#coworking brochure

[as-rare-as-trees]

Queer books/movies recommendations

Hi!! Dear friends, I need your help. Could you drop in the comments any queer book/movie titles you can think of? It can be any genres, fiction, nonfiction, educational literature etc

We're making a bibliography at the library I work at for pride, and tho I have already researched and gathered a lot of titles, I want to put as many as possible, so I thought of asking here

(Note: I know I have some italian mutuals, so if any of you knows the titles in italian that'd be even better)

Thanks in advance!!

*edit: queer books/movies meaning both things that have being queer as their main topic, and also in general media with queer characters

[bsaka7]

i need to go stomp through snow and i need to write gross shit right NOW

[bunnyb34r]

AGSGDGGDGD my cousin stepped in my room and she hasnt seen it since I was like maybe 10 sgdgdgd anyway I have my little trans and bi flags on my desk near the door and she was looking around and guess what was right next to her....

She didnt say anything but she was probably like "oh great another one" (lighthearted) dgdgdgdgdg

That's just how I'm gonna come out to people. You have to play ispy in my room sgdgdgdgdggd

[six-of-ravens]

coworker sent us a site with a list of UX Design Laws and, as someone who didn't professionally study UX design it's nice to see them all laid out and understand why certain things irk me so badly now.

....that said, I can already hear our one non-professionally-trained, full-of-himself designer ranting about how these are bullshit bc anytime he gets told he can't just do whatever he wants he gets upset.

[sl-newsie]

Melted Mind (Dr. Spencer Reid x OC Coworker)

Summary: The team checks into a hotel and one of their coworkers has never used a sauna, leading to late night shenanigans. (Hinting at intimacy towards the end)

“You’ve never used a sauna?”

I’ve had a lot of strange and unusual conversations with the BAU but this has got to be a very random one. I guess one half-mention of never having used a sauna seems to be the hot topic of tonight.

I shake my head at Emily’s question. “Never had a reason to. I can’t stand being too hot.”

Of course now Spencer has to hop in and give his input. “Saunas actually help us sweat toxins out of our bodies and improve lymphatic drainage. They also reduce stress levels and help strengthen the immune system.”

I love him dearly but he can come in at the worst times. Just because he’s my boyfriend does not mean he can drag me into this too.

Meanwhile Emily is looking at the hotel’s brochure. “There’s one in the pool room. We should try it.”

Um, no. We’ve just spent three hours flying. I feel no need to sit in a boiling hot room with my coworkers.

Quick, grab the suitcase and start walking away. “I think I’m going to relax in my room-”

Morgan grabs my arm. “C’mon, it’ll be fun!”

In the corner of my eye I see JJ and Penelope waving goodbye with cheeky smiles. Hotch has already gone to his room and Rossi avoids the situation by heading for the bar. There’s no getting out of this.

There’s no other way to say it. This is Hell. I won’t sugarcoat it. 

I don’t care how Emily tries to sell this as a good thing because it’s a ‘steam sauna.’ Spencer’s facts from earlier have completely flown the coop because thinking about the positive health benefits of sweating is the last thing on my mind. All I can think of is drinking water and staying alive.

“I’m melting.” We’ve been here for half an hour and I’m already slumped in the corner.

“You look like a lava lamp."

My glare can burn through walls. “Thanks, Morgan.”

“That swimsuit is really cute,” Emily comments. “But why wear a shirt over it?”

The suit I packed is my patriotic one. A one-piece suit with blue and white stars at the top cascading into red and white stripes. When we met up in the hall I threw on a swim shirt and I guess that raised a few eyebrows. Why? I don’t know.

“Some call it image paranoia, I call it modesty. I will not walk around half-naked in a hotel lobby.” Technically my onepiece could count as a leotard but it’s still not modest.

Emily snickers. “Between you and Reid both you guys could give a lecture on social etiquette.”

“I’m giving a lecture?”

Reid pokes his head in and a wave of cold air washes over me. It’s Heaven! But it’s only a split second because he closes the door and I’m submerged in the moist prison once more. He hops up on the seat next to me and from the look he gives me I can tell he’s looking to see if I’m still alive. I think I am. Maybe.

“Here’s the boy genius!” Morgan claps and gestures to my limp body’s presentation of a corpse. “What do you think of this lovely swimsuit?”

Why? Why did Morgan of all people have to find out about us? I’m honestly surprised Penelope didn’t find out first. If only Spencer didn’t want a picture of me on his desk so badly. Ever since we became official he’s been much more manly about it. Like he wants to make sure everyone knows I’m his. It’s actually cute.

Spencer gives me a look-over. “Very patriotic. It looks nice.”

Those eyes say more than that. He loves it.

“Thank you. I’m lucky I brought it with me. Though this may be what I’m buried in if I don’t make it through tonight. This sauna’s going to be the death of me.” 

So the night goes on. My mind dwindles in and out of the conversation but the only thing keeping me awake is Spencer’s occasional squeeze on my shoulder. Though him rubbing my back is definitely not helping. After a while my mind starts to wander.

“Ever notice how radio stations play the same songs over and over?”

The chatter stops and in the corner of my glazed eye I see everyone look at me. 

“That’s kinda deep,” Morgan teases.

“I can’t help it. This sauna’s making me think deep.”

Emily waves a hand in front of me. “Ok, I think it’s time to call it a night. You need to drink some water. Make sure she gets to bed safely, Reid.”

Reid gives me a hidden smirk. He’s definitely thinking about that out of context. Thankfully the others are too tired to notice and we all slowly exit the human vegetable steamer from Hell. 

“I’ll go get you a towel,” Reid says before walking off.

I’ll finally get to go to my room, rinse off and relax- Uh-oh. I catch a quick glance out the window. A pair of blue sunglasses lies on a patio lawn chair. No one’s outside. I guess I should do the Girl Scout routine of returning them to the lobby desk.

Brr! How is the air outside so cold? The sauna must have really gotten to me. Back inside now- Oh no. Is it my wandering mind or am I locked out? No. No! I don’t have a key card!

Inside Spencer walks around the pool looking for me. The towel he’s carrying might as well be a fur coat.

“Oh- Spencer! Help!” I knock on the glass door. “Please! I’m locked out!”

Reid’s eyes widen and he strides over. “How did you get stuck out there?”

“Someone left their sunglasses out here and I didn’t think about needing a key card to get back inside. Could you let me in?”

He starts reaching for the door but then gets an amused smirk. “Hmm. I don’t know…”

Is he kidding? “Spencer! Please! It’s freezing out here!”

Reid checks the thermostat. “It’s only 65 degrees.”

“I just came out of a sauna! Do you want me to pass out?” I put my hands on my hips.

Spencer’s laughter is muffled by the glass but he turns the doorknob anyway. “Open sesame.”

I sigh in relief at the warm air. “Thank you- oh!”

My temperature spikes the instant Spencer’s lips are on mine. He backs me against the cold condensation-covered door and pulls me close to him. I hope no one’s looking!

“It was hard not to do that in front of the team, seeing you in this suit.” Spencer presses a kiss on my cheek. “It looks very nice.”

If I weren’t so exhausted I’d encourage this. “Ready to go to bed? I’m getting tired.”

“Me too.” Reid wraps the towel around my shaking shoulders and we start walking back. “Would you like me to rub your back?”

“I’d love that very much, Spencer.”

The sight of our hotel room is equivalent to scoring an A+. I speed-wash through the shower and all but dive onto the soft bed. I lift my sleepy head up to look at Spencer, who’s sitting in the lounge chair staring at me.

“What?”

“You know my attraction to you didn’t start from your body,” he murmurs, still looking at me as if examining a piece of art.

I smile shyly and look down. “It was my eyes.”

He walks over and kneels down to my level. “It was your eyes. Those eyes that show a deep wisdom but are always wide with excited curiosity.”

Spencer crawls up onto the bed and rests his head on my chest. “Still tired? I can feel your heart rate elevating-”

“Let me pause the lecture, professor.” I put a finger to his lips. “It’s time to sleep. You can resume tomorrow.”

He sighs but gives in to his own tired state by going limp. I’m too tired to push him off. 

“You were right, Spencer. Saunas really do reduce stress levels. Even if I was almost locked out.”

He smiles with his eyes closed and feels around for the bedside light switch. “Goodnight, angel.”

The room goes dark and I give him one last kiss. “Goodnight, genius.”

[monster-disaster]

[orc] Tasha

orc!Tasha x human!Reader Good to know: smut

Summary: You and Tasha meet in the museum after the visitors leave.

The museum is buzzing with life. The sound of footsteps and quiet conversations echoes against the carefully polished marble floors and tall walls. The place is lit by the sun streaming through the glass dome at the top of the lobby. Everything is bright and lively. You can't help but smile at the sight of people coming and going through the grand entrance. Most of the visitors are tourists with backpacks and cameras or families with excited kids running around their parents' legs. You really love days like this. When everything is busy and you don't even notice how quickly the time passes while you work.

You are standing at the reception. Your hips against the counter while you wait for your next group. Your fingers play with the brochures in your hands. "Your break is over already?" You recognize Tasha's voice immediately. Your heart jumps into your throat, and excitement runs through your spine. You almost scowl at your own reaction. "Yes," you clear your throat, letting yourself look at the orc a few steps away from you.

Tasha stands tall and confident. The black trousers she wears stretch on her legs, following the firm line of her bottom. Her white shirt is similar to yours, tucked in under the belt adorning her slim waist. The fabric highlights her broad shoulders and muscular arms. The sleeves are folded up to her elbows. Your gaze pauses at the swell of her breasts. You try to tell yourself you are only looking at her name tag and the security company she works for above the plastic card, but you are lying.

Damn, nobody should look this good in a simple guard uniform.

"My eyes are up here, little human." Damn it! "I know," you gasp, snapping your eyes up to her dark brown ones. Her tusks make her smile even more smug as she stares at you intensely. You feel the heat creeping up to your face. "I have to go," you continue after a few silent seconds. "You know, work and…" And? She is amused at your flustered state. It makes everything worse for you. "Okay," she smirks. "I will see you later." "Yeah," you breathe out. "Yeah."

The museum is like a maze where the walls are adorned with carefully curated artworks, artifacts, and information displays. Spotlights illuminate the exhibits on your way through the rooms full of history. Each room you enter presents a new chapter in the narrative of human creativity, achievement, and knowledge. Sculptures, skeletons, and hundreds of years old items follow you among the columns as you lead your group.

The group of kids you guide are excited and loud. Their teachers are constantly busy to keep them in line. They have dozens of questions about everything you show them. The weight of history hangs in the air, and you are more than happy to connect them with the past and its wonders.

You can't help but notice Tasha every now and again, even though the children around you keep you occupied most of the time. You see her helping the visitors and doing her job while stealing a glance or two your way.

The female orc can barely tear her eyes away from you. Happiness and enthusiasm radiate off of you in thick waves. You smile and laugh as you talk about history. Her chest warms up at the sight. And she can still see your flustered state in her mind. She wanted to steal you away from the crowd to a dark corner where nobody could disturb you.

Hours pass by while both of you are busy with work. At some point, Tasha has to go back to the security room and check on the cameras while her coworker goes on their break. She sits at the desk, watching the black and white screens. She notices you here and there, guiding your group through the exhibitions. She feels almost ridiculous.

You caught her eyes the first day you started working at the museum. You were excited and sweet. And you stuttered every time she talked to you in the first few weeks. She couldn't get enough of you.

And she still can't.

Her thoughts are soon disturbed by the quiet knocks on the door. "Come in," she calls out.

The voice is muffled by the door, but you still know it's Tasha, and your nerves immediately jump to the roof. After she caught you staring at her chest, you hoped you could avoid being alone with her for a few days until your humiliation lessened.

Well, no such luck.

"Hey," you greet her quietly, stepping into the room and closing the door behind you. "Oh!" Tasha is surprised but happy to see you. "Did you miss me?" She smirks. "No," you reply. "Yes." Her smile widens, and you already feel hot in the small space. You want to stay alone with her and run away at the same time. "How can I help you, Meggy?" She asks in the end. "One of the kids lost one of their shoes somewhere," you tell her. "Could we rewatch the recording?" "A shoe?" "Don't even ask," you shrug. "They are kids. It happens." "Okay," the orc hums, still surprised. "But yeah, we can look for it, sure." When she turns back to the monitors, you move closer to see the screens too. As you lean over her shoulder, her scent hits you across the face. She smells like the shampoo she probably uses on her dark red hair that highlights the soft green shade of her skin. It's spicy with herbs and something else you don't recognize. "Do you have any idea where they lost it?" "They said they had it when we saw the dinosaurs." Tasha nods.

You know you should focus on the screen, but it's harder and harder with each passing second. Tasha's scent fills your senses, making you forget why you are even here in the first place. Your fingertips tingle with the need to touch her hair. Her red locks are in braids and twirls with beads around them. And now that you are so close to her, you notice the light freckles across her cheeks. They are just a few shades darker than her skin. You force your eyes to move back to the computers. You don't need her to catch you staring at her again.

"There," you gasp out, leaning over her broad shoulder even more to point at the little kid. They take off their shoes for no reason at all, and when one of the teachers calls out for the small group, they run after their classmates without looking back at the shoe.

You only notice how close you are to the orc when you turn your head to look at her. Your upper body is pressed against her shoulder, and your faces are just a few inches away from each other.

Blood surges in your veins, and the room seems even smaller. "Thanks!" You squeak, and without looking back, just like the kid, you run out of the security room.

A long week goes by without you and Tasha talking to each other for more than a few words. The museum is busy with schools coming for their yearly field trip and people trying to enjoy their free time and learn something new. You guide groups through the exhibitions several times a day.

You meet the female orc again for more than a few minutes on a Friday night. It's already late, and you are one of the few who are still in the museum. It's quiet and peaceful. You always enjoy going through a few rooms after the doors close in front of the visitors. You often find something new and interesting. It's like the museum changes every now and again without anyone really noticing it.

"Didn't you see that enough times already?" The familiar voice asks from behind you. Your gaze from the painting goes to the orc immediately when you turn your head to look at her over your shoulder. You shrug. "I like it." "You should go home, little human, I'm sure you are tired." "I'm on my way to the changing room," you tell her, but none of you move. Your eyes are locked, trying to come up with something to continue the conversation. "You know," she starts, looking around the room. "I never really looked around here." "What?" You are shocked. "What do you mean? You work here." "But I'm always busy with the visitors." "I can give you a private tour if you want?" You suggest. Tasha has to force her thoughts to stay on the right path. When you say private tour, she imagines entirely different things. "Only if you have time. I don't want to keep you here." "No, it's fine. I have nothing to do." A grimace pulls on your lips. Maybe you shouldn't admit you have nothing to do on a Friday night.

So you and Tasha continue your way through the rooms. You stop here and there to show things to her and talk about their past. You bombard her with names, dates, and locations. There are times when the orc worries that you don't even breathe while you talk but never tries to stop you. She often sees you with visitors but has never seen you this close while you speak with so much passion. It radiates from your voice.

"I have no idea how you can remember so many things," she says after a while. You look at the sculpture in front of you, but she watches you. Your eyes are bright, and your smile is constant. "I talked your ear off, didn't I?" You grimace, starting to feel guilty. "I'm sorry. I-" "Don't be sorry," Tasha cuts in. "I enjoy it. It's sexy." Heat rushes up to your face at her last words. "Well," you clear your throat. "Thanks?" She laughs at your reaction. You can barely look at her. She moves closer. "Do I make you nervous?" There is no point in lying. "Yes." Your eyes fall on the plastic name tag on her chest. "Is it good or bad?" Tasha is amused and too entertained with your current state. "Good." "Can I kiss you, Meggy?" Her next question makes you forget how to breathe. Your head snaps up to look at her. "Yes," you croak out. There is no way you could say no to a woman like Tasha.

She leans closer, and in the next second, her lips are on yours. The kiss is gentle and slow. She lets you warm up to her closeness. Her tusks are hard and, at first, a bit strange against your skin, while her lips are soft and warm. She licks your lower lip once, twice, three times, and before she can do it for the fourth time, your mouth opens. Her tongue slips against yours, and her arms curl around your waist to pull you closer. The kiss gets heavy and searing.

"Oh," you breathe out after a few seconds. "Oh?" She asks back, smirking. "I need more than that, little human." The moan out of your lips before you can stop it. Her brow lifts with interest. "Do you like it when I call you that?" She asks. "Yes." "How much do you like it?" She already knows the answer but wants to hear it from you. "Very much," you clear your throat. You can't think straight when the orc is so close. Her arms are still around you, and her breath fans over your face. "Do you get wet?" She asks shamelessly. "Tell me, Meggy, does your pussy clench when I call you little human?" "Yes," you reply, barely louder than a whisper. Your breathing is heavy and ragged. Your fingers tug on her white shirt, opening a few buttons until you can clearly see a part of her breasts. She doesn't wear a bra. "Show me," she says, putting her own hand into yours. "Guide my hand to your pussy, Meggy. Let me feel your wetness and your hot cunt."

Oh god.

Your fingers curl around her wrist. Your hold is weak and trembling as you easily pull her hand under the waistband of your skirt. "Ah-ah," she hums. The orc flicks your clit through the thin fabric of your panties. She can already feel how wet you are, but she wants more. She wants to feel your flesh, wet and hot, under her touch. Tasha doesn't have to say anything else. You lead her hand into your panties until you feel her warmth on your aching cunt. She draws a few teasing circles on your clit, watching your reactions. Your eyelashes flutter as your mouth falls open with a silent moan. Your fingers tighten around Tasha's arm to keep yourself on your feet. Every twist and rub of her fingers sends you higher and higher. Your thighs close on her hand until she can barely move.

It doesn't stop her, though.

"Fuck, Meggy," the orc groans. "You soak my hand. I can smell your pussy, you know that, right?" Oh god. Your reaction is barely noticeable, but she can still see it. A bit of shame and much more hunger glint in your hazy eyes. "The c-camera," you gasp out, looking over her shoulder to the small device hanging in the corner. "Don't worry about it, sweet girl," Tasha replies, leaving your clit to slide through your folds until she reaches your entrance. Your whole body shudders with anticipation. "They can see nothing from this angle." There is a big part of her that wishes otherwise. The orc wants a video of you coming undone in her hands and clever fingers. "Fuck, Tasha!" You cry out when she pushes inside. Your nails dig into her skin. One of her fingers is enough to stretch you. The heel of her hand rubs against your clit. You don't even know where you should concentrate anymore. "It's okay, little human," she hums against your ear. Her voice is deep and smug. "Cum on my hand. Make a mess on my finger so I can taste you." "T-Tasha!" Your scream is hoarse and ragged. Your eyes fall shut when the burning coil in your lower stomach snaps with force. Your muscles twitch with pleasure, and for a long second, you can't even breathe. "So sweet," Tasha hums, watching you the whole time. You are even more beautiful during your orgasm than she imagined. And she imagined it a lot. "My sweet girl, my pretty girl." The orc eases you down from your high softly and slowly. Her embrace cocoons you into safety and warmth while her voice brings you back to reality. When you open your eyes, you see her lifting her finger to her lips, licking down your juice, shining on her green skin. Your blood already feels like lava in your veins, and the sight doesn't help. "You taste as sweet as you look," she says, leaning down to kiss you again. You can taste the faint taste of yourself on her tongue. "Tasha," you breathe out her name but can't continue. You are not sure what you should say. She just made you cum in front of a camera, even if you are safe behind her large body, in the museum where both of you work. "Come home with me?" She asks, helping you out. "We could order some food, and if you are okay with it, I would really like to taste your sweet pussy." Excitement bubbles in your chest again. Your pussy throbs with the need to let Tasha do whatever she wants to do to you. "Okay," you force an answer out through your tightened throat. "I would like that too." A smile spreads across her face and softly tugs you against her side. "That's my sweet little human."

- Masterlist Meriad Masterlist Patreon + extra chapter

[bruhstation]

after studying the blade and honing my thinking skills, I've perfected the haddock/billington family tree. or as I like to call it -- the joestars of bruhstation, because Things Just Keep Happening™ to its family members. I highlighted the people who have canon appearances in their respective source materials.

a few explanations of the relationships:

zorran is zip's guardian. they don't view their relationship as strictly brothers or father-son or whatever, but they consider each other important; family. if it weren't for zip and taking care of the boy, zorran could've become an even worse person (thanks, captain zero). also, found families don't necessarily need labels. they know they are important to each other, and they're content with that.

captain zero is supposed to be zip's guardian but he's busy being both a mid father and a mid boss. so he handed him to zorran and zorran took the wheel, albeit begrudgingly at first.

zorran eventually started a family of his own. his great granddaughter is emily (theotug/stanza halifax). his grandson is diesel, thomas' coworker (see the vin diesel family tree), technically making them very VERY distantly semi-related through zip. not really important though.

after zorran moved back to sicily, italy, he still kept in touch with zip through letters. zip also managed to visit his funeral when zorran eventually passed away.

ten cents and zip moved to england and adopted three children after world war 2 ended. they're in their mid 20s by then. they passed away when the kids were young adults. without their parents, they had several disputes over money and properties. they eventually separated. margaret stayed in london while annie and clarabel moved to sodor because of how brochures, magazines, and history books label it as "unique" and "quaint".

timothy is honestly kind of a mid brother. after he and thomas' parents died, he dragged thomas to sodor (reasons same as annie's and clarabel's), shields him from the outside world, and makes thomas completely dependent on him (he did this unconsciously) because timothy didn't want to lose anyone else. then he died and became sodor's ghost. cue casa tidmouth

annie and clarabel eventually took care of thomas.

annie married graham stroudley, but they divorced when cheryl was a teenager/young adult. graham took custody of cheryl and married lucy. cheryl moved to canada and married christopher. theodore was born. by blood relations, theodore is annie's grandson as much as he is to lucy, but he has extremely little to no memories of her.

looking at the family tree. thomas is ten cents' grandson. ten cents is thomas' grandfather. theodore is thomas' first cousin once removed (vice versa) and TC's great grandson

not really canon, but entertaining the idea that ten cents and zip are watching from the skies: ten cents and zip would absolutely adore theodore. teddy is just some sweet kind polite guy who does his best and cherishes his loved ones and that's what ten cents and zip stood for. thomas, on the other hand,

[gotham-memes]

do you think we should ask batman to like. make brochures for new gothamites in training. hear me out okok so it took me FOREVER to explain everything to my friends and coworkers who like just moved to gotham so can't he use his brucie wayne sugar baby money to like. let people know that green and purple are the greatest fashion faux-pas' ever in gotham. or like where to get the GOOD gas masks for when bitch j*ker shows up or something. like be careful on tuesdays in february kinda thing??? ive spent FAR too many hours telling ex-metropolisians like no we actually don't celebrate any fun dates we have a calendar themed villain. do u think little sword robin would throw said pamphlets like a little flower boy yes or no

[hyuge]

Life Alert

First aid training was not a required life skill, but it was highly recommended. Shinsou saw an ad in a brochure for a CPR class and decided that while he believed he would be fine in an emergency, it would probably be best to ensure he knew what he was doing. He went online to the community website to get registered for the class. After one two-hour session with local paramedics, he would be a certified CPR specialist.

Maybe not a specialist, but if anyone ever stopped breathing, he would be prepared to help them.

He was a little surprised to see how many people turned up to the class for a Tuesday evening in the middle of winter. There were about a dozen other students of varying ages and three uniform-clad paramedics present to lead them through the training. CPR dummies were laid out on mats on the floor, and everyone was asked to take a seat next to the dummies. The paramedics introduced themselves as Kendou, Monoma, and Tetsutetsu.

They were paired up with two people per dummy, and then each paramedic took two teams. Shinsou’s dummy partner introduced herself as Shiazaki. He mumbled a greeting and carded his hand through his long purple locks. The one called Monoma knelt in front of Shinsou and Shiazaki, along with the other pair seated beside them.

Monoma seemed loud to say the least, though that didn’t mean much in comparison to his silver-haired coworker. Kendou seemed to reel them both in, to some extent. Monoma instructed with very expressive hand gestures as he went over the basics of CPR to their group.

“When do we administer CPR?” he asked.

Shiazaki raised her hand. It was small and delicate, not a single callus to be seen. Monoma nodded at her. His slate-blue eyes fixated on her, though there was a look of disinterest on his face. “When someone stops breathing.”

Monoma’s head bobbed slowly with a nod. “And when else?” He turned his gaze on Shinsou.

“When their heart stops?”

“Is that a question?”

“No,” said Shinsou.

Something about this Monoma guy kind of irked him but in a ‘he’s hot but also annoying,’ sort of way. His straight, blond hair swept across his forehead in an effortlessly well-groomed manner. His uniform was pristine—though that was likely because of paramedic regulations—and those bright eyes seemed to bore deep into Shinsou’s soul. It would take Shinsou a minimum of one hour to get his hair that presentable. He gave up on putting effort into it years ago. Now, he always looked as if he was five minutes post-wakeup.

“First and foremost,” Monoma continued, “you or someone else in the area needs to call emergency services and make sure the scene is safe for administering CPR. Only then should you proceed. Make sure the injured party is lying flat on their back. You can’t do compressions just anywhere. You need to find the center of their chest and place the heel of your dominant hand over the back of the other hand.”

Monoma pointed at the dummy and Shinsou shifted his body so that he was sitting on his knees. He put his left hand down on the dummy’s chest first, between the nipples, then set his right hand on top.

“Chest compressions can be exhausting. You need to push hard and push down at about 100 to 120 beats per minute but also make sure that the chest rises in between compressions.”

“How many times do you do it before giving mouth-to-mouth?” asked Shiazaki.

Monoma narrowed his gaze at her. “You don’t.”

Shinsou cocked a brow and looked up at Monoma from his spot over the dummy’s chest. “What?”

“It is no longer recommended that civilians give patients mouth-to-mouth. It takes away precious time that should be spent on chest compressions and spreads germs. Mouth-to-mouth also deters bystanders from providing aid.”

“What if they drowned?” asked Shinsou.

“Then you can. If the person in need is injured due to loss of air rather than heart failure, that is the only time it is recommended to administer mouth-to-mouth.”

Interesting.

“Now,” Monoma continued, “begin chest compressions. I want you to count each compression aloud.”

Shinsou did as instructed. He leaned over the dummy and began to do compressions, counting aloud in time with each thrust. There was a tsk, and he looked up to see Monoma’s eyes fixed on him. “Something wrong?”

Monoma nods. “Do you mind?”

Shinsou eyed him, then shrugged. “Sure.”

Monoma leaned over Shinsou; his chest pressed firmly against Shinsou’s back. His arms slid down in place beside Shinsou, and warmth radiated where they touched. Monoma placed his hands on top of Shinsou’s and breathed against his ear as he spoke. “You gotta push harder and slower.” Oh. Boy, Shinsou’s face heated at that. He was glad Monoma was behind him so that he couldn’t see the color bloom on his cheeks. “Count with me. One… Two… Three…”

And he did. With Monoma’s hands on his hands, he did the compressions harder and slower, pumping life back into the dummy. His voice vibrated in Shinsou’s ear, and it was harder and harder to focus on the CPR he was supposed to be learning. When the weight finally left his back, Shinsou was filled with disappointment, but he continued the compressions as instructed. Monoma moved to assist Shiazaki, but Shinsou noted how he did not wrap himself around her like he did with Shinsou.

Was he just that bad at it or was there another reason? He tried not to focus on it. Shinsou’s eyes scanned the room, watching as everyone else practiced. He didn’t see any of the other paramedics get that close and personal with their instruction. Odd. His arms grew tired from the compressions. “Is it okay to stop now?”

Monoma inspected him for a moment, then nodded. “We’ll move onto mouth-to-mouth now.”

“I thought—”

“While it is not recommended to do it for CPR, it’s still good knowledge to have.”

The rest of the class went by rather quickly and by the end of it, Shinsou was handed a small card with his name written on it stating he had passed the CPR safety course. He thanked Kendou as she handed it to him with a smile. She gave a simple, “No problem,” then moved on to the next student. Shinsou made his way to the door to leave, then hesitated. Tetsutetsu was cleaning up the supplies and Monoma was at the door saying goodbye to everyone as they left.

Shinsou bit his lip. He wasn’t usually this forward (or ambitious), but something needled its way into the back of his head that egged him to do the unthinkable. He cleared his throat, and Monoma lifted his gaze to him. “Did you need something?” asked Monoma.

Shinsou parted his lips, wetting them before speaking. “I, um—I was wondering if you wanted to get a drink sometime? Or something. It doesn’t have to be drinks,” he added with uncertainty.

Whatever Monoma was thinking, his face kept hidden. Shinsou was not a fan of the fact that he couldn’t read him. “Like a date?” he asked carefully.

Shinsou nodded. “Yeah. I just—I thought I felt something earlier. Sorry if I misunderstood.” He moved to leave, but an arm extended in front of him, blocking the doorway.

“Phone.”

“What?” Shinsou blinked.

“Your phone,” said Monoma with a smile. “So, I can put my number in.”

Oh.

“Here.” Shinsou pulled his phone out of his pocket and held it out. Monoma was quick to enter his number and then hand it back.

“I’m free on Sunday.”

Shinsou felt his cheeks warm once more. “Then it’s a date.”

Thank you for reading! You can download the zine for free! ~ Also consider popping over to AO3 to drop a kudos if you liked it. 💕

[punching-fade-rifts]

While there wasn’t anything at the 2023 Game Awards about Dragon Age: Dreadwolf, there was a small protest group outside the building that was about unionizing in game development and the large amount of layoffs this year in the industry. BioWare isn’t mentioned by name but Keyword Studio’s union is mentioned ! Here’s my scans of their brochure they were handing out if anyone is interested!

Updated to add alt text for those with screen readers

[begin alt text]

The Game Awards 2023: The Best Year for Games

The Worst Year for Game Workers

Protesting a year of layoffs

[next page]

The 2023 game industry: $188 billion in revenue

9000+ Layoffs (source: LA Times, videogamelayoffs.com)

…and that’s surely an undercount. It’s hard to overstate just how disastrous this has been for the workers who actually make games and for the health of the industry as a whole.

More layoffs means more competition for fewer open positions. More competition means lower wages and burnout. Burnout and lack of positions force workers out of the industry.

All that talent, gone. And those that remain still suffer! The work piles up in fewer desks, you don’t know if your next. These are poor conditions for working, let alone for the creativity and care needed to create games.

[next page]

Welcome to The Game Awards 2023: She’ll of an Industry Edition

This year has been full of amazing games from Hi-Fi Rush to Armored Core VI.

Unfortunately, the workers creating these games have seen the worst layoffs in decades.

We’ve lost our livelihoods, our colleagues, and our passion. We’re forced to accept lower pay or leave the industry, joining an exodus of talent that grows by the day.

This year has been nothing less than a crisis for the industry.

But we can fight this. Over the last two years, workers have been organizing into unions to defend themselves, and building worker cooperatives to create the spaces we deserve.

We need to keep up the pressure to prevent the collapse of the real industry: the workers that make it.

[next page]

Anti-Union Retaliation

Unions are finally here! They took the industry by storm in 2022 and beyond, but the fight is not over.

Keywords Edmonton United and the Allied Employees Guild Improving Sega (AEGIS-CWA) have been harassed and threatened, and even subjected to illegal targeted firings for daring to stand up to the bosses.

Generative AI

Generative AI is built on the stolen art, writing, voices, and even bodies of artists and actors, and companies aim to use it to replace them.

Even programmers that work on AI aren’t safe. Code-generating AI is here, and threatens to make junior positions even scarcer.

And while these systems have been pushed to replace labor, workers have still needed to fix the generated material, because it’s not that good.

Games are an artform— we should not be automating away human creativity

[next page]

Fight Back

Unions

Tip the balance of power in your workplace! As a union, you can fight the whims of shareholders and save you and your fellow workers’ jobs and dignity!

No more security escorts as you clean out your desk. No more getting locked out of the office without notice. No more finding out you’re unemployed from a press release.

Talk yo your coworkers, party up, level up, and prevail!

Worker Cooperatives

Worker cooperatives are owned and operated by workers. This is a great alternative for workers who are tired of the traditional corporate model and want to take control of their creativity and labor.

Game co-ops are gaining around! Check out KO_OP, Soft Not Weak, Black Flag, Future Club, and more!

[next page]

What You Can Do

1. Wear our pins into the theater! Don’t let security take them, but record them if they do!

2. Post about the layoffs with #TheGameAwards, so it can’t be ignored!

3. Talk to your coworkers privately about unionization- the more people are unionized, the easier it gets and the lore leverage we have.

Learn more at cohost.org/gwsc

[end alt text]

[momiji-bookhouse]

Your writing is so good, I love reading your work! Could you write for Albedo + Glaze Lily please?

[Glaze Lily]: "Tell me, oh storyteller, of the tale of those ill-fated, star-crossed lovers."

Event Masterlist

pairing: Albedo x gn!reader

genre: angst

At its core, the art of alchemy goes against the natural order of the world. The process of breaking an object down into its very essence, molding it to one's will and transfigure it into something else entirely, is one that displays the arrogance of humankind in thinking they can tame something that cannot, and should not, be controlled. But those ever lofty gods do not take heed to these trivial acts of arrogance. What harm is there in allowing mere mortals to fiddle with a little sliver of power?

Alchemy remains harmless to their eyes, until it deals with giving what was once inanimate or decayed feeble life, something they thought they have buried deep underground long ago.

Their fears are realized when a practitioner of that forbidden knowledge appeared in the high walls of Mondstadt.

"Do you think he'll come today?"

"I sure hope so! He's so dreamy~."

You finish the coffee order in your hand, only half-listening to the conversation from your coworkers about some guy who's been coming into the cafe lately.

"What's so great about this guy anyways?" You ask after handing the coffee to the customer.

"Oh (Y/N), if you were here then you would get it. He's so handsome! He must a model. Or an actor."

"Or a prince of some kind. Gods, he looks like he's straight out of a fairy tale. I wouldn't mind if he sweeps me off my feet."

"And his voice...I can melt just thinking about it. Do you think he voices audiobooks?"

"Maybe he can help cure my insomnia by reading a bedtime story to me."

You look at them in suspicion. "That sounds a little too perfect."

"I thought so too! But man, he's so fine. Even his name is pretty." One of them sighs. "Albedo."

Something prickles at the back of your mind at the name, but you quickly shake the feeling off. "That's a rare name."

"I know! I tried looking him up, but he doesn't seem to have much of a social media presence."

"Oh, if only he would show up for your last shift, (Y/N), then you'll see."

You smile ruefully at the reminder that this will be the last time you work here before you move to another city. "Let's see what happens."

To your coworkers' dismay, there's no sign of that mysterious, golden customer. Though you can't deny that you're curious, there's no help mulling on what could have been, especially when you're going to be leaving soon.

At the end of your shift, you change out of your work clothes and hug all of your coworkers goodbye, clocking out one last time before exiting out the back door to start a new chapter in your life.

A few minutes later, the bell chimes, and a young man with hair as pale as chalk walks through the front door.

───── ⋆⋅✨⋅⋆ ─────

The gods trembled upon their divine seats in a mixture of fear and indignation at the last remaining student of the Art of Khemia. An abominable creature existing outside of their jurisdiction that cannot be directly influenced by their dictated fate.

But they would not make their move just yet. No, let the false creation be lured into a sense of security. Let him be convinced that he deserved a life of happiness and peace.

He would make a mistake soon enough.

Spending time in an art gallery isn't what you expected for your day-off, but some of your colleagues have recommended this place to you ever since you've moved here, so you figured there's no harm in going. Besides, it would be a nice change of pace, and it's free to enter to boot.

Coincidentally, the day you decided to go is the day that the gallery is introducing a new exhibition from an artist that you've never heard of before.

"Kreideprinz?" You pronounces as you look at the brochure in curiosity, the name settling into your tongue like a well-worn blanket.

"It means Chalk Prince," the person at the counter informs you. "He's a rising artist that started out in the online space and amassed a following over the years for his sketches and paintings. He's famous for blending realism with a fantastical approach in his landscape depictions. His identity has been a well-kept secret in the industry, but there's a rumor that he may appear at the event tonight."

"Is that so?" You say under your breath while scanning quickly through the brochure. There's no denying the beauty of these images.

"You can find out more on the website if you're interested."

The exhibition is called "On the Boundary", and according to the brochure in your hand, displays a series of his paintings that depicts the world constantly in motion and often on the cusp of a transitional stage.

You stroll through the gallery and find yourself lost in these worlds: from a blooming field of Cecilias that hide signs of decay and rot; to the ancient mountain of Vindagnyr — verdant and prosperous, only belied by a thin flutter of snow on the ground; to the old city of Mondstadt blanketed by darkness and a whisper of a storm.

But not all of it signifies doom and gloom. There's the Tower of Decarabian and the bubbles of resistance hidden among the crowd. The early formation of Liyue Harbor, a skeleton of its now glorious self. The rain slowing its downpour on Yashiori Island. A dazzling depiction of Sumeru City as dreams return to its people.

You stop at a painting of Starsnatch Cliff at night, not as sprawling or grandiose as the others, but something about the simplicity of it draws you in. You wonder what the change could be in this one, could it be the saplings of Cecilia dotted throughout the dusky landscape? Or something in the breeze? Or maybe it's the silhouette of two figures sitting on the precipice of the cliff, bodies so close together that they almost seem to be fusing.

You stare at the sight, entranced. An overwhelming, unnameable feeling fills your soul, a mixture of wistfulness, nostalgia, and yearning. You've been to Starsnatch Cliff once before, but never like this. This is the cliff in another time other than your own. So why is it that you can feel the breeze caressing your cheek, the solid presence of someone beside you, their velvet touch against your skin?

You snap out of your reverie just in time to realize that you had a hand outstretched as if you were going to touch the canvas. You look around to catch the disapproving look from the security guard nearby and quickly retract your hand, your cheeks flaming in shame.

You walk away, and that unexplainable feeling becomes nothing more than dew sliding off a leaf.

That night, a young man wanders discreetly through the gallery, his eyes as blue as the waters of Cider Lake sweeping over each artwork before halting at a particular one.

He gazes at the painting of the lovers on Starsnatch Cliff, and only those observant enough would be able to understand the look in his eyes.

───── ⋆⋅✨⋅⋆ ─────

The creature had everything anyone could ever desire for. Respect from his colleague, power, talent, friends, family, even love. Oh, how he trembled when he realized that this molded heart of his could be capable of such a flighty and ferocious emotion.

How tangible he must have felt, how corporeal and human to be able to taste the fruits of love. He thought he had risen above his shameful origins and was worthy to stand by his lover.

Oh, how the gods anticipated his eventual fall from grace.

It's the perfect day for a stroll in the park, and you congratulate yourself for dragging your body out of bed and enjoy the weather for a little bit, even when your plans for the evening consist of binge-watching your favorite shows and ordering takeout. Ah well, no shame in that.

You're walking along the lake when you feel something crashing into you. You're preparing to chastise them when you realized that the person is only a child, a blonde girl wearing a red dress adorned with clover patterns whose height only manages to hit your upper thighs. Tears rim her eyes, and she has a panicked look on her face.

"What's wrong, are you lost?"

"Klee can't find her mom anywhere! I wanted to see the ducks so I turned away from her for a moment and now I don't know where she is!" She lets out in a ramble.

"Ok," you gently take a hold of her shoulders. "I need you to calm down for me, Klee. We'll find your mom together."

"R-really?"

"Yeah," you smiled. "I promise. Can you describe her to me?"

"M-mom has blonde hair like me, and she's wearing a red dress today so we can match! She's also tall, and very pretty!"

You nod and look down at her dress. Let's hope that there's not a lot of blonde women wearing red dresses with clover patterns in the park today. "Ok, let's go find her."

You let the little girl take your hand and slowly lead her through the park, eyes peeled for the woman fitting the description. You decided to go towards the security booth, thinking that if a panicked parent just lost their child, that would probably be the first place they go to.

Along the way, you get to talking with Klee to ease her worries, asking about her family and listening to her stories about Dodoco (her early interest in chemistry and bomb-making is a bit concerning, but you attribute that to childhood curiosities.)

"You remind me of my brother!"

"Hm? I do?"

She nods enthusiastically, her previous worry seeming to have lessened. "Big brother is also very kind, and he always look after me. Even when he's busy with work, he would find time to play with me."

"Sounds like a good brother."

"He is! I love him very much!"

Thankfully, true to your guess, when you arrive near the booth, there's a hassled woman fitting the description talking to the security guy., waving her arms around frantically.

"Mama!" Klee exclaims and leaves your side to run to her. At the shout, the woman turns around, her eyes brightening in relief.

"Klee!" She springs her arms open to hug the girl. "Where have you been? I've been looking all over for you!"

"I'm sorry," Klee hangs her head guiltily. "I just wanted to look at some ducks."

The woman's shoulders sag. "Oh well, that's alright my little clover. You're here now. Are you okay?"

"Mhmm! I had some help!" Klee gestures to you, still standing there to see the reunion. The woman locks her eyes with yours, and to your surprise, a quick flash of recognition goes through them. She looks at you stiffly, eyebrows furrowed and her mouth almost hanging open.

But she recovers only a second later. "Thank you for helping my Klee."

"It's nothing." You wave a hand. "I'm glad I was able to help."

She nods, and the movement seemed tense. "Come on Klee, say goodbye to the nice person."

"Bye bye!"

"Bye Klee, bye Dodoco."

The woman looks as if though she wants to say something more, but at the last minute she turns away, and offers nothing else than a wave goodbye.

───── ⋆⋅✨⋅⋆ ─────

His fate may not be written by their hands, but his lover was not immune to the whims of destiny.

How cruel it must have been to see a life taken so prematurely, when there was still so much potential and purpose left. How distraught the alchemist was when he witnessed the lifeless body of his lover, how he had begged and pleaded and prayed to the gods he never truly believed in.

They were anticipating this moment, and his next action was one that would seal their paths forever.

"False creation, your attempt at tampering with the natural order of this world to revive a human corpse to life has left us no choice but to intervene. Their soul is no longer of this world, and it is not your right to tether them back to a husk. We cannot ignore this transgression, nor can we let it go unpunished. While everything in this world live and die, you cannot age nor die. Enjoy your immortality, homunculus, and know that you will never be reunited with your love. No matter how many ages past, no matter how many times they reincarnate, no matter if civilizations rise or fall, your paths will never cross again. Heed our words, homunculus. Heed them...or reap the consequences."

You're speedwalking on the sidewalk, silently hoping that you'll make it in time for your appointment. You weave through the streets towards the tracks, the pedestrian light ahead letting you know that a tram will be making its way through soon. You speed up, but the moment your feet makes contact with the tram tracks, you turn to meet the sparkling teal eyes of a young man, his pale blond hair brushing his shoulders, strands pulled back into a half-ponytail to reveal ethereal and delicate features that takes your breath away.

How does one measure a moment when it seems to last forever? You're confident that you're still moving, and yet your feet seem to anchor itself to the ground, trapping yourself in this one instance and refusing to let you go. Everything that is once concrete fizzles out until your surroundings become nothing but dust. There's nothing but you and this man that you've never seen before.

Then why is it that deep inside you feel something call out to you? Why is it that goosebumps rise to your skin and ears buzzed and something creaks in your mind like an abandoned cabinet finally being opened?

Why is he gazing at you with so much tenderness and sadness?

The moment passes. You emerge on the other side safely, the tram blocking your sight entirely. You find yourself lingering for a few seconds, as if seeing if you can catch another look at that mysterious person. The fleeting desire is broken when you take a glance at your phone, horrified to know that you only have a few minutes left.

You dash off, all thoughts of that beautiful man seemingly lost to you.

───── ⋆⋅✨⋅⋆ ─────

Albedo watches as the tram pass, and to his disappointment there is no sign of you on that other side.

He had anticipated this. The gods have kept vigilant to their words for thousands of years, never letting up in their promise to never let him see you ever again. But this slip of theirs...how interesting.

He had seen it in your eyes, he knows that deep down your soul still recognizes him, even when a fog encases your heart and mind. This gives him some hope yet, that those deities up above are not all-powerful and omnipresent.

He turns away, his footsteps clacking against the sidewalk as he thinks about his next move.

He will find their weakness, topple them from their heavenly thrones with his bare hands, and reweave the strands of fate.

After all, Albedo has nothing but time and patience.

[gingerfale]

Castiel hasn't done much preparation for the trip, too focused on ensuring Jack will be safe and well taken care of while he's away. Gabriel, he assumes, did even less to prepare for a week in the wilderness judging by the way his brother lounges in his canoe, paddle nowhere in sight. Sam looks a bit peeved, but is professional enough to keep his mouth shut.

Castiel had expected that Maine would be green, he's seen the brochures and heard it touted as ‘vacationland’ by coworkers who summered with the wealthy on the coast, but he hadn't thought that the Allagash Wilderness Waterway would be any different than Central Park, albeit a version that went on for miles.

He feels like he's just woken up, that every day before this one in gray, sterile offices and penthouses was just a dream.

The woods go on for miles in every direction, the water is cool and clear, there's grime under his nails, sweat beading down his spine, and when he turns around from his seat in the front of their canoe to see Dean's sparkling smile he feels a pull he cannot deny.

He's really not prepared for any of this at all.

[sommerflue-22]

SWIPE RIGHT | Armin Arlert x Reader

Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3

One swipe to the right and you found yourself going on dates with Armin Arlert, loving how he treated you right. Who could possibly resist such a gentle and compassionate man? It's only a matter of time before he officially asked you to be his girlfriend...

Pairing(s): Armin Arlert x Fem!Reader

Warning: Arranged marriage, situasionship

Word count: 2.4k

Author note

Hi guys, thank you for the likes and follows. I really appreciate it! Make sure to follow me if you haven't, so you can find the next part of this fic (or other fics) easily! Here's part 3, lemme know if you like it! <3

“Earth to (Y/N), please?”

You pushed Hitch’s hand away from your face. “What?” You were annoyed because Hitch had been bothering you for the past few minutes as you typed an important email.

“It’s time for our lunch break. Come on, let’s go get some pho.”

You glanced at the clock on the wall, and surely it was ten minutes after one in the afternoon. You told Hitch to meet you in front of the store as you finished sending the email. With a new campaign coming up, it was quite a busy day in the jewelry store you worked at. As a result, you had to send a ton of emails before the day ended. 

You exchanged a few greetings with your coworkers. They had already taken their lunch break, so they would stay in the store. Hitch was impatient and dragged you out to the new pho restaurant, a few buildings away from the store.

While waiting in line to order, you checked your phone but there weren’t any text messages from Armin. You assumed he was preoccupied with the family business, since it was still the summer vacation. Of course, you missed him a lot. The last time you went on a date with him was around two weeks ago. 

“How’s Sasha, by the way?” Hitch asked. She mistook your frequent action of checking your phone’s notification as waiting for a message from Sasha.

“Oh, she’s doing really well. She just got promoted.” You slipped your phone in your back pocket.

“That’s great.”

The conversation died down as it was your time to order. You were surprised by the size of the portion, and not to mention how delicious it tasted. Overall, you and Hitch both thought that it was a good deal, and you both planned to come back the next day to try another menu.

Satisfied with your meal, you and Hitch returned to the store. You checked your phone one more time before going back in. Nothing. No text message. You sighed and pushed the front door open.

“Thank god you’re here, (Y/N).” One of your coworkers approached you. “I need the catalog for our designer collaboration series. Could you please bring it out? A customer wants to look at it, says they’re really interested in one of the designs.”

“Sure, I’ll bring it out soon.”

You dashed to your office in the back of the store and grabbed the most recent catalog. You also took a few brochures to give to the customer in case they were still looking. As soon as you got everything you needed, you immediately went back to the front store. Your coworker was chatting with the customer, a lady with a prominent jaw and nose structure. Beautiful, you thought to yourself.

“Hello, I’m (Y/N) (Y/L/N), and I’m the marketing manager here.” You greeted her with a smile. “I believe you are interested in our most recent collaboration with a few designers.”

“Indeed,” the lady replied, “my fiancé and I are looking for wedding jewelry.”

“Oh, congratulations on your engagement. When will the wedding take place? Because we are currently out of a few designs. So, if you’re interested in one of those designs, I can certainly contact some people to get it back in stock.”

The lady scanned the catalog you gave her. “Not to worry, the wedding is still six months away.”

“We have plenty of time, then. May I interest you in these Luminous collections? The design is timeless and they are one of our most popular, best-selling collections—”

“Annie, dear, did you switch your phone back to silent mode? I swear I left you a couple of missed call—”

You froze as you saw the familiar blond man. Armin just walked in and sat down next to the lady, putting his arm around her waist. 

“I think so? I’m sorry, Armin.” The lady gave him a peck on the cheek, “Here, what do you think of these collections? Miss (Y/L/N) here said some of them are out of stock, but she might be able to help us out.”

You could see Armin’s shoulder tensed as he realized, for the very first time since he entered the store, that it was you. You never told him where you worked, so it came as a surprise to him. Armin couldn’t form any sentence and just stared at you as his fiancée told him about her thoughts on the collection.

You cleared your throat. “Yes, I believe this one will really compliment your eye color, Ma’am. I’d love to assist you further, but unfortunately I have a meeting in less than five minutes. Here’s my business card, please contact me at any time. For the time being, my colleague, Ms. Green, will gladly assist you.”

The lady, whose name was Annie, thanked you. You thanked her again and immediately left for your office. Hitch, with whom you shared the office, was sitting in front of her laptop when you walked in. She jumped in her seat when she heard you curse. Even on the worst of occasions, you rarely cursed. Hitch knew right away that there was something wrong.

“Whoa, what’s gotten into you, (Y/N)?” Hitch paused her typing. “Did you have to deal with another fussy, finicky customer?”

“No, I don’t want to talk about it right now, Hitch.” You gritted your teeth as you sat down, picking up your phone to text Sasha about what had happened.

“I was beyond shocked, our Miss (Y/L/N) cursed out of nowhere, in the middle of the day—”

“Shut—” you were about to yell at her, but you took a deep breath and quickly  regained your composure. “—up. Hitch, I am trying to focus on my work right now and you should too.”

Hitch knew not to disturb you and continued her typing. You opened up a document on your desktop that you didn’t really need to look through, as your phone buzzed with new messages from both Sasha and Armin.

· · ─────── ·𖥸· ─────── · ·

You despised the smell of alcohol, but you knew you really needed a drink. After the unfortunate encounter, you informed your boss that you would be taking a three-day casual leave for the remainder of the week. Sasha blew a fuse when you told her about what happened during that day. She could tell how disappointed you were even if you didn’t really show it. That’s why she invited Jean, and even Connie, who drove all the way from another city, to cheer you up. They took you to one of your favorite bars downtown.

“What a lame git.” Jean scoffed, “I swear to god, if I ever meet him I will…” He punched the air with his right fist.

“No need to stoop that low, Jean.” You sighed and leaned back to your seat, eyes closed. “He doesn’t deserve your time or attention.”

Jean ruffled your hair and turned to face your other two friends, who were really, really tipsy. “At least they’re having fun.” Indeed, Sasha and Connie were having the time of their lives, laughing and singing along to the music, occasionally making insulting remarks  about your date. 

You downed all of your remaining cocktail before excusing yourself to the restroom. Jean offered to walk you there, but you told him you’d be fine. That was a lie; you broke down once you got into one of the cubicles. No sound came out of your lips, but you were sobbing. You felt so foolish. All this time he never asked you out because he already had a fiancée. Someone more attractive and obviously came from a wealthy family, they belonged to the same peer group. You were probably just a summer fling for him. Were there any others? You didn’t know, and you didn’t want to find out. It hurt you how he treated you like you were special. How he held your hand every time he got the chance, how he cradled you in his arms, how his fingers delicately touched your skin…

How he sent you into ecstasies every time he laid with you. 

You were filled with disgust. How could he do such a thing to you? How could he be so cruel to his fiancée? You kept telling yourself over and over that it was not your fault. You wiped your tears, braced yourself, and exited the cubicle to return to your table. 

Sasha and Connie had stopped singing and were both looking at you with worry in their eyes. Meanwhile, Jean didn’t look up, instead tracing the edge of his glass with his hand. He seemed to be in a trance and didn’t realize you had returned from the bathroom.

“(Y/N), are you okay? I mean, that’s a stupid question but… you’re good there, bud?” Connie asked, clearly no longer tipsy.

You nodded and smiled weakly at him. “I’m alright Connie, thanks. I’m really tired, though.”

“Do you want me to drive you back home?” Connie fished out his car keys which Sasha quickly pushed aside.

“You’re totally buzzed, Conman.”

“I’m alright, I’m all sober—”

“I’ll drive you home, (Y/N).” Jean took Connie’s keys and stood up. “Obviously, I’m the only one sober enough to drive.”

“Darn it, you’re right.” Connie clicked his tongue. “Bring my car back right after dropping (Y/N) off, will you?”

You stood up to hug Sasha and Connie, before following Jean out of the bar. Thankfully, Connie had parked not far from the bar. Soon, you were on your way home with Jean driving.

Normally, Jean would have teased you mercilessly. He did that a lot whenever you had an argument with your previous ex. This time, Jean didn’t say anything. He knew how chaotic your mind was. He understood. The ride was silent from the moment you left the bar, all the way until he stopped in front of your apartment building.

Jean pulled the handbrake and turned to look at you. “Do you want me to walk you in, (Y/N)?”

“I’m fine.” You squeaked.

Jean let out a sigh. He stepped out, went around the car, and opened the door for you.

“You know you can call me anytime, right? If you need someone to talk to, or if Sasha doesn’t pick up your call.”

“I know, Jean. Thanks.”

He nodded and opened his arms to hug you. You let him, but it reminded you of Armin. You felt a pang in your chest; you would never inhale that woody scent of his cologne ever again. 

“Alright then, I’d better get going.” You backed up.

You waited until Jean left before entering your apartment. You did everything automatically, taking the elevator up to your floor. What caught you off guard was a familiar figure, sitting with his back against your door.

“What the fuck are you doing here? Get lost.” You sneered.

“(Y/N),” Armin stood up and tried to hold your hands, but you pushed him away. “(Y/N), I’m so sorry—”

“Yeah? Tell that to your fiancée, asshole.”

“Please, (Y/N). Please let me explain first, don’t get the wrong idea, please.” Armin’s eyes began to water and his voice quivered as he was on the verge of crying. “Please, I know it seems fucked up but believe me it’s not what you think it is.”

A part of you wanted to believe him, to invite him in and hear his explanation. Another part of you, though, had had enough. You didn’t want to hear any excuse. You’re sick of being played. You felt bad for his fiancée. 

“Go home, Armin.” You sighed. “Go home. Don’t apologize to me, apologize to your fiancée.”

You pushed Armin aside and unlocked your door.

“(Y/N), you don’t understand—”

“Oh, it’s me who doesn’t understand? How could you? How could you do that to me, to your fiancée? Huh?” You finally snapped. “You know what? Right now I really want to call you names, horrible names, but I won't. You do not deserve my time, you do not deserve my energy, you do not deserve me. I hate you for doing this. I hate the fact that I love the way you treated me, how you made me feel special, how I actually fell in love with you in a matter of a few weeks—”

You were interrupted as Armin’s lips collided with yours. You didn’t kiss back, and it didn’t last long. Armin rested his forehead against yours, a few tears rolled down his cheeks. 

“(Y/N), I was set up.” He sobbed. “My parents set me up, fuck. They arranged a marriage without telling me, nor did they ask for my agreement. Fuck, I’m so sorry (Y/N). I’m so, so sorry.”

You actually let him hug you tight. You felt bad for yelling at him.

“I fell in love with you, dear. I truly did. I am in love with you. So much. I want to get to know you better, and I want to actually ask you out. I didn’t want to rush things but now I regret that. I should have asked you out. I don’t want her, I want you. God, we did a lot of things together, didn’t we, (Y/N)? I gave you my first kiss, I made love for the first time with you, I took you to the beach—a very special and memorable place for me. You’re the one I want. (Y/N), dear, please believe me. I know we’ve only known each other for a month or two, but I know. I know and I really am sure I only want you. Please believe me.”

Your head was spinning and you were at a loss of words. You let Armin hold you for a long time until he stopped crying. You couldn’t think of anything to say, think, or do.

“Thank you,” you croaked out, “For telling me.”

Armin looked at you with a glimmer of hope in his eyes.

“I feel like you should sort things out with your family about it. You want me to believe in you? There is nothing else you can do but prove it to me. If I really am the one you want, sort things out. Come back to me when you’re ready.”

Armin nodded slowly. “I will try. I will try my best. Will you wait for me?”

“Yes.”

“Alright.”

Both of you stood there in silence until you cleared your throat.

“Well then, you should probably go home.”

“Ah, yes. I should…” Armin pointed at the elevator with his thumb. “Yeah, I guess so.”

He turned on his heels and trudged down the hallway.

“Good night, Armin.”

He stopped on his track and looked back, a sad smile plastered on his face.

“Good night, (Y/N), my dear.”

This fic is also available on Ao3

[unfavorableinstigation]

So, it is apparently coming time to take a new all-staff picture for the brochure stuff. Fine, fine, fair enough, I'll get Boyfriend to snap something I don't hate and they can put it in the yearbook montage or whatever.

Except. My grandboss is extremely Mormon earnest, and has decided on a fun new idea that I personally would have executed exactly the same way with zero changes if my goal was to efficiently maximize workplace suffering and plausible deniability in this One Weird Trick. He sent us an honest to god 2016 Marvel Avengers ensemble fan poster as a proof of concept, complete with the Guardians of the Galaxy raccoon, and wants us each to pick a superhero to Photoshop our face onto.

The first coworker to speak up dibsed Batman; I'm still genuinely unsure whether she knew he wasn't on there or not. Since she broke the DC seal, I am demanding 1995 Jim Carrey Riddler specifically as is my right and my duty. If they decide it has to be an actual hero, I will settle for Adam West Batman... except that Other Coworker did already call Batman, and grandboss implied it was only going to be one per hero.

The thing is, 1995 Jim Carrey Riddler and Adam West Batman are both me playing nice. If they take Adam West from me too, I don't think I will be able to stop myself from going with my very first and funniest idea.... which is to cause immediate irreversible paralysis in anyone between 25 and 40 who views the staff picture by having them photoshop my face over this and add it to the Marvel Avengers lineup.

[apollobar]

Everything That is Left: Chapter 2

Chapter 1: Here

CHAPTER 2: ECHOES OF SUSPICION

Nightmares tend to slink their way into her mind like a snake. Silent and eerie as they slither against thoughts and memories, looking for a place to sink poisonous fangs. Tender spots too irresistible for an opportunistic reptile. Lucy has become no stranger to these types of intruders, often meeting them in the shadows of sleep. And tonight, if she allows it, she knows they will meet her again. The events of recent days primed and ready to welcome guests inside her head. So, instead she stays awake. A choice that leaves no door for nightmares to slip through.

In an effort to keep exhaustion at bay, Lucy does her best to occupy her mind. She begins by counting the leaves that hang above her. It is too dark to see what sits beyond the jungle, past the tree line where she lays. So she focuses on the plants closest to her, the glow of moonlight making it possible for her to sketch out the shapes of stoic branches dressed in green. For each leaf that she tallies, she twists the piece of seaglass around in her hand. Her own version of a click counter. 210, twist, 211, twist, 212… But then the wind comes and rustles the leaves like feathers and the whole thing has to begin again. 

Lucy goes like this for some time until finally surrendering the victory to the breeze. Bushes sway in celebration and her eyes close briefly, the tug of sleep enticing and seductive. Her bones have turned to stone thrown into wet concrete as Lucy sinks deeper and deeper into herself. Something slinks against her mind in anticipation and in a sharp moment of realization, she jumps to her feet. Panic trembling through her arms and pushing out the remnants of fatigue. 

From her new position she notices, more clearly, the sea of bodies laying around her. Fourteen people. Fourteen survivors from a total of a hundred and fifteen passengers who boarded the small cruise across the Pacific Ocean. John sleeps a few feet away from her, and she watches as the softness in his features twist and change to something Lucy knows too well. Dreams morphing into sinking ships and ink black oceans. And a surge of guilt rushes through her veins. It was Lucy’s fault they were all on that ship in the first place, coming at her insistence to go on a vacation together. Her need for some time to connect and relax together as friends rather than just coworkers. And now, because of her, they were in danger. If she could take it all back she would. She would go back and throw away that stupid brochure like Tim told her to do in the first place. A pang stings the back of her throat at the memory and she forces herself to swallow it down. Regrets are useless now, she tries to remind herself.

Ripping her eyes from her friend, she scans the area desperate for something new to take her focus. In answer, a piece of silver shines over to her left, and she smiles with gratitude as the sinking rock in her chest slips away for now. Walking over, sand crunching under foot, she discovers the remnants of the group’s lifeboat supplies. Piled together against the boat in a makeshift pyramid, left to be used later on. She picks up a hatchet, still glinting of silver soaked in moonlight. It’s one of two identical tools, each about the size of her forearm and with an unused blade still sharp to the touch. Lucy is careful as she lifts it. An item originally so easily bought at a home goods store, now promoted to a title of preciousness and necessity. 

Kneeling, she gently lays the hatchet across the ground away from the pile of tools, the other one soon following and finding a new home beside it. She’s slow and tender with each object she picks up and moves it, cautious not to harm anything as she separates them one by one. The world is quiet as she works. Muffled by the stillness of early morning, and a warm pink tint that begins to spread across the earth. Once each one is spread out before her, she rises and surveys the treasure of items, dusting sand off her pants in harsh strokes. 

Two oars, one compass, two hatchets, a dipper, four flares, one flashlight, one signaling mirror, a jack knife, one set of fishing tackle, five thermal blankets, and a first aid kit. 

Lucy scans the items again.

And then again.

A familiar wave of concern and suspicion ripples through her and she pokes her head inside the lifeboat. Her calloused hands brush and slide along the crevices of the boat before circling the raft as she kicks up and pushes the sand around it. When the boat comes up empty and nothing new is unearthed from beneath the ground, Lucy forces herself to take a deep breath as her hands push her hair back from the scalp. 

Something is missing.

----------------------- 

The camp has begun to rise and Lucy watches as each castaway wipes a terrible night’s sleep from their eyes. Groups have naturally started to gather together in the early dawn. A few people have started to scale the rocky coast for driftwood, walking up towards the stone cliff that sits a few hundred yards beyond. Some of them even venture tentatively into the jungle for dry kindling, careful and unsure of what kind of wildlife lurks within. From her seat next to the lifeboat she can see a group of three men on her left. They sit in a triangle, arms dangling over knees as they lament over injuries and sand fleas who snuck bites throughout the night. One of them, Jared, nurses the arm that he dislocated in the chaos days ago. He adjusts the makeshift sling she remembers Tim  made for him the first night on the boat from a belt. He plays it cool in front of the others, Steven and Henry, as they talk. But every now and again, Lucy will notice how his fingernails will curl into his palm and the color drains from his face with every accidental touch or brush from a harsh wind. 

A little further on, another but more familiar group of three stand tall and huddle together in deep conversation, bound by a benefit of shared history. A history that Lucy shares as well, and draws her in from her spot on the surf, pulling her towards them now. It has been an hour since she discovered the items missing from their supplies, and since then a ticking clock has begun. Taunting her in the back of her mind with a tick tick tick. News like this is not something that will stay quiet for long.

Even from a distance, Lucy can make out the shapes of her friends. Angela’s hands are expressive as she talks, moving along with her. Tim crosses his arms across his chest in firm contemplation, and John wipes a sweaty hand down his jaw. An air of seriousness engulfs the discussion, but then again, all conversations have felt serious these days. When she reaches them, friendly eyes catch hers in recognition, but are too engrossed in their conversation at the moment to go beyond acknowledgement. 

“...inside the jungle! We can’t rule out the possibility that there is something or someone out there that could help us.” Angela continues, Lucy only catching the tail end of her response.

“What about rescue? I’m not sure packing up and leaving is our best strategy here,” John argues, his tone level but stern.

“A few of the others have already started on figuring out a signal fire, but John we can’t just sit here.”  Her voice has started to rise, desperation and truth ring in her words, and the men are silent as she continues, “It was a miracle that our lifeboat even survived that typhoon. Rescue may not know we are even alive. And even if they knew to look for us, who knows how far we were taken! They may not know where to start looking.”

All night, as Lucy counted leaves and organized supplies, Tim’s assurance of rescue from the day before rang in her head. His confidence at the time had wrapped around her like a blanket, providing a comfort she ached for. And as the night wore on, his words would float through her mind. Rescue is going to come. The whole time, she half expected–hoped a helicopter or rescue boat would shine a spotlight onto their camp, announcing the promise of safety. Lucy sneaks a glance at Tim, and she wishes that she hadn’t as all his comforting conviction falters with the fall of his chest. A knife twists into her fostering fear, and the air is cold on her neck as the semblance of yesterday’s comfort strips away. There’s a beat, and Tim finally speaks up.

“So what’s your plan?” He asks.

“I can take a group of two or three of us. Take one of the hatchets, some of the rations, and scout the area while the rest of you get a decent camp and signal fire going. We can walk the shore, and see if this place is as deserted as it looks. At the very least we may find fresh water or some fruit trees.” 

“As great as that plan sounds, we have a problem,” Lucy interrupts, pushing the fear down and seizing the opportunity. Angela’s eyebrows knit together and looks over at her.

“What do you mean?” She asks, and before responding, Lucy takes a moment to tentatively take in the rest of the camp. Everyone was bound to find out sooner or later, but until some sort of solution can be prepared, it is probably best to keep the amount of people in the know small. The men are a ways back now, a few standing to dust off the sand and move on to somewhere new. After a moment, she concludes no one else is close enough to hear without straining, but Lucy lowers her voice anyways.

“The rations are missing.”

“What are you talking about? We had enough for at least three more days,” Tim counters, lowering his voice along with hers to a harsh whisper.

“I know, but I’ve gone over the supplies a hundred times. They’re gone.” 

They all share a look, and Angela takes a few steps back to run a hand through her hair processing the information.

“Are you sure an animal didn’t take them in the middle of night?” John offers, always prepared to give the benefit of the doubt first. 

“I mean it’s possible,” Lucy says as she shifts her weight on her feet back and forth, “but the area was absent of any tracks and nothing else from the pile was touched...” Her voice trails as the other possibility hangs in the air like smoke. An unsaid accusation that seeps into the conversation, lingering and present. 

“God damnit,” Tim swears and leans in, “have you told anyone else?”

“Not yet, I figured it was best to keep it quiet until we came up with some sort of solution.” Lucy responds and earns nods of agreement. They are all quite close now, leaned in with low voices. The beginnings of a plan forming amongst the four of them. John and Tim suggest a stake out throughout the day and next night to see if the thief is brazzen enough to take something else. Angela proposes an investigation to weed out a suspect. But none of it seems to matter as chaos is carried up from the beach.

Lucy whips her head around, following the yelling and out near the lifeboat she sees them. Two men, Steven and Henry, who moments ago were lounging on the beach together, now entrapped in a shouting match with each other. It takes one second and a single push for their words to blend into something physical and fall to the ground in entangled limbs. She doesn’t think before charging after them, the others following right behind. Steven is taller and stronger than his opponent, his build lean with sturdy arms giving him enough edge as he hits Henry. The sound of knuckles hitting skin crackles through the air. A few feet away Jared calls for help, his shoulder stopping him from making any meaningful intervention.

“Knock it off!” Lucy commands as she reaches the fight, her voice landing on deaf ears. Steven’s hands are a blur as he continues to hit him and Henry tries his best to block what he can, pushing his arms up in front of his face. Lucy digs her fingers into Steven’s shoulders, and Angela steps in to pull Henry out of the way. She rips at his arms and as he swings his elbow back, he accidentally makes contact with Lucy’s face, smacking her backwards. The pain is sharp and the taste of iron fills her mouth. The new sensation startles Steven as well, as if he was unaware of her presence the whole time and he jumps back startled. Only now comprehending the crowd that has gathered, filled with wincing expressions and unease. Angela takes the moment to help bring Henry to his feet and John grabs Steven to restrain more than steady him.  

“What the hell is going on here?” Tim demands as the two men struggle to catch their breaths. Chests heaving up and down between charged glares. 

“Ask him! He’s a fucking lunatic!” Henry yells, as he spits out a mix of blood and sand. 

“Don’t act like you don’t know! You’re the one who ate the rest of the rations and left us here to starve on this rock!” Steven shouts back, and John’s grip on him tightens to hold him back.

“I told you it wasn’t me!”

Steven scoffs, and Lucy goes to shoot Tim a knowing look, only to find him already watching. His gaze trained on her since the fight, and she can feel something wet trickle down her chin. The bickering has grown irritating as the men continue to shoot remarks at each other. Steven convinced of Henry’s guilt, and Henry stern on his stance of innocence.

“You know maybe it was actually you who–” 

“Cut it out!” Lucy interrupts, her patience evaporating as she wipes the blood from her face. Her voice echoes as she speaks, “You idiots are forgetting that we are not the only living things on this island. It’s far more likely that an animal came to our camp last night and stole it!” It was a possibility that she dismissed earlier, but at this point the truth offers only contempt and suspicion. Useless feelings blocking any progress towards actually getting rescued.

“An animal that leaves no crumbs?” Steven mocks, and a few members of the crowd huff in agreement.

“Fine! Let’s say it was Henry! How is kicking the crap out of him going to get any of it back?” A flash of guilt floods Steven’s gaze as he glances at Henry. Most of his punches landed on his arms causing fresh bruises to scatter his arms, and neck. Lucy seizes the moment to continue, “We were going to run out of rations sooner or later. If we're going to survive, we can’t be turning on each other at the first sign of trouble. We haven’t even gotten a proper fire going or a shelter to block out the wind! We have bigger problems to be dealing with than throwing around baseless accusations!” 

Lucy’s speech rings around the group like a bell. All the bravado from earlier cleared away to defeat.

“So what do you propose that we do?” A blonde girl from the crowd speaks up and everyone turns to Lucy for an answer. One that she isn’t sure she’s prepared to really give at this moment. She takes in a breath as she searches for what to say, searches for a plan that could set them on the right track. The silence is stretching on for too long, and Lucy can feel the group’s doubt and fear inflating with every second she stalls. At last she sees Angela and recalls the conversation she walked in upon mere moments ago. With a nod in her direction, Lucy finally says,

“I believe you had a few ideas.”

____

Thank you to everyone for the support on the first chapter! I was really touched! Unfortunately I could not get this chapter out as fast as I hoped, but I hope you enjoy it nonetheless! You can also follow me on Ao3 @apollobar !

[tss-grimmverse]

Chapter 1: Blackthorn

enter through the alleyway past the invisible door and all the way down the escher staircase in the underworld it’s not the same as before

Six months later

Stetson was small for a university. “Intimate”, the brochure called it. Roman always assumed that Virgil, had it been up to him, would have preferred a sprawling campus where his dark, brooding, emo self could get comfortably lost in a sea of students. But Logan lived in DeLand, and Logan had been Virgil’s only option for staying hidden from his former faery master, Deceit.

So, after Deceit was dead and Virgil decided to finish his art degree after all, he’d come back to the one place he already knew. He was familiar with Stetson’s campus, on good terms with his teachers, and friendly with the local solitaries.

Roman understood that. He didn’t have to like it.

He cut the engine on his motorcycle and yanked off his helmet, flicking back sweat-damp hair. The campus seemed unusually empty; most students had probably gone home for spring break already. His bike was one of only five vehicles left in the University Hall parking lot.

Roman hung the helmet from the handlebars, stretched his arms, worked out the stiffness from his legs. Maybe biking all the way from Pennsylvania wasn't such a great idea. He told himself he'd ridden the bike so he could come and go on his own terms...but truthfully, he could have taken a bus just as easily. He’d brought the bike to show off, to possibly persuade Virgil to take a ride with him while he was here…

But he was getting ahead of himself, as usual.

Roman eyed Virgil’s dormitory in the deepening twilight, scrubbing a hand through his hair again.

Maybe I should find a motel room first. He fished his phone out and slung his backpack over his back. Just so he doesn't feel like he has to offer his space. Just so it's not awkward. 

He could use a walk after all that travel, anyway.

By the time he crossed the dark campus, he'd successfully booked a room. His finger then hovered over Virgil's number. A warning would be polite, especially when it came to Mr. Doesn't Like Surprises. Roman had initially come unannounced so Virgil couldn't talk him out of it, but Roman also didn't want to ruin the progress they'd made since Logan's and Patton's engagement party.

He scuffed his foot as he walked, thoughts swirling like gnats in the streetlights.

He wanted to believe earning that art degree was the only reason Virgil left Philly and returned to a state he admittedly hated, to the one middle-of-nowhere town where a certain former crush happened to live. Sure, Virgil transferring schools in his junior year would have been a needless headache. He’d elected to live in the dorms instead of moving back into Logan’s and Patton’s apartment. He called Roman nearly every week, keeping him updated, claiming he’d been too busy to see anyone except classmates and coworkers.

At the very least, Roman knew Virgil believed his own words. And if I'm not over Virgil, after all this time, he thought bitterly. What right do I have to complain if he’s not completely over Logan?

“Changeling,” a voice murmured in wet-sounding Faery.

Roman realized his wandering had carried him to the fountain at the center of Stetson’s campus, lit up against the growing darkness. A long-limbed naiad lounged on the edge, watching him. She wore black clothes and fishnets like an ordinary human, but Roman’s changeling eyes picked out her waterfall of dripping white hair, bluish skin, and solid black Fae eyes.

Virgil had never mentioned any solitaries around the Stetson fountain. Roman casually brought his backpack around, unzipped it, and curled a hand around his sword hilt.

“What do you want?” he asked.

The naiad arched back, letting her hair spill into the water, where it undulated in the current like pale snakes. “You won’t use that.” She gestured languidly at the bag.

Roman gripped the sword harder. “Maybe I would. You don’t know.”

“Your steel has spilled our blood, but in moons long past. I can smell the difference. You brandish it now for bluster.” She sat up and grinned, showing a mouthful of needle-sharp teeth. “You do not frighten me.”

Fucking enigmatic solitaries. He hated the way they saw straight through any human lie, no matter how carefully constructed. What did it say about him, that she could tell he hadn’t had the stomach to hunt their kind for months? Roman reshouldered his bag and walked on, determined to ignore her.

“Beware pixie territory,” the naiad added as he passed.

Roman stopped but did not turn. “What?”

“Summer in the air. Death in the water.” She grinned again as he turned, eyes narrowed. “Watch your words.”

“What in the Arcadian hell are you talking about?” Roman snapped, fighting a chill.

 But the naiad slid into the fountain with an eerie lack of splash and lay underwater, ignoring him, and Roman knew he’d get no more from her. He scoffed and trudged toward the edge of campus.

Virgil maintained that the solitaries on Stetson’s campus generally liked humans—which, in faery terms, meant the pranksters were mostly harmless and the rest kept to themselves. Plus, solitaries didn’t normally pop out of the metaphorical woodwork and talk to Smile hunters, even lapsed ones.

“Summer in the air. Death in the water. Watch your words.”

She’d meant to warn him.

Pixie territory. The hair on his neck lifted. Could she mean Painter’s Pond?

He bit his lip. This sounded like a hunt.

He considered going back to Virgil’s dorm first…but Virgil wasn’t Smile, and Virgil didn’t know he was here yet. Roman didn’t want their first reunion in months marred by faery drama. No, he would investigate the park and take care of the problem liked the damned hunter he was supposed to be.

Roman walked the few blocks to Painter’s Pond, slowing as he approached, his heart heavy with memories. Logan used to bring Virgil and Roman out here with Nic, and after Patton entered the picture, it became the four of them. He remembered chasing the dog and the pixies, Virgil laughing from the sidelines—when they weren't at each other’s throats. He could almost hear Virgil's low, gravelly voice saying "idiot," could picture him shaking his head with that maddening half-smile. 

It occurred to him that Virgil might not necessarily be in his dorm; he could be at work, out prowling around downtown, or—Roman's heart skipped at the thought—right here on these familiar paths somewhere. Virgil's relationship with this park might be complicated, but surely he still visited his pixie friends from time to time.

Roman took a step onto the grass; his skin instantly prickled. The air felt…wrong, like the trembly hesitance he got before touching a staticky doorknob.

Oh, hell. That naiad did know something.

Roman had been a Smile hunter long enough to never ignore his gut. Faery magic was both insidious and nebulous; it wanted you to dismiss it as nothing, as imagination, as too much stress or not enough sleep. Arguably the most important lesson in faery hunting was learning to ignore that "reasonable" voice in your head.

The park looked empty, streetlamps spilling orange light in pools along the paths. But at the end of the park's low wall, one dark streetlight made a cradle of blackness, bordered by clusters of tiny, bone-white shrooms. A Court circle. Ambient streetlight glimmered off the white, white mushroom caps, especially when he looked out of the corner of his eye.

Roman stalked to the near end of the wall and ducked behind, letting his backpack slide off his shoulders. He opened the main flap and eased out his sword and scabbard, making as little noise as possible. He didn't draw it, yet—he didn't know what he was facing—but he did tie the scabbard to his belt loops.

He then drew in a careful breath and focused inward.

Roman’s old master, who only permitted his changelings to call him Sir, used to hang beaded curtains around his cave lair: intricate patterns picked out in thousands of minuscule beads, strings of fist-sized glass balls that bruised when one crashed into them at a run. Their clacking featured prominently in Roman’s nightmares; some of his earliest memories involved running and putting curtain after curtain between himself and his master’s cruel experiments. That Unseelie had fancied himself a scientist…if careful butchery and elaborate torture could be considered science. And Roman happened to develop the one power guaranteed to drive such a master to unhinged fury: luck.

Roman learned to slip through those beaded strings like a ghost, disturbing them as little as possible so they wouldn’t clack and betray his passage. He often wondered if that stealthy sidestep he’d cultivated led to him gaining the ability to touch something as ephemeral as possibility. Drawing on his power felt like running through Sir’s lair, each bead in each curtain representing an outcome. Every decision, every movement, even his thoughts parted the strands in different ways. The trick to manipulating luck, he discovered, was to find the beads you wanted while not disturbing the rest.

Know where you’re going.

Sidestep.

I need to know what is going on, he chanted silently.

Keep the rest quiet.

I need to see and to not be noticed by unfriendly eyes.

Pass through.

I need to know. 

The back of his neck tingled, hairs rising as the familiar warm sensation of possibility slid glassily over his skin.

“What are you doing here?” a voice chimed in his ear.

Roman startled and found himself face-to-face with a soot-skinned, flame-haired pixie, whose tiny eyes were round o’s of surprise. She landed primly on the hand he instinctively raised.

“Tourmaline?” he hissed. That was fast.

“I am not displeased to see you, Roman Princey,” she said. “But it has been some time.”

Roman hid a cringe. He knew she only called him Princey because Virgil did, but now that particular nickname reminded him a little too much of Johnny Prince.

“I got a weird warning from a weird naiad and came to investigate.” he said, gesturing at the mushrooms. “What’s with the Court ring? I thought DeLand was still unclaimed.”

Tourmaline’s face grew pinched. She had always been more polite and serious than Virgil’s favorites, Wren and Wrassey. Roman suspected that was why Logan preferred her company.

“I believe this is the work of a single Court Fae working alone, though I have not seen them. The ring grew several days ago, and of more concern, many of my clan have since gone missing.” Her chiming voice dropped to a soft echo of itself. “I cannot penetrate the mushroom barrier myself, but I suspect that is where my sisters are.”

Well, that didn’t sound good at all.

“Can I help?” Roman asked.

She cast him an appraising look, her gaze lingering on his sheathed sword. “Your appearance is auspiciously well-timed.”

“You know me,” he said with a wink.

“It so happens that my purpose in coming to the wall tonight was to seek the help of…ah.”

Her wings carried her over Roman’s head, and she buzzed hard enough for them to glow like a beacon. Roman followed the line of her gaze.

Oh, luck.

Logan Ursae, his straight-backed posture unmistakable even in the low light, crossed the grassy park and made a beeline for Tourmaline’s glowing body. Oddly, neither Patton nor Nicodemus were with him. The half-faery slowed as he noticed Roman crouched in the shadows.

“S’up, Nerdy Wolverine?” Roman shot him a jaunty salute.

Logan opened his mouth, shut it again, and sighed.

“In the interest of saving time, I will not ask the obvious question,” he said in his low, resonant voice. “Clearly your luck has carried you along as it usually does.”

“Nice to see you, too.” Roman rolled his eyes.

Just as well I hadn’t called Virgil yet.

Logan knelt, adjusting his glasses and peering over the wall. His cheeks hollowed as he sucked on his teeth.

“It’s still here?” he said to Tourmaline.

“You don’t sound surprised to see a Court ring in your stargazing park,” Roman commented.

“I have been monitoring it for several days now.” Logan scowled. “Normally, I would leave such things alone, as I try to stay clear of Court matters. But, if I have interpreted your message correctly”—he glanced at the hovering pixie— “Wren and Wrassey are now among your missing kin?”

Tourmaline nodded.

Roman’s heart sank; she’d meant “sisters” literally. “Does Virgil know? Those are his friends. Has he been here to see the ring?”

“I do not know.” Logan’s voice gave nothing away. “I have not seen him since he arrived in DeLand.”

Good, Roman’s mind supplied nastily, prompting a pang of guilt. “What are we gonna do?”

“I meant to attempt a crossing tonight,” Logan said. “Tourmaline, am I correct in assuming solitary Fae are still barred?

The pixie settled onto Logan’s shoulder and nodded.

“And any human would just walk from one side to the other like it wasn’t even there,” Roman added.

“You know how Court-laid rings work.” Logan shot Roman a contemplative look.

“May I remind you that I’m a Smile hunter, Pain in the Nexus Instrument?” Roman snarked, grinning when Logan pulled a confused face. “Earthside Courts love their little magical pockets where they can lure in unsuspecting humans, or do their dirty work unobserved.”

“Or merely live their lives, safe from humans and Arcadian kin alike,” Logan added with a frown.

Roman waved that off. “Whatever the reason, it never occurs to them that a barrier like this”—he gestured at the mushroom ring—“designed to be inaccessible to Fae and invisible to humans, might still be vulnerable to us. Most of the time, Smile changelings can slip right in.” He stood and drew his sword in one swift motion. “Which is what I’m gonna do right now.”

Blackthorn: boundaries