#my interviewer asked me what would I do if a customer complained about a certain problem?

[novemquadragintillion]

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[nataliesnews]

Israel is an apartheid state 20.5.2023

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Subject: We are an apartheid state and many of those who took part in the Jerusalem day march would have been NAZIS in 1939 and beaten you up

To:

I listened to an interview with Gideon Levy some time ago. He said that Ha'aretz is one of the most liberal newspapers he knows not only in Israel. In fact, a customer once came and complained that he should be dismissed and the owner said that, seeing that the customer was not happy, maybe he should just stop taken the paper. He spoke of Israel being an apartheid state. He gave as an example what I have often commented on. The difference in the occupied territories between the green and fertile settlements and the dry and arid villages. Is that not a sign of apartheid?  These villages have to buy their water and pay much more than Israelis.. Please don't tell me as some friends do that they do not pay their bills. Even if they do not there is no reason for the army to go in and destroy their wells or fill them up or take away their storage tanks…..and their springs are taken over by the settlers.

Palestinians were attacked in the celebration of Jerusalem day. The faces of those beating one man are clearly shown. Has anything been done about it? Has anyone been arrested. The face is not clear. Can you imagine a Jew photographing such an attack and not being arrested. Have you not seen this sort of picture during the Holocaust. If you had, would  you not call this white trash Nazi.

That settlers can attack the Palestinians on their own land and not be arrested? Is that not apartheid. That settlers can come down to a village and throw stones at the house and not be arrested even though there are videos which show this clearly. Is that not apartheid. That they cannot drive on roads which have been built on their land. Is that not apartheid.  Over 1000 people are doing to be thrown out of their homes with no provision made for them while illegal settlements are given water and electricity. Is this not apartheid.

Palestinians are only allowed on to farm lands (not olives) on certain times and certain days. Once they go in early in the morning they have to wait until the later afternoon so come out again. If they have forgotten a tool or need something it makes no difference. Another kind of ghetto.

An excerpt  from a soldier's letter:

" When I was a soldier, we were ordered to set up an ambush in the house of a Palestinian family in the Ramallah area. They had several children, and I still remember their panic when we broke into their house in the middle of the night and set up our weapons and gear in the living room and on the balcony. We closed off the family in one room.

The official purpose of that mission was not to instill fear. It was a byproduct, but an integral part of the mission nonetheless, as with so many other missions in the territories. Nowadays commanders talk less about "creating a sense of being chased". That sounds bad. "Making our presence felt" slides better on the tongue. But the goal is the same."  Is this not apartheid

We often see houses which have been searched at night for no valid reason and been  turned upside down. Foodstuffs vandalized, oil thrown over dry products. Money stolen. My friend was telling me that she saw this with horror when her son was serving….and this twenty years back…and she phoned him in horror and asked if he took part in this and he replied, "I don't have to. There are enough volunteers"

Two Palestinian cities were blocked just before Yom Kippur so that the settlers could come to pray Slichot at the entrance……prayers for forgiveness. Into one village soldiers entered in the dead of  night to perform the some prayers. The people of Sheikh Jarrah were under curfew while the settlers celebrated and created havoc for some holiday of their making. Is this not another kind of ghetto.

The Palestinians have never been as alone as they are today. The Emirates and Saudi could not care less about them. That is one of the reasons why I will keep going to demonstrations where I can meet them to show that there are still those of us who care. What really hit me because this is something which I have not been able to put into words……the rest of the world is so occupied with climate change, etc. that in the end, he said, the Palestinians would land up as the American Indians are today….stuck away and of no importance to anyone.

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[mcheang]

Lila doesn't know that Marinette's parents own the bakery and thinks that she's just an employee. So, she tries getting Mari fired by acting like a Karen, complaining about the service, etc. Or, she just tells the Tom and Sabine about how Mari is a bully at school and other lies. Unbeknownst to Lila, one of her classmates or someone from school overhears and records what Lila said. Tom and Sabine either reveal that they're Mari's parents or she learns at school.

Nickname

I’m not gonna use the phrase “Karen”. It’s kind of sad that this name can also be an insult. I always liked the name ever since watching Mermaid Melody.

Everyone knows Chloé refers to Marinette as “Dupain-Cheng”. But how does Lila learn about it?

One morning, Lila saw Chloé lounging at her desk when Marinette rushed in, surprisingly on time for once.

Chloé held out her hand imperiously. “Dupain-Cheng.”

Marinette huffed. “I have a name you know.” And she handed over a T&S box of macarons.

Chloé: your point?

Lila turned to Nathaniel. “Does Marinette work at a bakery or something?”

Nathaniel: You’ve never been to Tom and Sabine’s patisserie before? You’ve gotta go today. They are the best patisserie in Paris!

Lila raised a brow. “Wow, Marinette must be quite the baker to have gotten hired.”

Nathaniel shrugged. “Well, she’s still learning but Marinette comes from a long line of bakers. She’ll probably be a professional by the time we graduate.”

Lila hid her scowl. She had not forgotten her promise of war to Marinette. And what better way to start then by sabotaging her job? After all, Lila had only just returned and while the class was under her spell, they won’t be so easy to turn on their old friend just yet. A professional bakery on the other hand...

Lila visited the bakery after school, when she was certain no one from class would be visiting it.

Down there, Lila wasn’t that impressed by the space, though the decor was colourful and elegant.

She ordered a macaron. After having a nibble of the admittedly scrumptious macaron, Lila made a face.

Tom: oh, is something wrong?

Lila: oh, it’s just that this is my first time in Paris and I was looking forward to trying the pastries here. I’m a popular food blogger you see. I travel overseas for holidays and recommend what to try and what to avoid on my blog. My fans were so excited to see my food recommendations, one of which was the macarons. But after this, I’m disappointed.

A waiting customer in line heard what Lila said and started filming her. Lila didn’t mind.

Tom was worried. “I’m sorry to hear that. Normally our customers love our macarons. Perhaps it’s because you are not used to french cuisine?”

Lila but back a retort, and instead sighed. “I gave this place a try after Marinette recommended it.”

Tom: our Marinette?

Lila: yes, she kept pushing me to come visit your patisserie. Even after I said yes, she kept badgering me and even the teacher reprimanded us!

Tom raised a brow. “That doesn’t sound like Marinette.”

Lila: she also promised me a free box of macarons if I visited. But now I’m not so sure. I’m afraid this is a definite place-to-avoid for my blog.

Tom was now suspicious of this girl. Marinette never pushed for reviewers to visit their place. She never needed to. Their bakery was doing splendidly. And it’s not like Marinette to just surprise them with a strange blogger without leaving a warning message.

Lila was hoping her representation of Marinette would paint her as a horrible employee. And she wanted some free macarons too from a boss hoping to salvage his company’s reputation.

But Tom just crossed his arms and gave a cold smile. “I’m sorry you didn’t like our macarons. But you still have to pay for the macaron you just ate.”

Lila frowned at the man. “So rude. I should at least have gotten a refund for the horrid taste.”

Tom’s face turned stern. “If you refuse to pay, I will call the police.”

Lila rolled her eyes. “Don’t be such a drama queen.” She handed over a bill. “Here.”

Lila stormed out, too upset to even enjoy the macaron in her hand.

When Marinette and Alya came inside, Tom called them over. “Marinette, is there a food blogger in your school.”

Marinette blinked. “Not that I know of. Alya?”

Alya shrugged, “Sorry. I don’t watch those.”

Tom: a girl came by today saying you had offered her a free box of macarons in exchange for her visiting. She also claimed to be a food blogger.

Alya: must have been a scammer.

Marinette: but how did she know my name? From the sound of it, she probably never came here before.

Tom: she had brown hair.

Alya: that’s it?

Tom scratched his head. “I’m not good at remembering people. But that’s the beauty of security cameras!”

Tom led them to the back where he showed the girls the Lila drama.

Marinette growled. “Lila!”

Alya: what the hell? You never go near her if you can help it, always claiming she’s a ...liar...oh.

Marinette: yeah.

Alya: well, I can see why you hate her so much now if this is her true personality. What a snob. Even Chloé doesn’t act like that.

Tom: so you do know her.

Marinette: Lila’s a new girl who likes to make up grand stories about herself and has somehow convinced our friends to buy her lunch.

Alya counted off her fingers. “Forgotten wallet, sprained wrist, allergic to the cheap menu items, donated all her allowance to charity...”

Marinette: which one did you pay for?

Alya: when she told me she was robbed. Ugh. That liar is going down!

Marinette: but Adrien thinks we should take the high road.

Alya: Adrien’s rich. We’re not! I’m busting her right now! Mr Dupain, may I film this scene?

Tom: sure. I have to get back to the counter to help Sabine.

But as Alya spread the footage to the class, another clip was being shared rapidly among Parisians.

The girls opened their messages to see a video link.

WHO IS THIS GIRL TO CRITICISE OUR BELOVED PATISSERIE?

It was the same scene, but shot from another angle.

The waiting customer was a fan of the patisserie and a regular customer. She was not pleased at hearing a supposedly famous blogger giving the shop a bad review from just one nibble. and Marinette was such a sweetheart, the customer didn’t believe the drivel that came out of Lila’s mouth. And so she posted this clip, calling Lila out on her rude behavior, and asking if anyone knows this so-called famous food blogger.

Alya eagerly replied.

This clip became so widely spread that it even made the evening news, told by Nadja Chmack, who had even interviewed Mrs Rossi and told her what Alya and other commenters have said.

Mrs Rossi was too stunned to give a comment and had retreated to her office.

Ironic that the diplomat had such a mob-rousing daughter.

Mrs Rossi’s public humiliation was perfect for akuma bait. She basically spent her time looking for Lila to confront her but was defeated before Lila even knew what was going on.

Mrs Rossi apologized to the heroes for doubting their ability.

When Lila came home, she was surprised to see her mother waiting for her. Were they actually having dinner together?

Not exactly. Mrs Rossi tore into Lila for her horrendous behavior and outrageous lies.

And because Mrs Rossi was in the spotlight for negligent parenting, she went for extreme measures. From now on, Mrs Rossi would call the school every day, once in the morning to see if Lila had arrived, and every evening to see her progress report. Lila’s allowance would be cut off since she had been cheating her classmates for lunch money. Lila would also be seeing a professional therapist regarding her behavior.

Lila was shocked and furious she had been exposed to Paris as a fraud. She was hoping for an akuma, but Mrs Rossi had realized her lecture would cause upset emotion so she had asked the heroes to keep an eye out while she lectured her daughter. Ladybug caught the approaching akuma quite easily. Chat Noir’s night vision helped.

Lila tries to claim she felt lonely but Mrs Rossi retorted that was no excuse for her behavior. Then Lila tried to blame her mother for neglecting her and forcing her to keep leaving behind any new friends she makes just because of her diplomat job.

Mrs Rossi paused at that. It was true.

“Fine. I’ll concede on that point.”

Lila brightened up until her mother continued. “You’ll be finishing one last semester here before I send you home to live with my parents. They’ll give you undivided attention (monitoring) and you’ll have friends for the long-run (which means if Lila gets caught for lying, she will face the consequences instead of moving away)”

Lila: you’re abandoning me again?!

Mrs Rossi: I’m going to leave you in capable hands. And it’s not like I don’t want to spend time with you, Lila. But someone has to keep a roof over our heads and pay the bills.

When Lila returned to school the next day, she scowled right back at the glares that came her way. Upon entering class, Chloé called out, “Look, it’s the famous blogger. Oh, wait, no, never mind. It’s just some bragging nobody.”

Adrien stayed silent. Alya had chewed him out for his advice and warned him he was on shaky ground. Yeah, Nino wasn’t happy with him either but defended his bro was unaware of the cafeteria activity since he was always at home for lunch.

When Lila sat down, Nathaniel drawled next to her. “Oh, did I mention Lie-la, that the patisserie you asked about is Marinette’s family business?”

Lila’s fingernails had splinters under them.

[anon-rebel-writes]

Utterly In Love

I have no idea how this idea came to me. I got a bit of second-hand embarrassment writing this XD

Although this story is a bit strange, I hope you all enjoy it!

The story begins under the cut! Ao3 Link

Luka doesn’t regret this job. He’s doing this for Juleka’s birthday. He doesn’t feel embarrassed about this job! Why would Luka ever feel bad about this job? He needs the extra money for a gift, so he has no reason to complain.

Although Luka tried to tell himself that things could always be worse, he couldn’t help the feeling of regret that was bubbling inside his gut.

It seemed normal when he interviewed. The position listing was vague, but how bad could a job at an ice cream shop be? While he’d probably have to deal with the occasional upset customer, it didn’t seem like a job he couldn’t do. But then he got there on his first day and the owner handed him a costume.

A cow costume. A cow costume with pink spots. While that was bad enough, the cow was also supposedly ‘modest’, because it also wore a blue frilly apron with the shop logo on the front.

Luka had no regrets. He needed the extra money for Juleka’s gift. He was doing this for his sister, so he couldn’t be upset. Honestly, he had no one to blame but himself. He should’ve asked more questions about the job a little more during the interview.

Any shame he had could easily be hidden under the cow’s head, so he could suck it up for three hours a day. As long as he couldn’t be recognized, he had no reason to hold regret. The job wasn’t even bad! Although the heat of the sun was cooking him alive inside the pink cow of death, all he had to do was pass out samples. That wasn’t bad! That was easy!

At least that’s what he thought, until a certain blonde girl’s scream pierced his ears.

“OH MY GOSH! I LOVE YOUR COSTUME!” Rose quickly ran up to him and looked him over. She lunged herself into his arms, nearly knocking over the samples, and gave him a crushing hug.

“You’re so pretty! I love the pink on your fur! And your apron! You’re beautiful!”

Luka took a couple of deep breaths, trying to regain his composure. All he could do was nod at Rose. The last thing he wanted was for her to find out he was under the costume. Because with Rose finding out, that meant Juleka would find out. If Juleka found out, then she’d ask why he got a job dressing up like a cow.

The gift idea would be ruined and he would have to live through the embarrassment of Juleka teasing him daily. Which may or may not lead to a certain lady who had completely stolen his heart finding out. Which also may or may not lead to him dying of mortification.

So him keeping his mouth shut could save him from any of those scenarios.

“Rose! Please don’t harass the worker!” Then he heard that voice, that sweet, melodic voice that could only belong to one person.

Regret. Now Luka Couffaine could only feel regret.

Marinette, Juleka, and Alya finally caught up to Rose. “We’re so sorry about her! She just gets a little excited when she sees anything pink and cute.” ‘Oh my god, she just called me cute,’ the boy-cow thought.

After a bit of pulling and yanking, they finally managed to pry the pink girl off of the costume. But suddenly, Luka felt a lot more exposed. He tried to use the tray of samples to hide himself as he turned his gaze away from the pink girl who just got ripped from him. His eyes unconsciously wandered over to Marinette, who wore a simple pink dress with matching sandals. Her set of pigtails were now being held up with a matching pink ribbon. She looked so effortlessly put together.

If the heat of the sun and embarrassment didn’t kill him, seeing the girl of his dreams dressed so nicely surely will.

“Oh are these samples?” Luka finally managed to tear his gaze away from Marinette to look at Alya. She pointed right to the tray in his hands. He was about to answer before remembering what he was wearing. Instead, he held out the tray to silently offer it to the group.

Each girl took a cup and took a bite. He watched as each girl quietly hummed in content. But Marinette’s eyes shot up and she looked straight into the cow’s eyes. “Wow! This is delicious! It tastes just like blueberries!”

Alya and Juleka exchanged sly looks as they watched Marinette hurry to finish her cup. Alya stealthily put an arm around the girl’s shoulders and leaned into her. “Well, we all know how you feel about blueberries,” she teased.

Marinette lifted an eyebrow up at her and looked at the other girls in the group. Rose was squealing and bouncing in place while Juleka rolled her visible eye. “Gross. You haven’t seen him in a day and you’re already thinking about Luka again?”

While Marinette began to quickly defend herself, Luka’s brain felt like it shut off. Maybe he had been boiled inside the suit. He must be dead. This couldn’t actually be happening. His mouth was completely slack and his eyes were about as large as the cow’s.

“W-what?! No! Me and Luka? I mean- Luka and I? Never! He’s cool and interesting and dreamy and amazing and kind- I MEAN! Even if he is sweet and selfless and attractive- NOT ATTRACTIVE! I-”

Alya howled with laughter and clutched her stomach, interrupting Marinette’s rambling. Juleka let out a soft chuckle while Rose joined with her screams of joy. “Girl! You are SO into him.” Luka was barely listening now. His own heartbeat was ringing in his ears, beating abnormally fast, and Rose’s high pitched screaming didn’t help his focus.

His face was definitely flushed, at least this costume helped him hide it. He happened to glance at Marinette again. She had moved from under Alya’s arm and was now beet red. She looked at the ground wringing out her hands, but she had a slight smile on her face.

‘Wait. She’s not denying it. Oh my god. I did die, didn’t I?!’

“Oh! I have an idea!” Marinette met Rose’s eyes through her bangs while Alya and Juleka managed to stop laughing enough to face the pink girl. “You could ask Luka out! Ask him to come here with you! That way you don’t have to hunt down Andre’s cart and still share ice cream together! Plus they have a blueberry flavor! It’s so romantic!”

Juleka and Alya turned to Marinette with excitement painted across their faces. But Marinette could only pout and shake her head. “No, I think I already missed my chance with him. I didn’t return his feelings the first time; I doubt he’d give me a second chance now.”

The girls all let out a defeated sigh before it was interrupted. “You should ask him.”

Suddenly all four sets of eyes were staring at him. ‘Wait, did I say that? Why did I say that?!’ He turned his head to face Marinette. Her cheeks weren’t as red as before, but her mouth was agape as she looked back at him.

“What I meant was- Well, maybe he really wants to ask you out, but he also wanted to go at your own pace?” Suddenly the identity beneath the cow was clear and all the girls widened their eyes.

“Y-you’re-”

Before she could begin her over-thinking, Luka held up a hoof to stop her. “I have like, ten more minutes before I can de-cow. Do you think you’d wanna hang out afterwards? If everyone else is okay with it?”

Marinette whipped her head around to look at the other girls. Rose was clinging onto Juleka’s arm bouncing around with an ecstatic look on her face. Juleka shared a similar look, although it was a lot more reserved. Alya quickly waved her hands to let Marinette know it was okay.

With their approval, she turned back to the cow with a timid smile on her face. “That sounds perfect-” Rose let out another shriek and quickly pulled Marinette into the shop. Alya and Juleka shared a quick fist bump and then the former followed the other two inside.

Juleka looked at Luka before rolling her visible eye at him. “We’re talking about this when you get home,” she mumbled before also making her way inside.

Luka didn’t regret his job. Maybe he has a bit of disdain for the pink cow, but in the end he had no reason to feel negative about it anymore. After all, he had a date with a very cute girl afterwards thanks to the cow. So really, he was very pleased with his new job. It seemed like things were looking up. He didn’t even seem to mind the mild embarrassment he was feeling due to the costume.

Until Juleka came back outside and took pictures of him in said costume, for future blackmail.

[prorevenge]

Getting my Assistant Manager Fired

Hello everyone,

This is one of my favorite things I've ever done and I'm ready to finally tell the story. So, to set the stage, I work in a small burger chain (about 20 restaurants) in a relatively large city. The cast is my manager, who we'll call Juan, my assistant manager, who we'll call Rick, and two of my work friends, Allie and Jessie.

I've always hated Rick. Not only is he terrible at leading shifts (not getting pre-closing done, not assigning people to positions they're good at, not helping out around the restaurant, not giving breaks at their proper times) but he's also generally creepy. I don't like the way he looks at me or the way he randomly grabs the skin on my elbows. Yeah. The skin on my elbows. Super weird, but not enough to get him fired for. However, I absolutely hate this guy. And every time he pisses me off, I say something along the lines of "Rick, it won't be today, but someday, you're gonna get what's coming to you." I even made up this little rhyme about him- "While you're on the earth God will treat you well, but you'll pay for your crimes in the depths of Hell." And I wasn't alone in hating this guy- not a single person in this restaurant had anything good to say about Rick. Not me, not my co-workers, not even my boss liked him.

One typical day, I'm getting ready to go outside to work on the second lane. I'm putting on my orange safety vest in the manager office and Rick is typing on the computer. I say in passing, "How do I get this on?" Rick turns around, looks at me, and says, "What, did you gain weight?" I stare at him. What did he just say to me? This is perfect- it's finally my chance to get rid of him for once and for all. He hadn't crossed the line yet, but I was certain that this, combined with being a crappy assistant manager, would be the way I got him fired. Everything just clicked. I went to the front and was preparing stuff, and made conversation with Allie. Allie's a bit of a bigger girl, and when I told her what had just happened, she said, "Oh yeah, the same thing happened to me. I was putting a vest on and said 'I can't figure this vest out,' and then Rick said 'Maybe you should lose some weight.'" Allie was 17 at the time, by the way. If I wasn't certain before, I was certain now. For the sake of Allie, and for the sake of Jessie, and for the sake of all the other girls who worked at the restaurant, including my sister, I was going to get rid of this guy.

Revenge time. I texted my manager Juan that night letting him know I wanted to make a formal complaint to corporate. He was confused and asked me to talk to him the next day. I came in and told him what happened, and as I was telling him so and tearing up, Rick walked in. Just then, Juan asked me what I wanted him to do. I said, "I think you know what I want." Juan tilted his head at me. "I want Rick to work at a different restaurant." It was uncommon for us to stand up to the bosses like that, especially after seeing so many people get fired for doing similar things. I stormed out, tears in my eyes, but proud of myself for saying what I meant.

The next day, I came in to see Vanessa, the regional director, and Shawn, Vanessa's boss, sitting in the lobby. I asked Allie what was going on and she said that they were interviewing us one by one about Rick. Oh hell yes. I worked so smugly, waiting my turn to let everything go. Soon enough, it was my turn. And damn did I put on a show for these people. Crying, whining, complaining about how terrible of a manager this guy was and how awful he made everyone feel. Vanessa looked at me and reassured me, "don't worry, he's not ever coming back here again." I had done it. The rest of the day was progressing rather smoothly, until Allie came up to me and told me that it was so strange, Vanessa and Shawn barely had any questions for her. Apparently Jessie, one of our other friends, had some real dirt on Rick that she had been scared to say because she didn't want to lose her job. I talked to Jessie about it and apparently she had overheard Rick making sexual remarks about the bodies of our customers. She said that she had to put up with a toxic workplace before working here, and that she was so happy that someone had said something.

And I was happy too- after a few days I found out that not only was Rick fired, but he was so fired that he had to drop off his keys through the drive-thru window because he was forbidden to enter the store. Yeah. Guess you got what was coming to you, Rick. Screw you. Honestly, I wouldn't have minded the comment so much if you weren't such a huge butt, but you made the wrong enemy.

(source) story by (/u/sajackson314)

[skeletonsloverockcandy]

A Hitchhiker’s Guide For Androids

Summary: Logan the Android goes to his interview with Dr. Picani. Afterwards he meets some familiar faces from the day before.

Warnings: Lying, food tw, eating tw, Logan tricks out his rad robot bod, and it seems like it might be gorey, but he’s a robot so it’s fine.

Fandom: Thomas Sanders, Sanders Sides, Cartoon Therapy, TS Shorts

Characters: Logan/Logic Sanders, Patton/Morality Sanders, Roman/Creativity “Princey” Sanders, Virgil/Anxiety Sanders, Dr. Emile Picani, Remy/Sleep Sanders.

Pairings: Background Romantic Remile, Platonic LAMP/CALM

Word Count: 8,370

Chapter One Chapter Two Ao3 Link

Chapter Three: New Neighbors

The next morning Logan put on his blue button up shirt and solid color tie. He was preparing for his interview later that morning with Dr. Emile Picani, and he wanted to look presentable. He was also up unreasonably early. In part because he didn’t need to sleep, but also because he wanted to avoid his neighbors for the time being. Due to his actions saving Patton yesterday, they were sure to want to speak with him, and he’d rather avoid messy, complicated, emotional interactions for now. He slipped out of the café before they had the chance to approach him yesterday, and he would prefer to delay that interaction while he still could. He was unsure if his circuits could handle more than one person at a time. 

The application he filled out had the phone number of the Cartoon Café on it, and he had taken the liberty to text the number and ask when his interview had been scheduled. Dr. Picani had quickly texted back and informed him of the time, but also that the café was closed that day because of the attempted robbery the day before, and that he would be there personally to check up on the shop. He informed Logan that he was more than welcome to come by and conduct his interview though, that it wouldn’t be a problem at all.

Logan took that as permission to prepare himself for their meeting. Then, since he had some time, he ran through several scenarios focused on the interview. He figured if the typical interview questions were asked, assuming this job required few prerequisite skills, and if he maintained a pleasant demeanor, he had a decent chance of landing the job. A 82.6% chance to be more precise, but since certain things relied on the unpredictability of human behavior, he was willing to put some leeway on the odds depending on what came up.

Finally, he looked through the peephole of his apartment and did a thermal scan to locate the heat signatures of his new neighbors. He wanted to be certain they were not in the hallway when he left for his interview. From what he could tell, Patton seemed to be in his apartment, and Virgil and Roman did not appear to be in the building, so the two of them likely went to their respective workplaces while Logan was getting dressed.

Satisfied that he would not be seen, he set off to leave his apartment building. It would be close, but if he walked at the right pace, he’d only be an hour early to his interview instead of much much earlier. He walked very fast. However, he hoped that showing up early would ensure a good impression. Logan would say first impression if it weren’t for yesterday, and now that he thought of it, he’d rather avoid the possibility of the emotions that might come with them being in close quarters. Well, Patton said Dr. Picani had a PhD, Logan trusted he would remain professional.

*

“Wow, it’s really you!” the pink and brown clad psychologist practically squealed. “You saved Patton’s life yesterday, I cannot tell you how grateful I am. I was going to find you to thank you yesterday after I checked on my husband, Remy, but I couldn’t find you anywhere. Then next thing I know Patton’s telling me you applied to work here! Whaaaaaaaaaat?! Like, what are the chances?”

“Actually quite high, given that was my intended reason to enter the establishment in the first place.” Logan interrupted, “And, deepest apologies, but would you mind relinquishing me from your embrace? I’m not a very, what is the phrase? Ah yes, ‘touchy-feely’ person.”

“Oh yeah, sure. Anything for our hero over here, ey!” Dr. Picani stepped back and stopped hugging Logan. “I just want you to know grateful I am that you saved the lives, not only of my employee, but of everyone else in the cafe, including my husband. I don’t know what I would have done if I had lost any of them, and I have you to thank.” Emile pushed up his glasses and smiled warmly at Logan.

Ugh! These were the exact kind of emotional reactions Logan had been trying to avoid! Not that he didn’t appreciate the recognition, it was just something he didn’t understand that well, and thus, was unfamiliar dealing with, especially when such affections were directed towards himself. He had barely walked in the pink and blue building with the bell chiming over the door when Dr. Picani had stepped out of the back room and immediately came up to embrace him. How did humans deal with this attention?

“Urm, well, you are, uh, very kind. But if I may interject, I came here to interview for the open position?” Logan stumbled out awkwardly. He wished he could have more tact, but this was becoming a bit too much.

“Oh! Yeah, let’s go on ahead to the back room, I’ve already read over your application so you can come right in here.” Dr. Picani responded jubilantly.

After the introductions, they conducted the interview mostly professionally, though Dr. Picani kept making pop culture and cartoon references that Logan only barely got because of his general knowledge of human culture. It went fairly smoothly though. The position required no prerequisite skills, and the skills it did require, Logan could easily be taught. It was a sort of catch-all position because of how short-staffed Dr. Picani and Patton were. They were the only two employees, though they were occasionally helped out by Dr. Picani’s husband, Remy, who Logan gathered was the hipster-esque person in sunglasses from yesterday, if the photos of him and Dr. Picani on the desk in the back room were anything to go by. The back room appeared to be more of an office than anything else, though it did have doors to the food storage and break rooms, so ‘back room’ was the most accurate description from what Logan could tell.

Anyway, for the job, Logan would need to learn how to man the register, cook up the items on the menu, and clean the store. It seemed simple enough, though the job would require him to occasionally step outside his comfort zone. He understood he would have to acquire a “customer service” demeanor, which he figured he could manage. He was already lying to people as it was, what’s a little more? The thing he was looking forward to most was taking inventory and counting the money at the end of the day, most people’s least favorite parts of customer service jobs. It would really give Logan the opportunity to show his prowess with numbers, and, regardless, it was easier than dealing with large swarms of people.

At the end of the interview, Dr. Picani told Logan he did an excellent job and that he’d be happy to see him by the next work day. The general dress code seemed to be just a polo shirt (of which Logan already owned) and a name tag, which Dr. Picani said he would have made for Logan shortly, that he was so happy to have a new member on the team, especially someone who saved Patton’s life. It occurred to Logan that that incident might have helped his prospects of getting the job, but he wasn’t one to complain about fortunate circumstances.

He shook Dr. Picani’s hand at the end of the interview, “Thank you, Dr. Picani, I look forward to working with you.”

“Oh please, call me Emile, it’s the least I could do to conduct this interview after yesterday. Thank you again, truly.” Emile said, unable to keep the bright smile off his face. Logan smiled softly in return as a sign of gratitude.

“Yesterday was no problem, I was just trying to help how I could.” Logan responded. “I’ll see you at work.”

“You sure will!” Emile said warmly, “You’re gonna do great.”

*

Logan’s journey back to his apartment was pleasant. The sun was out and the buildings looked even more charming than the day before. It was if the world was rejoicing his new found income security. Now with a job position guaranteed, Logan felt he had become truly independent and separated from his previous terms of existence. He could exist for himself now, and do with his abilities what he wanted. It was...refreshing. Quite a relief from the idiotic frustrations of the scientists. For once, he was perfectly happy to go slow and enjoy his walk home.

*

Walking up the stairs to his apartment, and feeling quite relaxed from how positive the day was turning, Logan failed to run a diagnostic the potential threat of his neighbors being home. And this was brought to his attention by him turning the corner on the stairwell and running straight into Patton.

“Oof!” Patton exclaimed as they collided, his glasses getting knocked off his face and items he was holding now being strewn on the floor (some papers, an envelope, and a ceramic mug with paw-prints that thankfully didn’t break).

“Oh! I’m so sorry, I wasn’t watching where I was going,” Patton said as he squinted at the floor. “...If I could just find my glasses,” he muttered, “then I’d be a real sight for sore eyes, because of my sore eye-sight, heyo!”. He laughed as he crouched to the ground searching for his glasses and the other dropped items. Logan stood incredibly still, torn between slipping up to his room while Patton couldn’t see his face, and bending down to help Patton with his things. It was a fight with his programming to evaluate the more pressing need. If he helped Patton, then the person he saved would know he was living in the same building as him. On the other hand, he desired to be helpful to humans, and Patton would likely discover his living situation eventually anyway. Deciding it was better to figuratively rip that band aid off sooner rather than later, Logan bent down and handed Patton his glasses from off the floor.

“Oh, thanks kiddo! Don’t know what I would have done if these had broken. Really sorry about running into- WOAH! Hey! It’s you!” Patton exclaimed as he placed his glasses on his face, beaming up at him. “What’re you doing here, Logan?”

“Ah, of course. Well, you should know that I live here now. I moved in yesterday, though I was unaware of the complex’s current inhabitants when I rented the apartment,” Logan explained in a monotonous tone, “I apologise for disrupting your stairway travel, I will get out of your way.”

“Woah, hey there kiddo. I wasn’t watching where I was going, so if anything, the blame is on me. And secondly, you live here now? My savior, in this apartment? Wow,” Patton said with an astonished half chuckle, “I can’t believe you live here! That’s awesome! Which apartment?”

“That would be apartment 4A on the fourth floor,” Logan answered. Patton gasped excitedly.

“Oh my goodness! That’s the same floor I live on! What a coincidence!” Oh, didn’t Logan know it. Patton inhaled sharply, “Do you know what this means?!” Logan resisted the urge to either roll his eyes or detail exactly what it did indeed mean in literal terms and settled for thinking: I can certainly guess.

“We’re Apartment Buddies! Yay!” Patton practically shouted as he jumped up excitedly, nearly knocking his glasses off yet again.

“Otherwise known as neighbors, I presume. But yes, we will be living on the same floor and in close proximity, though whether we become ‘buddies’ as you phrased it, will depend on the advancement of a mutual bond over time that some might call friendship. However, that has yet to be seen and will take time.” Logan rambled off.

As Logan was speaking, Patton slowly brought up his hands up in loose fists lightly squishing the sides of his face while his eyes squinted behind his glasses and seemed to sparkle with excitement in an almost universal ‘Aww’ gesture, before saying, “Dawww, Logan...Are you implying you want to be my friend?” One hand flew down to his chest and clutched his heart, “That is so sweet, aww..Logan. First you save my life, then you save my heart.”

Oh no, emotions, yet again, Logan thought. He just couldn’t seem to escape them today.

“You know what,” Patton continued, “Why don’t you come over to dinner tonight. It’ll be like a ‘thank you’ and a welcome party all rolled into one! And! I can introduce you to my best friends Virgil and Roman. They’re also our neighbors and they were at the café yesterday too!”

Oh I am all too familiar, Logan thought, and fantastic, more people expressing their emotions at me, this is utterly exhausting.

However, it would be incredibly rude to refuse a gesture of kindness such as this, and he would be living next to these people for who knew how long, so it was impractical to try to avoid interacting with them forever. Besides, this is what humans did. They interacted with other humans. How was Logan supposed to be a convincing human if he intentionally avoided interacting with them?

“That would be...lovely, Patton. I look forward to getting to know who I live next to. Though, I must tell you, I am not the best at dealing with multiple people. I...sometimes struggle to react appropriately to emotional...things, so I apologise in advance.” His only references for dealing with multiple people at once were the scientists after all, and they weren’t the best example despite his programming.

“Oh kiddo, that’s okay. Virgil and Roman are really great and super understanding of all sorts of things. And heck, yesterday, before we got home, Roman couldn’t stop talking about how impressed he was with your maneuvers and bravery. I even think he was a little starstruck, because he kept cursing himself for not saying anything to you after you pinned the guy on the floor. And while Virgil did say you were being a liiiiiittle bit stupid for putting yourself in danger, he did complement you on your quick thinking, and it’s tough for Virgil to complement strangers, so that really means something! I really think they’re grateful for you saving me kiddo, so I know they’ll be super nice about any sensitivities you have about being around them.”  Patton concluded.

“Well that is a relief to hear, Patton. I certainly do not want to leave a bad impression. I feel that would be unbecoming of a new neighbor, so it’s comforting to know I have your support.”

“Aw shucks Logan, after what you did for me, the least I can give is my support,” Patton said bashfully while adjusting his glasses.

“Ah, well in that case, I look forward to dinner. At what time would it be appropriate to come over?” Logan inquired.

“Oh! Well I’ll text Roman and Virgil and tell them we’re having a guest over for dinner, then..hmm, is five o’clock okay? I know they’ll both be home from work by then, so it’ll be the perfect time to introduce you,” Patton said thoughtfully.

“That sounds adequate, I will be at your apartment at five. Which apartment number is yours?”

“4C! And Roman’s is 4D and Virgil’s is 4B, just in case you wanted to know!” he said brightly, then he gasped, “I have to get everything ready!”

Logan looked on at him and determined that Patton’s heart rate spiked along with a touch of adrenaline being released into his veins as well as an influx in dopamine levels. He could tell Patton was genuinely excited about him coming over. Logan hoped it would go well given he had never actually eaten food before. It was within his capabilities to pass as a convincing human, but he had never done a trial run to see how he would actually react to having food in his false stomach. Could he even taste? He wasn’t sure. He escaped before they could troubleshoot that part of his programming. He knows that he’d be able to identify the exact components of whatever he was ingesting, but all he could assume he would be able to get out of eating food at his current level of advancement, would be the texture of it in his mouth, and the mess he’d to clean out of his chest cavity later. The thought of the uncleanliness made him internally cringe a bit, but he stayed in check on the outside, keeping his face impassive at his thoughts.

Patton was no longer paying much attention to him either way, instead mumbling excitedly under his breath all he would have to do to prepare while shuffling his picked-up items in his arms.

“Ah, uh, see you later Logan! Got to drop this paperwork off to Sandra, the landlady, then I have to prepare for guests! Ooooo this is going to be so fun! Buh-bye!” Patton said he stepped by Logan, turning to give him a half-wave with the hand holding the mug.

“Be careful going down the stairs, Patton. And I’m sure whatever you prepare will be adequate, see you then.” Logan called out as Patton turned the corner going down the stairs. He sighed to himself as he climbed the last few flights to his floor and entered apartment 4A. What had he gotten himself into?

Now, not only would he be interacting with multiple humans at once, he would also be expected to eat. He had never eaten before, not even in practice. He knew humans needed to do it to survive, but the thought of taking something and having to mash it into little slimy bits in his mouth, then swallow it? Not to mention, his experience with eating would be different than a normal human’s because he had to manually clean up whatever ended up in his false stomach tonight, and the experience couldn’t be made more enjoyable because he was pretty sure he didn’t have a sense of taste as of yet.

Wait, was he getting worked up? Is this what performance anxiety felt like? Regular lying was fine, but this felt like an entirely different ordeal. Snap out of it Logan! He was an android, he didn’t have feelings. So stop acting illogically and prepare for the dinner. He would get through it, further integrate and adapt to human customs, and survive. This was fine. Everything is fine.

Realizing he had just been standing in the entrance of his apartment while leaning against the closed door, Logan walked further into his apartment. This shouldn’t be bothering him. He was a highly advanced, incredibly valuable, and state of the art espionage machine, so something so trivial shouldn’t be bothering him. However, it was bothering him, and he couldn’t seem to get it to stop. So...he was a state of the art, highly advanced, incredibly valuable espionage machine, how could he change the situation so it was less bothersome to him so he could be at his optimum level of performance?

Well, the problem was his concern over the sensation of eating, and that it will be uncomfortable or disturbing to him. He would have to eat regardless, because he could not see a way out of that situation without being incredibly rude. So if he had to do it regardless, how could he make the instance more enjoyable, or at least bearable, to himself? The obvious answer would be to taste the food so he would at least get the same level of enjoyment out of it that the humans did, but that was unrealistic.

...Or was it?

Logan suddenly got an idea, and walked into the bathroom where he knew there was a mirror. Then he rolled up the sleeve on his left arm and peeled back some of the false skin again. Unlike his right arm that had a combination printer and data transferrer for forging necessary documentation and identification, his left arm had some minor tools and resources meant for repairs, as well as access to his wiring when feature updates and small performance tweaks needed to be done. Logan also rolled up his pant leg and opened the panel where his extension cord was, pulling it out and plugging it into the outlet by the sink so he would have a constant supply of power while he did this, should he accidentally make a mistake.

Then Logan reached with two fingers under his jawline and pressed three very particular spots while grasping one of the tools from his left arm, something slender and metal, and lightly pressing it to his temple. The next thing that occurred was a slight hissing noise of pressure being released as his jaw slowly popped open, causing as widening gap between the flesh of his lower face and upper face, revealing, besides his false teeth and cheeks and tongue, a mass of wiring and blinking lights now visible below the line of his top lip. Now with ample room, he slowly reached behind his jaw and grasped an exposed wire connected to his tongue, then reaching up with his tool, gently disconnecting it. He then lowered it to the wiring exposed on his left arm, and inserted it in a place where coding and tweaking that particular piece of hardware would be easier. Taste was simply the body analyzing different chemical compounds, something Logan could do via data analysis anyway, so changing some of his coding to associate a physical sensation along with that wasn’t too far of a reach, at least by his standards. Logan checked the time. Seven hours, seven hours until the dinner party. He would have to be quick, but it was doable. He’d better get to work.

*

At 4:48 P.M., Logan was finishing putting all of his parts back into place. His tongue felt strange and a little tingly, but he still didn’t know for sure if his tinkering had worked. He opened and closed his mouth a few times, sticking out his tongue and rolling it into a tube like a child might. Everything seemed to be functional and his motor skills seemed to be fine. He unplugged himself from the outlet, actually feeling somewhat rejuvenated from the extra power, and rolled down his pant leg. He assumed what he was wearing would be fine for the dinner, he would just brush some of the wrinkles out of his shirt sleeves and pants. He hoped tonight would go well, and even if his attempt to give himself the ability to taste did not work, it alleviated most of his anxieties and gave him something to do while he waited for the inevitable.

Looking over himself in the mirror one last time, he decided he looked suitable for however this dinner went. Checking the time, he had about 3 minutes until five o’clock, so it would be wise to head over to apartment 4C already.

*

Logan crossed the hall to Patton’s apartment and knocked on the door.

“Just a minute!” He heard from inside. He only had to wait a moment before the door was flung open and Patton was there grinning brightly up at him.

“Logan, you came! I’m so glad you made it. Virgil and Roman will be here in a sec, I haven’t told them it was you who was coming, only that we were entertaining a guest. They’re going to be so surprised! Come in! Come in!” Patton rambled off as he ushered Logan inside.

The walls of Patton’s apartment were a pleasant shade of light blue, though they could hardly be seen through the litany of photographs and crayon pictures both framed and taped to them. Apartment 4C was larger than 4A and had a small kitchen area that was visible from every angle of the main foyer. It had bar-style seating that separated it from the rest of the apartment and helped cement it in people’s minds as a separate space. The kitchen seemed well stocked for an apartment of its size, even if it was slightly larger than Logan’s, because it had an oven and stove-top combo, a dishwasher, a refrigerator, a toaster, and a countertop microwave. On the counter tops were several covered dishes wafting food-smells from underneath glass containers and aluminum foil, and in the sink were several gray, cat-themed silicone utensils covered in food stains—presumably what Patton had used to cook tonight’s dinner with.

Across from the kitchen area there was an L-shaped couch with the shorter side pushed against a wall and facing a small coffee table and T.V., both of which looked second hand but attributed to the cozy atmosphere. Next to the T.V. was a shelf stocked with DVD cases holding a variety of different shows and movies. And behind the couch and diagonal from the kitchen there was a round dining table already set out with plates, napkins, and silverware arranged in line with the four chairs about the table. And behind the table on the wall were two closed doors. One Logan assumed lead to the bedroom, and the other he assumed lead to the bathroom. Overall, it was a very friendly-looking, if a bit crowded, apartment.

“Welcome to my home! Make yourself comfortable, or should I say at home, wink,” Did he seriously just say ‘wink’ out loud? “And feel free to look at whatever you like! Me casa es su casa.” Patton said with an excited gesture, as if to point at the entire apartment.

“Thank you Patton, that is much appreciated. However, it does seem strange that you want me to ‘make myself at home’ when your home does not have adequate resources to make one such as me.” Patton stared at Logan for a second and blinked before his face split into a delighted grin.

“Oh my goodness Logan! You didn’t tell me you liked dad jokes?” he said with a half laugh.

“What? That wasn’t a joke, and I would hardly make a ‘dad joke’, as you called it, intentionally. I was simply bringing up the impracticality of trying to collect and then assemble all the components that make up my body in your apartment.” Perhaps if he conveyed a confused look his point would be understood. Patton held his mouth and tried to keep himself from snickering.

“Oh yeah, that would mean bringing a whole bunch of body parts here, but you don’t need me to ex-spleen it to you, get it?” Logan sighed deeply. Oh.

“What, you didn’t find that humerus?”

“Humorous? Oh goodness, do you mean the arm bone connected to the radius and ulna?”

“Sorry, am I getting ulna nerves? You might want to say ‘are ya kidney-ing me’. Ha ha!” Logan brought his hand up to his face and rubbed underneath his glasses.

“In fact Patton, the temptation right now is very strong to exclaim ‘are you kidding me’, but it’s fine. I would just prefer we kept the puns to a minimum, thank you.”

“Aw, sorry for teasing, Logan, but I start punning and I can’t stop punning, I was fed to the rules and I hit the ground running.” He laughed at the look Logan gave him before looking down more bashfully and slightly embarrassed, “But, uh, I’ll stop now. I do want to be a good host after all!” Logan adjusted his body language to express relief so his gratitude would be understood.

“I appreciate your considerate nature Patton, and thank you again for hosting me.”

“Aw, you’re welcome. Now you can sit down while I set the food out, Virgil and Roman should be here any second.” Patton said while grabbing a couple of the covered trays. “Roman likes to take his time getting ready and show up ‘fashionably late’, but Virgil is always anxious to be early, so with the two of them scrambling to get ready at a combined pace, they show up more or less on time.”

Logan pulled out a chair while he was listening and took a seat at the dining table.

“That’s very interesting, Patton.”

As if on cue, there was a knock at the door.

“Oh, that’ll be them now! Just a second guys!” Patton shouted as he put down the dishes he was holding on the table. He brushed off his hands on his pants and went to open the door.

Patton opened the door just enough for his head to poke through so that neither side could see beyond the doorway before speaking.

“Hey guys! So glad you showed up!”

“You know we wouldn’t miss your dinners for the world, Padre!” A dramatic voice proclaimed.

“Yeah, if Cinderella here didn’t spend so much time getting spend so much time getting ready.” A snide voice replied.

“Well if I had a fairy godmother, it wouldn’t take so long would it? We can’t all just ‘poof’ and look beautiful, it takes work to look this good!”

Patton interjected, “Kiddos, come on now. The important thing is that you’re here and we’re going to have a lovely dinner. And don’t forget! We have a guest! I think you’re really gonna be surprised.”

“Uh, yeah Pat, I’ve been meaning to ask you about that. You know I’m not the best with meeting new people,” the softer voice said.

“Hey, it’s okay Virge, our guest has told me he doesn’t have the best people skills either, so I think you two will get along just fine.” Patton replied with a sympathetic smile. “Now it’s time to introduce all of you! Oh I’m so excited!”

With that Patton opened the door fully to let in the other two residents on the fourth floor, at the same time revealing Logan to be their mystery guest.

“Roman and Virgil meet—”

“It’s you!” the man wearing a white leather jacket and red T-shirt said, while the man with dyed purple hair just stared wide-eyed, looking at Logan with a shocked expression.

Logan stood up from his chair and walked toward the doorway.

“Hello, I am Logan, it’s nice to meet you.” He was nothing if not one for decorum.

“You’re the nerd who saved Patton yesterday!” the one he assumed to be Roman said delightedly before he was sharply elbowed in the side by the one he assumed was Virgil.

“Ow! Hey! What was that for?”

Virgil glared at Roman for a second before addressing Logan, “Would you excuse us for a second?” and without waiting for a reply, he dragged Roman into the hallway.

Patton laughed awkwardly, rubbing the back of his neck, “Sorry about that…”

“It’s quite alright Patton.”

As Logan said that, he turned up his sound sensitivity so he could hear what the other two were whispering in the hallway. He heard Roman speak first.

“What the heck, Dark and Gloomy? What was that for?”

“You dumbass, you saw what this guy did yesterday. He could beat the hell out of you! Not saying that he would but-. And the first thing you do to the guy who saved Pat is insult him!? He could fold you like a lawn chair, God you’re an idiot.” Virgil hissed under his breath. Roman made an offended scoffing sound.

“Hey! I- well, I- Ugh! I am not an idiot. He caught me by surprise! You have to admit he does look like a nerd though, just a bit?” There was another noise of Roman being elbowed in the gut. “Oof! Would you quit that?!”

“Maybe when you don’t try to piss off the guy who took down someone waving a knife in Patton’s face?” Virgil said, pushing the last words through his teeth. It was quiet for a moment before Roman spoke up again.

“...It was really amazing how he took that guy down. Gah! I wish I could have been of more use yesterday. He was just so swift and composed, I was shocked silent--which is a first for me!”

“You can say that again.”

“Anyway, the point is I am grateful he saved our little ball of sunshine in there. I just didn’t know what to say.”

“Well you can start by apologising and then...I don’t know, tell him how impressed you were with him or something. Look, I’m about as emotionally constipated as you are, so I’m not really great at advice on this.”

“Ugh! I will have you know I am great at expressing my emotions, I am an Actor after all.” Virgil sighed upon hearing this.

“Whatever, let’s just go back in there, and be nice, okay?” there was a rasp to his voice that made his suggestion more akin to a threat.

With that the door opened back up, Virgil being the first to speak.

“Sorry about this idiot, won’t happen again.” Roman shot Virgil a glare before speaking up and addressing Logan.

“My sincerest apologies, Logan, was it? I regret my rude behavior in calling you a nerd, (even though you kinda look like one), and would like to introduce myself. I am the one, the only, Roman Prince, at your service,” he said with a deep bow and a wink while Virgil facepalmed, “I hope you humbly accept my gratitude for saving our dearest Patton, without you he would surely be lost to us yet. Truly, your combat skills are unmatched, and you showed great valor and poise. It is an honor to be in your presence.” he finished with a dramatic flourish and a tinge of pride in his voice from his performance. Logan didn’t even need to run any scans on Roman’s vitals to tell he was being overly dramatic, no spike in heart rate could top that. Still, a first impression was a first impression, so he extended his hand to shake as a greeting.

“...You’re welcome...It’s nice to meet you. As I said previously, my name is Logan Smith, and I am the new resident of apartment 4A.” Logan spoke as he and Roman grasped hands and he gave a firm shake. However, at this point Virgil spoke up.

“Woah wait, you’re gonna be living here? On the same floor as us? Right next to me?” Virgil looked a little shaken for a moment.

“Yes..? Is there a problem? I’m not following.” Logan could tell he seemed on edge but he couldn’t tell why.

“No..It’s cool…” Virgil replied as the tiniest bit of blush crept on his face in embarrassment. Patton piped up.

“Don’t worry about it too much Logan, Virgil just takes time adjusting to change.” he glanced at Virgil as he spoke and gave him a sympathetic look. Virgil looked off to the side, cheeks growing even darker with blush.

“Yeah! Charlie Frown over here just doesn’t realise how frickin’ cool it’ll be to live next to a personal bodyguard, though,” Roman interjected, “he does already have a knight in shining armor protecting him from harm’s way (me of course), but I suppose I could learn a thing or two from Mister Jedi Master over here, what with the stunt you pulled yesterday.” Logan gave Roman a confused look.

“Bodyguard? My knowledge of self defense does not make me a bodyguard. But, I suppose I could teach you how I performed that maneuver yesterday at some point, as long as it didn’t harm anything.” Logan conceded with some trepidation, at the possible offer of spending more time with them, which was a risky move. And based on the shocked but delighted look on Roman’s face, apparently offering to teach self defence, in any small way, was the wrong move if he didn’t want more interaction.

“Also, why would Virgil even need a bodyguard? He seems perfectly capable of taking care of himself.” Logan decided to shift the topic back onto the other, much to Virgil’s chagrin if the spike in adrenaline was any indicator.

“...Can we please sit down and eat? I’m kinda hungry.” Virgil pulled up the hood of his patched hoodie and buried his face in it, refusing to make eye contact with anyone. Though Logan could see his face growing dark from embarrassment underneath the hood.

“Oh yeah guys! I made lasagna, with a little surprise for dessert, you’re going to love it!” Patton said, coming to Virgil’s rescue.

“Ooo! I love lasagna! You know just what to make Padre!” Roman exclaimed as he pulled out a chair and sat down at the dining table, Logan and Virgil soon following suit.

Patton leaned over the table where he sat down the dish earlier and removed the aluminum foil he had placed over the top. A burst of smell escaped its confinement and filled the apartment, steam coming off the cheese and sauce in whispy ribbons. He cut the meal into squares and put a piece on each of the four plates at the table.

Roman immediately began digging in despite Patton’s warning that it was hot, and as anticipated, he soon began fanning his mouth and saying, “Ah!hothothot!”, then ran over to the sink and filled a glass with water before downing it in a few gulps. Virgil smacked his hand into his face while saying “idiot”, but nonetheless could still be seen smiling under his hood at Roman’s shenanigans.

Logan picked up his fork and twirled it between his fingers for a second, a bit apprehensively, before plunging it into the corner of the lasagna, tearing a bit off of the stubborn pasta and cheese. Then, as naturally as he could muster, while everyone else was distracted and giggling about Roman’s mishap, he slipped the piece of food into his mouth, pulling back the fork clean.

The first thing he noted was the temperature, the lasagna being approximately 151*F, indeed a little too hot for comfort on the human tongue. He felt Roman should have been more cautious. The next thing was the texture, the cheese being stringy and slightly chewy, while the sauce was liquidy and a little chunky from the tomatoes, and finally the pasta was soft and a little stubbornly chewy. Logan felt apathetic to these textures, more focused on how thoroughly he was going to have to clean his mouth from the red sauce now coating his insides. Finally after a tingling sensation on his tongue that felt similar to numbing mouthwash, he experienced the taste.

It...was far more underwhelming than he expected. It didn’t taste bad, but he just didn’t experience a particularly strong way one way or the other. It tasted like food. Like the chemical compositions that made up cheese and sauce and pasta. Though it could be said that it was a miracle that he was able to experience taste at all, he did feel a bit proud of himself for that.

This analysis happened in a matter of seconds after taking his first bite and he chose to release a gentle ‘hmm’ to indicate to Patton he was enjoying the meal. It was polite after all.

A comfortable chatter started to buzz around the table as the other three settled into eating their meals. As Logan continued to take small bites, he noticed the three had a distinct chemistry. He wasn’t sure how this sentiment could be expressed except for the idea that they played off one another well. Each had something that added to the interactions of the others, and Logan found himself occasionally weighing in on the conversation whenever he was addressed, feeling like he added to that chemistry. The atmosphere began to loosen some and he could tell they were becoming less tense, Virgil especially. It seemed the more he talked and interacted with him at the table, the less awkward he seemed when addressing the others, even Logan.

Eventually, over the clatter of forks and light chewing, the conversation topic cycled onto himself.

“So, Logan,” Patton said with a soft cheesy grin, propping his face up with one arm, “tell us about yourself.” Logan cocked an eyebrow.

“What would you like to know?”

Roman cut in, “What brings you to Cardinal Valley? It’s not exactly a well-known locale.”

“Yeah, it’s basically No-where City, nothing happens here.” Virgil added, eyeing Logan a bit suspiciously now that he considered it.

“I disagree, it is far more populated than where I used to live.”

“Where did you used to live?” Patton asked, curious.

“The middle of nowhere.” Logan deadpanned.

“Ha ha, we made that joke already, Courage the Cowardly Dog.” Roman snided. Logan rolled his eyes.

“I don’t make jokes. I lived out in the woods, south of here.”

“Wow, all alone?” Patton said with sympathy in his eyes.

“That sounds like a crazy horror cabin scenario to me,” said Virgil, stabbing the remainder of his lasagna with his fork, “kinda metal though.”

“No, I didn’t live alone, it used to be my...parent’s house, I...don’t interact with them anymore,” Logan said, looking down and fiddling with his fork.

“Oh, I’m sorry kiddo, I didn’t mean to bring up bad memories,” Patton said with a frown and reached for Logan’s hand to console him, patting it gently where it rested on the table.

“That’s quite alright Patton, you didn’t mean to. And the past is the past, it does little good to dwell on it.”

“Oh, right.” Patton finished lamely, looking down. There was a bit of an awkward lull in the conversation before Roman perked up.

“Hey, Padre, you said there was something special after lasagna?”

“Oh yeah, kiddo, how silly of me, I almost forgot. Now who’s ready for desert?” Patton asked cheerfully, getting up from the table. There was a general consensus of agreement as Roman and Virgil said various “I am’s” excitedly while Logan just nodded slightly.

Patton went behind the kitchen area and opened the freezer, pulling out a large sealed container. Roman gasped before exclaiming, “Patton, does this mean what I think it means?”

Patton gave a singular nod at him before Roman squealed excitedly and bolted to the door. Logan gave a dumbfounded look to Patton and Virgil, confused as to what was going on. To his surprise, even Virgil was giving a mischievous smirk, flicking his eyes to the doorway that Roman left swung open and listening to the jostling and rustling that could be heard next door from Roman’s apartment. As this was happening Patton was unscrewing the lid of the container to reveal a tub full of ice cream.

“Homemade Vanilla Ice Cream! Bone-Apple-Teeth kiddos!”

Roman then rushed back into the room at that moment.

“Got it!” he said panting, a little out of breath, holding up a small jar.

“You know what to do Ro!”

Roman grinned, popping off the lid of the jar and sticking it in the microwave. None of this cleared up Logan’s confusion in any way whatsoever.

Patton pulled out a clean ice cream scoop and some bowls before delicately scooping out a portion for everyone. Meanwhile the microwave beeped signifying whatever was in the jar was done being heated. Roman pulled the jar out, then, taking a spoon, doled out generous helpings of what looked like liquefied, warm, strawberry jelly on top of each scoop.

“Crofter’s, the berry best jelly around!” Roman declared.

“Yeah, it’s my jam.” Virgil chimed in.

Logan groaned at the apparently infectious use of puns, but he had to admit that he was intrigued about all the fuss. Roman and Patton helped pass out the bowls and handed Virgil and Logan spoons to enjoy their ice cream with.

“Have you ever had Crofter’s jelly before Logan?” Roman asked.

“I don’t believe I have.” Before tonight he had never had any food in general, but he wasn’t going to mention that.

“Well you are going to love it. I convinced Patton and Virgil to try it a few years back, and now it’s our thing to basically top every desert with it any time we all have dinner together.”

Logan was skeptical about his potential ‘love’ for this fruit spread product given how disappointing the lasagna experience was, but again, politeness. And, at the very least, he was curious.

“Alright kiddos, dig in!” Patton announced, plunging his spoon into the ice cream and taking a bite, humming in pleasure when he pulled the spoon from his lips. Roman and Virgil followed suit, though Virgil was much quieter when eating than Roman, who kept making ‘Mmmm’ sounds a bit obnoxiously.

Logan spun his spoon between a couple of fingers before dipping it into the ice cream and jelly. Well, it can’t be any more disappointing than the lasagna he thought.

He brought the spoon up to his lips, placing it in his mouth and...and...it was the most delicious thing he had ever tasted. His eyes went wide in shock as the sweet chemicals washed over his now sensitized tongue. It was...it was...invigorating. He began taking more spoonfuls and putting them in his mouth. Who knew jelly could be so good?

Logan didn’t notice the others were staring at him. Patton was covering his mouth trying to keep himself from giggling, while Roman had a proud look about himself and kept glancing between Virgil and Patton while he ate. Virgil on the other hand kept looking down and pursing his lip to keep himself from smiling.

Logan didn’t look up until his spoon scraped the bottom of the bowl and the last of the ice cream and jelly was in his mouth. He sucked off the remainder of the jelly from the spoon and smacked his lips, only then realizing he was being watched.

Oh no, his lips were sticky and covered in jelly and vanilla ice cream, and there was some dribbling down his chin. He didn’t have any blood to cause a blush, but he did feel his face begin the heat. He put down the spoon and covered his mouth with his hand to hide the mess.

The three others were grinning at him with varying degrees of humor.

“Wow Specs, you had been kind of stiff all night, who knew you just needed some Crofter’s to loosen you up?”

Logan averted his gaze from Roman, instead choosing to stare at the woodgrain on the table.

“I apologise, that was berry- I mean very unprofessional of me.” What was wrong with him? Did the sugar cross some wires or something?

Patton gasped delightedly.

“Oh my goodness Logan, you punned! You did an almost-on-purpose dad joke!”

Logan felt like disconnecting his head from his body and burying it under a pile of rubble, but he settled for taking his napkin and wiping his mouth clean from the food stains.

“I did not pun, not on purpose, so it doesn’t count.”

“Oh, I think it counts,” Roman said.

“Anyway,” Logan cut him off, “you were right Roman, that fruit spread was enjoyable. ...More so than I expected, apparently. I might go so far as to say it was the best thing I have ever tasted, which would not be an exaggeration.”

Roman looked as if he had just gotten praise from Gordon Ramsey himself, before getting a slight jab in the arm from Virgil’s elbow.

“Don’t look so surprised Princey, everyone loves that stuff.”

Roman made an offended noise.

“Well, it was still a good idea on my part, and Logan seems to like it so I say that was a 100% success.” He stuck out his tongue to Virgil, and in response Virgil flicked him on the forehead.

“Ow! Hey! Have at ye, foul fiend!” Roman yelped as he grabbed his spoon and started making sword fighting gestures at Virgil, who grabbed his spoon as well, a smirk creeping onto his face.

“You’re on.” before inevitably,

“Kiddos,” Patton said giving them a look, “we do not fight at the dinner table, it’s rude!” Roman crossed his arms, muttering under his breath something that sounded suspiciously like ‘whatever dad’, before he and Virgil sheepishly put down their spoons. Logan spoke up.

“Well, Patton this dinner has been lovely. Thank you for having me. And you two,” he addressed Roman and Virgil, “It was wonderful to meet you officially, thank you for trying to make me feel welcome.”

“Woah, leaving so soon Specs?” Roman said. Virgil rolled his eyes.

“We live on the same floor as him now, we’ll probably see him all the time.”

Patton beamed at the compliment he’d been given and piped up,

“Aw, thanks Logan. I love getting to know new people, and I sure do hope I’ll be seeing more of you soon.”

“You will Patton. Before we ran into one another earlier, I had just gotten back from my interview with Dr. Picani, and he said I’d been accepted into the vacant position.”

“You got the job?!” Patton squealed excitedly, “That’s awesome Logan! That means we get to work together!” He jumped up and hugged Logan, who stiffened, but softly pat his now co-worker’s arm in gratitude.

“Congratulations man,” Virgil said, waving a small salute.

“Erm, yes, I got the job. I assume you’ll figuratively ‘show me the ropes’ (if that’s the correct phrase) on my first day?”

“‘Course Logan, anything! Just ask,” Patton answered with a smile, releasing Logan from their hug.

“I’ll be sure to take you up on that offer Patton,” he said looking him in the eye, before turning to all three of them.

“Farewell, I will see you all again soon.” Logan said, walking up to the door and opening it before turning slightly to administer a brief wave. Patton and Virgil waved back, Patton very enthusiastically. Roman, meanwhile, gave a deep bow as Logan opened the door and replied, “‘Till we meet again,” with a wink.

Logan rolled his eyes, smiling slightly, and closed the door, walking over to his apartment. He had a lot of cleaning to do on his insides, which would not be fun, but, he had to admit, the night had not been awful. It was actually pleasant, if somewhat entertaining. Logan was looking forward to recharging, though. It had been a long day. However, he was reassured by the fact that he might actually come to like his new neighbors after all.

[nataliesnews]

Israel is an apartheid state 15.2.2023

stened to an interview with Gideon Levy on the way. He said that Ha'aretz is one of the most liberal newspapers he knows not only in Israel. In fact, a customer once came and complained that he should be dismissed and the owner said that, seeing that the customer was not happy, maybe he should just stop taken the paper. He spoke of Israel being an apartheid state. He gave as an example what I have often commented on. The difference in the occupied territories between the green and fertile settlements and the dry and arid villages. Is that not a sign of apartheid?  These villages have to buy their water and pay much more than Israelis.. Please don't tell me as some friends do that they do not pay their bills. Even if they do not there is no reason for the army to go in and destroy their wells or fill them up or take away their storage tanks…..and their springs are taken over by the settlers.

That settlers can attack the Palestinians on their own land and not be arrested? Is that not apartheid. That settlers can come down to a village and throw stones at the house and not be arrested even though there are videos which show this clearly. Is that not apartheid. That they cannot drive on roads which have been built on their land. Is that not apartheid.  Over 1000 people are doing to be thrown out of their homes with no provision made for them while illegal settlements are given water and electricity. Is this not apartheid.

Palestinians are only allowed on to farm lands (not olives) on certain times and certain days. Once they go in early in the morning they have to wait until the later afternoon so come out again. If they have forgotten a tool or need something it makes no difference. Another kind of ghetto.

An excerpt  from a soldier's letter:

" When I was a soldier, we were ordered to set up an ambush in the house of a Palestinian family in the Ramallah area. They had several children, and I still remember their panic when we broke into their house in the middle of the night and set up our weapons and gear in the living room and on the balcony. We closed off the family in one room.

The official purpose of that mission was not to instill fear. It was a byproduct, but an integral part of the mission nonetheless, as with so many other missions in the territories. Nowadays commanders talk less about "creating a sense of being chased". That sounds bad. "Making our presence felt" slides better on the tongue. But the goal is the same."  Is this not apartheid

We often see houses which have been searched at night for no valid reason and been  turned upside down. Foodstuffs vandalized, oil thrown over dry products. Money stolen. My friend was telling me that she saw this with horror when her son was serving….and this twenty years back…and she phoned him in horror and asked if he took part in this and he replied, "I don't have to. There are enough volunteers"

Two Palestinian cities were blocked just before Yom Kippur so that the settlers could come to pray Slichot at the entrance……prayers for forgiveness. Into one village soldiers entered in the dead of  night to perform the some prayers. The people of Sheikh Jarrah were under curfew while the settlers celebrated and created havoc for some holiday of their making. Is this not another kind of ghetto.

Toward the end of the interview that the Palestinians have never been as alone as they are today. The Emirates and Saudi could not care less about them. That is one of the reasons why I will keep going to demonstrations where I can meet them to show that there are still those of us who care. What really hit me because this is something which I have not been able to put into words……the rest of the world is so occupied with climate change, etc. that in the end, he said, the Palestinians would land up as the American Indians are today….stuck away and of no importance to anyone.

[hardyimagines]

Chick Habit

Drabble #3!

———————————————————————

Alfie Solomons. The blue-eyed, scruffy faced, bloke who ruled Camden Town. He was very well known, which wasn’t surprising given his line of work. The dangerous gangster was feared by most so on the very first night that you’d met him, you’d been stunned over how many women surrounded him.

—

The club was packed. The lights inside were dimmed from their usual blinding rays to a much more suitable shimmer. Clumsy women and drunk men embraced in the center of the room, most of them searching for an excuse to be close and others actually dancing along to the music. You weren’t here for either. Slipping through the crowd, you narrowly avoided tripping over extended legs and flopping ankles. You curled your hands in the front of your dress in order to pinch the fabric and lift it up a little to give you a better view as you moved forward and toward the crowded bar. Why on earth they would want to interview you at such a hectic time was beyond you, but you didn’t complain. You complied.

The sticky hardwood beneath your heels was growing to be rather agitating. Every now and then your shoe would stick to the floor, effectively halting you for a moment before you’d pry it loose and continue on your way. It wouldn’t have been so bad if the shoe wasn’t digging into the back of your heel and rubbing it raw. A blister would form there surely. You pushed the slight pain to the back of your mind and weaved through the massive crowd surrounding the bar. It took a few attempts to get past certain people, but once you’d made it to the front, you heaved a sigh of relief. Hands planting against the counter, you leaned over the ledge and toward the fellow rushing around to tend to the thirsty customers.

“Hello!” Your soft voice, almost too soft to be heard over the music, met his ears. He couldn’t hear you clearly, he could only tell that you were talking to him.

“Hello, love, what can I get you?” The man was tall. He had shaggy blonde hair and bright green eyes. Freckles lined his pink cheeks, a shimmering glow emanating from his skin due to the sweat that had formed from all his rushing around.

“I’m here for my job interview. My name’s Y/N.” His eyes shot from the current drink he was filling to yours. He was so desperate for some help because of how busy it was tonight.

“Uh, right.” He wiped his sweaty palm off on the side of his trousers before slowly moving down the counter in order to hand the desired drink over to the correct customer. “Well, Boss has gone out back for a smoke, but we put that sign up out front because we’re desperate so I'm sure you’ve got the job. My name’s Henry.” His short nails scraped his scalp as he scratched it. “Do you want to come around here and I’ll show you how to tend the bar?” The smile on your cheeks, which had previously been polite, was now gleeful and warm. The eagerness in your smile could be seen in your gaze and it made him happy to have a co-worker who was glad to be here. Everyone else just moped around, muttering complaints under the breath. You weaved between the customers once more and made your way behind the bar to learn what you needed to.

—

Clumsy. You supposed you’d always been this way. It took you two weeks to get the hang of the job — and by getting the hang of, that meant not spilling drinks on people who ordered beverages and not tripping when carrying a tray-full to a table. Memorizing the drinks was the easy part, balancing them and avoiding making a mess was the hard part.

This was your third week on the job. Everyone you served was very kind and you weren’t sure if that was due to the alcohol everyone seemed to be ingesting or if it was just because they could finally take a load off. You figured both. The room wasn’t quite packed yet. There were people, but it wasn’t slammed like usual. In about another hour, you were sure the door would be propped open and people would be ramming into each other as half piled in and half piled out.

Along the length of the bar, customers sat, most chairs occupied, but not all of them. There were two gents on one end of the bar and a girl at the other. Then there were a few gaps and in the center a couple sat, cooing to each other quietly in the relatively silent club. Apart from the soft music which wasn’t lively just yet, it was peaceful.

Henry shared the night shift with you. It was always a bit frantic with the both of you trying to squeeze past one another to get to a drink or a glass in such a small space, but you managed.

The bell in the corner tinked softly, a sign for when it was slow that someone had entered. And it wasn’t just any someone. Henry’s fingertips moved to your elbow, delicately grabbing ahold of it as he drew you toward him. This man was very important and his business was very treasured. He spent a lot of money here and Henry would be damned if he let you spill the bloke’s drinks and make a fool of yourself and the club.

“I’ll handle this one?” He offered. The offer was blunt, quiet like he was trying to be as discreet as possible when asking. You furrowed your brows and peered up at him with a confused expression before looking once more toward the man.

“Why? Who is he?” Your question fell on deaf ears. Henry wasn’t interested in filling in the blanks. He just wanted to tend to Alfie so that the man could go. He looked to you, hand pressing against your back.

“He’s just..” There was no time for explaining. From his peripheral, he could see Alfie removing his top hat and his long coat. The fabric was hung on a hook and the hat was propped up on one as well leaving him dressed down in a white button up with a sharp black vest and some trousers to match. Alfie twisted on his polished bet and set toward the bar, ring-covered fingers brushing through his beard as he approached. You took a sly step back before directing your gaze toward the clutter on the bartop. You figured if you tended to the empty glasses and washing dirty dishes then maybe you wouldn’t get in the way. Alfie licked his lips slowly before taking a seat on one of the tall bar stools. The velvet cushion beneath him was comfortable as he settled down. Folding his arms on top of the bar, he positioned himself directly beside the girl on the end. She looked younger, but not too much younger. She had high cheekbones, blue eyes, and a very smug smile. It was obvious he knew her. “Jesus, stop staring.” Henry’s voice cut into your internal thoughts. Tearing your eyes away from the man and the girl, you looked to the sink. “He’s dangerous, despite his good looks.” The man continued before beginning to make the usual for Alfie. He had a very strict routine. He’d come into the club, have a few drinks with a girl who’d been waiting for him. Then, when he had had a few and the club was growing to be increasingly rowdier, he’d invite more over and then end up stumbling out of the bar with four women. He wasn’t your type. And he certainly didn’t deserve you. Henry had grown to be very protective and when every a gent was messing with you, he stepped up. The pair of you were like siblings though — there was nothing romantic.

You filled the sink with hot, soapy water before shrugging your shoulders to act as if you hadn’t been staring Alfie down. Your gaze was one of curiosity, nothing more. “I’m meant to be intrigued. You’ve just told me to back off and stop staring at a man, what am I meant to do?” Gazing at the man at your side with a lazy smile, you let a breathy giggle leave your lips, one that was apparently far too breathy and far too enrapturing for the man at the end of the bar was looking your way. You didn’t notice.

Henry playfully nudged you with his hip as he passed before making his way over to the end of the bar. Setting the glasses down on the counter, he looked toward Alfie. “There you are.” He shifted. “Let me know when you need more, Mr. Solomons.” He took a small step back, but he didn’t get very far. Alfie’s gaze held him in place.

“Who’s the lass, then?” He piped up. Wrapping his hand around the glass on the counter, his rings created a soft clinking sound when brushing the cup. The girl at Alfie’s side seemed unbothered by his sudden interest in you. Most girls who tagged along with Alfie were that way though — they only associated with him because he paid good money for sex and company.

Henry wore a mild look of stupidity before pretending to just realize that Alfie was talking about you. “Oh, that?” He looked in your direction. “That’s Y/N. New bartender. Not too good, I don’t know how long she’ll last.” His attempt to bore Alfie with the topic of you was poor for Alfie merely straightened at the mention of ridding of you.

“Why hire her just to fucking fire her?” The question was sharp, a bit accusing. He didn’t say much else though before narrowing his eyes and taking a sip of his drink. “Swap with her, mate, yeah, I’d like to talk to her.”

Henry’s nose wrinkled. “Mr. Solomons, sir, she’s uh.. rather young.” That was true. And Henry really hoped it would tell Alfie to back off. It didn’t. He gave Henry a look that said ‘fuck off’ and so he did. Henry moved toward you, watching as you scrubbed the glasses. Your dress was rolled up to your elbows, forearms buried in the hot water. “Y/N.. Alfie wants you to be his server.” He pressed his teeth together. “And I can’t do a thing about it.” You froze, current task moving to the back of your mind. Peering over Henry’s shoulder and toward the man at the end of the bar, you cocked a brow before slowly nodding your head. There was no sense in arguing. It would be pointless. You knew that much for if Henry seemed this shaken up over something as small as serving someone, it obviously meant that this someone was important.

Drying your hands off on the rag beside the sink, you stepped around your co-worked and made your way toward Alfie. Brushing your palms off on the waist of your dress, you came to a halt in front of him, lips curving upwards sweetly. “Hello.. how may I help you?” Alfie almost smiled. No formal greeting. No name at all. Did you even know who he was?

“What’s your name, lass?” He turned completely toward you, shunning the girl who sat at his hip.

“What’s yours?” You bit back, though it wasn’t rude in any way, just a soft inquiry. He didn’t seem bothered if anything he seemed more interested.

“Alfie Solomons.” He folded his arms over his chest, puffing the thing out as his muscles subconsciously flexed due to his position. Clearly, he was proud to be who he was and it showed. There was nothing wrong with that, but his name didn’t ring any bells so you simply bit your lip and shrugged. Henry moved his hand to his face and swore under his breath.

“I’m Y/N..” You started. “Should I know you?” The look in his eye told you that you should, but verbally, he declined.

“No. It’s a good thing you don’t.” He reached over the bar counter and took ahold of your small palm. Shaking it delicately, he inhaled deeply before looking toward the girl at his side. Introducing her made her important, so he didn’t. She was just another one of his girl’s, she’d be swapped out tomorrow. He released your hand after a few moments before slumping back in the slightest and watching you. No more words were exchanged, just a few glances before you retreated away from him. You could feel his gaze, practically burning a hole through the back of your dress as you returned to clean the dishes. You would be his regular server from now on, you could feel the words sitting on the top of his tongue. ‘Henry, this’ll be my new little bartender’.

—

2 months later.

“Jesus, Henry!” You gasped loudly when he turned the corner sharply and slammed into your chest. The glasses, some full, most empty, tumbled to the floor from the impact. You looked up at the man in shock, waiting for an apology before you knelt down and began to hurriedly clean the mess. The risk of someone getting cut was too strong to just leave the broken glass here until closing time. Pinching the shards, you cradled them in your palm before tossing them in the nearby bin.

“Sorry, sorry, you see how busy it is!” His excuse was hurried as he slipped by you and rushed to the main section of the club. He was taking orders, ensuring everyone had refills, he luckily didn’t have anything in his hands to be cleaned and remade. You took the tray and a few dishes that hadn’t broken in the collision to the sink. Laying them on the counter, you looked toward your section. The corner of the bar. Alfie was you too priority, your boss had made that clear. ‘Help Henry when he absolutely needs it, but your main job is to make sure that Alfie Solomons is well taken care of.’

In your opinion, you were doing a great job. Alfie Solomons ordered enough drinks to clean the club out — but luckily they were prepared. Every other night, he’d come in before rush hour, pamper one girl, and then by the busiest time of the evening, you were serving him and six others. Who he left with was always random and what they were doing wasn’t too hard to guess. But those pools of blue held somewhat of an attraction for you and it made you want to laugh. You were not a whore, nor were you someone willing to just sleep with a random man based on appearance.

Number one, you didn’t want to get a disease and because of how many women you’d seen this particular man with.. that was entirely too risky. Number two, what on earth made him think that staring at you with a lustful gaze was going to make you beg for him to take you home with him. And number three, Alfie Solomons was a dangerous criminal and you knew that if you ever did pursue any sort of relationship with him.. well, it could be quite dangerous to end.

You were zoned out, staring dead ahead out into the crowd with a blank look in your eye. Why the hell were you even thinking about this anyways? Everything you just said clearly stated that Alfie would never ever ever have his way with you. Turning sharply on your heel, you set your palms on the counter and fidgeted, waiting until your service was required. The only service he’d be getting from you.

“Lass?” His voice was impossible to miss. It was loud, dominant, husky, and overpoweringly his. Looking over your shoulder and toward the bloke, you ignored the woman stood at his side, draping herself against him so she could do her best to make herself visible. Stepping toward the opposite side of the bar, you placed your palms on the sticky surface and leaned in to ensure you didn’t miss a single word he said. He didn’t like repeating himself. He nudged the girl beside him away in the slightest before shifting. He met you halfway across the counter, mouth close to your ear so when he spoke, each word filled you. “Can we get some refills, pet? I am, after all, entertaining, innit.” You could feel his cocky smile. Turning your head to the side to inspect him, your soft eyes trailed along his features. If he wasn’t so incredibly handsome, you’d probably hate him. Lifting your brows, you leaned back.

“You finished all four bottles I gave you?” Disbelief treaded lightly in your tone. There was no sense in questioning him, for he would get rowdy and insist on why you were prying. Squatting down to retrieve a few more bottles, you placed them on the bar top and gave him a look of uncertainty. “You don’t smell like liquor.” You informed him. His breaths had hit your face when you’d been close to him, and there wasn’t a hint of alcohol on him. Not even on his shimmering lips which had been previously pressed against the girl who’d found a new man to throttle.

Alfie looked at you with a cocked brow, as if testing you to say something else. “And?” He squinted.

“And.. so why do you pay for all these strangers to drink when you don’t even drink yourself?” Conversation between the two of you was common. Often times Alfie stayed until closing, telling his guests to wait outside for him. They did, shivering in the cold winds that kept them company while he did the same to you.

Alfie was funny. He was kind. He was charming. But any man who slept with women for the hell of it wasn’t your type, so no matter how enjoyable his company and the conversations were, you always reminded yourself that it would only ever be friendly.

“Why do you care, pet? Ain’t none of your concern now is it, really?” You senses he was getting a bit agitated and defensive, so you backed off.

“It was just a question, Mr. Solomons. Forgive me.” Offering a sincere smile, you took your place back by the sink, alone, quiet, and waiting. He watched you momentarily before with a frown, rotating on the stool to refill empty glasses. He figured you were quite lonely. All you had to do was tend to him and his loud-mouthed acquaintances. He twisted back around on the chair and fixed you with a look that told you to come back over. It took you a minute before you did so hesitantly.

“Alcohol, yeah, makes them more willing to stick around, right.” He told you quietly, fingertips lazily brushing against one another as he stared at his hands. You stood with your arms folded, surprised when he began speaking about your previous question.

“There is better company in the world, you know.. company that you don’t have to buy.” Your words made his heart heavy. He was no good at conversing and he knew that. Even now, with all the surrounding women, they were talking to each other, not to him. All they did was drink, screw, and then leave after getting some money. He pulled his lips in and chewed them.

“I don't have the time, pet, right, to go out and meet women the proper way. This, innit, is just the best, most stress-relieving way to fucking do it.” He received a low hum. He perceived it as one of agreement, but it was merely one to fill in the response space.

“Alfie.” You shied away for only a second. “You’re a kind man, a very sweet and handsome one. You don’t have to pay women to give you some attention. I mean, you talk to me all the time, it’s the same thing, isn’t it?” Staring down at him from your stood position, which wasn’t that much of a height difference, you sighed quietly. “I’m not trying to upset you or anything by running my mouth, I just..” Alfie lifted his hand, shushing you with a soft wave of it.

He was stunned you’d complimented him. Truthfully he thought you couldn’t stand him. He pursed his lips, rummaging through his scattered thoughts. “It’s different though, love, right, you’re very easy to talk to.” You sensed he was going to flirt. “I spend more time in here with you then I do with them.. and why wouldn’t I?” You strained to ignore him, to ignore the words of approval you could feel he was about to set free. “...pretty...” You strained harder. “..breathtaking, pet..”

“Alfie.” You cut him off because you knew if you heard anymore then the aching heart in your chest would only hurt more. “Alfie, I'm going to stop you there.. and only because I think it’s wise for you to keep that to yourself. You don’t seem like the type of man to settle down, and I.. well I’m exactly the type of girl. I don't just fool around with anyone, not that there’s anything wrong with it, but I’m very keen on relationships and falling in love. It’s not just about sex.” Alfie’s eyes flashed and you could see, plain as day, that he was now thinking about doing that with you.

You sighed breathily before leaning across the counter. Grasping his hand delicately, you squeezed it. “Girls love you..” He cut you off this time.

“Girls love my money..” his words made you scoff.

“No matter how much money is involved, a woman isn’t going to just screw anyone. She has to be at least attracted to you. You’re great at talking, though I don’t think you know it. So ask one girl out and see where it goes from there.” You pulled your hand back to your chest before turning so you could grab a new bottle. Laying it on the counter, you fixed the man with a scrutinizing gaze. “For me? Give it a chance.”

Alfie took the bottle slowly, fingers curling around the cold neck. “And what if I’m only attracted to one fucking girl in this entire club?” He questioned. You knew he was talking about you.

“Alfie. You’re.. experimenting. You’re curious.. but you’re also a smooth talker and those don’t mix well. Even if we had a good date, I think you’d try to get me in bed and I want a man who wants me, not my body.” The words made him frown.

“I don’t just like a woman’s body, yeah, as fucking beautiful as it may be, right, I told you, I pay for their fucking company, but they don’t talk, they just think wait about until its time for the sex, which, pet, I have a difficult time turning down seeing as the conversations don’t ever fucking happen.” You sighed gently, eyes raking down the length of his face before you reached for the bottle.

“Fine.” You pulled the thing toward you. “You and me, only. And no funny business, okay?” Your words were sweet, like honey. Alfie was off of the stool in seconds, brushing past his guests so he could meet you at the end of the bar. You tilted your head back and stared up at him when you’d reached his side. “I mean it, Mr. Solomons, don’t try anything funny or this will be the only date you get.”

Alfie pressed his palm to his chest, covering his heart as he peered down at you. “No funny business, pet, I just want to get to know you, yeah.” His large palm found the middle of your back, a very tender touch as he guided you toward the back of the club and toward a surprisingly vacant corner. Lowering yourself down on the booth, he took the space directly beside you and laid the alcohol on the table in the center. You swallowed nervously before twisting on the chair to face him completely. Your brain was beyond confused — was this what you wanted or was it what you wanted to avoid? You were trapped between Alfie Solomons and the wall in a small, confined space. There was no way out now and you were quite grateful for that. It was just you and him and no annoying, babbling girls waiting for a handful of money. This was a date and hopefully a good one at that.

———————————————————————

Tagged: @captainbuckyboobear @peakblogbecauseimweak @bsotstory @mollybegger-blog @morphoportis @ghost-of-student-sufferings @drippydownes2002 @ellar21 @sovereigngoth @willowick13 @xxxxxeroxxxxx @wheresthewater @anrm1 @pansexualginger @marvelgirl7 @evilspretty-dead @heyitscam99 @wow-he-cute @haroldpain @justrepostandlove @sparklyreaderx @emerald-bijou @multireality @innerpaperexpertcloud @goodiesintheclosetlove @giftofdreams @ihclipse @meer0rauschen @inkedfandom @thatsamegirl @doct0rstrange @jakechillenhaal @shanty-lol @centerhabit @clevertheoristpainter @jamierdr @favouritereadings @badmaax @thephuonganh @wewillfindourwaythere @uhhhemilyrose @scarrasco1325 @matoki-darkpanda @bignastyfan-nz @97freaknik

[seddillium]

Anyone want to hear about the drama that happened at work today?

I'm on mobile so I cannot add a read more yet so bear with me

I came into work at 12:30, 2 of my coworkers were already here and they immediately ask me if I've been on facebook today. I don't have facebook

So they explain that earlier, 1 of my coworkers answered a call and the guy was asking about ordering a certain appliance and gave her the model number

We use item numbers in the store so the model number wouldn't pull anything up

So this guy gets pissy with her and says he'll just call this other appliance store in town. Apparently has no trouble giving them the item number, not the model number like he told to my coworker

On facebook he posts this long rant about the store, and about how she was being very condescending (just telling him it was the wrong number) and that the manager was there and parroted her the whole time (it was the managers day off)

So this blows up, this post gets like 25 comments of people all complaining about things that has nothing to do with us

"They charged me $210 delivery fee" (the delivery fee is ALWAYS $89 so this was an outright lie)

"When I went in they all just stared at me/they're too concerned with tools to help customers" (we greet every customer who walks in and help them to the best of our ability, if they are just browsing we back off and do other things then ask them if they have questions about 10 minutes later)

"I ordered a freezer and they said it would be 4 weeks out. After 4 weeks they say it'll be another 3 weeks" (this is a problem with our warehouse, shipping, and the fact that EVERYWHERE in the county is having trouble getting freezers--we cannot do anything about this)

"It's all children and young people. It's not just sears, it's every store" (ok boomer)

"They couldn't refund my order" (they used the sears website which is completely separate from our store, we could not refund them)

"I couldn't even tell who works there because they all speak and dress casually" (this company doesn't provide us with shirts, and would you rather us be stiff? We try to be somewhat professional but it's like they want us to be robots)

There was a lot more but I don't remember and I refuse to get on facebook

So my other coworker texts our manager, tells him the situation, and he, on his day off, comes into town to ask her what happened, and then Goes Off on the guy who made the post

He was respectful, but he did call him out on the blatant lies and asked the guy to respond or call the store, which he did, and he promised to take the post down but it's been a few hours and he still hasn't

Our manager left, and my coworkers started talking about how working here is an embarrassment because 1. Everyone's issues are with sears corporate and not us, because sears fucked over a bunch of people and now they can't get contracts and we can't get products, but we are the face of the company currently and 2. This is a very elderly, conservative, racist, trump supporting town and these are the customers we have coming into the store, so they're gonna have problems with us and none of us are really holding our tongues when someone's being a fucking ass

So yeah

I turned in my 2 week notice on sunday, may 9th is my last day, our manager had an interview with another job and will take it if they offer a better salery, and all my coworkers are considering quitting because this place isn't worth it

[angelic-guardienne]

Flower Shop AU (Prompto/Reader)

Isn’t it funny how I open requests and then? Don’t answer any requests??? Anyway, I texted this scenario to a friend back in November and I recently found it again while looking for something else. Soooo I decided to type it up, buff it up, and post it, and here it is. 

Tagging: @blindedstarlight @joioliviapolaroid @crazykruemel @ponkita @tales-of-a-fallen-star @valkyrieofardyn @insomniacapples @kawaiinekorose @glacian-apocalypse @honey-your-bee-puns-sting @singergurl91 @commitmentroses @tea-and-ebony-for-my-chocobros @sakuraangel1 @tiniestofqueens @bestchocobois @jaysfandomcorner 

Premise: AU where everyone lives and Insomnia is rebuilt. Noctis rules over the nation as its king and foreign relations are amazing. The bros stand by his side as his personal crownsguard, just like they did when they were on the road.

I love flower shops, so you run a flower shop. It’s small, you’re the owner and most times the only one there, so you’re always there.

One day, a cute little blonde with the most beautiful blue eyes comes in. He buys a bouquet of flowers, gives you a hella bright smile, and leaves without much talk

Some other day, the blonde returns, and this time he has a friend -- an absolute giant of a man with burning amber eyes and scars galore and a voice like moving mountains. This friend buy a bouquet of gladioli and irises and he gives you a grateful little nod before they both leave

It’s on his next visit -- he’s by himself, I might add -- that the lil blondie introduces himself: Prompto. Even though he’s not been at the shop nearly enough to be considered a regular, you consider him one anyways

You two chat for a bit until another customer comes in, after which Prompto leaves. He says he doesn’t wanna distract you

Prompto returns one day and he’s brought someone else -- another friend, you presume -- and this one is tall and lithe, illegally graceful in his movements and wearing gloves and wide, tinted shades. He takes a whiff of nearly every flower in the store and you watch bemusedly as Prompto trails behind him excitedly

Suddenly the man stops and plucks a bouquet from its display and walks right over to the counter. “These are camellias, yes?” He asks in such a refined voice that you’re taken back a bit, but you still manage a yes.

Prompto looks super pleased while his friend buys the bouquet, commenting that those flowers were his mother’s favorite

When Prompto leaves that day, you catch yourself wondering what kind of character he’ll be bringing in next (not that you’re complaining, it’s seriously increasing your business)

Prompto visits often, and one day you ask why. You know he buys more flowers than any one person would reasonably need unless he’s trying to start his own shop and drive yours out of business (he laughs and tells you it’s definitely not that)

He leans against the counter and gives you this warm smile. “It was for interior design at first. I just wanted a burst of color, you know?”

And yeah, you know, but that “at first” implies a lot, Prompto

So he continues, “Then I started getting them for certain occasions like, you know, leaving flowers on a grave or something, or helping my friend’s little sister start up her garden, things like that. Now I’m basically giving them away because I have more flowers than I know what to do with.”

And, reasonably, you ask, “my flowers aren’t exactly cheap at the bulk that you’re buying them in, so why do you keep buying them?”

And he says, “cause I wanted an excuse to see you.”

(for those worried about it, Prompto’s getting the money for all these flowers cause I’m making the assumption that the crownsguard gets paid big cash)

Anyways

So you’re flustered of course, and your brain goes to a default response -- “I’m hiring if you wanna see me more” and you’re so, so lucky that it makes prompto laugh instead of weirding him out or something, because boy his laugh is auditory g o l d

He says, “How about a date instead?” (when did prompto get so smooth?) and you just nod because you don’t exactly trust your voice. You jot down your phone number on his receipt -- he bought a bouquet of the flowers you passively mentioned were your favorites

He hands it back to you, like a gift, and you jokingly tell him not to break bank buying flowers, even if the profits help a lot

The date goes unbelievably well, I gotta say. Y’all go to a nice, homey lil restaurant and then to a bakery, where you two share a few cookies and some other pastries

With that date, you guys go on another, and another, and another, and I can officially say that y’all are head over heels, absolutely smitten with each other

One day, Prom swings by and he has the whole entire actual king with him. You send him a panicked look and he just kinda shrugs sheepishly (mildly helplessly) as Noctis gives the shop a solid once-over and goes straight to the counter

“You’re (Y/N), right?” the king says, and you’re like holy fuck holy fuck the king knows me by name what the fuck what the fuck wh

and you just squeak out a little “yeah, that’s me”

And Noctis holds both of your hands in his and stares you right in the eyes and thanks you so genuinely that you’re internally flipping your shit and left totally speechless

He thanks you for making Prompto happy, he thanks you for loving him, he thanks you for helping him find the light in life again, he thanks you for so much

And then he jokingly says, “please tell him to stop buying so many flowers, the citadel is practically full of them” and prompto just lets out the cutest little indignant noise, and you’re just like “with all due respect, your majesty, he’s one of my best customers”

Noctis just laughs. “Fair enough,” and he thanks you one more time before he takes his leave

Apparently, having the actual king come to your little shop drastically increased the appeal so business absolutely skyrocketed, as did the number of applicants for open slots around the shop.

(It was actually the fact that he mentioned your shop specifically in a televised interview)

It gets popular enough and you end up making enough money and hiring enough people that you can finally get some more free time, which Prompto definitely takes advantage of

You get to spend a lot more time around his friends and family (the bros) and you finally get to truly interact with the people you’ve heard so much about from him

Iris teaches the two of you how to make flower crowns, so of course you guys make them all the time and gift them to everyone, including each other

Meeting Cor was a little daunting at first, considering that he’s basically the closest thing that Prompto has to a father, but once you two start talking everything goes smoothly. Cor, like Noctis, genuinely appreciates everything you’ve done for Prompto and just really likes you too, so.

Sometimes Cor will share embarrassing and/or funny stories from when he was still getting to know Prompto and they always make you laugh and give you a deeper appreciation of your boyfriend. Prompto, of course, always tries to get him to stop (and he always fails).

Overall, you and Cor are on really good terms. Y’all get along well, and you also really like his cats (and they like you) so you don’t mind spending time around him.

Sometimes he comes into the shop and buys his own bouquets. If you ever ask why, he says he’s trying to charm this little lady he met at a party. If you inquire further, goodness he could go on about her forever, and it always makes you really happy to see that Cor has someone in his life, too

But yes, whenever you’re at the shop, Prompto will come in and buy flowers for you, because he never quite got out of the little habit of buying flowers from you, for you. His favorite thing to do is to buy the bouquet and then hand it right back over the counter.

You always shake your head at him and tell him he’s basically paying you to own something you already own, but every single time, without fail, the bouquet goes into a vase somewhere at home

Eventually, you learn that when Prompto said he was giving the flowers away, he was literally just dumping him on the bros. He was frantically explaining, “I want to ask them out but I’m scared to and the only way I can see them is buying more flowers and help”

Gladio is the one that finally pushes him to ask you out because he has literally reached his capacity for new flowers, and all the others agreed with him

That’s how Prom finally asked you out -- his flower outlets closed on him and he had little other choices, but thank god they did because he’s so much happier thanks to you.

[gansey-just-gansey]

Under the Needle part Four

Ronan sighed heavily and leaned his head against the wall behind his chair. This was taking forever.

Gansey was currently in the Dean of Admissions' office, making Ronan's case for late registration. It was technically still summer semester, which Gansey opted to stay for, because of course he did, but the fall semester started in a week. It was way too late to be registering for classes, let alone applying to the school. Ronan had already had his interview with the dean, where he actually, really tried, possibly for the first time since his father died.

The door finally opened and Gansey and the dean came out. Ronan stood up.

“Welcome to William and Mary, Mr. Lynch. I expect great things from you,” the dean said, shaking Ronan's hand.

“Thank you,” Ronan said in a rare show of politeness.

“You can normally register for classes online, but since this is a special circumstance and quite late in the year, you'll have to go to the admissions office and have one of the office workers get you registered. If they have any trouble getting you into any classes, tell them to call me directly. You'll be rooming with Mr. Gansey here. As for you...,” he turned to Gansey. “Well, I look forward to beginning construction on our new observatory. I will look out for that donation from your father.” With that, he returned to his office.

“A whole observatory?” Ronan asked.

“It's very last minute, so yes.” Gansey scrubbed a hand over his face.

“Thanks, man. I mean it.”

He smiled wearily and held out his fist for a bump. “You're welcome. Let's get you to the admissions office.”

….

“This is a full fucking schedule,” Ronan complained.

“Of course it is,” Gansey said patiently. “You're starting a year late at a prestigious school. You're not going to be able to slack off here.”

“Whatever. I'm enrolled. Are you happy now?”

“Are you?” Gansey threw the question back at him.

“No. Now I have to go home and pack.” Ronan reached for his back and Gansey smacked his hand away for the millionth time in the last two days.

“I can help you.”

“Don't bother, Matthew said he'd start and I'd bet Declan helped. Eager to be rid of me.” Gansey shook his head but didn't argue the point.

“It's no trouble, if we both drive we'll only have to take one trip.” Ronan couldn't argue with that. “So do you want a real tour of the campus now that you know where your classes are going to be?” Gansey asked, just barely hiding his excitement.

“I actually have to swing by Cabeswater,” Ronan said. “Maybe some other time.”

“Oh? What business do you have there?” Gansey raised his eyebrows.

“I have a question.”

“What's your question?”

“I have to ask him about itching the tattoo. If there's anything I can use to lessen the itch,” Ronan said, thinking on his feet.

“You couldn't just call?” Gansey asked, smiling.

“I lost the card,” Ronan shrugged. Then, to get Gansey off his back, “You can come with.”

Gansey quickly stopped his teasing and sped up his gait. “I can point out the buildings you'll be in on the way.”

They reached the shop half an hour later, mostly because Gansey often got lost in his explanations, and the school and its history was no exception. Ronan practically dragged Gansey off the campus.

When they walked in, they were greeted by a very enthusiastic Noah and a decidedly unenthusiastic Blue. “You guys are back! Caught the tattoo fever, Gansey?” Noah asked.

Gansey laughed. “Maybe a little. But we're not here for another tattoo.”

“Oh,” Noah deflated a little. “Did one of you have a question?”

“I did,” Ronan said. “Is Adam around?”

“Yeah, of course. Let me go get him for you.” He scampered away to the back rooms. A minute later Ronan and Gansey heard a sing song voice say, “Adam, your boyfriend is here,” followed by a thump and a loud “Ow!”. Gansey and Blue grinned at each other and looked at Ronan, who was trying not to show any embarrassment but could feel his face flushing a bit.

Adam came out from the back. Noah followed, pouting and rubbing the back of his head.

“Hey, Ronan, what's up?” Ronan noticed that Adam's ears were slightly pink.

“Not much, just had a question for you,” he said nonchalantly.

“Shoot.”

“This thing itches like a motherfucker,” Ronan jerked his thumb at his back. “Is there something I can put on it? I know you said certain things couldn't go on it.”

Adam's eyebrows turned down and then one slowly raised up in silent question. Ronan suddenly felt stupid for coming in instead of just calling like Gansey suggested.“Oh. Yeah, you should try to avoid putting much other than the Aquafor and fragrance free lotion on it, but if it's really bad you can try some one percent hydrocortizone on it. That can help with the swelling too. Sorry, I should've told you before you left the other day.”

“Don't sweat it.” Ronan looked at the other three, who were all swiveling their heads back and forth like they were watching a tennis match. He rolled his eyes. “Well, I guess that's it.”

“Okay. Is there a reason you didn't just call?” Adam asked, and Ronan could imagine it as sounding hopeful, but likely that wasn't the case.

Gansey smiled widely at Ronan as if to say, I told you so.

“I lost the card,” Ronan repeated the excuse.

“Oh, okay. Here's a new one.” He leaned over to the front desk and pulled a card out of its metal holder.

“Thanks, but I don't really use the phone.”

“What?”

“I have a cell but I don't use it ever.”

“Then why do you have one?”

Ronan was becoming frustrated. “My brothers insist on me carrying one.”

“Okay. Couldn't you have just looked it up on the internet?” Adam pushed. Three heads pivoted back to Ronan.

Heat rushed to his face. “I... don't trust the internet,” he said lamely. Adam just stared at him. “I wanted to get advice from my actual artist. You did say I could come in if I had a question.”

“Okay I guess?” Adam's voice lilted up, making it a question.

“Yeah. So thanks.” Ronan stood there awkwardly, not sure what to do. He knew he should leave, but he didn't want to. Plus, Gansey had come all this way with him to see Blue.

“So what do you do here?” Ronan asked Blue, almost rudely. He hated all these eyes on him.

“I'm the piercer,” she answered, prickling at his tone.

“I've actually been thinking about getting a piercing,” Ronan said.

“Oh? What do you want done?” she asked, interested now.

“I was thinking my tongue.” Ronan's eyes flicked to Adam and back. Adam was still staring at him, but now his finger was tapping quickly on the front desk.

“We can do that today-”

Just then, the bell tinkled, announcing another customer. Ronan could almost hear Adam's sigh of relief.

“How can I-”

“I've got it!” Noah cut him off. Adam gave Noah a look, but didn't stop him. Noah took the girl over to his station.

“We can definitely do your tongue today, if you want it,” Blue continued.

“Let's do it,” Ronan said. He went to the body jewelry case and picked out a simple black ball tongue ring, then he followed Blue to one of the back rooms that was evidently her own work station.

She snapped on a small pair of black latex gloves and laid out her instruments and the ring.

Gansey came wandering in. “Declan is really going to lose it now.”

“Good,” Ronan said, sitting on the reclining table.

“These are so bad for your teeth.”

Ronan shrugged. Gansey shook his head but stopped arguing.

“Okay, stick your tongue out,” Blue instructed. Ronan complied. She marked where the ring would go with a blue marker. “Check it out in the mirror.”

Ronan examined the mark with a critical eye. It looked like it was perfectly in the middle to him. He turned to Gansey for confirmation.

“Looks good to me,” he said. Ronan hopped back on the table.

Blue used a clamp with a hole for the needle to go through to pull Ronan's tongue out just a little farther. Then she grabbed the needle. “Okay, breathe in.” Ronan did. “And out.” As Ronan exhaled, she poked the needle through. Ronan's eye twitched, but otherwise didn't show any sign of pain. Blue pulled the ring through the hole and twisted the ball on. “All done. You can go look at it.”

Ronan stood up and looked in the mirror once again. The black ball rested squarely in the middle of his tongue. “Looks good. How much do I owe you?”

“Thirty.” Ronan pulled out his wallet and handed her four ten dollar bills. Blue mimicked tipping her hat to him and followed him out to the front. “Don't use alcoholic mouthwash or drink any alcohol for at least two weeks, preferably four.”

“What?” Ronan stopped in his tracks.

“Alcohol dries out the piercing and can stop it healing properly. You have to wait until it's completely healed before you can drink alcohol.” Blue crossed her arms.

“You didn't tell me that before I got it!”

“I kind of figured you would already know not to put alcohol on an open wound,” she raised her eyebrows in a silent challenge.

That earned a snort from both Gansey and Adam, who had come over to see the new “wound”. Ronan stuck his tongue out at Adam so he could examine it.

“Looks good on you,” he nodded.

“Thanks.” Ronan rubbed the back of his neck.

“Hey, don't rub the tattoo, you'll wreck the lines!” Adam lunged forward and tore Ronan's hand from his neck. Ronan stared at Adam's hand wrapped around his wrist. Ronan marveled at how his hand felt without the latex glove between their skin. He clicked his new tongue ring against the back of his teeth, something he could feel would become habit.

Adam still hadn't released Ronan's wrist. Heat radiated out from the contact and pooled in Ronan's stomach, speeding his heart rate. Ronan hadn't touched or been touched by Adam without gloves or clothes in the way except when they had shook hands two days ago. He was tempted to slide his hand down to be enveloped by Adam's.

Blue cleared her throat. Adam jumped slightly and released Ronan's wrist. Ronan glared at Blue, who was looking particularly smug.

“Want something?” she asked. Ronan opened his mouth to tell her that he wanted her to mind her own damn business, but then he realized she was talking to Gansey. “We can give you a matching one.” She gestured at Ronan.

“I don't think so,” Gansey laughed. “It wouldn't look as good on me.”

“Oh I don't know about that,” she said. Gansey blushed a deep red.

“Are you done? We have to go pack my shit,” Ronan said, jabbing Gansey's side with his elbow.

Gansey looked at his watch. “Oh, yeah. Yeah we do. If Matthew really already started, we might be able to make it back by tomorrow.”

“God, I hope so. I don't need to deal with Declan longer than one night right now,” Ronan rolled his eyes.

“Who's Declan?” Adam asked. Ronan didn't think he was imagining the interest in Adam's voice.

“My brother,” Ronan answered. “He's a real dickhead.”

Adam laughed. “Family trouble is something I understand.”

“Who's the dickhead in your family?”

“My father,” Adam said shortly. Ronan wanted to pry a little more, but Adam's face said he wouldn't say any more on the subject.

“Well, we better get going,” Gansey said after a minute, breaking the awkward silence.

“Right. Next Saturday, Parrish?” Ronan asked for confirmation.

“See you then,” Adam nodded.

Ronan and Gansey left the shop.

“So, a tongue ring, huh?”

“Shut the fuck up, Gansey,” Ronan replied.

“To the barns?” Gansey asked.

“Unfortunately.”

“I think you're going to like William and Mary.”

Adam's face flashed in Ronan's mind. “Yeah, I think I might.”

[punchybreakyboi]

Open pre-prom starter

Okay, now was the time. UA's prom night was drawing near, and he needed something to wear to it. He couldn't just ask anyone to help him get a suit, either; he wanted to be an independent adult, capable of taking care of himself. So, the best course of action would be to get a job.

Deku applied everywhere he could. From cafes, to grocery stores, he even applied to fast food places to be thorough. Eventually, in spite of how nervous he was at the interview, he managed to get something at a trendy little clothing store near the campus part time. So it seemed like a great situation all around. He'd just go to his classes, then when he was done, he'd walk to work, and when he was done with that, he'd walk back, do all his studying for the night and head to bed. He'd only have to do it long enough to pay for his suit. Maybe a little longer so he could buy his mom something nice. She always did complain about the rice cooker being on the fritz. Maybe he could get her one of those fancy pressure cookers...

The first day of work came around, and Izuku was honestly excited. He ran to the store, not telling anyone where he was going other than the school staff who were responsible for knowing where he was. He got to meet all his coworkers, and they were pretty nice. His boss appeared to be perfectly patient with him as well. On the first day of the job, she taught him all the ropes, then sent him home early.

The next day, however...

Things began tame enough. It was his first day on the floor, and he had an easy enough time at first. The customers were typically younger and friendlier. But, there was one exception. A middle aged woman in designer clothes and a haircut more expensive than it should have been.

I think we all know where this is going.

"A-hem," The woman tapped on the cashier's desk with a bright red, overpriced manicure. The girl working as cashier had gone out at the time, so Izuku figured he would step in.

"Ah, hi, can I help you?" He asked with a bright smile and cheery disposition.

"Wait. You work here? Dressed like that?"

Aaand the smile was gone. Sure, he knew he was plain, but she didn't have to put it like that.

"Well, yes, I do." He answered as polite as he could be.

"Hmph. Well if you really work here, you might as well be useful. I bought these pairs of jeans for my daughter yesterday, but they don't fit. I demand a refund! In cash!"

Well this wasn't going to work. For a number of reasons. "Um, ma'am, store policy only allows me to give you in-store credit for retuns. Also...if you really bought those, then the plastic tags on them should have been removed. Otherwise they would have broken open as you left the store and gotten ink everywhere." Deku tried to explain as calmly and as rationally as he could. One thing was for certain, though: this woman was (poorly) trying to get money out of the store.

"Are you saying I'm a liar?" 'Karen' fumed. "I demand to speak to your manager! Maybe they'll actually know what they're doing! And get you fired!"

"Um! She's not in right now! And, as it stands, it seems like you're just trying to scam the store out of money!" The poor thing tried to stand his ground.

"Well maybe that's what the store deserves!" Just then, a chime was heard. It came from Izuku's phone which was left on the counter. And because of that, the Karen could see what was on the lock screen. "...Is this your phone? Why is there a picture of another boy in it?"

"Um, that's my boyfriend..." Izuku admitted. Which unfortunately turned out to be a big mistake.

"Ugh! Disgusting! Figures that the useless boy turns out to be a total f**!"

...And this was why Izuku was in the closet for the most part. Reactions like this. If it weren't for the fact that this woman was a civilian, he could have just fought back. But that wasn't how normal society worked. So in this scenario, he just felt helpless. So then an anxiety attack came upon him. He would have tried to breathe, but he forgot how, and he started hyperventilating.

[hybridequalist]

VenomXReader Fanfic

So it’s been a hot minute since I wrote any fanfic and I’ve been geeking out about the Venom movie for a few months, so I figured I’d throw my hat into the ring for the fun of it. 

Please note that this is only part 1 of this idea, I just needed to get this out. This is a female reader character who is selectively mute.

This story was inspired by @snarky-badger and their lovely collection of reader inserts, particularly the ones with mutant/powered reader characters.

AO3 Link Here!

Being a mind-reader was like living in hell most of the time. Every day, the secrets of every passerby was bared to you, coming in all shades of ugliness. If you were lucky, the most dishonest thing someone had done was tell a white lie to their mom about how well they were doing. More often than not, you were overwhelmed with the personal garbage of everyone on the trolley. It was impossible to entirely tune out, like hundreds of people shouting all at once, unaware that someone was able to hear them. Nighttime was much better, far fewer mental voices though they tended to be more unpleasant to hear if you encountered them.

    Still, the worst part of being a mind-reader was knowing exactly what everyone thought of you at any given moment. Compliments were few and far between, especially once whoever you encountered realized that you were selectively mute. Sometimes you encountered people who pushed their initial reactionary thoughts aside and tried to keep see you positively, but they were rare gems. More often, you sensed some kind of disgust and a few times even malicious intent. It was incredibly difficult to make friends when you knew exactly what each person wanted from you.

    At least your gift was able to help a few people: you worked as a nighttime janitor for a hospital and were able to sense which patients were the most lonely and in need of a kind gesture. You always made sure to leave them a gift or to nudge their minds into calling a friend or family member. It wasn’t much, but feeling someone’s mood shift into happiness was enough to keep you going.

    It was thanks to that very job that you had met the Demon of San Francisco.

    It was your typical shift, replacing the garbage liners and mopping the hall floors while discreetly visiting those you felt needed it. While you were passing by one of the rooms, you sensed an extra person inside it, someone who didn’t belong. No...two people? One of the minds didn’t feel...right--hostile and primal in a way you had never encountered.

You hesitated, uncertain if you should go in or not. The patient, however, was in distress, mentally pleading for someone to intervene. Plucking up your courage, you softly knocked and entered the room.

The sight you were met with surprised you: the patient was shifting nervously in their bed and across from them was a man in a leather jacket with heavy bags under his steely eyes. No sign of the third mental presence you felt. It seemed to be...attached to the stranger somehow?

Suddenly realizing that you were being stared at, you felt your throat close up and you fumbled in your pockets for the notecards you kept on hand for situations like this. Rummaging through them, you pulled one out and flipped it around. The stranger stepped forward to read it aloud.

“‘Is everything okay?’ Um, yeah, we’re fine,” he said, confusion coloring his mind and tone.

“WHAT IS WRONG WITH HER, EDDIE?”

The mental voice cut through the room and you reflexively flinched. It was so loud, aggressive and distinctly masculine. But despite being its own voice, it seemed amplified by the mind of the stranger. Who was this man?

“Oh no, she can’t help.”

The patient’s thought interrupted your alarm. Pulling yourself back into reality, you extended the notecard towards them and nodded, trying to seem encouraging and not as shaken as you really felt. The patient glanced at the stranger and you rummaged for a different card, holding it up to ask “what is going on?”

“This gentleman was interviewing me about my...accident,” the patient replied slowly. “He believes...there could be a connection to something criminal.”

You didn’t have a card to express your next question, so you pointed at the stranger and then gestured to the door. After repeating the motion a few times, the patient understood.

“No,” they said, shaking their head. “No, I don’t need him to leave. I just…”

“Would you feel more comfortable if she stayed?” the stranger inquired, stepping towards the patient. Upon getting a nervous nod in return, the leather-clad man turned to you, extending his hand. “Eddie Brock, reporter.”

You pointed to your nametag before taking a seat next to the patient and listening in to the rest of the interview. As the conversation progressed, you made certain to hold the patient’s hand or rub their shoulder soothingly to help keep them calm. You tried to block out the strange mental voices of Eddie Brock and whoever else seemed to be speaking in his head, but the loud second voice was distracting. Even stranger, it seemed to be speaking directly to Eddie and he was responding to it, though not with worded thoughts.

When Eddie had finished his interview and shook both yours and the patients’ hands, he left without another word. You made sure the patient was settled back in and comfortable before leaving yourself and returning to your janitor cart. To your surprise, Eddie was standing next to it, very obviously waiting for you.

“Hey,” he greeted you. You were frozen in place, unsure what he was doing.

“WHY ARE WE STILL HERE?” the mysterious loud voice complained. “I’M HUNGRY.”

“I just wanted to say thanks for helping out back in there,” Eddie continued, ignoring the strange comment you know he must have somehow heard. “I really needed this interview to wrap up a pretty complicated case.”

“YOU SAID THANKS, NOW CAN WE GO?”

“So...yeah. Thanks again. Hope you have a good night.”

With that, he turned to leave and you stepped up to your cart. As you returned to work, you caught another thought from Eddie and his...friend?

“Well that wasn’t an incredibly awkward goodbye.”

“WE’RE ALWAYS AWKWARD WHEN IT’S YOU TALKING.”

You had initially brushed off the encounter with Eddie Brock as a one-off event. While it was an odd experience, it wasn’t the first time you’d met a mutant--if that’s what he was--and ultimately wouldn’t be something that would happen again.

Except it did. Sort of.

You had been at the store, waiting in line to check out and eager to get home when a rowdy group of gang members came in and started harassing both employees and customers. It had suddenly escalated when one bold cashier had asked them to leave and a man with at least ten piercings had pulled a gun out. The store almost immediately went into a panic and you found yourself knocked to the floor in the stampede. You barely managed to haul yourself behind a snack rack before the gunfire flew wildly through the air. You were paralyzed, unable to scream or do anything to release some of the terror holding you bound. The fear of everyone in the store rebounded in your head, clouding your brain in a haze of collective emotion.

And then you felt him. Them.

The mental voice was a primal roar, echoed by the same outward sound that interrupted the gang’s wild shooting for a moment.

You couldn't see any of the action, but you didn't need to: the minds of the gang members supplied more than enough. You could feel their horror and revulsion, catch flashes of the unnaturally huge, black creature with too many teeth...and feel the sudden silence as minds were torn from consciousness into nothing.

The shooting stopped, but there was still a single gang member left. You were unable to pull your mental focus from the panic and the visual of the black monster stalking forward, reaching out a clawed hand. The moment of their death was awful, the sounds and pain so clear and so suddenly cut off that you retched, unable to hold back being sick any longer.

You distantly heard sirens approaching, thoroughly detached from the feelings of relief everyone else shared. You couldn’t get the sensation of being eaten out of your head, the noises and sudden silencing of thoughts.

And then you heard it.

“THIS IS THE ONE FROM THE HOSPITAL. I TOLD YOU I SMELLED SOMEONE FAMILIAR.”

The snarling, primal thoughts dragged you into the present, your eyes locking onto a familiar face--Eddie Brock, the reporter. You instinctively jolted back, unable to make a peep in your panic.

“Hey, hey, you’re okay,” Eddie rushed to say, trying to sound soothing but his flustered thoughts betraying him. “The police are here and the gang is gone.”

“WHAT IS WRONG WITH HER, EDDIE?”

You recoiled and curled into the fetal position. Eddie was the thing that had killed those people. And yet he was trying to pretend that he hadn’t just eaten someone. You had to communicate, but your voice was useless. You had only one option.

Psychically speaking with words to was harder than communicating with emotions or offering mental suggestions, but you were desperate to get the monster away from you. Mustering your strength, you lashed out with all the mental will you could muster.

“Get away from me!”

Eddie flinched at the force and the second voice went silent. And then a sensation you could only describe as a vicious, toothy grin came from the strange, loud mind.

“YOU CAN HEAR ME, CAN’T YOU LITTLE MORSEL?”

Nope. Too much.

The world slanted violently and then everything went blank.

[havenoffandoms]

Chuckleheads in Love

Pairing: Destiel

Requested by @very-anxious-ottter

Prompt: Destiel Coffee Shop AU, but instead of one being a barista and the other a customer, both are baristas in training trying to get the one position left open...

I tried something here... added my own little twist to it. Hope you like it anyway. Bare with me if it’s horrible lol. I had fun writing it though, and I hope you have just as much fun reading it. 

In the twelve years Gabriel had owned his own business, he had seen many a chucklehead pass the doors of his Wonderful Coffee Emporium, the most exclusive (and expensive) coffee shop in Lawrence, Kansas. He had had his share of rude, and downright arrogant customers. That was just something he had grown accustomed to over the years, and Gabriel fully expected his employees to be thick-skinned when working in his Emporium. The customers had ceased to be Gabriel’s problem a long time ago.

Employees. Them bunch could be a right nightmare to deal with. Recently, Gabriel had to get rid of his best barista because the dude could not keep it in his pants. The guy had knocked up one of Gabriel’s best client’s daughter… who had understandably not been very happy to his perfect angel girl turn into a potential future ‘Teen Mom’ participant. Very bad for the family name, you understand. Gabriel could not afford to lose this particular client – who also acted as a supplier of one of his best coffee brands – and therefore, sacrifices had to be made. Gabriel had only reluctantly agreed to let his barista go. He had been the best in the state, and replacing his expertise would be a challenge. And probably a very expensive one at that, too.

This was how Gabriel ended up advertising a barista position online and in the newspapers. He had interviewed around thirty candidates. He had only invited two back for a second meeting. Castiel Novak and Dean Winchester, both young, eager to please and ambitious. They were the raw clay Gabriel could mould into the perfect employee. The only issue was, they were both really, tremendously good. Their portfolio had been varied, professional and elegant. Gabriel would be judging their technical skills during a live ‘stand-off’. Exciting, right?

Gabriel went to greet the two candidates before his Emporium at seven am sharp. The shop opened at eight. They had one hour to convince him that one of them was fit for the job, and worth investing in. In a grandiose and dramatic way, Gabriel pulled the doors to his shop open and grinned widely at the two young men standing awkwardly a few feet away from each other, avoiding eye-contact.

“Hello, boys” Gabriel greeted them, stepping outside and letting the doors swing shut behind him, “my name is Gabriel and I own the Wonderful Coffee Emporium. This…” the blonde motioned to the building behind him, “is my little baby. I want what’s best for it, and that includes the most skilful employees. A brand like this one takes work. And like they say, the devil is in the details. Now… you both have what it takes, but only one of you will get the job. Good luck”

Gabriel invited the two candidates in, and went to sit at a nearby table. The taller man, whom the owner recognised as Dean Winchester, stood with his hands deep in his black chino pockets. He would have to neaten up his presentation, but those were details. Meanwhile the other young man, Castiel, was seemingly doing his very best to look everywhere but at Gabriel. Not ideal when dealing with clients, but again, easily rectified.

“Your first task… make me a large Iced Skinny Hazelnut Macchiato, Sugar Free Syrup, Extra Shot, Light Ice, no Whip” Gabriel grinned impishly when he noticed the confused and lost expressions on the two young men’s faces. “Come on, chop chop”

Castiel and Dean exchanged a worried look, but soon enough Dean nodded to himself and went behind the counter to get to work. Castiel soon followed, visibly trying to steer clear from Dean. Gabriel had deliberately left out instructions such as where to find the tall glasses or how to use the coffee machines. A good employee needed to cope well with stress and be adaptable. He watched carefully as the two men got to work. Every now and again, he would notice one of them glance briefly at the other. However, there was no malice or competitiveness in their eyes. In fact, they were furtive glances, almost apologetic ones. Odd. As far as Gabriel knew, the two men did not know each other. It did not take the two boys long to bring Gabriel his order. Unsurprisingly, despite the complexity of his order, the coffees were both perfect.

“Very good. Now, Dean… what could you have done better?” Gabriel asked. The green-eyed man cleared his throat, taking a moment to think of an answer.

“Well… I suppose I could have done better with the presentation. I mean… Cas is better with that kind of stuff, anyway” Dean admitted, blushing ever so slightly. Gabriel raised one eyebrow and noticed out of the corner of his eyes the smaller man glare at his counterpart. Alright. Curiouser and curiouser.

“Indeed, Castiel I really like what you did with the foam. Do you usually draw little pictures in your coffees?”

“I do, sir. Where I work now, it’s become my main duty”

“Very impressive” Gabriel granted, “although I have to say, the flavour is more present in Dean’s realisation. Maybe sometimes you should focus more on the taste and less on the presentation. Clients can’t taste foam-art”

“To be fair, sir, presentation is what distinguishes a good coffee from a great one” Dean piped up defensively, which earned himself another glare. Gabriel was not sure what exactly was going on, but he knew that something about the situation was off. Those boys knew each other, that was certain. What the circumstances were, that the owner of the Emporium vowed to figure out.

“Alright, your next job. Make me a tall non-fat latte, two percent foam. Do not be fooled by the simplicity of the order, though…” Gabriel advised, raising a warning finger. While Castiel’s eyebrows furrowed in confusion, Dean once again immediately set to work. The smaller man’s actions looked more hesitant. Gabriel noticed with surprise how Dean discreetly – or so he thought – whispered the instructions in Castiel’s ear as he moved back and forth between his coffee machine and the dishware rack. While the smaller man did his best to pretend he was not paying attention to his counterpart, Gabriel noticed the increase in confidence in Castiel’s actions. Again, the two men brought him their concoctions and Gabriel tasted both of them.

“I can see a trope here. Again, Dean yours tastes smoother, but Castiel your presentation is just beautiful…”

“Thank you, sir” The blue-eyed man blushed delicately at the back-handed compliment, while the faintest of proud smiles grew on Dean’s lips. For some reason, Gabriel was convinced that the taller man was happier about Castiel getting recognition than his own accomplishment.

“I’ll need several minutes to make a decision” Gabriel declared, standing up from his seat, “you guys enjoy your own creations. Feel free to grab something to eat, there’s sweet bites next the bar”

Gabriel vanished into the kitchen with only one intention in mind; spy on the two peculiar candidates. As soon as he was out of sight, he noticed Dean lean over so his head rested on Castiel’s shoulder. From where he stood, Gabriel could make out the taller man batting his eyelashes flirtatiously. The owner of the Emporium could make out the faint voices as he picked up bits and pieces of their conversation.

“I’m still mad at you” Cas snapped at Dean, moving away from the other man, “and I don’t care how much you compliment me, I’m downright pissed”

“C’mon, babe” Dean moaned, remorse lacing his tone, “I said I was sorry”

“Working for this place was always my dream, Dean. You had no right to apply for the position” Castiel accused, turning his back on the other man. Gabriel wondered why he paid good money for a TV package when he could have hired those two cuckoos earlier and get his daily dose of soap operas for free.

“Hang on, this is a free country. I couldn’t pass the opportunity… Besides, you know Balthazar wants to make you manager of his coffee shop one day… I don’t understand why you’re so insistent on leaving” Dean defended himself. Gabriel recognised the name Balthazar… not exactly a rival, mind you. His concept was different, more family-orientated, which meant that the clientele Gabriel did not bother targeting had somewhere else to go where they could enjoy a nice coffee. And Gabriel knew it was good quality coffee… he had tasted it himself a while ago.

“Dean, that’s not the point…” Castiel sighed.

“What is it, then? Honestly dude… Balthazar let me go, I should be the one complaining that you’re here”

“How dare you…” Cas guffawed indignantly. Dean merely raised his hands in surrender.

“Babe, I’m just saying. We need both our wages if we want to keep the apartment. And you have a good job waiting for you when Balthazar retires. Why are you so mad that I applied for this job? I only meant well. That guy will pay a shitload… and then I’ll finally be able to get you that ring I’ve been meaning to buy you for ages now…”

Castiel looked at the other man, his expression softening considerably when his blue eyes met Dean’s green ones. The smaller man sighed in defeat, cracking an apologetic smile.

“I’m sorry. I guess I needed to prove to myself – and to you – that I could do this. I know I’m not the best barista, and today proves this. I guess I should be grateful that Balthazar still allows me to work for him”

Gabriel noticed fondly how Dean interlaced his fingers with Castiel’s. Those two were adorable, they really were. Dean closed the distance between himself and his lover and sealed their lips with a tender kiss. A shit eating grin illuminated Castiel’s features, an embarrassed giggle escaping him.

“Dean, stop. Your boss will be back anytime now”

“Who says he’s gonna pick me?” Dean asked, peppering Castiel’s face with kisses. Disgustingly sweet was never an expression Gabriel thought he would ever have to use, but it was fitting to the scene unfolding before his eyes.

“Because even if he picked me, I would not take the job. You’re right, you have a right to this position, too. And I think you’ll love it here”

“You’re sure, babe?” came the uncertain question. Castiel nodded, smiling reassuringly and gently cupping Dean’s face.

“Yes, I’m sure. I’m sorry for being such an assbutt”

“You’re my favourite assbutt, though” Dean countered, kissing his lover once again. Gabriel shook his head, slightly amused by the men’s silliness, however the two of them had their hearts in the right place. Walking back to the table, Gabriel braced himself to announce who would be joining his team. Castiel and Dean both tensed up as they saw him return.

“Well, Dean congratulations, you’re in” Gabriel announced loudly, a wide grin on his face, “but before you start thanking me and all that, let me tell you guys something. The key to a successful partnership is communication. Even a team of the most talented employees in the world would be worthless if they didn’t talk to each other. You guys should keep that in mind for the future” Gabriel then locked eyes with Castiel, placing a reassuring hand on his shoulder. “Castiel, son… you’re talented, and you have this je-ne-sais-quoi that is comforting and loving. I’m sure there’s no better person to take over Balthazar’s business than you. I will have no regret sending you back there, because I know your skills will be put to good use there”

Dean and Castiel shared knowing looks, and both men had the decency to blush when they realised that Gabriel had heard the entirety of their conversation. The two of them shuffled awkwardly from side to side, avoiding eye-contact once again. Gabriel merely rolled his eyes.

Chuckleheads, Gabriel thought to himself.

[aconitum-genus]

Self-Preservation

Strap in my lovelies because this is a XXL rant:

I work in a retail store that sells skateboard products, clothing related to said skateboards, snowboards, jeans, t-shirts.. you get the idea. We even offer to grip and/or build the skateboard in store for absolutely no charge.

Now I’m not complaining about the store. I love working there. I want to eventually work in their corporate office, but my heart broke yesterday.

We are a commission based company with regular hourly pay which means that sales are SUPER important. Every month, we are expected to be above the average set at the beginning of said month and I, being the competitive bitch I am, always strive to beat everyone, but something happened that turned my stomach.

There is this guy named Steven (not his real name; privacy reasons). He is best friend with my manager, Nathan (again not his really name). These two guys have known each other for YEARS and act like they are practically brothers. I though nothing of it when I first met him on Black Friday. He seemed chill, relaxed, and always trying to make people laugh. The second time we worked together something had changed. He was abrupt, cold, and was acting like I wasn’t really there.

No worries, I thought to myself! He probably doesn’t know me, but every shift was the same. I just didn’t understand what I had done. Did I say something? Did I act a certain way? I was really confused.

I gave up on my proagitive of trying to gain his acceptance and just aimed to be cordial around him. That didn’t work so well. If some of you don’t know, I have Lupus SLE. The most basic definition - “Systemic lupus erythematosus (SLE) is an autoimmune disease. In this disease, the immune system of the body mistakenly attacks healthy tissue. It can affect the skin, joints, kidneys, brain, and other organs.”

The symptoms that I was having were the following:

- Muscle and joint pain

- Migraine

- Hot then cold

- Nausea, can’t eat at all

- Super hungry, like I can’t get enough food

- Tingling in wrists and cheeks

- Ache in left arm

- Left wrist pain

- Lower and upper back pain is always present

- Hands and feet feel cold

- Heart racing or beating out of my chest

- Chest pain

- Tietze syndrome

- Pain on left side of body

- Cracking or crunching sounds when I move

- Lightheadness

- Fainting spells

- Shortness of breathe

- Fatigue

I’m doing much better now. I’m on chemotherapy and medication that is helping, but no one knew the extent of what I was going through at the time. I mean why would I say that in an interview? People are predujiced. “Why hire a sick person when I could hire a healthy one?”

Anyway, the first incident was when I went to my shift with a cold. Now being on chemo, my immune system is shot so upper respiratory infections are not to be taken lightly. While I was unloading shipment, I felt my airway closing. I couldn’t breathe. My heart was pounding so hard that I could feel it knocking against my sternum. I needed to go to the hospital. NOW.

I grabbed my manager and told her in my low wheezing voice, “Please. *short spurting and wheezing inhale* I need to call my mom. *Another short wheezing inhale* Hospital.” I was holding onto a display table because I could feel the blood swimming in my head. She excused me immediately and my mom took me to the ER where I was diagnosis with a very mild case of pneumonia. If you think that’s bad, look up pneumonia in lupus patients.

That same night, while I WAS ON AN OXYGEN MASK mind you, I get a text from one of my closest coworkers saying that Steven was talking shit. I was confused and asked her what happened? She goes on to explain that he sent her a picture of all work they were left to do because “poor fucking Allison had an “asthma” attack.” I was livid. I told her that I was ER with pneumonia on oxygen. I felt unfairly judged and ashamed of my illness.

I decided not to say anything and just have it roll off my shoulders until I noticed that some of my sales weren’t accounted for. Hmm, that’s strange. I know that I definitely sold that to this person and this one etc. I did some investigating and guess what? Steven had been stealing my sales. This time, I wasn’t going to let it go. I printed up the reports, highlighted the pages along with notes in the margins about what had transpired and took it in to my manager the next day.

“Hey Nathan, can I talk to you?”

“Sure Allison, what’s up?”

“Well, I just wanted to let you know that last night Steven stole two of my sales and one of Yvette’s (not real name, blah blah, you get the idea).”

“Oh well maybe he didn’t see you talking them?”

“I actually went up to him before I took my lunch break and told him that customer X and Y were getting these, but were still looking around.”

He then inquired about Yvette’s sale which he seemed to be a lot more interested in.

“It also made me very uncomfortable when he..”

“Well if you feel uncomfortable, then maybe you need to rethink your position and ask yourself if this job is really right for you. Can you work more than a four hour shift? Can you work a six, seven, or eight hour shift? Plus, you’re both adults and should handle it. There shouldn’t be this negative environment that is being created so you need to ask yourself if this is really the right place for you.”

“I come in whenever you ask me to..”

“But you also leave a lot. I understand you have health problems, but you can’t say that you come in all the time only to leave.”

At this point, I was gritting my teeth. Blocking everything out. I decided then that he didn’t care about helping me, only protecting Steven.

About three months past and Steven and I were tolerating each other until I notice that at $133 sale is missing from my stats. Greattttt. It’s happening again. I printed it out and began writing down exactly what happened. I told my assistant manager about this and she said that she saw what happened. She said she had talked to Nathan before about having everyone come in to talk about this, but he blew it off and said it was “fucking dumb.” I held it in. I waited because I knew that our district manager was coming that Saturday. I was going to tell her because Nathan didn’t seem to take it seriously.

The day arrives and I’m excited. I grab my papers and show her once I arrive. She makes small talk and my dumbass accidentally lets slip that I have lupus. Her eyes widen and I think I’m fucked only to find out that she knew someone with lupus, but she didn’t know about it until they quit the job. I then tell her about the whole predujiced issue blah blah blah and the Steven problem and then head off to my shift where I fucking kill it. In the first two hours, I made over $1,600 for the store. I was loving life because I was impressing the god damn district manager.

I went to break and returned to have Nathan talk to me. I thought oh no. He said that he wanted to apologize for being an asshole for the past two months and that he appreciated me blah bullshit bullshit bullshit. He then brought up the talk I had with the DM about Steven stealing sales. I proceed to give him the document and he said he’d investigate. He then starts to tell me that I crowd the register by looking at my stats constantly and that creates distrust. I told him that I couldn’t trust Steven because this has happened twice already and yet again he proceeds to berate me about my illness and if this is the right place for me. I listen silently while tears rolled down my face. While Nathan was talking, Steven was walking in and out of the room getting items and seeing my tears. After the rant is over he says:

“Why’re you down right now?” At this point, I start bawling.

“Because I give my all for this job. Every single comment or criticism I take as an opportunity to grow. Every lesson that I’m given, I keep going until I pass it. This job doesn’t cause me pain. Some days, I wake up in pain when I’m not working, but I still come in because that’s how dedicated I am to be here. I know that I’ve left a few times, but I haven’t left early since late February.”

Silence.

“I was laying in my bed for two years before I came here and I know that’s not an excuse, but there’s a certain adjustment period. I couldn’t run before because my knees felt like they would give out and break. I couldn’t stand for longer than 45 seconds because my heart would beat out my chest and make me faint. I couldn’t sleep for days because the narcotics weren’t working. I still have those days, but I come in to help and when I see that my stats are going down, it upsets me because I’ve work incredibly hard to be here. I love this job more than anything and I will not quit just because I’m in pain.”

“Alright. I understand. I’ll do some investigating and see what I find out.”

I dry my eyes and hold my head high thinking that I’ve convinced him only to later find out I was gossiped about.. again.

Steven to Yvette,” Time to go steal some sales.”

Steven,” Yeah I think she got in trouble for “telling”. *laughs*

When I saw the messages that my friend sent to me, I felt nothing. I was numb. I knew then that I was never going to let anyone know what was really going on. Never let anyone know if I was in some much pain that I would pass out until I collapsed on their floor or that I was not getting the sales that were mine. I hid back into myself and made the decision to go to work the next day being as happy as fuck. I would continue being this way so if there was any drama, they wouldn’t be looking at the girl who never complains.

I decided to preserve myself from getting hurt any further, create a persona, and only focus on my goal. No one was going to fuck with my livelihood. I’d make sure of that. If they do, I’ll fucking destroy them.

[sabraeal]

The Most Perverse Creature in the World, Chapter 5

Chapter 1 | Chapter 2 | Chapter 3 | Chapter 4

A carriage waits for you outside the palace; lacquered black, entirely unmarked, and not your own. Oh no, this coach is far, far nicer than anything Bederin’s coffers could provide you.

Your girlish heart leaps as you are conveyed with ease over the cobbles of the city, hardly rocked by a single stone; you may be training yourself to be a Countess, unfazed by the attentions of powerful men, but for longer still were you trained to be a lady, told by every governess your father employed that the pinnacle of achievement was to be noticed by a prince, no matter the number of his birth. The second prince may be nearly ten years your younger, but his regard would be a coup for a country count’s daughter, a cause for celebration even if he only spoke to you to ask about the canapes at a banquet.

You doubt they would be so pleased at the cause of his attentions now. To be quite honest, you are beginning to question the wisdom it yourself.

It is not that you do not grasp what a windfall his interest is in your cause; His Majesty might give you sly smiles and tacit approval, perhaps even an oblique push, but he’s much too canny to throw his favor behind an untried councilor, especially as one as contentious as a widow, but Prince Zen is his opposite, driven by an earnest sort of righteousness that would have made your eyes go starry were you half your age.

But you are not, and thus you spend most of your ride contemplating what, precisely, garnered you the privilege of this particular escort.

A contrast in stillness and motion, His Highness’s aide sprawls by the window, the very picture of languid calm. Or he would be, were you not used to young men, to the way their bodies betray them when their words will not. The way he keeps his head twisted to look out the window, the way he’s so carefully place so as to not brush your skirts, the way he clutches his shoulder -- he is not comfortable with this assignment, with you.

Obi can help you, His Highness had said, gesturing to the lanky man. He’s -- experienced in this...area.

You’re not some untouched maid to miss that insinuation, to miss that sly exchange of looks between them, the twitch of the taller man’s lips. What good some...connoisseur of companionship the second prince thinks will do you, you cannot fathom.

Still, he does seem to know where to take you.

The carriage lurches to a halt, and finally he looks at you, golden eyes flashing in the dim of the cab, meeting yours as if there were no veil between you. His lips quirk, just slightly, as his hand falls away.

“Here we are, my lady,” he says, almost studiously polite, so much so you suspect it might be mocking. “The beginning of your grand tour.”

That is meant to be cutting. His hand is on the door, eager to fling himself out onto the street, to leave your company.

Your voice is not accustomed to command, not meant to be anything but a honeyed balm for the ears of your husband, but -- this country used to have a queen, used to answer to a woman. You can try. “Hold.”

You’re not sure you like the uneasy way authority sits in your voice, but it does make him stop, does make his swivel his head to look at you with those wide, coin-gold eyes.

“We should discuss what this will...look like.” You don’t know how to put words like these together, how to say what you want -- or even know what that is, for this. “Am I to follow you?”

His eyes pulse wider, that mouth rucking up into a smirk. “My lady, follow me?”

The looks he gives you is answer enough, eyes dubiously running over the crape of your dress, over the swirling lace of your veil. There is nothing about you that is not conspicuous, that does not say well-bred widow. You are not...familiar with the fiscal workings of such a business -- that is, after all, what you are here to learn -- you cannot believe such an obvious visit would be beneficial, either to their custom or your reputation.

“Then you think you will conduct the interviews?” Your veil may obscure the brows you raise, but your voice conveys your skepticism well enough. “I have not even given you questions to ask. And I doubt that they would tell you --”

“My lady!” He lets out a laugh. “I’ll be bringing the madam out to you.”

“Oh.” You squirm, just slightly, beneath your mountain of crape and lace. “That will be -- sufficient.”

“Great,” he says with a sigh, throwing the door open. “I’ll have the driver pull around to the side. We’ll only be a moment.”

You’re not certain what you expected from these interviews, but it was certainly not -- not this.

“They want to tax me dill because a man wants to play ‘come into my castle’ and use the back gate?” one huffs, her cheeks painted a vibrant rouge. “What I want to know is when they’ll do something about mine girls and their little...side jobs. Thinking they can steal from the till so long as they aren’t flat on their backs where I can see ‘em.”

“I already got culls who won’t pay,” another grouses. “Thinks they own the place, they do. A girl tells ‘em no, and they go take her anyway, and don’t leave anything behind for the trouble of it. And now they want to steal more money from my coffers? The gall.”

“I cloth these girls, I feed them, I keep a roof over their heads.” This bawd leans forward, conspiratorial. “And here they are, asking for a wage. As if all that costs nothing! When will the king do something about that?”

It’s endless, the complaints; every one is different, about the conditions of the houses, about the girls in them, about the behavior of their custom, but --

But none of them will talk to you about the cost of this tax, of the way they regulate their...business, of anything besides the pettier matters.

“Another, my lady?” your escort asks, leaping up into the cab.

“No,” you sigh, rubbing at your brow. Your book is full of notes, but there is no visible thread to connect them, to make this into a story easily sold.

It is your father’s voice that comes to you now, his large body perched behind his desk in your mind. A man knows when to cut his losses, he told your brother as you played with dolls behind him. The most important thing is not knowing, but knowing what it is you must know.

“No, I think...” You worry at your lip, doubt gnawing at your decision, even as it crystallizes in your mind. “I think it’s time to regroup.”

“Lady Bederin!” Prince Zen leaps from his seat as you enter, eyes darting to the darkening horizon, to the clock up on his mantel. He grimaces, gaining a sense of urgency as he gestures to the chair across from him. “I mean, Countess. I hadn’t realized it was so late.”

A thousand polite nothings spring into your mouth, all meant to be a balm to his pride, to assure him such things happen to all powerful men –

But they curdle in your mouth. You are not some maiden, some lord’s wife to smooth over conversation, not anymore. You cannot be, if you wish to be taken seriously.

“It is strange,” you supply, after a moment, “how hours seem to follow each other in such a regular fashion.”

Your shadow, so silent, chokes.

Unlike his brother, the second prince does not have dominion over every follicle on his face, and his flush is as pretty as a maiden’s, staining the tips of his ears and the apples of his cheeks in that painted porcelain doll way most ladies of this court would die for.

“I have time for this, of course,” he manages, only belatedly remembering to take a seat after you do. His gaze flicks back, over your shoulder, and his face hardens as he says, “You’ll be staying for this, Obi.”

“Master,” his aide admonishes, in a tone few would dare with the heir to Clarines. “If you’re going to be discussing the finer points of companionship, you certainly wouldn’t want me to pass those on to M--”

“Don’t be disgusting.” The prince eyes his man warily. “I want your opinion.”

“Oh, Master --”

“On Countess Bederin’s thoughts!” You can’t help but wonder if this is the reason Prince Zen has given toward the fashion of high-necked tunics. Old-fashioned as it may be, it certainly would conceal more of the crimson you spy creeping up his neck than the stylish cravats his brother favors. “Now you’re just trying to be perverse.”

“Me?” the man gasps. “Perish the thought.”

The prince’s mouth pulls flat, but he drags his gaze away, settling it on you. There’s little of him to remind you of his brother -- between the two of them, it has always been the late King the youngest favors -- but those eyes are so similar it unnerves you for a moment to be under them. “Did it help? Your inquiries?”

The difference, of course, is the lack of guile in them.

“Hardly,” you admit, though it pains you. You bring out your notes, smoothing the pages on the desk. “The madams have complaints -- endless complaints -- but in terms of the tax, or any sort of regulation...”

You spread your hands, helpless.

“There must have been something, though,” His Highness presses, his gaze flicking over your shoulder, to where you know his man leans against the shelves. “A small thing? Something to put in front of the council.”

“Nothing,” you sigh, “unless you think they’ll be moved my madams complaining about girls who work on the side, or custom not...taking no.”

His skin turns a telling shade of scarlet. “But that -- the last one --”

“I think you’ll find, Master,” his aide drawls, amused, “that men who are used to getting their way won’t find anything wrong with taking it.”

“T-that...” His skin flushes darker. “That’s can’t be the case.”

“I think maybe the issue is the madams,” you offer, not willing to belabor the point. “I thought they would have the most sense of business, but they’re really...a middleman between the girls and...custom.”

“You’d want to talk to visitors, then?” His Highness asks, too innocent. “I don’t know who would admit to it in front of a lady, but --”

“Absolutely not.” He means well, you know, but -- honestly. “I think I need to be able to talk to the...the girls themselves.”

“Oh!” His Highness very studiously does not look at you, eyes bouncing around his study until they land on his aide. “I’m sure that’s something Obi can arrange.”

You turn, meeting those cat-gold eyes. He stares at you a moment, assessing.

“Sure,” he says finally, sitting back like he’s decided something. “I can see what I can do.”

Long shadows stripe the hall when you emerge from the prince’s study, the evening far more progressed than you would have thought, tucked away in that office. Still, the sun is blinding on this side of the palace, the west drinking the last of the light down to its dregs, and even with your veil you find yourself squinting against the glare, glad the stiff fall of your skirts obscures how unsteady your steps are –

So, of course, you must stumble into someone headlong, grabbing at their lapels to keep upright. Your forehead itches where it rubs the wool of the tunic beneath it, but you cannot bring yourself to look at your savior, not yet, even with your face veiled. Ah, where had all that grace your younger self had prided herself on?

Gone, you realize. Or rusty from disuse, like the swords in Bederin’s armory. You had not needed it, slinking around halls you never quite felt were yours.

“Are you all right?” a deep, familiar voice rumbles, and oh, of course it would be Arluleon who you nearly trip over.

You jerk back, hands firm on the planes of his chest, eager to put space between you, to recover the remove you like to speak from. He must have been as blind as you in the hall; his expression is all polite concern until his eyes catch on the lace of your veil, the unfashionable cut of your gown.

“Bederin.” His voice is flat, displeased, even as his hand curls tighter around your elbow to steady you. “What are you doing here?”

“I was with the prince.”

You did not know a face could turn so forbidding. You’ve seen mountains that intimidate you less.

“Talking,” you blurt out, unbidden. You don’t owe this man any explanation, but – it’s as if you cannot help yourself, as if you must if only so he may know what a formidable enemy he has made. “We are working together on a…project. For the council.”

You doubt any of those words have helped. He looks at you more like a disapproving father than an adversary, his mouth pulled thin in displeasure.

“I trust it has nothing to do with the charge His Majesty gave you.”

You may despise him, but gods, how you wish you could sound like this, like the world would not dare to defy you on so petty a concern. You wish, too, that you had his intuition, for even without the benefit of your guilty expression, he sighs, disappointed.

“Zen is very young,” he tells you, as if the prince were just coming out of the schoolroom, and not nearly twenty. “Sensitive. It’s not a thing he should be exposed to.”

“He’s a man,” you snap back, cheeks flushed beneath lace. “Old enough to have partaken in such things, never mind know about them.”

Arluleon turns crimson. “Zen would never --”

“He is nineteen,” you remind him. “Far more than a man grown. And am I to believe he’s so innocent?”

You step closer, closer than you truly should dare. His hand on your arm burns. “Isn’t that what you lords do with your sons? To make them real men?”

You have seen storms with less thunder in them than this. If Arluleon were less well-bred a man, if you were not a lady, you would have been struck, as quick as lightning to a tree in a field. His face says it so clearly that you are glad of your veil, glad that he can not see the smug lift of your lips.

You sweep by him, drinking in his ire, reveling in the way his glare follows your back. For once, you are the one who has made a palpable hit. How proud your husband would be.

“Bederin.” His voice arrests you, makes you turn back to him. There is something dark in his face, something like a warning. “I would take care with what accusations you see fit to hurl at a man’s feet.”

You hesitate, your tongue edged and prepared to cut, but --

But it is your husband’s voice that stills you. In Wistal, my love, words are life and death.

Fingernails dig into your palms, but --

But you walk away. You do not need to waste yourself on men like this, not anymore.