#but maybe try some fucking manners and not treating workers like idiots

[s-cullayy]

The way she tried to admonish me by saying she’s a nurse practitioner and “knows when to bend the rules when needed” like ma’am this is a grocery store. You out there slicing and dicing people “just to see”? I don’t think you should be saying that as a nurse, but what do I know, I only make minimum wage

This woman got mad at me because I wouldn’t let her cut open an eggplant to see if it’s bad before buying it lmao

[mariamariquinha]

Bossa Nova (Benny ‘Borracho’ Magalon x f!reader) - Nine

Eight | Ten

Summary: The LASD couldn't sustain its reputation as an honest police officer if it tried hard. In that case, no one tried.

Word count: 9.695.

Warnings: Bad words, talks about corruption, talks about sexism and racism, mentions of oral sex, mention of drug crimes, violence and other things related, strip clubs, sex workers, use of weed and... did I say sexism?

Author’s Note: I think this got a lot more personal than I thought, so I'm sorry if anyone has family members within the LASD who aren't corrupt - this isn't about them. This chapter doesn't have much romance, I'll warn you right away, but it's an important progression in the main characters' relationship. Give it a try!

MINORS DO NOT INTERACT!

Join my taglist! Don’t forget to reblog, comment and like! As always, I would love to know what you’re all thinking! ❤

****

You didn't like your mother very much, but you definitely loved her. She was your mother, after all, and even though you knew you wouldn't be friends with her if you had that choice, you would love her like you love something because that's how it should be. You didn't think it was an obligation, and she didn't treat you badly, but there was always that feeling that because you were the first kid, she tested the options so much that she left you an arm's length away, and if it were different it would be weird. 

Again, you understood. She was your mother.

When you had the whole context of the divorce, she always came with comments. She noticed your house, your clothes, your silence; she insisted that Theodore say something, that he apologize, and you had to be definitive for it to stop.

But she was your mother. 

Emma didn't say things because she didn't like to commit, but you knew when she betrayed that direct opinion that your mother had about everything. It was like something mirrored, that instead of loud voices and cigarette smoke, you received a calculating coldness in sudden, discreet and passive comments. So you didn't confront her because, well, she wasn't your mother.

You knew you were on the edge since the situation with Ballard – so did she. And before all of that, there was the snickering, the ‘are you sure you are okay?’ with condescendent tone, the ‘maybe you should take some days off’ with a hint of a joke. You knew her and you knew each one of those mannerisms. 

Isla's situation wouldn't have grow so much in you if it weren't for the daily stress of things, yes, but it was the comment that Emma made when she went to ask you about Gina that made you stop, look and make sure you had actually heard that.

“I mean, look what getting close to Nick did to you. You weren't like this when you were still married.”

You weren't even talking about that – you had taken days to redo the work on the report, you were barely sleeping and honestly nothing she was saying had reached your ear until that moment. For her, it was another comment that you would ignore, another small micro-aggression that would pass, so she continued typing on the computer and the weight of the air in her office seemed to fall solely on you.

“... I beg your pardon?” 

She glanced at you and went back to the computer screen. 

“Yeah, you know. Women tend to rely on male powerful figures when in lack of it. Freud said something about it, didn’t he?”

“Emma, what the fuck is wrong with you?”

That did catch her attention. She backed away, then saw your offended expression and actually turned to you, alert.

“I’m sorry if I said something wrong,” And even that sounded wrong. 

“It's not just that, you're acting like an idiot to everyone here! Walsh treated me like an idiot and harassed me, which you glossed over and blamed on me. Gina was concise and conscientious about finding out about Isla and Nick because it would sink the Department, and you did nothing. What is that?” 

Emma hesitated. With a lick of her lips, she probably calculated that being all about ‘I’m wrong, right?’ wouldn’t work, so she took her time. 

“... I’m thinking of what’s best for you. Protecting your integrity for what it’s to come.”

“And what the fuck is to come? Tell me, Emma, what is it? I-” You took a deep breath. “Do you want to know? I don't want to know. I really don't want to. Whatever shit you or Magalon are warning me about in fucking code, I don't want to know.” 

“What did Magalon tell you?”

“I feel like I'm talking to my ex… Have you heard what I said before?” You pressed, getting on your feet with a huff of frustration. “Make a fucking decision Emma, ​​just… Make a fucking decision. And don't ever disrespect me like that again.” 

****

“My husband was a member of the group.”

Isla had a calm voice despite the context in which she was inserted. There were no handcuffs on her wrists or a guard inside the room; everything was done very smoothly. Her lawyer was there, tho, and he was sending Zapata some glares while they talked. There was a palpable tension in the air, as if a black cloud of violence or distortion hung within that interrogation room.

Really, you shouldn't even be there, watching. Henderson was sitting to one side as he watched through the glass the conversation Zapata and Emma were having with the woman, and that should be enough for them. Even so, it was Emma who suggested that you participate indirectly, as if using a petty way to see if you were really immersed in the work like you said. 

According to the file, Isla was of Albanian origin. The parents were immigrants and ran a small textile business in Coney Island, but they weren’t anything but a fast topic of conversation. The features of her face, such as the more rounded nose and the full face, were soft, even if her lips were dry. She was in a wheelchair, her arm had a bandage. 

Looking at it that way, she didn't look so much like Debbie. Maybe their comparison was in the attitude: the two seemed equally taken by a feeling that hovered only in Nick. One that you didn't know what it was and that maybe nobody could put their finger on.

She spoke of everything. Kosovo, her relationship with a man named Oliver Clark, her marriage and children – Selim, with 5, and Dafina, with 9. 

You just noticed that Nick entered the room when you smelled his cologne. Bad smell, as always, enough to break any serious moment with that fragrance. You couldn’t help but make a face, pinching your nostrils once and clearing your throat. He ignored you, of course. Benny appeared right behind him with two cups of coffee – you two shared a brief look.

“We have the search warrant,” He said to everyone in the room, eyeing the scene in front of you with a stern face. “I also got WPP.”  

A little late for that.

“Anything important?” Took you time to understand that the question was directed to you. When the silence became too much, you turned to him and saw everyone staring. 

“... Nothing I didn't already imagine. I'll have better luck when I have the equipment,” You leaned over the table, just a touch, and read the notes you’d taken. “Leica M6 35mm, Pentax K1000 and… Nikon 35 Ti. Analog. This Leica is a rarity, I think it was the one she used for the Long Beach homicides.”

“Couldn't it have been someone else?” Henderson asked. 

“Is that just a stupid question or do you want to make sure we've tested all options?”

“Both. So?” Nick pressed, arms crossed and nothing but harshness on his tone. 

You observed him for a beat, considered your chances there. 

“... The Leica is from the beginning of the last century, like, the 30's to the 50's. At least this model she said she has. In addition to being rare, not everyone nowadays can handle it because the resources are basically mechanical. It would be an absurd coincidence, which is not quite the case.”

“We've dealt with coincidences before.”

“Well, you would know the truth better than anyone.”

O’Brien didn’t answer. You rolled your eyes, going back to the notes before giving Isla another look. 

“How long has she been doing this?” The question was kind of thrown up in the air, as no one dared to answer. You glared at them, specifically at Nick, who huffed in annoyance before saying something.

“Two years.”

“And the case landed in your lap…” You said. “It seems that you really work with coincidences.”  

Again, no answer. Feeling like you couldn't get from point A to B with anyone there, you jotted down some more information on paper and stretched your back, rolling your shoulders.

“It will be manual stuff then. They’ll have to look at each negative.”

“If it can be done then I don't see a problem.”

“It's a good opportunity to tell me anything else I don't already know,” You conceded, voice contained to prevent any progression there. It was like swallowing a fucking lamp. 

Everyone was quiet when they heard Isla speak again, attentive as they watched every detail of the story that should no longer be news to Nick's ears. You were so concentrated that the noises of chairs dragging on the floor didn't even call your attention. Someone said something, the door opened and closed, and suddenly there was a cup of coffee right next to you.

Benny tapped the lid twice.

“Decaf,” He mouthed discreetly before retrieving his proximity and leaving the room. 

You and Henderson shared a glance, but he didn’t say a thing. You two were busy anyway. 

****

Benny didn't have a very organized routine, but he could count how many times he thought about you after that shitty lunch: two.

1. That coffee wasn't for you, but he thought of you when he noticed that the Starbucks server had made the wrong order. It was kind of spontaneous. Suddenly you were there, at the front of his mind, like you were hovering around and ready to just emerge. He put it there, left the cup as if saying ‘you can have it if you want, but if you don’t it’s fine’. No one brought the subject up.

2. Nick had gone to the store to meet an informant and someone, probably Connors, saw a familiar figure at the register when they entered. Benny knew it was Murph who commented, but he saw Zapata turn his head to look at the guy.

“Do you know who he is?”

“Who?” Benny frowned, unaware of the commotion. He turned his head, saw the dude standing there staring at his phone – like a normal person. 

“This is Theodore Park, our trouble girl's ex.”  

There was only one person Connors called ‘trouble girl' and it wasn't usually the kind of comment that came from beyond the grave. However he recognized the guy, whether it was a run-in at office parties that Benny barely attended or some private investigation that bordered on a stalker personality from Murph’s part, it seemed to be true. When Magalon looked back again, Theodore Park was gone.

The second time, then, he discovered who your ex-husband was while listening to what seemed like irrelevant information to the investigation. In the midst of Nick's reticence and failures, Theodore Park was the object of his interest. 

He was tall compared to the 5'7 that Benny was. Maybe 6'2, compared to O'Brien. There were some university articles about him (three paragraphs at Berkeley, two large PDFs at CSULB that he didn't read, and good references at Caltech) and he seemed successful with an information systems company or something. Benny could never speak properly about these things because he was never interested; as long as he had a phone that worked, he knew how to use the most intuitive social media and that was it. But not Theodore, no. The guy was a successful man in that aspect, indeed. A rich guy on the way. Without much effort, Benny would see this dude doing TED Talks and making Forbes in a few years. Which had nothing to do with him, or what seemed like your type of guy. If Theodore was on one side of the spectrum, Benny was on the other in every way.

Still, Magalon didn't do much with this information. There wasn't much he could do with it anyway.

It was only later – days later – when they had agreed to go to a 'club' to 'decompress', that he found himself thinking about you for the third time. 

Earlier that day, he saw you talking to Lennon over what seemed like conventional pleasantries between friends. You were wearing jeans, both hands in your back pockets as you paid attention to something that was being said. Your usual lab coat was gone, probably because Benny could clearly see that your shirt was tighter, had a wider bust and the position of your arms gave a subtle view of your breasts. Nothing indiscreet, because you weren't indiscreet. That outfit, however, made Benny have a sudden indiscreet thought, and it stayed in his head all day. 

He hadn't looked for you anymore ��� he hadn't had the chance to do that. Things escalated and suddenly there he was talking about how similar he was to Nick, pushing you away with a passive behavior that clearly pissed you off. You didn't even react, which he understood as full acceptance of the fact that he was an asshole, as if that was the one thing that Benny and a technology nerd like Theodore had in common: being a scoundrel. You treated him as always, even though what had already happened between you should have been enough for that 'always' to change.

It was sad. He really was starting to like what you two started to have. 

The girl standing next to him was called Lindsay. She sat down, started a conversation; they talked very little. Lindsay was wasted, not even bothering to clean the traces of cocaine from her top lip and nose or the way her eyes were dark. Benny asked if she wanted to go home and another friend, named Tracy (or Tara), who was visibly lucid, said it was a good idea. He paid for the taxi, made sure they got into the car safely, and discreetly showed the driver his badge. Like any other night.

He watched the taxi disappear down the street, then, on the other side, the movement of cars on that side of the city. It was late summer and the breeze of the change of season was a sure sign of the arrival of autumn, so he felt the wind hit his face. 

Benny didn't go back up to the hotel room with the guys. He handed the parking pass to the usual guy, got in the car and headed home.

No, not like any other night. That time, Benny felt another wave of what someone once said was a ‘midlife crisis’.

****

You weren't a fan of bathtubs. Well, you had one, but it was that kind of thing that was borrowed into your life, shoved down your throat because it wasn't so bad after all. Just like the coffee table you had before. And the kitchen window you always hated. And the kind of lamp that lasted so little but, look, it was chic. So like all things, which seemed to be the biggest provocation that accompanied a 'gift' from a big son of a bitch, or a reminder of how there was a sense of ease in making your life miserable, you enjoyed it.

Something like that. 

You had plans to get rid of each of these things soon, because all in all, the financial part of your life was also complicated. A visit to the bank, a mortgage proposal, expenses for the large yard and the last remnants of your student fund. You looked through apartment websites for sale and just that idea left you incredibly depressed because, on top of everything else, you were a crybaby who lost the comfort of a husband who paid most of the household bills. And not to mention the job, because… damn, the fucking job. It had been days since you closed your eyes and saw Nick, Isla, Emma, ​​Ballard, Mathias; what kind of fucking burnout was that?

So that night, when your heels were swollen and your back was sore, you allowed yourself a few minutes of privilege. Bath salts, then the heat of refreshing water and, among other things you haven't done in a long time, you felt a little sorry for yourself, felt like Emma did you so fucking wrong and you needed to be put in a victim’s place for a while. 

Connors had posted a photo with the guys on Instagram – you saw it by chance, one hand resting your head on the edge of the bathtub and the other scrolling through your phone. ‘bday party w/ the fella 🔥🔥🔥’, with Benny below his arm in what looked like a half drunk pose, in what also looked like a strip club in the background. You stared at it for a moment. Then another. Then another. There were easy smiles, joyfulness, even happiness; like it was just a standard day, as if the world was okay as soon as the first beer landed on their tables. 

There was never a question with them, a doubt. It was as if, arbitrarily, the main characteristic of a cop wasn’t useful for them to become the ideal professionals that everyone thought they were. There is no need for moral duty, responsibility and care, as proof that the world, in itself, was also not moral, responsible and careful. 

That was it. It was this pain, this itch, that disturbed you, because you knew that no questions were directed at Theodore when things ended. He, above the law, with money in his pocket and a successful career ahead of him, didn’t receive any dirty looks for having cheated on his own wife, who in turn would, in fact, receive condescending comments, pats on the shoulder of comfort and an unfair response from a boss, who attributed your problems to the great evil of having lost an idiot husband. That was what you always hated the most. 

Before you could put down the device, the screen changed theme: Benny was calling. It wasn't a text, it was a call. 

You hesitated before answering.

“... Yes?”

“Hey,” The other end of the line was clear, even if you presumed he was still in the club with the guys. “You busy?”

“Mm-hm,” You frowned. “Something happened?” 

“No.”

“... Ah.”

“Just wanted to check on you. You probably think that I’m a jerk right now.”

You lifted your torso and sat in the bathtub, more confused than you expected. For a beat you didn’t say anything. 

“You do.”

“No! No, I… I don’t think… anything. Why do you think that?” But he didn’t need to answer because you knew. “If that’s because we’re not doing anything, there’s no hard feelings. We’re just having fun, right?”

Benny sighed. 

“Yeah, we were.”

“So you don’t need to explain yourself.”

And before you could stop yourself, you added something else that made your eyes close in regret. 

“Things are kinda crazy right now.” 

You didn't want to go back to the atmosphere of that lunch. It wasn't your fault or his, but it was as if there was an external interference, a weight of your different ideals, even if they weren't in question at that moment. That's why you had convinced yourself to give it a chance, to go out with him in the first place: because it wasn't work. And suddenly you were stupid and brought it up as soon as he got in touch after so long.

“How’s Gina?” He decided to ask, which made you squirm in discomfort. 

“She’s fine,” You conceded. “Nick?”

“He’s good.”

Another pause. 

“... Well, I’m certain that you don’t want to talk about it.”

“I don’t, you’re right.”

“Yeah,” You let out a low embarrassed giggle, biting your bottom lip. “Neither do I.”

Another pause. You couldn’t hear a thing for the other side and, for a long stretched moment, it felt like you two were measuring each other’s breaths. 

“I didn't know it was Connors' birthday,” Which worked. Benny sighed in defeat, but it was better to talk about Murph’s ideas of parties than anything else. 

That was how fucked up the whole situation was. 

“We kinda did something. He always makes a big deal of that stuff.”

“You don’t?” 

“Nah, I’m old. Pushing closer to my 50s already. Whoever said middle age life for men it’s their peak, but that’s bullshit.” 

“If you were Telly Savalas, perhaps,” The teasing didn’t go unnoticed by him, who scoffed a laugh. It made you smile too. “So your party ended early.” 

“Couldn’t stay long there. My sister made up dinner because one of my nieces is going to college. Right now I’m sleeping in my old bathroom at my mom’s house.” 

“What, Benny Magalon still fits in his childhood bed?” 

“You know me enough to know how well I fit.”

Deep down, you realized that he didn't say that in a charming way to induce you into some kind of phone sex or something like that. He sounded a little indifferent, actually, and even lazy, as if that was what he should tell you because of the circumstances. You felt a certain relief when you noticed the tone in his voice, because you didn't feel up to it that day.

He moved on the other side, just like you.

“Are you gonna ask what I am wearing?” You teased with a small smile. 

“You’re naked. I heard the sound of water, so you’re in a bathtub.” 

“Aren’t you a smart detective.”

“Now who’s the one being a charmer,” He said.

“If I was, I would ask what you’re wearing.”

“I’m wearing sleep shorts.”

“Mm.”

“With no underwear.”

“Ooh, how sexy.” 

“Right.”

You two shared a quiet, peaceful laugh. You leaned back in the bathtub and rested your head on the edge of it, staring at the ceiling as you heard him moving again on the other side.

There was a hint of subtext, as if you wanted to say something and so did he, but no one knew how because it wasn't something as casual as a sexual joke or small talk. He called, after all, and if this was a failed attempt to 'relax', he had already made it clear that he wasn't very interested either. What was it, anyway? Should you bring up the subject of Isla? Should you two keep talking about this?

“Enjoy that bathtub for me,” Like a goodbye, voice and mind probably in another place. 

“I hate this fucking thing.”

“Enjoy it anyway. God knows it can give us a break. We all need it.”

“Yeah… Tell Connors I said happy birthday.” 

“Will not.”

You rolled your eyes and scoffed. 

“Good night, Benny.”

“Good night, gatita.” 

You abandoned the phone at the closed toilet seat as soon as the line was off, but you kept looking at the device for a while, as if waiting for something to happen or just expecting that sensation of unsaid things to go away. It shouldn’t hit you this hard – shouldn’t make you feel like things were simply falling apart. 

You just wanted to be sure for once that things wouldn’t be so difficult all the time. 

****

The first sip of coffee was distracted. When the taste hit your tongue, you immediately grimaced and threw the drink back into the cup, staring at the totally undrinkable dark thing.

Great. No good coffee as well. 

You wiped the corners of your mouth with your fingers and left the cup on the table, a little unsure whether you should throw it away or not. After little consideration, you just threw it in the trash can, massaging your eyes with the heels of your hands before taking a long breath. 

The break room was naturally busy in the morning, with people on double shifts and those who were arriving, like you, in and out of the tiredness of the end of the day with the beginning of another. Everyone was chatting amongst themselves, exchanging details about cases they were working on or the new bar that had opened nearby, so it was a bit strange that as soon as you rolled your shoulders to ease the tension, everyone turned their attention to a Lennon out of breath who entered the room with an urgent voice.

“Did you know?” That's all he said, then turning on the TV and stopping in the middle of the tables to watch it. You, who were further in front and close to the coffee machine, had to lift your head a little more to understand what was happening.

“Recognized for the successful work carried out on the Merrimen case, Los Angeles County Major Crimes, coincidentally on the day of the closure of one of the most intense operations carried out in the city and credited in its name, hands over the most recent drug trafficking case to the Drug Enforcement Administration, the DEA…” 

You could hear some gasps from your colleagues, murmurs and then shushings, so that they remained quiet and could listen carefully to what was there as if it wasn't obvious. After that, you just stared at the screen in disbelief, your brow furrowed and your hands outstretched at your sides. When they cut to the scene of the press conference in the building's press room, which appeared to have taken place not long before you arrived, you could only see Nick standing next to the sheriff, Walsh's team, and Mathias himself at the lectern making the announcement. 

Mathias's voice was a background sound, almost like an irritating noise in the silence of that room that seemed palpable. No commotion, no direct press releases, just a 'peaceful transition' (Walsh's words) to 'a more prepared and complete team' (also Walsh’s words), which indirectly could mean more than cutting spending by the County government but rather a nudge coward of someone who didn't have the balls to chest someone basically… male.

You felt a little bad about that. 

But, heavens, everyone thought that. And when Gina, of all those present, said mid Walsh's phony speech right after he highlighted the inefficiency of the forensic team (a part you only realized when he used the terms 'difficulty communicating with experts' and 'inadequacy expert with the magnitude of the case'), you blinked and saw her standing for herself, arms crossed and ready to fight.

“Nick does that fucking shit and we get the blame,” She said to the TV. 

Then you got hit by a huge wave of realization. Of Emma, of Benny, of the ‘codes’ they were using to talk with you, the alerts. You didn't imagine this had been shared with Gina, or with anyone else, but it sounded so premeditated that you felt a shiver of distrust.

No one there got caught up in it because they didn't have time, but everyone recognized the mechanisms and adapted to them. Neither you nor Gina whined much when the sheriff organized annual running competitions and didn't stay to reward the winning women; from what little you knew of Henderson, you didn't see him complaining, for example, about the fact that Nick always put him in for questioning black suspects, tapping him twice on the shoulder and saying 'you know what to do', but heavy in a condescending tone. Hell, you always saw the same ridiculous type of episode happening with Lennon as well. 

Taken back to reality by the commotion bubbling between your colleagues, you noticed Emma standing in the doorway as if she had sneakily appeared to observe the reactions and the two of you exchanged very tense silent looks. She didn’t look defeated, but averted your gaze as soon as it became just a staring contest. 

You turned to the TV – to the takes of Nick and the guys during the Merrimen case, then at their faces during the press conference. 

Huh. 

****

The atmosphere was burial-like, to say the least. You had spent the day in the lab, like a forced routine return, and it was as if no one had the balls to open their mouth and speak verbally about the subject. There were official emails from the DEA requesting evidence that had already been collected, reminders from Emma about other cases you were working on in parallel, one thing or another from Ballard (who didn't know how to create an email conversation and ended up answering each of your responses with a new email). There was a sepulchral silence from Major Crimes, but not the kind that left them untainted in the precinct's dome of recognition and social hierarchy – it was a shameful silence.

If you could bet on a collective concern, perhaps everyone was tense at the idea of ​​having been publicly exposed as incompetent, and if even the best team of detectives in the county had failed, there was no certainty of the stability of the Department's resources. This would not only make the LASD incompetent (or corrupt), but also incomplete.

You have a new text! You looked at the phone screen lazily, already expecting anything else, but when you saw who it really was, you couldn’t help but feel reticent and, at best, surprised.

****

“Is this your bat cave or something?” 

The door to the building's terrace always got stuck, but that was just one of the old or poorly working things in that place. Your comment was more to break the ice, to kill that sour mood after you stumbled to close the thing. You took a few steps closer to O'Brien and the others, the five of them sitting around in concrete boxes. 

“Was that supposed to be funny?” Zapata asked with a scowl, to which made you raise your eyebrows at the animosity.  

“I think so, but if you're offended I think I'm on the right track.” 

“You really are a bitch.”

“Tony-” Benny intervened. 

“Yo, there’s no need to-” Connors said.

“Yeah, Zapata, watch your fucking mouth,” Biting back wasn’t exactly the best idea, because you knew the spirits were agitated, but it was obvious that the context didn’t allow for that type of behavior against you. Everyone there knew that that reaction was the remnant of misdirected anger. 

You two shared a silent glare. Tony considered your face for a moment and you did the same; when Magalon pushed him to avert the attention, Zapata waved him off and walked away – you and Benny shared a small glance, one he soon ended to look at Nick, who watched the scene while lighting a cigarette. 

“We done?” He asked. 

“Don’t know, Nick, are we?” You sighed in defeat, sitting on a concrete support and looking anywhere but him. “You said it was important.”

“It is.”

“Is it about the case?”

“He used Isla. We think it had some internal interference.”

And so, being a somewhat literate person in the context of dealing with cops, you could see the pattern and tone of the conversation that had just begun: it was almost an interrogation. Everyone there, kind of around him, looking for the person who would go to the guillotine. It took a while, between the silence that followed, the way everyone (except Benny) was staring at you and Zapata's reaction so spontaneously explosive, but when you lifted your head and looked at that scene, connecting the dots, you frowned and felt truly offended. 

“Wow.”

“We need to be sure.”

“And it would be me for… what, exactly?” He didn’t answer, which made you scoff and giggle in disbelief. “Look, I know my friend wouldn't do that, but as any normal person you could ask Gina that, right?” 

“We did,” Henderson said. “We investigated and there was nothing.” 

“That means you investigated me as well?” 

You felt a pang of frustration greater than the outrage you were feeling. And despite the secret behind you and Benny, who shook his head, it was on him that you closed your eyes for a moment before looking back at Nick, who had his eyes downcast, scratching at the ground while blowing smoke from his mouth.

“You are all a bunch of fuckers.”

“You reacted to Isla,” O’Brien argued with a monotonous tone. “And you said I would be fucked if I messed with you again.”

“Because I’m a human being, Nick, the fuck.” 

No one said a word. There was this soft breeze flowing around, given the time of the year and the area where you were, one that you noticed that made their hairs flow and you shiver a little. If you paid close attention, you would see frustration and rage and that regular disappointment of a kid when they have lost a toy they like or are denied a candy. The loss, whatever it was, hurt for them but not for professional reasons but for honor. A very uncompensated and arbitrary honor, but an honor nonetheless. And it was always easier to blame someone else. You knew it was easy to make a calculation that would work for you because there would always be the feeling that you were impulsive, stubborn, even cruel – because men hurt you, because you still resent things in your personal life.

“I think it's common sense that almost no one here likes you very much,” You said in a low tone. “And we can agree that ethics and professionalism aren’t exactly the main pillars of what you do.”

Nobody said anything, because you were right. It was actually impressive that you managed to maintain a calm, almost soothing tone right after being basically accused of something so serious. Deep down, you felt that, at least, Nick didn't put much faith in this hypothesis, that this was a demonstration of power in front of others because his hands were tied and this was truly new to him. 

And you didn't ask what the plan was, what they were going to do next. You didn't care about that. No one needed to cry because they lost the case, it was obvious that it wasn't the first time this had happened – it certainly wasn't the last either.

Nick puffed some smoke out of his chest, eyeing you for a moment. Then, with a ‘tsk’, he huffed and crouched down, elbows resting on his eyes, making eye contact. 

“Someone reported the investigation to the Embassy. Walsh had us up against the wall as soon as you mentioned the fucking case in Long Beach because the bastard found out about her and me. I was exposed. I'm testing my options here and one of them includes the fact that you curiously knew that they were the same specifications in both cases,” He said. “Gina just found that out and spit to the whole fucking world to know. She’s not that dumb to risk herself to do so.”

“Yeah, but I am, because apparently it didn't occur to you that I was just good at my damn job. The fact that I knew about the pics was just a question of someone giving me a fucking clue?” You raised your eyebrows. “I got my degree and my master's at the same time, you son of a bitch. I don't need to suck anyone's balls to know how to do my job.” 

You two looked at each other. Nick was clenching his jaw, holding words in his mouth and turning them around enough so they could come back in a dry swallow. When he looked away first, blinking a few times, it was the first time you really saw genuine frustration, a moment of weakness that maybe, one day, Debbie had seen, or that the co-workers who were around him at the moment also witnessed in a rare way. 

Your brow was furrowed and you were truly confused and mad by this gap. Looking around, above O'Brien's head, you saw Zapata looking at the city below him with an annoyed look, his back to the two of you; Murph kept his hands in his hoodie pockets, Henderson had his arms crossed. Benny watched you, then looked at the ground, shaking his head. 

No, this wasn't about you, nor was it your fault – of course it wasn’t. In that context, you were just a part of the realization of something you hadn't touched until you saw every defeated feature on that rooftop. 

“... Are you sure?” You asked, blinking a few times with a shaky voice. 

Nick shook his head. 

“And you expect me to do something about it?”

“No,” He said with a firm tone, getting up on his feet. “No one here is sure. I figured you knew something since-”

“Since you thought I had something to do with it, yeah, I noticed,” It was directed to Tony, who just tsked and averted his gaze again. 

When everyone kept quiet, not daring to admit their mistake or even apologize, you were the one getting up, still not sure how to react and uncertain of how to end that conversation. 

“Never do that to me again, don’t-” You collected your voice, clearing your throat. “I never considered myself such a good person, but next to you I'm a fucking saint. I put up with a lot of shit from Walsh and Emma because of you, so shut the hell up before you dare think I'd change sides. If there is any side to this shit.” 

“I needed to be sure.”

“I hope you had all the answers you needed,” There was harshness in your tone, almost a fury. And surprisingly, he didn’t answer that equally. “And yeah, I’ll be honest, okay? You were a coward. I don’t like you. Go eat shit.” 

“It’s easy to say that after you put Benny in the middle of whatever it is you have with Walsh.”

“Listen now-”

“Excuse me?” You frowned, not even letting Magalon finish the interruption he was doing while getting closer. “I didn't ask anyone here to defend me! If this fucking case went wrong, try to consider your incompetence or the fact that no one asked you to fuck a suspect.”

When he kept quiet again, you scoffed, shaking your head. 

“It’s so easy, isn’t it? Walk around like you rule every place, do whatever the fuck you want, put the blame on everyone to feel better… Gina was right. You’re just like Walsh. Just like him.”

You nodded. 

“You always had all the tricks in hand and let a widowed single mother almost get killed by a gang. Curious of you to think anyone is responsible but you.” 

Turning your back, you walked away from him, already opening the door to leave the rooftop. Before you could, though, you eyed him one more time. 

“Whatever your plan is, when and if they ask me, I'll be sincere. About you and about her. Because I can do that.” 

“You would never say anything against Emma.”

The mention of her name, like an answer to your question, made you flex your fingers in anger. 

“... And I don't blame you for not believing that. It’s clear that it's been a while since you've been able to understand honesty.”

****

“You called her a bitch.”

Hearing Benny's voice break the silence was strange, so everyone was confused before understanding what he was saying. When they did, he saw Zapata shift uncomfortably on the couch, looking at the coffee table.

“I didn't think straight at the moment.”

“It seems like no one here has done that.”

“You want to say something?” Nick pressed with a rough tone, as if ready to snap at the detective right away. Benny measured him, shrugged. 

“I told you it was a bad idea. With Isla and with her.”

“We needed to get around it all, test possibilities. This shit is going to get ugly soon.”

“And you pushed away one of the few people who could keep us from getting screwed over too.” 

When they exchanged glances after Benny's response, there was a silent consensus that the disagreements were slowly getting bigger, something that had been surrounding the group long before you showed up or the case.

Everyone continued smoking in silence and the tense atmosphere didn’t dissipate. Things weren't going well.

****

You knew what you were getting into when you started your career there – you always did. Your parents looked at you the wrong way at first, Theodore always treated it as a temporary thing, and your friends always told you that a lab somewhere was great, or a university could be perfect for anyone who wanted to invest in the academic field, or a friend's company in private sector needed a professional who had the same qualifications as you. 

Still, you resisted the comments in the same way that someone resists some kind of temptation: you laughed, you chatted away and no one brought it up again. You didn't consider those things because you liked the stability that a government job gave you, and people just couldn't understand that.

It was the first time you really considered it. You have recapitulated occasions, measured the possibilities; maybe LASD was no longer the most stable place in the world to be, nor the safest.

The marijuana stash (that's what your brother called it) was in the drawer next to the bed. When you were with Theodore, he also used it, although he didn't really like it because he had headaches, so it was a common thing in the house. You were on your third or fourth drink, eyeing the files and releasing smoke into the air. There was no music, just the low light in the room and the brightness of Kojak's aquarium, so sometimes you needed to squint to see small letters of your own handwriting.

You revisited the case, reviewed your notes and copies of the evidence. Whether it was the effect of the marijuana drink, or your paranoid conscience, you wanted to know if at any point you missed something that indicated a failure in your judgment, if Nick was right or if you ended up taking the whole case down with Isla. 

Someone had been trying to call for half an hour, but you didn't answer –it must have been someone from work, because if it had been a family member they would already be knocking on the door. You didn't even look in the direction of the phone; the vibrations started to bother you but not distract you.

Before you could put the cigarette back in your mouth, someone knocked on the door. The doorbell had stopped working a while ago and that was one of the things that had to be fixed before you could sell that fucking house. 

“Who’s it?” You asked in a high voice, not moving from your spot. 

No one answered. That made you frown, then finally snap your eyes in the door’s direction. You waited. Seconds later, your phone had gone off. 

“... Hello?” 

“It’s me. Lemme in?”

Everything was screaming for you to say no, to hang up and leave him waiting outside until he gave up and disappeared. It would be very convenient for him to be there, ready to convince you of something, to be more malleable; it made sense. He could still be trying to take something out of you, as far as you knew. Still, you were a little out of orbit from the weed, slightly sluggish and relaxed, so you calmly got up, abandoned the files where they were spread on the coffee table and walked over, opening it but not waiting too long to see him enter before turning around again. 

You took slow steps into the room. There was the sound of the door closing, then being locked, and then his footsteps coming behind, but keeping his distance. 

“Weed?” He asked. 

“Are you going to arrest me?”

“I could,” That answer made you snort. “But it’s Cali. And you’re literally my teenage wet dream right now, so I can let it pass.”

Teasing or not, you looked at yourself and noticed your clothes (or lack thereof): panties, a long t-shirt. When you turned to him, standing in the middle of the room, Benny was staring at your legs, but he wasn't smiling.

“You're like a broken record, you know that?” You raised your eyebrows, hands on your hips. “All you say is that I'm in your dreams. This is cheesy as fuck.” 

“You didn't complain about that when you were riding me.”

“Oh, so this is my fault?”

“Well, you’re being quite hypocritical.”

“Fuck off.”

“Stop it.”

“What do you want?”

“You didn't answer my calls.”

“That doesn't answer my question, so I guess we're even.”

He was tense, stressed. You could tell. Benny wouldn't talk to you like that if he wasn't angry about something, maybe even frustrated because you weren't 'clear-headed' to talk at all. 

For a few seconds, he considered you while licking his lips, as if the gears were turning in his head. Yours was also moving, but more gradually, slowly, which left you a little unresponsive when you saw him take off his jacket.

“This must be good, you didn't even hear me.”

“Mm?” You blinked, taking in the sight of his forearms while he lifted his shirt sleeves. That made him crack a giggle. 

“Can I have some?” 

Oh. Oh. The weed. He was already walking closer to the coffee table to grab the joint between two fingers, eyes swiping over the papers, so you watched in awe as he put the cig on his lips and took a long drag, eyeing the burning tip with curiosity. Benny hummed and nodded while puffing the smoke.

“Shit’s really good. How did you get it?” 

“... My brother,” And before he could take another drag, you picked the joint from his hands. “Smoke, hold and pass. That's the rule.” 

“Are we in college or somethin’?”

“Shut up and sit down.”

That's what you two did – him on the couch, you on the carpet in front of him. You took another drag, handed over the cigarette and he brushed his hands on your shoulders before grunting, probably leaning back on the cushions. 

****

It was a very silent few minutes, almost making you forget that Benny was there. When the effect of marijuana hit him, he was already lying on the sofa, without his shoes or his top shirt, limiting himself to showing his arms in a white tank top. This gave you a period of lucidity, very brief, and soon there was no more marijuana to smoke, despite the joint not being finished.

All your caution was being thrown out the window, you knew, but it wasn't like it was going to make any difference. 

“Hey,” You called him in a low tone. 

“Mm?”

“Can I ask you something?”

Benny stayed quiet for a moment or two, as if gathering his thoughts, then you listened to him squirming on the couch, getting on his side to look at you even if you still had your back at him. Sensing that he was waiting for you to give him the same attention, you adjusted yourself and stared at him. 

“Shoot it.”

“What happened with Walsh wasn’t on purpose.”

Silence. For a beat, you even thought that he didn’t hear you, given the fact he was already zoning out a little. You started to feel embarrassed, weird. Well, you were high, which could lead to a version of you who would babble about a lot of nonsense and shit, but that was something that came from your lucid mind, probably a thing you wouldn’t say so softly without the weed. 

“It wasn’t a question,” He teased in a calm voice, smiling at you. 

“... I know,” You smiled back, but it turned into a bunch of stupid giggling. 

It cooled down soon. 

“I didn’t see it this way, you know. Walsh is a stupid motherfucker,” He said after a while.

“Jackass.”

“Dickhead.”

“Yeah… His head looks like a dick. An ugly one.”

“And there’s any pretty dicks somewhere?”

“Just as there’s pretty pussies.” 

“Have you ever seen others?”

You looked at each other, a small smile playing on your lips. When realization started to slowly creep on him, he opened his mouth in shock. 

“It was in college-”

“Always in college,” He rolled his eyes, grinning like an idiot. 

“I had this friend, Kennedy. We were roommates, I was single at the time, you know… It happened. But now we’re just good friends.”

“Mm.”

“I’m serious!” You laughed. 

“So you’re telling me that if this Kennedy comes up here tonight, ask to go down on you or whatever, you would say no?”

“Wouldn’t you like to know.”

“Fuck, I would. I’m not cold blooded, gatita.”

A series of laughs filled the living room again. 

“We’re going out of the question here, yeah? Having a serious conversation.”

“You were the one talking about dicks here!”

“Because you called Walsh a dickhead!”

“Okay,” He sighed, adjusting his body to lean over his arm and have a better look at you. Little by little, Benny started to frown, as if thinking hard on something. You would be lying if you said it wasn’t a beautiful sight. 

“So?” 

“I know you didn’t do it on purpose,” His voice was soft, calm, even if a little concerned. “Plus, you had just signed a divorce and Walsh was there talking about it, humiliating you. That wasn't right.” 

You considered his words calmly, blinking heavily but still paying attention. 

“Nick wasn’t in his right mind when he said that.”

“You think?”

“Mm-hm. You shouldn’t worry about it,” And you knew he was talking about the files spread behind you, so you felt a wave of embarrassment. 

“...You’re not just saying that, are you?” The question was serious, probably the first serious thing you said since he came to your house out of nowhere. 

“Why would I do that?”

“Because you’re with them. Like… you know. With them.”

Benny nodded, taking in your words carefully. 

“Fair enough.” 

But he didn’t push the topic, nor tried to apologize or something. He let you have your doubts, probably because he himself couldn’t help but agree that maybe, if it was the other way around, there would be uncertainty on his part as well. You sighed, then, turning your eyes to the carpet and poking it every now and then, as if looking for something on it with false concentration.

“Hey.”

“Mm?”

“Come here.”

“What?”

“‘Wanna feel you,” He almost whined, sitting up and pulling you by the fabric of your shirt. 

“That’s why you came? To feel me?”

“Are you fucking mocking me, woman?”

“I am,” You got on your knees carefully, smirking at him lazily. “Looked like you just waited for the best opportunity to come back here and fuck me.” 

“But I don’t wanna fuck you, I wanna feel you.”

“What’s the difference?” 

The position you stayed couldn’t be more convenient: him, starting to sit as well, legs spread while you rose on your knees, ready to get up. It gave him some time to stare at you with a lazy grin. 

“Saying I wanna fuck would imply that I just came here for it,” He explained. “Feeling you could lead to sex, but with some warm up.”

“All the times we had sex had some warm up,” You argued, hands gripping his thighs lightly. 

“And it was so good, wasn’t it?” Benny asked when you rose just a little to get closer to his face. 

You observed his face for a moment before raising up to peck his lips lightly. When he just sighed, melting into it, you smiled and gave him another kiss, this time a little longer, wetter – enough to, when you part ways, it made a muah. The fabric of your shirt was worn out, old enough to make it more thin and give you a better feel when you gently brushed your chest on his. It made you sigh against his lips, doing it again when he groaned a little, unable to move a muscle but reacting in slow breaths. 

Both of you, silly high adults, brushing your noses, kissing soundly and ready to fuck each other’s brains out as if the world wasn’t basically on fire. 

“I didn’t come here for this, tho.”

This made you move your face, just a little, and the look on your eyes scrunched up in confusion. It felt like a spontaneous burst of lucidity, almost like a punch, and when he turned his face to the side, rubbing his eyes with the palms of his hands, you felt brutally rejected. You moved your hands away from his legs. Suddenly, the carpet was hurting your knees and you stood up, muttering a 'sorry' as you sat on the edge of the sofa, a little away from him. 

“Did you come to defend Nick or something?” 

“This has nothing to do with Nick.”

“So why are you here? To tease about us fuck and not doing a thing about it?”

He considered your face for a moment, still taking in the effects of the weed – even if you both started to feel more buzzed then properly high. 

“You don't want to go to war with him.”

“Oh,” You raised your eyebrows, scoffing a sarcastic giggle. “So you came to be a gentleman and defend me from the evils of disagreeing with Nicholas O'Brien? I thought you made it clear that you didn't have much chivalry in your personality.”  

“I don’t.”

“Mm.”

“But that has nothing to do with chivalry. You’re not being rational.”

“About…?” 

Benny sighed.

“We both know it was Emma.” 

“That shit again…” You groaned, getting up brusquely from your seat and wobbling a little before starting to walk away to the kitchen. 

“What happened was-”

“A mistake. A fucking mistake.” 

When you turned, Benny was up too, standing a few feet closer to the kitchen entrance with his arms hanging loosely on his sides. The lack of answer made you shake your head, grabbing a glass bottle of water from the fridge and drinking a good amount. 

That made everything silent. With both hands on the kitchen’s sink, you closed your eyes and collected your thoughts. 

“I'm not naive to think she couldn't have been involved in this, but I'm not naive or stupid to absolve Nick of the shit he should be responsible for,” You glared at him, noticing his dry lips, the way he just blinked at you with a stern expression. With a tsk, you caught hold of a cup in the sink for him and poured some water in it, not daring to give, but letting it rest closer. 

He came, grabbed the cup. 

You could feel the effects of the marijuana, which were already weaker before, start to leave your system. You were sick, you made a face, but you swallowed your discomfort with more water. 

“I'm not Isla.”

It slipped out of your mouth like a slim and unstable thought, one that made him just nod, sipping on the water calmly while leaning on the sink beside you, eyeing the other side of the room. 

“Didn’t think you were.” 

“No?”

“Nn-nn.”

“So you didn’t investigate me?” 

You knew you had him cornered the moment you said it, but Benny didn't show any anger. He stayed quiet, sipped the rest of the water and stood in front of you, face to face, in such a firm way that you almost backed away if you weren't so irritated.

“If I were as much of a son of a bitch as you think I am, I would have let you finish what you started on that couch,” That made you avert your gaze, but he gently pushed your chin, bringing you to eye his face again. “I'm not Nick. Despite my inclinations, I didn’t ask you out in the first place to investigate you.”

“Right, so it was another thing you said was a bad idea to Nick?” 

“Yes, it was.” 

“Bullshit,” You scoffed, taking a step back. “So you’re that good of a person to get along with Nick’s shit and still be his moral compass? Gimme a break, Benny, I’m not that naive.”

Before he could answer, you kept going. 

“She's just a bargaining chip. She always was. And despite our visibly very different lives, I know what it's like to be used and then discarded as if you’re nothing, as if every promise was nothing more than a lie to achieve something very personal, something that never had to do with you,” You said. “I don't want you to come here and expect me to point fingers or accuse people. If it was Emma, ​​if it was Walsh, it doesn't make any difference if the person primarily responsible for this doesn't take the real blame.” 

“You know the world isn’t a fairytale, don't you?”

“I do! And Isla knows it too, better than anyone! This has nothing to do with an imaginary, but with commitment! When was the last time Nick used his badge for anything other than taking it out of his pocket while a whore gave him a blowjob?”

Nothing. Just silence. For a long, perceptive, heavy moment: silence. 

Benny shook his head in disbelief. 

“Emma received a letter of recommendation from the DEA forensic department,” He said in a low tone, catching you completely by surprise. That felt like a test, the way he observed your reaction with care, looking for an answer. When he found it, Benny nodded. “That's why I came here.”

“... What? I don’t understand.”

“I can't remember the last time I had five minutes of conversation with someone who had nothing to do with this shit. It takes me time to believe just as much as it does to you to know I tried to give him some sense, so if I’m here it's because I know you’re not involved and you need to know there’s people around you doing shit.” 

You could barely process the information, what that implied, because you had every right to disbelieve and have your doubts. There was a suspicious look on your face, he knew that because you didn't hide it, but he didn't take offense this time.

“Just stay away. Things are going to get fucked up,” He was definitive. “God knows I’ll have to be away as well.” 

****

No pressure tags:

@cheesybadgers  

@thesandbeneathmytoes ​

@nerdyreaderpapi

@thoroughlymodernminutia

@mysoulisasunflower

@seaweeden

@eclecticfashionbookszipper

@servenas-inner-fangirl

[sondepoch]

One Night (Marius x Reader)

Teaching a Billionaire to Touch Grass (And a Minimum Wage Worker to Treat Herself)

Marius clicks his tongue in annoyance, both at you and the cars around him. Why are there so many people on the road at 2:38 in the morning? Why did the GPS's projected time to get to your home just double? Why is the universe out to get him today, on the one night Marius thought he could catch a break?

“Okay,” he seethes, drumming his fingers on the wheel as the traffic around him grows impossible slower. He doesn’t look at you as he speaks. “We’re going to talk about how inappropriate this was.”

“I—I’m really sorry, Sir, I—”

“I’m not asking for an apology.” Maybe he is, actually. Marius is too pissed to be sure. “What I want to know is why you thought it was okay to call me, of all people.”

MASTERLIST

The car is silent. 

As Marius gets inside, he thinks that this might be the first time he’s not opening the passenger door seat for a lady partner, the first time he’s allowed himself to stalk straight into the driver's seat and angrily wait for his passenger to enter on their own.

Actually, he thinks, this is also the first time in years that he's actually driving. The first time someone managed to call for him so late that even his chauffeur was off-duty.

“I’m really sorry about this, Sir,” you mumble as you climb into the seat next to him, apologies never halting as you ramble on and on and on like an idiot who can't read a room. “I, ah, didn’t think this would happen, I'm so…”

Marius ignores you.

He glances out the passenger window and catches Darius Morgan’s equally-annoyed gaze. Seriously? the man seems to be asking, an unimpressed look crossed over his face as he eyes you through the car window. I don’t fucking know, Marius’s gaze says back, and he shakes his head the slightest as he starts the car.

“What’s your address?” he asks, interrupting your apologies. Propriety should make him feel somewhat embarrassed over the way he's acting,  but he can’t bring himself to be even a little polite right now.

“It’s by the Harbor. Um, if you go straight on Main Street and turn right at the—”

“Forget it,” Marius interrupts you. He taps the small car screen on his right, opening up the GPS interface. “Just type it in. I’ll drop you off.”

Your face falls at his irate voice, but you wisely don't comment on it, instead typing in your address as he asked. He watches you cautiously the whole time, for once not caring about the performance anxiety his gaze naturally brings to everyone he looks at. To your merit, you don't mess up anymore than you already have, deft fingers moving with the preciseness he’s used to seeing from you, but the skill can hardly impress him after you called him to pick you up from here, of all places. As the GPS routing sequence activates, Marius lets out an annoyed huff. This is not where he wanted to be right now.

Then, the car hums to life as he presses down on the accelerator, and he’s speeding in the direction of your home, trying to abandon his anger with the jailhouse the two of you are leaving.

I should be at home right now, he thinks as he moves onto the highway. He thinks about how long it had taken for him to coordinate this night off from Vyn’s tutoring sessions, Pax’s board meetings, his schoolwork, and the NXX’s meetings. I should be sleeping, or painting, or calling Rosa, or—

“Fuck,” he mutters when traffic begins to slow down. 

He’s in a traffic jam.

So much for sleeping. And painting. And calling Rosa. 

He clicks his tongue in annoyance, both at you and the cars around him. Why are there so many people on the road at—Marius glances at the car’s dashboard—2:38 in the morning? Why did the GPS's projected time to get to your home just double? Why is the universe out to get him today, on the one night Marius thought he could catch a break?

“Okay,” he seethes, drumming his fingers on the wheel as the traffic around him grows impossible slower. He doesn’t look at you as he speaks. “We’re going to talk about how inappropriate this was.”

“I—I’m really sorry, Sir, I—”

“I’m not asking for an apology.” Maybe he is, actually. Marius is too pissed to be sure. “What I want to know is why you thought it was okay to call me, of all people.”

He keeps his glare fixated on the road, knowing that if he shoots you with the same thunderous look he uses to fire people, you’ll probably be too terrified to speak. Still, when you finally start talking, he can sense the fear in your voice.

His grip on the steering wheel softens the slightest.

“I, ah, initially was planning on calling Mr. Vincent. But he—”

“Really?” Marius snaps. “You’re his assistant, right?” Marius thinks back to all the times he stalked into Pax Headquarters only to see Vincent there with his morning coffee in hand and you, always three feet behind, holding Vincent’s work files. The Board of Directors criticized Marius for allowing his assistant to have an assistant, but never did he imagine you to be so…

Incompetent, he wants to say. Foolish might be a better word for it, though.

“Ah, yes. His administrative assistant.”

“And you want me to believe,” Marius huffs, “That the first person you wanted to call to bail you out of jail was the man you’re an administrative assistant to?”

Traffic gets ever slower, and Marius’s car rolls to a complete stop.

“Yes,” you whisper, and you start wringing your fingers in a manner so sheepish that Marius almost wants to believe you. Almost. “I, ah, was going to call him first. But then I remembered that his vacation started last night and that he’s already left Stellis. So I figured that if I called him, he’d just call you, so I…”

He wouldn’t call me, Marius thinks. Vincent is smart enough to find someone else to pick you up from jail. Regular people don’t ask these kinds of favors from their boss. Especially not from their boss's boss.

“Do you know that people usually ask their friends for these things?” Marius asks. Some of his anger seeps away when he realizes how apologetic you actually are, and he moves forward in traffic the slightest. “Or family, perhaps. What you did was…” Marius tries to find a kinder word than completely inappropriate. “Was highly unusual.” He sighs. “Why didn’t you ask someone else?”

He stares at you through the corner of his eye. You’re pursing your lips, holding back tears. Again, his gaze softens.

“I don't have anyone else,” you whisper.

Marius thinks it’s strange for you to imply that you even have him, especially when he’s nothing more to you than a high-level corporate executive, one that you’ve never spoken directly to in your entire life, but he doesn’t press you any further.

Releasing the final remnants of his anger in a soft sigh, he switches lanes and decides to pull into the nearest exit.

“Darius said you were in that cell since yesterday afternoon. You haven’t had dinner yet, right?”

“No, but…”

“This traffic isn’t going anywhere. We may as well get you something to eat.”

He exits easily, pulling into a district of Stellis that he’s never been in before, and ignores your quiet sniffle. 

“Thank you,” you whisper.

Earlier, he was ignoring you out of spite. Now, he doesn’t respond because he wants to preserve your dignity.

As he focuses his attention on the district he's pulled to, ignoring the GPS which vehemently opposes everything he's doing, Marius realizes that he's pulled into a rather poor sector of Stellis. It’s filled with unhealthy fast food joints, late-night drunkards, and a bunch of loiterers who are eyeing his high-end car suspiciously.

After driving around and surveying the options, Marius sighs. 

“The only places open are these fast-food restaurants,” he says, cleanly leaving out the option of getting food from a club or anywhere else a tabloid might be able to snap a picture. “Are you okay with that?”

“Yeah!” you chirp, and Marius finds that your smile is oddly sweet. “Ah, would you be okay with that one over there? I go there a lot, and their food is...better than other fast food places.” 

Marius squints at you for a moment. He tries to recall your salary, and when he fails, he thinks of Vincent’s. Surely, you make a similar wage? You shouldn’t need to frequent fast-food restaurants like this, right?

Shaking his head, he decides not to ask about it. Things like where you eat are your business, not his, and it’s not his place to question you on your personal decisions.

He pulls up to the drive-through, somewhat relieved to find that the dine-in option isn’t even available at this hour, and lets you order whatever you want. You end up taking a meager meal, one that Marius doubts will actually fill your stomach when he can hear it growling so loudly, so when you turn to him and ask what he’ll get, he orders some fries in hopes that he can hand them off to you in case you’re still hungry. 

Minutes later, the two of you are parked on the side of the road with your respective meals in your laps. Only once you’ve finished (and after Marius is starting to pawn his fries off to you, finding that they’re rather unappealing to his pallette) does he think it’s appropriate to actually breach the subject of why you were tossed in jail.

“So,” he drawls, listening to the cool hum of the air conditioner. “Drugs, huh?”

He hears you choke on a fry.

“Th-they weren’t mine!” you blurt. “Honest, Sir, they—”

“Relax,” he says, eyes flitting down. “I’m not going to have you fired over this. Vincent wouldn’t want that. If anything, the court will decide.”

You relax a little at that, but Marius can sense that you’re still on edge.

“I...appreciate that a lot, Sir. But, really, the drugs weren’t mine. I—I’m sure there’s video evidence to prove that. I was just coming home from work when a kid told me to hold onto this bag, and—”

Marius lifts an eyebrow. He may be out of touch with the realities of the common class, but even he knows how ridiculous your story is.

“I didn’t take it, though! He handed it to me and I put it on the ground! But...but an officer saw me put it on the ground and assumed it was mine...and then...you know what happened.”

Marius sighs. You've always been a good, low-profile worker. He has no reason to believe that you'd get involved with anything bad: but he can't help but doubt you. When he next speaks, his voice is laced with hesitance. “Is there anything to prove your innocence? Pax can help get you a good lawyer, but without evidence, it’ll—”

“There is!” Your eyes are too determined to be anything other than sincere. “Or, ah, there should be. It happened right outside my apartment. I’m sure someone there has surveillance footage of what happened.”

Marius ignores the quiet “hopefully” you add to the end of that. 

“Alright,” he says, deciding that it’s not his place to decide whether or not he believes your story. “Tell me how you got my private number, then. Pax employees shouldn’t have access to that information.”

“Oh, ah…”

Your gaze turns sheepish. Marius grows even more interested in your response.

“Mr. Vincent had it written down a couple months ago. I accidentally saw it. I tried to forget, but…”

You seem to be kicking yourself over the blunder, but Marius is impressed. A mind that can remember something months after having seen it only once is a valuable thing, he thinks. It’s a waste for someone with your brain to be working as a mere assistant’s assistant.

“I’m really—”

“It’s okay,” Marius says. “You don’t need to apologize. I’m...not mad at you.”

And somehow, he really isn’t angry anymore.

The two of you finish your meal soon enough, Marius having successfully pressed his fries into your hands. It seems that you really are hungry because you down those in a manner of minutes, and the man almost regrets not having ordered more when he hears your stomach still grumbling beneath the hum of the car as he returns to the highway.

As Marius lets the GPS guide him back onto Stellis’s most frequented roads, he’s pleasantly surprised to find that all traffic is gone. He speeds down the road with a renewed vigor, somehow sidestepping the usual sleepiness that overcomes him during these kinds of drives with your idle commentary of the road, little mentions of “I once saw a turtle here” and “there used to be four lanes here, but they changed it to five” and “this mile-post had the wrong number on it for years before I reported it and highway patrol got it changed.”

If anything, there’s a faint smile on his face when he finally pulls off the freeway, almost amused by your quiet chit-chat. 

“Is this the right neighborhood?” Marius asks as he pulls into one of Stellis’s residential districts. 

“Yeah, it’s just a little further down.” You gather your purse in your lap and thank Marius for the umpteenth time.

“It's okay,” he says, slowing down. The apartments are looking poorer, now, dingier, but he tries not to let that show on his face. “Is it here?”

“Right at the end of the street,” you say, and with only a mildly concerned look on his face, Marius drives you further down the road.

His eyebrows furrow as he realizes what kind of neighborhood you live in, and he wonders if your wage truly is so poor that you have to live here, of all places. The apartment complexes here are unrenovated, a disappointing amount of them sporting broken glass or graffiti on them. Litter covers the grounds, and even in the thick, 3-AM darkness, Marius can make out hundreds of beer cans scattered across the lawns. Bushes are either dying or overgrown, and there are cigarette butts everywhere. 

Marius realizes that between his suit, his car, and his three earrings, he might have more money on him than everyone who lives here combined.

“Which...which of these apartments is yours?”

He looks around warily, quietly hoping that you’ll say it’s none of them.

“Ah, it’s the first window on the second floor of that…” you trail off as your pointer finger lands on an apartment where all lights are lit—and three masked figures stand illuminated, clearly ransacking your house.

“Oh my god,” Marius blurts, already getting his phone out. “You’re getting robbed, what the—”

“No, no!” You’re quick to place a hand on Marius’s arm before he can dial Emergency Services. “Those are, ah, just the neighborhood boys. They...they do bad things, but they’re good kids. Don’t worry. I’ll chase them out in no time, you don’t have to—”

“Are you serious?” Marius asks, dumbfounded. “This—how can you go back to a home like that? You could die, or—or—”

“Sir,” you say, looking him in the eyes with more seriousness than he’s seen from you this entire night. “With all due respect, this is the best I can afford.”

Marius falls silent at that.

You open the door silently, casting your eyes down. “Thank you again for everything,” you murmur. “I...I really appreciate it. I’ll do my best to make sure it never happens again.”

But then, Marius thinks about the weak story you gave to him earlier, where you claimed that someone handed you drugs and then left you with them, and he wonders whether it might have actually been true. Whether this neighborhood, with its burglars and alcoholism and litter, could actually present you with that reality. Whether something like that may happen again to you, or, worse, Marius thinks as he glances back into your apartment at the three masked robbers, if you could actually get hurt.

Against all better judgment, his arm snaps out. He grips your wrist instantly, not thinking about propriety or class divisions or economic status or anything other than you, one of his company’s employees, and your safety.

“Don’t go there,” he blurts. When he realizes that you’re not tearing your arm free of him, he speaks again. “At least, not while they’re there. I’ll come back here with you tomorrow to make sure you can return in a safe environment, and—”

“Sir, I can’t just get a hotel or—”

“I have two guest bedrooms. You can take your pick. Just—ah—” Marius glances out the window at the poor neighborhood you live in, and he winces. “I can’t let you go home to this. Not...not while there are robbers in your house. Please understand.”

“This...this kind of problem doesn’t just go away,” you mumble, but Marius relaxes when he sees your grip on the door loosen. “And besides, it really wouldn’t be appropriate for me to stay in your apartment.”

“Most people wouldn’t call it appropriate to call your company’s CEO to bail you out of jail,” Marius jokes, but the humor of it is lost on you.

“I…”

Your face falls.

“A—that was a joke,” Marius stutters. “I was joking.”

“Right.”

The atmosphere of the car goes awkward, made even worse by the GPS’s automated reminder that your destination is on the left, but the more Marius looks out his window, the more he decides that he can’t possibly let you return to this apartment. He’ll give you a raise if he has to, but this is something no one should be subject to.

“Alright,” you finally relent after Marius makes it clear that he won’t speak unless it’s to plead with you more. “Just for one night.”

“Just for one night,” Marius agrees, already planning how he can make sure that you have a better home to return to than this one for all future nights to come.

[moonstrider9904]

I have literally been thinking about this for months now.

I don't work in retail and I'm pretty sure we don't live in the same part of the world but I'm pretty sure this is general. I myself see it while driving - in the past months, it feels like people on the road are so much worse. So aggressive, so careless, so caught up in wanting to go fast and wanting to go first that decency (and even common sense) just goes out the window. It makes me anxious for the commute. In the case of retail, as a customer who's shopping either for groceries or whatnot, I also feel how much people are so needlessly nasty, from lacking basic manners to deliberately being mean or aggressive whenever something they don't like comes up, and they're like this towards fellow shoppers and the retail workers. If any of you work in retail, honestly, my respect. I know I could never do it. People's attitude has overall taken a lot of the enjoyment out of going out and about on any day of the week.

And I agree, times are tough, so many things are awful in the world right now, but it's absolutely not an excuse for anyone to treat others like they're nothing.

And I want to make it very clear, it is very valid for you to feel anxious about how people are behaving with others overall.

But when you think about it... these people who are acting this way to total strangers on the street? To workers in a store, people on the driveway... I think on some level it must be even sadder to be like them. Like, imagine being so bitter, so angry all the time to the point where you're nasty to anyone in whatever setting without giving it a second thought. Imagine doing this as if you were on autopilot, imagine being so numbed and desensitized that any person you mistreat on the streets is just all in another day's work. Imagine the only way of feeling you have some sort of power or control over your life is to deliberately be a bad person. Imagine not wanting to change your ways even when you know you're being an ass.

That's what all these people are like, or at least it's the conclusion I've come to. This subject is one of the main things I've battled this year. Living out on my own since January, moving by myself, it feels like not a day goes by that I don't have to deal with one a-hole or another. In my case, I used to bite back at people (picking my fights wisely, of course). And every time I did, I felt worse.

So what was I to do? Tell them to fuck themselves because it was what they deserved? That didn't feel great afterwards. Not doing anything? It felt like it wasn't an option - how the heck was I supposed to just let these idiots do whatever they want with me? It was a feeling of dread that I had to deal with for months, that I at times still feel. I can't remember a year where I've felt more exhausted.

Up until recently, it really just came down to letting them simmer in their own hellish little pot of tar. It's a whole you lie in the bed you make thing. It's the life they're leading - while it's not okay for you to have been dragged into that, it is still their life. Their making. Their decisions. That's gonna follow them wherever they go. And while you might have to deal with their crap for a while, these people will eventually leave your life. I am in no way attempting to minimize the situation, I am simply saying that they are not your problem - understanding this is what really got me to turn how I felt about moving myself around.

It's not unlike a thought that comes when you're meditating. Acknowledge it is there, and then let it go. It's not important. No need for lingering or judgment, just return to focus on you and what you're trying to accomplish.

As for the lingering bitterness after encounters with shitty people, what's helped me the most is to just protect my peace. Acknowledge that maybe dealing with this stuff could be a part of life, prepping yourself mentally, amping up the self-care, talking about it. Validating what you feel. You're certainly not alone in feeling this way.

Sending you hugs!

has anyone else who works in retail/hospitality noticed that customers recently have been worse than usual? it's always rough this time of year of course, but i have personally noticed an uptick in people being rude, aggressive and inappropriate to the point it's making me so anxious to go into work. i know that times are tough but i don't think it's fair to treat me like i'm nothing

[a19yearoldtryinherbest]

Secrets. Pt1 [Bill Hader]

Masterlist

15 Days of Hader

Day 5

Part 2

Prompt: OFC has feelings for her boss, Bill.

Pairing: Bill Hader x OFC

Warning: Hurt/confort.

A/N: Day five of 15 Days Of Hader! Requested

I feel like I could've done better but I wasn't really flowing or whatever. Part two coming tomorrow!

Also I'm sucker for that gif.

Word count: 1668

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There wasn't much to say, Amelia was completely and absolutely in love with Bill. It had been four years since they had met on the set of the movie Popstar. She was on the dress department and had an amazing time filming that movie, and even if he wasn't too long there she found him nice to be with. She had thought he was cute, funny and an incredibly good person.

She didn't think much of it though, he was married and she didn't really knew him. But thing took a turn when she started working for him in Barry. At first she thought he was just the lead, then she found out he had created it and was also writing and directing. And, working for him as the head of the costume department, she realized how great he was.

He was a talented actor, she knew that, and had recently found out he was an amazing writer but discussing the characters to create their costumes she found out he was a great director, and an even better person. He had his own ideas, good ideas, but he wasn't closed off about improving them, he understood how far his knowledge and ideas could take them and that gave him the possibility to see when someone knew better. She was mesmerized. And her previous little crush developed into something deeper and more complicated.

After the first season was done Bill texted her every now and then, trying to keep in touch. He was a great person, so she dismissed as a thing he did with everyone because he was friendly and caring, she was wrong. He had taken a bit of a special interest on her. Even when they met, he had seen the nice, sweet way she would treat people, how funny she was and how cute she looked when she was serious while discussing costumes or fixing some problem, that time he rebuked himself for thinking it. But then, a few years later she was working for him and she looked even cuter when she was serious, or so he thought, and the things that made him feel like an ass for looking at her like that before weren't at play anymore, but he still felt guilty since he was technically her boss.

She felt like and idiot every time she caught herself smiling while thinking of him, she felt more of an idiot when she realized she was in love with him, so she procured to keep it under control for the second season but by day two of pre-production she realized she couldn't do it, and she couldn't face her feelings either, she couldn't tell him either. She felt trapped but she tried not to let it show. It was too late to jump ship without it being suspicious, so she planned ahead and got another job at another network by the last few weeks of filming. She wasn't starting there for another month but it gave her security to give Bill and HBO the notification of her departure.

Bill was confused to say the least, he was sure she was happy working there but when he contemplated the idea of her leaving because she was uncomfortable with him he felt his stomach shrink.

He felt a soft knock on the fake frame of the door at Gene's office — Hey, boss. — playfully said D'arcy before noticing his concern face — Are you alright? — she asked, entering the set and completely changing her tone.

— Yeah, just- Yeah. — D'arcy looked at him, completely unconvinced — Amelia is leaving and it sucks. — there was a second of silence before he added — And I think it's my fault.

The girl furrowed and stepped a little closer, intrigued — Why would it be your fault?

— I think I made her uncomfortable. — he rubbed the back of her neck, feeling self conscious because of what he was going to say — I'm really into her but I didn't mean for it to drive her out of the show.

D'arcy looked at him surprised — Did you make any... moves on her or something? — she asked just to check, but she knew Bill well enough, he wasn't a lady's man like that, he was sweet and caring.

— No. — he assured, his eyes still darting away on someplace in to room.

— Then why would she be uncomfortable?

— I don't know, maybe I was being creepy. — he spit out without even thinking it twice. And the the doubt dawned on him. Was he being creepy? If he was he didn't mean it. His mind started racing with guilt and D'arcy didn't know how to get him out of the rabbit hole he was getting himself into — God, I'm doing this storyline about Sally and sexism in the industry and then I'm behaving like one of this asshole myself. — he slithered a hand trough his hair in nervous manner — I'm a fucking hypocrite. — he lamented.

D'arcy decided she had seen enough and snapped him back to reality — Hey, Bill, stop. — she said and he looked at her, concern was all over his face — You're not like that. — she assured and he looked at the ground with embarrassment — I'm sure it's not because you like her that she's going. Just- — she looked around trying to think of any good ideas — Ask her at the wrapping party, ok? — he looked at her, unsure — I'm sure she'll give you a reason that's got nothing to do with you being creepy, because you're not.

So he followed her plan, because she seemed confident and he didn't know what else to do, he waited for the party and gave the duty of the speech to Alec.

— Sadly one of us is parting away from the show this season. — Alec introduced as everyone was looking at him, standing tall near the bar — Amelia Lancoponi is an amazing person and an even better costume designer so let's give her a big round of applause as she looks for new horizons. — everyone applauded and she raised her glass in a sing of appreciation — We will miss you. Would you like to say a few words?

She shyly smiled and was about to turn the offer down but a few of her co-worker and friends pushed her towards Alec. She reluctantly walked the rest of the way and gave Alec a short hug and a thank you before facing the crowd — Hi, yeah. These have been some amazing two years and I really enjoyed myself. — she smiled and looked at the faces looking at her, seeing everyone smiling, everyone but Bill, he was serious and had a sad look on his eyes. She swallowed thick and tried to look a way but she was stuck on his eyes — I hope I get the pleasure of working with any of you again. You're all amazing — she was able to look away long enough to raise her glass and then drink it.

Everyone started dispersing and Bill tried to walk towards her but she scrambled on the crowd. He let out a sight and decided to wait a little. He saw her drink a little more than any other time he had seen her drink. He felt. A bit worried. But then, the opportunity of clearing up everything presented itself.

She was standing alone beside a door that lead to the a deserted back garden. He slowly walked towards her — Hey. — he mumbled, Amelia turned around to face him, the world spinning a little. Her head was buzzing but she wasn't completely drunk yet.

She smiled when she saw him — There, handsome. — she said, forgetting all about formal etiquette and the fact that she was dead set on keeping her mouth shut about her feelings. She knew she had said it just because she had been drinking and became a flirt after a few glasses — How is it going?

— Fine. — he said and looked at her a bit curious — Are you ok?

— Yep, never been better. — she said before leaning on him. He let her, it felt nice and she seemed to enjoy it — You're nice. — she mumbled.

— Thank you. — even though he liked the proximity and the praise, he felt awkward, he didn't know what to do with himself. She was clearly drunk so he wouldn't do anything, especially unprompted.

She looked up to him, the rest of his body still pressed to him. She let her hands hold her up by pressing them against his chest and then pouted a little — No, I'm serious. You're nice, and cute, and very talented. You're great. — she leaned her head back on his chest, moving her hands to the sides of his torso in a awkward hug before adding — And hot. — she had sobered up a little but she decided she would keep going like if she was really drunk, just to save herself the embarrassment.

— You really think so? — he said, looking a bit down, testing if he could see her face, he couldn't until she looked back up.

Their lips were a few inches from each other and she felt like if all she could do was look at him and breath. She gathered all the strength she could just to say — Absolutely. — and there they were again in complete silence, looking at each other, waiting. And then, she couldn't wait any longer, she leaned in and kissed him. He kissed her back, holding her close, he put his right hand on the back of her neck and the other one on her back, and right then she knew she would be spending the night with him.

[thehandsomeasshole]

@starttheanarchy from X

"Then why use them for a job they are not meant for, just keep them to their original purpose and make something new that works for what you need. And because quality work will save in the long term with less repairs, replacements, and malfunctions over all. And your welcome." The wide grin could be heard in her last three words. She was raised to have some manners after all. "And DT could probably do it as long as the load weight isn't over hmmm..." She drifts off as fingers tap together, mental math being calculated. "Eight tonne? Maybe less. I'm not exactly sure on that front since I actually haven't tested his limits on that front. Hmm something to test another day." Her eyes drifted over the floating form of her robot as it stayed ever vigilant of her surroundings. She knew it could do some heavy lifting since she had used previous versions to move things in the junk yard.

Eyes roll at yet another reason on why to avoid corporations, and another as he seems to enjoy being a pest.

"Actually last thing I did was fix up several things that were in disrepair in Overlook, since too much of the population of that poor town have the skull-shivers and had no access to the medicine. Something about repair tickets being ignored or something like that. And I didn't come here for the shallow reason of becoming rich, I'm opening the vault to try and prevent a very clearly corrupt corporation from monopolization on something that might be a blessing or a curse." If she had it her way, she would keep it locked forever since no one has a full understanding of the capabilities and issues of Eridium that began to spawn after the first one opened. To many variables and yet everyone wanting to just add more into the chaos.

"Yes, yes. The definition fits, but you seem to think I am on the same level of depravity like the Fleshrippers or the Bloodshots. To which all I can say is, rude and incorrect. And princess? Really?" That got her to shoot a glare back at the space station.

"Not everyone. Yes there are people who still deserve a chance to be treated like a decent human because they are. But you seem to be hard at work for making it so those people are just as dead as the rest. And you are right, no one has used an army of robots to lay siege on a planet in the name of their own ideals. They used armies of people, and all of them were considered like a plague upon humanity in the context of history. Dictators, tyrants, oppressors, authoritarians, monsters. Wonder how will you be written down."

At the laughter, and how it grew as she talked about what started this whole hot mess off for her on planet side, it made her skin itch with irritation. Out of everything on this fucking disaster hellscape, it was Hyperion that tried to kill her first. Sure others might have had to deal with bandits at other stops, but she went from off the inter-space shuttle to the train with no issues.

It was fair to say Jack was the first person to try to actually kill her. Even when escaping Eden-5 they were aiming for capture to make her life a living hell instead of a death sentience. It was one of the reasons she was trying so damn hard to keep surviving at this point, out of spite for the asshole who tried to kill them after using some shitty signs to inform them of their supposed doom.

Hands were clenched into fists and she could feel a chill roll through her body. It was like the ice never left at times.

A deep breath as she turns her face to the sun that burns the landscape, she is fine and alive. And she isn't going to follow his script and get pissed. She isn't going to scream like everyone else on this planet. The Mechromancer is going to do what she always does, go against what is expected.

"How about you tell me something else instead. You worked with the Crimson Raiders? What happened? What is the full story, from beginning to end?" Her voice is calm and even, one that seems to hold no judgment and wanting to listen. And she does, after all there isn't much information on the group. Gaige had no plans to jump ship, but she honestly had as much trust for them as she did for most anyone on this planet that wasn't shooting at her. Eden-5 taught her that the only person she could ever trust was her father and the friends she created with her own two hands.

"No bullshit, no propaganda. Just your side of the story. I have time."

Jack did smile at the little sass she threw his way, despite himself. "Well, empty, those things weigh nearly five tonnes. So, nice try. I guess." He chose to ignore her initial comment about using the loaders for their designed purpose. There was not enough patience in Jack's body to unpack all of that right now.

"Oh, the vaults are definitely a curse. But, once you get the ball rolling around here, there's not really anything anyone can do to stop it." Jack shrugged lightly, scanning through the first four pages while he spoke, "You just… gotta do what you can before another idiot comes along and screws everything up even worse than you did."

"Nah, you're right. Princess made me feel a little icky. How about… I- I'll get back to you, I'll think of something real good." he laughed lightly, beginning to scribble down some notes on the papers before he continued. 

"You sure as hell act like 'em, you and your bandit buddies. Just exactly how many things or people have you killed since you got to Pandora? Hey, look, I'll even give wildlife a pass cause- Well, you could kill a hundred skags one day and the next day there'd be two hundred more. Let's just focus on people. Maybe you're not running around screaming about meat bicycles, and maybe it is a little rude of me, but it's also correct. You just don't wanna admit it."

"The people who are still decent in this universe are few and far, kid. In my entire life, I've only met two people who were truly selfless." One's dead and the other’s… worse. "But, you do realise that if it wasn't me up here, it'd just be someone else? Hell, Dahl and Atlas would still be plowing through planets like they're big balls of paper and slaughtering everyone in their way while going off about fighting for those planets' freedoms and peace."

"Ooh, I love tyrant! Has a nice ring to it, don't you think? Always considered myself more notorious, than anything else." The sharp, almost humorous-sounding edge to his voice gave the impression he was teasing her, "Kid, it's nothin' I haven't heard before. You really think I'm gonna be kicking it anytime soon, anyway? Nah. Nope, not happening! I got way too much to do."

Jack's brows knitted together and slowly raised in a mixture of surprise and confusion. Sure, maybe she didn't care, he'd just never had a person who hated him ask for his side of the story before.

He decided not to express his shock.

"So, I'd been working on Helios since it launched, I was, uh-... A- a programming and engineering specialist for Hyperion for ten, fifteen years, maybe. I was in charge of most of the construction, getting together schematic proposals to give to my bosses, all that kinda shit."

"The first time I met Lilith and Roland was when Dahl decided they wanted to massacre all the workers on Helios and take it over. They… They didn't discriminate. If you worked for Hyperion, they'd gun you down without even batting an eye. They killed so many of the workers up here, I knew them all personally. We- we didn't even have a real military then, for God's sake! They shot workers out of the sky when they were trying to evacuate. That was the level of murderous psychopaths we were trying to deal with. We defended as best as we could, but even the freaking loaders weren't weaponised yet, I had like… Six hours to get them into a position to defend themselves, and you bet your ass I did it. I guess that actually answers your earlier question, too. I used them for a job they weren't made for out of necessity, the damn Lost Legion shot at them when they were running away, too. Assholes."

"I managed to get the vault hunter's I'd hired down to Elpis in a moonshot, think you've met a couple of them. They got to Concordia thanks to-" Shit. He hadn't actually thought about Janey in a while. He'd ask Athena how they were both doing, but she'd probably curb stop his head before he could even say hello. "-uh, this mechanic. They asked Lilith and Roland to help cause, y'know, Dahl had stuck a jamming signal somewhere on that moon and I couldn't work Helios's defences until it was shut off. They knew people on Helios were dying, and they said no."

"They only started to help when their lives were in immediate danger and Dahl got control of the moonshot laser and start firing away at Elpis. I really did trust 'em to help us, y'know? Like they promised they would."

"I guess they kinda did. We managed to get control of the laser again and… They blew it up. They nearly took the whole space station down just because they didn't want Hyperion having it. That stupid laser could've saved Pandora, you know. It could've- The blasts were so concentrated we could've wiped out an entire bandit settlement and their nice neighbours next door would've barely felt the ground tremble. I'd worked so hard on that laser. You have any idea how hard it was to make? How much progress they destroyed when they blew that damn thing up? A lot! A whole, freaking lot and-... Sorry. Off topic. Uh…"

He made a small noise, "Oh, yeah. Anyway, after that it was just a rush trying to get to the vault before anyone else did. Dahl was already there, but after what happened with those two I wouldn't have been surprised if they got to the vault first just so we couldn't."

"But, we did. My vault hunters took care of the- The Empyrean Sentinel, I think they called it. Big bastard, more human than the other vault monsters. Freaky stuff."

"So, the Sentinel was dead, and we finally got to the vault relic. It looked like… Nothing. Very underwhelming. Just a weird little floating vault symbol. I decided to touch it and-..." Jack went quiet for a while, his knuckles growing white with how tightly he was gripping the armrests of his chair, "And I saw… everything."

He felt sick even talking about it. The pit in his stomach growing deeper and he knew if he didn't stop soon he'd fall into a full blown breakdown. So, he took a shaky breath in and continued.

"Wasn't long after that when Lilith made her grand entrance. She destroyed the relic and- blasted the fuck out of my face. You ever had your face branded by some freaky eridian technology? It sucks. Real bad."

He let his head drop back, and he rubbed his eyes, "So, there's my side. Think I can quit my day job and become a professional story teller?" Though he tried to make a joke, the fire in his voice seemed to have dissipated. He just sounded… tired.

[my-creative-hell]

Idiot scientists

It had been a week since Iden had first booked out of work with a nasty case of the flu which didn’t seem to want to dissipate, leaving him stuck in bed and useless all week, leaving Hannah to do all the work he was missing, doubling her work load, and cutting her break time to a glorious zero hours a day.

A week since Hannah has had the time to have a meal, a week since she’s been able to properly hydrate, and a week since she’s been able to have more than an hours worth of sleep, not that she had even been getting that, the stress of jeopardising their jobs weighing down on her shoulders like a leaded weight.

By that Sunday night, a full week since Iden got sick, she looked terrible. Her hair was messy and bushy on her head, haphazardly pulled back from her face. Her eyes were sunken and had dark rings of purple around them, making her look like she had two black eyes. Her skin was paler than normal, and the normal natural flush to her face had dissipated, leaving her looking dead. All of this coupled with the fact that she looked a little lighter than normal, made for a horrific sight as she worked in the lab that night.

Though nothing she was doing was any different than usual, checking all of the levels and readings for Grave and her charts, reporting the numbers in the most accurate fashion, and typing behavioural reports, something was clearly off.

Her movement were slower than normal, indecisive and clumsy, hands seeming to shake lightly as she moves around the lab, recording all the necessary findings. She was good at feigning that she was okay, she had been doing it all week to fool her co-workers, but now it was at a dangerous point.

Even Grave could see it now, watching Hannah form inside her cage as she works, processing the horrible outwards appearance as she looks down at the poor person, opening her mouth to speak in her own language of beeps and noises.

“-.-- --- ..- .----. .-. . / -. --- - / --- -.- .- -.-- .-.-.-” (You’re not okay.) Grave remarks bluntly as she looks down at Hannah, who glances up at her momentarily before returning to her work, though her expression darkened ever so slightly.

“I’m fine, just a little tired is all.” Hannah makes light, a forced laugh rolling off of her tongue. But it didn’t touch her face at all. Her lips lifted, but her eyes stayed dull and tired, the light in them seemingly faded and dimmed. She didn’t even believe herself.

“-.. .-. .. -. -.- / .-- .- - . .-. .-.-.- / --- .-. / .. .----. -- / -.-. .- .-.. .-.. .. -. --. / -.-- --- ..- / .- / -- . .- -. / -. .- -- . .-.-.-” (Drink water. Or I’m calling you a mean name.) Grave threatens the small person in front of her, though it doesn’t seem to do much. Another flick of her dull eyes in graves direction, though nothing was really behind them.

Another laugh is forcefully shoved out of Hannah’s chest once Grave speaks, it sounded gravely and forced, grating on Hannah’s ears.

“Oh yeah, what are you gonna call me?” She asks, smiling, though it looked so tired it was easier mistook for a grimace than anything remotely positive. Hannah knew her façade of normalcy was weaker than it had been all week, the tiredness, hunger and dehydration were catching up slightly, and she had to admit it. But she was too stubborn and worried to possibly drop the façade she had created, even if she knew her smiles no longer lit up her face as they once would.

“-.-- --- ..- .----. .-. . .-.-.- .-.-.- .-.-.-” (You’re…) Grave paused as she thought it over, softer beeps escaping her mouth as she mulled over finding the correct word to use to describe Hannah. “-.. . .... -.-- -.. .-. .- - . -.. -.-.-- -.-.-- -.-.--” (DEHYDRATED!!!) Grave exclaims, face melting into a smug smile, proud of her words. It almost made Hannah smile, almost. But she couldn’t anymore.

Hannah sighs, and it sounds broken, the air coming out in a fractured breath as she looks at Grave, the façade dropping slightly as she somehow manages to look even worse than before.

“You aren’t wrong, but I don’t have the time to get a drink, so I’ve just gotta deal with it.” She explains, though the words taste rightfully sour in her mouth.

This was a fucked up situation, Hannah was aware of this. But currently, there was nothing she could do to prevent it when both her and Iden’s jobs were on the line.  Companies in the business of capturing and studying cryptid creatures weren’t exactly in the business of treating staff fairly, especially lower down ones.

Without answering, she can see Grave sliding something out of her cage. Upon inspection, it seems she had managed to steal a water bottle from one of the fridges or another room and was currently sliding it to Hannah to drink.

A slightly genuine smile graces Hannah’s face at that, though she still looked tired and weak. She slowly reaches out and takes the bottle as she looks at Grave.

“You shouldn’t steal things from the fridges you know-” Hannah chastises lightly as she opens the water, taking a small sip, not wanting to irritate her currently very empty stomach by suddenly dumping water into it.

The water felt like a blessing as Hannah feels it travelling down her throat, soothing her dry voice box as she swallows, though the sensation of it dropping into her empty stomach was less than pleasant. Still, beggars cant be choosers, Hannah reminds herself as she takes a few more short drinks from the bottle.

“.... . .-. . / - .... . .. .-. / ..-. --- --- -.. / .. ... -.-.-- / .. - .----. ... / .-- .... .- - / - .... . -.-- / -.. . ... . .-. ...- . .-.-.-” (But its fun seeing the other people wonder where their food it! Its what they deserve.) Grave justifies, showing her distaste for the other scientists working at the facility, who treated her less than kindly.

Hannah sighs again, sounding more tired. While she understood Grave’s actions, she couldn’t help but worry over the possible consequences of said actions.

“That may by the case, but if you get caught, they could tranq you again…” Hannah explains, the agitation she was feeling worsening slightly. The other scientists often liked to tranquillise Grave when they worked with her, to keep her docile, and it stressed Hannah out.

“.. / -.- -. --- .-- / .-- .... . -. / - .... . -.-- .----. .-. . / --. --- -. . .-.-.- / .. / .-. . -- . -- -... . .-. / - .... . / ... -.-. .... . -.. ..- .-.. . ... / ...- . .-. -.-- / .-- . .-.. .-.. .-.-.-” (I know when they’re gone, I remember the schedules very well.) Grave reminds Hannah, though that does little to quell the stress inside of her. She had been on edge and stressed all week, and it was no different now. She looks at Grave quietly, her voice low when she speaks.

“I know, just… please don’t risk it. If anything happens to you because of me…” Hannah doesn’t finish the sentence, not wanting to think on the matter any more. Seeing Grave on tranquillisers was a punch I the gut everytime, to see her eyes so unfocused and her words so unhinged and sluggish was something she never wanted to experience again if she could help it.

“... .-.. . . .--. -.-.-- / -. --- .-- -.-.-- / --. . - / .. -. / ..-. ..- .-. -.-.--” (Sleep! Now! Get in fur!) Grave’s simple demands were clear and precise for Hannah, she clearly could see they were tired, but Hannah sighs. The amount of work she had left to do, sleep was out of the question for today and maybe even tomorrow until Iden could come back in and balance the workload between them again.

Another painfully fake smile appears on Hannah’s face, looking abnormal and twisted.

“Cant, got work to finish, and if I don’t, nothing good is gonna happen.” She explains simply, though the urge to just give up and accept the potential firing they would receive was almost too much for her. Grave’s fur would no doubt be soft and comfortable, but the risk was too high for Hannah.

Sad and annoyed beeps and noises are coming from the large cryptid in the cage, each one making Hannah feel a little guiltier as she listens to them, the worry clearer with each noise.

She could feel her body starting to involuntarily shake as the weight of all her issues came crashing down on her. The tiredness, hunger, dehydration and just general overworking starting to press onto her.

A few more distressed beeps and some small noises from the cameras observing them in the room tell Hannah that Grave has remotely shut off all the cameras. Before she can say anything to Grave, the large cryptid is leaving her cage and storming towards her.

“Grave, what are you ding?! Please, please, I have to get this done!” Hannah pleads as the cryptid approaches her. But Graves eyes are hard, and she isn’t listening.

“-.-- --- ..- / -. . . -.. / - --- / . .- - / .- -. -.. / ... .-.. . . .--. .-.-.-” (You need to eat and sleep.) Is all Grave says as she Picks Hannah up in a swift motion, making Hannah’s head spin and become light-headed as her vision cuts out for a few seconds, before she tries one last time to plead, worry overtaking her.

“But, but-” Hannah tries, though she doesn’t know what to say at this point. Her head is swimming in fuzziness and her ears are ringing as Grave carries her gently in her arms.

“-. --- / -... ..- - ... -.-.--” (No buts!) Grave warns as she carries Hannah softly, Hannah sinking into her fur slightly. But the words sound a bit more distorted than usual, fading in and out of Hannah’s hearing as she tries to listen.

“Nnnnnn.” Hannah would like to speak, but her head is swimming and reality seems to be out of touch, and all she can do is make a sound to try to convey that she doesn’t feel right.

Grave slows down slightly as she walks Hannah in the direction of the kitchen, not wanting to jostle her too much, instead opting to take bigger steps to speed up progress in a better manner, focused on getting Hannah to the kitchen to eat something before forcing her to fucking sleep.

Hannah can feel the shift in momentum, but her brain is swimming too much for her to acknowledge it or really recognise what is currently happening, her body giving up completely on keeping up her façade and allowing everything to sink into her and affect her immensely now.

The noises she can hear slightly shift as Grave presumably enters the kitchen, her padded bear like feet gently thumping on the tiled floor as she moves.

Gently, more gentle than you would ever assume she could be, Grave sets Hannah on the counter in the kitchen, where Hannah proceeds to lie down, not trusting her own ability to sit up in the state she’s in.

Grave carefully moves around the kitchen that is much smaller than her, finding a big container of soup in one of the cupboards she opts to give to Hannah, as she figures the small human may be too exhausted to actually chew food.

She carefully puts it in the microwave and sets it all up, waiting anxiously as it heats up, the seconds feeling like hours as she worries about her small friend.

Hannah tries to stay awake as Grave heats it up, not wanting to cause any more stress to her than she already has, her eyes heavy and tired as she watches the microwave spin.

When the microwave stops, Grave almost pulls the entire door off in her eagerness to get the soup out of it. She gently grabs the soup and finds a spoon in the kitchen before attempting to give some to Hannah.

Before remembering Hannah is currently lying down. Grave lightly pushes Hannah into a sitting position with her hand, holding her there with it as she begins to spoon soup into her mouth.

Hannah leans heavily into Grave’s hand as she uses all her energy to accept the food and swallow. The soup runs hot and uncomfortable down her throat, but she can feel the vacant feeling in her stomach beginning to leave as the empty space is filled with the hot soup.

The existing panic in Grave rises slightly seeing how much Hannah is relying on her to stay up and eat right now, and she bites her tongue. It wasn’t bad enough to start making upset noises, but it might get that way soon.

Hannah’s stomach had shrunk from not eating all week, and some weight had dropped off of her, making her short stature look even smaller than it was. It didn’t take long before the soup lost its welcoming feeling, starting to make her stomach twist with something else, making her panic slightly at the thought of throwing up in her state.

Not much food has been eaten before Hannah’s stomach was concerning her too much, and the very real possibility of being sick was closing in.

“Nnnnnnnnnnnnnn” This was all the noise Hannah could make to try to signify to Grave to stop trying to feed her anymore, before there were serious consequences.

Grave seems to listen, as she moves the spoon away and puts it down, concern written on her features.

“-.-- . ... ..--..” (Yes?) She questions, looking down at Hannah in concern. Hannah uses the remaining strength she has to move her head a tiny bit, forming a tiny shaking of her head as she looks up at Grave.

‘Nnnnnnnnn.” She tries to talk, but nothing but noise can come out, and she can only hope Grave understands.

“-. --- / -- --- .-. . .-.-.- / --- -.- .- -.-- .-.-.-” (No more. Okay.) Grave nods and Hannah lets out a small sigh and naturally leans into Graves hand more, her energy all gone, leaving her feeling more tired than words can describe.

“... .-.. . . .--. .-.-.-” (Sleep.) Is all Grave says as she moves her off the counter gently, carrying her again and letting her sink into her fur. Hannah’s worries still plague her mind, causing her to whine.

Grave only repeats the same word with a little more fire behind it, making Hannah huff as she realises she’s lost the battle, allowing her eyes to close and her body to relax into Grave, falling asleep almost immediately, her breathing evening out to be slow and shallow, making Grave very happy.

Grave goes back into her cage, holding Hannah as she sleeps through the rest of the shift, through to the morning, when other workers can be heard filtering in the doors.

Grave hears the door to her lab open and backs into the corner of her cage, pretending to sleep, as if she hadn’t been watching over Hannah the entire night.

She hears Iden enter the room, finally feeling better from his flu. He almost immediately notices them and walks over, taking in his twins pallid, tired and thinner appearance.

He lowers his voice to a whisper as he speaks, though the fury he feels at seeing his twin like this is not contained well.

“I know you’re awake, you wanna tell me what’s been going on while I was off?” He directs the whispered question at Grave.

“... .... . / -. . . -.. . -.. / ..-. --- --- -.. / .- -. -.. / .-- .- - . .-. / .- -. -.. / .-. . ... - .-.-.- / ... .... . / --. --- - / .. - / .- .-.. .-.. .-.-.-” (She needed food and water and rest. She got it all.) Grave says bluntly, opening their many eyes to look back at Iden, Hannah dead to the world in their arms. Iden narrows his eyes, visibly angry.

“They’ve been overworking her, huh?” He asks, slight venom in his voice as he speaks, flicking his eyes towards the door of the lab.

“-.-- . ... .-.-.-” (Yes.) The word is blunt and harsh off of Grave’s tongue, causing Iden to sigh in response.

“Those bastards, they knew she wouldn’t say no…” He frowns and pinches the bridge of his nose. “Thank you for looking after her and forcing her to eat and sleep.” He adds, looking at Grave in appreciation.

Iden sits in front of the cage that Grave is inside, fed up already with his ridiculous co-workers, and ready to murder all of them if he was honest, he didn’t understand how they could have allowed Hannah to do this to herself.

Grave smiles at Iden, her wide array of teeth showing, making Iden automatically smile back at her genuine expression.

 After a not-so-civilised talk with his higher ups, and a threat to throw hands, Iden managed to convince them to half the hours they worked when working alone, so this could never happen again to his twin, all the while Grave was watching over the small human carefully, making sure they were safe.

[inthesummerswelter]

recipe for disaster: chapter two

Chapter Two: Basil

 He always comes and bothers her when she’s trying to get some work done.

Penn deliberately tip-toes around Ashton when he’s deeply in the throes of studying, placing little juice glasses at his elbow and sliding a plate of homemade garlic bread when he lets out a particularly frustrated fuck this shit goddamn out into the crisp air.

(She learned early on that small gestures like that were the best way to deal, considering that asking him how things were going was greeted with either glares and discontented mumbles or an hour-long lecture on how absurd higher education is that she really didn’t have the time to listen to.)

But, no. He can’t return the favor.

Always poking his fucking head in the small greenhouse on the terrace – an attachment that Penn had to beg the landlord to fund, with the promises of fresh fruits and veg year-round – when she’s trying to keep to her watering schedule.

He’ll sneak up on her and stick his cold nose on her neck, causing her to slosh the watering can’s contents all down her front, or tell her that she’s got something on her face when she’s pulling weeds, smearing dirt on her cheek when she turns to look at him.

And she’ll go to try to wipe it off and only make it worse, because her hands are already covered with soil, and he just stands there and sniggers at her.

Five years old in a grown man’s body.

So, Penn really shouldn’t be surprised when she’s yanked backwards by the suspenders on her gardening overalls, then, but she stumbles anyway, a yelp escaping her lips as her trowel goes flying off into the bed beside her.

“Fuck, Penn, get a hold of yourself!”

He says it with a smile tracing the words, the bastard.

She turns around, whacking him in the chest – which admittedly hurts her hand more than it should have – and relishing in his wince of pain, even though Penn knows it’s been faked.

Ashton’s hair’s a bit more mussed than usual, which is saying something, but it’s also a bit, well, different.

She steps closer to him, straddling the rows of soil, and squints. “Did you get a haircut?”

Reflexively, his hand goes up to shuffle through it, and there’s a touch of uncertainty on his face, too, which Penn finds quite strange.

“Well, not just one hair. Quite a few, I think.”

She turns back around, ignoring that poor excuse for a dad joke, and starts to pick up the beets she’s been unearthing and tosses them into the colander sitting on the gravel path.

“It looks good. What’s up? You never bother me unless it’s something importan - oh, wait.”

She lets the end of the sentence drawl off lazily, stretching the kinks out of her spine.

Hearing his bark of laughter behind her, Penn smiles to herself - a secret little grin that only tilts up the corners of her mouth – but she makes sure not to let him see. It would go straight to his head.

Excitement laces his voice as he says, “It’s autumn now. First day and all, and it’s getting nice and brisk outside, and I thought we could maybe go out and get coffee and such.”

He ends the thought firmly, much more of a statement than a question, because he and Penn both know she’s definitely going to say yes.

It’s autumn. The season of pumpkin-spice and cinnamon and chai and anise and rich, earthy flavors that send Penn’s head spinning in the best possible way.

The way the sunlight filters through the panes of glass forming the walls of the greenhouse hides the truth of the colder winds, Penn soon finds out, as she and Ashton step over the threshold and back out onto the terrace, making their way towards Penn’s flat.

They hunch towards each other instinctively, elbows brushing, and Penn’s regretting the thin long-sleeve she’s got on now. Ashton kicks the back of her foot accidentally, muttering, “oops,” and Penn just nudges her elbow into his ribs.

The colander of beets is dropped unceremoniously on the kitchen counter, to be washed later, and Cardy opens one bleary eye from where she and Clove are lying on the day’s mail.

Penn clucks her tongue at them after letting herself relish in the warmer atmosphere, and Clove’s tongue lolls out.

She decides right then and there to take them along, so she opens a drawer in the kitchen and throws two leads in Ashton’s general direction.

He catches them in the face.

“I’m assuming we’re taking the scamps with us today, then?”

She mumbles out a yes around the scarf she’s got gripped between her teeth, caught up in searching for her mittens and hat, and Ashton huffs, getting down on his knees to complete the task. Found, mittens, hat, and scarf get tossed onto the counter beside the beets as Penn exchanges her gardening clogs for proper boots, lacing them up as fast as she can.

“Okay, ready,” she says, slipping hands through the sleeves of her coat, flipping her hair out from where it’s caught under her collar, and pulling on the necessary woolen accessories.

“Jesus, it’s just a walk, not a march to death-row!”

Ashton’s practically lying on the floor, wrestling with Clove in vain to clip the lead onto his collar. Penn shares a look with Cardy, who’s already prepped and perked up considerably, considering that the word walk generally means a treat of some sort.

Finally, what seems like ages later, a sudden click and an exclamation of victory lets Penn know that Ashton’s caught himself a pup.

Of course, Clove soon catches on to the concept of treats himself and practically drags all of them down the five flights of stairs leading to the outside world.

The Shelties trot along happily in front of Ashton and Penn, pausing every so often to snuffle along an interesting piece of pavement, giving them a good leisurely pace at which to wander along to their favorite bakery.

When they go out together – which isn’t often, considering that Ashton’s classes and her work schedule aren’t really cohesive – he’s an idiot.

And by an idiot, Penn, of course, means that he’s an absolute child. Always grabbing at her hand and pointing at something shiny and colourful that catches his attention, or hunching over to whisper more terrible dad jokes in her ear, eyebright and full of laughter. So much, that they get stopped on the streets and asked where they met and how long they’ve been together.

He usually butts in before Penn can answer, twining their fingers together and inventing a convoluted story on the spot about how he rescued her from a burning building or something like that.

(She doesn’t actually know what he says. She usually tunes out his tales and instead concentrates on how his hand flexes in her own and how his eyebrows smush together after she pinches his side.)

There’s a lot of ridiculous pet names, too, normally. Things like sweetums, honeycakes, and muffin, to name a few. Generally gag-inducing and sugary enough to rot some molars.

And when she wrinkles her nose at his blatant overacting, he just smiles back at his, dimples poking into his cheeks as he prods her nose with a finger. Which she, of course, bites.

(He always fakes a grimace and ruffles her hair, much to the amusement of the inquirer.)

Eventually, when some nice young girls a few years younger than them ask the inevitable question – after they had entered the shop and Ashton had plucked off Penn’s beanie and shoved it crookedly on his own head, mirroring his slanted smile - Penn takes a stand.

Ashton’s momentarily distracts by the display of scones in the bakery’s shelves, so she jumps in immediately, rattling off their usual order and then turning back to the girls.

“I saved him from drowning,” she says, entirely serious, fingers curled around her customary to-go cardboard cup of cocoa.

And, it’s true, too.

Well, sort of.

They gasp and begin to press her for more information, but she holds up a hand to her mouth and tells them that he sometimes gets flashbacks, so she can’t really say much more while he’s around. They’re out of the door long before he straightens up again, and Penn’s sure that he’s left a few more fingerprints on the glass cases.

The current worker in the shop – Lord’s Oven, as the locals know it – already has their order memorized and boxes it up within minutes. She thanks Michael, complimenting him on the stripe of blue he’s recently added into his hair, and picks up the simple white box, carrying it over to a table situated right on the edge of the outdoor patio area that the shop recently opened.

The scent of lemon-poppyseed muffins and pumpkin ginger-snap biscuits wafts up from the opened box, and Penn smiles when she sees that Michael’s thrown in a few slices of the spiced upside-down apple bundt cake for free.

He’s a sweet kid, really, for his slightly daunting exterior.

Ashton’s already reaching one large paw in, not a hint of manners about him as he practically tears through the pretty packaging ribbon still trapped around the edges, and Penn smacks his hand away. She shushes him as he begins to protest, and then he frowns down at the top of her head, grumbles,  and steals a sip of her peppermint hot chocolate.

Prat.

  Ironically enough, it was the first day of autumn, two years prior, that they’d met. Not the autumn that it always says on the calendars, the date that comes and goes with little mention. No, the real first day of autumn that steals the breath from your lungs and hands it up for the brisk wind to waltz around the burning trees.

It was a day that caught Penn by surprise, as many of the season-changes do. She’s out on the terrace, sweeping up and trying to keep the new space clean.

Looking at the little dial on the watch that she’ll eventually lose in a month, she sees that it’s her one-week anniversary of moving into this rooftop flat, and her brush-work gets a bit more chipper.

It’s exhilarating, being out on her own for the first time in what feels like ages, getting a proper job and a proper start at a new life.

Penn’s shuffling about with her broom, clearing away the cobwebs and dead leaves left from the lack of inhabitants, trying to scope things out up here. She hasn’t had time to explore the outdoor space all week, considering the long hours she’s been working at the restaurant. The terrace itself can’t be very large. It spans a small gap in between the neighboring flat and hers, but, as she puts up her thumb to judge the distance, she thinks that there might be room for a small greenhouse.

Maybe only big enough for two benches or raised beds, but that’s definitely enough to grow her own herbs and maybe start a small veg patch, something that Gran would definitely approve of.

“Fresh is best,” she would say, puttering about her own blocks of tilled soil in her back lot, warden of the tiny gravel-bed streets that wound their way around her city of plants. The bean trellises were skyscrapers to Penn’s young eyes, leafy towers that sprung out of the ground like green magic, and the tomato cages exotic, with the circles of metal modern art.

Penn’s knack lies in more of the preparation of the food rather than its cultivation, really, but Gran’s taught her enough that she’s reasonably sure she could handle a rooftop garden of her own.              

If she can wield a boning knife, a trowel shouldn’t be much harder. Right?

There’s another small pile of last season’s leaves resting just where the bend in the building occurs, an architectural addendum that gives her at least a modicum of privacy from the person residing in the flat across the way.

She’s yet to meet them – whoever they may be, she doesn’t have a fucking clue except a pair of black wellies abandoned by their slider door – but that’s not necessarily a bad thing. Penn’s more of a loner to be quite frank. She’s a singular in a world of plurals.

Peas and carrots.

Cookies and cream.

Prosciutto and melon.

Thinly sliced duck liver and braised sweet onions.

And then there’s Penn.

And she is quite alright with that. After all, she’s got her own little plural to look after, a gift from Gran, although she doesn’t even know where the idea of getting two small dogs for a nineteen year-old grandchild would ever come from.

But, yes, sadly on some days and happily on others, Penn’s the mother of a pair of Shetland sheepdog pups, a brother and sister named Clove and Cardamom respectively.

(Right now, they’re just settling into their middle teens – in human years – so Penn’s got to keep a sharp eye out for any mischief.)

She can see Clove through the sliding glass doorway, slouching about on their shared rug by the kitchen counter, his impression of a dead log spot-on. But Cardy, who had been trotting around outside with her, exploring her new domain, is nowhere in sight. Quickly gathering up the last of the leaves, Penn puts away the broom just as the first few trickles of rain start to come out of the sky.

“Fuck.”

And that pretty much sums up her feelings on the downpour that drenches anything and everything still stupid enough to be outside in the seconds that follow.

But, even after much calling and wheedling and shaking the treat bag, Penn’s forced to return outside into the deluge to physically locate her wayward dog.

The terrace itself is shaped in a sort of ‘L,’ the only difference from the letter being that the angle of the actual space is quite a bit greater, more of an obtuse shape. Penn can see most of the patio and a good expanse of the neighboring flat from her spot at the kitchen door, but there’s still a blind spot right where the corner occurs.

With a deeply heaved sigh that’s got Clove staring up at her worriedly, Penn tugs on her own pair of wellies – brown with bears speckled all over them - and pulls on a mac, striding out into the torrent.

It’s the kind of rain that intends on getting its victim as drenched as possible, throwing all sorts of tricks about so it can slide under a hood, glue long strands of hair to the back of a neck, freeze the tips of fingers. Penn digs her heels in, gritting her teeth, as the wind gives a particularly violent gust, pushing her into the wall.

Grabbing the corner for support, Penn goes to round it, intending on finding Cardy if it’s the last thing she’ll do. And it might be, considering the storm seems to have ricocheted up the scale from heavy downpour to raging sea squall.

However, something’s blocking the path that her legs had intended to take, and Penn falls forward, eye clenched shut and palms out. She’s fully prepared for the stinging grit coating her hands, imprinting into her skin in angry patterns.

Instead, her hands hit something – remarkably – warm and very much animate, judging by the whoosh of breath that’s let out, catching her left ear.

Her fingers flex in with shock, nails digging into skin, and a hand curls its way around her wrist.

“Ouch.”

It’s a person.

Her neighbor, she can only assume.

Her neighbor, lying half-naked on a plastic lawn chair, apparently deciding that the middle of the rainstorm is the perfect time to go sunbathing.

“Hello. ‘M Ashton. I live just across the way.”

The voice, a mid-baritone, comes from the area above her head, and she nods, carefully extricating herself from where she’s laying on top of him and trying not to stare. Which she fails at tremendously.

(But it’s really not her fault.)

Hazel eyes blink up at her, rainwater coating the lashes and turning them a dark honey colour, just two or three shades darker than his hair, which, though being plastered against his forehead, appears to be wavy and unruly in the best of circumstances.

A dimple pops out of his cheek, drawing her attention to his mouth and a crooked grin.

Fuck.

“And you are…?”

“Penn, I’m Penn Bunting. Have you seen my dog?”

Surprisingly, Ashton nods, reaching one long – tanned, muscular, God – arm underneath the chair and drawing out a damp Cardamom, who looks more like a rat than a dog at this point.

She gives Penn a pitiful, apologetic look, but Penn’s having none of that, thank you, and frowns back down at her, already preparing a scolding in her head.

But the neighbor’s talking again, and she vaguely registers that he’s got an Australian accent.

“Are you cold? You should get your dog back inside. The weather’s absolutely dreadful.”

There’s a horribly long moment where she just stares at him in shock, completely baffled, and then her mouth starts moving before she can stop it because it’s either talking or uncontrollable laughter.

“I mean, I’m at least wearing a mac and boots! You need to get inside, before you catch pneumonia and die or something. What are you even doing out here anyway?”

He shrugs, sitting up from his prone position, skin obviously paler than normal due to the extended exposure to the elements. Already, Penn knows that he’ll be much taller than her once he stands, given how close his head is to her shoulders right now. “Just, uh, hanging out, I guess. I like the rain. It’s rejuvenating. And, anyway, I’ve got a hot bath drawn, so, if you’ll excuse me…”

She’s almost tempted to ask if he’s got little floral-scented soaps and floating tea candles too, but Penn doesn’t know him nearly well enough yet for that sort of teasing, which is why she surprises herself when she blurts out, “I make omelets most mornings. For breakfast. And tea, too. You’re welcome to come over sometime, if you’d like.”

Apparently, she surprises him, too, because he trips over the leg of the chair as he’s turning back to his flat. His hand flies up to ruffle the back of his head, and Ashton begins to nod cautiously, saying, “Yeah. Yeah, that sounds good…definitely sometime.”

He waves at her, a manly shake of the wrist, and Penn tries to smile back, inwardly cringing at her lack of social etiquette – who invites a half-naked man to breakfast after falling on top of him? – and the feeling of Cardy wriggling and dripping water down the front of her mac.

(When she gets back to the flat, however, stripping down to her knickers – the rain’s soaked through practically everything, so she’s doing this for warmth – and grabbing a blanket to wrap herself in and a towel to rub Cardy down with, she doesn’t expect to see a porch light on across the other side of the terrace and a dark head peering through a window.)

(And she certainly doesn’t expect Ashton to pop by in three days’ time, bringing a carton of orange juice and a blush in his cheeks, because – didn’t she mention? – Penn’s casually flipping the eggs in her bra and a pair of men’s boxer shorts.)

  She gets knocked out of the daze of memories quite literally. Clove’s tangled himself around one of the legs of her chair and spotted a flock of doves. Her chair shakes violently, tilts onto two legs, and Penn has to pinwheel her arms furiously to stabilize herself.

Ashton chuckles, collecting their napkins and waste, settling the leftovers back into the box neatly, and tying the ribbon back up in a reasonable approximation of a bow.

The joke’s on him though, because he’s got a nice little froth’stache sitting on his upper lip, and she’s definitely going to let him walk around with that for a bit. Maybe she won’t even tell him at all.

They keep walking down the sidewalk, taking a few turns here and there until the dogs begin to recognize the area and tug on the leashes. Here there are tree-cages lining the streets, providing a red-gold overhanging archway of foliage. The door they stop in front of – for all that it and the rest of the facade looks like any other building on the well-maintained street – gives Penn a buzz of excitement that travels under her skin, a mild electric shock.

The bay window, full to bursting with leafy ferns and looking like a veritable hothouse in the middle of the city, gives no other indication as to what might lie in wait inside the flat. Penn shifts the bakery box underneath her left arm, passing over Cardy’s lead to Ashton, who accepts it gamely.

He’s as full of eagerness as the dogs, just as bright-eyed and enthusiastic. The moustache is gone now, evaporated, and that’s probably for the best, considering who they’re visiting.

She reaches forward and grasps the patina-coated knocker, rapping it firmly against the wood of the door twice, before leaning back on her heels and waiting.

A solid three minutes pass before it slowly creaks open to admit them, and Penn feels like she’s four years-old all over again, staring at the entranceway with unwarranted anticipation.

“Well, are you just going to stand there like a pair bloody loons, or are you going to come inside?”

[kingwsly]

"Everyone leaves because you're constantly pushing them away! How many times do I have to stay standing in your dust before you realize I haven't went anywhere! It's you! Every single time!"

MEME.   ( randomness )      @thebrightestwltch

          people were never reliable. the faintest of memories from childhood plagued him; blurry faces of parents who couldn’t handle the amount of children they’d had, the distorted voiced of people he couldn’t remember and had never seen again since he was handed over at the age of three. and yet, still, even after he was given away by the people supposed to look after him, he hadn’t realised that he couldn’t trust people. so he went into the foster care system with some wide eyed innocence. some were okay, mostly just taking in a child to fill a spare room and cash the government cheques every month that were supposed to go towards bringing him up. some of them liked the money, hated the extra person in their house. yet, still, as a child he had been so desperate to have this family that he forgave them for downright neglecting him. even while he learned to bring himself up, made up his own way to tie his shoes, packed his own lunches for school, signed his own permission slips, he still forgave them for forgetting they were paid for the responsibility of raising a child and teaching them how to survive.

          some of them were worse than just using him for money. the horror stories that plagued the foster system were entirely valid. ron had seen far more before he hit ten years old than most adults would ever see. he’d experienced more than most children and registering those things was sometimes difficult. teachers had too many kids in a classroom to understand why he would misbehave, which turned into a cycle of hating school, hating wherever he was based at that moment in time and finding enjoyment in less than ideal things in life. still, even in his early teenage years, ron had been a sweet kid. while he wasn’t academic and he certainly made teachers’ jobs very difficult at times, he didn’t do it in any sort of malicious manner. he was simply looking for someone to give a crap about him and ask him what was wrong, why was he acting a certain way.

          the worst type of people, however, were the ones who promised things. those that promised ron had found his forever home, only to have the social worker come to pick him up six months later. those who promised him a family and then complained when he wasn’t what they wanted him to be and got rid of him like he was out of fashion. it was those who promised him all of the emotional connections that he craved. the ones that hurt him and left him dealing with his own heartbreak and trying to understand what was so wrong with him that he was constantly left with no one he could trust or rely on. over the years, especially through his teenage years, his skin had thickened and he’d become far more wary of trusting or giving any part of himself to anyone else. he didn’t let people have anything on him that would mean they could hurt him.

          but, hermione granger terrified him. she’d gotten under his skin with her strange persistence. there was this weird gentleness in her. she looked at him with fondness that simultaneously horrified him and made his heart melt. even when he tried desperately to drive her away, she was there in her stubborn little way reminding him that he’d have to try harder. the longer she stuck around, the worse it got. waking up with her nestled against his chest had sent him into a panic the first time it had happened. making him realise that he’d been manipulated against his own rules to feel for her and care for her. there were moments where he sickened himself. looking forward to seeing her? that was the final straw. because it would only destroy him if he let himself get attached. people like hermione didn’t stick around. maybe she had some daddy issues or was trying to prove a point to people who called her prudish or whatever the hell her reason was. once she’d proved it, she’d leave back to her world and never think about those months with him again.

          the cigarette between his fingers served as the perfect distraction from having this emotionally charged conversation that hermione was trying to have. he’d given up asking her to leave long ago; if he wanted time to himself, he had to go and take time to himself. she was so obstinate. always putting her foot down with some stupid repetition of how she wasn’t going anywhere, how she was in it for the long hall if only he would give her the chance. and every single time it made him laugh. even she wasn’t privy to how people worked or how her feelings weren’t genuine. she was caught up in the excitement of rebellion, of proving a point, or escaping the mundane for a little while. even if she thought it was long term, ron wasn’t stupid enough to believe that at all. it felt like some game, just to see how far he could push her until she gave up on him like everyone else. to prove himself that he was right about people. even those who thought their intentions were pure and good and they were treating him like some charity case who needed looking after and caring for? they would go eventually.

          ❝ so why stay? ❞ ron asked bluntly, rolling the cigarette between his thumb and index finger as he looked up at her from the fire escape steps. ❝ you haven’t left yet. but you will. ❞ a shrug was followed by a deep drag, closing his eyes and waiting until his lungs felt like they were burning for oxygen to exhale. only on taking his next breath of the muggy, polluted city air did ron open his eyes again to watch her expression. ❝ you’re a bloody joke if you think otherwise. ❞ a scoff left him then, cigarette extinguished on the rusting metal before being flicked down to the street without a care. ❝ i mean, why would you stick around? your parents can’t stand me. i can’t give you anything. i’m not going anywhere in life. there is nothing to stick around for. nothing. ❞ there was a ferocity in his face as he put forward his next test. any other relationships, while certainly not messing with his emotions quite this much, had failed in some way or another. some guy that was far more attractive sweeping them off their feet. fed up with the unpredictability of his life. fed up of his selfishness. some reason. 

          ❝ you’re not stupid, granger, ❞ ron continued, expression softening just slightly into one of boredom as he pulled himself to his feet to climb back into his rundown place. truly, everything in him was begging for hermione to stay. as terrifying as having her around was for making him feel so many things he’d repressed for so long. he didn’t want her to hurt him by leaving and giving up like everyone else. as much as she made him shamelessly long for her not to be like everyone else. as bitter as she made him for not just leaving in the first place and putting him through this emotional ringer. ron wanted nothing more than for her to keep fighting him. as he reached the window, shoulders squaring in defence - a silent refusal for her to follow him - he turned to look back at her. ❝ so,  do yourself a favour and get lost before you hurt yourself by being a fucking idiot. ❞

[luannecloves1955]

Writing down Greek Omelette with extra bacon down on her notepad. Figuring she would have to deal with the ruffians who are now hitting on her co worker who went into the kitchen. Not in her diner, oh heavens nah for some cheap leather perverts to treat this place like some cat house. But Luanne remain calm, she can't show she's a tad peeve by the gang in front of the gent.

" Alright, one greek omelette with extra slices of bacon coming up, and let me know if you want a refill on your coffee sugar." 

Once back near the kitchen putting the order in, her feline  co worker tapped her shoulder. " Hey, I'm going on my smoke break, you got my table right maybe I don't know tell them off?" She asked as Luanne looked at the table with bikers. No big deal, it wouldn't be the first time. " Fine.. I'll do it, but you'll take dish duty tonight and to clean up mess outside since you're heading there anyway. "She spoke in a sass tone before handing the cat demon a broom and dust pan.The cat looked annoyed but not bothered by it.  

Heading back over to the booths as she listened to the group, but while hearing the normal nicknames Bambi, sweetmeats, little vixen, santa's lost reindeer if it involves a deer mix with a bad flirt it was there along with attempts to lift up her skirt while writing down the bikers orders. Luanne was fighting the urges of yelling at them or smacking them. But all hands are off when she felt a hand grabbing her tail. Glaring down at the demon’s as she removed his hand off of her. Taking a deep breath letting out an audible growl. " Sir, I'm not on the menu, so please refrain from touching me… and there won't be a problem." 

The large iguana demon stared at her lazily as a grin appeared on his face. " Whatever you say doll face,though I might see more of that tail later if you catch my drift." Still looking annoyed with this guy, thinking he's just thick in the head. " Good for you, I'd be sure to tell your publisher you're going to be writing fantasy books again" Luanne replied her voice filled with sass and venom. Right when she turned her back. The lizard made another grab at her tail and smacking her back side in the process.

 Instead of reacting shocked,surprised or crying out she just glared at the lizard demon and with a swift hard kick with her cloved hoof hitting him in the face causing his top three teeth to fly out and the lizard to fall backwards onto his friends. 

" Maybe that would get through your thick skull to use some flipping manners! Touch me again I'm going home with a  lizard skin handbag got it!" She snapped before storming off to put in and bring out the next order. Only to feel a rather large hand grabbing her arm. Stopping her from leaving the table. As she glared up at a very large Werewolf who was returning the same stare. " And what the hades do you want? Flipping doggy bag? " 

“  I think you should apologize to one of my boys…. To make it up to him how about this sweetheart, we don’t pay for our meals , and I could give you a nice tip under the table after you get us a round of pancakes okay Bambi?” The wolf teased the already angered deer. Then getting hit on the rear by the hound “ go on Bambi, and make sure to keep the coffee going or is it too hard for you? ” He laughed with his friends, only to let out a loud yell when Luanne stabbed a fork in his hand. Piercing it through the wolf's palm. This dog push her too far.

 She was going to show these idiots she isn't some little thing to be push around. Luanne quickly punched  the hound in the muzzle. " I'd be sure to add a knuckle sandwich to your bill rover." She growled. The werewolf retaliated. He grabbed Luanne by the face causing the doe to struggle and scratching the large trying to get him to let her go. “ You have quite a fucking smart ass mouth bitch, I think I better that you put it to good use than nagging” the wolf growled angerily at her, his breath blowing in her face. Trying to pull her onto the table with Luanne using one hand to prevent herself. Glancing at him seeing the werewolf and his buddies were distracted by her. Not seeing what she was looking at. “Few words mouthwash flea brain” She grunted.  Knowing there’s no way any other patrons would risk their necks for her own skin. She wasn't going to die today just to keep her boss happy. Having reached for the salt shaker and while struggling she managed to knock the top to come off, pouring the contents onto the wolf's hand. The wolf let out a loud howl of pain when the doe poured salt on the open wound. As well plunged the sharp shaker into the hand. Causing him to let her go to tend to his hand, as Luanne turned giving him a hard kick in the face making the wolf to fall onto his friends. 

“ I want your all your tails out of my diner now and pay your flipping bill or is that too hard for you Spot or do you need another course of obedience school?” She snapped staring at the leader of the gang. Finally marching off to the kitchen to get the gentleman’s order. 

 Clearly ruffled up, her hat misplaced on top of her head. Her dark pink hair messed up and clothes wrinkled. Luanne doing her best to keep it together. Bringing out the order for the gentleman. " Sorry about the wait sugar, here your food. "She spoke sweetly but sounding a bit flustered from getting manhandled by bikers.

" Anything else I can get ya? "Hoping she didn't scare him off from ever coming back to the diner or worse leaving a bad review which at times affect her paycheck from her boss. Not seeing the rather angered leader and members staring at her.

The Pastel Doe and the Scarlet Stag

[ishomoogoo]

Future Fic Sneak Peek

Renato needs a place to lay low after a job. He's not too enthused by his options until he meets one of his future co-workers. beware f-bombs.

this fic is meant as a preview to a fic i’m writing with someone

“Really Renato, you’re putting me in a difficult position here.”

I look around the crowd of workers who are swiftly tearing things down and packing them up onto trailers in preparation for moving. A frown slips onto my face as I turn back to Askel. The man may be connected and easy to get favours from, but he can be quite stupid at times. My fingers twitch, if I wasn’t trying to lay low at the moment I would whip out my gun and shoot him. As things stand, however, I will have to limit it to beating him senseless once I can get him alone.

“For the last fucking time, it’s Anton while I’m here. And you owe me so stop whining and do what I asked.”

The man chokes back a complaint and looks around before sighing and waving for me to follow.

“Fine, I’ll see what I can do but you need to change first. No one’s going to believe you’re in need of a job looking like that.”

I scoff and roll my eyes. Of course I’ll need to change, a black Italian designer suit and fedora tend to stand out after all. Besides, I don’t really want to dirty them too much. I have to replace enough clothes because of all the blood stains, I don’t need to be soiling more with dirt too. We pass by several people, none of them really paying any attention to us past maybe a look or two as we quickly make our way to an RV. The vehicle is on the edge of a large cluster of camper trailers, all varying in size. His is a bit smaller than a few of the other trailers, but it looks like it can still comfortably fit two people. We get inside, and I raise my eyebrow at him when he turns back to me with some clothes he plucked out of a worn out trunk.

“You have an RV? Those are rather difficult to acquire this side of the curtain, sure you can afford it all by yourself?”

The older man huffs before shoving the clothes at me. I take them and he walks around me, heading outside.

“I’m not incompetent you know. Who do you think helps run this place? I’ll be outside waiting for you.”

I smirk and quickly remove my shoes and get changed into the plain white shirt and tan pants, keeping on my underwear since those weren’t provided. Both are a bit loose, but they will do for now. With any luck, I will only have to live like this for a couple weeks before I can get back to work far away from this place. This will be the last time I do a high profile assassination, even if it’s as a favour. I carefully fold my clothes and put them in the trunk, placing my beloved fedora on top of them. I find a spare pair of shoes next to the door and put them on my socked feet. They’re a bit loose but I can easily get a better fitting pair later. I walk outside into the breezy afternoon sun, and Askel looks me over before sighing again. I glare at him and grab him by the collar, dragging him out of sight behind the vehicle. Time to educate this bastard about manners.

*

The only tent left standing in the camp appears to be the mess tent that sits close to the Sura river. Most of the workers are either inside or sitting around some campfires, talking, laughing, or just hunched over their food. Askel is leading me over to the line of cooks; who are handing out food to people who haven’t eaten yet, or who are hoping to get more. An elderly woman who is giving out rolls looks up when we get close enough, and starts to smile before getting a look at Askel’s bruising face. She then frowns and tsks, putting her fists on her ample hips in disappointment.

“Honestly bikcherro, what did you do this time? One would think you would have learned by now!”

The woman speaks her Russian with a thick Romani accent, her irritation for the man dripping from every word. Askel squawks at her indignantly, but her attention has already shifted to me. Her pinched face changes into one of confusion, her brow creasing further.

“Who is this romni chor? I haven’t seen him around the camps.”

Askel perks up and excitedly introduces us.

“Ah! Tawni, this is Anton! He’ll be joining us for a while until he can get back on his feet. Anton, this is Tawni, she’s our head cook.”

Her face softens somewhat and she regards me more carefully. She looks away and grabs some dinnerware from a small stack behind the food.

“Oh? Tell me nukkipel, what can you do?”

I put on a charming smile, answering before the idiot can.

“I am an excellent marksman, but I can do any odd job that needs doing including cooking. If you ever find yourself in need of help, don’t hesitate to ask.”

She smiles mischievously and chuckles.

“I’ll keep that in mind. Here, have something to eat. You’re far too skinny. Make sure this goggi dinla acquaints you with the other’s after you eat.”

She hands me a plate piled high with food, and shoves a simple bowl of soup into Askel’s hands. I smirk as he grumbles about favoritism and leads the way into the communal tent. It’s a wonder how this man can own and run a circus when he’s such a simpering buffoon. Inside the tent are a bunch of tables that can be easily broken down and moved, along with make-shift chairs that have been crowded around them. Most tables are full, people loudly speaking amongst themselves. We both look around, trying to find some free space in the crowd. I manage to quickly spot a relatively free table in one corner, populated by a lone woman.

I immediately head that way, Askel scrambling after me. I observe the woman as we get closer. Her skin is a deep brown, the lamp light giving it an almost bronze sheen. Her black hair is cropped close to her scalp, which accentuates the smooth curve of her head and neck. She’s leaned over a plate and bowl, paying no one else any attention as she eats alone. I ignore Askel, who has noticed my destination and is attempting to direct me elsewhere, and set my plate down to the right of her. This causes her to raise her head and look at me with jet black eyes. I plaster on my most charming smile and sit down in the chair next to her.

“My my, a beautiful woman like you sitting by herself? This simply won’t do. Your co-workers must be blind to leave a divine creature like you alone.”

She quirks one of her eyebrows at me, flicking her eyes briefly to Askel. Does she not speak Russian?

“Ah, Vasily, this is an acquaintance of mine. He’ll be helping us out for a while.”

As he is explaining my circumstances, I take the opportunity to take the rest of her form in. Her face is angular and her eyes are sharp, making her look even more exotic along with her skin tone. Her body is slim, outlined by a thin sweater and pants, but lined with compact muscles that gives her a feline beauty that is rare for a woman. I wonder where she comes from, and if they make more of her type there. I notice that, as I’m regarding her, she is doing the same. She’s eyeing me up and down, and with more than just a bit of interest. I continue to smile at her and grab her hand, she eyes me curiously as I kiss her hand. I release her hand and ignore the pained sigh from the now intruding Askel.

“Vasily correct? It’s a pleasure to meet you. My name is Anton and I will be in your care for a few weeks.”

Her face shifts from curiosity to irritation in an instant, her eyes momentarily flashing a different colour. I don’t have time to contemplate the change, or the telltale itch of Cloud Flames in the air, before she seems to pause and think about something. She then smiles and reaches into the pocket of her pants, which are hugging her wonderfully shaped hips. She pulls out a 50 kopek coin and looks into my eyes, glee swimming in those dark pools. Askel seems to be silently freaking out behind me, has been since I introduced myself.

“Heads or tails?”

Still smiling, I start to wonder what has happened. I’ve never had such a reaction from anyone before. I could understand if I somehow offended her, but it looks like she’s decided to play a game instead. This woman is at least an active Cloud user, but also something else. I’m still trying to put my finger on this other feeling when I answer her, trying to get more information and to see where this goes.

“Heads.”

She flips the coin into the air, both of us watching as it makes several turns before landing insignia side up. This seems to decide something for her, and she changes from impish to flirtatious as quickly as before. She rests her head on her left hand and focuses her sultry gaze on me. Askel is practically having a seizure now. She grazes her hand along my arm and I feel different Flames teasing along my skin. She’s a Sky!

“Anton is it? What job will you be doing? And how are you acquainted with our idiot of a ring leader?”

I’m not really sure what the deal with this woman is, but she doesn’t appear to be dangerous right now. If she’s as much of a treat in bed as she is to look at, then I shouldn’t let this opportunity pass. I have to be careful not to harmonize with her during our time together, but her flames will make things much more exciting. I match her sultry attitude and lean forward, completely ignoring the man who has since seated himself across from us.

“I’m a really good marksman, so I would do well with throwing knives. I can also do a myriad of other things as well, so please don’t hesitate to ask if you need any assistance.”

Her eyebrows raise, along with her hand. She takes one of my curly sideburns and twirls it around a slim finger.

“Oh? And what can a skinny, pretty boy like you offer me?”

I slide a smirk onto my face and take the opportunity to trail my right hand up one of her supple thighs.

“I’m stronger than I look gorgeous. I think you’ll find me handy for a number of things.”

She hums, a wistful smile spreading across her features. She leans in even closer, her breath ghosting along my ear. I suppress a shiver as she whispers into my ear.

“Mmm, want to know what you could do for me?”

I inhale her spicy scent, savouring it before letting it go. Excitement is coiling in my gut and buzzing through my veins.

“Just name it beautiful.”

She leans back and grips my chin tightly in her fingers, an icy purple glare sending me reeling.

“Don’t fucking lie to me again. It’d be such a shame if your pretty face got messed up.”

She pats my cheek and gets up, grabs her plate and leaves the tent. I’m snapped out of my shock when I hear a snigger from the arrogant bastard across from me. Seems he didn’t learn his lesson from before.

I totally just looked up a Romani->English dictionary and just used the words without thinking about the grammar. sue me :D

Bickcherro- blockhead Romni Chor- wife/ woman stealer Nukkipel- a term of endearment for men Goggi Dinla- brainless fool

tbh, when i picked renato's alias, i wasn't thinking of the reference. it wasn't until halfway through writing that it clicked and i decided to have fun with it. :b

comments are nice, are you?