#Safe Cylinder Handling

[chemtrade]

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[hazard-symbols-that-fuck-hard]

CYLINDER may explode if damaged.

7.a. Use only compressed gas cylinders containing the correct shielding gas for the process used and properly operating regulators designed for the gas and

pressure used. All hoses, fittings, etc. should be suitable for the application and maintained in good condition.

7.b. Always keep cylinders in an upright position securely chained to an undercarriage or fixed support.

7.c. Cylinders should be located:

•Away from areas where they may be struck or subjected to physical damage.

•A safe distance from arc welding or cutting operations and any other source of heat, sparks, or flame.

7.d. Never allow the electrode, electrode holder or any other electrically "hot" parts to touch a cylinder.

7.e. Keep your head and face away from the cylinder valve outlet when opening the cylinder valve.

7.f. Valve protection caps should always be in place and hand tight except when the cylinder is in use or connected for use.

7.g. Read and follow the instructions on compressed gas cylinders, associated equipment, and GA publication P-1,

"Precautions for Safe Handling of Compressed Gases in Cylinders," available from the Compressed Gas Association

1235 Jefferson Davis Highway, Arlington, VA 22202.

[bleedingichorhearts]

𝐌𝐞𝐫𝐌𝐚𝐲: 𝐗𝐞𝐫𝐱𝐞𝐬

𝕬𝖚𝖙𝖍𝖔𝖗: Switched this one up a little.

𝕿𝖆𝖌𝖌𝖊𝖉: @kit-williams, @egrets-not-regrets, @bispecsual, @gallifreyianrosearkytiorsusan, @sleepyfan-blog.

TW // Entrapment.

|°𝐌𝐞𝐫𝐌𝐚𝐲 𝐂𝐡𝐫𝐨����𝐢𝐜𝐥𝐞𝐬°| |°ᴛᴀɢ ʟɪꜱᴛ ᴀᴘᴘʟɪᴄᴀᴛɪᴏɴ°| • {𝐂𝐥𝐚𝐬𝐬𝐢𝐟𝐢𝐜𝐚𝐭𝐢𝐨𝐧} • {𝐒𝐩𝐚𝐫𝐭𝐚𝐤} • {𝐌𝐢𝐧𝐢 𝐌𝐚𝐫𝐢𝐧𝐞𝐬}

The blue armored Space Marine eyes darted around at every dark corner before clearing them safe to continue on with his assignment. His hearing pricked for anything that moves out of place as he smells the dusty ventilation in the human base, a little huff leaving him. So unclean.

There were many things covered in multiple layers of dust; having been an abandoned base when a mixed band of Iron Warriors and Iron Hands cleared it out before some… authority could get to it to handle it properly. It has been abandoned since, the previous humans never coming back twice unless they have a met a rather unfortunate fate with the previous legions that had rioted the base. It was also too unorganized for his tastes; with files and smeared papers being scattered about, but he doesn’t reflect too much on it since it was abandoned after all. He shouldn’t dwell on how filthy it was when battlefields itself was foul. He’s been stained in his opposite colors before.

Turning a corner, he leans down through a heavy metal archway with the double heavy door being smashed right through and onto the cement flooring into the room as he looked down at it, slightly amused. Seems like his cousins didn’t take too kindly in their raid. Unfortunate, for the humans and their weak technology attempt to keep Astartes out of where they don’t want them to be.

Looking up and stepping over the door. He slowly checks around this room in the base, problem by problem. Eyeing everything down for a presentable report back to his higher ranked brethren.

More papers and files were scattered everywhere around the room, on the floor and metal tables. A layer of dust coating the abandoned surfaces of where work used to be. Broken vials and cups littering the grounds with a strange, black, gooey-like substance following some of the broke shards. Coffee he figures, or mixed water, depending on its old, rotten scent.

Stoping next to a metal table. He carefully picks up a piece of old paper from it, dust partials flowing off it as he reads the human words on it. His helmet translating some of the words he can’t quite place with the smudged ones.

— Is a creature of the Bathypelagic Zone or knows as the Midnight Zone. This creature is not be taken L—. Considering it appearance of remarkable scales and graceful fins, but it is the exact —. Though, it’s scales p— a hefty profit. Beware of his tail and — claws. It is astonishing we d—‘t have anything else on this —, but in time we will. May the — light our path.

Warning: It’s not to be out of its containment, or fed — meals a day.

A creature? How could the humans get their hands on a clearly undocumented creature? A creature confined in its space? He knows they have documented Whales, but he surprised by humans sometimes, and their capability to do the biggest things despite their smaller size. He shakes his helmet.

Is this creature still here? He can’t find anything on this piece of paper of its location, only what it would be housed in. A cylinder, high-strength acrylic filled with gallons of salt water, just like the one in the middle of the room.

Lifting his eyes from the paper. He looks at the cylinder in the middle of the room almost expectingly, waiting for such a creature to burst for it. Until he quickly realizes it has been covered with a tarp, nailed down at the base of the chamber. How could have the other legionnaires miss this? It was their duty and training to search everything out of order! Perhaps, they were Neophyte’s? Rogue scout’s, undocumented?

He nearly rolls his eyes, but huffs instead. Placing the old paper back down on the metal table where he found it. Undocumented scouts would make his mission a bit harder to do since he’ll have to find out who was responsible for the operation. He hopes some Alpha Legionnaires have something on them so he can get all his demanding paper work done in a record time.

He takes steps forward towards the covered cylinder and put a gauntlet on it, hesitating for just a moment before he quickly pulls it off with a whip. Dust immediately falling off the cover as the bolts holding the tarp down snap, flying into random directions that he doesn’t care of. What he cares of is the creature inside of the aquarium. Bright, aquatic light blinding his for a second.

What he expected was nothing like what he saw. His eyes briefly blinking rapidly at the figure before him. He could have never unveiled such a creature before him. Those deep, preying eyes looking down at him like it knew all his secrets while its fins flowed gracefully through the waters of the huge cylinder aquarium that was surprisingly the most clean thing in this base.

His helm tilts when his eyes roams over its scales with the creatures head following along, watching him in turn. It— her scales rather radiant in the light of the aquarium with a few scarred and missing. Her tail flowing gracefully around the rock she took to curl around on.

So, this is the creature the paper speaks so… dangerously of? Sure she was bigger than him by a torso, but she doesn’t look much of a threat. Instead, she looks more… oddly attractive and he doesn’t find it weird himself that he is finding this attraction at such a creature that looked half human and fish.

Perhaps, his report can wait just a little bit? He can contact some Alpha legionnaires to help his case.

[askthechronoverse]

Last Chapter •||• Next Chapter

The two kids approached a red and green shack that looked like a small house and felt like it was both there forever and a fly by night sight. The bushes and trees held galaxies of colored and white lights and a sign indicated that an S. Claus resided there. Kevin told her to stay back as he headed for the door and was greeted by a teenager in an elf costume. As Kevin spoke to her, Kit watched the people walking on the square. She fought back the intrusive thoughts that this was a wild goose chase and a waste of time. Kevin said he would help her and maybe stopping the bad guys in the van was key to revealing the foundation element. She was snapped out of her thoughts by Kevin calling her name. He was now next to a large man in a long dark jacket. Under that jacket was an outfit of velvet red. His beard was long and white. She rushed over to them and gasped. He was talking to Santa Claus! Kevin has one heck of a hookup!

“Kit, can you tell this guy what you're looking for? This is my guy. He works for Santa.” Kevin pointed to the man, who was checking his watch. Kit's mind ran through what she needed quickly, but one wish rose to the surface and locked itself into being.

“I… I just want my dad back. I know that's selfish. I know I don't deserve it. I just want him back.” Kit was barely able to choke out the words, despite saying them the whole journey like an incantation. The man dressed as Santa looked completely taken off guard, brows now burrowing into the middle of his face.

“Well… Hang on. We ran out of candy canes because of some kids who took too many, but everyone who sees Santa gets… something.” As he dug through his pockets, Kevin protested. The Santa waved him off and pulled out a box of mints. “Hold out your paws, kids.” He took Kevin's mittened hand, then Kit's and tapped a total of three cylinder shaped mints into their palms. “Don't spoil your dinners.” The two said they wouldn't and left the Santa behind.

“That was a really good idea, Kevin! Santa should be able to help us.” Kit was fighting her emotions at this point, struggling to stay emotionally stable.

“Yeah, thanks! I'm surprised you didn't ask for your special thing. Would your dad help you find it?” The two walked past the chapel and were greeted by the sound of children singing. Kevin stopped to listen and turned to walk in. He gestured for her to follow and Kit ran in after him, wondering if the lady in black was still there. She didn't have to wonder for long.

“Hello again, child!“ The nun beamed as she tapped Kit's shoulder. “I was hoping to see you again. Did you find your special object?” Kit shook her head. “I would still be happy to help. What are you looking for?”

“It's just… old and magical. I don't know.” Kit's shoulders dropped. The woman frowned, but not for long.

“I don't know about old, but what you might call magic might be different to different people. There's a kind of magic in everything. That's what my father told me. There's magic in cold lemonade on a warm summer day and even in the singing of our children's choir.” She waved widely to the children singing in the large room in front of them. “The feeling of helping others is a kind of magic as well, a powerful one.”

“Is it magic to do something good for… selfish reasons?” Kit watched the choir sing, amazed by how coordinated everything was.

“What are the reasons?” The woman asked, disarmingly calm.

“I'm trying to find the special thing to get my dad back. He's gone and-” Kit began to cry a little. The woman offered her a tissue, which she took.

“I'm sorry for your loss, child. Losing someone you love isn't something that most adults know how to handle sometimes. Surely, if this special thing was important to your father, it makes sense you want to have it to keep him close. What was important to your father?”

“Um… our home. He always says that he fought to keep our home safe. And our family? His friends?” She spoke between sobs.

“Those are the things you want to keep close. Your father left a bit of himself in all of those things. Even now that he is no longer with you, he's still there.” The nun nodded as Kit let the idea sink in. “Wanting someone you lost isn't selfish, but honoring their memory is a better way to live.”

“So, it's OK for me to want to do stuff for him?”

“You wouldn't be doing it for him. You would be doing it because of him.” Her face lit up as Kit's did, excited by her realization. “Do you understand?” Kit nodded. “Good. I know that what I provided isn't physical. But I hope it helped.” Kevin tapped Kit's shoulder as he passed. “Looks like your friend is ready to go. Merry Christmas, child.” The church bells had started ringing at this point, sounding out that it was 8:00. Kevin grabbed her hand and dragged her out of the cathedral.

“We have an hour.” She said as the two ran to Kevin's house. “Do you have a plan?” Kevin nodded, the two sliding into his lawn and through the back door. He quickly whipped out a crayon drawn map of his house that childishly proclaimed that it was his battle plan. They outlined where certain pitfalls could be placed from Christmas ornaments to… fire? Heavy cans? Kevin meant business.

“I… I don't know about some of these. Are we trying to hurt them?”

“They'll be fine.” There was a slight inking of uncertainty in Kevin's voice, but Kit wasn't going to push any further. Maybe people from this world were just more resilient? “You can put down the ornaments, feathers, and the Micro Machines. I'll take care of the rest.” Kevin walked off and came back with pillows and a box full of round ornaments and tiny vehicles. “Just follow the battle plan. We can take them on together.” He held out his hand and Kit took it. They shook hands and went their separate ways to set their traps.

It wasn't long before their work was done. Kevin waited at the side entrance while Kit waited in the treehouse. She waited for her cue as she watched the burglars try to break into the house and be foiled by Kevin’s ingenuity. She kept her focus, but once the bandits had gotten into the house, her mind went to the words of the woman in black. Do things because of her father, not for him. The words sank in her mind like cold air on a warm day. Both her fathers were brave and noble, despite the things they've done. RJ turned his whole life around to help people with the technology he stole and Richard did everything in his power to protect the whole kingdom from harm, even though hiding the history of said kingdom was terrible.

Save the multiverse because of them, not for them.

Would they even be proud of her at the end of the journey? Would they ever even know what she did? She supposed these were the same thoughts going through Kevin's mind. She had more evidence than her partner in crime that the answer to the second question was probably no. If anything, she'd probably be grounded for leaving her aunt and uncle's house. Did that matter? She supposed not.

The sound of grunting from outside grabbed Kit's attention. She grabbed a pair of hedge trimmers and flew to the entrance of the treehouse. As Kevin had predicted, the bandits were climbing on a rope to her hideout. The bald bandit, whose cap was now burnt at the top, gasped.

“There's two of them! Marv, turn around!” The words barely left his lips before the two scrambled to get back to where they came from.

“Sorry guys. I didn't agree to the flamethrowers. You really shouldn't be breaking into somebody's house, you know.” She struggled with her task, but eventually the line connecting the house to the treehouse was cut in two. The bandits swung on the rope and into the side of the house. Kit cringed. Would they be OK? She knew they were the bad guys, but that still looked like it hurt. She watched the bandits scramble to their feet and follow Kevin to a house nearby. Kit saw an intimidating looking man leave his house with a shovel. She leaned out the window of the treehouse and waved to get the man's attention. He looked from her to the house and the bandits’ retreating backs and nodded. She then ran to the house to call the police. The sound of sirens signaled to her that this was all over.

As the police took the bandits away, Kevin returned to her. “Are your parents going to get mad at you?”

“The cops say that they'll explain it to my parents when they get home. I just need to call them and tell them.” Kevin rubbed his head. “Thanks for your help. I'm sure they would have gotten away without you.”

“I don't think I really did that much, Kevin.” Kit admitted. “You did all the brave stuff. I just cut a cord and called for help.”

“That was still really helpful.” He looked at the icy stairs and sighed. “We probably should clean all this up.” Kit nodded and got to work helping Kevin clean, working long into the night until the two collapsed into sleep.

Kit woke up later that morning, awoke to the sound of a loud ruckus in the house. She trotted down the stairs and was met with a flood of other people. At the center of it all was Kevin and the red-haired woman from the photo. Kevin waved for her to come over as the woman looked at the girl very confused.

“And it looks like you invited a friend. I'm glad you weren't totally alone?” Kit nodded, a little bit intimidated on how large Kevin's family truly was. “Do you want me to call your parents? I'm sure they want you home for Christmas day. “

“I'm sure they want me home period. I still have something I need to do before I go though.” Kit turned to leave. She barely got out the door before Kevin stopped her.

“Hey, wait!” She turned around, seeing that Kevin had something in his hands. “I wanted to give you something.” He held an antique bronze star tree topper. “I know this is our tree star and you probably have your own but… I hope you find your dad. Your wish needs to come true too. “ She took the star and it finally clicked. The power that she felt when she was decorating the tree with Kevin was from this. Maybe her wish was being granted after all. She placed the star into her messenger bag and sighed softly.

“Thank you, Kevin. I'm glad you got your family back.” She started to head toward town. As she got out of Kevin's sight, she fell through a portal that had opened underneath her.

[allthebrazilianpolitics]

Part of stolen radioactive material found in São Paulo

Police in São Paulo have recovered a part of radioactive material stolen on June 30, in the east of Brazil’s biggest city. Last week, the National Nuclear Energy Commission (CNEN), affiliated with the Science and Technology Ministry, issued a public alert following the theft, warning that the improper handling of the stolen material could pose significant health risks.

According to Medical Armazenagem Logística e Distribuição Ltda, the radioactive material was separated into five clearly marked lead cylinders and was stored inside a company pickup truck parked outside an employee’s home, in the São Paulo neighborhood of São Mateus.

The recovered material was found on Saturday in a battery shop in a nearby neighborhood. The establishment was isolated and radiation levels were tested, but the locale was found to be safe. One of the storage cylinders had been located a day before at a chop shop, where stolen cars are dismantled to be sold for parts. The clandestine business was also tested extensively for high levels of radiation, but was deemed safe.

Continue reading.

[phoenixyfriend]

@jewishdainix commented on this post:

The thing is, israel must be dismantaled because it is built on xenophobia, nationalism and subjeugation of palestinians. I agree with you on the worry of jewish safety, but that needs to be done by fostering and building communities of both nations of people, where both are welcome and safe, not by keeping an opressive colonialist state with no interest in equality or peace in power.

And Im saying this as a jew who lives in occupied palestine, btw. I know co-existing eont come out of nowhere, but it can be built.

(New post because the original is very long.)

Thank you for commenting! Most of the commentary I'm getting seems to be from people who are as removed from the conflict as I am.

I think a major factor in the discussion that stemmed from my initial response to the first "r u pro Palestine" question was that I was... well, very tired and not running on all cylinders, for one, but also in an intersection of Tumblr that sees a lot of half-baked political reblogs where people just... share things they either don't know ANYTHING about or don't realize how much is our isn't propaganda.

I am not immune to propaganda, especially the subtler kind, as evidenced by my having to adjust my understanding of the Yemen situation.

But the thing is that like... that intersection means I've seen a LOT of takes that are extreme (like Hamas and the Houthis being entirely right about Israel and how to handle it, or that even the children in Israel, by virtue of being Israeli, are guilty) as well as a lot of people who are supporting extreme solutions without really thinking things through?

Like, the majority of the people I see talking about Dismantling Israel seem to be in favor of doing so quickly and without regard to what happens to the people there, Because They're The Bad Guys, or because they just don't realize that this is the sort of thing that takes time and management to do safely.

Like... when I see so many people parroting things with an underlying tone of hate and malice towards even the civilians, it makes me concerned that any expression of support for a position like "dismantle Israel" will be taken as support by both "do so slowly and responsibly with an aim towards integration and safety for all" AND the "boot out all the jews" sides, because when the first question is only four words, I can't also answer in only four words, because political slogans are never JUST what they actually mean.

That said, the discussion over the past few days definitely has me sympathizing more with the Dismantle argument, but I do wonder about how it would be enforced, and by whom. Like, the Israeli government has made it pretty clear they have no interest in ceasefire, let alone a dismantling, so... does the UN get involved? NATO? Is the US sent in to undo Israel, the way they're trying to undo things like the Houthi government (as I've been told they're functionally the government of 70% of Yemen)? What gives us people of the world the right to choose interventionism in Israel but not Yemen or Iran?

Just cutting US aid from Israel opens the doors to Hamas and Houthi and associated groups "managing" the dismantling, which is the situation I expressed so much concern over in the previous post, so that's not an option. It looks like we do need the UN to be involved if that goal of Dismantling to build something new is possible, but that's interventionism, which is bad because it violates self-determination, except when it's not bad because there's mass murder happening, except when it's still bad even though the mass murder already happened, and...

IDK

It's so complicated and I WANT to believe there's a solution but the political philosophy and practical implications are kind of. A necessary consideration even when the ethics are clear cut.

[meli-writes]

Prescription

/// CW: peril (gunpoint), dubious consent, impact play, partial nudity, whorephobia, and mention of transphobia. ///

The handle came away with an unsettling clatter but, greatly relieving for Lili, could tumble safely away to the carpet. Every other mansion she’d seen was floored-to-ceiling’d with rich, deepening hardwoods as percussive as they were unethically imported.

Someone at last had the unwise taste to make things a bit softer, and no one would hear Lili’s heels clacking away then back to the evening’s do.

She pressed the door openly, slipping through the gap into a gently-lit abyss. No one would notice. Lili turned to peer behind the door and felt a warm, metal cylinder press itself against her cheek. At least that’s what she thought.

The fireplace twinkled and crackled slowly in the shadow’s eyes, Lili looked away burning with terror while her body froze in place. “Gotcha.”

“Goodness me, awfully sorry Mam. Just— getting myself lost is all now.” Perhaps the definitely mob-affiliated lady, tucked away in a dead-quiet study, hadn't just heard several minutes of failed lockpicking, followed by some furious few minutes of unscrewing.

“Hmm. I don’t think I’m as sure, my eyes have followed you all evening, darling. Has something been making you nervous?”

“No no, Mam. Quite ordinary for my face, always greeting with anxiety. And come to mention it, I’m here with—” Smack.

Before she could dare wonder where the barrel was the shadow had circled round and spanked her, then pressed the pistol harshly into the curve of her back, forcing her forward into the room’s centre, away from escape.

“What is it you're looking for?”

“Oh nothing important— please— just, the bathroom?”

Lili hadn’t hydrated for hours beforehand, spiro would get in her way, so even a few sips of dinner’s rosy pairing had left her lightheaded. The shadow’s disbelief smouldered in the pause, before it slammed the door shut and sent Lili’s nails digging into her palms.

“You’ll have your knees on my rug now, darling. Any other move and pop.”

She would have stayed frozen without the fire, it wasn’t the worst to sink down next to it, and most of her was pretty bare at the moment.

Lili held herself close, and still, but her eyes searched till she spied the iron poker just outwith her reach. It was a bit of hope.

“Now, I’m going to need you to answer at least one of my questions properly, or your evening will be much less pleasant than the rest of my guests.”

My rug. My guests. Oh no. “Who do you work for?”

“I was oh—” The shadow uncast itself and she was— incredible. High-heeled boots fell away to a dark and silken affair that made sure to demonstrate every muscle on her.

Lili shuddered, and not only from base intimidation, as a clutch bag was plucked from her fingers. “—accompanying a gentleman, Mam. I work a shop, but… sometimes find myself needing the help.”

The lady pulled a high-cheek higher — stretching lips, painted like dark chocolate, into a grimace. She was perusing through the bag, tossing out six sizes of condom, a packet of makeup wipes, a small granola bar and—

“Hmm, lying.”

—the German-made subcombat was perhaps too much of an upgrade over the typical prostitute’s derringer. It was disarmed quickly and placed on the desk, far out of reach.

“Don’t tell me it’s for self-protection.”

Technically that wasn’t a question, so Lili kept silent. She looked again at the poker — that was closer, for now — but the lady could see her twitching in place. Ca-click.

“Bend over.”

Lili’s breath roared over the flames, hot and heavy with muffled panic.

“I told you, if you won’t tell me when I ask you, then you’ll tell me when I hurt you. Now bend the fuck over.”

Her head juddered, trying to stay up as she bent herself down. Suddenly, desperately, she pulled back up. “Wait! It’s— there’s a rival. But I can’t say more—”

A boot hoisted itself over Lili’s shoulder and stomped her into the carpet, sending her dress rising over her ass. “Because they’ll kill you?”

The sharpened heel dug into her shoulder blade. A smile from above watched as Lili chafed her cheek against the floor, nodding in awkward terror.

The heel pulled free so the lady might kneel down and draw Lili’s face up to hers, the other hand finding itself wrapped around the taught hem of her dress. “Darling, if that’s all you plan to say then I’m going to be the one killing you. And there’s a lot that could happen between when I would, and when they would."

She pulled, exposing terribly insubstantial lingerie and sending the thief sprawling into her own bosom, face blooming red as the thief attempted to withdraw.

“Back down, darling.”

Lili pressed her face against the rug, felt the heat licking at her nearly bare arse, not seeing the crop now resting in the lady’s hands. “It’s, respectfully, more complicated than that, Mam. They’re holding something that I rather need— AHhh.”

The pain was quick, sharp, and heavy. The only relief a better, if bitter, understanding for her present position.

“Continue.” That was just her testing Lili, enjoying her.

“She’s got a hold on all my— Ahh.” Lighter. Lili had slipped and not noticed. “—meds, she has my medication. AHHHh.” Harder, the lady’s twisted version of a reward.

“What kind?” Crop falling before Lili could speak again.

“EEek. Hormones, they’re hormones. I’m—” Lili felt it resting on her, waiting. “Fuck, Mam. I’m a tranny, okay?” She felt the pad drawn up her back, shivering as it slowly pulled away.

“Quite the blasphemous word for yourself, darling. And who is she?”

Lili couldn’t answer that, she couldn’t. If she wasn’t screwed already this would kill her for sure. The rug was stained by a few heated tears, but she hadn’t felt it come back down—

Thwack. The lady’s sympathies had harsh, impatient limits it seemed.

“YAAAHaha. Fuckin’ hells. It’s Coloski, Reb Coloski.”

Lili tried to peek up but was quickly shoved back down, crop pressing against her temple as the lady mused. “Fucking bitch. And how’d you end up stealing for her?”

“I was—” Lili breathed in, and out. It was too late to deal out half-truths. “I ran out of my meds, and they refused me anymore and I couldn’t go back, okay? So, worked the few connections I had, Mam, and I guess it— worked its way up the chain.”

The lady eyed Reb’s thief, her thief now. Every family traded in debts but Coloski always loved to play with vulnerability.

“And now you don’t get any more — until a job is done?”

“No, I— Ahh.”

Not that she didn’t love it also, but this kind was insulting — and not for her to play with.

“Straighten up, darling. Pull those legs apart for me.” Even if the dress wasn’t hiked it wouldn’t have helped now.

Her cock pressed against the ungenerous mesh at her front, the lady brushing her crop against it, drawing it along her thigh, begging to drive out more answers. Or perhaps just a few more squeals.

“She make you do anything else?”

“I’ve had to do things for jobs, Mam, but not for her— Eeeh.” It stinged much more here. The lady need only swipe over, not under, and leave Lili with little padding to save her. “But, she promised she’d help me — Ahh — promised I’d be out of her debt for this job."

“She set you up.”

Lili shivered and blinked, looked at her with dumb shock. A quick smack was enough to squeal her back to her senses. “Eeee-ahh. W-What do you mean?”

“She’s done it before.” The lady nodded her head to the side. “How much do you know about the Victorinos?”

“Only that is their mansion. Boss went missing some years back but then in comes this woman, sister I think, and takes over in his stead. Not my place to ask why, Mam.”

She bent down, graced Lili’s lips for a terrifying moment. Her hair was composed into long, black waves, with a rather predominant nose imposing its own beauty on her face.

She looked in Lili’s eyes and purred.

“This woman.”

“M-m-m-miss Victorino?”

“Yes, darling?” This thief was all hers now. “Did you think I was another lost guest, like you?”

Lili tried, unsure of what she’d even say, to answer. “I— AHHHhh.” It was swift, and hard, and landed much closer to her centre than was bearable.

Vic — Miss Victoria Victorino — was talking now, and her thief needed to shush.

“Bitch sent you into Dante’s Inferno, where it would be quite undue on my reputation for anyone to walk out.”

She started padding the crop against Lili, who tensed at its rhythm and found herself blushing and hardening in response. “There’s a mutual agreement I think, if one meant to test me, to let me dispose of one of her more useless tools, from time to time.”

“Dispose?” THWACK. “YAAAaaah.”

“Kill.”

Vic narrowly missed the luridly pitched lace between Lili’s legs. On purpose — the threat brought her enough joy and there wasn’t quite such an evocative pain to draw from messy, jumbled parts.

Tears parted from the thief’s eyes. “Are you gonna?”

Vic sighed, giving Lili a soft, crooning show of sympathy. Laying the crop behind her and sinking down to Lili’s side, holding stiff as Vic’s arms wrapped around her.

“You’re still a thief, and a liar, and I can’t let you go— but—”

She grabbed Lili by the chin, squishing her cheeks and forcing her to look at a very, very particular cabinet, its contents exposed by crystal glass.

“—do you know what your prescription is?”

---

Lili was still scrambling herself back together as she hurried back to the lobby, pulling her dress the pitiful distance down she could. Miss Victorino was shortly behind her, and even if she tried to run first she’d have to get past—

“There you are, whore. What’re you doing?” Lili's gentleman had his fingers clutched viciously around the whole of her arm, pulling her against a dusty, velvet coat. “Waiting till I’m drunk so you can sneak off without doing what I paid you so damn much for?”

The cheapest bastards always expected the most for it. “N-no sir, but—”

“But nothing. I paid you. You fuckin’ belong to me—”

Lili could hear boots where the carpet ended. Feeling a far tighter grip work its way around her other arm, as the man began to stutter. “W-w-woah, hey! Boss Vic! Man!”

“This one’s mine now, Harv.” Lili saw his eyes widen, for a moment in annoyance, then in fear. He gave way as Vic pulled. “Tell the footman what she owes you, and the right amount. You’ll get double that for your trouble.”

“Of course, ‘course Boss. I won’t forget to—”

“Now. And don’t fucking harass the staff on the way out.” He scrambled, and at least wasn’t Lili’s problem anymore.

Vic groaned in frustration. “And, he in on it?”

Lili was too close to look up, so just shook her head. This part wasn’t a lie. Coloski gave her medication, but Lili still needed the money. And she couldn’t be blamed for a double booking when it’s what got her in here.

“Shame. He calls me man again and he’ll be wishing it was merely treachery. Now, about you– hmm.”

Vic’s closeness was having a certain effect on Lili. She belonged to Vic now, her mind familiar with an ecstatic mote of what that meant.

But whether it was better or worse than Reb, it wasn’t good — the humiliating delirium that fear held over her was clearly visible to Vic. And, to everyone else in view.

Vic pulled Lili close to her chest, running fingers through her hair, bestowing a dignity though only so she could make her lose it again later.

“I think I've entertained enough guests for tonight, you however have scarcely begun.”

---

(Masterpost)

originally written on cohost 10/12/2023, in response to Make Up A Criminal's prompt:

Mob Boss who looks a lot different than they used to

[gwendolyn-of-loxley]

Tali'Zorah had gained weight, and she didn't know how to feel about it.

As she stared into the mirror, she recalled her slimmer figure that she'd had for most of her life, and with it, the pangs of hunger. On the Flotilla, food sanitation was too big of a contamination risk, so the diets of every quarian consisted largely of vegan nutrient paste. It was not filling, and it was far from exciting. It was not impossible to safely decontaminate an actual dish, but logistically, it was too taxing en masse.

When Rannoch was recolonized, the geth were instrumental in helping acclimate the quarian populace to various pathogens, and in establishing stable crop yields. The quarians could chew again. They could cook. They could feast. And as a result, many visibly gained weight, including the Admiral of Domestic Engineering. And she didn't know how to feel.

Billboards, ad cylinders, commercials, especially those made on Earth and Palaven, seemed to worship weight-loss. Tali wasn't exactly a fan of these companies, but the exposure was wearing her down. Turning, she took note of her softer belly and wider torso. She very much had what humans called "love handles." Additionally, her arms were less taught, and her thighs and calves had thickened. Her face had even become that much rounder.

Was she too heavy? Was it unattractive? Was--

Tali's musings were interrupted when the bedroom door opened. Turning around, her gaze met John's. His body shone with sweat; he must have been working in the garden again.

Almost as soon as he saw her, he smiled. Tali loved that smile. It was earnest, and kind, and always, always full of love. Without thinking much, the quarian strode toward him, closing the distance and hugging him tightly. She didn't care that he stank a little, or that his body was stiflingly hot in the cool air of the room. She loved the way he looked at her, the way he smiled at her. It wasn't any less since they'd first gotten together, and that's how she knew that her weight was meaningless.

On the subject of weight, John had gained some of his own over the years, and she was far from complaining. His belly and triceps had put on some looser material, the definition of his muscles (which he still very much had) becoming somewhat obscured. Having been surrounded by pipes, circuits, metal walls, and tight suits her whole life, Tali was grateful to have soft, organic tissue to snuggle. If anything, their accumulated pounds were indicative of peacetime, of rest they had earned.

John quickly returned the hug, giving a gentle kiss to the top of his wife's head. "I appreciate the hug, but you're awfully quiet. Everything okay?"

"Everything is perfect," she replied. She pulled away just enough to look at him. "Although, my husband just covered me in dirt and sweat. It would be incredibly irresponsible of him not to let me shower with him."

John smirked, and in a swift motion, quickly picked up his wife in a bridal hold. "I think I can oblige."

[stories-of-the-nrm]

The Fallen King

The Flying Scotsman rolls into the station at the end of a busy day.

Scott: Ahhh. Another successful non-stop run. The A3s will run this railway for years to come.

His driver, William winces.

William: I wouldn't say that, Scott. I've heard some rumors that Sir Nigel Gresley is set to put his latest design, the A4 into service next month.

Scott uncharacteristically splutters and turns red with annoyance.

Scott: This is preposterous! Have I not proven my worth to Sir Nigel Gresley? I can't just be replaced as if I haven't been operating this incredible service to the railway for over 10 years.

William: Shhh. Steady old boy. Just because the design is meant to provide high speed passenger rides, doesn't mean you will be replaced.

Scott: I sure hope so, William.

Time Skip

One day in 1938, Sir Nigel Gresley appeared at the sheds.

Nigel: Good morning, Scotsman.

Scott: Good morning, Sir.

Nigel: I know you've been feeling down about being replaced, but I bring good news. You are being seen as a role model by the A4s. In fact, I want you to take me to the Doncaster Works. There's an engine I want you to meet.

Scott sighs. He knows he shouldn't be so jealous, but he thought he would have his record at least a little longer.

Scott: Yes sir.

The Flying Scotsman takes Sir Nigel Gresley to the Doncaster Works. An engine freshly painted painted garter blue sits on the rails faceless.

Nigel: Now in just a minute, my latest modification of the A4 will wake up. I believe if this works, this engine will once again be a credit to the railway. In fact, as you have been the only engine in recent British history to do so, I want you to mentor this engine. Streamlining by design will make an engine fast, but it takes great skill to manage such high speeds.

Scott: Oh. Well it's an honor, sir.

Scott means what he says, but it's still bittersweet. To him it hurts to have to be responsible for training his own replacement. Being demoted from the Flying Scotsman services was quite a blow.

?: Hello?

Nigel: Ah yes. Welcome to the world young engine. I am your designer, Sir Nigel Gresley. Due to my fondness of birds, I decided to name you Mallard.

Mallard: Mallard, sir?

Nigel: Indeed. The Mallard is one of the most famous birds in the world. Due to the modification I added starting with your design, I highly believe you will become one of the most famous engines.

Mallard: My goodness. Thank you sir!

Sir Nigel Gresley chuckles. He walks over to the Flying Scotsman.

Nigel: This is one of my most famous engines, the Flying Scotsman, known for being the first official engine to reach 100 mph. He will act as your mentor regarding how to handle high speeds. We value fast, safe, and reliable service on this railway. Is that clear?

Mallard: Oh yes sir! Thank you for giving me a mentor.

Nigel: Well I'll just leave you two alone then. There's a lot of work to be done.

Scott sighs. It's not at all Mallard's fault that he feels this way. Given the circumstances, the least he can do is make Mallard as reliable as himself.

Time Skip

Mallard: Scotsman, why am I being asked to pull a train like this just to test my brake?

Scott: This is meant to simulate pulling a real train. The men added a dynamometer car to measure your speed and other elements of your performance.

Mallard: So it was just like my tests before I pulled my first passenger train.

Scott: Indeed. Only this time, the hope is that you will be fit to break the speed record. Should the bearing on your middle cylinder overheat even with the modifications, it would mean more work is to be done. We don't want you hurting yourself just to break a speed record.

Mallard contemplates this. He doesn't want to let anyone down. Especially if it's because of something he can't control.

Mallard: I understand.

Jospeh: Alright, Mallard. It's time to start our journey.

Mallard: Very well then, driver.

Mallard rolls out into the distance. Something about the day makes Scott only dread his worse fear is about to become a reality.

Time Skip

Crowd: He's done! Mallard broke the speed record!

Scott solemnly closed his eyes. Even though he isn't old by any means, this news made him feel as if he's aged.

Gordon: Why the long face, brother?

Scott: I feel as if my time to shine's ended before it truly ever began.

Gordon: Oh don't tell me that you're jealous of Mallard.

Scott looks at Gordon. He shakes his head knowing jealous isn't at all the correct term.

Scott: This is not at all Mallard's fault. He's simply doing what he's told like any young engine would. It isn't as if I didn't know my speed record would be broken one day.

Gordon: So why are you upset?

Scott: I wish I was able to have that to my name a while longer. To be allowed the chance to live out my prime as the best of the best. I would be willing to accept being replaced should it be well over 50 years of service and I'm no longer reliable. But to be replaced this soon.... I just didn't expect it.

Gordon: At the end of the day this is a business. What's best for the business is to ensure our passengers have fast, safe, and reliable rides. By mentoring Mallard, you are ensuring that guarantee. That is being a really useful engine. Like I said before, get some perspective Scott.

Scott shuts his eyes sighing again. If only there was a way to explain that Gordon is right but he should still be allowed to his feelings.

Scott: I only hope that Mallard doesn't meet the same fate as me. Falling from grace for things that is not at all your fault is something I wouldn't wish on anyone. No one should ever have to worry about facing the cutter's torch.

Gordon: Indeed, Scott. Indeed.

AN: Thank you anon for requesting this. I didn't realize that the real life A4s did in fact replace the Flying Scotsman until I started learning about the history a little bit more.

Tagging: @nelllia, @gordon208, @jayde-jots, @mintydeluxes-blog, and @engineer-gunzelpunk.

[grimmwolfcrafts]

Good morning! Feels weird to be posting this early. Guess I was more tired than I thought.

Smells like roach traps but it dries hard and doesn't chip off. It's easy to shave and sand so I think I'll be using similar for the time being.

The cylinder fits good enough but I'm gonna fill in some of the gaps at the top and bottom of the housing. Also I noticed that when I glued the two halves of the gun back together, it's kinda crooked. I'll try to save it. Also I started shaping the groves on the handle. It feels pretty good but can be improved

Lastly I started on those... Decorative lines? Stability reinforcement struts? The things on the bottom of the barrels. I freehanded the lines just to see what I was working with.

Also just in case you were wondering. I'm gonna do a pass over at the end to smooth out the cracks and chips and such. It's the most tedious part and I wanna have everything done and finished before I start to clean things up as I know it will take forever.

Thanks for reading, hope you have a wonderful day today. Be safe and see you later!

[felixcloud6288]

Fullmetal Alchemist Chapter 47

I'm sure we've all had that moment where you push a button or twist a knob and something completely unrelated happens at the same time, and you're just going "Did I do that?"

A little piece of debris fell on the man's head after that explosion.

After Lin lands, he has to take a second to recover from the shock of his landing. Since we last saw him, he's taken a new injury to his leg, but carrying Lan Fan essentially doubled his weight when he landed.

With no context, this panel looks like the guy is staring at the bear-shaped cloud of smoke.

Scar sees Winry holding a gun toward him because he killed her parents. He acknowledges she is fully justified in shooting him. And then he doubles down saying the Amestrians fired the first shot in the war.

He feels the point of the cycle of vengeance his master told him when he realizes he's standing on the opposite end of an old memory. Scar's brother once stood in the way to protect him from Kimblee. And for a moment, Scar stands over Ed and Winry in the way Kimblee stood over him.

Winry was staring at Ed's back when he jumped in front of her.

I don't know what stupid Alchemy thing Ed could have done here, but he could have done a stupid Alchemy thing here.

Consider if Scar hadn't hesitated to kill Ed at that moment. The man who murdered Winry's parents would have also killed her childhood friend. And the last thing she'd have seen before his death would be his back.

Winry is terrified right now. Her thoughts have been steadily focusing around realizing the danger Ed and Al are putting themselves through. She ran here while thinking only of catching up to Ed and Al, and the thought of them dying brought back all her memories of her parents. Then she sees what is happening, and before she can begin to process anything, Ed yells at Scar for murdering the Rockbells after they saved his life.

All the exhaustion and stress ensnared her at once and all she can think is Scar is the man who took her family from her and he is trying to do it again. Ed managed to remind her of what she's done and who she is and brought Winry back to herself.

I winced a bit when that gun hit the ground. Who's to say it might not have accidentally discharged on impact.

Everything else he did shows he understands how to safely disarm someone with a gun and how to properly handle one. When he got Winry to let go, he placed his thumb over where the hammer would hit the cylinder and then prioritized getting Winry's fingers off the trigger. Then he handed the gun to an MP handle-first.

Roy is listening in on all the reports about Scar (and the explosion Lin caused) and decides it's time to go through the recovery phase of Heist 3. Hawkeye hasn't forgotten how he got involved in the Super Heist and insists Roy not jump in and risk being connected to Heist 3.

One of the notes attached to Fuery's cabinet is the Konami code.

Scar's debate with Al shows his black and white approach to Alchemy. Alphonse, like Nina, no longer has a human body. But to call them both cursed is wrong and disregards the circumstances surrounding them. Nina might have been a victim of Alchemy, but Alphonse was saved by it. He's not forced to live in an empty suit of armor because of Alchemy; he is able to exist in the world thanks to Alchemy. Until a few days ago, Alphonse might have agreed with Scar about his situation.

I can think of two reasons Wrath would send Gluttony after Scar instead of doing it himself: Lan Fan is still alive and could warn Lin of Gluttony's presence, and Wrath was certain by where the sound of their fight was coming from that Scar was now in a place with few witnesses.

One of Lin's items flew out of his bag when he made his dynamic entry.

And I want to end on one final detail that I was considering adding to chapter 33, but decided to save for this. Lan Fan is left-handed. Her fighting style is ambidextrous in general, but she shows a clear preference for striking and throwing with her left hand. Meanwhile, she wields a kunai in her right hand which tends to be for parrying and utility purposes rather than offense. In hand-to-hand combat, she prefers to open with either a strike from her left hand or a kick with her left foot. She also grabbed Ed's arm with her left hand in chapter 33.

So she lost her dominant hand.

And I know we saw Scar's brother's tattoos here. I'm going to wait for a more relevant chapter to talk about them.

back

[beardedmrbean]

The Collin County Sheriff’s Office says an improvised explosive device was found in a cemetery Thursday.

According to a post on Facebook by the sheriff's office, deputies were called about a possible pipe bomb found at Scott Cemetery off County Road 161/Ridge Road, north of Wilmeth Road in McKinney. The sheriff's office told NBC 5 the caller said he spotted the device at the cemetery last week and reported it Thursday morning.

Larry Hankey says he first spotted the object during a visit Saturday to the cemetery where his late parents and wife are buried.

"I saw something on the ground so I kind of kicked it with my foot. I didn't kick it hard. I just nudged it with my foot," Hankey told NBC 5. "Then I said, 'I ain't gonna pick it up', so I just left it there."

He left the cemetery Saturday then says he decided to report the object, described as a cylinder wrapped in black tape, after reading an FBI alert encouraging the public to report anything suspicious over the holidays.

"I should've called it in earlier," said Hankey.

Deputies arrived around at the cemetery at about 9:30 a.m. Thursday and secured the area.

The sheriff's department said the Plano Police Department's bomb squad was called in to assist and that they determined that, "the object was, in fact, an improvised explosive device."

The Plano bomb squad safely disposed of the device.

Neighbors say they felt a concussion inside their homes when it happened.

"It doesn't make any sense. Why would there be a pipe bomb in a cemetery in a great neighborhood," said Jim Thomas who lives in a nearby neighborhood.

"Our sincere appreciation to the Plano Texas Police Department Bomb Squad for their rapid and effective response," the sheriff's office said in a statement.

When NBC 5 crews arrived, investigators were searching an area underneath a tree along the cemetery's west fence. Investigators, including ATF agents, were seen handling what looked like nails.

NBC 5 reached out to the sheriff's office for more information and they said at this point in the investigation they have nothing more to share. No further information has been released about the device or who may have built it or left it in the cemetery.

"I don't know why it would be in a cemetery. That's mighty odd," said Hankey.

The sheriff's office said there is no indication of any further danger to the public.

The Bureau of Alcohol, Tobacco, Firearms and Explosives has been called to assist with the investigation.

Scott Cemetery is a Texas Historical Site which dates back to the 1850's.

[wickedslip]

Let’s load the barrel of an idea that Nausi has a gun that was willed to her from her great grandmother Helena, along with Rosethorns Manor. Located in the attic, it sits in a dark wood ornate box with cushioned black velvet trim, taken apart with the bullets located in a different location of the manor.

The whole gist of “anything in the house is yours”, but as everything in Rosethorns seems ramped up with otherworldly energy, it would make sense that the same residual energy could also be found with and on the gun. The gun itself is in pristine, mint condition, a silver engraved Colt Cloverleaf House model revolver with pearl handle, manufactured circa 1874 with a rare short 1.5-inch barrel and period engraving. The frame has engraved floral blossoms and accompanying border motif. A leaf engraving is present on its barrel, surrounding the brand marking on the left side. The “Cloverleaf” 4-shot cylinder has engraved scrollwork of zigzags and dots, with double line patterns. A starburst and entwining line patterns are featured on the back strap. The top strap is marked with its patent date of creation. The barrel, cylinder and both grip panels are numbered to the gun. The silver of the gun was replated in attempts of restoration, being as old as it is, and even still, it has begun to darken with age.

Mechanically it is excellent and has only been shot a handful of times. Nausi now keeps the gun in the top of her closet, and only has been tempted a handful of times to use it. She was in a home invasion in her teen years when living for a short duration in Manhattan, and if she gets weary of someone trying to break in, she will have it with her in case of emergencies. She has also pulled her gun on The Cult before, when they tried their best to drag her out of the house by her hair. Luckily, she never had to use it, the house took care of them by removing them by force; no member of the coven has been granted permission of entry, and the house will cause them severe pain for any that tries.

But the gun is a fail-safe and is used in case of dire emergencies.  She has used an alternate gun at the shooting range for practice, and she has enough open spaces in the forest just outside of town off Route 1 for practice. She is still not a perfect markswoman, as her hone skills of witchery will always serve to be her greatest weapon------BUT she is getting damn near perfect.

She eventually wants to tap into archery, to see if that is more her speed. But who doesn’t love a haunted Victorian Era gun in hard times like these.

[contentment-of-cats]

For Owlpartytime: Thranto

Eli is an actual officer now, not just an ensign, but lieutenant commander. They vaulted him over Agral, Barlin, and Pyrondi, and put him on a level with Hammerly, Lomar, and Yve - and none of them hold it against him. 

Plenty of others do, though.

Yes, he more than deserved a promotion. It had been years, and he’d resented it, but knew it was an issue of having pissed of someone powerful and not an issue of his own competence. Still, Hammerly was a veteran of the clone wars, a good decade older than he was, and to be on a level with her was awkward. He ought to be a senior lieutenant, but he’s not going to quibble. This might be his last promotion for a while. Agral, Barlin, and Pyrondi will catch up with him soon, the way things are going.

The Chimaera is in for repairs, the Kuat yards bustling with Imperial army and naval personnel heading to various places to wait out their vessel’s return to deployment. He could go back to Lysatra, but transport to the edges of Imperial rule is whimsical at best - which is why ISDs exist. 

Maybe something closer? His shipmates seems to be looking at Canto Bight, and honestly it’s not looking like a bad deal. Cheap but good hotels, buffets, buckets of booze, and what happens in Canto Bight stays in Canto Bight. That is unless you come back with an STD, in which case punishment ranges from confinement to quarters all the way to a court martial. 

Better check the expiration on the prophylactic spray.

Hm. Nice Imperial sized bed. Sitting area. Desk. In-room safe for insignia and cylinders. Free breakfast. Good reviews. More important, an endorsement from the ISB as a secure hostel for officers and noncoms. A glance at Thrawn shows him still in conversation via holonet with Colonel Yularen - with Yularen putting his foot down. 

Oh no. 

It can only be a voluntold social event. 

Thrawn terminates the connection after the colonel signs off.

“How is Colonel Yularen, sir?” Eli asks.

“Insistent. Apparently Seinar and other arms manufacturers and fleet systems contractors are holding a convention on Cantonica.” Thrawn’s presentation was neutral. “We are expected. Colonel Yularen will bring us in his private shuttle.”

Eli rested his face in his hands momentarily. He needed a stronger word than ‘fuck.’ He’d been looking forward to the casinos, the food, entertainments, free-flowing booze, and getting laid. He really needed to get laid. He’s even forego the booze, food, casinos, and entertainment if it would get him laid. 

“I tried telling him that my remaining on Kuat to oversee repairs was critical. Does ‘bullshit’ mean the same thing in Basic as it does in Sy Bisti?”

Eli almost laughed. “Pretty close. It means untruthful, but not exactly a flat-out lie. I was already looking at Canto Bight.” Not getting laid, then. “I’ll book us into somewhere with a security rating and a less... celebratory atmosphere.”

~

The shuttle afforded to the head of the ISB is a Delta, packed with comforts and no doubt a lot of classified equipment. Thrawn is not sure why Colonel Yularen has latched on to him, or subsequently to the Seventh, but he is a pragmatist above all. Upon making port on Cantonica, he is marginally approving of their hotel, but makes sure that they are given a secure suite on a secure floor with a comms room that requires the abilities of Lomar to handle it. 

Once they fish the man out of the nudie bar and sober him up.

The convention showcases weapons systems and fleet services. Thrawn hails Faro and Marinith and drags them in. Pyrondi and Hammerly have been freshly booted from a casino - apparently Pyro is really good at roulette - and there is no rest for anyone. Further, there is a lot more voluntold socializing than previously indicated. 

Thrawn’s crew is happily social most of the time, but flee in all directions from being stuffed in a room with officialdom. Marinith ends up with a pole-dancing trophy, while Faro gets a number of executives blisteringly hungover. Pyrondi and Hammerly play five-card-fool-me and he has to get them off-planet before they end up fleecing the High Command. Finally, it’s just himself, Vanto, Yularen, Siward Cass, Moradmin Bast, and a half dozen executives in a place to make things dicey indeed. Conan Motti suggests a drinking game, one designed to get a newcomer completely hammered and presumably embarrass himself.

Human intoxicants are tasty, but not very strong. Relaxing, warming. Quite nice.

Surprisingly, Eli keeps up with Thrawn, as does Yularen. 

No wait. 

Vanto. Lieutenant Commander Vanto. 

There.

So, perhaps he should propose some toasts.

Drinking to health and Warrior’s Fortune. 

Good idea.

Ar’alani would be proud of him.

So Thrawn began the toasts in order of rank, making sure to do it in good Corellian whisky. Of course, nobody would refuse to drink, and nobody did. However, Admiral Motti fell asleep in a potted plant, several members of the IHC were unconscious under the table, and a number of civilian contractors ended up over the railing of the Stellar Center, vomiting into the fountain five stories down. Yularen murmured that Thrawn understood politics betterr than he thought, and both Eli and Thrawn carried the colonel back to his suite, handed him over to a discreet aide, and then went to their own rooms.

“That went well.” Thrawn turned expecting to see Eli, only Eli... Vanto. Vanto. Vanto. Was on the floor of the turbolift. “What are you doing down there?”

“Admiring the view.” Eli peers up at him. “You’re drink.”

“I’m drink?” What could that mean. Eli. No, Vanto. Lieutenant Commander Vanto was, as the CEDF term went, completely hammered. “You are intoxicated.”

“I’m not the one who toasted every member of the Imperial navy,” Eli retorts. “Do you know how much whisky’s sloshing around in your brain?”

“I am not hammered. Human intoxicants are nice, but nothing like what I am accustomed to.” Of course it’s been some years since he’s indulged in such. “You are Human, therefore drinking your intoxicants renders you hammered to the deck.”

“Bullshit, sir.”

“Who’s the one on the deck?”

“The view.”

Odd, there’s nothing to look at in a turbolift except for him. “I will assist you to bed, Commander Vanto.”

Now the man’s asleep. Thrawn pulls him upright and then across his shoulders in a carry. There’s a pleasant scent under the whisky and tibbak smoke. The doors open and Thrawn verifies it’s their floor before stepping out. Odd that it takes a few tries to open the hatch to their accommodation, but he makes it through and-

“Thrawn?”

“Yes, Eli Vanto?”

“M’gonna-”

Thrawn unloads him and holds an empty ice bucket under Eli’s face. Poor Human can’t hold his liquor. He has to sober Eli up. He can’t go to bed in this condition. 

Now he’s asleep again.

Thrawn sighs and overshoulders him again, carrying Eli into his sleeping room and the fresher. It’s very warm in here. To a Chiss, Humans always overheat their spaces. Even the ‘chilly’ temperatures of the Chimaera are a nice spring day to Thrawn. 

“Eli Vanto. Awaken. You are drunk.”

There is something murmured about pots and kettles that Thrawn doesn’t quite catch. Very well. Since Livan... Eli Vanto is horizontal on the bed, Thrawn tugs off his boots, then his socks. His aide sits up abruptly and spends some time dry-heaving into the waste bin hastily procured from under the desk. This will not do. Thrawn carefully helps him out of his tunic, belt and kepi set on the chair, tunic following the socks into the cleaner. 

“You, too.”

“Ch'ah am nah ch'at in'a vea carcir vuhncib tikim canseo.”

Eli’s face scrunches itself. “What?”

Thrawn repeats himself. He is not the one so intoxicated that he is projectile vomiting.

“Thrawn? It’s not Basic, Meese Caulf, Sy Bisti, or any of the six other languages I speak. I’m going to guess you’re speaking Chiss.” Then his aide has the effrontery to chuckle. “I told you you were drunk.”

Pausing, Thrawn considers a theory that Human intoxicants might have a delayed effect. Pulling a knife from his boot, he splays his hand on the dresser and begins to stab between his fingers faster and faster until-

“Oops.” “SHIT! Thrawn-”

Blood everywhere. 

The next moments are muddled as Eli has to vuhn again and Thrawn holds his napkin-wrapped hand above his head while Eli finds the bacta spray - hobbled by his trousers sliding down his hips as they are partially unfastened. There’s blood all over his white uniform. It’s a common occurrence, though it is not usually his. He stands and removes his tunic and belt - the napkin falls and now there’s blood on his trousers.

“It’s possible that I’m slightly inebriated, Commander Vanto.”

Eli comes back in with the bacta spray and two doses of something called Get-Rite. “Ya think?”

“That was sarcasm.” Ha. See? He can pick up some Humanisms. Then again, it could be long exposure to Eli.

The bacta goes on, both of them give up on trousers and their uniforms go in the cleaner on the ‘heavy duty’ cycle, leaving both of them in their underwear.

“You know, sir, that when I imagined both of us in a room in our underwear, this is not what I had in mind.” Eli looks morosely at his bloodied bed. 

It takes a moment to sink in and Thrawn puzzles over it “Why would you need to imagine me in my underwear. You’ve seen me in my underwear.”The academy, aboard the Blood Crow, shared accommodations-”

The light, as Ziara would say, finally clicks on.

Oh.

Oh.

“You imagining me in my underwear is sexual in nature.” Nailed it! But. “You are also my aide and a promising young officer whose reputation I in no way wish to taint. More than that, I consider you a friend and a confidante. I am,however, willing to state, that such attraction is... reciprocal and-” That color could not be healthy. His infrared is almost a miniature nova. “Are you all right? Did you drink something to make your ears turn that color? Are you about to die?”

In answer, Eli bowls him over and both of them land on the floor at the foot of the bed, noses bumping lips smashing and a possible chipped tooth later they surface. 

“What happens in Canto Bight stays in Canto Bight,” Eli blurts.

“I greatly wish that were true.” He is embracing his aide and his friend, and is disinclined to let go. “I also refuse to take advantage of our lowered inhibitions for my own delight.”

“I have the Get-Rite. We’ll drink it, suffer, and then decide.” Eli hands him the little green glass bottle. “I know that I won’t be changin’ my mind.”

“Get-Rite.is an anti-intoxicant?” Thrawn thumbs off the cap.

“Think of it as bacta for bad adult decisions.” Eli uncaps his own and clinks it with Thrawn’s. “One. Two. Three.”

Thrawn knocks his back and then wishes dearly that he hadn’t. His tongue tries to leave his head. His stomach attempts to return it, but his esophagus slams shut, unwilling to suffer a second time. Unable to sweat, his eyes stream tears. He is sure that vital organs cannot scream, but his kidneys and liver manage a reasonable facsimile and his brain fizzes and quivers in his skull. His ears pop as if he’s plummeting into atmosphere.

“Btuzahi ch'ah non!” Please shoot him now. Please.

Eli is uttering a nonstop stream of impressive multilingual profanity.

And then it’s over, aside from the desperate need to drain their bladders of a fuel drum of excess fluid. Then they are left wobbly-legged, intensely dehydrated, and sober. They wash up silently, sharing the walk-in shower, wrapping themselves in towels.

“I meant it. That kiss.” Eli reaches for Thrawn’s arm, hesitates, then completes the contact - his warm Human hand on Thrawn’s shoulder. “Drunk or sober, Thrawn, the answer’s the same.”

“For me as well, Eli. Just not, I think, tonight. I mean, this morning.” Cautiously he slides an arm around the younger man. “Fluids, food, and rest are my best recommendations.” A breath. “If you would like to share my bed.”

Eli looks at his wrecked bed. “Yeah. I can do that. I’ll order, though.”

Greatly daring, Thrawn proffers a kiss and finds it very warmly received and reciprocated. 

“Do Chiss eat breakfast in bed?”

Thrawn cocks his head. “No. I cannot say that we do, unless ill or injured.”

Eli manages a tired swagger as he walks to the lounge, making the towel swish enticingly. “I am going to introduce you to a great Human tradition.”

Something in Thrawn’s chest loosens, a tension leaving his neck and shoulders. The desire is mutual. Everything else can be worked out from that starting point. He goes to his room to make the bed for two.

[farlee-wander]

I have a recurring nightmare.

In the dream, I own a gun.

It is a little revolver made out of copper or brass. The details change. The metal is solid and heavy. It is polished and smooth. The handle is carved, varnished hardwood that fits perfectly in the palm. Or maybe it has an alien shape, riddled with intricate levers and prongs. Sometimes old, sometimes new. Always: it is mine.

It is a beautiful, handcrafted object.

The bullets are hard to describe. They are small and custom made to match the gun. Running my fingers through them feels like dipping my hand into beads, or marbles, or seeds. It’s a soothing, pleasant sensation. The bullets fit the gun perfectly. Sliding them into each chamber is magnetically satisfying. I like to do it.

I do not like to own the gun.

I never remember exactly how or why I have it. I might have found it, or been given it. I keep it hidden in my childhood bedroom. It is always loaded.

This makes me uncomfortable. I could take the bullets out — the cylinder flips in and out smoothly, easily; the bullets fall noiselessly into my hand — but I can’t resist putting them back in. I could play like this for hours. It feels good. Except for the fear.

I know that I might need the gun. For what? An emergency. A calamity. An adventure. It’s like a fire alarm, or an emergency exit. I hope to never use it.

But the idea of it excites me.

The potential energy is overwhelming. The slightest twitch might set it off by accident. I have to concentrate when I hold it. I know I should leave it alone. I can’t keep my hands off of it.

I take the gun out, again and again. Just to look. Just to check. Just to make sure it’s safe.

I am always afraid of the gun. I know what it can do. Its existence sits in the back of my mind like a cold weight. I want to forget about it. I want to check again. I want to be safe. I want to pull the trigger.

Sometimes I do fire it.

I have to. It’s impossible not to. I shoot into the ground and the floor. It feels like releasing pressure. I’m ashamed when I do it. I worry that I’ve made a mistake that can’t be undone. I’m afraid of being caught.

I find the little copper bullets embedded in floorboards and dirt. They are dented and spent. I collect them. I think about the empty chambers in the gun. It makes me feel better. Nobody was hurt, I tell myself. And the gun is lighter.

Then I think about reloading.

Or: sometimes I do need it. We are under attack and I may need to kill. I hold the gun uncertainly, trying to memorize the parts, trying to hold my hands in just the right way so that when the moment comes I can simply pull the trigger and it will be over. But I still fail, and the enemy kills me, and I die ashamed.

Every time, I think: this is just like my dream.

When I wake up, I am relieved to remember that I don’t really own this gun. I am not responsible for it. I do not need to fear it. I can rest the part of me that worries over it. Slowly, I relax. The dread of my nightmare fades.

When I was little I would duck every time an unfamiliar car passed. I imagined how to protect myself if I was ever sent to war. I overheard news stories about shootings and felt a nauseous worry in my stomach.

I used to be a teacher. I left because I was afraid of dying. I imagined barricading and evacuating every room I walked into. I wondered if I would sacrifice myself for the students or run. I thought about the gunfire. I pictured how I might behave, with bullets all around me. The thought terrifies and infuriates me.

I have always been afraid of guns.

I have never felt so tired.

I hate. Hate. Hate the copper revolver.

I wish this dream would stop.

[the-hinky-panda]

Day 17: Brambles

10/17: Brambles

Universe // Characters: Den of Thieves - IT Reader // Benny “Borracho” Magalon x IT Reader 

Rating: Explicit 

Benjamin “Borracho” Magalon is sharp. His slicked back hair, hawkish nose, goatee, tattoos. His eyes are sharp, attuned to pick out details around him, forget big picture bullshit. His words are sharp, when he decides to use them. When asked for information on a crime scene, he’s quick and concise with the facts. When asked a question by the brass, his answers are mostly one word. When getting busted on by the guys, his retorts are quick flicks of sarcasm and low blows.  

Everything about him is honed like a razor’s edge, safe if you rub your thumb over it one way but incredibly damaging if you don’t. He likes being this way. When you’re sharp, people are cautious of you, keeping you at arms length to keep themselves from being cut and hurt. Even the guys in Major Crimes handle him cautiously in the bullpen but not when they’re all out in the field. They use him like a knife: sheathed until needed then wielded with abandon. 

You apparently have missed the memo completely. 

He hears noise coming from the server room and goes to investigate because it’s a slow day and he’s tired of listening to guys share their conquest of the flavor of the week stories. As he gets closer, he hears a variety of beeps and then a muttered “fuck.” Peering into the room, he sees you sitting on the floor, a laptop balanced on one knee and a handheld device in your hand scanning for something. 

“Did you try turning it off and on again?” he quips. 

But then karma knocks him on his ass swiftly. You turn your head surprised at his sudden appearance, and you’ve got a small flashlight in your mouth. Your lips are wrapped around the cylinder and your cheeks hollow when you spit it out and drop it on the floor. All his blood rushes southward at the sight and the innocent, wide-eyed look you give him isn’t helping matters either. 

“Can I help you?” 

He glances around looking for the guys or video cameras. Surely he’s getting pranked. Or else he just walked on the set of a very poorly funded porno. This actually has Big Nick written all over it, he’s sure of it. Well, if he’s having a joke played on him, he’s going to take it as far as he can. 

“Maybe. I’m a little bigger than that flashlight though.” 

It takes you a minute to understand the innuendo but when you do, you roll your eyes. “Disgusting.” 

The realization that this isn’t a prank hits him like a cold bucket of water. Before he can apologize, you slam the door shut in his face before going back to your work. He shoves his hands in his pockets and heads back to the bullpen, trying to shrug the nagging feeling of guilt. 

He’s sharp and you got nicked. But there was sharpness to you and he got nicked as well.  Now you both know better for next time. 

***

“Internet is down.” 

“Again?” 

“Z, call IT.” 

“I ain’t calling down there again.” 

Henderson laughs. “Oh that’s right, that little girl boxed your ears last week.” 

Borracho lifts his head up and glances around at the guys. “What happened last week?” 

“Z tried to ask that cute little IT girl out on a date last week,” Henderson is overcome with laughter for a couple beats. “And what did she say to you, man? ‘Not if you were dipped in-” 

Tony Zappata is not used to being turned down by women and this is evident by the glare he’s giving Henderson. “I actually offered her a bite of my sub and she said no.” 

“Actually,” Connors chimes in, “She said ‘not if you skipped it to me across a pool of antiseptic.’” 

Seems like Borracho isn’t the only sharp one. He picks up the phone and calls down to the IT department. 

“Dan in IT.” 

“Magalon in Major Crimes. Internet is down up here.” 

He sighs. “I’ll send MIT back up.” 

Back up. It might be you so he heads over to the server room and sure enough, you turn the corner with your laptop and bag of equipment. You have white headphones wrapped around your neck with some kind of podcast playing through the speakers. You tap one side of the headphones and the talking stops. You glare at him as you approach the server room so Borracho holds up his hands. 

“I’m sorry about last time.” 

“Really?” 

“I thought the guys were setting me up. Playing a prank.” 

You open the door and prop it open. “What made you think that?” 

“Because you’re too cute to be a computer nerd.” 

You’re back to glaring at him but Borracho stands by what he said and holds your stare. You eventually sigh in defeat and turn towards the servers. 

“Why do they call you MIT?” 

You give him an incredulous look. “Because I graduated from MIT.” 

“Wow. That’s impressive.” 

You glance over your shoulder before opening your laptop and pulling up a diagnostic program. “So which one of the Major Crimes guys are you?” 

“Borracho.” 

“The drunk?” 

“You know Spanish?” 

“Born and raised in LA, yeah, I know Spanish.” You hit a couple of buttons. “I’m not going to call you a drunk, so what’s your real name?” 

He’s sharp but so are you. Iron sharpens iron. “Benny.” 

You reach behind one of the server boxes and snap a wire back into place. “There we go. Loose cable. Internet is back on for you guys.” 

He watches you close your laptop and stand up, dusting off your jeans. “So what’s your name.” 

You smile at him. “MIT works for now.” 

***

Borracho stops by the server room a couple days later and unplugs the cord that you had fixed. He goes to the bullpen but hears Henderson calling down to IT, apparently giving whoever is on the other end of the line some grief. Borracho turns on his heel and goes back to the server room. He’s propping open the door when you come around the corner. 

“Again, Benny?” 

He shrugs. “Looks that way. Was thinking I was going to try to fix it.” 

“Oh, you have a degree from MIT now?” 

“Yeah, course I do.” He grins and points to his neck. “That’s where I got this tat.” 

You laugh, a genuine soft sound, before going into the room. He has to remind himself that he’s sharp and needs to be careful with you. He’s not sure when it happened, but he likes you. You’re pretty, sweet, and smart. You’re sharp but only when you need to be. Genuinely, you’re soft. And his palms itch to find out just how soft you really are. He wants to kiss you, feel your perfect mouth against his. He wants to feel how you would fit in his arms, underneath him, staring down at him. 

But he doesn’t want to hurt you, get you caught in the brambles of who he is. You’ll only emerge with cuts and scrapes that will heal but will leave you scarred. He’s sharp and he doesn't want to leave his mark on you. 

“Benny?” 

He snaps out of his thoughts just in time to see your toe catch on your equipment bag and send you stumbling towards him. He instinctively reaches out and catches you as you crash against his chest. Details start gathering in his brain: the nervous flex of your fingers in his flannel shirt, the wild beating of your pulse in your neck, the nervous huff of a laugh that leaves your lips. Oh God, your lips. 

You’re going to hate him, hit him and never come back up to the server room but he can’t help it. He kisses you and knowing this is the only time he’s going to have with you, he holds nothing back. He kisses your top lip, scrapes his teeth against your bottom one, and even risks sweeping your mouth with his tongue. 

He feels you moan more than hears it, a vibration in your ribcage that his hands are holding. Your hands hold either side of his face and press him even closer to you. He feels your tongue slide against his and all his senses short out momentarily. Is this happening? Are you really kissing him back? Are you okay with this? 

A door slams down the hall and you both jump back away from each other. You end up staring at each for half a heartbeat before you grab your bag and laptop and dart out of the room. He stands there for another moment before pressing the heels of his hands into his eyes. 

“Fuck!” 

***

Three days pass and Borracho can’t stop thinking of that kiss. He can still feel you under his hands, against his mouth. The guys are starting to notice he’s more surly than ever. He needs to get you out of his system. And if he can’t have you, then he’s going to have to find a replacement. Nick always gets more than enough girls for the post piss test party and maybe he’ll take advantage of that tomorrow. The door to the bullpen opens and there you are, eyes roving around the room. He can’t breathe.  

“I figure with all the issues you guys have been having with the internet, I may as well show you how to do basic troubleshooting.” You look around at them. “Who’s the most reliable?” 

Z stands up. “I am.” 

“Sit down, Subway boy,” you snap and your eyes land on Borracho. “You up for the job?” 

He’s sharp and he notices little details. He sees the minute smile that touches the corner of your mouth. You know exactly what you’ve just said and also know that you’re making him walk across the room to get out of the bullpen now that half his blood is on its way to his groin. 

He’s in love with you, he realizes, at that exact minute.  

He throws his pen down on the desk. “Yeah. Sure. Why not?” 

You make a hasty retreat towards the server room, your pace picking up the closer you get. He hears you giggle when you swing the door open and stumble through it while he grabs the doorknob and closes it behind him, locking it for good measure. You’re on each other immediately, lips crashing together, hands pulling at clothes. Did he still have a condom in his wallet? Please let there be a condom in his wallet. 

“Wait, wait a minute,” you whisper, pushing him away slightly. 

He tries to refocus, calm down, but he just wants and it’s been so long since he’s felt this way, desperate and…not sharp. Your hands run over his chest, his shoulders, around his back. You smooth your palms over the planes of his body and it doesn’t hurt you. It hurts him though. He feels vulnerable, like you’re the one with the razor blade, getting ready to nick and slice and cause him to bleed. As he stares down at your face, lit with the blinking lights of the servers, your eyes searching his face for what, he has no idea, he realizes he would cut his own throat and bleed out for you if you wished for it. 

But you’re too kind to ever wish that on him. You would sooner turn the blade on yourself than hurt him. He can see the apology you’re trying to muster, to offer for your abrupt departure the last time you were in here together. He knows the kind of person you are because he’s come across so many people that are your opposite. Criminals, party girls, girlfriends, ex-wife…coworkers, you are the antithesis of all of them. 

“I’m sorry,” you finally manage to say. “For running out last time. I…got scared.” 

He lets his hands drift down your arms, feeling the smooth skin against his fingertips. “I get it. I do.” 

“I don’t have the best track record when it comes to relationships.” 

He tries to not laugh at that. “You don’t have the best track record? I’d like to bet it’s better than mine, mamí. 

Your smile is one of pure relief. “You’re different from the other guys.” 

They’re grenades and he’s a dagger. They explode and cause as much damage as possible, not caring who gets caught in the explosion. He’s for up close and personal damage and does it well. That’s why he has to be more careful with you. 

“You’re kinder than they are.” 

He scoffs at that. “That’s not a word that’s usually used for me.” 

“That’s because people don’t take the time to notice you. Or you don’t let them get close enough.” You press yourself closer to him. “I’d like to get to know you better.” 

“Aren’t there any other boys closer to your age?” He doesn’t really know how old you are but you certainly look significantly younger than he is. 

You wrinkle your nose. “None worth the time getting to know.” 

Good enough for him. He leans down to kiss you again but stops. “How old are you?” 

“Thirty-one.” 

His heart almost stops. He’s forty-six. Fifteen years difference. That was definitely something to address. Later. Maybe this is all you want, a quickie in the server room. If he’s lucky, you’ll want a couple of them before you grow tired of the sullen, middle aged man and move on with a computer programmer who lives in the suburbs and telecommutes to Silicon Valley. 

“Benny?” 

He immediately refocuses back on you. “Yeah?” 

Your hands go back to kneading the soft fabric of his flannel shirt. “Is this…I mean, are you okay…we can-” 

He kisses you as sweetly as he can in the moment. He holds you gently, kisses you softly, and does everything in his power to keep from spinning you around and taking you against one of the single server boxes. He feels your lips curl into a smile against his and suddenly the game is back on for the two of you. 

As sweet as your mouth is, he wants to taste all of you. He breaks away from your lips, and starts nipping and sucking on the column of your throat. Your hands are just as busy as his mouth as you tug his flannel off his shoulders and then pull his t-shirt over his head. You lean back and trail a hand down his chest, a small, deep groan coming from your throat. As if he needed any more encouragement to keep going. 

He pulls your shirt off over your head before filling both his hands with your satin encased breasts. You were gorgeous. All soft skin, everywhere he touched was smooth, firm…young. He stops that train of thought by pulling your bra off and immediately drawing one of your nipples into his mouth. His tongue flicks over the hardening peak while you run your fingers through his hair and bite your lip to keep from making noise. He drops a hand to the button of your jeans and flicks it open, dragging the zipper down. You squirm just enough for him to get his hand inside your panties and his fingers slip easily through your folds. 

“Dios mio, mamí,” he presses his cheek to the swell of your breast, “you’re so wet.” 

You scrape your fingernails through his hair. “All for you. Can’t…can’t stop…” 

He slides a finger inside of you. “What was that?” 

The moan you give is full of sin. “Can’t stop thinking about you. About this.” 

Benny returns to your mouth, kisses you with zero gentleness as he slides a second inside of you. He swallows down your moan as you try to spread your legs further apart. Your hand slips below the waistband of his jeans and firmly runs over his length. You break away from the kiss and smile up at him, eyes almost black with lust. 

“You are a bit bigger than the flashlight.” 

“Fuckin’ tease,” he grumbles as he pulls your jeans and underwear off in one movement. 

You reach into his back pocket and pull out his wallet, slipping the black and gold foil packet out and tearing it open. 

“How did you know-” 

You shrug. “You seem like a guy who’s always prepared.” 

He pushes his pants and underwear down just low enough to roll the condom on before pulling you to the end of the server box and lining himself up. “You sure this is okay?” 

You hook one of your legs around his hip and plant your other foot on the floor. “Yes, please.” 

You keep eye contact with him as he pushes forward, easily sliding into you. He rests his forehead against yours as you both take a moment to adjust but the sounds you’re making, the quiet whimpers, almost send him over the edge right there. He either has to move or this is about to be over before it begins. But then you roll your hips and he takes that as his sign to move as well. You’re perfect. Your body fits perfectly against him, his hands molding perfectly to each curve and rise of you. You’re tight, but not uncomfortably so. He moves his head slightly so his lips brush your ear. 

“Feels so good, like you were made for me.” 

You don’t say anything but you shift, canting your hips at a different angle and then biting your lower lip hard enough to draw blood. 

“Does that feel good?” He’s murmuring nonsense, anything to stave off his orgasm and let this last for as long as possible. “You like feeling me inside of you?” 

“God, yes. Please,” you gasp and dig your fingernails into the meat of his shoulder blades, “Please don’t stop.” 

He couldn’t stop if he wanted to at this point. “You’re going to come for me, mamí?” 

You bury your face against his neck. 

“Let me feel you come. I want to feel you co-” And he does. He feels you clench down on him, hard, and then your entire body shakes with the force of your orgasm. He presses himself as deep as he can as he spills himself into the condom. In the back of his mind though, he wants to know what it feels like without that barrier, to come inside of you and watch it drip out. Maybe, if this continues to be more than just a once and done thing, you’ll let him. You’ll trust him enough to do that. 

He peppers kisses along your neck before pulling out. Both of you set about cleaning up and getting re-dressed. He ties off the condom and drops it in the trash can in the corner of the room, while you cover it with the tissues you used to clean yourself up. When you’re both dressed and look more or less presentable, you lean forward and kiss him. 

“Thank you.” 

He kisses you back. “Thank you.” 

“We should do this again sometime,” you smile up at him. 

“I think we’re going to have to, considering you didn’t show me anything about troubleshooting the internet.” 

You pick up your bag and laptop. “Then I guess I’ll just have to keep coming up here whenever there’s a problem.” 

Oh no. What a shame, he thinks to himself. He watches you unlock the door, give him one last smile, before leaving the room. He gives himself another moment, a chance to enjoy the dwindling lightening feeling under his skin before heading back into the bullpen. 

Benjamin “Borracho” Magalon is sharp, but you, despite your intermittent sharpness, are ultimately soft. He only hopes you’re soft enough to bend when the blade passes over you so you won’t be cut.