#anyways we’re getting a new shipment of books in next week and I am SO EXCITED because I get to stand there with my earbuds in and cover

[whatareyoudoingwithamaserati]

reverted to my natural state (nocturnal) library work is going to be capital h hell

[batsandbugs]

Bats Bugs and Boomerangs Chapter 1

A/N: Hey everyone, coming at you with another series! This is actually for a late secret santa gift exchange! My recipient was @m3owww​! Her fandoms were Maribat and Avatar the Last Airbender, so I thought: Why not both? She already had a Maribat characters in the show type fic, so I created a fic where they watched the show. It slowly spiraled out of control though, so this is Chapter 1. I’ll eventually have the batfam (and Marinette) react to the whole series, so comment here and on ao3 what you want to see. So Phi, this is kinda like the gift that will keep on giving? Maybe? I hope you like it anyway. Enjoy! 

Our story begins on a frosty winter evening, outside Gotham at Wayne Manor. Marinette sat in the library working on an assignment for her History of Fashion class. She was alone, because Damian, Dick, Tim, and Bruce were out on patrol, with Barbara on comms. Tikki, unless eating or involved with a transformation, spent her time sleeping due to the freezing weather. While the other Kwami either resided in the box or roamed the grounds, and generally stayed out of the human's way.

Marinette gazed out the window, snow falling softly through the air, covering the ground and the tree branches. A crackling fire warmed the room. She shifted, and a painful ache shot through her leg. Marinette glared at the offending appendage, which was the reason she wasn’t out with the team tonight.

Her Miraculous could cure any injury sustained on the battlefield, it didn’t help her one bit when it came to her own natural clumsiness. She hadn’t paid attention as she’d walked out of class one evening. The dim lighting hid a black ice patch and she slipped and fell. Thankfully, her ankle was only sprained and not broken, but she would be out of commission for at least two weeks. Probably more if Alfred got his way.

Speaking of the elderly butler, he strode into the room carrying a tray of tea and cookies.

“Good evening Miss. Marinette. Need another refreshment?”

She sighed at the cold coffee dregs in her mug. “That would be nice, thank you, Alfred.”

He hummed, grabbing a teacup, and pouring her a serving. “How does your leg feel today? I notice you were leaning heavily on Master Damian after supper.” He handed the cup to her and the warmth was a welcome sensation for her chilled hands.

“Yeah, he’s been nice helping me around.” Nice was a misnomer, more like extremely overprotective. He point-blank refused for her to stay at her own apartment, mostly due to its location on the fourth floor with no elevator access. He all but forced her to watch him pack her essentials to bring to the manor while she recovered. Since then, his attentiveness in ensuring she had what she needed within reach and helping her to class had grown. It was a tad smothering considering his usual aloofness, but she enjoyed his actions for the affection it implied.

“It’s throbbing and hot and feels worse than it did three days ago.” She took a tiny sip of the tea and relaxed into its spiced aroma. Alfred made the best tea.  

He nodded. “It will feel uncomfortable for a while until it starts to mend. Just continue to rest and remain off it and you will be back to carousing around the city like the rest of them in no time.” He poured his own tea and seated himself in the plush armchair across from her spot on the couch.

“Oh, Alfred you say that as if you would not be right there along with us if age allowed,” said Marinette with a grin. The stories Dusu could recount about the elderly miraculous holder were nothing short of entertaining, and she knew damn well Alfred had the same need for action as the rest of the Waynes and their assorted allies.  

“I’d do nothing of the sort,” he said primly, taking a sip of his tea to hide the tiny smirk on his face. Marinette couldn’t help but laugh.

The rest of the evening was spent in pleasant silence. Despite the pain in her leg Marinette pushed through it and finished her assignment, while Alfred read until it neared time when patrol ended. He bustled up the remains of the tea and promise her a fresh cup when he finished seeing everyone arrive safely.

Later, although she could not say how long, she was buried deep in a book and didn’t notice when Damian entered the room until he sat next to her on the couch.

“Good evening angel.” His hair flopped in his eyes, loose and damp from the shower. In his hands, he held a tray with two cups of steaming tea.

“Thanks.” She took the proffered cup of tea with a smile. “How was patrol?”

“Boring,” he sighed. “You certainly are not missing anything.” If he wouldn’t have taken offense to it, Marinette would have described the look on his face as a pout.

“What about the drug seller Tim tracked to the lower docks?”

Damian shrugged. “Gone silent after we busted the last shipment. Seventeen years in and maybe the criminals finally figured out committing crimes in the same city as a relentless vigilante team is a bad idea,” he said with a raised eyebrow and a smirk. Marinette couldn’t stop herself from giggling. It was a common joke among the family that Gotham’s criminals never learned.

“I think it means we’re doing our job right,” said Tim walking in with a steaming mug. Marinette opened her mouth, but he cut her off. “Don’t worry, it’s decaf.”

“Like Pennyworth would let him drink anything else this time of night,” scoffed Damian, while taking a sip of his tea.

“I’m perfectly capable of monitoring my own caffeine intake, thanks,” Tim said in offense, seating himself across from the couch in the reading chair previously abandoned by Alfred.

“No, you’re not,” called a voice from the hallway. Dick walked in with a large mug of what was undoubtedly hot chocolate. “The last time he didn’t check your drink after patrol, you used coffee instead of water to brew another pot, and then added four whole bottles of five-hour energy. You didn’t sleep for three days.”

“I also solved five crimes, figured out where the Penguin was hiding, and streamlined the dropbox submission system for Wayne Industries. Life requires tradeoffs.”

“No that’s just you, ignoring basic human necessities. Anyway, besides Tim’s caffeine addiction, what are we talking about?” asked Dick.

“The reason for the lack of crime,” offered Marinette.

Dick shrugged, “Happens every year because of the weather. Even criminals get cold. They’ll return to their usual transgressions once the weather warms.” He took a sip of his hot chocolate.

“Tt. Weak,” muttered Damian.

Tim rolled his eyes. “Not everyone receives extreme weather training under threat of dismemberment, demon brat. We should take the opportunity to enjoy the break.”

“Tim, your version of a “break” involves paperwork,” chided Dick.

“It’s not my fault the rest of you people don’t have lives. I’m a remarkably busy person. And what is this, the-criticize-Tim-hour?”

“Oh, only an hour?” smirked Damian. “I thought it was a continuous event, one could choose to participate in whenever the mood struck. I will have to file all my complaints immediately.”

Tim pouted. “Marinette,” he whined. “Can’t you control him?”

She shrugged, “What do you expect me to do? I’m his girlfriend, not his minder. Besides, they criticize because they care.” She laughed when all three boys snarled their noses at the prospect of feelings.

“Marinette, angel, please; never say that again. I criticize because I am right, and they should know it. Not because of any high-minded ideals such as genuine affection.”

“Okay, okay, enough,” said Dick. “If we have a bit of a break, we should do something! Together, as a family. I think Cass and Steph come back in two days.”

“Grayson, just because your girlfriend is off-world visiting family and you have nothing to do does not mean it holds true for the rest of us.”

“Exactly!” exclaimed Tim, “Except not quite, because I don’t have a girlfriend, but I just said I’m busy. R&D is rolling out a new prototype next week, and I have two board meetings scheduled and-”

“Not to mention,” Marinette cut Tim off. He could talk about his schedule forever because he just had that many events. “I can’t move around, what would we even do? Play games?”

Tim rolled his eyes. “The list of games officially banned in our family includes, but is not limited to; Monopoly, Uno, Checkers, Risk, Risk: Legacy, Twister, Jenga, Clue, Guess Who, Poker, Chess, and Go Fish.”

“Oh…” muttered Marinette.

“And that doesn’t even include videogames.”

“After the Wii Bowling incident of 2013, the media room wall was never the same,” Dick said, shaking his head in despair.

“I actually apologized for that, okay?” exclaimed Damian. “Why do you always have to bring it up?”

Marinette fully intended to ask about the incident later. “Okay, so games are out.”

“Ooh,” Dick’s eyes lit up, “How about we call a Family T.V. Event?”

Tim groaned, “The last time we did that we blew up the shed, and got the police called.”

“Well, we won’t watch a crime show.” Dick turned to Marinette. “Jason picked; we watched Breaking Bad.”

“I can see how that would spiral out of control.”

“The time before that, we set fire to the media room and started a familial feud,” Damian pointed out. “Game of Thrones,” he added when Marinette looked to him for clarification.

“Even worse.”

“Okay, fine, so we don’t have the best track record picking shows. But I swear I have a good one this time.” He paused for dramatic effect. “Avatar: The Last Airbender.”

Tim snorted. “What? Like the kid’s show?”

Damian rolled his eyes. “Really Grayson, a cartoon? I know you are developmentally stuck at five, but not all of us are.”

“I’ve never watched it, but I’ve heard good things about it,” said Marinette. She knew there was a French translation of the show, but she preferred to watch media in its original language. Before moving to America, before dating Damian, her English had not been strong enough to confidently watch a show and understand all of it.

“Perfect!” exclaimed Dick. “I know you three and Cass haven’t seen it, and neither has Bruce or Alfred. I would bet Jason’s seen some of it, but I’ll have to check. Barbara and I have, but that’s fine, she loves the show. We’ll have to see about Steph too, but I’m sure she’ll enjoy it regardless. There are awesome characters, battles, suspense, comedy, and it’s not likely going to inspire us to blow up the shed or tear each other to pieces!”

“I have in no way agreed to this Grayson. Drake back me up.”

Tim paused for a moment, stuck between his need to disagree with Damian and the need to get out of Dick’s crazy plan. Unfortunately for Damian, the former won out. “Actually, you know what, a show could be fun. The episodes are what, thirty minutes? Shorter than Breaking Bad and Game of Thrones.”

Damian groaned while Dick responded happily, ignoring his brother’s distress, “Around twenty minutes actually. We could have the whole show finished in about a week or so.”

Damian turned to her, eyes wide and hopeful. “Marinette, please tell me you are on my side?”

She patted her boyfriend’s arm, “Sorry, mon amour, I’m stuck either way. Might as well watch a show.”

Damian flopped against the couch with a pout. “Betrayed. I have been grievously betrayed by my own brothers and girlfriend. What is this world coming to?”

“Woo!” exclaimed Dick, a wide grin splitting his face. “This is going to be great.”

“This is going to be awful,” moaned Damian.

-0-0-

It took a bit of convincing on the part of Dick to get Bruce and Alfred to agree to the venture. Marinette, after learning the full details of the last two Family T.V. Events, was wholly unsurprised. She also did not know the full extent of what Dick did to get Jason to agree (apparently, he and Bruce were fighting, again, so this was expected.) although it probably involved a bribe. But by the week’s end, the entire family was together, all under strict orders (and puppy-dog eyes from Dick) to be on their best behavior.

Which, without a doubt, not a single one of them knew what that entailed.

The arguing started with seating placement, then about who controlled the remote, then over the distribution of snacks, drinks, blankets, and pillows. At one point Jason pulled a knife, which prompted Damian to pull his knife, suddenly Cass had two shurikens visible (where she even kept them while wearing a tank top and shorts, no one could say), and then everyone was yelling with sharp pointy objects in hand.

Once the argument was firmly under control, Alfred collected the weapons and placed them in a wicker basket, along with all the mobile devices, until the episodes for the night were finished. The only one allowed to have a phone was Barbara who was in charge of checking police scanners for any major trouble while the family took the evening off.

Marinette seated herself curled up against Damian on the edge of the couch. She set her foot propped up on an ottoman so it wouldn’t get jostled, and she could continue to ice it throughout the evening. Damian secured their own bowl of popcorn, so they didn’t have to share it with the others.

“Alright, here’s how we’re breaking this down,” announced Dick, who won the battle for the remote, and therefore the episode schedule. “The episodes are short, at least, much shorter than the last show we watched.” He directed a pointed look at Jason.

“I make no apologies.”

“We’ll watch half a season a day, ten episodes apiece. The closed captions will be on but try to keep the chatter to a minimum.” Marinette held back a laugh. Damian explained no one kept quiet during these nights. Watching the show wasn’t the point of these events; if that were the case then they would just watch it all on their own time. The point was the time spent together. This is why even Bruce, emotionally constipated and single-minded in his pursuits as he was, put away the suit for a few days to watch T.V. with the rest of his collected family. Talking was expected.  

“We will, if you will,” called Stephanie.  

“I take offense to that.”

“Aw just sit Dickie, let’s watch the show,” exclaimed Jason.

“Yes, Grayson you already wrapped us into this pointless venture; we might as well get it over with,” Damian grumbled. Marinette found his hand in the folds of their shared blanket and laced her fingers with his. He squeezed her hand, and, when he was sure no one else was looking gave her a small smile. Marinette smiled back, he pretended to be such a grouch, but deep down he was a giant softy at heart.

Dick frowned, saying “Fine, fine, you don’t have to be spoilsports about it.” And pointed the remote at the T.V. starting the first episode.

-0-0-

It didn’t take ten seconds before the commentary began.

“Four elements?” exclaimed Tim.  “Are you serious? I could name at least a dozen off the top of my head. How are there only four nations? 0/10 completely unrealistic. Political infighting alone-”

“Ah, shut up, replacement.”

“Ruthless fire nation?” said Stephanie. “Methinks a little propaganda might be occurring here.”

“A hundred years!? What, has no one competent been born the entire time?”

Marinette shrugged. “The disadvantages of finite magic systems, Dami. It's learned indifference.”

“Honey, after a hundred years that’s not hoping, that’s naivety,” said Stephanie in response to Katara’s impassioned speech.

“She’s right!” exclaimed Dick.

“We know that, but she doesn’t.”

The show moved on to Katara and Sokka in a boat. Sokka held a spear above the water.

“Is he hunting that fish?” growled Damian.

“Ah yeah, I forgot you may hate the entirety of Sokka’s character,” said Dick with a grimace. “Whoops.”

“She’s not very good at the water moving, is she?” asked Marinette

“Waterbending,” Dick and Barbara said in unison.

Sokka chided Katara about her weird water magic. “Oh, he’s not going to be a dick for the whole show, is he?” asked Steph.

“He gets better.”

“They grew up here right?” asked Damian, as Katara and Sokka become caught in a rapid. “How did they not anticipate an event like this.”

“I knew I should have left you at home. Leave it to a girl to screw things up!”

“HEY!” shouted all the women in the room.

They watched as Katara’s fury built and broke the iceberg behind her.

“Good. Use anger, anger is alright,” Cass commented for the first time.

“Okay, you’ve gone from weird, to freakish.”

“This punk is just asking for a beating isn’t he,” growled Jason.

The beam of energy shot into the air after Katara and Sokka broke open the ice. “That’s not going to cause any trouble,” said Tim, rolling his eyes. “Nope, not suspicious or completely conspicuous at all.”

The scene switches to a metal ship.

“Finally! Uncle, do you realize what this means?”

“Oh, look, the bad guys,” deadpanned Tim. “I was right.”

Jason grabbed a handful of popcorn and shoved it into his mouth “What happened to his fucked-up fa-”

“YOU’LL FIND OUT!”

The scene switched back to Katara and Sokka. The figure is revealed to be a hyperactive little kid.

Damian frowned“Oh, I won’t like him either, will I Grayson?”

Dick tilted his head, “Eh.”

Then Appa is introduced.

“Father, could we-”

“No, Damian.”

They watched the children depart, and the scene moved back to the Fire Nation ship.

“Even if you're right, and the Avatar is alive, you won't find him. Your father, grandfather, and great-grandfather all tried and failed.”

“Well considering the Airbender child has been in an iceberg, it’s not surprising they failed.”

“Because their honor didn't hinge on the Avatar's capture. Mine does. This coward's hundred years in hiding are over.”

“Is it just me or does this angry, emo prince remind anyone of demon spawn?”

“Todd, shut your mouth before I remove your tongue.”  

Marinette leaned in close, “Maybe just a little like you.” Damian looked at her with a betrayed pout.

The scene switched and they watched Aang lie to Katara about the Avatar.

“The air child is guilty. Will cause problems later.”

“Narrative Cass, it’s narrative.”

Damian scoffed. “Miscommunication is plot convenience, and it’s a sloppy one at that.”

They watched Aang’s dream of how he ended up in the iceberg, him waking up to Katara and his introduction to the village.

“Well, no one has seen an Airbender in a hundred years. We thought they were extinct until my granddaughter and grandson found you.”

“Extinct?”

“He went into the ice and woke up to find the world different. Anyone getting serious Captain America vibes here?” said Jason, tone-deaf to the clear horror on Aang's face.

“Jason, he just found out his people potentially went extinct!” chided Marinette. 

“It's not for stabbing! It's for air bending.”

“Please tell me the main character is not a pacifist,” begged Damian.

“Well, he is a monk,” said Barbara with a sorry look.

“I sense he's filled with much wisdom,” Katara says as Aang sticks his tongue to his staff and it freezes.

“I switch back and forth between liking this girl and not. One second she’s got gumption, and the next she’s all starry-eyed and naïve,” grumbled Steph.

“I wonder who that reminds me of,” Damian whispered into Marinette’s ear. She felt her cheeks heat up.

"I'm not naive," she shot back. 

He raised a hand with two fingers close but not touching, "You're a little naive." Marinette huffed, but silently admitted to her boyfriend's point. She had a tendency to believe the best in people; she saw it as a strength and appreciated it in this Katara character, but it was so far from how Damian viewed the world, it honestly confused his siblings when they first started dating. 

Damian confided in her that he found it inspiring. She had been through so much, understood the cruelties of others, and still could see the good in people. 

The scene switched to the Fire Nation ship again, and Iroh explained the concept of firebending to an irate Prince Zuko.

“Finally, a display of actual competence,” exclaimed Damian.

“Enough! I've been drilling this sequence all day. Teach me the next set! I'm more than ready!”

“My tutors would have skewered me if I dared to act in such a manner,” he commented again, softer than the first time. More so that only Marinette could hear. Damian’s family was more than aware of his childhood and what it entailed; Marinette slowly learned with comments like this. She squeezed his hand again and received a small smile.

The scene shifted back to the village where Sokka’s failed “warrior lesson” occurred, and then-

“We don't have time for fun and games with the War going on!”

“What war? What are you talking about?”

“Where have you been, frozen in ice for a hundred years?” joked Dick.

They watched Aang offer to take Katara to the North Pole to find a water bending master. The two children go and play with the penguin creatures, but the tone shifted when an old Fire Nation ship appeared on the screen.

“Bad ship” muttered Cass.

“If you want to be a bender, you have to let go of fear.”

“There are so many things wrong with that statement I don’t even know where to start,” said Tim.

They watch Aang and Katara enter the Fire Nation Ship and wander talking about the war.

“Aang, how long were you in that iceberg?”

“I don't know. A few days, maybe?”

“I think it was more like a hundred years!”

“Are you kidding me?” yelled Jason. “How are they just figuring this out now?”

On-screen Aang stepped on the line of wire, tripping the traps.

“Tt. Amateurs.”

"See, she told him it would be a bad idea!"

A flare rises through the air.

“That’s not going to cause any-”

“Oh, shut up Tim.”

The Fire Prince once again appeared on the screen.

“The last Airbender!”

“I was right,” he mumbled.

The screen faded to the credits, and Dick turned to the group.

“So? What do you think?”

“Slow.”

“Nobody has any sense.”

“Are any of the characters actually likable?”

He frowned. “Okay, okay, so the first episode isn’t the best. I swear it gets better. Back me up here Barb.”

Barbara nodded. “He’s right, it takes a few episodes to build the characters up and we see some genuine action. But by mid-season, I swear you’ll be hooked. And then we’ll get to season two and the best characters will arrive.”

“Hey,” Dick exclaimed, pointing a finger at her. “No spoilers.”

“I thought it was fun,” Marinette offered. “It’s very clearly a kid’s show, but I don’t think that’s a bad thing.” She wasn’t going to say each and every person in the room had childhood traumas, and a show full of lighthearted fun was probably just what they needed. She could think it, but she wouldn’t say it.   

“Thank you, Marinette,” said Dick with a smile.

“I rather enjoyed the elderly tea drinker,” intoned Alfred. “He’s more than he appears to be.”

“Uncle Iroh? Yeah, he’s the best!” commented Barbara. "But everyone is great." 

“Alright, episode one finished, nine more to go.”

“Let’s hope it’s more enjoyable than the last,” uttered Damian, a chorus of agreement followed his statement, but when the show started up everyone grew quiet again.

Marinette was sure whatever happened next, it was bound to be interesting.

Tag List (Although it is on ao3 too) 

@m3owww​ @your-resident-chimken-nuggie​  @loveswifi​ @fusser90​@animegirlweeb​​ @ihavehomeworkbutistillhere​​

[katyamorrigan]

‘A Hotel on the Board is Worth Two on the Geldstraat’ - Chp. 1!

Gang banner by @verdiris​

A Hotel on the Board is Worth Two on the Geldstraat

A trunk of contraband items ends up in the hands of the Crows, but the item that piques their curiosity most is the large box labelled “MONOPOLY”. Kaz is out of the Slat for the time being, so of course they decide to play it. Was there ever a mission more likely to fail than six criminals with lethal skills and undeniable emotional ties all trying to build a make-believe empire without killing each other in the process? Answer: yes - all of the above while attempting to pull off a heist at the same time.

Turns out board games weren’t the only interesting items shipped into Fifth Harbour that afternoon, and now the Razorgulls are interested. It will take all of the gang’s effort to break into two buildings full of rival gang members, regain possession of the contraband, and make it back to the Slat in one piece. And that’s without the inherent strains of playing at business negotiations with a group of decidedly underhand friends.

Join the Crows as they cheat, steal, lie, and bribe each other, all before the heist has even begun.

I am so excited to finally get to share the fic that I have been working on for the @grishaversebigbang​ over the last few months - A Hotel on the Board is Worth Two on the Geldstraat! Getting to take part in the Grishaverse Big Bang 2021 has been so much fun, and I have had the honour of working with an absolutely incredible gang of artists and the loveliest beta reader. It’s been an absolute blast, and this is one of my favourite things that I’ve written. Thank you so much to everyone that I’ve worked with, and I hope that you enjoy reading and admiring the story and art that we’ve created!

Here is everyone in my gang, with links to the work that they’ve created (some art may relate to chapters of the fic that haven’t been posted yet - the fic will be posted in its entirety within the next 3 weeks and the art will be linked within the fic on the relevant lines, but also there’s nothing that will spoil the story for you, so don’t worry!):

Corporalki: @davonysus​ (who is the most wonderful beta reader, thank you for everything that you contributed to this story!)

Materialki: 

@ciph3rrr​ with hilarious Crows-minus-Kaz Monopoly shenanigans from Chapter 1

@j-wirth​ ​with this brilliant Inej and Wesper moment inspired by Chapters 2 and 7

@bloodysusher​ with a gorgeous group moment in Chapter 7

@verdiris​ with some amusing Kaz geniusness from Chapter 7

@maximumbluebirdpatrol​ (link still to come)

@emmaxtw​ (link still to come)

There are 7 chapters in total, so I shall be uploading a new one every Tuesday and Saturday until 25th September. Look below the cut for an excerpt from Chapter 1, and if you want to read the full thing (and check out the collection of all the other incredible pieces created for the GVBB) then click either of the links. I hope that you enjoy!

AHOTBIWTOTG Chapter 1 Excerpt:

The front door of the Slat opened with a loud clatter, and slammed shut on itself seconds later. It made Inej jump in her seat as she sat going over ship documentation - which, as it turned out, there was a lot of - in the front room. Nina gave her a look, and Inej wrinkled her nose back at her; the Wraith didn’t startle easily, but equally, there was usually less banging of doors while she tried to organise her finances.

“Honeys, I’m home!” Came Jesper’s voice. “And I brought treats!”

“It had better be more exciting than that time you came back from Cilla’s Fry with meat pies,” Inej called back. “That was underwhelming.”

“Speak for yourself,” Nina chimed in. “I was more than happy to finish up those.”

“We know.” Matthias gave her a knowing look, and Wylan sniggered as she raised a single finger at him in response. 

The bickering that came from everyone trying to work on separate projects at the same time was one of the many reasons that Inej hadn’t made it past the first page of her sailing license. That being said, she joined in the chuckling at Nina’s expense.

“Oh, it’s definitely better than Cilla’s pies, but you’ll have to take a look for yourself.”

Jesper rounded the corner, a large trunk tucked under one slim arm. His face was bright from the brisk, cold air of the streets, and a bead of sweat dropped from his chin as he deposited the luggage on the table beside Inej. She sighed heavily as the wad of pages in front of her jumped with the sudden extra weight.

“Sorry,” Jesper grinned. She just rolled her eyes fondly in response.“Come on, who wants to see what I’ve got?”

Nina, Matthias and Wylan all got up from the neighbouring table and crowded around Inej and Jesper. It was uncomfortable having so many significantly taller people stood behind her while she was sitting, so Inej scooped up her papers and deposited them on the floor, taking their place on the table so that she could get a good look at the trunk.

“Where did you get that?” Matthias asked.

“Well, our dearest Kaz decided to put me on shipment duty and I had to wait around at the Exchange for a boat full of contraband to come in. It took hours, so as soon as I saw something that looked interesting, I used my innumerable skills to swipe it so that we could take a look inside.”

““Innumerable” is a long word for you,” Nina quipped. 

A bubble of laughter rose up amongst the group, and Jesper stuck his tongue out childishly. “Fine, no contraband for you.”

“No, I want to look!”

“Be nice, then. I get first dibs on anything cool because I found it.”

Matthias snorted. “What happened to the ancient rule of “finder’s keepers”?”

“I found the trunk, therefore I found anything that’s inside it by proxy.”

“Can we just open it up?” Wylan said impatiently. “I feel like we’re building expectations by arguing like this – it’s probably smuggled whiskey or something.”

“Shouldn’t we wait for Kaz?” Inej asked. The others gave her a look of incredulity. “Where is he, anyway?”

There was a brief moment of looking at each other for answers, before Jesper answered decisively. “If he was so worried about what came in on the boat, he would’ve gone himself. And if he isn’t here now, then he’ll just have to accept whatever is left over from the spoils.”

“We aren’t actually pirates, you know,” Inej said.

“Not yet,” Jesper stage-whispered in reply, and Inej found herself grinning, pleased. “Gather around, then.” He beckoned everyone closer like a ringmaster at the centre of a performance. 

Inej was surprised to find that her heart was actually beating faster with the thought of what might be inside. Wylan was probably right that they were getting themselves worked up over nothing, but all the same, she couldn’t help hoping that they found something rare or exciting. Perhaps it was gold? Guns? Something dangerous? You could never know when it came to the imports of Ketterdam, and for once Inej was glad for the intensity of life in the city. It could very well be something extraordinary.

The catches on the front of the trunk lifted easily, but there was a thick knot of string around the middle as well. Jesper struggled to untie it, so Inej slipped a knife from her sleeve and cut it off with one flick of her wrist. Giving her a mischievous look, Jesper dug his fingernails under the lid and with a crackle of flaking rust, the trunk opened.

On top there was a loose gauzy scarf clearly intended to keep moisture out of the trunk on the long sea voyage, which had definitely served its purpose; the red print had blotted itself onto the inside of the lid, and there were water stains on it where it had protected the rest of the cargo. Matthias and Nina went to grab it at the same time, but it ended up in Nina’s hands regardless as he passed it to her with a shy smile.

“I thought you would want it, so I was making sure no-one else got there first.”

Wylan made an exaggerated gagging noise, and Matthias’ expression quickly reverted to his familiar scowl.

“Aha!”

Jesper reached forward and pulled out two pistols, both only a little rusty and with a single blue gem stamped into the body of each. With impressive speed he turned around and mimed firing two shots at the wall before holstering them beside his favoured revolvers.

As Matthias pulled out a slim soft-covered book, Inej realised that she was far too focused on the discoveries of her friends and was going to miss out on finding her own treasures otherwise. Lifting up two more scarves – this time green and blue – she found another couple of books which she handed to Nina. Her friend’s focus was pulled away from adjusting her hair under her newly matching scarf to flicking through the pages and wrinkling her nose hard.

“I don’t recognise the language, but I can understand it well enough,” Nina mused.

“Where did the boat come in from, Jesper?” Wylan asked as he opened a small wooden keepsake box full of golden rings in varying levels of ornate decoration.

“Kaz didn’t say, and I’ll be honest, I didn’t pay much attention.”

Nina tutted and continued her reading with Matthias peering over her shoulder. With fingers now covered in rings, Wylan pulled out a long fur coat that smelt of mould. Removing its furry cuffs from the case, Inej reached into the trunk for what seemed to be the last item: a big box made of thick card, with a green cover and the word MONOPOLY emblazoned on the top. The lettering was incredibly clear, but it didn’t look as though it had been done by hand or with a printing press. It had an odd shiny feel to the outside as well, like it had been coated in order to keep out the damp.

Inej sat it on the table and lifted the lid. It came off easily, and revealed a large square of that same thick card in bright red that unfolded into a larger board with regular markings on it.

“What in the Saints’ names is that?” Nina remarked, putting down her reading material.

“I have no idea. It was at the bottom of the trunk.”

“Is it a map?” Wylan suggested.

“Doesn’t look like it,” Inej murmured as she put the board down and looked at what was left in the box. 

Underneath that map-like object was a tray divided into several compartments, with little silver tokens collected in one, some colourful playing cards of an unknown variety in another, and some appealing little houses done in an unusual material in both green and red. Beside those lay a rack of what looked like currency, in the same shape and thickness as notes of kruge. Jesper immediately started rifling through it all, mixing up the various collections and inspecting them all with irregular attention. Although Wylan slapped his hand away with a tut, it clearly wasn’t out of lack of interest.

“What is it?” Nina asked again. Taking the board in her hands, she began to stumble through the words written on it.

“Collect 200… something, looks like it could be a currency symbol because it says “salary” after that, as you pass GO... Old Kent Road, another amount of money… sixty? Community chest, Whitechapel Road, same amount of money as the other square…”

As she turned it over in her hands, a slim white booklet fell out onto the table. Inej started forward and managed to snatch it up before anyone else did, although the gesture was useless as she immediately handed it to Nina, who skimmed over the first few lines and let out a delighted noise.

“It’s a game! A board game! Seems like you play by going around the board which has place names marked out on it, and you buy up the land so that you can build houses on it. And you compete to earn the most money.”

“Who’s sending weird foreign board games to Ketterdam?” Wylan said incredulously. “Are you sure it’s not got something contraband hidden in there somehow?”

Inej laughed. “Does a game based on financial gain not strike you as the most Kerch thing in the world? I can well believe a mercher bought this to educate their children on the fun of working under Ghezen.”

Wylan cracked a grin at that, and Nina snorted. She pushed the box towards him.

“Take a look if you want.”

He lifted up the tray of items and ran his fingers along the underside, then looked inside each of the little model houses as if there might be gemstones wedged in the base like on Jesper’s guns. Wylan tapped along the top of the board, but there were no hidden compartments or secret openings. It seemed as though they had genuinely come across some kind of entertainment from another country.

“Shall we play it?” Jesper said with a broad grin at everyone. “We’ve got nothing else on, have we?”

“I’m meant to have applied for my sailing license by the end of next week,” Inej said weakly, but she wasn’t much interested in her own excuse. This bizarre-looking game they had stolen by chance had already caught her attention far more than boat permits and crew-hiring documents.

“I’m happy to,” Matthias said, and Nina and Wylan nodded fervently as well.

“Perfect! Let’s not disturb everyone’s things down here, we can take it into another room.”

“Nobody’s bedrooms are big enough,” Nina complained. “Kaz is too cheap to give us enough space to actually enjoy our stay at The House of Brekker.”

“His bedroom is, though.”

Read more here!

[blurry-fics]

Between the Lines

Pairing: Tyler Joseph x Reader

Warnings: None

Word Count: 2209

Request: a bookstore fic where they meet reaching for the same book orrrrr they’re both too into their books that they aren’t looking and run into each other. idc as long as they’re in a powell’s living their best lives 😪 -@blackbeanietyler​

Author’s Note: For anyone who doesn’t know what Powell’s is, it’s a bookstore in Portland, Oregon (where I’m from) that has all sorts of used and new books (and I highly recommend going if you ever have the chance). Anyway, I really enjoyed writing Tyler as a book nerd and I hope you enjoy it too :) (picture credit)

Your arm started to ache as you walked down the steps that led to the fiction section. Although your original plan had only been to stop in the bookstore to pick up a new release from your favorite author, you had inevitably ended up finding three additional novels that you wanted to take home. Before you knew it, you had spent the better part of the stormy afternoon wandering through aisles of books before even finding what you had come for.

You managed to find an unoccupied bench nestled between a couple of bookshelves where you could sit down and let your tired arms rest for a bit. Not wanting to be in the way, you tucked your knees up to your chest and leaned against the side of the shelf, keeping your books safe in your lap. You had managed to snag a special edition of your favorite book for a good price and you didn’t want to risk losing or damaging it. People hardly even gave you a second glance as you rested on the bench; it was a common occurrence to find someone who had been nestled in a corner for hours reading a book that they had still yet to purchase.

When the circulation had finally returned to your arm and you felt ready to venture down the aisles once again, you got up, collected your things, and started your slow crawl along the shelves. Sure, you knew the author of the book you were looking for, but what was the fun of being in a bookstore if you didn’t also look at what else they had to offer? You would get to the book you needed eventually.

A couple other people were hovering around the section you needed to get to, so you hung back for a little while until they eventually walked away. You didn’t really feel like pushing through a crowd of people, even if you knew exactly what you needed. Thankfully, they only stuck around for a minute or so before growing bored and moving on to the next shelf. After a final adjustment of the books already in your arms, you made your move and started to reach for what happened to be the last copy of the novel.

Unfortunately for you, someone else had the same idea.

Your hand brushed against the stranger’s before either of you were actually able to reach the book. Embarrassed, you recoiled your hand and tried to make peace with the fact that you had missed out on a fresh copy of a novel that you had been looking forward to reading for months. At least you would be able to order a copy online.

“I’m sorry, I didn’t realize you were going for the same book,” they said.

You turned to face the stranger, not having expected them to actually talk to you. Most of the people you encountered in bookstores were more than willing to keep to themselves, or steal a last copy away from someone else.

“It’s fine,” you shrugged. “You can have it, if you want.”

“You should take it, I insist.”

You took a moment to get a good look at the stranger. He couldn’t have been much older than you, a year or two at most, though the deep bags under his eyes made him look older. The hood on his sweatshirt was pulled up nearly to his ears, casting shadows over his thin face and nearly blending into the mess of dark hair on top of his head. If you didn’t know any better, you would have thought he just rolled out of bed. You also took note of the fact that he was only carrying a couple other smaller books in his arms.

“I really don’t think I need another book,” you said, holding up the stack in your arms for emphasis. “You should take it.”

“The only thing that tells me is that you’re a more avid reader than I am, so by all means you should take it,” he smiled. He had a nice smile.

“I’m really not going to take a book that someone else wants. I can just come back in a few weeks when they get the next shipment in. I live close. Please, just take the book.”

“You’re from around here?”

“Are you not?” you asked.

The stranger shook his head. “I’m in a band. We’re currently on tour, which is why I’m even here. All my friends were saying that I needed to check this place out if I had a chance and I figured it was a good opportunity to pick up some books for the road.”

“So what you’re saying is that you really should be the one to keep the book,” you said, raising an eyebrow.

“No!” he laughed. “That’s not why I brought it up.”

“I know, I know,” you smiled. “But still, it really doesn’t matter if I wait a little longer to get it. Like I said, I have all these books to keep me busy until I can get my hands on a copy.”

“Ok, what if I make you a deal?”

“I’m listening.”

“You can have this copy of the book if you pick out a different book for me.”

“You want me to pick out a book for you?”

“Yeah.”

“What if I have terrible taste in books?” you laughed.

He laughed along with you, “I looked at the books you’re carrying and I can assure you that you don’t have bad taste in books.”

“And I can pick out any book for you?”

“Yep.”

“Deal,” you smiled, holding out a hand.

The stranger shifted his books to one side before reaching out and shaking your hand. Your mind was already running over an endless list of potential books you could give to this stranger.

“I’m Tyler, by the way,” he said as he pulled his hand away.

“Y/N,” you said, trying to ignore the newfound sense of nervousness you felt after shaking his hand. “So, I’m going to go grab the book real quick. Are you going to stick around here?”

“Yeah, I’ll be in this aisle or the next.”

“Perfect.”

“I’ll hold onto this until you get back,” he said, grabbing the last copy of the book. “Just to make sure you hold up your half of the deal.”

You raised an eyebrow, “And how do I know you’ll hold up yours and not just run off with the copy of the book?”

He held the book over his heart, “You have my word, Y/N.”

“Alright,” you said. Before he had a chance to see the dorky grin on your face at his cute remark, you turned and quickly walked out of the aisle.

After some thinking, you had decided to give him a copy of your favorite book in hopes that he hadn’t already read it. Even if he had, maybe he would enjoy rereading it as much as you did. You shook your head, hardly believing the thoughts that were running through your head. How had you gotten yourself into this position, picking out a copy of your favorite book for a complete stranger?

Not a stranger. Tyler.

The mere thought of his name was enough to make your stomach erupt in butterflies. You pressed your lips together, trying to push the thought from your mind. There was no use in getting yourself worked up over what was going to be a brief encounter at best. He had already told you that he was in a band, meaning that he would probably be gone by tomorrow morning. Never to be seen again.

You were quickly distracted by your arrival to the correct aisle. It was one that you had been in so many times that you already knew exactly where the book would be from memory. There were a few copies to choose from, and after some debate you eventually settled on a new one. It was a bit more expensive than the used ones, but it would give Tyler a chance to make it all his own, if that was even something he enjoyed doing. You knew not everyone enjoyed writing in their books the same way you did.

Enough thinking. Time to find Tyler.

You eventually did find him curled up on one of the benches, already flipping through one of his books. He looked up when he heard you approaching and tucked the books back into the crook of his arm.

“Did you find something for me?” he asked, once again standing up to his full height.

“Yep, a copy of my favorite book of all time. Hopefully you haven’t read it,” you said, passing it to him.

He took a moment to look over the cover before flipping to the back and reading the synopsis. You chewed on your lower lip, waiting for his reaction.

“This sounds amazing,” he grinned. “I can’t wait to read it.”

You almost said something about being excited to hear his thoughts, then remembered the situation the two of you were in. Instead, you stayed quiet.

“And here’s your book, as promised.”

You took the book from him and added it to the top of your pile. Between the tiredness of your arms and the darkening of the sky, you figured it was about time you got home to make yourself dinner.

“Well, I should be getting home. It was really nice meeting you, Tyler.”

“Wait,” he said, “do you mind if I walk with you to the registers? Might be nice to wait in line together.”

“Yeah, that would be nice.”

You started to walk towards the front of the store and Tyler quickly fell into step with you. The butterflies had returned to your stomach, but this time you didn’t try so hard to push them away. With this new development in the story, there was still a chance for something to happen before you said goodbye for good.

“So, you said you’re not from around here?” you asked.

“Yeah, I’m actually living in Ohio right now.”

“Ohio,” you repeated. “How is that?”

“It’s alright, but I like having a chance to tour and see the whole country. It leads to some pretty cool experiences.”

You were sure that Tyler had cast a glance at you when he said that, but you were too shy to meet his eyes.

“How is being in a band?”

“The best,” he smiled. “And the other guy in the band, his name is Josh, is my best friend, so that’s really awesome. I mean, I’m essentially traveling and doing what I love with the closest person I have in my life. It doesn’t really get better than that.”

Normally you were relieved when the line at the registers was short, but today was different. You wouldn’t have minded being in line for half an hour if it meant more time to talk to Tyler.

“That sounds amazing. I would love to hear some of your music.”

“It’s on iTunes and Spotify and all that. We’re called Twenty One Pilots.”

“Oh, like the Arthur Miller play?”

“Yes, exactly,” Tyler grinned.

“I’ll keep that in mind.”

“What about you? What’s your life like?”

“That’s a loaded question,” you exhaled. “I guess the short answer is that I’m working and trying to figure out what I want to do in life.”

“I’ve been there,” Tyler nodded. “I’m still kind of there, if I’m being honest.”

“Next!” the cashier called.

A frown passed over Tyler’s face, “I guess this is goodbye.”

You tried to hide the disappointment that he hadn’t asked for your number, or maybe you had read the entire situation wrong. Perhaps his remarks hadn’t been anything other than friendly.

“It was really nice meeting you, Tyler. Maybe we’ll run into each other in another bookstore sometime,” you smiled.

“I hope so.”

He waved before turning and walking up to the open register. You had just started to relive all of your interactions with Tyler when the next register opened up. Setting your books on the counter and digging through your bag for a card became a quick distraction.

“Do you want a bag?” the cashier asked.

“No, I have my own. Thank you.”

She finished ringing you up before handing you the receipt and sliding the books your way. You grabbed them and stepped out of the way so that she could begin to help the next person. Before tucking all the books away, you opened up the one on the top so that you could slide the receipt inside.

“What is that?” you muttered, noticing some pencil marks below the title page. You picked up the book and brought it closer to your face, only to realize it was a note.

Sorry for writing in your book, I know not everyone likes to mark up their books like I do. Also sorry for being too embarrassed to do this in person. -Tyler

Beneath all of it was a hastily scribbled phone number. You couldn’t help but smile as you closed the book cover and tucked all of them safely into your bag so they wouldn’t get soaked by the rain.

Maybe you hadn’t misread things after all.

[ladytesla]

(MCxJulian) The Mercury-Is-In-Retrograde Waltz

Mercury was in retrograde. This did not bode well, apparently. Julian wasn’t a very superstitious man (no self-respecting Man Of Science would be, he assured himself), but he was beginning to think Asra and MC were right about the fact that a little planet millions of miles away could cause so much bad luck..

Mazelinka had gotten a bad cold and worried Portia to no end.  Speaking of Portia, a freak rain storm had all but decimated her carefully-tended crop of graspgourds and destroyed plans she’d had to host a lovely picnic in the palace gardens.  Mercedes and Melchior had dug up Nadia’s newly-planted orchids.  He wouldn’t be surprised if he saw the countess in a white fur coat one of these days.  Asra had been irritable, and his readings had been inaccurate.  And as for MC…

Oh, his poor, darling, dear MC.

Perhaps it was because she was herself one of the Arcana, and therefore more closely tied to magic? In any case, she had had the worst luck out of all of them.  A shipment of incense had gotten wet and ruined on her doorstep, she’d burned her arm when she’d tripped and fallen against the stove, the picnic Portia had planned and she was looking forward to so much got rained out…  so many things had gone wrong this week.  

He was starting to worry. More than usual.

So as he neared the shop and heard a crash from inside, he started to panic.

“MC?”  He called, opening the door.  Everything looked fine, but where was she?

“MC!”  He called again, taking the stairs three at a time. He finally saw her, slumped on the floor next to the remnants of a broken teacup.  Her hands were over her face, her shoulders shaking.  

“Are you all right, darling?”  He moved to her side, kneeling down and turning her face to look at him.  “What happened?”

Her eyes were red, and tears were running unashamed down her face.  He breathed an inward sigh of relief.  She looked fine enough.  

“It’s just a little cup,” he soothed, smoothing her hair back from her forehead so he could kiss her there.  “I’ll clean it up for you, you don’t have any shoes on, might get some slivers in your feet.

“It’s not that,” she hiccupped.  “It’s… it’s everything!  Everything’s gone so wrong!”

“Tell me about it then,” he said gently as he reached for the dustpan and broom.  He listened patiently as he cleaned up the shattered porcelain.  Her readings had been off, her potions had been horrible, she’d been having weird dreams, there had been a big bug in her room that morning, her hair was awful, she had a mosquito bite on the bottom of her foot…

He smiled to himself. Now she was lumping on the slightest little thing to wallow in as much self-pity as she could manage.  He’d been there before.  Only way out sometimes was to be hauled out by someone else.  And he was just the someone else for the job.

“That’s enough of that,” he scolded gently as he pulled her to her feet.  He cupped her face in his hands, wiping her tears away with his thumbs. “Now we’re going to dance.”

“What?”  She frowned as he took her hands and brought her up into a dancing position.

“Come now, I know I taught you to waltz, didn’t I?”  He asked. “Just the basics.  Back on your right foot, good girl, now left, and together, and forward-two-three, back-two-three, there we go…”  He led her through the small simple step.  Once she remembered the rhythm of it, he started dancing with her in a slow circle around the kitchen table.  

“You said you can’t do anything right this week, and here you are waltzing like a champion,” he praised. “I’m sorry things have been so rotten for you lately, darling, really I am.”

“It’s just that—” She began, but he interrupted her.

“Ah-ah, negative self-talk is not allowed while dancing.  It’s in the rulebook,” he said airily.

“There’s not a rulebook, Ilya.”

“Of course there is, I just haven’t written it yet,” he declared.  “What IS allowed, while one is waltzing around a kitchen… oh, do you remember the tun I taught you?  And under my arm… right!  Perfect!”  He grinned. “Anyway, why don’t you tell me something good that happened this week?”

“Nothing good happened this week,” she grumbled.

“You’re breaking the rules again, angel,” he chided.  “Try again.”

She thought for a while, her face screwing up in adorable concentration.  It took all he had not to scoop her up and pepper her face with kisses until she laughed again.  Finally, she grew thoughtful.

“I got a new book,” she said softly.  

“That’s wonderful!” He said.  “Do you like it?”

She nodded.  They were dancing effortlessly now, not even having to think about it.

“Selasi gave me some free pumpkin bread on Tuesday,” she murmured.  “It was really good.”

“That man is a legend and a half,” Julian confirmed.  

“And I saw a really cute dog this morning, his name was Pancake.”  Now there was a small smile on her face, which was just what Julian wanted to see.

“And the flower in the window boxes are blooming so prettily… I guess that’s because of the storm,” she went on.  

“That’s my girl,” he encouraged, pulling her closer and taking smaller steps.  “Try to find the bright side of what you think went wrong.  Tell me some more.”

“And the teacup I dropped was one that was already in bad shape anyway… and I guess the front porch smells really nice now because of all the incense that sat out…”  She thought for a while.  “And my arm stopped hurting after the first day, and it feels a lot better…”  She rested her head against his chest, and he dropped his arms around her and pulled her close.  

“Anything else good happen this week?”  He asked softly, swaying gently with her in his arms.  

“You’re dancing with me,” she murmured,  “and making me feel better.”  Her voice was muffled by his shirt, and then possibly drowned out by his traitor heart deciding to speed up like a madman.  He felt an ache in his chest, as though he loved her too much, as if holding her tightly against him wasn’t nearly close enough.  What perfect agony it was to be near her.

“And I’ll dance the Mercury-Is-In-Retrograde-Waltz with you whenever you need it, my dear,” he promised.  

[eeveevie]

Come to bed kisses for bryn x fiona please? :)

reporting in

Fiona finds a report from Brynjolf on the Guildmaster's desk, except its contents aren't exactly what she was expecting.

(Explicit content because I cannot control myself)*

*my self-indulgent plot, what plot? aka ‘accidentally had John Mayer lyrics at one point in the letter’ fic. Despite that, recommended listening is that new T-Swift song “False God” because of that snazzy, sexy sax line that just screamed for me to write this.

Brynjolf x f!Dragonborn (Fiona)

2772 words (under a cut) | Ao3

The Guildmaster’s desk was a mess of reports and coin satchels—a good sign, but also a sign Fiona would be busy that evening reviewing the week’s intake of profits. Judging by the merriment of the Guild members in the Cistern, there hadn’t been any loses while she’d been away pilfering her own goods for the vault. She sidestepped the offering chest, focusing instead on the various piles of parchment from her team.

Delvin’s reports from footpads and how they were successfully fishing from nobles in Solitude and Whiterun, Tonila’s logbook from the shipment of diamonds she intercepted off the Winterhold coast, Vex’s list of earnings of selling off stolen goods to fences across Skyrim…the reports seemed never ending. Business was excellent.

What she didn’t expect to find was a report from Brynjolf—his scraggly handwriting the only indication it was from him. Since she had taken over as Guildmaster, he had favored telling her of his escapades in person. He called it pillow talk, Fiona called it lazy and poor book-keeping. It intrigued her so much that she pulled it from the stack, softly chuckling at the little illustrated heart he had drawn on the front next to Guildmaster.

—Windhelm

This city is miserable without you, lass. Sitting in this tavern, I’m reminded that this is the first place where we first shared a bed���or at least the first time I didn’t have to sneak into your room uninvited only for you to kick me to the floor in the night. You must’ve known I wanted you then, even if my intentions weren’t entirely pure with the games we played. We’ve found ourselves in this place several times since that evening, and we’ve changed since then—how mad for you I’ve become, and unafraid I am to show you exactly how I feel.

If you were here with me—I’d kiss every inch of that soft skin of yours, touch every expanse. Count every freckle on your shoulders with my tongue and work to leave my mark on the column of your neck. Collect your sighs as they spill from your lips and trace the outline of your body with my own. I’d praise your body like the goddess you are—Divines strike me down if that’s too sacrilegious.

I’d bring you insurmountable pleasure, have you coming with my hands, with my mouth—long before I ever take you with my body. I’d fill you completely, make love in that slow way that agonizes you—fuck you until your body trembled with ecstasy. I would not stop until I had you screaming my name for the whole city to hear.

That is, if you were here.

Until I see you again, lass, and can take you to bed.

-B

Fiona read over the letter a second and then a third time, gripping the parchment a little tighter each time. She should’ve known not to expect a formal report from him, but she didn’t think he’d ever send anything like…this. She was so engrossed in the words that when a hand landed on her waist, she nearly jumped out of her skin.

“I see you received my message,” Brynjolf laughed, pulling her back tight against his chest as his other arm snaked around her hip. “It’s not like you to be startled, lass.”

Fiona blinked hard and made to respond when he nuzzled his head against hers, brushing away the lose strands of her hair, seeking out her neck. She knew exactly what he was after and within seconds, his lips were wrapped around her pulse point—his most favored spot. A tingle ran down the length of her spine to the tip of her toes. Despite how she tried to hide it, she knew he had noticed her full body shiver with the way his lips curled into a devious grin against her skin.

“Back so soon?” she rasped, biting her lip and cursing herself at the lame question. Was that all she could say? While she would never give him the satisfaction of admitting it, it was so easy for him at times to dissolve her into a speechless, lovestruck fool with a few well-placed kisses and honeyed words. He had barely begun and Gods she wanted him--needed him—now.

“Aye,” he answered, deep voice muffled against her throat. “You read my report, Fiona.” His teeth nipped at the tender flesh behind her ear, and she bit back a moan, eyes darting across the Cistern, wondering if anybody was watching or just choosing to ignore their Guildmaster and Second’s public displays of lewdness.

Brynjolf shuffled them forward, pinning Fiona’s hips to the desk. He pressed further, making his arousal known through their leathers against her flank. Finally, Fiona found her voice.

“You’re here to take me to bed?” she asked, struggling to hide her excitement.

“No,” he answered gruffly. “The desk will do just fine.”

Fiona’s breath caught in her throat as his hand on her waist dropped low, deft fingers dipping beneath the layers of leather and cloth to touch at the flesh of her lower back. She sighed, bracing her hands against the desk as his hand dipped further, groping at the curve of her ass. His knee nudged her thigh and she took the not-so-subtle hint, spreading her stance just enough. Brynjolf shifted, leaning over her shoulder to glance at her, watch her as he carefully maneuvered his fingers further down her pants to her entrance.

She inhaled sharply when he finally touched her, involuntarily jutting her hips forward. Out of the corner of her eye she could see his smirk, darkened eyes drinking in her every reaction to his touch. The tip of one finger slowly slid across her seam, her knees wanting to buckle already. He was teasing her, never quite pressing the digit within her folds and yet she could still feel herself coiling up.

“Bryn—” she choked in a quiet hush, trying to pull away but found that his grip would not allow for it. “The others!”

She was not opposed to him taking her across the desk—not in the slightest, but for Talos’ sake, could he be any less impatient? She didn’t need an audience and hadn’t developed a penchant for voyeurism while he was gone.

“Better dismiss them,” he mused, not even remotely pausing in his movements as he curled his fingers against her heat. “Quickly now, before I make you—”

A trembling sigh escaped her before she finally found the strength to elbow him to give herself a little bit of space. He sniggered, retreating and removing his hands from her body as she shouted across the wide-open room. “Everybody!” she waved her arm in the direction of the Flaggon. “I’ve read the reports from this week. Drinks are on me!”

She had to admit it didn’t sound like the best excuse for free alcohol. When the Guild took their time filing themselves into the ratway tavern, Brynjolf shouted after them, louder than her. “You heard the boss, on with it!”

As if catching the tone in his voice, every last thief quickly evacuated the Cistern until Fiona and Brynjolf were the only ones left.  

“Well now they definitely know what we’re up to,” Fiona mumbled, a hand over her face.

Brynjolf quickly turned her body so she was facing him, capturing her lips in a rough kiss. He wedged her against the desk once more, hands roaming across her waist more eagerly than before, pulling at buckles and laces to remove her clothing.

“Oh well,” he broke away to mutter against her mouth. “They’ll be hearing you anyways.”

She moaned at his words and tilted her head to the side when his kisses trailed back towards her neck, lips fervently moving along her skin as his heated fingertips tugged at her pants. Her hands joined his, quickly removing her coat and tossing it aside—she’d leave her undershirt on for now. She then reached out for him, but only managed to undo the first few buckles of his armored coat before he swatted her hands away.

“You first,” he clarified, sultry expression telling her he was much more focused on her pleasure than his own.

Reluctantly, Fiona let him continue until he had pulled her trousers down just past her thighs, fingers catching her undergarments at the same time. Only then did he grip her hips, effortlessly lifting her to prop her on the edge of the desk. Brynjolf then sat in the Guildmaster’s chair, sliding it closer as he slowly removed her boots, never once removing his burning gaze from hers. There was something predatory in his expression, but instead of frightening her it only aroused her further. It was something she was still getting used to with Brynjolf—the different ways he showed his physical affection, now that they were together. He could surprise her in Nightingale Hall and fuck her brains out against a catacomb wall and in the morning at Honeyside have nothing but sweet and slow affection to shower her in. Fiona loved and craved it all.

When she was completely bare from the waist down, he ran his hands across her legs, tilting his head just close enough to kiss the inside of one knee. “Lie back lass, so that I can taste you.”

Fiona followed his instructions immediately, leaning back until she was flush against the desk. Brynjolf steadied her legs in his grasp, spreading them as he made room for himself, eventually propping her knees along the wide expanse of his shoulders. He kissed upwards, the prickly stubble of his beard causing her skin to tickle. One hand creeped upwards with his head, the other firmly gripping her hip to the table.

When his hand found her centerfolds again, she heard—felt—him groan, he couldn’t resist reacting to how stimulated she was for him. Brynjolf only touched her for a fleeting moment before replacing his hand with his mouth, tongue tracing a thick line across her heat a few times before focusing on her clit. His fingers—oh Divines bless those fingers—appeared once more to press inside her, one, then two fingers hooking in and out in a delightful rhythm. She writhed against him, both hands reaching down to thread and grasp at his hair in desperation.

She was suddenly reminded that at any moment, a Guild member could walk back through the Cistern entrance and catch them. Now more than ever, she wanted to chase her end, and found herself scooting—or at least trying to move—closer to his touch, anything to get him move that beautiful, devilish mouth of his faster against her cunt.

“Please, oh—” she gasped, breaking off into a moan as his tongue and lips lapped at her in tight circles. “Faster.” She was just about to—

“Bryn!” she yelped when she felt him pull back just enough to deny her ecstasy. She dug her heel into the middle of his back, crying his name out louder when he responded in earnest—it didn’t take much for her to finally find release. Fiona gripped his hair tight, squeezing her thighs against his temple as more incoherent words fell from her lips—perhaps some of them in Dovahzul.

Brynjolf didn’t pull away until her body relaxed from seizing, sporting a small satisfied grin through kisses to her thighs and hips as he brought her legs down from his shoulders. His movements slowed as he leaned up from the chair to loom over her.

“In a rush?” he asked in a playful tone. Still breathless, Fiona only glanced upwards towards the Flaggon entrance before looking towards Brynjolf. He softly chuckled, hands ghosting over her thighs, causing little tremors to echo up her body. “You don’t think I made sure somebody is on lookout for us?”

Fiona could only roll her eyes. Of course he had the entire evening rearranged. Delvin? Vex? It didn’t matter. She couldn’t be that annoyed or embarrassed about the situation—it was a fool’s errand to try and keep her private affairs private from the others. Instead, she grew impatient as she focused on Brynjolf unbuckling his coat, opening it before working to undo his trousers as well. She sat up and pulled him in for a frenzied kiss, moving her hands across his body to remove as much—or as little clothing as possible so he could take her. He shrugged off his Guild jacket, both their hands meeting to shove his pants and underwear down past his thighs. Fiona hooked her legs around his waist, urging him to come closer to her, palm already seeking the heat of his stiffened cock when he groaned into her mouth.

She gasped when he pulled away, if only to pounce on her, grabbing both of her wrists in one large calloused hand, holding them above her head as he stretched her across the desk beneath his body. His other hand gripped her hip tight, breaking away for the briefest of seconds to align himself at her entrance. Fiona anticipated more teasing or prolonged torture of pleasure but instead, Brynjolf plunged forward, fully seating himself within her with that initial thrust.

Her body reacted wholly, back arching off the desk and hips crashing against his. She flexed her fingers, struggling to free her hands so she could grasp at his body—anywhere so she could find leverage. His hand on her hip dug deeper, blunt nails biting into her skin in a delightfully painful way. Brynjolf withdrew and thrust forward just as quickly, and she tossed her head back, moaning loudly as the heat of him filled her completely. He released the hold on her wrists, but before she could reach out to touch him he leaned away, hands sliding along her legs to press against his torso, ankles resting along his shoulders as he firmly held her waist. Fiona concentrated on his furrowed brow as he set a relentless pace—it wasn’t to be quick—but to be passionate. To make a statement—one she heard very loud and clear.

She bit down on her lip before deciding against stifling herself, concluding it was much better to let their noises be heard as he intended. She reached down to grip his hands at her waist, their fingers haphazardly lacing. It was a struggle to keep eye-contact as that first glorious wave started to crash over her—he wasn’t going to stop just yet. Fiona began to pant, repeated his name over and over between little prayers to Nocturnal and Mara and every God in-between. Brynjolf kept a determined focus on her eyes and body, his thrusts only faltering by the time her second orgasm made her body convulse and pulsate in ways that threatened to milk every last drop of seed from his body.

When he came, it was hard, hips crashing against her body with a strangled groan catching in his throat before his body was falling across hers on the desk, her name a hushed whisper of amazement as they slowly rolled their hips against each other. Eventually he withdrew from her but stayed close, the heat and weight of his body a pleasantly welcome feeling.

“Can I expect more reports from you?” Fiona asked, breathless as she clung to him, sweeping one of her hands down his back. “With little hearts and important details?”

Brynjolf’s deep rumbling chuckle echoed next to her ear, his warm breath still causing a tingle to spark along her spine. He kissed her temple, pulling away so he could look at her directly. His expression was bright, eyes glimmering with amusement and adoration—she could get used to the way he looked at her like this.

“That would entail sending me away,” he explained.

Fiona scrunched up her face in protest. “Never mind.”

After several moments, Brynjolf eventually leaned away, gripping her hands to help her sit up, the two of them laughing as they observed the mess they had made of the desk—parchment and reports strewn about, a shattered inkpot on the floor and at least three gold pieces had made it all the way to the middle water-pool.

“I can still leave you notes, lass,” he spoke, voice hinting at what filth they would contain. “Just know this is a possible outcome.”

Fiona nodded, pressing soft lazy kisses along his stubbled jaw. “What about debriefing me in person?”

“Isn’t that what I just—” he chuckled, catching onto her tease. “Oh, my sweet saucy minx, of course you can have both. After all, I aim to please.”

[likewhoajara]

Silver Bullet Part. 1 | T.H.

Paring: Tom Holland x Reader

Summary: Thomas is the new guy in the biggest mafia’s in all of Brooklyn. When the reader bumps into him one day, the rest is history. With love, crime, and history all in one; this story of two kids fighting for survival in a dangerous world is what you’ve been waiting for.

Warning: Fluff, Smut in part 2, Mob!Tom

Word Count: 1655

Author’s Notes: Hello, everybody! I hope you enjoy this as much as I did. 

Requested: Yes | No @mrs-agreste1

1943 Brooklyn. Everything was pretty normal, except for the attack on Pearl Harbor two years ago by the Japanese. Daddy said something racist about it, but I didn’t pay attention to him. I tend not to listen to his opinions, anyway; they usually are unnecessary and mean. But, Daddy is the boss of our little “company”, as he likes to call it, but everyone knows were one of the two biggest mafias in town. The other one we try not to cross paths with unless they jeopardize our own business. I don’t really agree with everything daddy does, but it’s not like they would listen to what I have to say. I’m a lady, so I have no authority over any of these men, let alone my father. It has been just me and daddy and the mob since my mother was murdered in 1934. I was 11, and barely understood what was happening. Now that I’m an adult, I know exactly what happened. The other mob saw her as the perfect piece to get back at daddy for getting a part of the city that they wanted and the new shipment of illegal drugs. Now, my safety is daddy’s number one priority, even though I can definitely take care of myself. I mean, I’m not weak. I’m the biggest Mobster of the whole state’s daughter. I’m not fragile.

A week ago, daddy recruited a new guy as a thief and an ease drop. He’s smaller than the other newer guys were, but he’s still muscular. I can tell he is quick on his feet and can get into small areas if needed. I can see why daddy brought him on. Although, I don’t think daddy likes him too much. The first job daddy gave him was to steal 5 cases of whiskey from the politicians at the near-by hotel with no back up if he got caught. He succeeded, though. Smart and quick. He’s going to do well here, if daddy doesn’t work him to death first.

I didn’t really speak to him much until I bumped into him yesterday. I wasn’t paying attention when I was walking to my hide out to read.

“I’m sorry.” He said, immediately dropping down to help me pick up my book I dropped. Our hands brushed against each other when he handed me it, and we make eye contact. I have never seen brown eyes so warm before. He quickly broke the gaze and looked to the floor.

“It’s okay,” I reassured him with a gentle smile. “You’re the new guy, huh?”

“U-um, yeah.” He sputtered out, avoiding my eye. He looked uncomfortable. I didn’t think I came off as intimidating, but his body language says otherwise.

I breathe out when I realize why. Of course, he’s tense. I’m the boss’s daughter. Daddy probably said something to him about me. “You don’t have to be so tense around me. I don’t bite.”

He glances my way but looks away again. “I’m Y/N.” I say, stretching my arm out for him to shake my hand.

He takes it, quickly shaking it, and speaks “T-Tom.”

I giggle, trying to lighten his mood. “Really! I’m not going to run off to my dad or anything. How old are you?”

“22.” He says, less tense.

“Oh, so you’re around my age, then. I’m 19, almost 20,” I wrap my arms around my book. I think for a moment as I purge my lips. “Wanna see something interesting?”

Tom looks at me, trying to decide if he trusts me or not. “Come on!” I say, grabbing his wrist and pulling him toward my hideout.

Once we get there, I look around to see if any of the members around. The coast is clear, so I lead him to a hidden room that I only know about.

“What is this place?” He asks, looking around.

I let go of his wrist. “My hide out. I come here to read and escape the chaos of it all.”

Tom breathes out, relaxing a bit, and nods his head in agreement.

“I’m sorry that daddy gives you the hardest jobs. I don’t agree with them, but what is my opinion, ya know?” I sit down. He stands there, his hands in his pockets, a curly piece of hair falling from his brushed back look.

“It’s not your fault.” I pat the floor beside me for him to sit down, and he does.

“Why are you here anyway?”

“Honestly,” he asks, and I nod for him to continue. “I need to support my family. This is the only way to keep them safe and earn some cash.”

“That’s understandable.” I say.

He sighs, “I don’t like what I do, but if it keeps my mom and my brothers safe, then so be it. If my mom knew this is what I’m doing, she’d think so low of me.”

“I don’t think you’re bad for doing this. You need to support your family, and no one will put you down for that.” I lay my hand on his, trying to comfort him.

He looks away. “Yeah, what do you know? You’re the boss’s daughter. You’ve never known to be poor a day in your life.”

“You’d be surprised, Thomas. That’s why we’re here. We were homeless for a good year before my dad became who he is. I was young, of course, but I can still remember how it hurt my family.”

Tom looks back up at me, his eyes careful. “Are you serious?”

“Dead!” I say, watching how his eyes sparkled in the low light. He was undeniably handsome. I give his hand a squeeze, and speak again, “So I know how you feel. And you can trust me. I don’t like what my daddy does, either.”

He looks at me, “Okay.” And for a moment, I think I see a small grin on his thin lips.

I stare at him for what feels like forever but am thrown out of his trace when I hear voices getting closer. “Shoot!” I say, gathering my things and quickly stand up. “We gotta go!”

I grab Tom’s hand as soon as he stands up and quietly drag him behind me. We get out of hearing range of the other member’s and I speak again, squeezing his hand again. “See you later?”

He sounds almost out of breath, either from adrenaline or excitement. He looks back at me, his face closer than he intended. “Yeah!”

I smile and bite my lip, and then quickly run off, my heart racing and butterflies invading my stomach. I had it bad and I knew this was about to be a bumpy ride.

We spent the next few month or so exchanging look during group meetings and meeting at our spot to get away. We would talk about anything and everything, and I would even tell him about the book I was reading at the time. The first time he held my hand was when we were watching the sunset from our spot, and he held me close as he rested his chin on my shoulder. I felt safe when I was with him, and it was entirely different from anything I had felt with anyone else. Although I knew this couldn’t last long. Only until my daddy finds out.

He kissed me on Friday afternoon 4 months after we met when we slipped away for a moment. He held my hips as he softly laid his lips on mine, sparks bursting around us. “You are the most amazing thing that has ever happened to me.” He told me, and then kissed me again.

A week later, I overheard my daddy yelling at someone from his office. He did not sound happy at all.

“Let me ask you this one question. Have you been messing with my daughter?” Oh no.

“No, sir.” I hear Tom speak.

Daddy pauses. “I have no proof, but if I ever catch you with her, I will hunt you down and gut you like a fish. Understood?”

“Yes, sir.” Tom swallows.

“Now, get out!” I quickly move from the door, as if I hadn’t heard everything. Tom rushes out the door and bumps into me. His looks surprised until he realizes who I am. I look at him, concerned, and then pull him behind me. Once we reach our spot, I hug him. “I heard what my daddy said. I can’t let him hurt you.”

“What are you saying?” He pulls me away to look at him.

“I’m tired of this place, Tom. I hate that were both stuck in this mess. I love you too much to let him hurt you,” I swallow hard. “Let’s run away together!”

“Y/N, are you insane? Your dad really will kill me if we do that. You know I can’t do that.” He lets go of me and walks over to the window.

“Why not? You hate it here as much I do. Don’t you want to be free from it all?” I walk toward him.

He turns back around to face me, “You know I want to, but-”

“Then let’s go. I already have a bag packed.” I move my hand to reference the bag in the corner. “We’ll leave tonight.”

He looks at me again with careful eyes. I wrap my arms around his torso, breathing him in. “I just want to be with you and nothing else matters.”

He holds me to him. “Okay,” He says. “Did you really mean what you said?”

“Mean what? Of cour-”

“That you love me?” I look up at him.

“More than anything.” I tell him. Tom then leans down to kiss me. His kiss always makes me forget the mess that was around us. It’s like nothing else mattered.

“I love you, too.” He finally says after he slowly pulls away, his eyes still half lidded as he looked down at me.

Part 2 (SMUT) | Part 3

[sariasprincy-writes]

Hollow Point 16

One // Two // Three // Four // Five // Six // Seven // Eight // Nine // Ten // Eleven // Twelve // Thirteen // Fourteen // Fifteen // Sixteen (here) 

Chapter Sixteen “If I asked you to jump, would you?”

‘You’re a pretty girl,’ Tsunade used to say. Not that she meant it as a compliment. It was simply a fact.

Because there was something about pretty girls that tended to draw people in. Trust them more. As if being attractive meant all the world’s secrets were safe behind those easy smiles. Maybe that was how Sakura had managed to dismantle Gaara’s empire singlehandedly. Or maybe she really was as good at what she did as everyone thought. Or perhaps it was all luck.

In any case, it was a wonder sometimes that she was still alive. Like a cat with nine lives, she tiptoed around Death, taunting him. Daring him. One misstep away. Always teetering on the edge. Swaying back and forth.

Sakura stood at the window, phone pressed to her ear. The other line rang once, twice. Five times before going to voicemail. She didn't bother leaving a message.

Behind her, footsteps echoed in the empty condo. Ino crossed the large room, her heels clicking against the wood floors before silencing in the middle of the room.

“You bought this?” Ino asked, glancing around the wide living space.

Sakura hummed her reply as she tucked her phone into her back pocket. Her gaze returned out the window, to the ocean and the distant horizon. 

“This is like your fifth purchase in the last week,” Ino told her needlessly. “Why are you buying so many places?”

Actually, it was Sakura's eighth but she didn't correct her. Instead she turned her back on the stunning view to look at the blonde. “Because it would be stupid of me to hide my entire stock in one spot. I need more safehouses to store my product.”

And more places to hide. The end of her strange relationship with Tobirama had left her a little paranoid. Perhaps she had been arrogant, reckless to think that sharing a bed with Tobirama would protect her from Hashirama or the Uchiha brothers. She had unintentionally lowered her guard. Having Tobirama show up in the dead of the night had woken her like a bucket of ice water. Or a gun to the head.

“Naruto told me you had another shipment coming in later this week,” Ino said. “Though, he’s not sure yet where they’re going.”

Sakura heard the unspoken question. “I’ll give him the locations later today. There’re a few clients looking to restock their store. I do need him to set a container aside for me though. I need to send one back overseas.”

“Back to the Med?”

Sakura shook her head, her gaze returning out the window. “China. The Hyuugas need some backup. They’re having issues with a few triads in Hong Kong. And I owe them a favor.”

The blonde peered at her curiously, as if awaiting a further explanation. When Sakura didn’t offer one, she let it go with a half-shrug. “Do we need to prepare another container for the Senju?”

A brief silence passed as Sakura weighed her answer. Eventually she shook her head. “No, they should be good with what they have now and I’m not in the mood to be generous. I got Kabuto’s payment last week so I’ll have Naruto arrange a store for him and whatever is leftover can go to Hashirama.”

Even without looking, Sakura could feel Ino’s eyes burning into the side of her head. Could feel the wheels in her head turning as she pieced her next words together. “Is this because of Tobirama?”

“What?” Sakura asked. She turned sharply to look at her.

Ino just met her stare unwavering. “Oh, come on. You’re really not going to tell me anything? I know you’re sleeping with someone. It’s obviously not Hashirama, and Madara and Izuna are too...well themselves for you to ever get into bed with them. So, it’s either Tobirama or…Did you and Kakashi…?”

“I’m not sleeping with Kakashi,” Sakura said flatly. When Ino continued to stare, she glared, “I’ve never slept with Kakashi.”

“So, it is Tobirama.”

Sakura shot the blonde a look that was clearly a warning. When Ino didn’t back down, Sakura sighed. “Yes, I fucked Tobirama,” she admitted impatiently. “But that’s not the reason I’m pissed off.”

“Okay, so what is it?” Ino asked, the amusement fading from her expression.

Sakura simply stared at her longtime friend. Trying to find the words to explain that she wasn’t really mad at Tobirama. Annoyed he had held a gun to her head maybe, but not honestly mad. He had been right to suspect her as a mole.

As it turned out, one of Hashirama’s men had hidden deep undercover, spying on the Senju brothers and passing along information to Akatsuki. Sakura had heard of the man’s death over the news. Left in pieces throughout an Akatsuki port. Like a bloody jigsaw puzzle. Curtesy of Tobirama.

Rather, she had pinpointed her restlessness back to Hashirama directly. Her life would have never been like this if he hadn’t taken her from that orphanage. And she didn’t know if she was grateful or if she hated him for it. It was a very thin line she paced. Every move seemed one step away from swaying her one way or the other.

Sakura considered telling Ino all of this. There was no judgement in her eyes, only patience and quiet curiosity. But Sakura couldn’t find the words to say any of it. She never could.

Instead, she shook her head. “It’s too long to go into the details now. Tell Naruto the plan. I’ll reach out to Kabuto and get you his current location for shipment.”

Ino looked like she had more to say but fortunately kept her mouth shut.

They were spared the tense silence by Sakura’s phone suddenly buzzing in her back pocket. She laughed ironically when she read the caller ID.

“Hashirama,” she answered less than welcomingly. “What can I do for you this time?”

If he heard the curt tone in her voice, he gave no indication. Merely replied levelly, “I need another shipment.”

“Oh?” Sakura asked, holding up her hand towards Ino to halt her retreat. Ino eyed her curiously but remained silent. “Your boys in the South in need of new gear already? I figured you would have some leftovers with your ranks as thin as they currently are.”

“Not mine,” Hashirama told her, ignoring her ruthless jab. On the other end, the faint background noise suddenly faded as though he had slipped into another room. “There was a problem with another supplier. Izuna-”

“No,” Sakura cut him off.

He paused, either surprised by her blatant refusal or because he was choosing his next words carefully. When he spoke again, his voice was pleasant and calm. Deadly calm. “You do not even know what I am asking.”

“Well unless you are asking me to off Izuna, which I seriously doubt, my answer is no. I am not doing that man any favors.”

“Consider it a favor to me then.” When she didn’t reply, Hashirama sighed. “I will pay you double.”

Sakura laughed. “No.”

“Triple.”

This time she was the one to pause. Weighing the pros and cons. Really, giving the guns to Izuna didn’t affect her business and with triple the normal rate...well it was almost like taking candy from a baby. It really wasn’t fair to Izuna. Good.

“Fine,” Sakura relented. “Send me the address where he wants them.”

“I will have Izuna call you.”

“What? Don’t-!”

But Hashirama had already hung up.

Sakura growled as she lowered her phone. Hashirama could be so petty when he wanted to be.

A minute lapsed with the room in silence before Ino slowly prodded, “So, don’t tell Naruto to bring the shipment to Kabuto?”

Raking a hand through her hair, Sakura thought. She sorted through the clients that had orders pending, those that were paying the most and those had been waiting the longest. A deep sigh passed between Sakura’s lips.

“No, tell Naruto Kabuto’s shipment is being rerouted,” she told Ino. “He’ll have to wait until the next one. As soon as Izuna gives me an address, I’ll let him know where it’s going-”

As if she had summoned the devil himself, Sakura’s phone rang a second time. The number was unsaved, but she was confident enough to take a wild stab. “Hello, bastard,” she said pleasantly.

There was a pause on the other end. Only the sound of a very patient breath being drawn. “I hate you,” Izuna said.

Sakura couldn't resist her smile. “The feeling is mutual. So, let’s get this over as quickly as possible, shall we. Where do you want the delivery?”

“The Grand Lotus hotel. They have their food deliveries arrive at 11pm. You can disguise the shipment in a truck and exchange it with my contact tomorrow night,” Izuna told her.

She stared out the window as he spoke. Listening while she watched the large cargo ships move about the bay. Some heading into port, others out to sea while some remained anchored in the harbor, waiting for their shipments to arrive.

“Fine,” she agreed. “Book a room. We’ll exchange the keys there. And Izuna,” she said before he hung up, “tell Hashirama the money better be in my account beforehand. No payment, no deal.”

Through the phone, she heard him take another measured breath. “I will uphold my end of the deal. Just make sure you do the same. I swear, if you fuck this up-”

Sakura didn’t hear the rest of his threat as she ended the call. She smirked, a little too pleased with herself. Ino actively resisted the urge to roll her eyes at Sakura’s antics. “You know that doesn’t help.”

“Does me,” Sakura shrugged. “Anyway, we better get going. If we’re going to be ready for tomorrow night, we need to move.”

That disapproving look was still on Ino’s face but she followed Sakura out of the condo nonetheless. The door echoing in the utter emptiness as it shut behind them.

xx

Just as planned, Naruto drove the shipment to The Grand Lotus hotel, dressed in one of those ugly, brown delivery outfits. Hat and all. For some reason the look at fit him well, which amused Sakura to no end. Much to the annoyance of the blond.

Across the street, Kakashi sat perched on a roof, overlooking the five-story building.

Sakura waited for confirmation they were both in position before she had a cab drop her four blocks from the hotel. She walked the rest of the way, hands deep in her pockets as her breath fanned out before her in pale, white wisps.

The heat inside the lobby immediately chased the chill from Sakura’s skin. She popped the top button of her jacket off and pulled her blonde hair out from inside the collar as she made her way towards the front desk. It wasn’t her favorite wig by any means, but it concealed her natural hair flawlessly.

“Good evening, Miss. Checking in?” the woman asked politely. She probably wasn’t much older than Sakura herself.

Sakura smiled in return. “Yes. Senju Tsunade for one night.”

The hotel employee turned to her computer and punched in a few numbers. “I have you in Room 308 on the third floor. Single queen-sized bed.”

“Perfect.”

“It looks like we have your credit card on file so all I need is a signature and I can send you right up. Can we help you with your bags?”

Sakura shook her head as she accepted the usual nondisclosure and hotel rules contract. She signed the agreement, printing Tsunade’s name in perfect cursive with a well-practiced hand. As the woman filed away her paperwork and registered her door key, Sakura gazed around, briefly reading the flyers on the desk: free Wi-Fi, pool hours. The hotel’s apologies that the workout room was currently undergoing construction and would not available for guest use.

“Your door will be the second to last on the right,” the woman said, handing over Sakura’s paperwork. “Please let us know if there is anything else we can do to make your stay more enjoyable.”

Sakura smiled her thanks. Once she was sure she had everything, she headed towards the elevator. The lift chimed pleasantly before the doors opened. She waited for an elderly couple to exit before she stepped in.

Just before the doors closed, Sakura glanced back at the receptionist. Only to find her still watching Sakura, phone pressed to her ear.

A sinking feeling settled deep in Sakura’s stomach. It was probably nothing but she hit the button for the fourth floor, one level above her own. The hallway was empty, except for two bellmen. They were heading towards her, pushing an empty luggage cart.

Sakura smiled at them as they drew closer, taking in their pristine, red hotel uniforms. Her first clue something was wrong were the nearly invisible earpieces in their ears. Her eyes dropped to her hotel card, feigning confusion as she looked at it and then the room number around her.

“Excuse me,” she said as they crossed paths. “I’m afraid I’m a little turned around. Can you tell me where Room 408 is?”

The closest man glanced at her hotel card, her thumb conveniently covering the ‘3’ written on her card, before he glanced at the door numbers. “408 is at the end of the hall,” he pointed. “Take a right at the corner and it’ll be the second to last on your right.”

“Perfect,” Sakura said gratefully. She took a step down the hall, only to turn around again. “Oh, and can you tell me, is the workout room twenty-fours or does it open in the morning?”

He half-turned back to her. “It’s twenty-four hours.”

Only it was closed for construction. And Sakura had been around guns long enough to recognize that strange bulge on his hip beneath his clean, tight suit. The butt of a weapon. He was armed. And if she had to guess, a federal agent.

She smiled again even as adrenaline began to spread through her veins. “Thank you.”

Staying calm, Sakura continued down the hall, even as she felt the men’s eyes follow her. She scanned the hallway carefully, searching for any cameras hidden in the ceiling or in the corners of the walls. Her mounting alarm cooled somewhat when she found none.

Ducking around the corner, Sakura pressed her back to the wall and waited with baited breath. Sure enough, a few seconds later she heard their footsteps, muffled by the carpet.

The gun was the first thing Sakura saw. She grabbed the first man’s wrist and swung him around until he hit the wall. His face struck first, knocking him unconscious. She let him drop as she turned to his partner. His gun was trained on her, but she was close enough to slip under his guard and hit a painful pressure point until he dropped his weapon.

Sakura dodged his first swing, using Kakashi’s close combat training to kick the side of his knee. He dropped to the ground and turned to grab her in the same motion, but she was faster. Using a supported elbow, she knocked him in the back of the head. He collapsed to the floor, boneless.

It was all over in less than thirty seconds. Still, Sakura remained motionless, listening for any voices or more approaching footsteps. When all was quiet, her eyes returned to the unconscious men at her feet. She searched them quickly, her heart jumping in her chest when she found both had badges: FBI.

Pulling her phone out, Sakura called Kakashi. “We’re aborting this. Now.”

“What’s wrong?”

Through the phone she heard the scrap of his equipment as he hastily dismantled his scope. “FBI are here. I don’t know why and I don’t have time to explain how I know. Get Naruto. Make sure you both get out.”

“What about you?”

“I’ll be fine. I’ll call you as soon as I can.”

After ending the call, she pocketed her phone before she returned to one of the unconscious agents. On his hip, she found a radio. She grabbed it before she headed towards the stairwell, only pausing to rip the hotel floor plan required by law posted on the wall.

“Front desk confirmed 308 checked in. Second floor is secured,” the radio crackled. “Moving in on the third now.”

Listening, Sakura studied the map, her only focus on getting out. There were only two stairwells, one on either side of the building. With the FBI focused on the hotel room she had intended to meet Izuna’s contact, it was likely they were covering the stairs on the north side.

She would have to try the south side.

With only a second look to ensure the two agents were still unconscious, Sakura headed towards the opposite stairwell. She held the radio towards her ear to listen for updates as she moved, only lowering it when she felt her phone vibrate in her pocket.

Sakura gave pause when she recognized Itachi’s number. She had sent him a text message last night, updating him on Izuna and Madara’s plans. Because even though she hated working with the CIA, she hated Izuna more.

Now, however, she felt her temper rise. She had kept all the details regarding her delivery tonight secret, but it wouldn’t surprise her if Itachi had put a tail on her. This was exactly why she didn’t strike deals.

“Did you do this-?”

“Please tell me you are not at the Grand Lotus hotel right now,” Itachi interrupted, surprising her.

There was something about his tone that cooled her building anger. He sounded almost worried. Anxious perhaps? Still, she held onto her misgivings. “Why is the FBI here? Did you call them?”

“Of course not,” he snapped, almost offended that she would suggest such a thing. “You didn’t tell me anything, other than you were meeting one of Izuna’s men tonight. And if it is who I think it is, it was supposed to be Izuna’s primary link to Hong Kong, one of the biggest arms dealers in China. He’s been on the FBI’s watchlist for years.”

“So why did they choose to move in today?”

“I don’t know,” he said quickly, his words a little breathless like he was running. “You need to get out.”

“Yeah, I’m working on it,” Sakura replied curtly.

She paused when she reached the other end of the hall to peer through the glass. She didn’t see anyone but she pushed the door open silently and gazed down at the lower landing. Sure enough, there were a dozen uniformed police armed to the teeth, ready to move on command.

Sakura slipped back onto the floor, closing the door soundlessly behind her. “They have the floor secured,” she said as the radio crackled to life in her hand. The agents were about to move up.

On the other end, Itachi was silent. Then he said, “Go to the roof.”

Confused, she wondered how that would help her. The surrounding buildings were much taller than the hotel. There was no chance she could jump to the neighboring buildings.

But they were right on the water.

Sakura ground her teeth together. “It’s forty-five degrees out,” she hissed.

“And so is the water temperature,” Itachi stated almost matter-of-fact. “You can survive fifteen minutes.”

“You have got to be fucking kidding me.”

“If you don’t, you’re caught. And I cannot help you,” he told her.

Her grip around her phone tightened. Processing, weighing, deciding. Her lack of answer was all Itachi needed.

“There is a park less than a quarter mile south,” he said. “The current will help you. I will meet you there.”

Then he hung up and she was alone again.

Sakura stood there for a long moment. But then the radio crackled to life again in her hand and she was moving. She pushed her phone back into her jacket pocket before she slipped out into the stairwell once more. The agents were still only a level down, their quiet shuffling the only sound echoing against the steel and cement. With breath held, she began her climb up.

Up on the roof, the wind was even more biting. The building to the north blocked the worst of it, but it still chilled her skin. Sakura went to the edge and peered down. Below, the water was black and encompassing. Like it was just waiting to swallow her whole.

Out of all the crazy things Sakura had done in her life, this definitely ranked near the top. But at least she had a story. If she survived.

Taking a step away from the edge, Sakura bent down to tuck her pant legs into her boots. She pulled on her winter gloves next and folded the sleeves of her shirt and jacket into them as much as possible, doing everything she could to lessen the flow of water through her clothes.

She would definitely get wet. That was a fact she couldn’t change. But maybe she could use her clothes to work as a sort of crappy wetsuit. At least she had brought her winter jacket with her. Though she still wasn’t sure if that would help or hinder her.

“Secondary suspect is still in the building. Two officers down. Fourth floor, east wing,” the radio suddenly said.

“Securing the fifth floor now,” another replied.

Sakura couldn’t wait any longer. Stepping forward again, she climbed the three-foot-high, solid railing. The wind whipped around her as she perched precariously, like hands nudging her forward, tempting her to just jump. Her adrenaline rushed through her veins sharply. Painfully. Her body’s last attempt to beg her to stop.

That’s when the door to the roof banged open.

And that’s when Sakura stepped forward and plunged into darkness.

to be continued...

[anythingstephenking]

The Morally Grey Mile

Strap in for another grim tale. At least men are the ones getting fucked in The Green Mile, amirite ladies? No, still not cool? Ok then.

I suppose it is a disservice to call The Green Mile solely a “grim” tale, but because the core story focuses on an innocent man headed to the electric chair, it is pretty damn grim. If you haven’t read the book you’ve seen the movie but spoilers anyway - the innocent man dies and it sucks for the reader. It’s certainly more complicated than “bad wins” but a real bummer all the same.

Backing up a bit. The Green Mile was King’s first attempt at a serialized story release. In the book’s forward, King tells us it’s story of inception. Through a series of fortuitous events and a conversation with business associates about Charles Dickens, King concocted the idea to release a story in a series of “chapbooks”. Apparently Dickens released some of his stories that way, and they were so fervently popular that a band of dingdongs pushed each other off a dock and drowned while awaiting a shipment of Dickens into Baltimore Harbor. I imagine if the Harry Potter books were released that way I would have ended up in the harbor too. No judgement, zealous Dickens readers, I get it.

Logically, if it worked for 19th century Dickens, it would surely work for 20th century Stephen King, right? 

(cue Mr. Burns fingers). 

A single book released in installments monthly, garnering 3-4x the cost of a single paperback. Good for you SK, good for you. Cause turns out, the constant reader ate it up and bought ‘em like hotcakes.

Cause that’s the thing - this is a really really good story. Not because it’s beautifully written like Cujo or Firestarter or mind-bending like The Dark Tower books, but because it is a real page turner. I credit the format for that - you can tell it was written in a plot-driven, cliffhanger kinda way. In the same way serialized TV (before binging took this joy away) would leave you wanting more week to week, The Green Mile leaves each installment in a way where you can’t imagine not picking up the next one.

Per my contractual agreement with myself, I am required to reach each and every page of this story, but I’m a strange bird and the rest of the world isn’t a weirdo like me. At the end of the day, the narrative structure here really works and I plowed through all 6 installments in a day or so. Those reading in real-time (and not binging like me) waited a month between each publishing, from March through August 1996. There was no dock delivery in Baltimore in 1996 but I imagine if there was, the crowd waiting for each would be large.

So the narrative approach works, but what about the story itself? My analysis comes back slightly muddy but mostly positive despite some hard to swallow flaws.

I can’t claim to know what death row would have been like in 1932, but I’ve watched enough PBS documentaries to know what it’s like now. The group held at Cold Mountain are described as killers, yes. As rapists and wife beaters and arsonists. But they also come across like a rag-tag group of buds that should have their own reality TV show. One of the prisoners, Del, raped and murdered a young girl then accidentally killed a bunch of other people trying to cover his tracks by setting the building on fire. But he’s got this cute, somewhat supernatural mouse named Mr. Jingles that does tricks. Ain’t it cute? Then he fries and literally catches on fire in the electric chair.

I understand the intention of the tale - humanity lives in all of us. Empathy shouldn’t be reserved just for some. Death is final and it comes for all of us. What I struggled with was trying to understand if this was blatant reference to King’s personal stance on the Death Penalty (against it, obvs) or something more subtle. Should we take away that killing is wrong no matter what? Or that there is more nuance at play here?

Because there’s more happening on the green mile than just murderers dying (no matter how dramatically) in the chair comically nicknamed “ol’ sparky”. We’ve got John Coffey in chains, convicted of raping and murdering two 9 year old girls. JFC. I just can’t.

But he did, and he will die for his crimes. Here’s where the controversy around this novel begins. John Coffey is a large black man with magical powers. Spike Lee specifically calls out King publicly for this “magical negro” trope, which honestly I can’t disagree with. Dick Halloran from The Shining and Mother Abigail from The Stand fall neatly in this bucket as well. But even as I type this I know I am cherry-picking; I’ve read plenty of King stories with mystical beings and they’re mostly white (or more often other worldly). But King’s repeated use of the n-word and other racial slurs in his writing is real cringeworthy. As I move further towards his 21st century writing I keep hoping this will stop. It hasn’t yet, as of 1996. But King and writing about race is an entirely separate post for another day.

Back to The Green Mile; we learn that John Coffey has special healing powers when he cures the head guard, Paul Edgecomb of a UTI by grabbing his crotch. Normally this type of behavior will get ya thrown in the hole, but Paul’s so grateful he lets it slide.

Once we learn of the healing powers of Coffey, it doesn’t take Sherlock Holmes to solve the mystery. While getting arrested he cries “I tried to stop it but it was too late.” Everyone involved in the investigation assumes he means he tried to stop himself from murder but couldn’t; anyone with half a brain can deduce that someone else killed the girls; he tried to heal them. He was too late.

We’re set off to learn who really murdered the girls, but this revelation takes a backseat, at least in my mind. For me, the big mystery is; will John Coffey get executed? I’ll be honest, I hadn’t seen this movie, so I didn’t know. The phone the governor used to phone in stays-of-execution was mentioned early, so my Chekhov’s Gun senses lead me to believe it was possible. Why bother if not? Well the phone is mentioned at execution time, only to say it won’t ring. And of course it never really was a question - Coffey is a black man in the south, convicted of murdering two girls in 1932. Of course no one’s coming to save him. It’s sad. Real sad.

We’re given solace in the fact that Coffey claims he’s ready to go - his powers are too much and he’s tired. This is a nonsense cop out that provides relief to all those that understand the truth, allowing them to go on living, loving their wives and kids and casseroles. John Coffey should not have died. The end. 

Things are wrapped up in a bow with the end stories of everyone involved and their timely and untimely deaths. I guess that’s it; life sucks, then you die; death can come for you in any way, without discrimination.

I earmarked what is one of my favorite lines I’ve encountered so far in King’s work.

“We had once again succeeded in destroying what we could not create.”

Executing anyone (murderer or not) takes a toll on most of the prison staff. I just loved this so much on so many levels; they are men without the ability to create life; they are not god; they are mortals stealing mortality. So beautiful.

So, it’s no stretch to call this the brother of Shawshank, but at least we get a female character in Paul Edgecomb’s wife. I don’t remember her name so that’s not great. But she was a woman and she at least was there, so it gets knocked up a few rungs from Shawshank IMHO.

I’d have to say this is one King novel that really perplexed me. I suppose I got into the routine of enjoying typical good-vs-evil tales where the good guys eventually overcome. For me, The Green Mile wasn’t green at all but a wavering shade of grey I still can’t see properly.

(Side note: As I sat down to write this, I thought to myself “I’m not sure what I’ll say about The Green Mile.” Turns out, quite a bit, this is probably one of my longest entries. Who knew?)

8/10

First Line: This happened in 1932, when the state penitentiary was still at Cold Mountain.

Last Line: I know that, but sometimes, oh God, the Green Mile is so long.

Adaptations:

Like it’s brother Shawshank Redemption, I had never seen this movie before. It made it’s run through awards season in 1999, mostly for Michael Clarke Duncan’s portrayal of John Coffey. Who later tragically died of a heart attack with his girlfriend Omarosa (of Trump WH fame) which I didn’t know, but good golly, that is another sad story for another day.

Listen, this is a highly regarded movie that’s on many top lists, so I won’t stab into it too hard. But it is SO LONG.

Frank Darabont got his panties all in a bunch when folks told him a 3 hour running time was too long, claiming that if 2 hours was the correct length of a film that cinema classics like Lawrence of Arabia were invalidated. Well guess what? I’ve seen Lawrence of Arabia, and yes that shit is too. damn. long. As is The Green Mile.

One would think that with 3+ hours of material, the character development would be on point. It’s not really; the prisoners are mostly glossed over (even more so than in the book) as lovable murders. Wild Bill is the exception (overacted by Sam Rockwell), and he serves as the sole real “bad guy”. 

Edgecomb and his other prison guards are painted as saints (again, minus one guard who takes on the “bad guy of the good guys” role). If the book was grey the movie is much more black and white. Tom Hanks for president for sure, the guy is a national treasure. But they were one step away from giving him an actual halo. As someone complicit in the murder of an innocent man, I just can’t declare his character for sainthood. The real Tom Hanks, a million times yes. Paul Edgecomb? Nah.

The movie is fine. I approve of Darabont’s relationship with King and have thoroughly enjoyed their previous collaborations. I was sad to see that he let his film rights to The Long Walk expire last year, picked up by New Line and James Vanderbilt (of Vanderbilt fortune... old money... sigh) who penned Zodiac, which leaves me slightly hopeful but assume it’ll trickle back into development limbo for the remainder of eternity.

I’ve already finished my next read, Desperation and after I slog through the 2.5 hour ABC miniseries (UGH) I will keep trucking. New Year, more pressure placed on myself to plow through the back half of King’s bibliography.

[ao-anonymousobsesser]

So I'm writing a VLD fic

@comfortably-chaotic-mind I'm tagging you bc you know this fic and I'm sure you'll want to hear this lol plus this is kind of a funny story...sorry for the long post though

Everybody else, I'm very very very sorry you have to put up with this but I'm really upset about this right now so I gotta get this out

Basically, Keith's dad was super close with the latest Admiral of the Galaxy Garrison. Like I'm not sure what happened with them (maybe graduated together?? or the admiral taught him some life lesson??? idk) but Kogane trusts Dos Santos with his LIFE okay

And he basically says that Dos Santos is Keith's godfather in his will

So when Kogane dies...Dos Santos shows up and is like bitch u ain't takin this boi to the home

So Keith becomes like the housecat-ghostboy-orphan of the Galaxy Garrison. He likes sitting with the old people, climbing in the rafters, and sneaking around to scare the shot out of the cadets.

He's also an avid reader. (A personal headcanon of mine but blown up to a massive proportion.)

Like I mean this boy eats books for breakfast lunch and dinner. If he's awake, he's reading. He listens to audio books to fall asleep half the time (the other half of the time he's blasting Disturbed or FOB or something edgy like that).

This boy has read every book that could even VAGUELY be considered interesting.

Okay, let me just tell you:

The average school library has a ratio of between 10 and 20 books per student.

Let's say the Garrison has 5000 students (just larger than West Points cadet count) and their ratio is small at 10. That's 50000 books in the library.

Probably 10000 are extra copies or second/third/twelfth editions of the same books (going by the ratio of 1/5 that my school had). That's still 40000.

I'm gonna be nice and say that 500 are reference books, another 500 are random (small, informational or entertaining, don't fit a special category), 25000 are nonfiction, and 14000 are nonfiction.

Keith is almost 13 at this point in the story.

As an avid reader myself, I started reading at four. Keith started at five in the story.

I was six when I read my first 200pager. So was Keith.

So let's say he started on the smallest books in the Garrison at age 5. That's 500 in a year. About a book and a half a day.

Boom. Down to 35500 books in the library.

(As we all know, I hope, the library will rotate books, causing the number to fluctuate a bit. But let's say for the sake of math that it stays this way)

His dad already gets supplies from the Garrison (because he lives on Garrison property shhh it makes sense) so he starts asking for more books because Keith is just eating them up.

So the countdown to 15000 starts.

This is where I should explain that I literally lived down the road from a small town library until I was ten years old. I know what it's like to have access to books. I went to the library with my uncle every saturday afternoon. The librarian knew my name and used to come to my soccer games when he could. He was my best friend.

I remember when I was about seven I started getting frustrated because I would go through all my books in the first few days of the week and then be out until Saturday. I started taking my bookbag with me. I made my uncle (in his teens) take one, too. We crammed anywhere from thirty to sixty books into those bags and carried more with us.

The only reason we got away with it (because there was a 20 book limit) was because we had six library cards between the three of us--i had mine and my mom's, my uncle had his, his best friends, and my grandma's, and the library dude was nice enough to lend us his if we needed it.

So yeah. On a good week, I got about seventy books. That's ten books a day.

(I should explain that I still went to school. I went to public school with plenty of kids who hated reading enough for all of us. I had teachers who either insisted I was some kind of genius--i wasnt--or banished me to the hallway for reading Jane Austen during reading time when they specifically said to pick something at the class reading level. I know this life. It's kinda sucky.)

So yeah. Ten books a day, seven days a week, for fifty-two weeks. I got through the entire small-town library (4000 books) in just over a year.

Yes, I even read the reference books. Yes, I had to ask for help with some of the more sophisticated books in the library. (Yes, I skipped a few of the research books. I was eight. Sue me.)

What I'm saying is that it is realistic for me to have Keith reading 5 or 6 thousand books a year for eight years, because in this story he has LITERALLY NOTHING ELSE TO DO.

His dad homeschools him without schooling him at all (unschooling, look it up on wikipedia--yes I know it probably doesn't work like that, but it's my AU and I do what I want). Then his dad dies when he's just over eight and he's alone in the house for a year. Just books to keep him company.

Then (after meeting Sam Holt) he starts trekking out to the Garrison, creeping around the halls and camping out in the library when he feels like it.

He makes friends with the campus librarian. Professors give him books for his birthday. At twelve, he got Sam and Dos Santos to help him build a room onto the old shack so his books weren't just lying wherever in the house. The room has twelve bookcases (three on each wall) each with five shelves (60 shelves total) and full of books (about 2000 books total, give or take).

He doesn't socialize a lot (he's still Keith) but it's not that he doesn't want to. It's just that he's awkward (he's still KEITH). If people would stick around for a while (more than ten minutes), he's actually really cool and funny, even if he's a little defensive/shorttempered/oblivious/clueless.

(Just because you're smart and read a lot doesn't mean you understand everything. Just because you know how to make jokes doesn't mean you always catch them or that you understand idioms or innuendos or anything that isn't straight talk.)

His jokes are literature based. He uses sarcasm a lot even though half the time it comes out wrong. He identifies with both Darcy and Elizabeth on a spiritual level.

He has a room at Dos Santos' that has a bookcase full of composition notebooks, themselves full of notes on all the books he's read, little doodles of scenes he really likes, and jokey little summaries of long reference passages.

He's a nerd who never had to learn how to socialize with real people. He LIKES people. He's not a robot, and he doesn't automatically hate you on sight.

He's just been through a lot in his life, and he's still just a lonely little kid.

Anyway. Keith reads about twenty fiction/short books some days, four longer reference/textbook books other days. It varies. It took him six hours to get through Under the Dome, and there was one time he read eleven aeronautics manuals in eight hours and then passed out for fourteen, but mostly he takes longer for reference books/textbooks than fiction books/memoirs.

Also he's read the dictionary/thesaurus like forty times by the time he's thirteen and he shows ZERO sign of stopping. It's basically a religion at this point.

So let me break this down again:

Garrison library has 50,000 books. Minus 10,000 because they're copies/lame editions. That's 40,000 books.

1000 are reference books or random (small, informational or entertaining, don't fit a special category) books, 25000 are nonfiction/memoir/diagram based/school or lesson based, and 14000 are nonfiction.

Keith starts reading at five. His first five hundred are done when he's six--he starts on the next five hundred and finishes within months. His dad starts asking for larger shipments.

By the time Keith is seven, he's read 2000 books.

We're down to 38,000 books in the Garrison library.

Between seven and eight, he reads another 3000. Down to 35,000 books in the Garrison library.

A couple months later (500 books down, 34,500 to go) his dad dies. He's alone in the house for 10 months, only books to keep him company.

He reads another 4,000 books in this time. By the time he turns nine, he's reading at a high school level. 30,500 to go.

Sam visit on his ninth birthday. He brings more books, invites him to visit the Garrison sometime. The librarian could use some company.

Keith does.

By the time he's ten, he's read another 6,500 books. It's a really good year. 24,000 to go.

Age 10-11: 6,000 books. 18,000 to go.

Age 11-12: 5,750 books.12,250 to go

He's turning 13 in a few weeks. This year he has so far read 5,375 books. He wants to hit 5500 again. For the five year anniversary.

It's not a good year. He's not feeling great. He starts talking to Matt more than he used to. Matt pushes him a little. He says he can do it. Keith believes him. He's never lied to him before.

(That Keith knows of. What goes to his benefit is unnecessary knowledge for him.)

He hits 5,500. 6,750 to go.

This is where I am now.

Now by all accounts, there are a few notes I should make.

There is a portion of books at Keith's home that he has not read. They are books the librarian gave him because she knew he hadn't read them before they were getting rotated out for a new shipment. This is probably 500 books.

That makes the total 7,250.

Less than ten thousand.

He has read 33,250 books in eight years (ages 5 to 13). Average: 4156.25 books per year, 11.3 books per day.

I'm almost twenty and I read 55,383 books between the ages of 4 and 18 (between the first book I read at home and the last book I read before my graduation ceremony). Average: 3955.93~ books per year, 10.8 books per day.

I didn't have a lot of friends. I was bffs with every librarian I met/had. In 10th grade world history we had to give one cool/weird fact in an introductory assignment and I told them I had read every book in the school library. No one believed me. I told them I could prove it. She said go ahead.

"I have read every book in the school library. The librarian can vouch for me. They have not rotated their books since I was in eighth grade. My grandmother works here, so I know. There are exactly 17,488 books in the library, not including extra copies or "editions" like all they did was change two sentences in the intro that's hardly new information. But whatever. I started reading that year. I made a list of every book i read that year. There were 3272. That's 14216 to go--all of which were in the fiction and nonfiction sections. My grandmother checked them out. If you go into her records from that year and take that list and add it to my list from last year in 9th grade, you'll see that I read every single book. I started with the reference section that year and then went to the manga, then the nonfiction, then the historical fiction, then the fantasy fiction. I had already read most of the books in the fiction section. 6,791 out of 7,918 to be exact. That's 7425 to go. I'd also read 3577 if the 6298 nonfiction books. That's 3848 to go. Over the course of the last school year, which lasted exactly 42 weeks, I checked out 30 books every Monday and 50 books every Thursday. That's eighty books every week. Times 42, that's 3360. 488 left. I hung out with my grandmother while she worked over the summer. I kept my reading up, only for the first half. By the end of July--the 29th--I had read the rest. That's nine books a day every day. Don't believe me? Ask the librarian."

So the teacher did.

She put the librarian on speakerphone.

The librarian went on a full ten minute rant about how ridiculously difficult it was checking out fifty books at a time.

My history teacher wouldn't come within 2ft of my desk until after holiday break, and she didn't go into the library at all that year.

Moral of the story: IT IS TOTALLY LOGICAL/ACCEPTABLE THAT I HAVE KEITH READING OVER 30,000 BOOKS IN EIGHT YEARS IN THIS FIC OKAY PLEASE DON'T COME AT ME OVER THIS

[forged-through-trials]

I checked my map to see where Rythor had marked Bloodvein Mine. Turns out the place was quite out of the way, on the other side of the Niben from Bravil. Getting there meant traversing the Red Ring Road until it connected to the Yellow Road, and then heading way south. We still had pressing business near Cheydinhal way, so I opted to put a pin in that job and head north to the City of Arkay instead. It was a long hike, but still early morning by the time we arrived. Just in time for the shops to open up for the day. I hit a few of them to trade in the treasures plundered from bandits along the road up here, and making those rounds eventually brought us to Mach-Na’s Books. The owner, Mach-Na, lit up upon seeing me. Mach-Na: “Books. I sell books. Go ahead. Look. Buy some.” Trials: I waved on the way in. “Huh, are you in charge, here? The guard who pointed me toward this place said it was owned by ‘a surly old man.’“ Mach-Na: “Yeah, the uncultured swine in this town are still getting used to the real me.” Trials: “...” My eyes lit up with realization. “Oooooohh.” Mach-Na: “So, gonna buy some books, or do you just feel like loitering and gawking all day?” Trials: I rolled my eyes. “Pushy, pushy. Jeez, I’m only here to browse.” Mach-Na: “This ain’t a library, little girl. Either do business or move along.” Trials: Grumbling. “Well, they sure got the ‘surly’ part right. Anyway, if it’s business you’re lookin’ for, I’ve got a pitch to make to ya. “I represent a ‘Thalonias of Weye’. He’s looking for a Book-Supplier for his shop.” Mach-Na: “Huh... now that is a promising proposal. Tell Thalonias ‘I’m in.’ I just need a little seed-money to cover the first shipment.” Trials: “Oh, here we go!” I rolled my eyes again. Mach-Na: “Hey, I’ve got the guards shaking me down and I’ve got... uh, certain ‘expenses’ that I need to cover.” Trials: I grit my teeth. “Is there any town in this Hist-Forsaken province where the guards aren’t shaking people down for gold? “Ruin, we’ve got another job; remind me to look into local guard corruption when we get back from Kerrach.” Ruin: “I’ll add it to the ever-growing list.” I payed Mach-Na the seed money. So, now we have two of the three suppliers Thalonias needed for his new shop. We just need to find a clothier willing to work with the Breton, and we’ll be all set. That action was done, so now it was time to retire. Rather than head out immediately, I decided that me and Ruin could use a quick break to rest, read some books, clean and repair our gear, all that kind of stuff. I mean, sure, there’re a lot of enslaved ghosts in Kerrach who have been waiting patiently for me to return, but I’m no good to them if I’m exhausted and my gear is broken, right?

I awoke from my nap to the sounds of commotion. I woke Ruin immediately, remembering what a heavy sleeper he could be. He darted up immediately and raced for the stairs, just as someone dressed in beggars rags, and holding a blunt and rusted dagger, raced up the stairs and rounded the corner, into the room. Ruin and some of my Fighters Guild coworkers tried to fend him off, but the bum was single minded in his approach at me. I drew Light of Dawn immediately and engaged him, and with no armor and such a puny weapon, he was felled in one hit. Trials: “Why are bums trying to murder me, now?” Ruin: “He’s not just any ordinary bum. Look.” Trials: I inspected the bum, my eyes narrowing. “That skeezy horseshoe mustache is familiar.” I picked his pocket, and found a note within. It was a brief, and bitter record, revealing that the dead bum was Audens Avidius. He got out of prison using some kind of secret passage in the IC’s dungeon, there apparently for the use of the Royal Family. Huh, I’ll file that info away for later. It might come in hand if I ever find myself a “guest” in the Imperial City’s dungeon. Ruin and I had to help our Fighters Guild brothers in disposing of the body. For a guy who’s spent a week being starved in the Imperial Watch’s dungeon, he was heavier than Hans Black-Nail’s reading material! Hauling him out of the guild hall was quite the chore.

Once the body had been dealt with, Ruin and I were free to concluded our rest, and then we returned, at last, to Breakneck Lair. Once we fought our way passed the goblins that infested the cave, we dug our way down, back into Kerrach. Once back in the Ayleid ruins, we’d found that the Dremora had rebuilt their forces. It meant fighting our way through the hordes once again, but Ruin and I were both stronger, faster, and smarter than we were the first time we’d dived down here, and with skill and patience, we snuck and struck, picking off the Dremora as we worked our way back toward the heart of Kerrach. Our first stop was back into Kerrach Ageasal. Sure, we’d defeated that big, bad Dremora Lieutenant who guarded the Waters of Anu, but we’d never resolved the situation with that Ghost-Wizard. As much as he made me want to punch him, he didn’t deserve to remain in bondage. So back into the Ageasal we went, searching the place from top to bottom. It was in the gardens that we found the scroll the Ghost-Wizard had spoken of. I inspected the scroll for a while, but couldn’t make heads or tails of it... save for that one symbol that looked like a little hand giving a thumbs up. That let me know that everything was cool! With scroll in hand, we returned to the entrance of the Ageasal, and presented it to the Ghost-Wizard. Ghost-Wizard: “You have it! You have the scroll! Give it to me, and we will save Kerrach!” Trials: “...liiiiiittle late for that, but, um, here.” I passed him the scroll. Ghost-Wizard: He accepted the scroll, and immediately his demeanor changed. “...OH ANU WHAT HAVE I DONE!? “I... see now... it was me, wasn’t it? It was I who used this scroll to summon the Dremora, destroyed Kerrach.” Trials: “That’s right, pal. You are the Tomato!” Ghost-Wizard: “What... what have I done? What have I done!? I must flee! Must escape!” He ran from the room, rushing out the door. Trials: “Huh. Ya know, it’s not ‘punching him,’ but I’ll take it!” I grinned.

That done, Ruin and I returned to the lava pools of Kerrach. Silly as it may sound, I never did return the Waters of Anu to their resting place in the fountain. It’s just been sitting in my pack this whole time. So now it was time to finally hoist the lid off of this well, and upend the bottle into it. The water seemed to flow for minutes on end. The bottle was only only about the size of my fist, and yet the water flowed on and on from it as I held it over the well. It flowed like the tears of an Akiveeb on Prom Night, and finally, after minutes upon minutes of holding this vial over the well, the well was filled, the water shimmering, as a pillar of light shown out from the water, above the well. Though my expertise with magic was considerably lacking, I had a sense that this conduit of light led somewhere. But that would have to wait; I’d returned the Waters of Anu to their resting place, but I still needed to retrieve the Pommel-Stone for the statue of El-Ataran. My thief “treasure-hunter” instincts told me I would find it through the door that was across from Kerrach Ageasal.

The door in question was marked as “Kerrach Buroseli.” Through the door, we trekked down some stairs, and we came upon a balcony overlooking a lava pool. Left from the pool were some tunnels, and the left most pathway, there, led to a large room. A chain stretched from ceiling into a pool of lava, and I could hear screams of agony coming from the within the pool. Ruin and I quickly dispatched the few Dremora who guarded the room, and after a quick look around, I found a large button on the wall. Well, I had no idea what it did... but having no idea what I’m doing never stopped me before! So I hit the button. A large cage rose out of the lava pit, containing one of the Ghosts of Kerrach. Well, that explains the screams of agony... wait, no it doesn’t! This just raises further questions! How do you hold a ghost in a cage!? Another press of the button opened the cage, allowing the caged ghost to walk free. He approached, and spoke to me. Caged Ghost: “I am... free? Free from the eternal burning.” Trials: “As long as you stay away from the Psychotic Chili Peppers, yes!” Caged Ghost: “You have rescued me... but you are one of the slave-races...” Trials: I smiled with faked mirth. “Heeeeeey! Call me that again and I’m gonna shove you back into that cage!” Ruin: “Trials, please be nice to him. He is just confused.” Caged Ghost: “Where are the soldiers? Are they retaking the Buroseli? You must go help them!” Trials: “The soldiers are kind of long-gone, my man. So, uh, what even is this place?” Caged Ghost: “The ‘Buroseli’ is our prison. Twisted, now. By the Dremora? Or us? I cannot remember. It has been so long... “The inmates wander the halls... all the defenses gone wild... all run by that Dremora fiend in the spire. He has taken the Pommel-Stone from the Sword of El-Ataran... twisted the justice that once ruled here...” Trials: “The Pommel-Stone? That’s what we’re looking for.” Ruin: “We will recover the Pommel-Stone and vanquish the fiend. You just get yourself to safety. Your king awaits you outside.” The Caged Ghost fled after that, leaving Ruin and I with a hint to where we needed to go next. We needed to find the Dremora who held the Pommel-Stone, and recover it.

Looping around, Ruin and I had to skip across pools of lava before coming upon a long, narrow hallway. We ducked traps and other patrolling Dremora, before coming upon a door labeled as “The Rending Spire.” This seemed to be the spire the Caged Ghost spoke of, meaning we may find the Pommel-Stone within. The door exited onto a raised, cross-shaped platform overlooking some pits. The four pits in each corner of the room definitely didn’t look like places I wanted to hang out in; filled with skeletons and blood. Falling blade traps separated the center of the platform, and in that center was... some weird, spiked, circular platform that I’m guessing was some kind of lift. The Dremora who guarded the lift were dealt with thanks to a few well-placed arrows. Afterward, Ruin and I boarded the lift, and ascended. Gotta say, when the Master Torturer--the Dremora in charge of this spire--came into view, I kind of wish I could have seen us from his perspective. I must’ve looked so badass slowly rising into view, Light of Dawn drawn, ready to fight this dork. The Master Torturer was a cut above the other Dremora, so he didn’t go down as easily as his fodder-troops. We clashed swords, and he was good about dividing his attention between Ruin and myself, using his gauntlet to deflect Ruin’s blows while crossing his axe against my sword. He was quite strong, enough so that he could deflect my blows while wielding that axe masterfully. He, however, didn’t count on the enchantments in our weapons. Even as he deflected and blocked blows, he was burned by fires hot enough to purge vampires, and chilled by frost that even a Nord would struggle to resist. Eventually the flames burned his hands so badly, and the frost slowed him so terribly, that he just couldn’t deflect a blow I aimed right for the mouthpiece of his helmet, sliding Light of Dawn right through his face. I could hear him gurgle, as ichor foamed up around the holes in his helmet, and he dangled and danced on my blade like a puppet with cut-strings, before I gave a firm yank, and pulled the sword from his face. He flopped to the floor, his Vestige banished, his physical form abandoned. Once the Master Torturer was down, I was able to approach the glowing stone in one corer of the room. A dark glowing ball I guessed to be the Pommel-Stone, and so I slipped it into my pack. That was done, and now it was just a matter of returning the way we came, through all of the traps and other pitfalls, back into lava island around Kerrach’s well. I could see the statue of El-Ataran on a balcony above the well. It was out of reach for the moment, leaving little other options other than to explore the pillar of light above the well.

We were teleported from the well, through a portal into the spire behind the statue of El-Ataran. Teleportation sure felt weird; like I was being squeezed through a tube made of ice! We emerged into this place, this “Spire of Shattered Hopes”; a tower that chillingly mixed the Ayleid with the Daedric. It was a long, hard trek ahead, froth with danger, as we sniped down foes and progressed. Through the first set of doors Ruin and I found, we entered the “Garden of Desolation” whereupon we found another Alyeid ghost, this one being assaulted by Clannfears. Well those raptor/triceratops mofos couldn’t stand up to a flurry of arrows, and thus the ghost was saved from his torment. Tormented Ghost: “I thank you for my rescue, friend.” Trials: “See, now, why can’t more of you ghosts call me ‘friend’. That’s considerably a better nickname than the... alternative I’ve been called up ‘til now.” Tormented Ghost: “I’ve been endlessly devoured by those clannfears for... a very long time, just say.” Ruin: “Sounds horrible.” Trials: “It is. I’ve tried eating ectoplasm before; tastes like toe-jam.” Ruin: “...is there anything you haven’t tried to eat?” Trials: “I’ve never had Dwemer Mushroom Casserole before.” Ruin: “...that stuff is four-thousand years old!” Trials: “Yeah, but I still wanna know what it tastes like.” Ruin: “It tastes like it’s four-thousand years old!” While we argued, the Tormented Ghost ran off, hopefully to rejoin his king and fellows. That left us to explore further, and so we moved to the left, past a few traps, up a ramp toward the next level of the Spire of Shattered Hope. We were met with minimal resistance, and advanced into the “Corridors of Twilight.” It was in a corner of those corridors that I found a final ghost. This one cowered in a corner, wailing and whining. Cowering Ghost: “I can’t see! The darkness, it blinds me! Light, I need light! Help me!” I tilted my head at the Cowering Ghost curiously, before snapping my fingers. A moment of digging through my pack later, I presented him with a Potion of Light. He took the potion from me, and immediately drank it. How a ghost is able to drink a potion is baffling to me, but he did, and immediately he began to glow, lighting up that dark corner of the room. Cowering Ghost: “I... I can see! But where am I? What is this place? Where is everyone? How... how long have I been here? I must go and see!” He left, fleeing from the tower. Trials: “Huh. Well, at least he didn’t call me a ‘slave’. Puts a step ahead of the Ghost-Wizard.”

Ruin and I continued our assent, through the “Halls of Deep Night” and finally, out onto the balcony that overlooked the well, holding the statue of El-Ataran. After Ruin and I dealt with a few Clannfears, I investigated the area. Doors labeled as “Throne of Destruction” seemed to be the path forward, but they were blocked by magical barriers. That just left the statue. I pulled the glowing, black stone out of my pack, and moved in toward the statue, slapping it into place on the hilt of the statue’s sword. Immediately the sword began to glow and pulsate with the energies of the Pommel-Stone, and as I turned back around, the glowing barrier that blocked the way to the Throne of Destruction flickered and died, allowing entry.

Dremora 01: “Sir, some of the our Kyn are concerned. We’re suffering heavy casualties.” Asharkalz: “Heavy casualties? How strong are the enemies’ numbers?” Dremora 01: “That’s the thing, sir. It’s just two Argonians.” Asharkalz: “Two Argonians? They should prove no obstacle to me. Assure the Kyn that I will deal with the intruders personally.” Dremora 01: “Yes, sir, but there is another issue. The way these two invaders have curb-stomped our forces have... made some of our Kyn concerned for Lord Dagon’s plans for the future.” Asharkalz: “Concerned?” He laughed loudly. “For what? These two lizards are clearly just unusual. As I said, nothing that I cannot handle. It’s not like we will invade their homeland of Black Marsh in the next few months, only to be thoroughly and embarrassingly beaten, or anything.” Dremora 01: He joined in the laughter. “Heh, you’re right, sir. Could you imagine it? We, defeated by a bunch of lizards? Like, they could overwhelm us. Next, the Kyn will fear that they will capture so much Daedric Equipment from us that they will become a Super-Power among the mortals and invade their neighbors. Ha!” I had no idea what they could have been talking about. But boy-oh-boy, is that Asharkalz’s throne ever extra! This guy is just “Try-Hard” incarnate. Why does he even bother carrying a sword when he has so much edge?

My slights and jeers caught his attention, as he got off his Throne of Compensation and came right at me. Ruin ran interference, dealing with the other Dremora in the throne room, taking on odds of something like five on one, while I One-V-One’d Asharkalz. We clashed swords, and while Light of Dawn burned him, his own sword’s enchantment burned me back. The heat was blistering, and my hands shook as our swords clashed, and magic fire coursed over me and he whenever our blades met. Rather than parry his blows, I opted to dodge them, weaving and ducking his swings, while bringing my sword against his armor. The blade struck resounding clatters, as I chipped away at his armor with hit after hit. He burned with magical fire with each blow, the injuries slowly building up with each strike, as I weaved and dodged the swings of his blade and probed his armor for chinks. I finally found my opening when I ducked a swing of his blade, getting behind him, before spinning on the spot and swinging hard. I caught him at last on the back of his unprotected neck, clipping him hard enough to sever his neck. Ichor gushed from the wound as he crumbled like a rag doll, and I plunged my sword into his back to finish him off. Ruin had finished up his battles as well, having dealt with the remaining Dremora. I looted Asharkalz, and upon him found the Heart of Kerrach--a strange, glowing, white crystal. That was the last thing the Ayleid King said I needed to free his people. Retrieving the Heart, and some nice loot along with it, it was now time to return to the Ayleid King, and see if our efforts pay off.

[chefbarry]

The Foodie Files, The Final Chapter, Zucchini Bellpepper, Writer of Wrongdoing, Takes a Knee

My last case almost did me in. I was still having nightmares about it and my left big toe was broken for some reason I cannot recall. I don’t really want to get into it here, as I’m trying to move past it, or some other gobbledygook my therapist calls it, but it involved a large shipment of oysters that were way past their prime, the Reno chapter of the Chicago mob (more on that later), and an underage health inspector working his way through community college.

I’ve been thinking it’s time to retire, or whatever retired people do, when they go back into the workforce — run a sketchy private eye firm that moves offices every six months due to questionable arson and fake subpoenas and overdue bills that keep showing up in the mail — and then try to retire again. Take my gal, Raspberry Cardamom, on a long trip around southeast Asia, maybe even open up another office there in some old abandoned warehouse on the edge of sketch, but I’m digressing, and daydreaming again, or what my therapist calls, “dis-projecting”. My lady. She saves me from myself, I’m thrilled to know her — yet disturbed why she wants to hang with me — but I’m trying not to ask too many questions anymore.  

So, I had to move to Reno after the previous warehouse incident. I wasn’t even there at the time, but am being sued by my landlord now. I’m trying to work off the damages by helping his college dropout son get into the business. Another reason to skip town, more like skip country, close up shop, maybe write my memoirs, or at least eat a good taco. Plus, the Chicago mob has their eye on me for some reason. Maybe it’s that old hot dog case I never solved. I know it stirred things up back in the day when I was first getting gum on my shoe.

I had to leave before another fire broke out. My landlord would be happy to see me go anyway. There was a clause in the lease about maximum undesirables on the property in a given day, something my lawyer couldn���t even explain. I was packing up my things, and getting ready to seal the envelope with my office key, when they waltzed in. Three of them. Long multi-colored hair, nose rings, Crocs, and “the ‘tude”.

I said, “Sorry, I was just leaving, actually leaving for good, I don’t take any new appointments.  “Are you Zucchini Bell-something?”, one of the somber ones said. “Yes, I am”, I said, not bothering to correct her. “Who are you?” She spoke up, obviously taking the lead, “I’m Kite, these are my friends, Vikan and Paolo. We heard about you from Avocado Toast. She says you straightened things out for her, saved her from the paparazzi, and such.” Avocado used to be my secretary, and was best friends with Raspberry. If she recommended these stragglers, I could at least hear what they had to say.

The taller one, Vikan I think, spoke up. “We’re all from California, Orange County. Our parents all went to high school together, and we sort of all grew up together. Lately, we have been having some real problems with all the actors, musicians, fitness instructors, so-called nutrition experts, and models out there. We came here to get away, but we have to keep moving. We think they are following us. You’re our last hope, Zucchini!”

I sat down. “OK, what’s the problem?” I asked. Vikan continued, “So we all sort of are in this band, play small clubs from time to time, so a lot of people know us, but lately it’s been getting out of hand. After a set we get bombarded with crazed and scary-looking folks. They’re obviously not fans. They look hungry and angry.” “Describe them to me”, I said, getting intrigued. He said, “Well, they talk really fast, are not in the clubs to drink any alcohol, and don’t even snack on the free pretzels at the bar. They come over to us and start blaming us for waking up hungry, having nightmares, and one of them said on time, that she stared at her cats for too long one time, whatever that means.

“We’ve never seen these people before, and the celebrities started to have their people call our people, really our parents, to complain about something called self-cannibalism, cravings for Cuban food, and the boredom of lettuce wraps. We have no idea what they are talking about. We’re trying to put out some good music, and, sure we all eat at different restaurants, which we’ve always done, but...”

“Wait a minute!”, I said seeing where this was going, “I think I know what’s going on. Why don’t you all have a seat?” Paolo spoke up, “Do you really think you can help us? I mean, we have to get back to California, we have shows lined up, but are kind of scared to go back there.” I said, “Here’s what’s happening. I don’t think you know what kind of effect you have on the world at large.” Vikan got excited, “Do you mean our latest record? I know it’s just a demo, but wow!” “No”, I said, “This has nothing to do with music. It’s your names and what they are causing. Do you know why your parents gave you those names?” Paolo replied, “I mean they said they wanted to name us after something special that happened in their lives, but never really told us about it. They seem like normal names to us I guess.”

I went on, “You see there are these food fads that have been out for some time, and though they might help people at first, they aren’t sustainable, and can actually do some damage. Paolo, you were named after the Paleo Diet, which your parents probably were on at the time you were born. It’s very confusing, it’s supposed to mimic what humans ate during caveman times. It makes some good points about how agriculture wasn’t developed yet, and food was hunted and gathered for survival. But we have adapted since then, our digestive system has developed, our DNA has evolved, and there weren’t any food processors back then, so how did they make orange sesame sauce or zucchini noodles? Plus, there can be many vitamin deficiencies related to this diet, and high levels of saturated fat and protein, which can be toxic. Plus, I don’t trust any diets that say you can’t have hummus and pita chips.”

I turned to Kite next and said, “You have it a little harder, toots. Imagine being on a Paleo Diet, then being forced to live inside a garbage bag with no air circulation. You were named after the Keto Diet, sadly. This diet has everyone turning into zombies. It’s even more restrictive with higher levels of saturated fat and protein, and only the lowest-carbohydrate vegetables like lettuces, greens and broccoli. It forces your body to lose weight artificially from not only stored fat being used as fuel, but your body losing muscle and tissue mass as well. So, you think you are losing weight, but some of the weight is actually part of your body. After a couple weeks there could also be permanent liver and other organ damage. 

“A lot of these diets were created by “nutrition experts” that were trying to sell books and supplement programs, and not really concerned with an overall healthy lifestyle eating program. Plus, I don’t trust any diets that say you can’t have your morning oatmeal with blueberries, c’mon! I gotta keep regular ya know?!”

Vikan turned to me and said, “What about me, Zucchini? I mean my parents seem like they eat normally, we just don’t eat any meat or fish or seafood or turkey or dairy or eggs or anything fun. We seem to have a lot of potlucks, though, with foods that come in oval-shaped ceramic baking dishes. I love me a rockin’ scrambled tofu!”

I had texted my squeeze, Raspberry, after these scoundrels first walked in, and had her stand in line for a couple of hours at one of these joints that sells chicken sandwiches. I knew we’d be here awhile. I said to the group, “Well, certainly she was named after the Vegan Diet, which is virtually the opposite of both Paleo and Keto Diets, so I’m not sure how all your parents got along back in the day. While there is certainly nothing wrong with eating a mostly plant-based diet, with foods from every kingdom, including mushrooms, vegetables, fruits, legumes like lentils and peas, beans, sea vegetables, and whole grains, which I call “smart carbs”. These are slow-burning foods that don’t raise your blood sugar, and take a long time to digest, so your body uses the calories as fuel in a sensible and sustainable manner. 

“The problem is most people don’t eat all of these foods, or know where to buy them or how to cook them so that they taste really good. Plus, you have to eat complete proteins like quinoa, wild rice, and other grains mixed in with legumes, seeds, nuts, and beans to get a complete nutrition profile. Most vegans or vegetarians simply don’t eat any meat or other animal products, but are not necessarily making good food choices, like eating organic, local and sustainable whenever possible, or eating plant-based proteins, and a wide variety of foods.

I like to eat this way, but after a day’s work, I don’t have the time to cook for hours. I like to eat like a vegetarian, but with meat on top! And Raspberry, well, she tries, but we try to at least eat organic and so on. And... oh, look, here she is now!”

We were all starving at that point and dug into those controversial chicken sandwiches, even Vikan. I made a mental note to have a really good walnut salad for dinner. I looked around and thought, I know how we can get these kids back to California without anyone bothering them anymore. We made a plan. We called up all the agents and fitness instructors, and got them to agree to put these chicken sandwiches in everyone’s trailers, green rooms and lockers. This way, the aroma attacks them when they come back from training or performing, and they can’t resist. Afterwards, they’ll rethink their fad diets and come to their senses, fire their nutritionists, and even the vegans will have a cup of bone broth once in a while maybe.

I closed up the office for good this time for real. Said goodbye to our guests, and refused payment. I was good, clear-headed and ready for my next adventure. A couple days later I got a check in the mail from one of these chicken franchises thanking me for increasing their stock valuation. Raspberry and I took the money and, well, I can’t tell you where we’re going, because I think the nutritionists’ union is after me.

[letslivelady]

5 Lessons to Learn from My First Online Dating Encounter

If you just want the bottom line about the online dating lessons, go to the end of the post. But this online dating story is worth the read.  

Email and text excerpts that follow are authentic actual conversations (including misspellings) saved on my computer and cell phone.

The Last Love of Mark Rossi!

Less than 24 hours after I had put my profile on the online dating website, Match.com,  I was pleasantly surprised to get a message from Mark Rossi -- age 62 (five years younger than me -- could I handle being a cougar?).  Mark's profile showed him to be  Italian/American, a widower, a successful international businessman and very good-looking!

"This looks really promising,"  I thought.  He asked to exchange personal email addresses and send additional photos of each other.   The match was off to an exciting start. I chalked up the poor grammar to his foreign native language.

Here are a couple of excerpts from Mark Rossi

"My old friend and pastor would tell me, if you aren't ready to feel or look stupid, then don't fall in love ,lol but sincerely that is the bitter truth. When i lost my wife , he told me that the fact that something good ends doesn't mean something better cant start. Can you prove that right? I have come to realize that let a man is reduced to nothing except he has a woman to call my companion.

I don't need a super model, I rather need a very good friend, a good woman with a good heart, someone who knows when i am tensed just by looking into my eyes. The whole world may be mad at me, but if you are smiling at me, i would care less. Can't wait to read from you again dear.I wish you have a wonderful evening ahead.Till I read from you again soon, sending you morning hugs."

It all sounded great.  But...

But I was asking him specific questions like how it was that he was located out of Bedford, Kentucky?  And if Italian was his first language?  The name of his business?  But he never really answered those questions.

After a week or so the first shoe drops!

"I have been so busy today because something came up and i have to travel tonight to Dubai for a week, i was contacted by the customs there to come over to sign some confirmation papers because some security protocol was breached by the shipper during the shipment of my cars and some incomplete paperwork from Germany. The cars are 16 in total, a total of 4 - 20ft container consisting of 4 cars in each.

The plan was to ship down to Dubai, talk to a dealership and move them for sale. We can always communicate everyday through emails and phone until i get back home, I promise to keep in touch and seeing you would be top priority on my return.

This could be the beginning of forever and i would put my mind to it and i want you to also. please have a good evening, i would talk to you soon , please leave me your phone number.

Sending you hugs. Mark.."  

So, what was so bothersome about this?

The delay did not bother me at all because I wasn't so sure I was ready to meet him anyway.  What bothered me is that there was no traceof an Italian accent in his voice during our phone conversation -- despite the fact that he was supposedly raised in Italy until the age of 12.

I asked him again why he was based out of Kentucky, but I was not satisfied with the answer as he only spoke to getting out of Florida after his wife's death.

Put on Your Investigator Hat!

Being the savvy investigator that I was, (wink, wink) I decided to check him out online.

The only Mark Rossi my google search found in Bedford, Kentucky looked nothing like my Mark.  The guy was the wrong age, very scruffy looking and it was a mug shot.

Well, that can't be him.   So, I checked in California where he supposedly first lived and I checked in Florida.  A little voice in me said that he might not be who he says he is.   But, I decided to play it out, see where it led. Maybe he was just a really great guy.

Gullible? Yes, a bit!

I asked him to send me photos of himself in Dubai (to see if he is really there).  Also, I decided I wanted to re-read his online profile as I could not remember everything on it.

After all, if I wanted to be the last love of Mark Rossi, I better double-check on what he actually had said about himself.  But, the profile had been removed from the online dating site. (Not a healthy sign.)

What Happened to Mark's Online Dating Profile?

Mark wrote:

"It was a Lovely day in Dubai and a pretty warm weather.

For your questions, I moved to Bedford to start a new life and create new memories with a new love and companion on a long term, someone i can love forever because i am commited to it and i am focusing on you alone now thats why took off my profile from match.com to ensure i can bring out the best of the relationship we have.

This busines has been lucrative since i started and thats why i invested a lot in this because its my last business trip before i retire to bring 16 cars in to sell at once to the dealership, i have two Porsche and four Ferrari among them , i wanna get into retirement because the income i get from this would establish me more and i would have agents to run this without leaving the house, my motive is to always be there for my companion, life is short m this is my last opportunity to be in love and i want to seize it .

I really dont have time for phone cameras now because this is business trip and i dont want jeopardize it for pleasure my next trip here has to be a vacation with my companion and lover and i see you as the one to occupy that position."

Mark is pretty smooth, isn't he?

The next day, I had notice of a security breach on my iCloud account and I had to reset the code. (Never really sure whether he had anything to do with this or not.)

The emails and text messages continued with romantic language and details of how the trip was going, etc.  Then, the news! Mark was not going to fly home from Dubai, but instead was going to fly right into Kansas City.

Mark was Flying in to See Me!

He wrote:

"My One and Only, I am about to sleep here. Tomorrow will be a long day for me I have to get every paper work cleared and have things back on track for the full release of all my shipments so i get to deal with the dealership that buys them before leaving for the states, can't wait as it's been a long week already.

I think of spending alot of time with you when I get back to town and holding you so close to me. Whenever you think of me, please know that no matter how many miles separate us or how much of our lives comes between us we would have many lovely times and fond memories.

Even though we're apart, this will not be the end of our commitment until i meet you and i fell you in my arms.

Just always remember that I really adore you already and I want you to be part of me and me for you too as i can feel my lonely days are over.

Big Hugs sent your way. Love . Mark"

Click on the link below to see the itinerary.

mark-rossi-klm-flight-itinerary

When I first got the itinerary, I thought

Wow, he must be for real.  He has booked a flight!  Now what do I do?

I needed advice.  I was excited that he might be for real but scared as to how to handle the situation if he actually showed up.  Should I offer to pick him up at the airport?  Should I suggest or book a hotel? Or, do I invite him to the house? What do I wear?

So, I contacted a couple of friends.

My sister-in-law recommended online dating and she has had considerable experience.  So, I asked her.

She gave  me good online dating advice.

NO, you do not pick him up at the airport.  You meet in a public place.

No, you do not invite him to the house.  You do not even tell him where you live when you meet through online dating.  If he is an international business man, he can book his own hotel and get from the airport to the hotel on his own steam!

Why don't you meet someone local?  If a guy sounds too good to be true, it is probably because he isn't real -- he's a fake!

It didn't sound very hospitable for someone who is traveling thousands of miles to see me, but I realized she made sense.

I contacted another friend with the good news and sent her a copy of the itinerary to prove that he was really coming to see me.

We agreed to meet over lunch the next day since this online dating encounter was heating up.  My friend decided she needed to comb through my wardrobe to figure out whether I had anything suitable to wear.  We are both excited and nervous. Then ...

The Bubble Burst!

The next morning, I awoke to an email from Mark:

"My love, I have been asleep all afternoon in stumble and distress. it had been a bad day. I don't know how to say it but i just have to say it as it would ease the burden.

I was robbed on my way to the seaport at gunpoint this morning, it was the worst experience i ever had. i am sorry I didn't mean to show you this so you don't feel bad or spoil your day but i just couldn't hold it in my heart, i had to email it to you. Please download and view document, its a police report of today's event."

mark-rossi-dubai-police-report

I bet you can figure out where this is going? Right? Well within an hour or so, Mark texted me further about his plight and I offered him my prayers.

That is not what Mark wanted.

He texted "The paperwork would finalize the major dealings here and I would be back home as planned and right now I need 2900USD to solve this problem within the next 24hours.  So far no one is able to help me out. I am devastated."

After some more back and forth he said:

"Honey is there anyway you can give me a short loan and when I return on Monday I would pay you back, I can double it for you. I feel so ashamed of myself asking you. I never wanna creat a wrong impression. I just wanna get out of this mess. Deadline got me so worried."

What a load of crap!

I asked him why he didn't just call his bank and get them to wire the funds to him.  And, how could it be that he, an international business entrepreneur, had no one at his age of 62 who he could call besides a lady he had never even met? He had an answer for everything.

I told him I would have to think about that.

It  took me about a minute to decide.

That was it.   Mark had finally revealed the real reason that he had contacted me thru online dating in the first place.  The gig was up.  He called a few more times, but I did not take the calls.  And my wardrobe make over could wait.  The take away is this --

5 Online Dating Lessons:

You need to meet someone in person, if you want to have any hope of  knowing who they are.  Otherwise, you only know what the online dating profile says and what they want you to know.  a) They might still be hiding something that would be very obvious if you were to meet them in person.  b) Some people have long distance relationships with what turns out to be a fantasy.  The person is not what they think.

Do a little research to find out about a person who might make a potential match from an online dating service as soon as you have a name.  Try doing a search on your own name. It is surprising how much you can find out yourself that is actually out there and available if someone searches for it.   a) Although it never occurred to me at the time, Mark Rossi probably was the guy in the mug shot.  I just had never in my wildest dreams guessed that someone would go to the lengths that he did to perpetrate a fraud.  b) The flight itinerary looked authentic at first glance.  Reading it more carefully,  KNS is not the symbol for Kansas City International.  The symbol is MCI. When I checked the flight numbers through the airline, they do not exist.  So, what looked real was just a fake.  If Mark (or whoever he was) had used his skills for something positive there is no telling how successful he might have become.

Read the online dating safety tips below. There is something similar on most websites.  The links below are safety tips from Match.com which are buried at the bottom of their website.  You can click the links below and copy them for a quick reference:  Online-safety-tips and Offline-safety-tips   As you read the tips you can see that if I had followed them, I would have easily avoided the situation.

Be real when you put together an online profile.  I was advised, for instance, not to list myself as a widow.  But, to say that I was divorced instead.  The premise is that gold diggers are looking for a recent widow because they think she probably has life insurance money.  But I really would rather keep my radar up than start off by presenting myself as different from who I really am.  I have met gentlemen that have shaved a few years off themselves in their profiles, probably this is true with ladies too.  You don't want or need to tell them everything, but whatever you do say in the profile of yourself, I would try to be honest.  You want to find someone who likes YOU -- not an image of someone you wish you were or someone you think is more desirable.

Have fun with online dating!  Don't take yourself too seriously.  If you are sitting home alone and would rather be in a relationship; if you want someone to share a meal or a drink with you, if you want to find your own "last love" go online and meet someone.

If you have done any online dating, I bet you have some great stories to share.  We'd love to hear about them.  Meanwhile, live your life to the fullest!

[jstar97]

Writing Prompt: You’d never believe me

So I got the writing prompt “You’d never believe me,” from @somethingmoreclever (thanks btw and hope you like it) and this story came out of it but I’ve been kind of chicken to post it. So, here it is. And if you have a *cough* helpful *cough* or *cough* constructive *cough cough* critique or want to say something positive, then please go ahead. Also, anyone who has sent me a prompt, I’m working on it and thanks :)

________________________________________________________________

I'm passed out on my bed, sleeping on top of papers, books, and pens when I feel something large and soft slap me in the face. A pillow. My roommate, more dreaming than awake, mutters, "Eggs."

I whine, "Why me?"

"Because my paper's due at 12 P.M. and you're free today."

Figures. As I push myself out of bed, crumpling color-coded notes and over-priced textbooks in the process, I grumble, "Never telling you my schedule again."

I grab my wallet, walk out the door and down eight flights of stairs, past the front desk to the bus stop. The driver today is Lena. All smiles, she asks, "Trouble getting up, Sunshine?"

"Huh? How'd you guess?"

"First of all, you don't usually take the bus on Fridays and second…well, you didn't look at yourself this morning, did ya?"

She hands me her compact and points to the chair behind hers. It's only then I realize why I got so many funny looks at the stop. My hair is in knots and tangles and there's a white strip of dried drool  running down the corner of my mouth. Plus, I was still wearing my Pikachu onesie and matching slippers. You know, the ones that go "Pika, pika," if you stomp your feet. After handing back the mirror, I check my breath. Crap, forgot to brush my teeth. It was a mistake to eat everything-on-it pizza with extra garlic sauce last night. Pulling the hoodie up, I slouch and cross my arms.

Finally, my stop. I race out of the bus, jumping through the sliding doors and over wet floor signs until I'm at the back of the grocery store. "Ha," I groggily laugh, "Eggs in the Dairy Section."

There's cheese, butter, margarine. But no eggs. Not even those expensive free-range ones.

A stock clerk is shelving out butter where the eggs should be. "Um, excuse me -" He turns and smirks. "Dude, Comic Con was last week."

"Haha, you're hilarious."

"Ooh, someone woke up on the wrong side of the bed. Whatcha do, get stuffed in a Pokeball?"

"Look, you wanna help or should I call the manager? I need eggs, man, so I can hibernate till Monday."

"We don't have any."

"Really? A grocery store that doesn't have one carton of eggs at 9 A.M.? Not even in the back?"

"Nope."

"I'm just gonna check with the manager -"

"No!" He yells abruptly. "I mean, did you say eggs? I thought you said pegs -"

"Because it makes perfect sense that I ask for pegs while standing in the Dairy Section -"

"Come with me." We walk to the "Employees Only" door.

"Um, I'm not supposed go in there."

"I'll let them know you're with me." I want to go back to bed as soon as possible so I go in.

We went in. It was pitch black. "Hey, where's the - ?"

Next thing you know, I'm pushed into a giant cell and fall on something soft. Someone turns on a light switch. It looks like most of the employees are here.

"Hey, how'd you get into this?" Sam, who's usually at the cash register, asks. From the coffee in his hand, I could tell that he must have got caught up in this when he came here for his break.

"Eggs."

I look down and realize that the soft something was actually a very annoyed someone. Nina, to be exact. We're both in Linear Algebra.

"Do you mind getting off of me?"

"Oops, sorry."

After we get up, she asks, "You've been coming here for two years and it didn't occur to you once that he's new?"

By 'he', she means the jerk who brought me here. He looks the same, mostly. I mean he's still wearing the uniform and that sarcastic smile.

But his skin is now purple and his eyes are blood-red.

"Huh, that's new. Am I on one of those hidden camera shows?" My fellow prisoners shake their heads. "Back to your question, Nina, am I supposed to memorize everyone's name? By the way, hi Bob, Larry, Leia, John, Sharon, Aaron and Phoebe. Oh, and Phil's in the back? Hi Phil! We're still on for chess next Tuesday, right?"

"Yup. Nice onesie by the way!"

Nina raises her eyebrows. "Okay, fine, I know everyone's names. Sue me. But how was I supposed to know you guys didn't hire someone new?"

I turn back to our captor. "Hey, Purple-Face - nope, that would be rude. Do you have a name? I mean, I was kinda crabby earlier and I'm really trying to -"

"For Pete's sake, he locked us in a cell!"

"I am Autoraun 319, an android from the planet you Earthlings call '55 Cancri e'. My model is the most advanced of its kind. I can change appearance, am virtually indestructible, can display over 4250 different emotions, and can process information at lightning speed, allowing me to assimilate with the surrounding population. I also can fly and have an arsenal of weaponry at my disposal. Since I am so powerful, only one of me was need for my important mission."

"And that is?"

"Collecting a rare but powerful nutrition source for the people of my planet -"

"Human brains?!?" Sam panics, dropping some of his coffee on my slippers.

Autoraun rolls his - its - eyes. "Human brains are neither rare nor nutritious. I'm talking about chicken eggs."

We all burst out laughing.

"I'm telling ya, this has gotta be a hidden camera show!"

"I've never heard of anything stupider in my life!"

"What's next? You'll want to steal our milk and cookies too?"

After a minute or so, when the android's glowering intensifies, we realize that he may have laser eyes and stop immediately.

"So," I start, "Why not just take chickens? That way you'll have a constant source of this source."

"You mean those tiny feathered monsters? Are you out of your mind? When they had been plentiful, they destroyed wiring, tore up the ground, and dodged laser blasters at breakneck speed. Plus, they defy all semblance of logic so we disintegrate them. Unfortunately, in our zeal, we forgot to keep a few for egg production."

Nina is furious. "Are you telling me I'm stuck in a crate instead of working my minimum wage job because your idiot overlords can't handle a couple of chickens?!?"

The android nods.

"Now if you'll excuse me, I have to collect all of these eggs. And when I get back, I'll - "

"Eliminate us?!?" Sam and his paranoia.

"No. We're civilized. I'll just wipe your brains. There's a fifty percent chance that you'll lose your minds in the process but surely your doctors have the facilities to bring it back to order."

"Ha!" Nina shoots back, "Not with our healthcare. And you said you did your research."

The android leaves.

"Okay," I start, "So what kind of cage are we in?"

"Steel, with an electronic lock." Sharon observes, "Not a very good one too, since the back of the control panel is easy to reach from my side. These aliens really underestimate us." I squeeze by Leia, Larry, and Aaron to see that back's screwed in. "If only we had a - " As I reach into my pockets, I feel a bunch of miscellaneous objects.  I pull out some soft caramels, half of a chocolate bar, an assortment of screws, and a Phillip's head screwdriver. "Perfect!"

Everyone turns to me. "I'm an ME, remember? And onesies are great for late night projects…and I get hungry."

Unscrewing the back reveals intricate wiring. "So, what now, ME?" Sam asks, sipping his cold coffee.

"Uh, I don't know. An EE would be better for this but honestly, I don't even think they would have a clue. Different planet, different wiring systems and designs - but similar problems! Can I have your coffee?" Sam hands it over to me. "Stand back! If this works, there'll be sparks everywhere. If it doesn't work, the aliens have perfected waterproofing electrical components, so good on them."

"If they're still afraid of bringing in chickens because of how much damage they've caused than I doubt that they've made any huge advancements."

"Okay, here goes!" And I quickly throw the coffee onto the circuit board and try to get as far as possible.

Good news, it worked! We hear a click and race out of there.

Bad news, the cage isn't that big. As we all run out, I realize that my onesie, part of my hair, and slippers are on fire! As I stop, drop, and roll on the hard concrete ground, Nina gets the fire extinguisher and sprays me.

"Thanks," I say as Nina and Sam help me up. "Now, let's get that android."

___________________________________________________________________________________

We know why Autoraun left George - the manager - alone. It wants to know the different times of the eggs were coming in and could masquerade like all of us. No one would be the wiser. We sneak around, looking for the android (and creeping out shoppers in the process) when we spot Autoraun. It looks like the jerk in the dairy isle and was at the cashier with a customer. As soon as she leaves, George takes it aside.

(Side note: Do I call Autoraun "him" or "it"? I mean, I know Autoraun's an android who doesn't have a gender as far as I know - that's a complicated talk in the immerging world of Artificial Intelligence - and Autoraun did lock us in a cage but 'it' sounds so rude. I'm going back to 'he'.)

Anyway George takes him aside. "Between the customers fleeing like rats off the Titanic and most of my employees AWOL, it's nice to see a dedicated young individual like yourself. Tell me, son, what's your name?"

"Otto, sir." He replies demurely. Seems like his sass left the motherboard.

"Now Otto, you wanted to see me."

"Yes, sir. I was wondering if you can tell me when the next shipment of eggs was coming in. We're all out."

George's eyebrows go up. "We just had a huge shipment this morning. Is there an omelet cook-off that I didn't here about because I make a mean Western -"

"No sir," Autoraun interrupts. "I guess people are just valuing their nutritional value."

"Huh, must have been something on the news. People these days, with all their crazy fades and doodads. In my day, we just relied on good old exercise and clean living -"

"This is all really fascinating but there are customers to help. When will the next eggs get here?"

"Oh, at 11. But let's go in the back. There have got to be some eggs around."

"I've already checked."

"The back can be a confusing place, especially when you're new. Let's check it out."

Autoraun cracks his knuckles. George enthusiastically does the same. "Oh, it's so nice to meet a fellow knuckle cracker. You know, people used to say it knuckle cracking causes arthritis but my doctor friend says that's not true…"

As George rambles on, I notice tiny sparks at the tips of his fingers. "He'll zap George!" I whisper, "Quick, get him!"

Nina, Bob, and Sam pull George away just as he was about to strike. Simultaneously, Aaron and Leia grab him by the arms and Larry and Sharon grab his legs and push him to the ground. Autoraun is so shocked that his purple skin and red eyes come back. He recovers quickly and throws them off. Not knowing what else to do, I pull out my screwdriver and grab his neck from the back. He tries to shake me off,  knocking me against various shelves and counters in the process.

"Th-is mus-ust b-e ho-w a- bul-lrid-ddd-er fe-els!"

"There are more ways than one to get rid of a pest!" The android's exoskeleton starts heating up, burning off more of the polyester from my onesie and the arm wrapped around his neck. I grit my teeth when I notice a small section on the base of his head with one screw keeping it in place.

"He-e-eelp! P-i-in hi-m do-wn!"

"Don't you mean 'it'?"

"Sam, really? Let's get in there! One…two…three…go!" Sam and Nina pin him to the ground long enough for me to unscrew the cover. He throws us all off.

"Quick, it's open! Get water, cola, anything liquid!" Phil directs. All around Autoraun, employees open up various bottles and unleash their wet, mostly artificially colored vengeance. Autoraun sputters and smokes before bursting into flames. Nina is again handy with a fire extinguisher.

We cheer as though we just survived Armeggedon.

"We did it!"

"We defeated an alien - "

"Android! But it's from space so technically an alien android!"

"We saved the world - from a shortage of eggs, maybe, but we still saved the world!"

George cut into our celebration. "COULD SOMEONE PLEASE TELL ME WHAT'S GOING ON HERE?"

Nina explained. After five minutes of silence, George asked, "So what should we do now?"

I answered, "Probably get the government to look into this. But that's your problem, not mine." I check the wall clock, "It's egg-actly 11 A.M. Can I have two dozen?"

George gets a text on his phone and goes to the back. A few minutes later, he brings back a box of those fancy cage-free, Eggland's best stuff. "This is kinda expensive. Have anything cheaper?"

"It's on the house."

"I can't -"

"Come on, you helped save my workers and my eggs. It's literally the least I could do. Is there anything else you want?"

"A pic with the android - crap, I left my phone at home. Could someone take one for me?"

Phil raises his hand. "I'll do it. Chess match still on?"

"Chess match still on."

Before I left, George stops me. "Hey, can you keep this between us? I don't wanna be in more trouble than I already am. Who'd come to a store with killer androids?"

"A lot of college students, actually. But I promise, what happens in the grocery store, stays in the grocery store. Thanks for the eggs!"

I grab the bus back (getting even more stares than I did this morning) and walk up eight flights of stairs. When I open the door, I see my roommate on her bed surfing the web.

"Where were you? I finished my paper an hour ago -"

She looks up, eyes widening. "What the heck happened to you?" At this point, my onesie, slippers and hair are singed and wet and I smell like coffee and burnt flesh.

I hand her the carton of eggs before going to the bathroom to clean my arm.

"Well, what happened?" She asks again.

I grit my teeth and I wash and sanitize the wound. After wrapping it in gauze, I lift my head, pull up my hoodie, and burst out laughing at the sight of my reflection.

"You'd never believe me."

[son-of-a-duck]

March 20, 2018

Last night I got less than six hours of sleep.  I felt the lack of sleep immediately upon waking up, and then continued to feel it throughout the day.  It was great.

When I got to work I did the usual opening thing, and then I had to call all of my homebound patrons, and all of the patrons of the librarian I deliver with, and tell them that we wouldn't be out today, but would deliver next week.  We originally moved the delivery a day early because the other librarian is going to a conference tomorrow.  Then they forecasted bad weather at the conference so the librarian moved her flight to today to try and get to the conference before all the snow hit.  Which is why I had to call all the patrons. About a half an hour after calling everyone, my boss told me that the librarian's new flight had been canceled, so we would be able to deliver books today after all.  But I suggested sticking with next week because we had already changed the date on everyone twice and I thought it would just add to the confusion is we switched it again. Plus, there will be more staff available next week (we would have been down to just one librarian and my boss if we went out today). So we're going out next week.  I felt bad for the other librarian because she went from working today, to rescheduling her flight and assuming she would be flying, to having that flight canceled and having to come to work.  A real roller coaster of a day.

When we opened I was on desk for two hours.  I helped the occasional patron, including my favorite substitute teacher, but most of my time was spent working on the new homebound bookmark.  I'm good with the design for now, so today was spent copying it into all of my patron spreadsheets and adjusting the formulas so they reference the spreadsheet I pasted them into, not the spreadsheet I copied them from.

In the last hour before lunch I had a walkthrough and refilled the DVD display.  Then I went upstairs to call the one patron I hadn't been able to reach earlier.  And after that I took the survey about our catalog that our IT put on the website because they are going to a conference about it at some point and want feedback.  It gave me a chance to rant a little bit about the pointless pop-up that shows up when you hover over a search result and shows the exact same information that is right next to the result (but the pop-up covers it up, I guess creating a need for the information to be displayed in the pop-up).  It's dumb.  I think they need to make it like Goodreads or NoveList and show a brief description of the book and maybe some metadata describing the item, like the genre or themes).  They could also put the information about where the item is so patrons could immediately see when an item is due back if it is checked out or if it is on a display.  All useful information that could be shown without patrons having to click through to a different page or pop-up.  I also suggesting ignoring punctuation, like colons and hyphens, because right now if you don't use them properly it completely messes up the search results.  It felt good to rant about that stuff.

When I got back I had two hours off desk.  That disappeared.  I was going to go around and put signs up telling patrons that construction was happening, but that didn't happen.  We recently gave all of our sign holders to the PR person because we had to clean out the closet we kept them in.  This is good for storage purposes but now every time we need a sign holder we have to track down the PR person.  I let her know I needed some, and she wrote it down, but she had a lot going on this afternoon, so I never saw any holders.  Instead, I worked on my bookmarks.  

I spent a decent amount of time tracking down formulas that would output the row height because I wanted to make a template for how to format the bookmarks.  I was tired of having to constantly check what the row height was in one of the finished spreadsheets, in order to adjust the rows in an unfinished spreadsheet.  I could have done it once and typed the numbers in manually, but where's the fun in that? I found one formula that worked, but the result was in points, not pixels, and I needed pixels.  Somehow I managed to track down an equation for converting points to pixels (pixels = points * DPI / 72, in case you're curious).  I had to look up the DPI of the monitor, but other than that it was pretty simple, once I found it, and it did just what I needed it to.

I was on desk for an hour after that.  I helped one patron fill out requests for out-of-state ILLs for two religious books published in the 1920s and 1930s.  I don't fancy his odds of those not only existing near us, but also being lendable.  But we'll see.  I also had to tell a nice grandma to move out of the quiet area if she wanted to keep reading to her grandkid, because my boss was super stressed out and her major pet peeve is any noise in the quiet area, even if no one else is in the quiet area.  She had already asked someone to leave and she didn't want to do it again, so I had the unfortunate honor.  I felt bad.

I had one final walkthrough and then continued to work on bookmark stuff until the end of the day.  I think I may have finished.  I can't remember.  But I think I finished.

When I got home I set up my new drawing tablet on my newer computer, as well as installed the painting software.  Once I confirmed it worked, I ate dinner and watched videos.  After dinner I went back out to play with the drawing tablet.  The software came with several Bob Ross-inpsired brushes so I decided to open up a tutorial of painting one of his paintings using the upgraded version of the software I have.  I thought I could manage without some of the fancier features in the upgraded version, but it turns out not all the brushes were included in my version.  I tried to fake my way through it but could only do about half of the painting and it didn't look great, mostly due to talent, but also because I was trying to substitute brushes.  I didn't even get to fill out the happy little trees because there is a special brush for that and I didn't have it. I think I might try to find tutorials that use the resources I have, so I can build up a little confidence and not feel as defeated. Sounds like a good plan anyway.

After I gave up on that, I played a little CoD: WW2.  I exclusively played on Shipment because that is the quickest way to rack up kills for the various daily contracts.  And I was successful in that.  I also mostly went positive with my K/D.  It is really easy to go incredibly negative if you're playing against good players that have the spawns locked down.

And now I am going to record my audio journal and go to bed.  I would save so much time each day if I didn't take notes about my day, write a journal entry based on those notes, and record an audio journal based on those notes.  Oh well.

[ironzombes]

Honest encounters, by Teller.

“Write on that sticky note, rip that sticky note, stick that sticky note, mhm, mhm!” Teller followed her own tune and wrote positive messages on sheets of blue, pink and green paper. The chair squeaked with every movement of her hips but she simply incorporated it into her melody.

There was a lot of surface area. Most of it she couldn’t obscure, but she did her best with what she had.

‘Work hard, play hard.’

‘School is the best!’

‘Best port pilot.’

‘Get that promotion, baby!!!’

Just a few of the messages she left herself in case she ever felt discouraged. Next she stuck a picture of herself and her two best friends on her window. “Whoo, Teller, you go girl.” she imitated a voice and snorted. “Thanks, I’m so proud.” she spoke back to herself and leaned back on her chair, happy with her creation. The controls weren’t old but they were awfully boring, grey, dead. The little bit of color she put in made her corner of the room stand out.

It was her first day on the job. She shared a room with two other port pilots but there were twenty of them in that tower alone. She had briefly met Cyrill in the hallway as he rushed over for an order. The other one was probably out there, helping some poor sod navigate the port.

Regular pilots often took too much credit. They were the heros of their craft and put them into an empty space, they would all manage wonderfully executed take offs and landings. But ports were different. There was so much going on all the time, so many ships and parts to navigate through, it was difficult to find the right platforms and it was more so difficult to land on narrow spaces. That was their jobs. They got called whenever needed and they would take care of the hard parts.

After her training she knew the port like the back of her hand. This was bound to be easy.

The door opened behind her and she turned around in her chair with an excited look on her face. The man that walked in was short and stocky and the moment they made eye contact the purest most childlike smile spread on his lips, hidden only by a thick, dark brown beard.

“Teller?” he asked, unsure.

“That’s me alright. You must be Toberin. Am- sorry, am I saying that right?”

“Auf, yes. Toberin.” his mouth barely moved as he spoke. It was eerie, like a ventriloquist. He wasn’t from around these parts, his mother tongue was that odd language that had to be spoken with as little movement as possible. It seemed to be difficult for him to shed the habit.

“Really nice to meet you.” she walked over and shook hands with him. What an unpleasant feeling.

“Sorry! It’s so hot out there.” he wiped the sweat off his hands against his chest. “I see you’re making yourself at home.” he nodded to all the sticky notes.

“Oh, yeah. Thought it would look nice.”

“Let’s see… promotion, huh? You’ve barely just started, though.” he didn’t mean to bring her down but he sound a bit unsure of her now.

“That well, sort of? Hah, don’t get me wrong. I’m excited to be here.”

“No judgement!” he laughed it off and sat down at his own desk, to her left.

She stood there a moment longer, then sat down and was unsure of what to say. “So, you’ve worked here long?”

“Oh yeah, best job I ever landed.” he laughed, everything about him seemed so joyous in such a packed body.

“Aha!” she laughed at the pun, though she had heard it more times than she cared to admit so far. It still didn’t really answer her question.

He grabbed a cloth from a drawer and wiped his face with it, then turned on a fan and basked in the cool air. She scratched her arm and took it for as long as possible before she decided to put her jacket back on. He either didn’t care or didn’t notice but Teller was understanding. It was hot out there. Maybe she should have brought a fan of her own for later.

Over the next several moments Toberin was busy cooling himself down while Teller tried to get in a comfortable position away from the cold gushes of air.

“Look at that idiot, auf… Trying to do it on his own, who does he think he is?” he laughed as a ship came into view quite a way away, swaying a bit, struggling not to hit equipment.

“Oh, hah… yeah that’s not good.” she snickered, wondering if sometimes pilots were too stubborn to ask for help.

He didn’t reply, just watched as hundreds of tons of metal struggled to keep in balance. It was a lot like waiting for a disaster. She grew more and more uncomfortable at the sight. Maybe regular pilots were idiotic after all…

Finally a green light appeared on her panel and she stiffened up. A green light meant she was being called for. Then a string of lights lit up the window right in front of her with directions to the ship and she found that it was the exact same ship they had been watching for a few solid minutes. She got up.

“Wait, wait a minute.”

“Uh…”

“Let him struggle for a bit longer.” Toberin laughed and gave her a wink. “It’ll teach him, I swear to you. Next time he comes through here he won’t be so macho.”

There was a conflict inside her. On one hand she wanted to go help, it was her job. On the other hand Toberin had to have known what he was talking about. She stood there, feeling the pressure of each passing second. “He’s holding up other pilots.” was the excuse she used and left. Toberin clicked his tongue and watched her go without another protest.

---

After about two weeks Teller began feeling a bit more comfortable in the office. She knew what to expect from the other two men. Cyrill was always hungry and liked to talk about shows or plays he saw in addition to always carrying a notebook with him to write down ideas for a book.

Toberin often spoke to himself, but Teller had learned to tune him out. She still wasn’t perfectly sure whenever she was supposed to talk back but she thought she was getting the hang of it. She had also learned to always bring a jacket with her in the office because the fan was always on, but she knew it was also necessary. It was so damn hot out there working in such close proximity to so many machines and ships.

The two men often got into debates about a show or a character she had never heard of, but just listening to them was hilarious. They all laughed well and hard and despite her not being into series she found herself agreeing to watch something called Vanity Ville. It was a cool concept. The same story about five different neighbors was tackled in very different ways. At the beginning of the week they’d air the comedy side of the show and people would swarm the internet debating how the same concept would be tackled in a much darker rendition at the end of the week.

Two months into her job and she was debating with the guys, feeling at home at her new job.

She was one of those port pilots that never gave her jobs to anyone else. Whenever dispatch sent her somewhere she was right on it. She worked extra shifts and covered anyone who needed help. Her promotion sticky note was always on show.

Today was a good day. The three of them had worked long into the night to help large shipments to come through and they were well exhausted by the time the last ship ported.

Cyrill was the first one to stand, popping all of his joints. “Ugh… dinner’s on me, fellas.” he smirked at the other two, noticing their exhausted faces.

“Can’t we just sleep?” she protested jokingly, then her stomach protested her protest with a loud grunt. “Guess not…”

“Your wallet better be ready cause I’m starving.” Toberin didn’t sound too happy. They were all exhausted, but they walked out together and headed to the restaurant down the road.

It was a cheap place that had major discounts for port pilots. They stuffed their plates with food and sat down on the less than comfortable chairs.

“You’re still going to take that day off?” Tobering asked her.

“Hm, dunno? My friend isn’t sure she could get time off herself to visit me.” she examined a particularly succulent piece of meat and dug her teeth in. “If she does, I’ll take the day off. It’ll be nice to catch a break.”

“We’ve introduced you to our friends.” Cyrill pointed out. “Why don’t you introduce us?”

“Ugh, dude! You don’t even have to ask. I was already planning it.” she grinned.

“Is she single?” Toberin laughed, feeling better from eating.

“She is very, very gay.” Teller smirked.

“Ohhhh, is there a story behind that?”

“What, being gay?”

“No, I meant with her and yourself, duh.” Toberin nudged her elbow.

“No, we’re just good friends.” she sounded indifferent.

“Well alright. Introduce us anyway.” Cyrill smiled.

The week went by without a hitch. On the day, however, Teller was nowhere to be seen at work. At first the guys thought it was strange for her to be late, but upon checking the logs they could clearly see she wasn’t registered to work that day.

---

The next morning was the same as usual. Teller drove in, found a parking spot that wasn’t to her liking but she parked anyway, nearly jogged towards the entrance. Keycard, security check, another keycard, saying hello to the security, taking a three minute bullet train ride to her area of the port, going up a flight of stairs, crossing a glass bridge, going up another flight of stairs, crossing the employee lounge, crossing a long hallway before she reached her office.

She stepped inside and saw the two already at their desks. “Morning, sorry I’m la-”

The office was fairly small, which was only compensated by the wall window they stared at all day and the employee lounge which was too big for comfort. It had always been Toberin on the left, her in the middle and Cyrill on the right. She clutched her purse a bit tighter and frowned. None of her sticky notes were up.

“Woah, what happened here?” she walked over slowly. Toberin looked over his shoulder at her while Cyrill stuffed his face with his second breakfast.

“What do you mean?”

“My sticky notes…” she pulled her chair back but didn’t sit down. She surveyed the room.

“Those… well, they were distracting.”

“Wait, who took them down?” she looked at the two suspiciously.

Cyrill looked at her, then nodded towards Toberin.

“Uh, not cool man…” she couldn’t really understand, but she eventually sat down. “I mean, I’m sorry. You should have told me.”

“You weren’t here.” he pointed at the clock.

It was weird to say the least but what could she do? If they were distracting the maybe he was right. But she could tell the atmosphere was off. “Did I miss anything?” she asked. They had since picked up the habit of filling in whoever was late on the stupidity of some pilots.

“Nope.” Toberin shook his head.

That was normal. She didn’t expect every morning to be eventful.

Cyrill tried to jump start a conversation about the show and Teller took it gladly. Toberin was more quiet than usual but she chose not to put him on the spot. Obviously something was bothering him and he didn’t want to talk about it.

Luckily it had been a busy day so she focused on work most of all.

---

The following day she did better. She made sure to wake up early and pack her breakfast with her so she wouldn’t be late again. Teller genuinely thought Cyrill was onto something about bringing his meals at work and when she noticed how early she got there she decided she was going to follow the same pattern from there on.

The door opened up behind her ten minutes later and she lifted her hand to make a peace sign over her head. “Yo!” she called out, mouth stuffed.

“Morning.” Toberin replied in a flat tone.

“Hey man, good morning?” she asked and turned her chair a little to talk to him.

He immediately sighed. “You brought food in?”

“Yeah, I decided never to be late again.” she sounded proud of herself.

“You know I hate the smell of food…” he dropped his bag next to his chair and sat, rubbing his eyes.

She stared at him dumbfounded. “You never said that.”

“All the time, Teller, all the time.”

“Wh- well… I’ve never heard you say it. Cyrill eats in here all the time.”

“Whatever, could you eat in the lounge from now on?” he gave her a tired look.

After a moment of contemplating she smiled at him. Clearly something was wrong, something had happened. She wasn’t going to push his buttons. They were friends. “I started my shift, but I’ll eat in the lounge from now on.”

Before he could answer Cyrill walked in. “Heya.” he was the same as usual, not too cheerful, not to remote. He sat down and gave both of them a smile. “Man, that looks good.” he leaned in closer to look at her dish. She brought it closer to him and offered him a bite, which he eagerly took.

After he got comfortable he of course took out his breakfast as well. Teller rushed to finish hers and expected Toberin to complain but the man just whipped out a tablet and started typing away on it instead.

“Mh, have you seen the news yesterday?”

“With the fire station?” Teller asked, so glad that Cyrill was breaking the silence. “I did, that was horrifying.”

“Yeah well… I heard that they’re gonna do a sweep virtually every building in the city, check for fire hazards.”

“It’s crazy. Like, after yesterday I think it’s necessary but do we really live in that sort of world?” she rubbed her temples.

“A fuckig fire station blew up. I think it’s safe to say we do.” Toberin added roughly.

Both Cyrill and Teller looked at him, agreeing. It was hard to admit that they weren’t advanced enough to prevent such disasters but they needed to be sure.

“Makes you think twice about this place.” Cyrill twitched nervously. “It’s so fucking hot out there. Too hot. It makes my skin crawl…”

Teller didn’t want to think about it. “No, that’s nothing you should worry about. It is hot but all the ships are safe. We’re safe.” she reached out and touched his shoulder, watching him calm down a bit.

The day went on as normal as it could with Toberin still moody and Cyrill trying not to think about fires.

---

A couple of days later Teller walked with a particularly happy stride towards the office. She had gotten her hair cut bob style with the strands that framed her cheeks a bit longer than the rest and a cute little fringe that she could easily swipe to the side. Along the way she had gotten compliments from everyone she had gotten to know and was particularly happy about her choice.

She got to the office and waited for the boys. Since Toberin had asked she had stopped eating next to him.

Cyrill was the first to show up.

“Oh damn, you… look so different!” he said quite happily, impressed by her hair. “Looks good. Kind of reminds me of Vele.” he referenced the show again.

“Thanks!” she chipped and ran a hand though the smooth strands. It was odd to feel it so short.

“You look happy.”

“Today is a happy day!” she swiveled in her seat.

Toberin came in later than usual. He said his monotonous hello and sat down, only giving Teller a weird sideways glance. “Big change.”

“Thanks.” she replied on instinct.

“Sure…” he had not meant it as a compliment.

All three of them were called nearly simultaneously to port ships not too long after their shifts started. They headed out, did what they had to do as on any other day and came back ready with stories about the pilots. Most of them were obnoxious people that couldn’t stand handing over control. Some were clueless but some were nice too.

Teller walked in the room later than the boys and sat down with a huff. “Happy to report my pilot was very sweet. It was her first time here.” she said happily.

“Mine was an idiot. Nothing’s changed.” Toberin added.

She kept looking over her shoulder every now and again, expecting something. When a knock on their door came she resisted the urge to jump up and check it. The worker who knocked let himself in cautiously. “Hey is there a…” he looked at the envelope in his hand. “Teller?”

“That’s me.” she got up, both nervous and happy.

He checked the envelope again, then smiled at her before handing it over. “Congrats.”

“What, really!? No way!” she took it and forgot to even thank the poor guy before he walked on to the next office.

The other two turned in their seats to check on her. “What’s that, now?” asked Cyrill.

She turned the bright purple envelope in her hand a number of times. She could feel something hard inside it, a thin piece of plastic. “Oh, sorry. I, I enrolled in this pharmaceutical course. I just got accepted!” she walked over with the envelope. The congratulatory words were printed on the outside. She didn’t bother to open it there, she’d do it at home.

“Pharmaceuticals?” Toberin scoffed. “What’s that for?”

“It’s just something I’ve been meaning to do. I love this stuff.”

“Don’t tell me. You didn’t get into a good medical school?” he crossed his arms over his chest.

Both her and Cyrill looked at him shocked and hurt by his words.

“No… Nothing like that. I just wanted to take this course.”

“Yeah, right… Keep telling yourself that.”

“What the fuck, man?” Cyrill asked, just as surprised to hear his dismissive voice.

“What? I’m just looking at all the evidence here, alright?”

“What sort of evidence is that?” she was so thrown by his comments.

“It’s pretty fucking obvious, Teller. You’re en overachiever but you’re not one of the smart ones.”

“Excuse me!?”

“Okay, uhm, let’s see.” he turned to face them again. “My guess is you’ve always wanted to be a pilot. That’s why you were going for a promotion. You must have sucked at the academy or something. I mean, you did go to a proper piloting academy, not the sort of thing me and Cyrill went to, right? One of the big ones? But you failed and now you’re stuck working here hauling ships left and right, not ever really touching the sky. But before that you wanted to be a doctor, hm? Couldn’t do that either. So you’re settling for second best but aaaalways looking for the top. The bullshit pharmacy course, this.” his voice was cold and pressing as he gestured to the whole room. 

She stared at him. “Okay, I don’t know what your problem is but fuck you! I happen to really like this. And so what? Wouldn’t you want a fucking promotion? You wanna work in this damn box all your life?”

“Woah, guys, come on. There’s no need for that…”

“You hear that, Cyrill? This damn box. You know what, I’m pretty fucking over your sour attitude.” he waved a hand to try and shut her up.

She bit her lip and stopped herself from saying or doing anything stupid. It felt like a long time coming, considering Toberin’s attitude lately but she had never expected this. She shook her head at Cyrill and went to work. It had been a terrible day but she focused on what was right in front of her.

---

A week later her and Toberin were still not talking to each other. Cyrill tried to help out but whenever he tried to include them both in a discussion either one of them refused to take it further. She was nicer about it because she knew he was just trying to help.

After a particularly long and painful port she came back exhausted, sweating all over. She sat down on her chair and tapped a button on her console that send a message to dispatch, asking for a ten minute break before her next port. That button felt like a little piece of heaven.

“Bad port?” Cyrill asked.

“Yeah… the pilot was alright. It was just, his ship was fucking massive. I reported it to inspection.”

“Something fishy about it?”

“The weight of it didn’t make sense.” she shrugged. Inspection officers would look over it more thoroughly. It was no longer her problem.

She sat for a few minutes in silence, just trying to relax. She was sweaty as all hell, her hair was sticking to her face and neck. Looking over she noticed Toberin’s fan pointing straight at her, making her skin cold and even stickier. It was at twice the power it was set to normally. “Do you mind turning that down?”

“It’s hot in here.”

“Well I don’t want to get sick.”

“Put your sweater on.”

“That… no. I’m sweaty, it’s gross. Just turn it off for five minutes.”

“I don’t wanna smell your sweat.”

“You’re such a fucking child.” she got up and couldn’t take it anymore, slamming her hand down on the device to turn it off.

“Like fucking hell you will!” Toberin got up and yanked the portable fan out of her hands.

“Just turn it off for five minutes, jackass!”

“Guys don’t! Come on. Toberin just turn it off. It’s cold and uncomfortable!”

“Get lost, Cyrill.”

The man stared at the struggle for a bit, then noticed the green light on his own screen. He ignored it. “Stop it, now! This is ridiculous.” he got up and yanked the fan from them both. “Five minutes without this shit, alright? I have to work. You both better behave.” he thought about putting the fan down but he feared they both might have a go at it again so he simply stepped out of the room with it in hand, ignoring Toberins’s curses.

“You’re fucked in the head.” Teller spat. “What’s your problem?”

“You are!” he stormed out of the room to put some space between the two of them.

Teller sat down and raked her hands through her hair. She tried not to let it get to her but she couldn’t stop but wonder what had happened, why all of a sudden the guy was so pissed off with her. All they did was talk anyway.

---

The days dragged on like that. The atmosphere in the room changed dramatically. Cyrill tried his hardest to either talk or not talk depending on the situation. Teller and Toberin stopped exchanging greetings.

She started seeing it more like just a work environment. Her and him didn’t have to be friends, so they kept a distance from each other. She busied herself with her courses and learning new things, taking up classes whenever she could like first aid or fire hazard courses. Despite the setbacks at work she thought she was growing a lot. Eventually the sticky notes came back and that time around Toberin didn’t take them down. Just in case she had an entire stack at the ready anyway.

Her and Cyrill avoided going out to eat together. He didn’t want to be more friendly towards either of them so he became more quiet as time progressed.

For the longest time it seemed they were at a standstill. But that was fine by her too, since she was increasingly more busy, bringing books at work and trying to incorporate as much stuff into her breaks as possible.

---

Night shift. She had been silly a few months back to even think that the night shifts were any easier. If anything, they were the worst. Pilots were cranky, the crews were hard to deal with, piloting took a lot longer due to other slow moving ships. She hated them but signed up for them regularly in order to get some more cash, they were better paid than standard days.

Cyrill stayed at home during night shifts and a few times she had bumped into Toberin but that night was entirely different. He was slow, he denied most requests to port and he kept bouncing his leg up and down, almost incessantly.

She refused to even so much as look at him as she read and sat on her phone, waiting for the next call.

Once more he turned the fan at full speed and made sure the majority of the gush hit her right in the face. Teller took it for as long as possible before a headache started taking over. “Please… I don’t want to fight. Turn it off, I’m getting a headache.”

“Pull your hoodie on?” he arched a brow at her and noticed her jacket was on the armrest.

“Then can you at least move it so it doesn’t freaking blast me?”

“I feel very comfortable.”

“Yeah, because you’re aiming it at me.”

“Oh shut up. I’ve just about had it with you.”

“I’m asking you nicely…” she pinched the bridge of her nose.

“I don’t take orders from whores.”

She stared. How could she not? Never in her life had she assumed Toberin to seep that low. “What… the fuck?”

He turned in his chair, finally snapping. “Yeah, you heard me! I don’t take orders from whores!”

“How dare you!?” she slammed her hand on the console. Thankfully it didn’t send anything flying.

“Yeah you act like you’re all that, but I know you! I’ve been nothing but nice to you ever since you came here and started taking up space with your stupid post it notes and your passive aggressiveness, acting like you’re always cold, trying to get me and Cyrill’s attention. All you do, you do it for attention!”

“How can you even say that, how… I- what’s even going through your head? Cause of some sticky notes?”

“No, it’s not just the sticky notes! Like you’re always wearing your jacket instead of talking like a normal person!”

She felt like she was going to lose her mind. “I did just fucking ask you to turn the fan away from me!”

For a split second it looked like he was about to get up from his chair and do something dangerous, but he forced himself back down. “That was before you started acting like you don’t even know us!”

“How did I ever do that? We fucking work together…”

“Act like you don’t know, go ahead.”

“I really do. Not. Know. Stop being so whiny and tell me, fuck… This is ridiculous.”

“Oh yeah? Me and Cyrill did everything, everything to make you feel welcome, but all you do is lie. Like that one time you promised to introduce us to your friend like we introduced you to ours and then you ditch us! I bet everything else about you is a lie too.”

Teller took a long time to make the connection, but it made sense in the timeline. Her and her friend had met up without calling the other two guys, it was true. But she hadn’t thought about it evolving into this much hatred. By then she just wondered if Cyrill was feeling the same.

“That’s it!? Me and my friend spent a day together without you cause we haven’t seen each other in months and that’s why you’re angry at me?”

“It’s not just that… it’s everything you do. You could have just told me you’re gay, for example.”

“I’m not gay? I’m not! And even if I were what’s that to do with anything?”

“Girls like you do this all the time. I’m nice to you, I can see you’re lonely and sad and try to make friends with you, talk to you, get Cyrill to talk to you more and you don’t even have the guts to tell me you’re gay. That’s very manipulative of you.”

“You’re delusional…” Teller shook her head and got up, grabbing her jacket. “Fucking insane.”

He grabbed her wrist.”You better let go of me right now!”

“Is that how you treat all men? You disgust me, you whore!”

“Let go!” she tried to pull back, but he was easily three times bigger than her and getting angrier.

“Nice guys like me, we try to be nice to you and all you do is go around behind our backs. You’re disgusting!”

“Let go of me you psycho!” she finally broke loose from his grip. When she stormed out of the room she never looked back.

She was shaken. Never in her life had she thought that what seemed like a normal working environment would turn into this. It was ridiculous and she knew it. All of his cruel words and accusations came back to her one by one as she walked into the employee lounge, thankful to be left alone. 

The truth was she always knew how to stand up to herself, but this had all taken her by surprise. Looking around the room she felt her skin crawl like the whole building was suddenly tainted. 

She thought back to all of the times her own friends had complained about work and how many times they stuck through it all. She had always thought that was a stupid thing to do. It was insane to have to put up with toxic people when they had to work with them on the daily. 

Teller was not going to let herself beat down like that.