#never work at service delis

[aidatari]

Transferring from a small, neighborhood corner store to a big-ass™ location and uhh

The customers fucking suck

[houseofanticipation]

You're sitting with your friend Sam at a coffee shop, catching up. She's telling you about an instagram ad she keeps getting for some audiobook streaming service. "It's just crazy," she says, "because I was just telling Lucille I wanted to start reading more books but I never have the time, and then it's like instantly I'm getting these ads all the time."

"So what," you say over your steaming mug, "you think they're listening to you?"

Sam shakes her head. "Honestly I think it's almost scarier than that. They have so much information about us, they don't even need to listen to our conversations. They just know, based on everything they've gathered about me, that I'm probably someone who wants to listen to audiobooks."

"Well they can't be that smart," you say. "Because the only ads I've been getting lately are for something called Slut Cream."

Sam raises an eyebrow. "You must know I'm going to need more details."

You take out your phone and find an ad to show her. It's not difficult; literally all of the ads you see on instagram are like this. They're even showing up in other places now, on webpages you visit or apps you use. This one is one you've seen before: a beautiful woman in a crop top that just barely covers her nipples is proudly displaying a squeeze tube of the kind you'd buy sunscreen or toothpaste in. The caption says, "Being a slut isn't a hobby—it's a lifestyle! Step up your slut game with Slut Cream! Shop Now"

"I don't even know what slut cream is," you say. "All you get when you look it up is a bunch of porn."

"Well, obviously it's a way to step up your slut game," says Sam sagely. "What does it say on the website?"

"Oh, I'm not clicking the link," you say. "I don't want to encourage them! What I want to know is why suddenly this ad is all I can seem to see!"

Sam shoots you a wink. "Maybe you're just a slut. These data brokers know us better than we know ourselves."'

What neither of you know is that it's actually quite easy to buy online ad space, and they let you get pretty specific with your intended audience.

I live in the next apartment over from you. I've been watching you for a long time, studying you, listening to you through our shared wall. We've talked a few times, some terse conversation at the mailboxes or in the hall, which is how I knew enough about you to place those ads, with audience parameters so specific that probably only you and about five other people would see them. I had fun making them; hiring the model to do the photoshoot, dusting off the skills I picked up in that college graphic design course, creating a website for this fake business (though I'm disappointed you still haven't clicked through to see it). If you actually tried to buy slut cream, the website would tell you we're currently closed due to high traffic, and to check back later. Nowhere on the website does it explain what slut cream is.

A number of strange things happen to you over the course of the following day. On your lunch break you walk down the block to the deli by your office. You're in here every weekday, but today the energy here is different. People are staring you, side-eyeing you, having whispered conversations that stop abruptly when you get too close. As you're walking back to work, an old woman spits on the ground as you pass, you'd swear you heard the word "whore!" hissed under her breath. You wonder if you should say something, stand up for yourself, but she's elderly, probably confused, and you decide to be the bigger person.

In the hours after lunch, you're propositioned by no less than seven of your male coworkers. You've had to refuse a few invitations to dinner in your time, but seven in a day is completely out of the ordinary, and the things these men are offering to do to you go way outside the bounds of first date stuff. One guy tells you the conference room is empty, if you want to go for a quick fuck; another guy tells you he hasn't cum in a month, and if you sucked his cock he'd pump so much cum down your throat that you wouldn't need to eat dinner. Your boss even tells you he and his wife are looking for a third and he thought of you first, like he's offering you a big promotion. The strangest thing is that all of these men seem genuinely surprised when you turn them down. Like this sort of thing usually works with girls. One guy even says, "sorry, I was just trying to help."

It was pretty easy to hire actors for the deli and the street. You go to the same place every day, so I knew where they'd have to go and roughly when they'd need to be there. The harder part was getting your coworkers to play along, especially because I was picky about getting people who could sell the act. For a few of them all it took was money. A few of them I had to blackmail. For your boss I had to call in a favor, get his boss to threaten his job. He protested, but I think it made his cock hard, thinking about fucking you alongside his wife.

I keep this up for a few weeks. Anywhere you go I have people watching you, talking about you behind your back. I have people approaching you on the train, at the park, in restaurants, offering to fuck you like they're doing you a favor. You stay firm in your refusal—I wouldn't have expected any less from you—but I can tell it's beginning to eat at you. I watch you try to figure out what you're doing that seems to give all these people the wrong idea about you; you start to dress more modestly, talk less, even walk a little less confidently. But none of this will change anything. All it will do is make you feel more repressed.

After a month, I decide it's time to make my move. I could probably wait longer, but the anticipation is getting too much for me, and besides, you're beginning to get a little wild around the eyes. I'd hate to break you before I've had my fun. One evening, when I know you're home, I unlock your apartment with the duplicate key I had made two months ago. You're in the kitchen, washing dishes with headphones on; you didn't hear me come in. I leave the door open as I approach you, admiring the way you shake your ass to whatever it is you're listening to. I get right up behind you and stay there for a moment, lavishing in your innocence, feeling my cock strain at my belt as I imagine taking it away from you. Then I reach around front of you with both arms and plunge my hand into your panties

You shout in shock, fight back, try to push me off as the headphones fall off your head. But I've got you pinned against the counter, my full body weight against you, one hand down your pants, the other groping your breasts. Once you realize that fighting won't help, you stop struggling and ask me what I want. "Please," you say. Just hearing that quiver in your voice almost makes me delirious with lust. "Please, let me go. I don't want this, please."

I bury my face in your neck, kissing and breathing you in. You smell incredible, like fear and sweat and sex. I bring my lips up to your ear, let them brush against you as I speak. "Of course you want this, baby. You've been trying so hard to hide it, but you don't have to hide with me. Look, you left the door open for me." I let you turn your head enough to see the door hanging open just as my fingers find your clit. I'm rubbing you gently, tenderly, just the way I've watched you touch yourself through the webcam I have in your room. My other hand is under your shirt now and I'm squeezing your breast, rolling your nipple between my fingers, feeling it slowly grow full and erect. You try to stifle a soft moan and I kiss your neck again. "It's okay, baby. You don't have to be ashamed. It's okay to want to feel good. Let me make you feel good."

You clutch your face in your hands and let out a cry of frustration and humiliation and agony and pleasure. You barely know me; I'm the guy next door who sometimes looks at you a little too long. The guy you speed up to avoid in the hall. But that feeling radiating from you clit... You think how exhausting it's been, doing everything you could think of to change people's perception of you, get them to stop looking at you as a slut, how none of it has done you any good anyway. You wonder if you'd have had more fun fucking Jim in the conference room, or swallowing Dylan's cum, or having a threesome with your boss and his wife. And that throbbing in your clit, the agonizing pleasure...You remember that beautiful woman in the ad: "Being a slut isn't a hobby—it's a lifestyle!" You think about how happy she looked, how fulfilled. You remember Sam's words: "These data brokers know us better than we know ourselves."

It does feel good, doesn't it? To let me touch you, pleasure you, to let go of this act you've been holding on to. Isn't it okay to want to feel good? Why did you ever let anyone make you ashamed of that? You try out another moan, letting the pleasure well up through your chest and out your mouth. It feels good, so you try another, and another, and then you're leaning back into me, grinding up against me, delighting in the feeling of my hard cock against your ass.

"Good," I say. "You're letting go of those silly hang-ups. Now we can have our real fun." My hands still around you, controlling you, I half lead-half carry your trembling body to the bedroom. I throw you on the bed, face up so I can get a good look at your eyes, see what I've done to your mind. Those same eyes that have avoided me in the hall so many times now gaze hungrily up at me, wanting me, needing me.

Who am I do decline?

I pull off your pants and panties as a single unit, letting you take care of your shirt for yourself. I kick of my own bottoms, letting my throbbing cock slap against your leg as it springs from its confinement. Don't think I don't notice the way your whole body shivers when it touches you. I lift your legs and push your knees up towards your ears; you're remarkably flexible. It must be all that yoga I've watched you do at the place downtown. I've greatly enjoyed your visits to that place, so it's nice to see they weren't in vain.

You're afraid of me, all of a sudden. Maybe some part of you is seeing sense, realizing you'd have to be crazy to let a guy like me come into your home and fuck you like this. But what was the alternative? Have me rape you? Let me tell you, darling: I would have raped you. You feel the head of my cock gliding over your skin, exploring your inner thighs and pubic area, and tremble at my touch. I want this, you tell yourself. This is what a slut like me needs.

All the same, you cry a little bit when I penetrate you. It's not because it hurts—it does hurt a bit, but you're wet enough, and it's not entirely a bad pain. It's not because you're afraid—well, maybe in part, but that's not the core of it. You cry because you're finally letting go. Letting go of the person you used to be, or thought you were. It's the relief of knowing you don't have to pretend anymore, wrapped up with the mourning you feel when you lose a potential version of yourself. I lean across you as my cock fills you up, and tenderly, I kiss away your tears. "Hush, my darling. I'm here. I will always be here. I will love you despite what you are, when everyone else turns away in disgust."

My weight on you feels good, comforting. The way I press down on your legs, stretching you out, driving my cock so deep inside you that it brushes your cervix. It hurts a little, but is that any better than you deserve? Could a slut like you really expect to find better than this? Better than unconditional love and a desire to give you the pleasure you need?

I'm speeding up now, my face something like an animal, furious and insistent as I gaze down at you. There's darkness behind my eyes, you think, something cold and cruel. You thank God I'm on your side. My hips are like a hammer on your pelvis now, and with each thrust you feel my cock bulging inside you, throbbing and pulsating with anticipation. When I finally plant my seed in you, groaning and growling and pressing you further into the bed, you find there's something comforting about the warmth of my cum inside you. Maybe my seed will take root, make you swell up with me, make you mine. As I roll off you, huffing and panting, the tears begin to stream down your face again, this time from joy.

What did a slut like you ever do to deserve someone who loves you like I do?

[fuck-customers]

ive worked my retail job for about 2 months now and my god I cannot wait to get out. the amount of customers who have gotten mad at me for problems I cannot fix is insane. I don't know why you're card isn't paying in full, what the hell am I, a 20 year old cashier in a small town, supposed to do. No I don't know why we're out of poundcake, I don't work in bakery. no I don't know when deli gets back from break, I don't work in deli. yes customer service is closed right now because she's the only one there and needs her break. Sorry.

don't get me fucking started on "this ALWAYS happens when I come here" THEN WHY ARE YOU HERE!!!!!!!! If you always have problems why do you keep coming back!! our prices aren't good, and our reward system isn't great either!!! and you check out and they don't even have rewards!!! literally why are you here!!! Just to be mad????

sorry I'm so fucking tired of this job already. not to mention being trans isn't great when half of your coworkers openly tell you they don't like trans people but will call you you're pronouns so you don't go to hr. At least it's not fast food. I'll never go back to that

Posted by admin Rodney

[passingnights]

A right hand man. A trusty sword. A friend.

Deli finds comfort in his new acquaintance. Colin Provolone is a sturdy and simple man— quick and skilled in battle, a loyal and reliable in service, and also a good friend. Deli, with boyhood now smudged against the edges of his face, grows into his position of The Meat Lands.

Colin keeps the promise he made years ago to a disgruntled mother in the corner of an expansive hall in Comida. He listens and enacts the advises and discussions made for the benefit of this land far from home. He keeps guard and wrestles the yawns that strangle his throat and eyes as politics are discussed. All standing, never leaving, the right hand of Deli.

Colin watches Deli through the days, this leader guided with a willpower of steel, the love and dedication to the unification of his home watering his quick growth and maturation. Two years and Deli had become a fearsome, confident and ambitious young man.

Then Deli lies a gift upon his shoulders— Skald Colin Provolone, meaning poet (sing the songs of heroes, be my witness, carve my name into history, approve of my works).

And when Deli uses this title, Colin doesn’t question. He only grips his sword tighter, stands straighter, observes steadier. Deli’s sword and shield. His skald, his poet.

And at night he meets a softer, kinder Deli. They sit on the edge of Deli’s bed, talking and laughing about smaller matters. Sweeter things, like childhood and gossip that whisper down the hallways. He watched Deli’s expressions pour out, an innocence that splays across his face. He finds delight in those times, a remedy for a past he tries to forget. Light laughter, “simple is always how we’ve kept things”, and drunkenness fills the air between the two.

Two quiet years. Then comes blood.

And blood and blood pours from a carriage and drips, viscous, hot and real from hands and blades.

A quiet shatter in friendship. A trusty sword clanks at the feet of Deli and the familiar, light scent of cheese drifts far away from the house.

For the first time in two years, Deli is alone. A void renders behind him where his skald, his poet, would be standing.

And then five years pass and Colin sees Deli again. Scars rip at his face and he explains in whispers the ambush which landed him with it. Colin examines Deli’s face and finds little. A hardened and rough man. Colin thinks Deli resembles his mother.

Colin thinks about how he might’ve been able to prevent it, how he would’ve kept his promise, how he would have been able to protect him or die trying. Deli’s sword and shield, his skald, his poet.

There, Colin watches Karna die and the light leave Deli’s eyes. He watches the replaced Skald (and he thinks about the way Deli reached out to her with this title that fit her so effortlessly) shredded into a million pieces and he hears something in Deli die along with it.

This time Colin saves him. He nurses his old friend to stability and yet the “yeah, we’ll talk later” never comes as he watches Deli walk off into the sunset, now a man that would never be the boy, the friend Colin knew five years ago. A man with a cold and lifeless portrait, his soft edges ragged and a heart half rotten.

A sword. A shield. A skald, a poet. Colin keeps a promise to a mother and son made seven years ago. A protector, dedicated and loyal. He swings his sword quietly, precisely, dangerously against the ones who killed all his friends, dead or alive. Colin Provolone, sole survivor of the Saprophus, the poet of dead heroes.

The Rook’s exchange.

[covid-safer-hotties]

Also preserved on our archive

Do you have $32,000 for covid treatment? Neither did Nannette, and now her whole family is paying the price for her covid hospitalization. This is why we must mask up: You may be able to afford that cost, but you are just as likely to spread covid to dozens who cannot if you refuse to take precautions, especially when ill.

By Noah Zahn

CHEYENNE — When Nannette Hernandez got COVID in 2021, she didn’t realize how long it would take to recover. Although she was released from the hospital after only a few days of care, she is still suffering from the financial burden that has led to the loss of her job and her home.

At 45 years old, Hernandez and her son, 26, moved in with her mother when she lost her home. The three of them now live together in a mobile home south of Cheyenne. The walls and tabletops are decorated with photos of family members, many of the frames containing photos of her three grandchildren.

Papers were strewn across the coffee table in the living room: bills from the hospital, letters to the hospital, research on how to get financial assistance, one letter denying financial assistance.

Although Hernandez says she tries to keep a positive attitude, her smile faded when she said she often feels hopeless as her debt continues to grow and she is considering filing for bankruptcy.

“They garnish my wages every week, and I owe them more now today than what the judgment was for, and that’s all due to the interest,” Hernandez said. “I’m never going to get through this, you know.” Toys are neatly put away in a corner of the room, behind the couch, for when her grandchildren come to visit on her days off work.

Hernandez has a new job and has health insurance. In addition, she contributes a portion of her wages to life insurance. She said she does this so that she at least has something she can pass on to her family.

Before interest, Hernandez’s bill from Cheyenne Regional Medical Center was around $32,000 after three days of care for COVID and related pneumonia and reduced to $22,000 because she was paying uninsured and out-of-pocket. Between garnished wages and paying for insurance, Hernandez says she only sees at most $12 of her $17.30 per hour wage from working at a deli in a truck stop.

Hernandez said she now suffers from depression as a result of the stress caused by her medical debt. It is difficult for her to work full 40-hour weeks at her job.

However, her smile returned as she talked about how she gets to spend time with her grandchildren, aged 2, 4 and 8, on her days off.

“They’re my light. Oh, they’re wonderful,” she said. “… I stay happy. I don’t let it give me misery, that’s one thing. I might carry it, and I might be right here, always talking about it, but very blessed, very happy, though, still, no matter what.”

Available funding The Provider Relief Fund (PRF) was established in the Coronavirus Aid, Relief, and Economic Security Act (CARES Act) to reimburse eligible health care providers for increased expenses or lost revenue attributable to COVID care.

A companion fund to the PRF is the Uninsured Funds, which made $10 billion available nationally to reimburse providers for treatment, vaccines and vaccine administration costs for care provided to uninsured individuals.

According to the U.S. Department of Health and Human Services, CRMC received $3,145,097 in Uninsured Funds for COVID treatment, accounting for nearly 30% of the Uninsured Funds received by care providers across the state. It is unclear whether these funds were what reduced Hernandez’s bill from $32,000 to $22,000. Her itemized bill notes the reduction as a discount for “self-pay, uninsured.”

Hernandez received her $22,000 bill shortly after she was released from the hospital and was summoned to court when she did not make payments. She did not appear in court, as she said she felt hopeless and afraid and knew she would be unable to pay. As a result, the court ordered the hospital to garnish 25% of her wages and any argument she had that the government should have assisted her financially was nullified.

After her hospitalization, Hernandez was forced to leave her job of 10 years, where she worked as a waitress, and was unable to work for three months while she stayed at home and was on oxygen 24 hours per day, due to COVID complications.

“I would like to see if they could reverse this, it’s not that I didn’t seek assistance. Now I’ll never get out of this, I’m never going to get out of this,” she said. “It started at $32,000. I’ve been paying on that this whole time. I had started working, they started garnishing right away. I owe them more now. What am I paying for? What am I working for?”

Additionally, Hernandez said she applied for and was denied CRMC’s financial assistance program. According to CRMC’s policy summary, CRMC determines whether patients qualify for financial assistance based on their income and household size compared to the Federal Poverty Guidelines from the HHS. In 2021, those guidelines stipulate that the threshold for a one-person household is $12,880 annual income.

“If being an uninsured waitress making $350 a week doesn’t qualify a person for financial assistance under your hospital’s charity policy, I’d like to know what does,” Hernandez wrote in an email to CRMC officials.

Hernandez sent this email to CRMC, the Center for Medicare & Medicaid Services and Wyoming government officials. In nearly two months, she only got a response from CMS, which informed her it never received an application submitted on her behalf for Wyoming Medicaid and she was not on Medicaid at that time.

Hernandez: “The prices, they’re outrageous”

In this letter, she also claims she was overcharged. On her itemized bill, she was charged $2,124.20 per 100 mg vial of Remdesivir. Gilead Sciences, the drug’s manufacturer, set the price of Remdesivir at $390 per vial for uninsured patients. Hernandez was charged for five vials for a total of $10,621 instead of what would have been $1,950 for five vials directly from the manufacturer.

Hernandez was charged $8.01 for each 20 mg tablet of famotidine, an acid reducer. This medication is commonly available over the counter and a pack of 225 20 mg tablets is available on Amazon for just under $9, equivalent to about $0.04 per tablet. At this rate, CRMC’s price for the medication is 19,825% higher than what can be purchased in store or online.

CRMC charged her the same price for each 100 mg tablet of thiamine mononitrate, more commonly known as a B1 vitamin. These can also be purchased in the pharmacy section of most grocery stores. A pack of 100 tablets can be found for $7, or $0.07 per tablet, more than 114 times less than the hospital’s price.

It is common for hospitals to charge more for medications, even if it can be purchased at a CVS or Walgreens, for charges associated with administering the drug to the patient. This may include factors like the doctor’s prescription, the pharmacy charge to fill the order, the transportation of the drug from the pharmacy to the medication unit, administration of the medication from the registered nurse to the patient and documentation that the correct medication was administered on the patient’s record.

However, Hernandez believes an 11,343% upcharge for a B1 vitamin may be a bit too much.

When she initially went to urgent care and got an X-ray scan, she was told to go to the emergency room immediately, and the providers at the urgent care said it was a matter of life or death. Without financial assistance or price transparency as her bills continued to grow, Hernandez felt disenfranchised and marginalized and is now fearful of the system that is supposed to provide care for her and the community. She said she is now afraid to ever get sick again.

“I feel it’s unjust. I should not be living every day with a heavy burden like this,” Hernandez said. “… I’m sure I’m not the only person this has happened to. I know there has to be so many more.”

Price transparency In 2022, the White House reported that one-in-three adults in the United States — nearly 100 million people — have medical debt. It is now the largest source of debt in collections — more than credit cards, utilities and auto loans combined. Data from the 2020 U.S. Census also found that Black and Hispanic households are more likely to hold medical debt than white households.

The U.S. spent 17.8% of gross domestic product on health care in 2021, nearly twice as much as the average economically developed country. However, the Peterson-KFF life expectancy tracker shows that the average American lifespan is nearly five years lower than those in the comparable country average and was about the same in 2022 as it was in 2004, while most other comparable countries’ life expectancies have increased since then.

Marni Carey is the president of Power to the Patients, a nonprofit organization advocating patients’ rights to upfront price transparency from hospitals.

“I get letters every day from people who are fighting medical debt, burdensome medical debt,” Carey said. “… It’s just a horrible place to be driven to. And if hospitals could tell patients in advance what their financial responsibility is, or if patients could look online and see what the cost of care is, they could choose providers that were affordable to them and competition could enter the marketplace and Tylenols wouldn’t be $80, they would be $5. That’s why we need transparency, so patients can have financial certainty when they go into the medical system.”

A February 2024 report from Patient Rights Advocate, a nonprofit advocating systemwide health care price transparency, found that nearly two-thirds of American hospitals were not compliant with the federal Hospital Price Transparency Rule, which took effect in January 2021, including CRMC. This legislation requires hospitals to make their prices publicly available and easily accessible online to help patients understand the cost of care before they receive it.

According to the report, CRMC is compliant with all transparency rules except for negotiated rates, which Patient Rights Advocate measured by whether the hospital posted the charge that the hospital has negotiated with a third-party payer for an item or service. They found CRMC lists 89% of its negotiated rates as “N/A.”

“I couldn’t go into the Cheyenne Regional Medical Center machine readable files and find out if (Hernandez’s) bill was at all correct, because the hospital doesn’t have that, they don’t comply,” Carey said.

CRMC officials declined to comment on this story, citing patient privacy.

“For privacy reasons, we can’t disclose patient medical treatment or billing details. We recently received a letter from Ms. Hernandez and we will review the medical and billing records and provide a response,” CRMC told the WTE in a statement. “As a general matter, please note that sending a bill to a collections agency and potentially sending an unpaid bill through a court process are last resorts, used only when someone does not respond to offers of financial assistance, billing statements and phone calls.”

At the time of publication, Hernandez said she has yet to receive a response from CRMC and never got any offer of financial assistance. The only correspondence she has received after her release from the hospital has been her bills and a letter stating she did not qualify for the hospital’s charitable care program.

No savings left Hernandez said she believes she would have been in a better situation now if she had more savings before she got COVID more than three years ago. She said she did have savings, but she had to burn through those savings when her father, who lived in California, passed and her grandmother, also in California, passed a month later. Between several trips to California and multiple funeral services, she said she had little savings remaining when she got sick.

“My dad’s burial cost took all my savings, everything, because I just wanted my dad to lay in peace, you know, I wanted to bury my father, and that took all my savings,” she said.

“It’s just like a train of events, such an unfortunate train of events in life that people go through. Everybody goes through it, and that was mine. I said, ‘Man, if I would have had all that money held just a little bit longer, I would not be in this right now.’”

[dwcmarshalarts]

Ewan Everett Figes has a family! His mother Helen is a professor of pre-exodus (from the Earth) literature at Parsinee University, Wipani planet. Older brother Wilson Frederick, i.e. "Fred" Figes is a journalist, who's worked his way up to co-editor of the Wipani Star, focusing mainly on foreign policy issues.

FRED FIGES Ewan's older brother (by 8 years) Wilson Frederick had been put-off from an early age from any kind of military service, to Everett's disappointment. Fred had a distaste for what he saw as a kind of "mind-numbing" obedience/deference to authority, and often got into rows with his father in the early days about the role of armed forces in various complicated engagements. He channeled this attitude into a career as a journalist, something that given his mother's background in academics was something the family "could accept." However, his chosen-topics still represented a long-running anti-interventionist streak that made for contentious family dinners, especially with his father and brother Ewan. He, his wife and daughter live in New Liege, Wipani.

HELEN FIGES Born Helen Carmodie, "Mrs. Figes" has had quite a storied life of her own. For being a professor in pre-exodus (from Earth) literature, Helen's demeanor is far from what you would expect from a book-cloistered academic. Her respectfully snarky attitude and occasionally foul-mouth ended up getting her a reputation as the "fun" professor at Parsinee, but she is the furthest thing from a stranger to whipping a class into order if need be.

She met Everett Figes while she was working part-time at a deli near the Bagstram Military Academy on Wipani. Her irreverent sense of humor and Everett's understated mischief combined made them inseparable despite their contrasting views, and the two would marry shortly after university. She would temporarily put her rapidly advancing university career on hold to raise their first son Fred, but eventually hit the ground running after a couple months leave. She would butt heads with Everett on what direction to raise Fred, but would ultimately win out softening his approach. By the time she had Ewan, she'd already been fairly settled in her career, and Everett and her had at this point reached a more reasonable understanding of balancing their parenting. Despite her many successes though, she would say her biggest mistake was never being able to wean Everett off of smoking, which largely led to his diagnosis with esophageal cancer in 2341, to which he would succumb in 2346, devastating the family, and especially their newly commissioned officer son Ewan. She would continue to persevere however as the new family matriarch, and would later become head of her department at Parsinee.

She lives on-campus at Parsinee University, Parsinee town on Wipani.

EVERETT FIGES Born on the planet Reggi, Everett Figes was the second generation career military man in his family after his father Frederick T. Figes. He'd spend the early days of his life in the typical athletic throng before attending Bagstram, the sector's lead military academy, and having to live off-world at Wipani.

As a parent, Everett's disposition could have been described as firm but not uncaring. Having always had issues showing vulnerabilities even to loved ones, Everett was unintentionally emotionally distant during most of his parenthood, only having a turn-around in raising Ewan (a fact that still bothers Fred after Everett's passing).

As far as his military career went, Everett spent a number of years directing different non-frontline Ground Forces engineering facilities before being transferred to active command of infantry. He never partook in any pivotal combat operations, or galactically significant theaters of war- something that he tried to change, but nonetheless couldn't by the time he received his diagnosis.

It was around that time then that he'd try to make amends with Fred, while Ewan would visit him every weekend from Bagstram. Fred was initially very resistant to this, but seeing him getting worse each time he visited, realized the seriousness of the situation

Everett is buried at the Field of Heroes on the grounds of the Bagstram Military Academy on Wipani.

Original art and story by DWC Marshal Arts

[thetomorrowshow]

seven

empires superpowers au masterlist (not up to date)

this story takes place about a year after the end of ‘poisoned rats’.

cw: light eye horror

~

He’s still new to the whole going-to-work thing. It’s kind of like school, and Jimmy had never liked school, but it’s different in the way that he’s getting paid for his work. And it’s a decent bit more enjoyable than school—he’s learning about cars, getting familiar with the inner workings of machines, and he hasn’t properly had the chance to pop open a hood since he was a teenager and would help his dad with checking the coolant and whatall.

It’s nothing glamorous, but Jimmy really likes his job—more than when he worked as a call service agent, at least. Today he’d learned how to even the weight of a motorcycle, and even though he’d pinched his fingers between the exhaust pipe and the engine, his boss had praised his efforts and let him off early.

Scott usually picks him up from work—they’ve got a second car, but Jimmy doesn’t take his driving test until this weekend so he’s not really meant to be driving himself anywhere—but Scott isn’t free for another hour, so Jimmy meanders around downtown.

He used to live on these streets, so it’s more instinct and less purpose that leads him down to the park across the block from his old apartment building—now closed, he observes, for renovations. The park is lonely at this time of day, two rusting swings hanging silently and a plastic slide gleaming in the sun.

Jimmy stops for a moment, stares at the yellowed grass and bleached plastic playground equipment. He’d never allowed himself to go anywhere near this park, a spot of joy for the kids living in the rundown neighborhood.

He can’t hang here long for risk of being chased off by some bathrobe-clad mother, accusing him of being a predator, so Jimmy turns back to the main part of downtown and heads back in the direction of the mechanic. Maybe Scott’s patrolling in the area, can show off some ice tricks.

There’s a handful of other walkers starting to appear when he makes it back into downtown proper, mostly those returning to work from lunch and high schoolers skipping out of school early. Once upon a time, Jimmy knew how to blend in perfectly with this crowd. Once upon a time, he could never stay in one place for too long.

He slides in among them just as easily as he once might have, moving at the same speed and keeping to the common footpath. He keeps his eyes down and dodges anyone coming from the other direction without issue.

Which is why it’s weird when someone runs right into him.

“Oh, geez—sorry, can I—”

“Well, isn’t it great to see you!”

Jimmy blinks, flinches as the man he’d run into slaps him on the back a couple of times. He . . . he has no clue who this is.

His mind instantly cycles through various brutes from Xornoth’s manor, but this face doesn’t match any of them. This man is a bit stocky, straw-colored hair hanging over his forehead, thin beard a bit darker in color. He’s smiling widely, even as he takes Jimmy by the hand and starts dragging him off.

Jimmy can’t help it—some strange man is pulling him away and he panics—with a snap of adrenaline—

The man jumps back, Jimmy coming with him, as a chair is thrown out of the window of the building beside them, narrowly missing them. He chuckles, taps his nose knowingly.

“You aren’t getting me with that one! Don’t worry, I just want to talk. How about in that deli?”

He doesn’t point anywhere, strangely enough, so Jimmy just glances around until he sees a deli.

All the well-trained alarm systems in Jimmy’s brain are firing, but. . . .

Now that he thinks about it, there is something familiar about this man. Maybe it’s his cadence, or his eyes—

And Jimmy realizes with a start that the man is blind, his eyes clouded over, faded scars stretching across them.

He’s shocked enough that he lets the man lead him into the deli, grab them a table, and order himself a sandwich.

That’s when he notices that the man is not only blind, but has earplugs in.

“I’m sorry,” he finds himself saying loudly as the man tucks into his sandwich, “I think you may have mistaken me with someone else.”

The man winces. “You don’t have to shout, I’m right here,” he says around a mouthful of sandwich. “And no, Tim, I know who you are.”

If that isn’t ominous. And also the wrong name, though it once again scritches at the part of his brain that finds something about this man so oddly familiar. “Jimmy,” he automatically corrects. “Not Tim. And I really ought to get going—”

“Back to Scott?”

Jimmy freezes, halfway out of his seat.

“Because I’m pretty sure he’s patrolling around the East side of the city, y’know. Unless you want to call Lizzie. Pretty sure she’s not busy at the minute.”

The man takes another bite out of his sandwich, scratches his beard.

Jimmy’s stomach goes cold. How did he—how can—it’s—

“See Tim, there’s not a lot that I don’t hear about,” the man continues. “However, there is something that I need to know, if you wouldn’t mind answering.”

He needs to get away. Fight or flight has fully kicked in, and Jimmy needs to run. Jimmy raises his hand, ready to do—something, shatter his chair or collapse the table or hurt him in some way—but the man only tsks.

“Come on then, none of that. The three of us have got to stick together, really. Wouldn’t be good to start fighting, especially with the way Nine acts.”

Slowly, Jimmy sits back down. It’s not because he’s intimidated, he tells himself. His fingers twitch. He could kill this man in an instant, and no one would ever know.

The man puts down his sandwich in its wrapper and leans in, head tilted a bit to the side. “So,” he says lowly, “did you kill them?”

Jimmy knows, instinctively, that he means Xornoth.

And it’s not intimidation that makes Jimmy answer. It’s some strange feeling that he knows this man, and cares about him. Something familiar in the line of his nose and the color of his hair.

“Yeah,” says Jimmy in the same low tone. “Yeah, I did.”

The man sits back, a wide smile spreading across his face. “Good. I figured you did, y’know, but I was sleeping when it happened. You could’ve pulled a runner, y’know? Could’ve been someone else to get them. That wouldn’t have been right, though. It had to be one of their . . . erm, what did they start calling them? Subjects?”

Jimmy swallows, then mutters an answer in the affirmative. He keeps having to remind himself that he doesn’t know this man, as familiar as he is. How does he know so much?

“Right. Back in my day, we were ‘participants’. What a joke.” The man shakes his head, then takes another bite of his sandwich. “Well, thanks for the info. I won’t tell anyone, promise—well, I’ll tell Nine, but Nine isn’t much of a talker, so it won’t get out or anything.”

“Right,” Jimmy manages. He checks his phone; Scott should be coming to pick him up soon. He casts his eyes about, trying to think of anything to say to the strange man with white scars and earplugs.

“What happened to your eyes?” he asks eventually. The man smiles ruefully, one hand going up to trace over the scars. They aren’t precise in any way, some smaller ones littered around the corners, long ones down the middle. If Jimmy looks closely, he can even see the places the irises are entirely missing along with the scar, leaving the man with cloudy white streaks through his eyes.

“Let’s just say—next time those scientists of theirs have you on the table, make sure and ask ‘em to strap down your hands,” the man says. “Not that that should ever happen to you again, but you never know, y’know?”

Well.

Jimmy feels slightly ill, staring at those scars. Most of his aren’t self-inflicted, nor nearly as visible as those. Sure, he has one across his cheek, and a small one above his eyebrow, but they don’t usually attract much attention. Scott even thinks they make him look rather dashing. He can only imagine the stares and questions this man gets on a daily basis.

The stranger finishes his sandwich, wiping his fingers off with the wrapper. He stands, tips an imaginary hat toward Jimmy.

“Well, I’ll be off. The city’s a bit loud, don’t you think? Oh, and thanks for footing the bill.”

And then he’s gone, and Jimmy sits there in stunned silence until he shakes himself, heads up to the counter, and pays.

He tries to forget about the man. As weeks pass, he moves on, his days taken up by work and Scott and his friends. And he mostly does forget about the familiar stranger, too busy to spare the mental energy needed to try and figure out who he was.

That is, until one night, nearly a month later.

Lizzie had managed to get a hold of their high school’s yearbook from when she was a senior and Jimmy a sophomore, and together with Scott and Joel they paged through it, laughing at Lizzie’s galaxy-themed outfit and Jimmy’s unbrushed hair.

They stop on the page of the soccer team, and Jimmy knows from the coos and laughs that they’re looking at him and his ridiculous hair, but his eyes are caught on a familiar face.

“Who’s that?” he finds himself saying, pointing to the boy beside him, the boy who has his arm slung around his shoulders, the boy who—in one small picture off to the side, is knuckling Jimmy’s head.

And then he remembers.

He pages through the yearbook until he finds him.

A senior that year. One of his friends, and one of the only people who tried to still hang out with him after his powers got out of hand.

He’d almost completely forgotten about Martyn.

Martyn, the dude with the new Playstation. He’d been powered—not strongly, but with some fairly average super hearing and far vision.

Jimmy thinks back to the man he’d met, blinded by his own hands, hearing so intense that he has to wear earplugs at all times.

And then he wonders, dreading the unknown answer, what kind of mistakes had been made with the experiments before his own—and who on earth Nine might be.

[the-bad-batch-baroness]

Combat Cold Cuts

Tech x Fem!Reader

Summary: Your favorite team of Navy SEALs just docked and are looking for some good food.

Pairing: Tech x Fem!Reader

Characters: Mira (OFC), Tech, Hunter, Echo, Wrecker, Crosshair

Tags & Warnings: modern!AU, sandwich shop!AU, navy!AU, fluff, awkwardness, smidge of angst, military/naval terms and jargon, sad Bad Batch backstories, mentions of death, mentions of war, mentions of injuries

Word Count: 3.2k

Author's Note: If you've been here a while, then you'll know that earlier in the year, when the polls came out, I made a poll asking who from the Bad Batch y'all would want in my Sandwich Shop AU, and Tech had the most votes. So, ta-da! Took me half a year, but better late than never. Also, don't quote me on this, but I may write more for this AU. Also, if you know where the title is from, we can be friends. As always, please enjoy 💚

@clonexreaderbingo Square: Tech

Today begins like any other day for you as you get ready for your job on the naval base. The sky is crystal clear and the sea breeze coming off the coast is refreshing. You’ve been working at the sandwich shop on the naval base for two years now thanks to your friend Mira. You've known Mira since high school, and because she's the wife of a sailor, she lives on base. Her personal recommendation is what helped you get the job and you're forever grateful to her.

You love working on the naval base because you get to interact with all of the sailors. The sailors always have the best stories to tell. Whether it’s their last meal before setting out to sea or it’s their first meal back on dry land, you're always there to smile and laugh at what they say. Sometimes the men are lively and sometimes they're quiet. You can usually tell when something bad has happened while they were deployed, because the normally talkative ones say nothing.

While stopped at the security gate, as you wait for the officer to scan your ID, you can see a destroyer coming into port in the distance. With that class of vessel docking, you know it’s going to be a busy day at the sandwich shop, with lots of hungry sailors looking for good food and someone to tell their stories too. You quickly go through your mental checklist to ensure you properly restocked yesterday, then the officer returns your ID and lifts the gate for you to enter.

“Hey!” Mira calls with a wave and a bright smile as you enter the sandwich shop.

You smile and wave back. "Good morning!"

"Are you excited?" Mira asks as she playfully jabs her elbow into your side when you come around to the back of the deli line.

“For what?” you ask as you rub your side, then throw on your apron.

“Didn’t you hear?” Mira says.

“Hear what?” you ask.

“The Bad Batch are on that destroyer that came in this morning,” Mira answers with a giddy bobble of her head.

“No way!” you exclaim, but quickly hush yourself. “Really?”

“Yup,” Mira says with a pop of her lips on the last letter. “Top scuttlebutt says they’re returning from a super dangerous and top secret mission.”

“Woah,” you breathe. "Incredible."

The Bad Batch. An elite team of five navy SEALs that were pulled together as sole survivors from other teams across the navy. Each member of the Bad Batch has a unique skill set that allows their team to be practically unstoppable in the field. Which is why they are assigned the most difficult missions, because their success rate precedes them. They don’t even use their real names anymore, just the nicknames they've been given over their many years of service.

Hunter, their sergeant, is the only member of the team that began his career as a navy SEAL. He lost his original SEAL team during a special operation involving drug pirates off the gulf of some foreign country. According to sources, he was able to track down the pirates, complete the mission, and bring his dead men back to port for a proper burial. That's how he got the name, Hunter. He's a natural born leader, and there’s not an operation he won’t lead his men into.

Echo, their communications specialist, is a triple amputee and a former sonar technician on a submarine. His submarine was attacked while surfacing from a mission, which is when he lost his right arm and both legs. Unfortunately, the rest of the crew weren't so lucky. He spent a week in a coma, and his best friend he served with died in the bed next to him the day before he woke up. Sometimes you see him sitting by himself at the memorial with two open beers.

Wrecker, their demolition expert, was part of an explosive ordnance disposal unit before a fatal accident. It was supposed to be a routine defusal of a pipe bomb, but his partner misread one of the numbers on the detonator, leading him to cut the wrong wire. Wrecker noticed the mistake and tried to stop him, but it was too late. His partner didn't make it, and neither did the rest of the unit. Wrecker survived, but lost most of his hearing, and all of his vision, in his left ear and eye.

Crosshair, their weapons expert and sniper, wasn't in the navy, but was a scout sniper in the marine corps. The man was born with a cigarette in his mouth and a permanent scowl on his face, and not much is known about his time in the marine corp. However, according to the rumors, his scout sniper platoon was ambushed during a night operation in the tropics. They say he was stranded on one of the islands for thirty-two days before he was found and rescued.

Tech, their cyber intelligence specialist, was part of the cyber command group before he was reassigned to the Bad Batch. While it sounds like a desk job, he was actually involved in combat missions where he provided integrated cyberspace attacks in support of operational plans. Basically, cyber-warfare. Not much is known about what happened to his team, and there aren't many rumors or theories surrounding the circumstances either, so it remains a mystery.

"So," Mira begins with a sly grin, “are you finally going to ask him on a date?”

“Who?” you ask as you pull off the plastic wrap from the condiment containers.

“You know who,” Mira taps your arm. “The smart one with the glasses that you make googly-eyes at whenever he comes in.”

“Oh…” you pause. “That one.”

“Well?” Mira presses while waving a loaf of Italian bread around.

“I don’t know,” you sigh. “Maybe next time.”

“Maybe next time?” Mira scoffs. “Maybe next time? Girl, he could be dead next time!”

You rush to cover her mouth. “Shh! Don’t say that. It’s bad luck.”

Mira mumbles something you can't understand.

"What did you say?" you ask as you remove your hand.

"I said," Mira begins, "they don't need extra help in the bad luck department."

You roll your eyes and return to prepping the deli line for when the shop opens. While it's true that a lot of bad things have happened to the Bad Batch team, none of the members have died themselves. So, is it really the men who carry the bad luck? Or is it another force entirely? You push back the crazy thoughts, because in reality, you're not superstitious, even if Mira tries to convince you otherwise. Instead, you make your conjectures based on the facts in front of you.

One such fact being that the shop opens in ten minutes and there's already a line of hungry sailors outside the locked door waiting to get in. You and Mira exchange a high-five and put on your game faces to tackle the wave of hungry men. There's nothing quite like the midday rush between ten o'clock and two o'clock, but it's even worse when the ships come to port. You know after two o'clock you'll be able to take a well-earned break, but until then it is full-steam ahead.

Sailor after sailor pours into the sandwich shop once you unlock the door. Mira always mans the register and you make the sandwiches. When you first started working at the shop, it was a complete disaster trying to get in sync with each other. There was shouting, crashing into each other, and lettuce all over the floor. But now, the two of you work together like a well-oiled machine, dancing around each other behind the deli line, and communicating like a dream.

Your heart skips a beat when you see the Bad Batch walk into the sandwich shop. The quiet murmurs of the sailors stop for a moment as the SEAL team's stoic presence takes over the atmosphere. The Bad Batch have a big reputation around the base and they've garnered a lot of respect, even from the greenhorns. It's almost like having a few celebrities walk into the shop, but it doesn't last long and the sailors go back to munching and conversing with each other.

You choke down your nerves as they approach the counter and smile. "What can I get for you boys?"

"Large steak and cheese, toasted," Hunter says. "Extra peppers if you can."

"Sure thing," you answer as you make the sandwich. You quickly pop it into the toaster to melt the cheese, then wrap the sandwich in paper, and hand it to Hunter. "One large steak and cheese with extra peppers, warmed, and toasty."

"Thanks, kid," Hunter says before moving down the line to the register.

"Can I get a really large buffalo chicken with extra buffalo sauce?" Wrecker asks excitedly. "And I mean, lots of sauce, and ranch!"

"You got it," you chuckle, then make his sandwich, wrap it up, and hand it to him. "One really large buffalo chicken drowning in buffalo sauce and ranch."

"Aw, yeah!" Wrecker says as he grabs the sandwich. "Thanks a ton!"

You smile and look at your next customer, but he doesn't smile back.

"Large roast beef," Crosshair says. "Make sure the mayo is light and not a single onion touches it."

"Understood," you bristle at his tone, then quickly make his sandwich, wrap it, and hand it to him. "One large roast beef, with a squirt of mayo, and absolutely no onions."

"Finally," Crosshair says as he takes the sandwich. "Someone who can listen."

You let out the breath you were holding in and compose yourself to smile at your next customer.

"Large tuna, please," Echo says. "Extra mayo and no cheese or veggies, if that's alright."

"Not a problem," you answer, then make his sandwich, wrap it up, and hand it to him. "One large tuna, no cheese, no veggies, and extra mayo."

"Thank you, ma'am," Echo says with a nod as he grabs the sandwich and moves down to the register.

"A large cold cut combo, if you please," Tech says. "But I would prefer it if you hold the ham."

"Absolutely," you answer, then make his sandwich, wrap it up, and hand it to him. "One large cold cut combo, but hold my hand."

Tech reaches out to grab the sandwich. "I beg your pardon?"

You look up at him, confused as to what he means. "I'm sorry, did I forget something?"

"You requested that I hold your hand," Tech says. "Are you unwell?"

Your eyes grow wide and your face flushes with heat as you realize the slip of your tongue. "Oh," you stammer. "I'm sorry. I… uh… didn't mean to say… well… I just… um. Have a nice day."

Flustered and embarrassed beyond belief, you rush yourself off the deli line and into the back storage room.

Mira overhears your awkward exchange and waves Tech down to register with a smile. "I can ring you out over here, hon."

Meanwhile, in the storage room, you attempt to pull yourself together. You can't believe you made such a dumb mistake and said something so absentmindedly stupid to the one guy you like, and he's a navy SEAL for crying out loud. He must think you're an idiot, or worse. Although, you're not quite sure what could possibly be worse than being an idiot in front of a man who had perfect scores at the naval academy, but there must be something, and it makes you want to scream.

"Are you doing alright?" Mira asks as she leans against the doorframe to the storage room.

You sigh. "I'll be fine."

Mira walks over to you. "I think I can cheer you up."

"Doubt it," you answer while rubbing your hands against your face.

Mira smiles and pulls out a sticky note. "I got you a date with that smart guy you like."

You peek out through your fingers. "You what?"

"I set you up on a date with Tech," Mira repeats as she waves the sticky note around.

"How did–"

"Ah, ah," Mira stops you. "It's a secret. And by a secret, I mean I just asked him."

Your jaw drops as you throw her an incredulous look. Was it really that easy? All you had to do was ask? Seriously? You're shocked that Mira had the audacity to ask Tech to go on a date with you, but you're even more shocked that he actually said yes. You're not sure how to process this new information, or if you'll ever get your heart to beat normally again. All at once, feelings of excitement and panic intermingle in your stomach and you feel like you're going to be sick.

"Here are the details," Mira hands you the sticky note, a big grin still plastered on her face. "Don't be late."

You take the sticky note from her, and she goes back to the front to continue taking care of the customers. You look at what's written on the small piece of paper, and it's a time and place. The park bench at 1900 hours. You count backwards on your fingers to seven o'clock. Even though you've been working on the base for two years, you still haven't gotten used to military time. You look up at the clock on the wall and see it is two o'clock. At least you have time to get ready.

You spend the rest of your shift trying not to let your nerves get the better of you. You busy yourself with everything possible; to the point where you've swept the floor and wiped the counter ten times already. But you can't help it. You're excited and nervous about your date with Tech. You're not even sure if you know how to go on a date, considering it's been so long since you've been on one yourself. However, you have Mira to help you, so it won't be that bad.

Once your shift is over, the shop has been cleaned and the front door locked, Mira helps you get ready for your date. You explain to her how you feel nervous and how you're worried that you might say something wrong or he might think you're stupid. Mira just smiles and listens as you ramble on, offering the occasional encouragement here and there as she helps you put your hair up. Luckily, you wore some decent clothes today so you don't have to go home and change.

After you're ready, Mira gives you a big hug and a few words of advice. "Just be yourself and you'll be fine."

"Thanks," you say, then separate from the hug.

"Go get em'!" Mira shouts as you open the door to leave.

You turn around, smile, and wave goodbye. Mira knows that you'll call her as soon as the date is over to give her all of the juicy details, but you're happy she's here right now to cheer you on. You close the door to the shop behind you and take a deep breath of the evening air. It's still daylight, since it's summer, and because it's later in the day, you're not worried about sweating or becoming gross from the heat. Steeling yourself, you walk to the park to meet Tech for your date.

As you approach the specified meeting place, you see Tech sitting on one of the benches under a tree. Your heart flutters and your stomach flips as your nerves flare throughout your veins. You try your best to breathe through the anxiety, and you swallow back your fear as you approach him. He acknowledges your presence but doesn't say anything, and then you sit down next to him. You both sit in silence and you fidget with your fingers while trying to think of something to say.

"I–" you both start to say, then stop.

"You first," you both say again, then stop.

You giggle, which helps break the ice. "I've never been good at conversation."

"Neither have I," Tech admits. "However, your colleague was most pleasurable to speak with."

"Oh," you say. "Yeah, Mira is great."

"That is not to say that you also will not be pleasurable to speak with," Tech adds.

You pause for a second as you try to process his words. "Can you say that again, but slower?"

"My sincerest apologies," Tech says. "My military duties require precision of language and I will admit that I get carried away with my verbiage. However, my team finds my speech pattern to be complicated as well, so I would not feel disheartened by your lack of comprehension."

"Uh, thanks," you say. "I think."

"Perhaps I should begin again," Tech says as he reaches out his hand. "I am Tech and it is a pleasure to make your acquaintance."

You smile, shake his hand, and offer your name as well.

Your evening with Tech becomes more smooth as you continue chatting on the bench. Your conversation is filled with quirks from the both of you, as well as giggles from your side, and confused looks from Tech. However, it's nice chatting with someone like him. His speech skills really are incredible and it makes sense why he graduated top of his class at the naval academy. You find him endearing, and the way he gets passionate when he speaks makes you smile.

You carry on your conversation with him for as long as you can; until the sun sets and the lampposts in the park illuminate the walkways for the late night passerby. As much as you don't want to call it a night and leave, you can't help but stifle a small yawn. You try to hide it, but during your brief time with Tech, you've realized that not much goes unnoticed by him. Just thinking about it makes you yawn again, but this time not so subtly, and Tech takes note.

"Perhaps we should adjourn for the night," Tech says. "Your oral reflex and deep inhalation indicates that you are fatigued."

"My what?" you ask.

"You yawned," Tech explains.

"Oh," you chuckle. "I guess I am getting pretty tired. It was a long day at the shop."

"I concur," Tech says as he gets up from the bench. "I assume you will be at your employment establishment tomorrow as well?"

You get up from the bench and stretch your arms over your head. "You would assume correctly."

"Through the power of deduction, will you also be available after you have concluded your assigned duties at said establishment?" Tech asks.

You smile. "Why, yes. That will be the case."

"Then I would like to formally invite you to participate in another mutual discussion tomorrow," Tech says.

"I accept," you answer. "Same time, same place?"

"Indubitably," Tech answers.

"Does that mean yes?" you ask, not understanding the word.

"Without a doubt," Tech explains. 

You smile. "Good night, Tech."

"Good night," Tech says. "Pleasantest of endogenous sensory experiences."

You snort and decide to look that one up when you get home, but only after you call Mira and tell her about the wonderful time you had with Tech, as well as the prospect of seeing him again tomorrow. Although, you highly doubt you'll be able to sleep tonight, since your body feels too giddy and excited to calm down and relax. Mira was right. Life is too short to put off doing things you're scared of, because tomorrow is not promised to anyone, and today is all you may have.

Masterlist

AO3

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[eclecticopposition]

give meee... headcanons about the Sangfielle friends in the most boring AU you can imagine like. idk. office Sangfielle. grocery store Sangfielle. they all work at a movie theater. whatever sounds mundane as hell and you have Thoughts about :3

okay tumblr ate my fucking answer the first time. let's try this again.

the thing about these guys is that no matter how mundane you make it, they can make anything into a situation. that's just the guys they are. so we put them in a Walmart.

Marn is an employee with a great customer service voice. She's keeping it together in the face of some truly wild statements and requests. One man keeps asking for frootie hooties, a brand of cereal that he insists is real and everyone is just refusing to sell to him, and she's spent twenty minutes trying to tell him that they just don't have it in stock

Lye and Es are having an animated conversation in the clothing area, where she is examining various colorful dresses and he is distractedly picking things off of nearby shelves and putting them back down. The conversation started at how they got kicked out of dayward yve's novelty store and is now about whether stealing should be more or less of a crime than manslaughter, because it's not as bad as killing but it is on purpose. People are trying not to pay attention to them. Eventually they are asked to leave, at which point it is revealed that lye has about two hundred dollars worth of items in his pockets and es has some candles she liked and a new pair of shoes in hers. They are both barred from Walmart.

Duvall hates it here. It's loud, he hates the lights, the aisles make no sense, he can't find anything he's looking for, and people keep coming up to him to ask him where things are. He doesn't even work here. Why do people assume he works here? He's not even wearing any Walmart merchandise. Is that what it's called when you're an employee? Merchandise? Well, it's what it would be called if he wears it, which he never will, because he doesn't work here and never wants to. Have a nice day ma'am.

Pickman is slowly marching her way through the aisles one at a time, peering at her shopping list and holding a tiny shopping basket in one hand. She has to be very careful not to knock the shelves over sometimes. Just trying to get groceries. People are nervously avoiding her. Says "Hey, you" to some poor employee to ask where the milk and cigarettes are. Just grunts at everything else. When she's at the checkout, the guy there asks "Did you find everything you're looking for?", and she just says "No." and leaves

Chine comes out of the bathroom with a live rat in his hand. People scream. The manager finally comes up to him like "Sir, you can't have rats in here." They say "Oh, she's not mine. She was just having trouble opening the door." Gets a big meat on the bone at the deli and nothing else. When he asks how much it costs, they just say it's on the house and try to get him to leave as soon as possible. They go like "Oh, really? Are you sure? I have some money." and sound surprised but pleased, like they're being done a personal favor. The employees insist. He's like "Alright, thanks!" and then asks the rat if she wants anything

[lesbiancolumbo]

your thoughts on 🐻 are really interesting to me as coming from someone more familiar with the fine dining facets of the show vs my world of people working in kitchens. like i’ve eaten at michelin starred places and can clock boloud onscreen but the majority of what drew me to it in s1 was the BOH stuff they captured pretty well— like seeing decent representations of the unrelenting pace of service in tight quarters, hearing people throw around “lowboy” and “cambro”, the breakdowns in the walk-in, watching them actually show real knife skills and make a big deal about food safety and cross contamination as a plot point. even the painters tape on 32oz deli containers. the copenhagen ep hit different for me because that was a little bit my trajectory in the industry too— starting at a greasy spoon and then making a leap upwards to the career path i’m on now based on the kindness of a boss who saw i’d accidentally discovered i was passionate about it. i don’t have as much a frame of reference for the part they’re leaning into now so yeah. it’s interesting.

thank you, and i should note for context that i'm not much more and a passionate but self-taught home cook. i've never worked a day in a restaurant (until i have my midlife crisis and quit my job and go to culinary school lol), but i've studied a lot on the subject and that informs my opinions here. but yeah, what i really love about s1 IS its attempts to capture that side of restaurant work because i think when we talk about restaurants, we talk about fine dining. we don't talk about rustic chefs, we don't talk about the line cooks and the italian beef counter around the corner (off topic but this is why i watch bon appetit's on the line video series and the nyt cooking on the job series religiously). i loved that the bear was exploring this world, and so to see s2 (and now s3 apparently since all carmy talks about in the promo is getting michelin starred) skew more fine dining was is a big "noooooo, WHY?" moment for me.

bear is at its best when it shows that to cook for someone, to prepare food and serve it to someone else and have them eat it, and then just like that, it's all gone, is an act of love. food and cooking is art, yes, but ultimately why do we cook? is it not, to quote that poem tumblrinas love, because we love you and we want you to eat well? like high brow and "low brow" cooking alike..... the goal is to feed people, to satisfy them, because we want them to eat well. i think of the moment when sydney cooks an omelette for sugar, the love and care she puts into the simplest of dishes. i think of sydney serving sandwiches off the side of the restaurant because the power is out. i think of the recipe for tomato sauce. i think of marcus and his cake.

somewhere in between then and now this show has forgotten why it was we flocked to it in the first place, what captivated us from that first season. if i want to watch pretty plates and fine dining, i can watch chef's table. i want my god damn sandwich shop back.

but hey - because of this, we're having these kinds of conversations. so i guess it's not for nothing lol.

[milfgyuu]

Hello ma'am! My friend and I are currently having a conversation about SVT working at Walmart and who would do what, and thought, if it's all right with you, if I asked for your input on a Walmart run by SVT 🤣 just for fun, of course!

seungcheol works as an auto mechanic in the super walmart and he always gives discounts and free air fresheners to milfies

jeonghan is a cashier and he tries to take a smoke break every 20mins but he doesn’t smoke he just hates his job and hides outside kickin’ rocks

joshua is a manager and the customer is NOT always right so he will talk shit back. vaguely threatening.

jun works in the deli and has no clue what he is doing. not allowed to use the slicers. gets away with fucking up orders bc customers think he’s cute.

hoshi is also a manager but he’s not sure how he got the position and all the employees like him bc he’s sweet and kind of a pushover. makes josh handle all customer complaints bc he’ll cry.

woozi works in electronics but he’s always playing the demo games on the nintendo switch with random kids and absolutely kicking their ass without mercy.

wonwoo works in electronics too but has to talk to all the old people looking for ‘itablets’ and ‘apple fires’ bc woozi is still playing video games.

minghao works in the garden center and he fucking hates when people come through his checkout line with all their groceries like fuck u at least get a cactus.

mingyu works in produce so he’s meticulously organized all the displays. waits till a customer leaves to glare and stomp up to his orange pyramid to fix the masterpiece they just screwed up. for 8hrs straight.

Seokmin works in the pharmacy and he remembers all the regular customer’s names. has been invited to several book and gardening clubs. gets a lot of “Are you single? i have a granddaughter..” lines.

seungkwan is also a cashier but a highly competitive one. he rings people out so fast he’s set a district wide record. never forgets to scan a coupon.

vernon works in the random mcdonald’s or subway some walmarts have lmfao vernon is such a subway guy just imagine it pls. it’ll come so easily.

chan works in customer service and gets overwhelmed really easily. he will however coldly decline your refund if you don’t have the receipt. employee of the month.

[mortalityplays]

I worked a union Deli job at a grocery store that was only adjacent (only place to get lunch next to a hospital/office park) and while I enjoyed that I was never truly bored, it was a terrible job that I could feel wearing my body down in real time. and I KNOW I had it on easy mode. its fulfilling work it should be treated sooo much better

if I could blast one perfect understanding into the mind of every customer on earth, it's the physical strain that service workers endure as normal every single day. I used to wear sneakers designed for long distance hikers with gel insoles for extra arch support, and I would still be hobbling after an average saturday shift. and then there's the daily exposure to broken glass, open flames, knives, industrial cleaning chemicals, etc.

this is why everyone needs to tip like king midas, service workers should get hazard pay and most of them don't even get health insurance.

[englishstrawbie]

“ maybe you could stay? just for tonight? it’s dark outside, and it’s raining. my arms are much safer. “ for marina please :)

Maya had learned early on that one of Carina’s love languages is acts of service. Since the day she had turned up at the station with a container of lasagne, a gesture to make a bad day better, she has continued to do little things that bring a smile to Maya’s face. A homemade tiramisu or cannoli from her favourite Italian deli when she is working, Carina insisting that the sweet treats will keep her energy up during her long, twenty-four hour shifts. There are massages when Maya’s body aches and she will wake up with a blanket over her legs when she falls asleep in the middle of a movie. One morning, Maya had raced out of the apartment, late for work, and when she had returned the following day, her messy kitchen was spotless.

So it doesn’t surprise her when Carina shows up on a stormy night after hearing about the fire under the bridge in the park. A group of homeless people had lit some fires to keep warm, only for those fires to quickly grow out of control; embers being picked up by the wind and landing on their tents and blankets. They had lost two lives today and the whole team are feeling it.

She hasn’t heard from Mason since she had gifted him paints and brushes; she knows he left the camp a few days later, but it doesn’t stop her body from turning rigid when she realises that the fire is under his bridge, her eyes watching the mural he left behind become scorched by the flames – her only connection to him erased.

She had looked for him, of course – just in case. There was no sign of him and Maya had felt both relieved and disappointed. She longs to see him again, desperate to know he is safe and happy.

Only Andy knew why this particular bridge was important to her, but the rest of the team had heard that the last time Maya had seen her brother he was living on the streets and they understood her reaction.

Carina knows a little about it too, from what Maya has been willing to share. She is still guarded at times, the walls coming down slowly. But as soon as she had heard about the fire, Carina’s instinct was to grab her coat and bag, and head over to the station.

She finds Maya behind her desk, staring mindlessly at her computer screen and looking sad. Maya doesn’t hear the soft knock on the door, only looking up when Carina is standing in front of her desk, a takeout bag in her hands.

“Hey you,” Maya says with as much cheer as she can muster, painting a smile on her face.

“Hi bella,” Carina says softly. She glances at the plate of food on the desk, dinner turned cold, and places the bag on the desk. “I stopped by The Pink Door, I thought you might want something decent to eat.”

Maya’s lips turn upwards into a small smile. Carina has never thought much of their cooking – unless it’s Travis’s turn.

“Thank you,” Maya says, although her glum mood masks any hunger she may be feeling. “Let me guess – you spoke to Bailey, who’d spoken to Ben?”

Carina nods.

“Did you see Mason there?”

Maya shakes her head, no. Carina steps around the desk and perches on the edge next to Maya’s chair, tucking her foot under the wheels and encouraging Maya closer.

“Are you okay?”

Maya merely shrugs. She spins her chair and drops her head, leaning her forehead against Carina’s stomach. Her hands rest on Carina’s hips, her fingers digging into her waist. She breathes deeply, letting out a contented sigh when she feels Carina’s fingers comb through her hair.

“What do you need, bella?”

Maya lifts her head to look up at her, her eyes sweeping over Carina’s face and hair, dropping to her chest and the small silver necklace she wears.

“Show me,” Carina says in barely a whisper.

Her hands tug at Maya’s hair and she stands up, pulling Carina into a kiss. Carina’s hands circle her back, holding her close. Maya yanks at the hem of Carina’s shirt, finding her way underneath, her fingers sinking into Carina’s skin. She moans happily, making easy work of the buttons to expose Carina’s abs, toned by all the yoga she does.

“Maya,” Carina mumbles in between kisses. “Not here.”

“Why not?” Maya says breathlessly.

It is not the first time they have got carried away in the captain’s office. Carina has become a frequent visitor to the station since they started dating and Maya figures it’s a privilege that comes with being captain – one that she is more than willing to exploit. Besides, no-one was going to know. The team are scattered around the fire house: some in the beanery, some in the break room, some hiding in their bunks.

“Maya! I mean, not here,” Carina says, giggling as she wriggles out of Maya’s grasp. She steps back, dragging Maya towards the Captain’s bunk.

An hour later and she is curled up against Maya’s body, her head resting on Maya’s chest and listening to her heart beating beneath her. She sighs happily, enjoying the feeling of peace that always comes when she is in Maya’s arms.

“Well, I feel better,” Maya says cheekily, her lips brushing against Carina’s forehead, her fingers playing with the ends of Carina’s hair.

Carina looks up and grins at her. The room lights up suddenly, soon followed by a crack of thunder, so loud it feels like the walls are shaking.

“I should go,” Carina says ruefully. She doesn’t usually stay overnight when Maya is working, knowing that she can only get away with distracting her for a short time before she returns to her usual ‘eyes forward’ mentality. Plus, she wants to be home before the storm gets any worse.

She tries to pull away, but Maya only holds her tighter.

“Maybe you could stay?” she says, a hopefulness in her voice. “Just for tonight? It’s dark outside and it’s raining. My arms are much safer.”

Her chest heaves, nervous for Carina’s answer. Sure, Carina has slept over at Maya’s apartment a lot but Maya has never asked her to stay. It is a vulnerability that Maya doesn’t usually show, an intimacy they haven’t shared yet.

She doesn’t need to be nervous. Carina’s eyes shine up at her, a smile spreading across her face.

“Si… yes, I’ll stay.”

She lifts herself up so she can embrace Maya in a gentle kiss, then snuggles back into her arms.

It is only then that Maya’s stomach rumbles, demanding food.

“You think that takeout is still edible?”

“Hmm maybe,” Carina says. “You’ll need to heat it up though.”

Maya huffs. “That would involve putting clothes on.” Instead, she makes herself more comfortable, wrapping her arms around Carina and resting her cheek against the top of her hair.

“Will you tell me about your day?”

“Which part?” Carina asks.

“Any part,” Maya says. “I just want to listen to your voice for a while.”

Romantic moment prompts

Thank you for the prompt @mayasdeluca - sorry for the delay, but I hope you like it!

[fuck-customers]

hey gang! me again (from /post/741038774641983488, bitching about the two coworkers and the filthy deli slicer), and i guess we couldn’t go three days/two shifts without more bullshit from J1! as i write this it’s currently the morning after the shift described below. thankfully, i have the day off today, due to a prior appointment, so i might be able to wind down again before going in again tomorrow afternoon.

so before Chef C left on the hell shift prior, he asked me to be there at noon, when the first folks are showing up for their prep. good thing, too, because shortly after i arrive, before i even clock in, the head line cook (M) that showed up the same time i did informs me that he’s just gotten a text from C saying that both the sous chef S and the pantry cook J1 have called out for the day, leaving me as (currently) the only person available with any experience on pantry.

before i switched mostly to dish, this was fine, because i could rest assured that the old pantry lead (name irrelevant; no longer works there) would have as much as possible done and prepped for the next shift, even with the one day off we had between. the only time she wouldn’t is if the store was going to be closed for 3-4+ days straight and we needed to be concerned about spoilage. thus i would be left with minimal prep actually needed to be done and could just focus on the essentials.

considering this prior prep cook is the one who trained me and J1, it’d be safe to assume that she’d follow the same practices, right? well, clearly, that’s giving her too much credit, because again, i never got trained to any degree on how to make the vast majority of what gets “cooked” for pantry, and apparently she’s incapable of planning ahead even if for no other reason than to simply make her own job easier.

to make matters worse, we had just gotten a shipment, so the walk-in was packed full without any room to get around; i’d have put it away myself, but i don’t know where the vast majority of the shit goes, and i don’t want to fuck up the already tenuous inventory log situation that C constantly grouses about. i’m resultantly unable to get counts for anything we already have, so for the time being i focus on what i am able to easily access to get done, which is mostly plating desserts.

after a couple hours, a temp (E) comes in to help. there is a language barrier and she has never worked pantry before, only line, so i have to train her (through translation apps and my own rudimentary kitchen spanish) while also trying to figure out what the hell i’m doing myself. chef doesn’t get around to teaching me how to make two of the items we need until about half an hour before service starts, meaning i once again did not get a break and had to rush through making them myself, while i also try to get E set up with making sure everything she could put together was ready for service.

as you can probably imagine, this doesn’t go particularly well! E does great with the actual prep stuff, with dressing the cold cured meat dish and this that and the other, but as soon as we get to service it becomes an absolute shitshow. apparently nobody taught E on line that you need to send dishes out in the order the tickets come in, so we’re 15 tickets deep with more printing, and she’s ignoring things i specifically showed her how to make while we were slow to, instead, pull from the end of the queue to make salads that i keep having to drop what i’m doing to coach her on how to make correctly when they have a special request applied.

ultimately this results in me getting scolded by the GM/service lead to send tickets out in order, to which i just respond that “i’m trying,” and M comes to my defense when i can’t hear it to point out that i really wasn’t set up for success today, and folks kind of back off. thankfully we only end up with one extra dish (to my knowledge? something was said about extra carrot cakes but they were never brought back) and it’s just like. a half salad that E didn’t prep right so we couldn’t send it out.

insult to injury is that there were actually others present who had worked pantry before. one of the expo cooks (D) actually comes back to help J1 all the time, but because of S being absent he had to focus on expo—and he ended up leaving before dinner service without raising a finger or even pausing to ask to make sure i was going to be okay with just me and the temp. D’s got a problem habit of leaving without doing everything that needs done, anyway, which ended up resulting in J2 getting forced into overtime to pick up his and J1’s slack on that front, which is why he wasn’t there for this shift. probably ultimately for the better but i really would have appreciated the extra pair of hands.

due to the string of buffoonery that resulted in us missing no less than 3 kitchen staff and damn near everyone who knew how to do anything of substance on pantry, i wasn’t really given an opportunity to call for help. thankfully M had my back and nobody seems to have any hard feelings now that it was made clear to them that i wasn’t given room to do anything but struggle, and the GM and service staff took it pretty well when i apologized for how much of a shitshow pantry became, but i really should not have been left drowning like that in the first place.

Posted by admin Rodney.

[slocumjoe]

companions work at a grocery store

Cait; Cart attendant and odd jobs. Does some cleaning, some stocking, gets paid for whatever she does. Nick's just happy she's staying out of trouble. If she were a worse person, she'd drink before driving to work. As if stands, drinks at work. She works with earbuds in, and it's a wonder she isn't deaf with how loud she blasts her music. Very grumpy, good luck getting help from her. Surprisingly doesn't steal. "Not from this store, anyway," she says. Will offer to walk lone women back to their cars if its dark out. Survives entirely off of Preston's reject cakes.

Curie; Pharmacist. Very fast, very knowledgeable. You won't spend more then 5 minutes at her counter. She'll notice things about you and recommend treatments which gets her in trouble. Some people get put off by her advice. Sometimes buys the other employees food when she thinks they haven't eaten yet. Buys veggies and makes a salad in-store for her own lunch. Always has an ice tea in her hand. Her coworkers are pretty sure she's won awards; not sure why she's there.

Danse; Loss prevention/security. When he first got the job, you would have thought it was a CIA position. But a few months into it, noticed that most shoplifters are stealing essentials. Had that moment of "hey, shouldn't this at least be cheaper, if not free?" and radicalized overnight. Nowadays, mostly throws out people throwing tantrums, makes sure Cait eats and sobers up before driving home, and keeps Hancock from getting them all sued. Takes migraine tablets like candy, will give you hugs if a customer is shitty to you. Mom to Nick's Dad.

Deacon; Cashier. Much like X6 and Curie, why is he there? He has a lot of money. Like...way too much. Trust fund kid? Porn star? He's very chatty and friendly, will remember you even if you only shopped there once. He'll show up to work dressed as one of his coworkers and try to take over their job when someone calls out sick or something. They appreciate it, because money, but still...creepy. 'Yes, and's angry customers, baffles them by becoming more belligerent than they are. Tries to fight Danse and Hancock in a customer's stead.

Gage; Butcher. Legend has it he went to prison for hacking people, and wants a way to legally get his fix. No. He bought a pack of deli meat for sandwiches, and was disappointed with the consistency of the slices. If you want something done right, do it yourself. Rarely seen outside of the deli or his car. He's pretty sure the bakery guy has a crush on him. Materializes out of thin air to egg on Hancock. Shockingly, pretty good customer service. Needs maybe three, four words before he knows what they're asking for. Has never been wrong. Judges you if you make a big deal out of buying leaner cuts.

Hancock; Custodian. Work buddies with Cait. He doesn't work with earbuds in, prefers to think. If you catch him when he's not busy, talks your ear off about history and politics. Will call customers out on the spot if they're...y'know, doing customer things. Danse comes in before it can ever escalate to a fight. He cleans slowly, but thoroughly. Also comes from money, and definitely sells on the side. Open about being here just for realistic, proletarian experience. Thinks its good for the soul. Keeps you humble. Has tested every brand of brownie mix for weed and will recommend the best one for 'his people'.

MacCready; Part-time bagger, part-time overnight stocker. Mac takes his kid to school, comes to work as a bagger, goes and gets Duncan, brings him home, and stays with him until bedtime. Then he comes back as a stock clerk. He studies for better jobs on his breaks. So tired. Drinks so much coffee. His coworkers all but throw free food at him. He hates it, but knows better than to turn something down for his own pride. Keeps things customers leave in the store. If it was, like, a phone, he'd give it back. It's never a phone. It's shoes, socks. A set of kitchen knives, once. They don't sell knives.

Nick; Retired detective turned store manager who thought running a store would be less emotionally taxing than crime scenes. He was wrong. Ellie, the assistant manager, handles the actual numbers and paperwork. Handles belligerent folks, will blacklist without a care. Would give everyone raises if the corporate higher-ups would let him. Older problem shoppers get sent his way—they can't 'respect your elders' him. Calls the cops when people sexually harass his cashiers, Piper and Deacon disguised as Piper. Feels like he had a better opinion of humanity when he was working in crime. Cannot believe none of his employees are felons.

Preston; Bakery. Wants Gage dead. He gives 'reject' goods to his coworkers (not Gage). Very tired man, takes out frustration on bread dough. Will offer free samples even if the sign isn't up. Won't charge extra for wedding cakes, mostly because the final product never lives up up to his own expectations. Has perfected the 'this isn't a stupid idea' expression. He's a chain store baker, not Cake Boss. But he tries, bless him. Best customer service, naturally helpful, just wants you to be happy. The only employee to actually fight a customer.

Piper; Cashier as well, does her own bagging. Quick with her hands. Also very chatty, but not to Deacon's extent. She prefers to get her people in an out quickly. Will talk politics based on what she can glean from her customers. Sends extreme couponers to Deacon, she's not paid enough for that crap. Will smuggle small candy packages from storage if they're damaged in some way, takes them more openly since Danse eased up. Nick doesn't care. Makes the best instant Ramen in the breakroom's kitchenette, will make it for coworkers she likes.

X6-88; Florist. He wears nondescript black clothing and sunglasses indoors. If you Google them, they cost more than anyone's annual salary. He conceal-carries. Freaked out Danse when he brought it up months after his employment. "I need to know these things!" "I just told you, sir." His bouquets are...unnatural. Like, geometric, too perfect. Tsks when a customer puts in a request he doesn't approve of. Very judgemental. If you order a bouquet for your spouse, and another for a side piece, will purposefully mix them up. He used to work at a government facility and drives a vintage hearse. 100% has killed people. Gives flowers to whoever buys him sugary frappacinos.

[reverend-dog]

Foster

Maeve gazed into her scrying pool. A circle of toadstools lay in a sun-dappled bower, hidden and inaccessible except for a gap between two trunks, barely wide enough for a cat. A thin brown arm snaked through the gap, followed by a shoulder. Maeve watched with a smile as a child, a human child, pressed its way into the glade. Rags that might once have been clothes hung on the waif’s frame, and dirt smeared its pinched features.

As the child dragged its lower regions into the glade, Maeve toyed with the idea of growing brambles into the gap, just to see how hard it would fight to accomplish its goal. She relented in favor of curiosity for what drove the child’s already evident determination. It turned around and braced one foot against a trunk for extra leverage, and yanked the other foot free. Drained, it collapsed on its back, just inside the circle, breath as ragged as its raiment.

“Poor dear,” Maeve murmured with a chuckle, “if you wanted to visit, you had but to ask.” She wove the familiar incantation to open the circle, and the child appeared on the floor before her throne. Maeve waved at a vase filled with peacock feathers, and one drifted across the room to tickle the child’s nose, prompting an exhausted wave. Maeve made the plume shove into one nostril a little, and received a sneeze in reward.

The child’s eyes opened to a squint, then popped wide. It levered itself onto its elbows and stared at Maeve, mouth agape.

“You fought hard to trespass in my court,” Maeve adopted a stern tone, and glowered at the child. “You enter without --”

“Delys,” the child said.

Maeve felt the power in the utterance, and for a moment forgot her own ability to speak. The child’s eyes did not waver, but met Maeve’s with the assurance of one who has just wagered their all.

“That is your true name,” Maeve observed when she could speak again. “Astonishing enough that one so young knows themselves so well. Do you understand what you have just done, speaking it in my presence?”

The child nodded, and a small, tired smile curved its lips. “If it please,” it begged in a tiny, thin voice, “let me stay and serve you.” At Maeve’s hesitation it added, “I promise, I’ll work hard! I won’t complain or try to run away, I’ll do anything you tell me!”

“Have you any idea,” Maeve spoke slowly, still on her back foot, “what life is like in service to the Fey? You may never see your family again!”

The child’s face brightened. “Promise?”

Maeve blinked, then felt an alien sensation in her breast. In that single word, her visitor told her everything, and she knew she possessed no mischief, no twisting of desire, that could exceed what this child had already endured. Even more amazing, she possessed no desire to try.

The fairy slid from her throne and knelt next to the child. She reached out one slender, elegant hand to cup the tiny chin, and held it as though it were made of finest porcelain. “Delys,” she murmured, “I have no need of you as a servant. But you are welcome to stay as my guest, for as long as you please. In fact,” she smiled, “you may even consider this place your new home.”

With unexpected strength, Delys leaped up and clasped Maeve in a hug. Relief and happiness bled from the child, bathing Maeve in warmth unlike any she had before known. “Thank you,” Delys mumbled, its face buried against Maeve’s chest.