chances to hurt us again; in fact, female socialization preps and grooms us to do exactly that: we are to forgive, we are to know the worst that can happen and still take that chance, and we are never to hold men responsible, or to hurt them by acknowledging their actions.

The idea that all we do is sit and be angry at men is laughable, and the idea that by being afraid of what threatens you, you let it win is fucking moronic. Don't fear the snake rattling its tail at you, approach it, or you let it win. Don't fear the broken glass all over the floor, and god forbid you try to clear a path for yourself or for someone else, no, step on it, or else you let it win.

Stop treating real concerns as if we're disillusioned women who are so traumatized by something that you seem to think could just never happen again, it's patronizing and frankly, misogynistic as hell to look at women wanting to keep each other safe and to try and spoon feed them your piece of shit 'not all men, and even if all men, love men blindly anyway' rhetoric. Wake the fuck up or waste your time in the inbox of someone who cares. At least write your own anon, for fucks sake.

A final note, since this post has focused mainly on the hatred of men: I'm reminded of that quote pertaining to feminism, the one that, to paraphrase, goes like: the love for other women must outweigh the hatred of men if it's to change anything.

I don't just hate men for what they've done to me. I love other women for the sisterhood that they've welcomed and healed me with. No one will ever understand what I'm going through better than another woman, and no one but us can share this sisterhood and bear this weight together. This is OUR problem, but we didn't cause it. Until you give a shit about traumatized women, or just women who understand the reality of the female situation, leave us to solve it for you in peace like you've always done.

[lorisystem]

I feel so so miserable and dysphoric in this society ngl. I feel like i need- not even want but need to be in a place thats accepting of me and that makes me feel loved and welcome or at least. Tolerated or something and that i cant get that. I know its my problem bc so many people somehow live being themselves and taking criticism etc. But i just cant deal with unsolicited comments or aggression etc i just cant. Bear to think that people in society might perceive me to be weird. I feel like people cant be normal around the weird and weak, they just turn hostile and try to subjugate us or at best they become patronizing.

I feel like i dont belong to any community at all not even people like me theres always this or that trait that keeps me from belonging fully and no matter what i always feel like im an impostor pretending to be normal.

I know this is my own issue and im too sensitive to what i think people think of me and how they react to me etc and i shouldnt care but i cant help caring it was literally taught to me the hard way. Everytime people have wanted me so much to care about what they think always its so hard to unlearn.

Im at this point in this reaction of flight cycle where instead of trying to figure out how i could possibly find an accepting community im trying to figure out how to not be dependent on society anymore. My fantasies are turning to like going to live somewhere alone and subsisting by my own mean even if it means sacrificing things like comfort or some dignity i would aggressively protect being alone so nobody can come near me and perceive me or anything.

Obviously thats not realistic etc so. But im still thinking i cant help trying to figure how i could do that.

I just feel like i cant compromise- i cant be happy in this situation at all.

So im thinking the other way out is to die- which obviously is a thing i cant do bc some people depend on me and like. Its so so sad to die even though theres still technically hope of getting better. And its not fair. But im getting these urges and its like not even on a conscious level bc ive been suppressing suicidal urges but i have these parasite thoughts idk to do it in a way that makes it everyones problem bc i resent this society (and no individual in particular) so much and i want everyone to know that they failed and they were trash and they hurt me etc. But i cant pinpoint any specific people that i really resent. When it comes down to people who actually hurt me i think they just wouldnt understand (or sometimes care). No matter what i cant make anyone understand me or what i go through and the pain isnt going away.

And i know this is not a good way to feel or to think bc its very selfish and its nobodys fault in particular. And i have this toxic trait of when i feel bad i think its fair that everybody else feels bad too- which is bad and also i hate having this trait cause this is just what my dad does!! So im repressing thoughts like these and i dont talk about this to people around me bc the last thing i want is to actually harm someone especially if i care about them.

But yea i feel like i dont connect to anyone really. I connect to my spouse but i think its only bc we spent so much time together we attuned to each other but still. He is a person n i guess i need unconditional acceptance and love of my whole being- literally everything i do or say and i know its dumb and i shouldnt want it etc

Rationalizing doesnt make it go away though.

This spiraling was literally caused by a call from my landlord's girlfriend bc shes asking me to fill somth that doesnt matter and i shouldnt have to fill it and she was so rude bc i didnt receive her stupid email. As if its my fault?! N like. This is way more interaction ive had with this landlord than i care to have for my entire life. With these neighbors. I hate it here i hate it here!!!!!!! Theres always drama in this building!!!! I want to be left out of it!!!!!!

I feel like my life is just a nightmare that im trapped in. I have to pretend to be a human person all the time and i have to rely on my imaginary world and comfort interests to escape it all the time but when i think about it this is the only thing that makes me feel safe and accepted.

Idk why im struggling so much just feeling human and living with other people. I dont think anything ive been through is enough to justify this level of dysphoria and distress. I didnt ask for this. I just want to be left alone and live my life but that is too much to ask.

Sorry for the rant. Ill be ok though!!!!!!! Idk if anyone else feels like this but when it comes to DID i feel like for me its all about feeling unimaginable amounts of pain and still being able to function and be ok bc everything is kept compartmentalized. So in the end ill be ok n functional but ill hate it the entire time.

Anyway bye.

- ???

[owlpockets]

fic first lines meme

Tagged by @minnarr!

rules: post the first lines of your last 10 fics posted to ao3. if you have less than 10 fics posted, post the first lines of all your fics.

The Serpent’s Tail isn’t so much a tavern as a shallow cave where ghosts like to gather. (A Game Designed For Fools)

“Do you think we didn’t know what the Lantern Festival is in the Valley?” Gu Xiang asked bluntly, interrupting his list of instructions for making paper lanterns. (Tall Tales)

Liang Jiuxiao was frequently lonely; his shixiong spent more time traveling with his new lover than running the sect. (Antidote)

“Old Man�� Zhang was a curious problem. (Lunar Effect)

The yell that alerted Wu Xi to a problem outside was incandescent with rage. (Neighbors)

Jing Beiyuan waits until Wu Xi leaves the room to fetch supplies, knowing what he wants to say would likely not be welcome. (days in between extras)

Bars on Nanjiang are open air, seating areas spilling into the lush environment where patrons can enjoy the balmy climate three-quarters of the year. (and there were constellations in his eyes)

Zhou Zishu is running, but he doesn’t quite understand what he’s running from. (slowly do the rivers flow)

“Jiuxiao,” Zhou Zishu growls in warning, “When I said I’d let you practice on me, I didn’t mean you could make me pretty.” (Peach Blossom Spring)

Inserting the second nail causes Zhou Zishu to pass out. (The Second Nail)

I'm not sure who has already done it, but tagging: @danveresque @northofallmusic @bluemorningsoup @mtkay13 @n-a-r-i-e @eghfeithrean @rainsfalling @thecaitlinperry @returning-spring @riotofwildflwrs

[thattimdrakeguy]

Why The Fuck Are People Talking About This Again?

also fuck amber heard

i don’t give a fuck what “expert” signs. some of them are already being caught for saying the dumbest inhumane shit against men, because they just pretend to be feminists, instead of actually being one. AT LEAST one even calling death to Rihanna, or at least something pretty damn FOUL.

Amber got caught faking evidence, lying, admitting to abusing him, and if I’m remembering right she couldn’t even keep her story straight, and said shit that’s so unbelievable you’d have to be an idiot to think she was saying the truth some of the time. Mental experts that haven’t been caught doing heinous things have spoke against her, body language experts have spoke against her. You’d have to be very very foolish, to ignore all of this.

I know it’s usually silly to be like “Oh they just hate men”, ‘cause most of the time when it’s said it’s just the men being sexist and not wanting to take blame for their actions, yeah? But when a time comes to a serious topic, act like a grown adult, and stop playing childish, and playing dumb. Fucking hell. Sometimes it is just the case. People can and will be bias against anyone or anything. It is simply the way it is.

Some of them are already caught straight up saying some of the most benign stuff about how woman can’t be abusers. It’s ridiculous. Do you really believe that a woman is not also capable of abuse like many many men?

I don’t see how it’s some act of sexism, to say that woman are also capable of abuse. Are they just some wimpy fucking creatures? HELL NO. They can have the same mental problems that ‘cause these things as everyone else.

To me, they’re being patronizing to their own kind while trying to act fruitful and feminist. Women aren’t naturally pure innocent creatures, the same way nothing is born that way. That’s not how it works, You’re speaking fairy tales otherwise.

You’re not feminist if you think women aren’t capable of the same things men do.

Feminists want EQUAL rights, and equal standings on things.

If you don’t actually WANT THAT, you are NOT a feminist.

Does woman abusing take away from woman being abused. FUCK NO.

The only way it does is if YOU make it that way. It’s the people’s responsibility all together to say NO IT’S NOT GOOD.

NO ONE should ever be abused.

I don’t care what they have in their pants, what they DON’T have, or anything else.

If you are being abused, you are being abused. If you’re abusing someone, you’re abusing someone.

Welcome to reality where both genders can abuse, and be abused. Because that’s just the way it is.

You want to be equal? Make it equal.

I’m fully aware there are some crazy Johnny Depp fans, but can you REALLY, really, REALLY tell me there aren’t also crazy Amber Heard fans?

When the evidence is there, the trail was broadcasts, millions seen it, and the court that was ABOUT what Amber actually did, and not if some newspaper could talk about it said she did it, and you’re ignoring all that evidence people have seen, and the evidence she had faked, you’re in denial.

Don’t pretend the dude wasn’t shit on for years for being an abuser, when he wasn’t actually.

Woman need support, but there’s gotta be a line in the sand where you realize you’re supporting someone at the wrong thing. Pretending what happened didn’t happen just makes YOU look bad. She used something that was supposed to mean something for publicity.

Fuck that.

Support real victims, that’s it, that’s all you need to do.

[agwitow]

I should have been more careful when I stumbled my way into the rural tavern after a long day's work. But I was tired. Utterly and completely exhausted.

It had been two-and-a-half months since the heroes swept through and defeated the lich responsible for the plague that'd devastated the country for over a year. Two-and-a-half months since the oppressive magic lifted and healing magic worked again. And just over a month since the Sol Clerics finished the massive undertaking of healing the afflicted.

And that was that.

At least... that's what the heroes and clerics and royal councils believed. Stars and salt, even most commoners believed it too. But no one remembered, or wanted to remember, that just because the disease was purified didn't mean all of its effects were reversed.

Once-healthy people still struggled to breathe, or fell sick from the slightest of things, or found themselves so much weaker in so many different ways from before. Which was why I, and people like me, were still working so hard.

It didn't excuse my carelessness though.

"Is that what I think it is?" the barmaid asked, setting down a bowl of stew and tankard of mead.

I glanced down at my chest and muttered a curse under my breath. The symbol of the Eternal Night hung from a simple leather cord, glinting dully in the lantern light. I quickly stuffed it back under my shirt and looked back at the barmaid, uncertain whether I'd have to run or fight my way out of there.

"You're a follower of Death, yeah?"

I winced. "The Guardian of the Eternal Night is my patron, yes."

She tsked. "Never understood why you lot felt the need to pretty it up like that. Your god is the God of Death. Calling 'em the Eternal Night--"

"Guardian of the Eternal Night," I interjected.

She waved a hand dismissively. "Either way, doesn't hide the fact that you're a follower of death."

"Do you need me to leave?"

"Eh, whatever you want. As long as you don't cause problems in here, your coin is as good as the next person's."

I couldn't help but sigh with relief. I'd be able to eat and rest a bit before needing to make an escape. After all, she might not care about my presence (so long as I was a paying customer), but that didn't mean the other locals would be anywhere near as accepting.

"So, are you a necromancer, then?"

"What?"

She gestured at me, silently indicating the symbol I'd hidden. "You lot tend to be necromancers, yeah? That or bloodthirsty warriors, but you don't look like the fighting type. No offense."

I blinked. "No, I'm not either of those things. And no true believer would ever practice necromancy."

"But you're a follower of the God of Death!"

"Shh!" I glanced around the tavern, scanning for anyone who might have heard her, but none of the other patrons seemed to be paying us any mind.

"Well? What did you mean by that?"

I sighed again, though this time because I knew my peaceful evening was about to become incredibly frustrating. "The Eternal Night -- death, as you so blithely call it -- is a blessing. To pervert it by reanimating corpses? No. One would have to have no respect for death and the dead to do something like that."

"What's so great about dying? I mean, there's not much great about being a walking corpse either, but I can see why some might be drawn to it."

I shook my head. "Death can be a tragedy. But at the end of a long life, it is a comfort and reward. The Guardian is there to welcome those who cross over, to listen to their stories, and guide them to the River Lethe so they might some day be reborn."

"I suppose such a being wouldn't think too highly of necromancers," the barmaid conceded. "But surely fierce warriors, those who send hundreds upon hundreds of souls to your god, are favoured?"

"Not really. The teachings... they emphasize the importance of living a long life. The longer the life, the more stories we will have to share with the Guardian."

The barmaid frowned, though in the way one does when rethinking something they thought they knew rather than the way one does when they are annoyed by a differing point of view. "So... what is it that your ilk do, then?"

"We heal people. We are doctors."

“So, your patron is the God of Death?” Yeah. “So, are you a necromancer? A great Warrior?” …Nah, I’m a Doctor.

[lisinfleur]

hello🤭

i wanted to ask if i could be added to the vikings masterlist. and if you wanna be mutuals by any chance👀

Welcome to my tag lists! You’re being added to the following lists:

Vikings – For posts with Vikings Characters and cast’s side jobs in general.

Talk Show – For the posts with questions and answers to my muses (which may include Vikings content as well!).

To guarantee you’ll be tagged, please observe the topics below and the updates where I’ll inform you about the tagging process. You can also take a look at my General Masterlist for a catch-up!

If something is wrong and you’re not being notified, please send me an ask and I’ll try to solve the problem! Keep in mind that if you do not notify me about the problem, I won’t be able to help you, ok?

You can check my secondary pages for my publications (including original and exclusive ones) if you want!

Thank you for your love!!

Where you can find me and my work: 

Patreon Page (support)

Ko-fi Page  (support)

Wattpad 

Important things to know:

If your name is tagged at my posts, but you aren’t receiving the notifications: First, check if the setting for “Allow this blog to appear in search results” is turned off for your blog (if it is, then turn it on, please! User mention relies on Tumblr’s users’ search, and disallowing all searches for the blog includes opting to be out of this search, so, unmarkable). Second, check my page and see if you can find a little lightning picture beside the little man in the upper right corner of your screen (next to the following button!). If the little lightning is not there, click on "Receive Notifications" to allow Tumblr to send you my notifications whenever I post something! If nothing helps, you can send me an ask informing me about the problem and I’ll contact you so we can solve it together!

If your blog is secondary: I won’t be able to find you through the user’s search, so please send me an ask with your main blog so I can tag you for notifications! Don’t worry, your ID will be preserved!

If you change your ID: Whenever the text after “@” changes on your blog, you have to resend your ask to be tagged on my lists, cause sometimes Tumblr doesn’t make the bound of your new ID with your old ID. Then I just become unable to tag you. So please, if you change your ID, do not forget to inform me of the changes!

Whenever a new tag list opens: Only patrons will be automatically included! Stay tuned to my posts about the tag lists and if you want to be added to the newest ones, send me a new ask and I will include you in the lists of your preference. Or become a patron (you’ll be more than welcome)! 

If your blog is tagged as NSFW: I will probably be unable to tag you since I can't find you through the search base. However, send me your ask anyway and we’ll find a way to contact you whenever a new post of your tag lists is released!

[timetochillout]

Why You Need Restaurant and Bar Ventilation

Restaurant and bar ventilation is a critical aspect of running a successful restaurant or bar. Whether it's to maintain air quality, ensure the comfort of your patrons, or meet safety regulations, proper ventilation is something you cannot afford to overlook. When customers step into your establishment, they expect more than just good food and drinks; they want a clean and comfortable environment. A poorly ventilated space can lead to unpleasant odours, excessive heat, and even health hazards. This article will explore why bars and restaurants need ventilation and how it impacts the overall experience, safety, and functionality of your business.

Introduction to Restaurant and Bar Ventilation

When you think about running a restaurant or bar, ventilation might not be the first thing that comes to mind. However, the air quality inside your establishment is just as important as the food and drinks you serve. Proper ventilation systems are essential for maintaining a pleasant and safe environment for both your customers and staff. In fact, without the right system, you could be facing problems ranging from foul smells to serious health risks. Let's dive into why restaurant and bar ventilation is not just a nice-to-have but an absolute necessity.

Why Ventilation is Crucial in Restaurants and Bars

Restaurants and bars are unique environments where many activities—cooking, smoking, drinking, and even large gatherings of people—can contribute to poor air quality. Without adequate ventilation, harmful substances like grease, smoke, carbon monoxide, and even excess moisture can accumulate. The result? Not only an uncomfortable atmosphere but also a breeding ground for bacteria and mould. Think of your ventilation system as the lungs of your building. It breathes in fresh air and exhales contaminated air, keeping the environment clean and safe for everyone inside.

Health Impacts of Poor Ventilation

Have you ever noticed how some restaurants feel stuffy or have an almost sticky atmosphere? This is often a sign of poor ventilation. Poor indoor air quality can cause a range of health issues, including headaches, fatigue, allergies, and respiratory problems. In worst-case scenarios, poor ventilation can even lead to the spread of airborne diseases. When your restaurant or bar lacks proper airflow, you're putting your customers and staff at risk. Nobody wants to feel unwell after spending time in your establishment, and poor ventilation could be the hidden culprit behind it all.

Odour Control: A Key Role of Ventilation

Imagine walking into a restaurant that smells like last night's dinner. Not exactly appetising, is it? Restaurants and bars naturally produce a lot of smells—some pleasant, others not so much. A good ventilation system helps to quickly and efficiently remove odours from cooking, smoke, and other activities, ensuring that your establishment always smells fresh. Without this, those lingering odours could turn away customers before they even take a seat. Ventilation is your secret weapon in creating a welcoming environment that makes people want to stay, eat, and enjoy.

Maintaining Temperature and Comfort for Customers

We all know how uncomfortable it can be to sit in a stuffy, overheated room. In a restaurant or bar, this can lead to customer dissatisfaction and even lost business. A well-ventilated space helps to regulate the temperature, keeping it cool in summer and warm in winter. It also ensures that fresh air circulates, reducing stuffiness and making the environment more pleasant. When your customers feel comfortable, they are more likely to stay longer, order more, and return for future visits.

Fire Safety and Ventilation: Protecting Your Business

Fire safety is a huge concern in any business, but it’s especially critical in restaurants and bars where cooking equipment is in constant use. Grease and smoke build-up in poorly ventilated kitchens can be a major fire hazard. Proper ventilation systems, such as fire-resistant ductwork, help to reduce the risk of fires by ensuring that grease and other flammable materials are safely removed from the air. In the event of a fire, a good ventilation system can also help to contain the fire and prevent it from spreading. This could mean the difference between a small incident and a total disaster.

Meeting Legal Requirements: Ensuring Compliance

In most countries, restaurants and bars are required to meet specific ventilation standards. These regulations are in place to ensure that your establishment is safe for both customers and staff. Failure to comply with these standards can result in hefty fines or even the closure of your business. Proper ventilation systems not only help you avoid these penalties but also ensure that your customers feel safe and comfortable. It’s essential to familiarise yourself with the local laws and ensure your ventilation system meets all required standards.

Energy Efficiency and Ventilation

A good ventilation system doesn’t just improve air quality and safety—it can also save you money. Modern ventilation systems are designed to be energy efficient, helping to reduce your energy bills. By controlling the amount of air that is brought into and expelled from your building, you can reduce the workload on your heating and cooling systems. This not only helps the environment but also puts more money back into your pocket.

Caswell Group: A Solution for Fire-Resistant Ductwork

When it comes to fire safety, one company stands out: Caswell Group. Caswell Group specialises in providing fire-resistant ductwork for businesses like restaurants and bars. Their innovative systems are designed to contain fires, preventing them from spreading through the ductwork to other areas of the building. This adds an extra layer of protection for your business, staff, and customers. Additionally, Caswell Group focuses on eco-friendly builds, ensuring that their products not only keep you safe but also reduce your environmental impact. If you’re looking for a reliable solution to enhance fire safety in your ventilation system, Caswell Group should be at the top of your list.

Eco-Friendly Solutions in Restaurant and Bar Ventilation

More and more businesses are looking for ways to reduce their carbon footprint, and ventilation systems are no exception. By investing in energy-efficient, eco-friendly ventilation solutions, you can improve your restaurant or bar's sustainability. Many modern systems are designed to reduce energy consumption while still providing excellent air quality. Additionally, some systems can even filter out harmful pollutants, contributing to a cleaner environment both inside and outside your establishment.

Ventilation System Types for Restaurants and Bars

There are various types of ventilation systems available, each designed to suit different needs. Some of the most common types include:

Exhaust Hoods: Essential for removing smoke, heat, and grease from kitchens.

Make-Up Air Units: These systems bring in fresh air to replace the air that is exhausted.

Heat Recovery Ventilators: These are energy-efficient systems that exchange stale indoor air with fresh outdoor air, recovering heat in the process.

Each of these systems plays a crucial role in ensuring your restaurant or bar remains a pleasant and safe place for everyone.

Installation and Maintenance Tips for Ventilation Systems

It’s not enough to simply install a ventilation system and forget about it. Regular maintenance is key to ensuring that your system works efficiently and lasts for years to come. This includes cleaning filters, checking ductwork for blockages, and ensuring all fans and motors are working properly. A poorly maintained system can quickly become ineffective and even dangerous. It’s a good idea to have a professional regularly inspect and maintain your system to prevent any potential issues.

How Good Ventilation Improves Customer Satisfaction

Have you ever noticed how the atmosphere of a restaurant can make or break the experience? Even the best food and drinks can’t make up for an uncomfortable environment. Good ventilation creates a pleasant atmosphere by controlling odours, maintaining comfortable temperatures, and ensuring fresh air circulates. When your customers feel comfortable, they’re more likely to enjoy their meal and stay longer. This directly impacts your bottom line, as satisfied customers are more likely to return and recommend your establishment to others.

Long-Term Benefits of Investing in Quality Ventilation

Investing in a high-quality ventilation system may seem like a large upfront expense, but the long-term benefits far outweigh the costs. Not only will you provide a safer, more comfortable environment for your customers and staff, but you’ll also save on energy costs and reduce the risk of costly repairs or fines due to non-compliance. Moreover, a well-ventilated space can improve your reputation, leading to more satisfied customers and ultimately, higher profits.

End

In conclusion, ventilation is an essential component of running a successful restaurant or bar. From controlling odours and ensuring customer comfort to meeting safety regulations and preventing fires, a good ventilation system is something no establishment should be without. By investing in quality ventilation, you’re not only protecting your business but also creating a more enjoyable experience for your customers. If you haven’t already, now is the time to evaluate your ventilation system and make any necessary improvements.

[laptopsss]

Microsoft Service Center In Chandigarh

Microsoft Service Center  in Chandigarh

In the bustling cityscape of Chandigarh, where the rhythm of life pulses through its vibrant streets and dynamic community, one name stands out as a beacon of excellence in the realm of technology repairs: Microsoft Surface Repair. Nestled amidst the urban landscape, this esteemed Microsoft  service center in Chandigarh emerges as a trusted ally, offering unparalleled expertise and dedicated service to those seeking to restore their Microsoft Surface devices to optimal condition. With a commitment to excellence and customer satisfaction, Microsoft Surface Repair is poised to redefine the service experience for technology enthusiasts in Chandigarh.

Microsoft Surface Repair:

Stepping into the virtual domain of Microsoft Surface Repair is akin to entering a sanctuary for technology enthusiasts. With a mission to provide top-notch repair services and exceptional customer care, this esteemed service center welcomes patrons with open arms, ready to address their Microsoft Surface repair needs with precision and expertise. From hardware malfunctions to software glitches, Microsoft Surface Repair offers comprehensive solutions tailored to restore devices to their peak performance.

Navigating Chandigarh's Tech Landscape:

As the sun sets over Chandigarh's iconic skyline, casting its golden hues upon the bustling city below, tech enthusiasts turn to Microsoft Surface Repair for their expertise in navigating the local technology landscape. With an intimate knowledge of Chandigarh's tech ecosystem and the unique challenges faced by Microsoft Surface users, the service center serves as a trusted partner in addressing a wide range of repair issues. Whether it's a cracked screen, a malfunctioning keyboard, or a software update gone awry, Microsoft Surface Repair is equipped to handle it all with finesse and efficiency.

Unparalleled Expertise and Dedicated Service:

At the heart of Microsoft Surface Repair lies a commitment to unparalleled expertise and dedicated service. Unlike generic repair shops that offer one-size-fits-all solutions, Microsoft Surface Repair takes a tailored approach to each repair task, leveraging their team of skilled technicians and state-of-the-art diagnostic tools to identify and address the root cause of the problem. With a focus on transparency and integrity, they keep patrons informed at every step of the repair process, ensuring peace of mind and satisfaction with the final outcome.

Elevating the Service Experience:

Microsoft Surface Repair is more than just a service center—it's a destination for technology enthusiasts seeking excellence and reliability. Beyond the repair bench, patrons can expect a seamless and hassle-free experience, from the moment they walk through the door to the moment they leave with their fully restored device in hand. With streamlined processes, efficient turnaround times, and courteous customer service, Microsoft Surface Repair sets a new standard for excellence in the realm of technology repairs in Chandigarh.

Customer Testimonials:

But don't just take our word for it—let the testimonials of satisfied patrons speak for themselves. From professionals relying on their Surface devices for work to students using them for academic pursuits, people from all walks of life have experienced the excellence of Microsoft Surface Repair. Their glowing reviews serve as a testament to the service center's unwavering commitment to customer satisfaction and technical expertise.

Conclusion:

In the dynamic landscape of Chandigarh's technology scene, Microsoft Surface Repair emerges as a trusted ally for those seeking reliable and efficient repair services. With their unparalleled expertise, dedicated service, and commitment to excellence, they stand at the forefront of the service industry, ready to address the repair needs of Microsoft Surface users with precision and care. So the next time you encounter an issue with your Microsoft Surface device, remember to turn to Microsoft Surface Repair—a premier destination for service excellence in Chandigarh.

[asteriaspirit]

Coworkers

Asteria’s ears perk when she hears the chime sound from the front of her store. She stands up from behind the register, wincing slightly at the kink in her lower back, and she turns as the front door closes behind a singular patron.

“Welcome to Blue Moon Books—oh. It’s you.” Her eyes narrow. “You’re back.”

What little sense of customer service she had previously felt immediately fell away from her tone and face while her mouth curved down into a displeased frown.

“That’s no way to greet your newest coworker, Little Wolf,” ShiaJox tells her with a wide grin as he saunters up to the counter, hands in his pockets.

“I think I misheard you,” Asteria replies while quickly blinking. “New what?”

“Coworker. We gotta take you to the vet to get your ears checked?”

She snorts at his jab while eyeing him.

“Coworker? You don’t work here.”

“Sure I do!”

“No, you don’t. As the owner of this bookshop, I decide who works here and you most certainly do not—”

“How am I going to pay my rent if you don’t give me a job, huh?” ShiaJox asks while leaning on the counter and poking his full lower lip out at her.

Asteria rolls her eyes and crosses her arms over her chest, pressing the dark-blue tee-shirt against her ample bosom. ShiaJox’s attention drifts down to the front of her chest before lifting back to her golden gaze.

“And I need a uniform.”

“No. You don’t. You don’t work here. I’m sorry ShiaJox, but it’s not my responsibility to figure out how you’re going—wait. Why…You don’t…There’s—”

He tips his head to the side and lifts an eyebrow at her.

“Where are you staying?” she asks while squinting at him.

“In the forest.”

Asteria blinks at him again and the muscle in her jaw twitches as she clenches her molars together. “My forest?”

“Hey now,” he immediately replies while lifting his hands to her, palms out as if to ward her off. “The entire forest isn’t yours. Your scent was on a few trees, and in a cave, and there were some spots around that little pond near the daffodil field, but there’s so much more than that out there. And that’s where I’ll be. Besides,” and another heart-stopping grin crosses his mouth while his brown eyes flash gold for a moment and then return to milk chocolate, “we can share.”

“I don’t want to share!” Asteria tells him, her voice rising as her finger points at his broad chest. “You aren’t supposed to be here. You—”

“Well I haven’t completed my mission so I have to stay,” he tells her with a nonchalant shrug. “I can’t just leave when I haven’t found the beasty terrorizing the townspeople.”

“What…beasty…”

“Oh, you know, the werewolf that everyone is talking about.”

Her hand retracts and she wipes her palm down her face with a sigh.

“You’re the only werewolf in town—”

“Now now, little wolf. You can tell those pretty lies to everyone that comes in here, but I know better.”

ShiaJox’s hand lifts and his index finger gently taps his right nostril. Asteria blushes and her gaze drops to the counter. She shakes her head, her thick ponytail swaying with the motion.

“So once I locate this fearsome creature,” and ShiaJox chuckles as if he’s made a very amusing joke, “then I can be on my way. And not a moment before.”

Looking at up him from beneath her lashes, Asteria glowers.

“And what do you plan to do with this beasty when you find them?”

“Well, I suppose that depends on them, now doesn’t it?”

Her brows tense and her head jerks up so that she can stare him straight in the face. “What do you mean?”

“There are a few options. Like, maybe I convince them to leave. Or maybe I rip out their throat. Or maybe we come to an agreement about sharing the forest and I tell all these scared, defenseless humans that the threat has been taken care of and there’s nothing more to worry about.”

“…People are actually worried?”

ShiaJox shrugs while his tongue wets his lips.

“Eh. A few, but not enough to actually cause a problem. No pitchforks for our nefarious monster to worry about. Not yet, anyway.”

To that, Asteria winces, she but covers it up by clearing her throat.

“Why here? Isn’t there somewhere else in town you could work?”

ShiaJox snorts and shakes his head.

“And miss out on the scent of old books, hot coffee and brown sugar? I’d rather get hit by a run-away carriage.”

“…Brown sugar?”

The massive male werewolf leans in close as his voice drops, his palms splaying on the counter top, his gaze pinned to hers.

“Mhm. That’s what you smell like what you’re aroused. Tastes just as sweet as well.”

Asteria jerks back from him as a blush warms her cheeks and, predicably, heat blossoms in her pelvis. And even though she takes a step back from him, her upper lip twitches as if she wants to bare her teeth, as if she wants to snap at him and chase him from this place—her place.

And perhaps he senses that because he straightens up and his smile goes from smug to more friendly.

“I’ll work here, help you carry big boxes you can’t manage yourself, be nice to the townsfolk and teach you what it means to be a real werewolf.”

“You sound so full of shit right now,” she grumbles at him.

“Well, I mean, all of us are full of shit until—”

Asteria holds up a hand to stop him from completing his sentence. He chuckles in reply. She sighs.

“You can’t—this isn’t—we won’t—”

“If this is about what happened before in your little shipping room, that won’t happen again unless you want it to.” He pauses and tilts his head to the side, his eyes roving over her once before landing on her mouth and then easing up to her eyes. “I make no promises about the full moon.”

“That’s…That’s not good enough.”

ShiaJox scoffs and rolls his eyes. “Well, it’ll have to be for now and then we just edit and adjust as needed.”

“Or you just leave,” Asteria says while flinging her arms to the door and gesturing. “Mission failed or incomplete or…whatever. How much are they paying you? To find this…werewolf?”

“Sorry little wolf, but I don’t discuss pay with someone who isn’t paying me.”

“I could pay you to leave,” she replies in a sing-song voice and a brittle smile.

“No offense beautiful, but you can’t afford me~”

“Oh fuck off,” she says while allowing a small growl to escape her control.

Suddenly, Asteria finds herself pinned to the wall behind her counter, her wrists held in ShiaJox’s hand over her head, his massive thigh between her jean-clad legs. She sputters, surprised and completely taken off guard, but ShiaJox growls in reply and the baritone sinks into her bones and makes them vibrate. Her mouth goes dry.

“Don’t. Do. That.”

“Do what?!” she squeaks out in reply, her voice octave high and slightly panicky. “Ask you to leave? Pay you to get the fuck out of my st—”

“Growl at me.”

Asteria blinks rapidly while simultaneously attempting to yank her wrists free of his grip or move his thigh from pressing against the crotch of her jeans. When neither happens, she exhales a hard breath and glares up into his features.

“Growling? That’s your trigger?”

“And this is what I mean by teaching you how to be a real were—”

“I’m not a were anything you crazy, muscle-bound fr—”

“Still going with the same old story, huh?” ShiaJox grumbles at her, but his grip around her wrists loosens and he does finally take a step back. Not far enough, considering the heat that pours off of his body and soaks into Asteria’s clothes.

Before she can berate him further, the front door of her shop opens again which triggers the bell above it to chime, and ShiaJox turns to look over his shoulder.

“Welcome to Blue Moon books. Looking for something specific today?” he says loudly to the couple that just walked in.

“You don’t work here!” Asteria hisses, but it doesn’t seem to matter because he vaults over the counter and saunters up to the two humans, his massive form towering over them, but the warmth of his chuckle immediately putting them at ease.

Asteria grumbles to herself while rubbing her wrists in tandem, a paltry attempt at soothing the small ache that he left behind.

It was going to be a very long day.