#steel city bowl & brews

[rabid-dog-steve-horn]

If you're free & looking for live entertainment come to steel City bowl & brews In Bethlehem Pennsylvania.

Brian Kibler & Jordan White playing tonight starting @ 8pm.

Meet me in person too.

1770 Stefko Boulevard in Bethlehem Pennsylvania.

Hope to see you there.

[confessthysiins]

@sunmad requested a spotify wrapped starter. 88 - Happy by Mitski.

Happy came to visit me, he bought cookies on the way I poured him tea and he told me “It’ll all be okay” Well I told him I’d do anything to have him stay with me So he laid me down And I felt happy come inside of me He laid me down and I felt happy

He’s taken to bringing her treats, she’s noticed. Never full meals, nothing filling. When he leaves she usually finds herself wanting, hungry for more.

Miriam’s under the weather these days, staying at a flimsy motel with what little she can scrounge together from moonlighting at bars and other haphazard gigs. Too cold to sleep outside in Seattle this time of year. It’s a dingy place she’s found for herself, but not without a rustic charm that reminds her of home. It looks incongruous in the city, this motel, with its vintage wood panelings and dim farmhouse lights - an old place full of ghosts. Well, she’s a stranger here too, foreign, like a tumor on the concrete organs of it, parasite in its steel blood. Behind closed curtains that barely keep out the setting sun’s light, Miriam has taken to imagining all the people that have come and gone from this very room throughout the years; lone travelers, businessmen, pairs of gentle lovers. She snickered at the thought. This wasn’t a place for love, not free love anyway. This was a bed where you’d take a whore. Yes, it felt like home, and it was, for now.

He’d texted her when he got to the motel. The notification woke her from the half-sleep of fever. Miriam hurriedly turns on her phone camera, arranges her hair, puts on chapstick. She can’t bear her reflection in the bathroom mirror, years of reflected impurity seeming to bare the depth of her marred soul. She had cried in front of it, just the night before, turmoil brewing like a black sea in her mind, had covered it with a towel in fear she would glance upon it again. Her emotions felt sharp, too violent to handle. It was often like this. Illness had never relieved her of it.

Would he notice, she asked herself? Would he smell the sickness on her and turn back in disgust? Maybe he’d finally see her for what she is; sick freak and with sick needs, just like the girl in the mirror last night, sitting lonely with her sins. She cannont bear the thought of the good doctor seeing her like this. She wants to be perfect for him, for the role she plays in the strange theater of their relationship. She’s rummaging through her meager belongings, hands grabbing in the dark of her purse for a bottle of cheap perfume, when he knocks at the door.

“ Miriam? ”

She hesitates, a primal anxiousness welling in her gut. Another quiet knock. She crosses the room and opens the door meekly, as though expecting a stranger. It’s him. Of course, it’s him. There was a time where she would have been scared, standing before Oswald in the crack of the doorway like the maw of a beast, his strong presence, his woody scent; now an inexplicable relief hits her like drugs straight in the vein. Her sweet doctor, her lone savior.  “ Um, come in. I’m sorry, it’s a bit of a mess, ” she says, a hint of embarassment coloring her cheeks. She feels hot, too close to the sky, to God.

Oswald’s steps are quiet on the carpet when he enters, sidling past her with a rustle of his woolen coat. She watches, turns to lock the door behind him more by habit than aught else. He places a small bag on the dusty table in the corner, produces a plastic takeout bowl from it as he looks around the room. She imagines disappointment in his eyes.  “ You said you were feeling poorly, so I thought I’d bring you something, ” he says nonchalantly. “ I figured you must be in a right state to cancel your appointment. I do hope you’re feeling somewhat better? ” She isn’t. As a matter of fact, when he closes back in on her in a long stride, haloed in the dim light of the ceiling sconce light, she feels as though she might faint.

His brow furrows as he examines her, gaze worried as he peers over her reddened and tired features. With a small shake of his head he takes off a black glove and places the back of his palm on her forehead. “ Oh, dear. That simply won’t do, ” he half-whispers. It burns, the touch, though his hand is cold, like she has gently lowered her face into a soft bed of snow. Instinctively Miriam takes a step back. “ I didn’t know you’d taken to playing nursemaid, doctor, ” she chuckles weakly, tightening her jacket around her shoulders in a vain effort to hide the chill that’s overtaken her. Instinctively she thinks of escape, regrets locking the door. She can’t bear him this close. “ What did you bring? ” Miriam stutters, escaping his tall shadow to go peek at the food. The smell is warm and hearty over that of the plastic bag.  “ Pho ga, ”  he replies, the hand that had scorched her skin squeezing briefly into a fist before he turns to face her again.  “ There’s chopsticks in the bag, but I got a fork, just in case. ”  

She breathes in the delicious aroma, stomach rumbling despite her pitiful state.  

“ You brought me chicken soup? ” 

He laughs. The sound warms her, not like the fever or like his touch, not a burn but a light and homelike feeling. Her shaking hand drags across the transparent lid of the container, warm and supple with the steam. She blinks away the tears that well up in her eyes, rubbing at them with the hem of her sleeve. The ghost of his hand lingers on her face, cool and intense. Though she had spoken as if jeering, she finds herself truly moved by the gesture, by his tender care. The relief of his presence is too immense for words, but she finds herself blurting them out anyways, a thought she normally would have kept to herself crawling out of her small mouth like a moth: “ I wish you would stay. Just a little while. ” Immediately she fears his derision. Shameless, greedy girl, to ask for more when already he does so much for her. But he only looks surprised for a moment before a smile graces his stern features. Always playful, the therapist acquiesces with a small flourish: “ Thy wish is my command. ”

“ You don’t have to do this, you know, ” she says, smiling nevertheless as he sits next to her on the bed. She settles in slowly, not with deliberation but with dizziness, shuffling awkwardly around his weight on the mattress. “ Of course not. But maybe I like playing nursemaid, ” Oswald’s lips purse into a smirk as he recalls her words from earlier, before early winter night had enveloped them in its comforting darkness. Light is dim now in the motel room, the bedside lamp casting an orange glow on the panelled walls, the brown and dusty carpet, on her rosy skin. Miriam’s mind is buzzing with a thousand thoughts like wasp stings, the inside of her skull burning with them. There’s an ache in her chest she can’t name, a flame she can neither fully attribute to rising fever nor to the proximity of her beloved doctor, his hand so close to hers, his gaze soft, so tender as to hurt. 

“ I prayed that you would come, ” the confession fall from her parted lips like blood from a wound. “ It felt like I was on fire, and I shouldn’t have, but I prayed that you’d appear like you did that day…” Miriam is hushed, swallows a sob as he raises a hand to brush stray hair from her cheek in wordless reassurance. Curled knuckles graze her skin, fingers unfolding along her temple. His touch is like ice, like hail on her hot skin, the prickling of hundreds of needles. “ My dear, you’re burning up, ” he sighs. She yields under his hand, his gentle hand, as it lowers to her shoulder and ever so delicately guides her to lay down on the bed. Miriam’s heart rears into a gallop. He holds her briefly there, white hair falling on his shoulder like snow, looming over her like in a dance, or a deep kiss. Fear and worry vanish from her as though he exorcised them with the lightest touch. And he calls her mine, mine, mine. He can never know what it does to her when he says those things. It burns more than the fever, more than scorching hot metal, more than the sun. It burns like the gaze of angels. 

She takes his hand in hers, entwines their fingers through her hair, voice choked. “ I prayed… ”

“ Shhh, Miriam. It’s okay. It’s okay, ” Oswald murmurs to her tenderly. His thumb caresses her cheek, wipes a tear welling through her dark eyelashes. “ Sleep, now. ”

Her lips tremble and she bites down on them. Oh, how magical it is to feel his touch. If only he would wrap his long fingers around her wrists, take from her as she has taken from him. Always her savior gives, never lets her give of her own. If he only dared to ask she would gift him everything she has, everything she is. Through the haze of her affliction she looks up to him, to his silver eyes filled with pity. She wants to fight against it, to turn his sympathy away and leave only the caring, the warm love between them, but she feels so terribly weak. Once he had appeared to her like a shining knight as she writhed under the cruel eye of God, and again she felt that desire to hide in the fortress of his arms, to feel them wrap around her tightly, without judgement. They were strangers, that time. How come it was alright then, for him to be so close, for his heart to beat calm and soothing right next to hers, and not now? Why was it he always the one to pull away, sad and regretful?

She doesn’t want sleep. She wants to turn her face and press his palm against her lips and taste his skin.  She wants her burning heart to crawl its way into her mouth and to give it tenderly up to his own, wants him to feel the hot blood in her veins, dark and sick. She wants him like this forever, poised above her in this bed made for outcasts and lonely men and whores. 

“ Good night, Miriam. ”

Only treats. Never filling. He leaves and she finds herself wanting, hungry for more.

And if you’re going, take the moon Then maybe I will see you In the night; I’ll see you And when you go, take this heart I’ll make no more use of it When there’s no more you

[sprnklersplashes]

spoons into rings (ao3)

It was one of the first tricks his Ma taught him. He can’t remember how old he was; the memory is like a painting left in the sun for too long, faded and frayed at the edges. But he was sitting on the kitchen table, little feet swinging far above the floor, picking the mushrooms out of his dinner because he hated them. Ma was humming a song-a Kaelish shanty-under her breath as she tidied up the pots and cutlery. She picked up a spoon and frowned as she rubbed a speck of dirt off. Then, with a coy look at Jesper, she curled both her hands around it. He lowered his bowl as her hands tightened. The air crackled as though a storm was brewing, but the skies were clear and blue outside. Jesper knew it was a different kind of storm, one only the two of them could feel.

Aditi smiled, goosebumps raised on young Jesper’s arms, and then in her palm was a small silver ring, the perfect size for his little fingers.

“Show me, Mama, let me do it too!” It didn’t matter to him that the ring was steel, not silver. To him, it was the most beautiful thing in all creation. He practised over and over again, making rings that were too big and too small and the wrong shape. Da grumbled that they were running out of cutlery, and his hands began to smell of metal. But then, after three days, he could do it. He could take an ordinary teaspoon and fashion it into a ring decorated with a wobbly flower and just the right size for his mother’s finger.

She had kissed him, lifted him in the air, and told him it was the most splendid thing she’d ever seen.

Jesper wonders what she would say to him now. Sitting in their room in the Geldrenner, tapping one of their teaspoons against his hand as the world goes to shit. It’s not perfect silver, but it’s nicer than the spoons they had used at home. Shining and delicate, with intricate lines chasing up the handle. And since beggars can’t be choosers, it will have to do.

He lowers himself onto the sofa beside Wylan. At first, he doesn’t react, his mind far, far away from Ketterdam and the Crows. Seconds pass, and Jesper sits quietly, patiently. And as he does, Wylan’s eyes begin to brighten; dimples indent the corners of his mouth. His hand slides across the cushions and then travels up Jesper’s knee, his fingers brushing against Jesper’s expectant hand. Jesper replies in kind, linking their fingers together and shifting his weight so their palms press together.

They sit in silence for a while, listening to the ticking clock and hum of the pipes in the walls. The parade still rages outside, tearing through Ketterdam like a fire. Every gang in the Barrel wants a piece of them-and, not in a fun way. Years’ worth of distrust and dishonesty is gone in a minute, blown away in the face of a much bigger prize. One relentless, ever-growing wave moves around the Barrel, proudly brandishing the city’s stamp of approval.

The world has gone to hell, and they’re holding hands through it.

“How are you feeling about tomorrow?” Jesper asks. Wylan stiffens, and his free hand curls against the couch cushions. Ruddy-gold hair falls in front of his eyes, and he turns his head so Jesper can’t make out his expression. He doesn’t need to though. The tightness of his grip and his frigid skin against his is more than enough.

It takes a long while before he whispers, “I’m ready.”

“You sure?” he asks. “Wy, you don’t have to do this. I can take my Da, or Nina can or-”

“No.” He shakes his head, so much resolution that this hair falls out of its neatly arranged order. “It has to be me.” With one stroke of his finger, Jesper brushes Wylan’s hair back.

“Does it?” he asks.

“I can’t keep running from him,” Wylan goes on. “I’ve spent my entire life running from him. Since I was a kid, I’ve always been running.” This time, he does lift his eyes to meet Jesper’s. There’s such fire in them, a fire he always knew Wylan had, but he rarely let it show. Jesper isn’t sure whether to be proud or scared for him. Wylan’s jaw tightens, and his blue eyes flash. “This time he’s going to run. As fast and far as I can make him.”

Oh, he’s proud. He’s proud as hell.

He pulls himself closer to him. The fire that is Wylan Van Eck tickles him, too, prickling at his skin despite the layers of clothes between them. Oh, how he would love to just pull Wylan into him right now, to say “to hell with it all” and make up for all the time they lost. He feels his heart like a freaking firecracker in his chest, and then Wylan shifts and lets slip the hint of his collarbone.

The things he could do to that collarbone….

But he doesn’t. Because it’s not the time and not the place, and something far more pressing is on his mind. Something in his pocket, curved and silver, a little bit wobbly and broken because he’s not the greatest Durast who ever lived. He barely qualifies as a Durast. But he is Wylan’s Durast, and his everything else, too, if this goes well.

Saints.

They sit quietly for a few more minutes. It’s a new kind of quiet; one Jesper isn't used to. Before all this, his nights were filled with gunshots and roulette tables, the laughter and fights becoming so common he started to tune them out. Silence only really came when he’d fallen asleep-or, more accurately, stumbled into his room and passed on his bed. Every other moment was filled with loud- gunshots, cards, fights, laughs, music, plans. And he made it that way for a reason-whether he knew it or not. Silence brings reflection, and reflection means all his mistakes and all his pain staring back at him. So yes, he’s spent half his life avoiding quiet. Who could blame him?

Except now he’s sitting with Wylan, and neither of them is making a sound. It’s not completely quiet because Nina and Kaz are having a whispered yet heated debate in the next room, and his Da is snoring a few feet away, and half-formed shouts float up from the street below. But Jesper can hear himself think, and all he can think about is Wylan’s hand in his and the ring in his pocket. The endless roar of his thoughts has faded to a quiet buzz, tucked gently in the back of his mind. And it’s nice. And it’s terrifying.

And he could have it forever.

“I got you something.”

“You managed to go shopping?” Wylan asks, his nose wrinkling in disbelief. Jesper laughs, the sound almost bubbling, and shakes his head. He takes another breath. His heart is humming now, like the low purr of an engine.

“Not exactly.” And here he goes. With his stomach plummeting and his veins on fire, he presents his hand, palm-up, with the ring sitting neatly in the centre.

Such a tiny little thing, yet it packs quite the wallop. Not dissimilar to Wylan’s bombs. Or Wylan himself.

The air slips from the room. Now this , this is completely quiet. Nina and Kaz’s argument has halted, and his Da’s snores have evaporated into the air. The howling outside has ceased, and even in here, the fizzing around his body has faded to nothing.

All he can do is watch as Wylan’s eyes widen, see but not hear him as he sucks in a breath. If he looks hard, he can see a little pink tongue poking between his teeth.

Sound creeps back in as Wylan runs his finger over the metal. It’s little things; the sound of air rushing in and out of him, Wylan’s soft “oh” when the cool metal touches his skin. Nothing else exists. It’s as if the ring has extended and built something around them—a little bubble just for them, where the chaos outside can’t reach.

“It’s a ring,” Wylan says matter-of-factly.

Wylan’s eyes meet his, half hidden by falling hair. Jesper smiles softly and pushes it gently away from his face. Wylan’s lips part, to say something or just to breathe, and then, holding Jesper’s gaze, he lifts the ring and slides it onto his finger.

Immediately, Jesper recoils. He thought the ring was decent when he made it, pretty nice even. But now Wylan is holding it and sliding it onto his finger, and all he feels is shame. It burns like a coal fire in his cheeks, his chest, and the only smoke thickens as it slides into place on Wylan’s hand.

What the hell was he thinking? Wylan’s are made for beautiful things; to dance across the ornate body of his flute, or to twist a pencil as he captures a Ketterdam landscape. He should be wearing rings of silver or gold, maybe a diamond twinkling in the centre. Or a sapphire, the same blue as his eyes.

Anything really, other than a teaspoon that was twisted into another shape.

“I’ll get you a real ring as soon as this is all over,” he says quickly. “As soon as your father’s out of the way and Da’s safe, we can go down to a jeweller and I’ll get the funds somehow and I’ll-”

He doesn’t know where he’s going with that sentence, but he doesn’t get to finish. In seconds Wylan’s lips are crashing into his, swallowing his apologetic ramblings, and then there’s his hands on his face and the couch beneath his back and his breath on his skin and his chest on his and it’s just Wylan, Wylan, Wylan . It’s all he can see or hear or feel. Buried underneath his skin and fused with his bones, as if Wylan is his own Grisha amplifier.

Eventually, but somehow too soon, Wylan pulls away. His lips chase his for a split second before he opens his eyes. Wylan’s hands still bracket his face, cupping the cheeks that are warm with something else now. Their two breaths mingle in the centre, his stained with strong coffee and Wylan’s with faint traces of clay on his lips. They sit for a moment, not moving. Then Wylan chuckles, and then Jesper laughs, and they’re both laughing.

“I don’t need a proper ring,” he whispers. He shifts, and then his forehead is resting against Jesper’s, sending his heart into a flurry. “I don’t… and this is beautiful and I just… I just need you, Jes.” His hands curl at the back of Jesper’s neck. He bites his lip then, and tears threaten to spill over his long lashes. When he speaks, it’s in a breathy, unsteady whisper. “I just need you.”

It’s then Jesper recognises the prickling in his own eyes. How long has he held them, waiting for this moment that he never believed would be real? Since Wylan kissed him in that workshop? Since he saw him in the tannery? Or at any random moment between then and ten minutes ago? There were so many to choose from.

“So that’s a yes then?” he teases.

“Yes.” And Saints, the things hearing that does to him. Sets his whole body aglow, but not like firecrackers or bombs. Like a lamp that’s lit when night falls. Safe and secure, tucked in the cosiest little nook of someone’s living room. Wylan nods again, and Jesper has to pinch himself. Because the heists and the double-crossing and the close calls, all of that he can believe relatively easily. But this feels a little too much like a dream. To have Wylan look at him like that, eyes blown wide and sparkling and his cheeks flushed, he’s expecting to wake up any minute now.

Except he doesn’t, and Wylan’s hand cups the back of his neck and he’s giggling and it fills the entire room.

“Yes, I’ll marry you,” he says breathlessly.

Saints, if this is a dream, he’ll happily never wake again. They fall back against the couch, kissing with as much force as the late hour would allow. Hands, teeth, tongues, legs, they all come together into something he has never seen before. He feels it everywhere, even the parts that Wyaln isn’t touching. Like his whole body is being blown apart and lovingly stitched back together, the different pieces held together by Wylan’s gravity. Jesper can barely tell where he ends and Wylan begins, save for the occasional brush of metal against his warm skin, and if he had his way, they’d stay like this forever.

“I am getting you a real ring though,” Jesper whispers between kisses. His toes curl as Wylan’s lips touch his neck. “One with a nice jewel in the centre.”

“We can raid my father’s stash,” comes Wylan's breathy reply. Jesper laughs and it sounds like champagne spilling over a newly opened bottle.

“A heist and then a wedding,” he replies. “I love the way you think, merchling.”

[mastrmiscellaneous]

Profiles

Name: Leif of Brittany

Godly Parent: Thor (father), Legacy of Loki (grandmother)

Nationality: British

Ethnicity: Anglo-Saxon

Birthday: mid Halig Monath (September)

Age: 18 (when he died and went to Valhalla), 1200 give or take

Height: 5’10

Build: muscular and tough, broad shoulders and thick arms. Leif has large hands, a strong jaw, and tree trunk legs.

Hair: Rusty ginger, with a sight wave. Cut into a cropped, messy bowl cut, with a puffed up top and front that falls in front of his eyebrows

Eyes: forest green

Skin/Complexion: pale skin with pink undertones. He has scars littering his body: a sword slash on his shoulder, puncture wounds from an arrow being shot through his stomach and coming out his back. Burn scars litter his body from attempting to control his lightning and magic

Skills:

· Demigod –

o Control over thunder and lightning

o Shape-shifting – can change his appearance and clothing at will

o Nordic Magic

o Saxon ritualistic magic

· Normal –

o Expert use over weapons; sword, axe, dagger

o Potion making

o Expert knowledge over history and culture

o Sewing

o cooking

Weapons:

· Saxon sword with a gold hilt and pommel, the handle wrapped in red leather, the blade dipped in bone steel

· Curved bone steel dagger

· Bone steel single blade Viking war axe with the symbols of Thor and Loki burnt into the wooden handle

Bio:

Leif was born in 8th Century Britain, around the time of the initial invasions of Brittany from the Nordic Vikings. His mother, Mildritha, was the daughter of Loki, and met Thor when looking for mushrooms in the woods. Leif was born during harvest time, an unusual thunderstorm brewing over the village. As Leif was born, his family hut was struck by lightning, but left undamaged by the bolt.

Leif was raised as a typical Saxon boy, brought up to be a warrior. His mother taught him how to use the magic they inherited from her mother, Loki, and how to control his shapeshifting. Leif caused a lot of trouble in his village with his mischievous pranks, but his general ability with magic and fighting kept him well respected as he grew.

When Leif was 15, a family of three, a mother, father, and daughter, arrived at their village as runaways from a Viking invasion from further down south. He became close to the girl, Freya, and they quickly became closer than friends. After a couple of years courting, at age 17, Leif proposed to Freya, who eagerly agreed. There was much celebration in the village that night.

A year later, the two were still engaged and very close to their marriage. One day, just a month before their wedding, Leif was out with a group of friends, other warriors from the village. They were messing around in the woods, Leif showing off some magic, and the other boys joking around about his upcoming marriage. However, the sound of a horn echoed from the distance. Leif identified it as a Viking horn, recognising the sound from Freya retelling the story of her village’s invasion. He told his friends to run back to the village, warn the residents of the invaders. Leif stayed back and used his magic to keep them away. Eventually, he disguised himself as a Viking and entered the party, marching towards his village. The invaders threatened the remaining Saxon warriors, and Leif saw his chance. starting the fight from within the ranks and revealing himself as a Saxon.

The battle waged for hours, Leif using his magic, his sword, and finally the power of Thunder and Lightning. As he thrust his sword into the air, summoning the power of his father, an arrow was shot through his stomach, sticking right through his torso. He continued to fight, struck the invaders with his father’s power, but not all of them died. he continued to fight, slowing down, succumbing to his wounds, but he did not stop fighting until he could no more. As he slayed the final Viking, he finally fell.

He was taken to Valhalla by a Valkarie named Gödull. His place was debated, due to his heritage and the fact that he killed Nordic men to get there, as well as his close relation with Loki. Eventually, they decided that if he completed a task for Odin, he would be allowed to stay in Valhalla. They sent him to collect a tooth from the World Snake, Jörmungandr, as the magical properties would be useful for Odin. Leif completed this task, taking a second tooth as a trophy, and as a reminder for why he is there.

Name: Pollen Vice

Godly Connection: Follower and Host of Serqet

Nationality: American

Ethnicity: unknown

Birthday: 4th April, 1996

Age: 14 when merged with Serqet

Height: 5’7

Build: Slim, signs of past starvation clear on her frame. slight definition of her muscle, but it’s small

Hair: Greyish white, shaved sides and back with straight tuft brushed forward and angled to the right

Eyes: pale icy blue, slightly sunken from the years of disturbed or lack of sleep. Turn orange when using Serqet’s power, or when Serqet is wanting to transform

Skin/Complexion: Sickly pale, but slightly tanned from the years of being outside.

Skills:

· Magician –

o Control over Glamour

o Divine words

o Toxihinesis

o Charming and communication of Snakes and Scorpions

o Elemental magic – fire and water

· Normal –

o Fighting with a staff and sword

o hiding, escaping

o drawing

Weapons:

· Willow wood staff with an emerald crystal in the bulged top

· Meteoric iron glaive sword with a golden handle and hilt, with a Meteoric iron pommel, curved and sharpened

Bio:

Pollen was born in New York City. She was abandoned by her parents just hours after she was born, before her birth certificate could even be signed by both parents, or before she could be named. She was kept in the hospital for five days, while the nurses and doctors attempted to contact her parents. During this time, the nurses struggled to care for the girl, as the constant change of who was caring for her was troubling her. Pollen liked being held, that being the only time she was calm, and therefore the nurses took turns keeping hold of her. They named her Pollen after they realised she would sneeze every time they walked her past a vase of flowers that sat on the desk they worked at. Eventually, the officials abandoned their search for Pollen’s parents, and called social services. The girl was taken into care.

Pollen was passed from foster home to foster home her whole life, every foster parent complaining about her behaviour. She would cry more than most, and they appeared to have an odd change in character around Pollen. As she grew, they struggled to find any more places to put her. She was placed in a few terrible homes, suffered physical, mental, and emotional abuse and neglect. Her only solace was a voice in her head, and a reoccurring character in her dreams, a woman with a scorpion tale of the name Serqet.

The woman helped guide Pollen through life, advising her on how to keep safe, despite the terrible situations she found herself in. Eventually, when she was 12, Serqet advised the girl to run away, after the only good thing in her life, a sympathetic and kind social worker, was suddenly gone. Pollen ran and hid, traveling through the state and evading the authorities. Two years later, she found a familiar woman hiding in a warehouse. She found it was Serqet, learnt she was an Egyptian goddess, and needed a host. Pollen and Serqet merged, and Pollen became a powerful magician. she made her way to the Brooklyn House, at Serqet’s guidance.

Here, she meets a fellow magician, Myles, whith whom she shares similar experiences, and they bond quickly, becoming a sort of brother and sister duo. Eventually, Pollen goes out on a mission for her fellow magicians, and runs into two unlikely companions, Norse demigods Leif and Leon.

[shutupandshipit]

Friends in a Storm - Oneshot

Summary:  At the end of it all, the sky was always bluest after a storm.

.....

Or where Izuku is afraid of storms and Katsuki isn't.

Pairing: Bakudeku

Rating: T (just for language mostly)

Author’s Note: So, I recently went through the first hurricane of my life. Our good old Cat 2 Hurricane Sally. I'm wasn’t too far from where the eye hit, and we got a fair bit of damage done to us, but nothing too severe. It was really interesting. I don't normally get anxious during storm (I actually really love them, they make me feel alive), but there was a moment when I was anxiously staring out the window and just had the thought, "This would be a lot nicer if I had someone's hand to hold." That feeling is what spurned the birth of this fic.

I hope you guys like it even though it's just a piddly little one-shot. If not, I'll enjoy it enough for all of us.

Katsuki jumped as thunder rolled over the dorms. Immediately following, something slammed into the side, rattling the entire building. The first thought that sprang to mind was that someone wandering around outside had gotten thrown into their dorm, which he dismissed as ridiculous.

Snarling, he stalked to the balcony door, but simply glared at it. He couldn't see through the glass at the moment anyway.

The sky had been dark and threatening to crack apart for days before the wind finally kicked up. It had been more than a decade since Musutafu had gotten hit with a typhoon, not such a strong one at least. The city wasn't really prepared even though they had seen it brewing on the horizon. The city got hit regularly from May to October by tropical depressions and storms, but a Category 2 typhoon? Not so much. Most of their parents hadn't been through such a strong storm before.

Massive flooding and minor building damage had been predicted with possible power and water outages.

That Monday, they'd returned from lunch and immediately been dismissed back to the dorms with a blunt, “If there's something you can't live without for the next three days, get it now. You won't be able to go anywhere by tonight.” Then Aizawa left to go help the other teachers prepare the rest of the buildings and faculty living quarters.

No matter their differences, when class 3-A needed to come together, they did. All together, they fortified the dorm windows and doors with steel plates Yaoyorozu made. Those with more strength based quirks or with strength applications (Katsuki, Izuku, Kirishima, Sato, Shouji, and Tokoyami with Dark Shadow) heaved around the plates in teams of two. Uraraka and Sero worked together to lift the plates to the upper story windows and leverage them in place. Mineta made himself useful by plugging up any possible holes around the plates and helping them stick better. The others with bodies and quirks less suited to manual labor booked it to the store to stock up on water, candles, snacks and food that didn't have to be cooked or only needed hot water. When they returned, everyone created a line to stack sand bags around the first floor just in case they were unlucky enough to get flooded.

By the time they were done, the rain had begun to fall and wind ripped harshly at their clothing. Dorm 3-A had been transformed into a literal fortress. Nothing would be able to knock it down.

Except maybe a Cat 2 typhoon.

Again, something slammed into the dorms, right into the steel plate over his balcony door. Storms didn't make Katsuki nervous normally, but anxiety pooled in his stomach from the simple fact that he couldn't see what was going on outside. And if he was anxious, he knew there was a specific nerd probably pissing himself at the moment.

Huffing, Katsuki stalked to his door. Izuku had never liked storms as a kid, and still didn't like them now. He had walked in on Izuku with a blanket over his head, sobbing as he tried to lose himself in hero videos more times than he cared to remember. And those had been with minor storms. Something like this...

Another crash jolted him into action.

Ripping opening his bedroom door, he stalked through the halls. He wasn't sleeping anyway. He'd originally retired to his room because the rest of the class had insisted on having a storm party in the common room and they were bound to be loud as fuck. He'd been tired, but there was no reason to avoid them when he wouldn't be able to sleep with a stomach full of snakes. Or with the now blooming worry over how Izuku was handling it.

When he got to the common room, he had to take a moment to survey the absolute disaster scene that the space had become. Blankets were strung up from wall to wall, creating forts over the couches and tables. The center of the common room had become a tent city in just a few hours. Candles sat on every available surface, some already lit in anticipation of the power going out, some waiting patiently for their time to burn. Bowls of popcorn and cans of soda littered the area. Multiple rounds of Rummy, Poker and simpler card games were going on all at once. The television fizzed static, a beacon over them all.

Crouching beside Kirishima with a scowl, he cut his eyes over his classmates looking for green curls. There were none. There wasn't even a lump of blankets large enough to plausibly be the nerd.

“Where's Deku?” he growled, and Kirishima jerked towards him in surprise.

“Man, I didn't even realize you were there.” He sighed, pressing a hand to his chest. It took him a moment of steadying breaths to register the question. “Oh, Mido? I don't know. Said he was going to study or something. Right, Mina?” He elbowed Mina to get her attention.

The most annoying game of telephone ensued until, from across the fort, Ochako called, “He said he wasn't feeling well so he went upstairs to rest.”

“Idiot,” Katsuki scoffed and stood again. No one called after him as he walked back towards the stairs -no fucking way he was getting stuck in the elevators if the power went out-.

Izuku had no right to call Katsuki stubborn when his prideful ass couldn't even admit that he was scared to his friends. Not that Katsuki had any room to talk, but Izuku liked to pretend they weren't similar just as much as Katsuki did.

As soon as he stopped in front of Izuku's door, the lights flickered. A quiet whimper sounded in the room, and Katsuki huffed a sigh.

He and Izuku were what some would call friends now. Friends of a sort. Friends that sometimes did intimate things that 'just friends' weren't supposed to do. They still struggled every day with what had been happening between them for years. And they weren't the kind of friends who did the whole touchy feely comfort thing. Their form of comfort was argument, struggle, beating each other to a pulp. Still, Katsuki always found himself at Izuku's door when he knew the nerd was having a hard time, and vice versa. The only difference this time was that he couldn't just drag Izuku to the training fields for a sparring session.

Katsuki knocked lightly on the door so he wouldn't startle Izuku, but he heard a squeak anyway. “Deku, open the door.”

There was a scuffle from inside the room, and slowly, the door cracked for Izuku to peak out at him. Green eyes stared back, bloodshot and red rimmed. Nose just a cherry on his face. “Kacchan?”

“Let me in the room, nerd. You're just going to leave me out here?”

“N-no,” Izuku stammered before stepping back and opening the door enough for Katsuki to slip in. Rubbing at his arms through a hoodie that suspiciously looked like the one Katsuki thought he'd misplaced several weeks ago, he asked, “Do you need something?” He wouldn't lift his head, avoiding Katsuki's eyes as he shuffled back to his nest of a bed. The remnants of a cocoon was crumpled in the middle.

“No.” Katsuki leaned against Izuku's desk, watching as he clambered back onto his bed. “Came to check on you since you weren't downstairs.”

“I'm fine.” Mumbled absolutely unconvincingly under his breath.

“Sure you are, nerd. You're always peachy during a storm.” Overhead, the lights flickered as thunder rolled and the building shook. Off, on, off, on, off, on and off again. This time, they stayed off. A stifled whimper floated across the room towards Katsuki, only making his already clenching stomach clench harder. Rolling his eyes, he pushed away from the desk. “You're such a dirty liar, Deku.”

“Leave me alone, Kacchan,” Izuku sniffled.

Katsuki didn't move, but still said, “Fine. I'll just leave then.”

Thunder rolled. Wind howled. Something crashed against the steel plates outside on Deku's balcony, and then stayed to do it over and over again.

“Wait!” Deku shouted into the blackness around them. “I'm sorry. Don't leave. Please.”

Stepping to the bed, Katsuki sank a knee into the edge and grabbed the hand he could feel outstretched towards him. “I was only joking, dumbass, I'm not actually going anywhere. Chill.”

“How am I supposed to 'chill' when we could die tonight?” Izuku's breath was a rapid staccato of pants, fingers forming fists in the front of Katsuki's shirt. “Did you know that a typhoon is essentially just another name for a hurricane? They all do the same thing and are made the same way, but just develop in a different part of the world. They can dump more than twenty inches of rain. Storm serge can rise up to six feet. Not to mention the wind strength just for a Category 1. A Cat 2 can be upwards of-”

Katsuki gently placed his palm over Izuku's mouth, silencing him. He could see Izuku now, his eyes having adjusted to darkness. He could see the wideness of his eyes, whites more visible than usual and tears spilling over his lashes. An animal terrified. “Izuku,” he said sternly, but soft around the edges, “You're freaking out. You're going to pass out if you don't get your breathing under control. We're going to be fine. The dorms are made of pure concrete with a solid structure, and the typhoon isn't strong enough to even rip the roof off. Do you understand? This is just your fear talking. Are you going to let your fear control you?”

Prying Katsuki's fingers from his mouth, Izuku whispered, “Fear is a good thing. It keeps you alive.”

“Not right now. Fear is good in a battle. On the job as a hero. Right now, it's just driving you up a fucking wall.”

Katsuki equally was and wasn't expecting when Izuku pressed their mouths together. Izuku was breathless before the kiss, and he was only more breathless during the kiss as he tried to suck away Katsuki's breath instead. Their tongues moved slowly against each other, scorching hot and slick.

When Izuku pulled away again, he was still panting, but slower this time.

“What was that for?” Katsuki asked softly, carding his fingers through Izuku's messy curls with one hand and cupping the side of his neck with another. He'd been pulled further onto the bed while they kissed, and Izuku had found a home in his lap. He kissed several stray tears from Izuku's cheeks.

This was the intimate stuff Katsuki was talking about. The kisses. The softness of voices. Hands in hair and hands on skin. Falling into each other over and over again because they didn't know any better. Or maybe they did know better, and just didn't care to heed the warning.

“I needed to stop thinking.” Izuku's eyes were closed, his breathing slowing to something more normal. With legs on either side of Katsuki's waist, he cupped the hand on his neck with his own and leaned his forehead against Katsuki's collarbone. “And the only thing that makes me stop thinking better than fighting you is kissing you.”

“So you're just using me then, nerd?”

Izuku hummed a non-reply, leaning into Katsuki's warm hand.

“Well, that's fine.” Pressing his mouth into the top of Izuku's head, he whispered, “You can use me all you want, as much as you want. Anytime. Any place.”

“Pinky promise?”

“We're not five anymore. I'm not making a shitty pinky promise with you.”

Izuku laughed, and turned his lips back up for another kiss.

They fell into each other just like they always did, letting that all encompassing fire consume them from the inside out. Their classmates didn't understand them which was fine because they didn't understand themselves most of the time. They were the rise and fall of a stormy sea. The hungry flames of a forest fire. The raging winds and cutting rain of a typhoon.

But what people always forgot -and sometimes they forgot too- was that seas always calmed and rain dried up and wind slowed and fires ran out of kindling.

At the end of it all, the sky was always bluest after a storm.

…..

Katsuki hadn't expected them to fall asleep, all tangled up in each other, with the typhoon outside and what he would later come to find out was a piece of the gutter slapping against the steel plate. So, he definitely wasn't expecting to wake up to shuffling footsteps and weak candle light and giggling whispers.

With an arm over his eyes, he couldn't tell how many of his and Izuku's dumbass friends were in the room, but he knew it was too many. Just one of them would have been too many.

“Get the fuck out,” he growled lowly.

“Don't be like that, Kacchan,” Kaminari whispered jovially, “We just wanted to come check on you.”

“Well, you've done that. Now get the fuck out. Don't you have something better to do?”

“No, the storm is still going, power is still out and we got bored of games. You and Izuku weren't back, so we figured this would be a good alternative.” Mina's voice was chipper and far too loud for the bundle sleeping on Katsuki's arm.

He moved his arm just barely out of the way to glare at the assembled group; Kirishima, Mina, Sero, Kaminari, Shinsou, Jirou, Yaoyorozu, Ochako, Iida and lastly Todoroki. Half the fucking class was currently standing in Izuku's room like a bunch of dodos with a death wish.

Suddenly, Katsuki was very aware of his state of undress, and thankful Izuku hadn't hogged all of the sheets like he normally would. “Well, it was a terrible alternative. Find something else to go do before I blast every single one of you out into that storm to get thrown around.”

“Like a roller coaster. Sounds like fun,” Kirishima said, shit-eating grin plastered to his face. When Katsuki groaned, he laughed. Best friend that he was, he turned to herd the others out. “Okay, I think that's enough. Let them sleep or whatever it was they were doing. Who has whiteboard markers? Let's go play tic-tac-toe on the fridge.”

“We will absolutely not-”

Kirishima closed the door, silencing both the bereft groans of their classmates and Iida's reprimand.

Breath fluttered across the side of Katsuki's neck, closer than before, and he startled.

“Thanks for staying with me,” Izuku mumbled into his skin, closing the small distance between them. His eyes were still closed, voice soft with sleep. “You didn't have to. Storms are easier with another person though. I don't think they were meant to be gone through alone. Does that make sense?”

“Absolutely not.” Katsuki was lying, and Izuku knew as he huffed out a laugh.

“Can we go on a hike after this is done? The sky is always bluer after a storm.”

A butterfly fluttered against Katsuki's breastbone, just the lightest brush of wings, at his thoughts in Izuku's mouth. He hummed, an agreement to both the question and statement, and pulled Izuku flush against his body.

[geirskogull]

Empty Mirror and Empty Grave 

+ Notes: A Short Vampire the Masquerade AU for Danica and Alex, This is Chapter 1 of 4 for this series, from the point of view of the newly embraced Lasombra Alexander Voss for this first chapter. 

Chapter 1 - The Same Deep Water as You

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Icy water splashed hard against an even cooler face, a shaky exhale followed as the water pooled a tepid rusty pink in the ceramic bowl of the sink. Strange, what living habits clung to a dead man’s body, like memories fused to him with glue that spurned him to tears, yet twisted the salty brine that would have flowed from his eyes to a sickly vital red. 

Alexander thought then that  he should be laughing. That he should be cackling in victory over those who attempted to see him for their own personal gain, his father, his grandfather, this new vampiric patron who called himself sire. Yet his mind recognized in this end he was once again the true victim, but neither his mind nor his heart could contort the man’s memories to make them spell that out for him. Stubborn as always. Just like his sister. 

If he hadn’t known of the particularities of this curse, his curse, he may have tried to rationalize the ashy smudge that greeted him instead of his own tired, gauntface in the mirror. It would have been in vain, as  he knew better, he knew mirrors didn’t break like that. Hell he probably would have spent hours trying to scrub clean imaginary grime just to see his dead mossy green eyes. He always thought the color of rot suited him. Beyond that mournful rumination though, he also knew without his reflection, he looked a right mess if his sire, that figure of ruthlessness and shadows he met only a handful of times, counting his own death, saw him like this his new eternity would be over before it even began. 

So he returned to those empty habits he had once relied upon so much, inhaled deeply, straightened his shoulders, and ran cold hands across his face to remove the bloody tears tracks that dug their way there as best as he could with a smudgy mess as his guide. Another splash of water just in case, and another for good measure, and then a third till the pool was clear and he was sure the relics of his weakness swirled  down the drain, relics of shame he would never share. If he is to live forever, he would not allow it to be in vain.

“What do you want with me?” Terse words from an estranged sister echoed through his memory as he dried his face. “Arn’t you afraid dear old dad’ll axe you too, Alex?” She had hissed across a tiny café table that was more splinters held together with gorilla glue than actual wood then. Cross legged, angry and closed off, as he expected, but with sharp green eyes and new scars he didn’t remember being there last time he saw her. Those five years had changed them both so much. Then, he wondered if there was still anything left to save, left to salvage of their friendship. 

He laughed then, a bitter biting thing that painted fear across his twin sister’s face, only to be replaced with  sadness once its teeth were fully in her skin. A heavy silence hung around them in it’s wake, as if his cooling tea and her hot chocolate turned glorified chocolate milk were iron weights around their legs, dragging them to the ocean floor. 

He threw a clean black dress shirt over his shoulders and began to button it. Blinking away fresh bloody tears that threatened to spill over his still damp cheeks and the bittersweet memory in equal measure. As the visage of her hand reaching across that rough wooden sea to grasp his own terrified digits swelled in his minds, he paused.

“I’ve missed you so much, Dee.” Whispered words repeated from those recollections to nothing but the cold empty air around him. He dug his teeth into his lips, for he feared he was on the verge of sobbing once more. Once was more than enough for a night, thank you.

Oh if only he hadn’t traveled to this damn city on the guise of looking for school,only to actually be looking for her. If only he had taken the token acceptances thrown his way by those big name medical schools, all thanks to their father’s well placed donations and not in any way thanks to the intellect he believed he had. If only he hadn’t spent every cent he earned  on his own looking for his best friend that had been chased from their childhood by the bastard that sired them both, guilty only of the crime of dreaming. 

Perhaps then, they would still be truly alive. 

And not one unbreathing corpse masquerading as a living man, and the other... 

He dabbed a cold hand against his eyes, fearing the weakness of his resolve. Now is not the time to reflect, Alexander. He chastised himself bitterly, his own tone harsh. And even if it was, what would she think, seeing you now? Seeing you like this? A broken shell of a broken shell, huddling in his home not even willing to try this new gift out.

She’d tell him to relax, to lighten up. She’d ask about his class work and bring one of the animals she was fostering to sit on his lap. That’s how he ended up with Minet, wasn’t it? A loud meow near his feet confirmed his idle musings. Red eyes looking down into one cat-like yellow one, upon  a sea of black fur interrupted only by a terribly gaudy red collar and its pretty little bell. 

The vampire sniffled, kneeling down and giving the kitten a faint but honest grin. Ah his dear little constant. He found himself drawing his cold hands through soft fur and humming gently as the small cat began to purr. 

“Ah, so deep in my melancholy I forgot the most important job in my days!” A chuckle echoed in the cool air, and was answered by another dignified meow.  “Yes, yes, I know. Food is late, let’s go my dear one.”

“He’s friendly Alex, I promise.” Danica chuckled, her sing songy voice not exactly inspiring confidence, as she held a  small black bundle of fur and claws close to her chest. He hadn’t even looked up then, far too stressed out over his classwork, a med student more anxiety and coffee than flesh and blood at the present. He had more in common with the scattered cups of the stuff over his sisters home that he did her at the moment. \

“Last time I checked, tiny felines were not a requirement for me to pass my finals.” He had snipped up at her then, only to be met in turn with a very loud, very squeaky, and most definitely disappointed meow. Thankfully it was jarring enough to force the crooked man to right his posture and gaze at the single defiant eye of the feline now held ungracefully out towards him. 

"It's not, but it'll be good for what remains of you after said finals big brother"

"I'm only like two minutes older , Dee."

"And that's the first time you haven't lorded it over me, now hold the damn cat and relax Alex."

The loud, metallic jingle of kibble into a custom red bowl, the same shade as that tacky collar,  rescued the dead man from the clutches of his memories once more. Following suit was a very content and loud purr from the aforementioned Minet, King of the Flat, as he completely forgot about Alexander, Owner of the Flat, and dove straight into his food with a vigor he showed little else. Another shakey, yet unneeded, exhale left the vampire. This time at least sounding something akin to a weak  wheezy chuckle and not a barely restrained sob. 

Good kitty. 

Very good kitty.

Alexander Voss gave the fluffy menace a few polite yet ignored pats before standing and facing his evening once again. He did have orders after all, and what else had he been his entire life but a loyal, dutiful, gopher for his father and his father’s goals. Why would that change in death? 

The comedy was not lost on him, given the orders this time were “Go, enjoy yourself for a night.” As if he even knew where to start! A bitter laugh erupted from him, consuming the silence of the apartment like a mad hungry flame. Lingering in the expanse of once pleasant memories, turning them to ash in his mouth, was definitely not a good start.

But he would not fail, not again. Not at any task.

So even with the added “difficulty” of not being able to see himself in the mirror, he silently swore to his reflection that he would forge himself anew of black shadowy steel. He would be a tool for himself, not for this new vampiric father he found himself beholden to, not for the visible ghosts of his  first victims and the invisible ghost of his sister, but for himself. A revolutionary statement in his mind that would take some getting used to, and a great deal of planning to accomplish.

With the weight of his memory as the ink upon the paper of his oath, and the cold wind beyond his door the dust sprinkled upon it, he now just needed to find the wax and the stamp and it would be eternal.. As he twisted the polished silver door handle of the apartment, he closed his eyes. A stillness taking him as he silently considered this new plan brewing in the blackness in his mind. 

He shoots a careful glance back at Minet over his shoulder as the cold winter wind knocked at his coat and mussed his long, unkempt ponytail. The one eyed feline, for his part, licked at his paws absently, full from his regal meal and oblivious to his servants troubles.

“I’ll be back.”

His words were largely ignored, but the flittering familiar shades at the edge of his vision seemed to nod, almost in approval. Strange from such stern faces, barely perceivable in the messed watercolor of their forms, but still uniquely themselves. 

Facing forward, he inhaled, the last act of his old dying world, and faced a new beginning.. A pang of thirst in his gut forced a strange wolfish smile upon his face, sharp toothed and hungry. First goal of the evening, of his first free night, find a drink.

He would need the energy for what he had planned.

[cpd5021]

Unexpected Chapter 3

           Hailey sat in her car, hands tightly gripping the steering wheel despite the fact that her vehicle had been shut off for some time now. She stared straight ahead, the neon lights from the street around her blurring as she struggled to focus. In the distance, she could hear her phone going off but she couldn’t bring herself to look at it, knowing that it was most likely Jay. She briefly thought back to the look on his face as she had rushed out of the locker room and she regretted causing him any concern or hurt. But she simply couldn’t be around him right now, or anyone for that matter. Hailey told herself, again and again, to get out of her car, go into the little convenience store she had been parked outside for the last hour, and buy the stupid test. There was a chance, she repeated to herself for the hundredth time, that she might be freaking out over nothing. What were the chances of getting pregnant after only having sex once...maybe twice? And they had been safe that morning...it was just the unknown of the night before that caused her doubt. And maybe they hadn’t actually done anything the night before, neither could really recall the events, not a month ago and certainly not now. But deep down, Hailey could tell that something was different inside her. The minute Vanessa had spoken the words, something inside Hailey clicked. But she was trying her hardest to block that feeling out. What was that feeling anyway? Fear? Certainly. Embarrassment? A little. But the thing that was scaring Hailey the most, was the tiny little bit of hope she felt brewing within. Hope that maybe she was pregnant. Hailey flashed back to another memory, to a time much longer ago, before intelligence, before Jay. 

     “Hailey, I’m afraid it’s not good news.” The doctor had had a no nonsense attitude since she got here so the bluntness didn’t really surprise her. 

“Lay it on me doc..” Hailey tried to front her own nonchalant attitude, despite the fact that she was falling apart inside. 

“After a thorough examination, it appears that the injuries you sustained in your attack have caused significant damage to your uterus.” The doctor standing in front of her, dealing this heavy blow, never once looked up from his clipboard as he continued. “It’s highly unlikely, if not impossible, that you will ever be able to have children. I’m sorry.” There it was, the brief glance at her, the quick assessment of how she was handling this news. The charade of good bed side manner didn’t last long as the doctor tucked the clipboard under his arm, reaching to shake her hand as if she had won a prize, before turning to leave the room. The nurse, who had been standing quietly in the corner, came to stand in front of her now. 

“I’m sorry, he’s very straightforward.” The nurse gave a sheepish, almost embarrassed look as Hailey fought back tears. She wouldn’t cry here. She would remain in control until she was in the safety of her own home. 

“Kids were never really in my future plans anyway.” Hailey tried to maintain her tough girl front, but it faltered as the words left her lips. 

   The nurse finished her task of unhooking Hailey from everything before she told her she was free to go, giving another small smile as she slipped out of the door. Hailey took a deep breath as she stood from the exam table, grimacing as her sore body protested her movements. She could do this, she could make it home before she fell apart. Hailey was lucky to make it to her car before her emotions crashed over her and silent sobs racked through her body. 

      Blinking herself back into the present, Hailey wiped at the tears forming in her eyes. She took a few deep breathes, trying to steady her emotions so she could go make her purchase and find out one way or another. She took her now stiff hands off the steering wheel, reaching down to unclip her seat belt, and taking one more breath before opening her door. The cool Chicago breeze swept over her and she was thankful for the extra air it provided her as she walked towards the storefront. Another deep breath as she pulled open the door, the dinging of the bell causing her to jump slightly. A young kid, maybe eighteen, manned the counter. He gave her a smile and a nod as she walked in, immediately darting to the isle she needed. Her hands shook as she reached for the tiny pink box on the shelf, she clenched her fist to steady herself before plucking the box from it’s spot and pivoting back to the counter. The cashier tried to make small talk with her but his words were mumbled in her current state and she didn’t respond. A small smile was all she could muster as he handed her the bag and receipt. She briefly registered him telling her to have a good night, but that was highly unlikely to be the case.  

     Hailey made the drive home in a blur, she couldn’t recall the trip from point A to point B, but suddenly she was parked outside her house. The lights on inside signaled her room mate was already home. Probably waiting for her, worrying for her. She loved Vanessa, but this was something she needed to do alone. Shifting her car back into drive, Hailey pulled away before Vanessa realized she was there. Hailey looped around the city, considering her options. They were limited at best. She couldn’t go home yet. She briefly considered going straight to Jay’s house, taking the test there with him, but quickly shook that thought from her head. Hailey had no clue how he was going to handle something like this and she didn’t want to spring this on him if there was no need too. Hailey drove until she was parked in front of the only other place that brought her comfort, a feeling of safety. The 21st Precinct. It was late, most everyone would have gone home by now, save for the patrolmen on night shift, but they should be out on the roads. She’d just have to get past the night shift desk Sargent, but that wouldn’t be hard with her badge. She didn’t even know who manned the desk at night, so they certainly wouldn’t know her. She reached to her passenger seat, grabbing the little box out of its bag and tucking it into her coat pocket. Forcing another deep breath into her lungs, she got out of the car and trudged into the building. What she wasn’t expecting, was to see none other than Trudy Platt sitting atop her perch at the desk. It threw her off and stopped her in her tracks. So much for being discreet. 

“Upton?” Platt looked at her over her glasses and it felt as though the Sargent was looking straight into her soul.

“Hey..I uh...forgot something.” Hailey stammered, struggling to find an excuse. 

    Platt eyeballed her for a minute and Hailey knew she could tell she was lying. But Platt, in her ever mysterious ways, chose not to push the matter. Nodding and buzzing her up. Hailey darted up the stairs into the bull pen. It was, thankfully, pitch black, telling her that indeed everyone else had gone home for the night. Hailey moved to her desk, mulling the situation over and trying to gain the confidence to go into the bathroom. Her body threatened to tremble as her nerves were on edge and her emotions ran unchecked. Finally she gathered enough strength to move down the hall. Hailey locked the bathroom door behind her, probably a mute point as she knew she was alone, but it made her feel just a little better. She pulled the box from her coat pocket and set it on the counter. Hailey gripped the edge of the sink, feeling dizzy and forcing herself to stay upright. She picked up the box, which suddenly weighed a thousand pounds and picked it open. The tiny little stick, something that brought so many people so much joy, looked threatening in her hand. Clenching the stick in her hand, she quickly undid her jeans and slid them down. Once she was finished, she set the stick on a paper towel on the counter and washed her hands. Three minutes. That’s what the box said. It felt like an eternity. 

     Maybe it had been three minutes, maybe it had been ten, Hailey wasn’t really sure. She stood with her back to the mirror, leaning against the counter with her head hanging against her chest. Her breathing coming out in shakes as her body trembled with anxiety. Slowly she turned around, looking at herself in the mirror. She was a mess. Her face was pale, her eyes rimmed red from unshed tears and dark circles dipped down into her cheekbones. Gripping the counter once again to steady herself, Hailey held her breathe as she looked down at the test. As her eyes registered the result, an intense wave of nausea had her flying to the toilet, barely making it in time as she collapsed above the bowl. Once done, she remained on the floor, not trusting her legs to hold her upright right now. She drew her knees into her chest, bending her head down and trying to gain control over herself. 

Pregnant. She was pregnant. 

     After what felt like an eternity, Hailey finally mustered the strength to stand back up. She rinsed her mouth in the sink and wiped the tears and glean of sweat from her face. She slowly picked up the test with trembling hands, debating whether she should throw it away or keep it. Deciding she might need it to prove this to Jay, or even herself again, she tucked it into her pocket again. Hailey gave herself one last look in the mirror, realizing no matter how long she stayed in here she wasn’t going to look any better. And the longer she stayed, the more suspicious Platt would get. Hailey steeled herself to exit the small room, jogged down the stairs and almost made it to the doors before she heard Platt’s voice behind her from the desk. 

“Upton.” Her voice cut through Hailey as she struggled to keep her emotions in check. She knew she wouldn’t get out of this without at least making eye contact with her Sargent, so slowly she turned and darted her eyes up briefly to meet Trudy’s. 

“Hey...” Platt looked over her, deciding how to proceed. Hailey’s eyes swam with tears threatening to fall as she silently pleaded with the Sargent to just let her go. “Whatever it is...you’ll be okay.” Hailey found herself on the receiving end of a very rare, caring smile from the older woman and it pushed her to the brink. 

“Thanks.” She chocked out, throat thick and tears falling freely. She didn’t wait for anything else and instead turned and jogged out the door. Hailey sat in her car, unable to even start it as her emotions coursed through her. She told herself she could fall apart, just a little bit, and then she wouldn’t lose it again when she went to talk to Jay. Jay, the thought of his face alone sent another wave of sobs through her body. 

    Finally, body shaking from a wide variety of emotions, Hailey started her car and made the drive to Jay’s. Once again, the journey was a blur as she found herself parked outside his building. She reached for her phone, debating if she should let him know she was here or just go knock. Her lip quivered as she scrolled through the multiple missed calls and texts Jay had sent her. The last one reading;  “Please be okay..” 

    Hailey set her phone back down, deciding if she text him and waited for the reply she might bail in the meantime. Her hand slid into her pocket, clenching the tiny plastic stick so hard she feared it might snap, as she made her way to his door. One small rap on his door and she heard shuffling from within the apartment. In a matter of seconds, the door whipped open and she stood face to face with Jay. His face a mixture of relief and worry as she stood before him. For a split second, just seeing him standing in front of her, was enough to calm her nerves. That relief didn’t last long though as she remembered why she was here. Before she had a chance to begin, Jay’s arms pulled her into a tight embrace. He walked them back into his apartment, closing the door behind them before planting a gentle kiss on her forehead. It was enough to have her on the verge of tears again.

“Sorry..” Jay released her, taking a quick step back as he saw her tears. “I just...maybe you don’t want..” Jay scrambled for the right words but they failed him. 

“Jay, we need to talk.” Hailey instantly chastised herself for her choice of words, nothing good usually came after that phrase. She watched as Jay stiffened slightly, already putting himself on the defense. She tried to salvage this situation before it even really started and took a step towards him, resting a hand on his arm. “I have something to show you....” She trailed off, fighting not to lose her confidence. Jay nodded towards the couch and they made their way over to sit down. 

“I don’t know how to start this.” Hailey’s voice was quiet as she spoke, searching for the right words. 

“Whatever it is, it’ll be okay” Jay’s words mimicked the ones Trudy had told her earlier and she immediately felt tears gather in her eyes. Jay moved to pull her into his arms again but she held a hand up to stop him, wincing when she saw hurt flash across his face. 

“If you do that...I’m going to fall apart. And I really need to get this out before that happens.” She explained, voice trembling. Jay pulled back slightly, confusion and worry all over his face. 

“I didn’t plan this, obviously.” Hailey almost chuckled at the thought. “But um...” Deciding that her words were going to fail her and she really had no good idea on how to do this, she reached into her pocket to remove the test. Her eyes bore into Jays as she watched him follow her hand, she clenched the test in her fist shielding it from his view until she moved her hand to rest on her lap. Hailey’s eyes never left Jay’s face as she slowly uncurled her fingers, revealing the bit of plastic that was changing their lives forever. She watched as he took in what she was holding, realization flashing through his eyes before they flew to meet hers.

“You’re..?” He trailed off, his own voice thick with unreadable emotion.

“Yea.” Hailey breathed out her response, quickly losing steam.

“And it’s..mine?” Hailey winced slightly at his question, not that she could really blame him. They had only been together a little over a month and had only had sex once. 

“Yes.” She responded with a nod. “There hasn’t been anyone since Adam.” Jay grimaced slightly at the mention of their partner, but quickly recovered as he held her stare. 

“I love you.” Jays words surprised her. Of all the things she had expected him to say, the scenarios she had running through her head the entire drive here, that wasn’t what she was expecting. 

“I...love you too.” Her voice was a whisper. She could feel something bubbling inside of her, something she had previously tried to push down. Hope.  

[tabletoptrinketsbyjj]

Trinkets, 30: Interesting baubles, semi magical objects and items touched by mystery.

A waterproof scrollcase containing a key and a sheaf of official documents. According to the paperwork, the key opens a bankbox in a prestigious bank in a large city far away, and the lease on it has been paid for the next 100 years.

A beautifully painted set of castanets made out of sturdy oyster shells.

A full mask of rippled black glass with thin slanted slits for the bearer’s eyes. All who look upon it see distorted reflections of their own faults and failings, the slightest doubt twisted into a horrific swarm of phantoms that claw at the psyche of the victim. The bearer is never affected by the mask’s powers but longtime users may find their sense of compassion and empathy withering away the longer they stare out of the dark veil’s slanted eye slits.

An aged papyrus scroll bearing the image of an open sarcophagus, its lid propped up against the side. In its contents are gemstones, jewelry, and even precious coin lain in among the rotting silks of long dead corpse. Wafts of green and brown can be seen emanating from the molded cloths, and around the open container the carcasses of sweltering animals and humans remain motionless as the plague eats away at the flesh.

A well crafted, black cloth banner featuring a stylized skull breathing flames. A Knowledgeable PC will recognize the object serves as a rallying point for the free company of mercenaries known as the Black Company, who are highly respect and feared by allies and foes alike.

A three-lobed spinning device with almost frictionless ball bearings in the center. There are holes in the lobes and the center has a raised disk on both sides so the device can be held while it is spinning.

A one gallon cask of Norscan Mead. Made from fermented honey, the beverage is also known as Sweet Brew and is too sugary to drink in great quantities, though a few fools do and regret it. Though it has a rich amber colour and a delicious taste, Knowledgeable PC’s are aware that occasional batches contain a few contaminants that elicit strange visions and unsettling emotional outbursts. People usually risk the unusual side effects for a sample of this expensive beverage.

A pulsing, mossy stone of unknown origin that glows with the light of life.

An ivory statuette of a mermaid that is for the most part crudely carved, with the exception of certain 'features' which have been carved with lavish detail.

A fine clay pipe, the bowl formed into the shape of a bearded man with a scarred face. The face is so detailed, that the bearer can even make out the arrow shaped earring, which Knowledgeable PC’s will recognize as the mark of a well-known pirate gang.

—Keep reading for 90 more trinkets.

—Note: The previous 10 items are repeated for easier rolling on a d100.

A waterproof scrollcase containing a key and a sheaf of official documents. According to the paperwork, the key opens a bankbox in a prestigious bank in a large city far away, and the lease on it has been paid for the next 100 years.

A beautifully painted set of castanets made out of sturdy oyster shells.

A full mask of rippled black glass with thin slanted slits for the bearer’s eyes. All who look upon it see distorted reflections of their own faults and failings, the slightest doubt twisted into a horrific swarm of phantoms that claw at the psyche of the victim. The bearer is never affected by the mask’s powers but longtime users may find their sense of compassion and empathy withering away the longer they stare out of the dark veil’s slanted eye slits.

An aged papyrus scroll bearing the image of an open sarcophagus, its lid propped up against the side. In its contents are gemstones, jewelry, and even precious coin lain in among the rotting silks of long dead corpse. Wafts of green and brown can be seen emanating from the molded cloths, and around the open container the carcasses of sweltering animals and humans remain motionless as the plague eats away at the flesh.

A well crafted, black cloth banner featuring a stylized skull breathing flames. A Knowledgeable PC will recognize the object serves as a rallying point for the free company of mercenaries known as the Black Company, who are highly respect and feared by allies and foes alike.

A three-lobed spinning device with almost frictionless ball bearings in the center. There are holes in the lobes and the center has a raised disk on both sides so the device can be held while it is spinning.

A one gallon cask of Norscan Mead. Made from fermented honey, the beverage is also known as Sweet Brew and is too sugary to drink in great quantities, though a few fools do and regret it. Though it has a rich amber colour and a delicious taste, Knowledgeable PC’s are aware that occasional batches contain a few contaminants that elicit strange visions and unsettling emotional outbursts. People usually risk the unusual side effects for a sample of this expensive beverage.

A pulsing, mossy stone of unknown origin that glows with the light of life.

An ivory statuette of a mermaid that is for the most part crudely carved, with the exception of certain 'features' which have been carved with lavish detail.

A fine clay pipe, the bowl formed into the shape of a bearded man with a scarred face. The face is so detailed, that the bearer can even make out the arrow shaped earring, which Knowledgeable PC’s will recognize as the mark of a well-known pirate gang. 

Shivered Timber: A large shard of wood from a pirate ship's mast that is constantly tipped with frost. The implement can be used a focus for casting spells that deal cold damage.

A delicate china tea set painted in motifs of faraway lands. It's well wrapped in padded cloth and comes with its own matching box.

A strange sextant crafted from tarnished brass, badly tanned leather, crudely shaped driftwood and milky glass, it's a tool only a seasoned mariner could appreciate, much less love. And yet, over the years various sailors have added their own touches such as a bundle of pigeon feathers tied with sinew to a thumbscrew, a rough etching of a stylized Kraken and an extra mirror. Regardless of its dubious decorations, the object works perfectly well as a navigational tool.

A gruesome war banner sewn from strings of congealed gore, the flag radiates bloodlust so strong that those beneath it are filled with rage.

A brightly polished tin candle holder covered in silver snowflake decorations.

A metal wargong, made from a shield that has seen more than its fair share of battle.

A glass jar containing orange and red fruit preserves. A rough and jolly swashbuckler is imprinted on the lid. Along the side is written " Jelly Roger's Marmalade: To prevent scurvy on the high seas!"

A small pane of stained glass depicting a fire.

A mask of terrifying craftsmanship, depicting in obsidian and void-fired bronze the agonized visage of a tortured angel. The facial covering constantly weeps tears of blood that evaporate without trace moments after falling from the mask

A metal torc that looks rather severe, with several upward-facing spikes. The words “Watchmen’s Friend” is etched on the inside of the band. It would be very difficult to nod off when wearing such a serious piece of neckwear as the bearer would likely prick themselves on the spikes.

A large whale's tooth that is finely carved, appearing to depict a young woman drowning at sea. Beneath is the name “Celia” and a few badly worn sentences that might explain her fate, but the words are very hard to read.

A delicate chain of hand folded paper dolls, each delicately painted.

A basket of blood fruit, a product of nature magic tainted by chaos and evil. The fruits resemble wan, black, malformed apples and are tautly filled with a mixture of blood and oily, dark ichors. Eating a blood fruit wracks the body with terrible stomach spasms and horrendous digestive issues.

A worn, brass key nearly a handspan wide and decorated with thorny vines.

A scarlet gem that shimmers in the bearer's hand like the pale cinders of cooling hearth. The bearer can feel its brittle heat wash over them, seething through their veins like serpents of liquid steel.

A dangling upside down rune etched in blood on strange leather parchment.

A perfectly preserved tarantula, encased in a glass hemisphere.

A simple wind instrument cut from a reed, commonly known as a whistlecane. They are so easy to make, that skilled bards frequently make and give them away to children-to the parents' delight or regret.

A lock of white hair trapped in amber.

A small painting depicting an ugly and extremely overweight troll with a giant club resting on its shoulder, sitting on one side of a cobblestone bridge while a party of adventurers in armor waits on the other side in preparation, their armor gleaming in the sunlight and their spear heads glinting in bloodlust.

A druid’s staff of giant fennel covered with ivy vines, assorted leaves and topped with a pinecone.

A pan flute fashioned from hollowed out oak twigs.

A single lens, hand magnifier with a wooden handle, on the grip is inscribed "For those who seek" in golden lettering.

A painted face mask of a jester with a rictus blood-red smile.

A stone tablet that bears inscriptions detailing a notable being who fell just short of achieving godhood.

A simple necromancer’s staff with an ornate head as dark as onyx and decorated with arcane symbols designed to prey on the subconscious fears of mortals.

A pair of goggles with light orange, round, translucent lenses that are mounted within a flexible metal frame that has a soft leather strap with a clasp at the back.

A beaten leather bag containing various pliers, knives, hooks, shears and mind-weakening drugs strapped to its interior. Knowledgeable PC's will recognize the symbol of an order of demon hunters sewn into the inner lining, and deduce that these were one of their member's interrogation tools. Kits such as these were incredibly useful for convincing cultists and evildoers of all kinds to divulge their nefarious plots, as the interrogation tools appear intentionally gruesome. More often than not, the very presence of the cruel looking instruments is enough to induce a prisoner to talk. Unfortunately, these tools also inspire some very convincing lies. The use of these tools (Even by virtue of having the victim see them or describing how they will be used and how immensely painful they will be) grants the bearer advantage on intimidate checks made while questioning prisoners, but they impose disadvantage on all sense motive or insight checks made to determine whether the information gleaned is accurate or not.

A fully functioning xylophone made out of Giant's toe nails.

A leather doctor’s bag contains all the accouterments a phrenologist needs to measure skulls. The kit contains several metal skull calipers of various sizes, a labeled chalkware bust of a humanoid head, and numbered charts of skulls of various species.

A black leather half-mask that covers the bearer’s nose and mouth and muffles their breathing.

A head sized array of complicated clockwork mechanisms that throb slightly as pulsing with an organic heartbeat.

A metal lantern of dwarven make that hangs from a short length of chain.

A black silk choker, with a square orange stone set in its center.

An old glass bottle with a glass stopper sealed with wax. It contains a cloudy white liquid with ribbons of black and grey suspended in it.

A firmly locked, steel chest, marked on the lid in multiple languages that this chest is ordered sealed by order of (Insert setting appropriate authority figure here), opening the chest is a crime, and that punishment for said crime is dismemberment and / or death. If opened, the container is found to be empty with the exception of a hastily scribbled note that reads “I.O.U. one Mcguffin”.

An obsidian jewelry box with a black rose embroidered on it. The box is all sharp edges, oppressively heavy and has a jagged uneven surface.

A delicate iron rod with an intricate pattern of constellations all over its surface and a moth-shaped handle in the middle. One end is marked by an eight-pointed star, while the other one displays a waning moon.

A pearlescent marble scepter topped by a blue gemstone cut in the shape of an eight-pointed star.

A porcelain mask depicting a slightly disgusted visage of an oligarch.

A dreamcatcher, made from elk antlers and a silvery thread, adorned with an arrangement of dark and brightly colored feathers. The shape defined by its threads seem to change from time to time, but the resulting patterns are hardly discernible.

A one gallon cask of Bretonnian brandy, known for being beloved by low and highborn alike. Perhaps the oldest liquor made by humans, it is made from fermented grape wine. Its distinctive taste and warming effect when consumed make it an excellent tonic for road-weary travelers.

A woodcut relief depicting a woman in a rocking chair, knitting scarves and sweaters for her many grandchildren around. A warm hearth’s fire lights the room in a golden glow, giving tone to each feature of each of the children’s smiling faces. Only something thing is off about the picture. The woman eyes are sunken in holes of what might have once been eyes, her mouth a dried picture of a smile stuck into place like the muscles seized up in a corpse, her hands covered in lumpy growths which accent her impossibly knobby fingers. And weirdly, where there might be disgust or horror, the viewer only feels sympathy like one sufferer feels towards another sufferer.

A fully functioning clarinet carved from driftwood. The holy symbol of a minor lake deity is branded into the side

An intricate wooden box with delicate gold filigree and a wind up key on the back. If it is opened after having been wound-up a beautiful melody plays out.

A slit drum made from a hollowed, fire hardened, hardwood log. The instrument has two slits on its topside, cut into the shape of an "H". The resultant strips or tongues are then struck with a pair of mallets fashioned from deer antlers which are stored with the hollowed frame. Since the tongues are of different lengths and carved into different thicknesses, the drum produces two different pitches, near a fourth apart. The exterior is decorated with relief carvings of various deities and abstract monstrous designs. Some of these creatures are open-mouthed, providing increased volume through the hole at the end. The drum is one foot long and can be easily carried and played straps about the shoulders.

A small and rather ordinary-looking flute carved from a piece of gray driftwood that plays beautiful, clear music.

A black velvet mask in the shape of a spider with four jointed wire legs protruding from each side of it. It covers the wearer's face completely but does not hinder vision or speech.

A small sack of shark leather that contains a handful of piranha teeth.

A compact ball of tightly wrapped steel wires that fits in one hand.

A long, segmented conical trumpet, made of a lightweight metal that collapses into three sections for easier transportation.

A set of soldier’s studded red leather greaves that come up over the knees and cling tightly to the calf. There are no visible closures or bindings on the armor. The red leather is artfully burned with the pattern of twining vines. To remove the armor, a command word must be whispered which awakens the vines and relaxes them, allowing the greaves to slip off easily and quickly. To don them, the same verbal command must be uttered causing the vines tighten and recess into the leather once again.

A porcelain mask bearing cracks across it. The bottom right of the face from the jawline to the cheekbone to the chin is broken off. A viewer can just make out the expression of terror carved into the remaining features of the mask.

A red potion flask fashioned in the shape of a bull filled with an amber liquid. If consumed, the drinker’s face turns red and he becomes unable to sleep or rest properly for 1d20 hours. This does no eliminate the drinker’s need for rest, it simply blocks their ability to do so.

A forest elf’s rucksack that is simply the treated husk of a giant seedpod, fitted with leather strap hinges and closed with buckled leather straps. The long, organic vessel is hard-sided and durable, with naturally formed compartments inside.

An eerie mask carved from bone to resemble the gaunt face of a terrifying vampire whose expression is that of inhuman malice.

A shining baldric that seems to be woven from threads of steel, a skill only the finest of elven smiths have accomplished. Its peculiarly angled hanger is designed to carry an elven longsword.

A tarnished bronze coin about the size of a palm. Mossy and damaged, this ancient coin is barely perceptible as valuable.

A thick canvas messenger bag with the image of an anvil on one side, surrounded by four arms, each wielding a different tool.

A worn playing card depicting an unsightly old woman with knobbled fingers peering over her shoulder towards the viewer, smiling with unholy glee, her jagged and misplaced teeth creating a haunting smile. When the bearer blinks, the figure is replaced with the viewer, looking fearful and bewildered.

A silver dragon scale that glows in the moonlight.

A silver coin which has been hollowed out and a tiny encrypted message placed inside.

A curious frogmouth purse filled with many unusually shaped dice. A few small figurines of various people and creatures and worthless coins are also in the bag.

A five inch gnome statuette that appears as if it is on the verge of speaking when it is almost out of view.

A board covered with runes and a silver weight tied to a string. Holding the weight over the board causes it to slowly spell the answer to any question asked. The response is never correct (Except by coincidence) and is always just the answer the person asking most wants to hear.

A cube, with each side having nine squares with an eldritch symbol inscribed within the rich oak finish. The bearer can slide the cube around to shift the location of each face to match others. Some of them seem to glow when matched together, but so faint that it must be a trick of the light or the bearer’s imagination.

A four high wireframe model of a humanoid figure, made out of tin. The figure has an exquisitely detailed copper heart inside the dull ribcage.

A mask of bandage wrapping  that has some strands loosely hanging off and others stained with dried blood. The filthy object has a slight smell of flesh putrefaction.

A feather quill. Anything written with this quill will appear in a distinct and unknown handwriting. This unknown handwriting remains the same, regardless of who is writing with the quill.

A small pouch of glass marbles. Each marble has the abstract shape of a different animal embedded in the center of the glass.

A large decorative candle. When lit, it gives off an alluring scent which, while impossible to identify, evokes a feeling of nostalgia in anyone who smells it.

A small garden trowel. The blade and handle are made of common, if not poor-quality materials, but the handle is set with a single semiprecious stone.

A nail molded into the shape of a sword with pommel in the shape of a wolf’s head.

A tiny wooden horse with white hair for a mane and tail, and silver beads for eyes.

A ceremonial dagger with an eye engraved on the hilt. Whenever the dagger is at the very edge of one’s vision, they can swear it just blinked.

A coin pouch. It sounds, weighs, looks and feels like it’s filled with coins, but upon opening it the bearer discovers that it is empty.

A tarnished brass kazoo in the shape of a fish.

A thick hemp rope that ties itself into a hangman’s knot whenever it's left unsupervised.

A pair of dice that seem to only roll 7s when in close proximity to gold or platinum.

A hardy, darkened conch shell with an almost dangerous amount of ridges and points. By holding the shell up to their ear, the holder can hear rushing water and violent waves with an unusual degree of clarity. Continuing to listen the shell causes the bearer to slowly begin to experience sensations of seasickness and a pressure similar to being too deep underwater. As the sensations intensify, a muted, indecipherable whispering can be heard very faintly, as if it were coming from the bottom of the sea. The whispering continues to grow louder while the sensations escalate, until the whispers can almost be made out, at which point the bearer blacks out for a few seconds, dropping the shell.

A tiny bronze idol of a goblin carrying a knife in both hands and one knife clutched in his teeth.

A simple Randomly Coloured headband with a clear crystal set in the center of the brow.

A rather large iron pot covered in scratches and scorch marks that can’t seem to be taken off. Meals prepared by this pot are always palatable but in need of salt, regardless of whether the recipe called for salt, the consumer’s enjoyment of salt, or amount of salt that was used in the cooking. Coincidentally, this effect can be nullified by adding copious amounts of pepper to the pot before serving the meal, in which case the food is always surprisingly delicious.

A small, well-crafted statuette depicting a hulking metal, box-like figure of a humanoid sitting on a rock in the midst of a creek, holding in its hand a small magenta flower, examining it closely with its eye-less, mouth-less, nose-less, featureless face. The flower is richly colored which starkly contrasts the grey golem. A creature who examines the statue for more than a few seconds feels themselves growing cold and numb and only seeing in shades of grey as if their senses were fading away. The creature’s faculties return to them the moment they stop interacting with the object.

A brutal mask resembling a growling devil’s face shaped from a single piece of a dark grey metal, save that the eyes and mouth are covered by bars like a prison cell.

An ornate glasswork sculpture of a phoenix in all its resplendent glory, its wings spread majestically over the ember glow of an active volcano. The whole piece has been magically enchanted and the illusionary flames around the bird are animated and dance and drift off of the creature’s feathers and the volcano occasionally erupts in showers of harmless sparks. The glass is warm to the touch and is as durable as steel.

A single piece of parchment on which is inscribed a long list of potion ingredients, their properties, and price in a currency that doesn't exist anymore.

A small figurine of root and stone in the shape of a large earth elemental.

A minotaur’s horn carved with all the names of their clan going back generations.

A charcoal drawing displaying the scene of a mangy beast with a bovine skull looming over the corpse of a human woman. His thin body and exposed organs give the impression of hunger, a kind of starvation that consumes body and soul. The background is heavy shrouded in mist and two streams of vapor jet downward from his snout, blending into the air as if creating the blanketing fog. At the top of the image the picture is titled “Wendigo” and in the bottom right where the artist should have placed a signature simply has the hastily scrawled word “RUN”.

[smkkbert]

Mothers know best

Summary: Since they have been kids, they have been best friends. Since they have been friends, their mothers wanted them to be together. After coming back from the east coast, Felicity takes over a position at Queen Consolidated, the company her best friend will soon take over from his father. Their mothers still push for them to be together, and they seem closer to that goal than ever because wedding bells are ringing. The only problem is that they both plan to get married to someone else.

Rating: Explicit

Previous chapters: 1  2  3

Chapter 4 of 21: Fargin

= To wholeheartedly appreciate the success of others (Yiddish)

 Oliver couldn’t contain the smile on his face as the hot water pelted down on his skin. He was going to spend most of his day with Felicity since they had a lot to work on now that she was going to become Junio CEO alongside him. Adding the plans that he had for the afternoon, this day was just promising to be great.

He couldn’t even say when he had been in a good mood like this the last time. It was just that everything seemed to be perfect now.

He lived in a loft that was all his and that he loved very much. He had a great relationship with his parents and his sister. He had an amazing fiancée. His best friend was back in Starling City, so they were able to see each other whenever they wanted and actually meet up rather than just using a video chat. They were also working together, so even during the busiest of times in their jobs they would see each other anytime. With his little secret hobby, he had even found a real purpose in life that made him feel good. That he had been voted hottest businessman under thirty years was just the topping on the cake.

Right now, Oliver had everything he could possibly want in life, so he had every reason to smile even though he had to get up at six in the morning.

Turning off the stream of water, Oliver opened the shower door and grabbed his towel. He dried himself quickly before he wrapped the towel around his hips and stepped out of the shower and towards the mirror. Looking at his reflection and moving his fingers through his stubble, he considered shaving. He had never been a real fan of the stubble in the first place. He had mainly just been too lazy to shave every other way.

“Still no shaving?”

With perked up eyebrows Oliver turned around. He chuckled when he saw McKenna leaning in the frame of the door and watching him with a soft smile on her lips.

“No,” Oliver replied with a grin. “Not yet.”

McKenna puckered her lips and cocked her head at Oliver. Slowly, she walked over to him. Her short silken nightgown with the fine lace at the chest emphasized her tall and slim body. She looked incredibly sexy, definitely not like she had just gotten out of bed. It was one of those miraculous things about McKenna. She almost looked like she was ready to go out on the catwalk, and it was all just her natural beauty.

Stopping in front of him, McKenna put her hands on his chest and stroked her fingers up and down his defined muscles. Her long fingernails scraped over his skin lightly and teasingly, and it felt good. Oliver just pushed his tongue into his cheek and watched her though.

“Not even if I-“ McKenna straightened up onto the tip of her toes and brushed her lips against his. Her teeth dug into his bottom lip slightly before she pulled back and looked at him with a seductive expression in her eyes. “-ask very nicely?”

Oliver faltered for a moment, considering her offer, before he leaned down to bring his lips impossibly close to McKenna’s, so they were almost touching already when he replied, “No. Not even then.”

McKenna needed a second before she could progress his answer, but only a second later they were both chuckling already. Shaking her head, she pecked his lips once more and shoved him away playfully.

“Fine, I’ll give up.” She chuckled and snuggled back up to him, even closer this time. “I missed your shower, so maybe you want to join me for mine?”

Her fingers were already dancing around his hips, following the hem of the towel. As much as Oliver might love to give in, he knew he couldn’t though. With a sigh, he grabbed her wrists and pushed them away gently.

“Sorry,” he said. “As wonderful as that offer sounds, I am supposed to be in the office at eight-thirty to meet Felicity, and she really doesn’t like me to be late.”

There was a glimpse in McKenna’s eyes that Oliver couldn’t understand. He wasn’t even sure what it was that he saw glimpsing in her eyes. A part of him almost believed it was jealousy, but McKenna had never been the jealous kind because she had no reason to. He had never been unfaithful to her and if he had flirted with some woman during their relationship, it had never been more than a little flirtation on his part.

As quickly as the glimpse had been there, it was quickly gone again, so Oliver figured that it wasn’t important.

He pecked McKenna’s lips briefly once more before he turned back to the sink and started brushing his teeth. Meanwhile McKenna took off her nightgown and got under the shower.

“Do you know when you will be home tonight?” she asked as the turned on the water. “I was wondering if maybe we could go through some plans for the wedding tonight. It’s only a couple of weeks to our wedding, and we haven’t really planned anything yet.”

Still brushing his teeth, Oliver turned around and leaned back against the sink. He watched the outline of McKenna’s body behind the fogged shower glass as she continued shampooing her hair and frowned slightly.

“Do you regret it?”

“Regret what?”

“That we decided to get married so soon,” Oliver said. “I mean it is a lot of planning and there really isn’t much time, so-“

“I don’t regret it at all.” McKenna put her hand to the shower wall and wiped away some of the fog, so he could see her face. “Do you?”

“No,” Oliver said firmly, shaking his head. “The sooner we get married, the better.”

“Exactly,” McKenna agreed, nodding her head. “And I’d prefer something small anyway though I guess the Queen-standards for small are not what I assume them to be.”

Oliver chuckled and rinsed his mouth with water. McKenna was right. They probably weren’t.

When Oliver had turned eight years old, his mother had told him that they would do a small birthday for him. That small birthday had included half of his classmates being invited, a bouncy castle being arranged and a giant buffet being set. Felicity’s small birthday party a couple of weeks before on the other hand had been the two of them together in her room with a bowl of popcorn and a collection of movies.

In Queen-Standards, small just wasn’t what the word made it sound like.

As McKenna got out of the shower, Oliver walked over to his dresser and changed into some boxer briefs before moving over to his wardrobe and taking out a llight grey suit with a steel-blue tie. His hair was dry by now, and he added some gel to it blindly before he headed downstairs into the kitchen to brew a fresh pot of coffee, tying his shoes while he was waiting for the coffee percolate.

He tried to quit caffeine, but he hadn’t been successful with quitting it completely yet. Since Felicity had been back, it had even gotten harder to limit himself to one or two mugs a day as Felicity was drinking coffee like water. He doubted there had been a single day in the ten days that she had been back that she hadn’t drunk at least two liters of coffee.

With the busy schedule today – because although he was just meeting with Felicity, they had a lot of work ahead of them – Oliver felt like he was in need of some caffeine though.

Like almost every morning when McKenna was working the late shift, by the time he had filled his coffee into his thermo mug, she was strolling down the stairs in her silk kimono. He quickly poured the rest of the coffee into a mug and handed it over to her. McKenna, just like Felicity, lived and died for coffee.

“Thanks.”

“You are very welcome.”

Oliver smiled at her before he turned away to close the lid of his thermo mug. He always drank his coffee on the way to work. The traffic through the heart of Starling was a nightmare at this time of the day. Of course he could follow Felicity’s example and walk to Queen Consolidated, but he just couldn’t bring himself to do so.

“So?” McKenna asked eventually. “Are you in for tonight?”

“Tonight?” Oliver frowned. “What’s tonight.”

McKenna rolled her eyes. “Wedding planning, Ollie.”

“Oh, right!” Oliver slapped his hand in front of his forehead. “Sorry, my head’s full with work stuff right now.”

McKenna nodded slowly when he turned around to her. Her smile might have wavered a little, but the ghost of it was still there.

“Should we delay the wedding planning?”

“No,” Oliver replied quickly, shaking his head. “No, of course not. “I will make it.”

“Are you sure?” she asked, cocking her head. “I know how important it is to you to make sure everything goes smoothly with Felicity’s introduction into the company and-“

“No, no.” Oliver said quickly because although he knew McKenna wouldn’t offer this if she didn’t mean it, he figured they really had to start working on the basic decisions for their wedding. “Or, yes, it is important to me, but that doesn’t mean that our wedding has to come short. We will do this. Tonight. I will ask Felicity if she has time to join us too.”

McKenna nodded. “Yes, sure. She is your best woman after all.”

“Exactly though I still have to ask her actually.”

Oliver moved his fingers through his hair almost a little bit nervously. He had never really thought he’d ever get married, so he couldn’t say that he had always imagined Felicity to be at his side when he tied the knot. Since he had decided to propose to McKenna, he had known that he had wanted her to be his best woman though.

He just hoped that with her new job and her new relationship and her own wedding ahead she’d still agree to do this. It would mean the world to him.

“I might have mentioned it to her already,” McKenna said carefully. “She’d love to do it.”

“Okay, great.” Despite his surprise that McKenna had brought that up during the short time she had talked to Felicity so far, Oliver felt a smile of relief spreading on his chest. “I will ask her today anyway to make it official, you know?”

“Of course.” McKenna smiled. “I am sure she will be happy to do it though.”

Oliver nodded, taking in a deep breath. He really hoped McKenna was right.

“So, let’s say we will meet at six at your parent’s home?” McKenna asked. “I will call Moira later and ask her if she has time to help us. She offered to help after all.”

“She will love it,” Oliver assured McKenna, keeping to himself that his mother would probably snatch most of the planning away from them anyway. “Let’s just say seven though. I have something else to do.”

“With Felicity?”

Oliver stumbled about her question a little. Though there had been no sign of reproach in her voice, he could almost hear the hidden question that was lying beneath there. He quickly shook his head.

“No, there is something else.”

McKenna just nodded her head and it made Oliver frown slightly. Maybe she wasn’t that comfortable with his best friend being a woman than she had tried to make him believe so far. She wouldn’t be the first to have a little bit of trouble with how close he and Felicity was.

Oliver couldn’t count how many of his girlfriends in high school had had problems with that. They had been jealous or whatever. It had always been one of the reasons why the relationship had ended eventually.

Placing his thermo mug on the kitchen counter, Oliver went over to McKenna. He wrapped his arms around her waist loosely and took in her face.

“You didn’t really have the chance to get to know Felicity yet,” Oliver said, “but you did talk a little when I was late to our coffee last week and during brunch. Are you two getting along?”

It was actually a question he had wondered about a lot before Felicity had eventually moved here. In high school, when his girlfriend hadn’t gotten along with Felicity or the fact that she was an important person in his life, he had just dumped them. Back then, it had been as easy as that.

Now it was different though. McKenna wasn’t just any girlfriend. She was his fiancée. She was here to stay, so it was important to him that she and Felicity were getting along.

Just like Felicity insisted that it was important to her that he and Carter got along though Oliver had failed miserably at trying so far.

“You are right. We didn’t really have the chance to get to know each other,” McKenna replied with a soft smile, “but she is your best friend and she seemed really nice. I mean she is funny and kind and smart. I hope that we will become friends eventually.”

Oliver smiled with relief. Felicity and McKenna were quite different, but so were he and McKenna. Maybe, with some luck, the two women would become friends and all problems there could possibly grow from his best friend being a woman would be nipped in the bud.

“Great. That is exactly what I wanted to hear.” With a quick glance at his watch, he pecked her lips chastely. “And now I gotta head to work.”

McKenna smiled. “Have a nice day.”

“You too.”

Oliver grabbed his travel mug and his keys and walked towards the door. He lifted his hand for a brief wave and stepped out of the door.

Today really was promising to be a great day already.

* * *

“Let me get this straight,” Felicity said, frowning as she looked at the charts of numbers Oliver had just handed to her. “You are telling me that the production of the bio-stimulant implants is already more expensive than anyone who isn’t a billionaire is able to pay, so no insurance will pay for it either, and the key piece of the implant is not even functioning reliably yet.”

Oliver pursed his lips. He wished there was a way that he could honestly say no to this and twist the words a little, so it didn’t sound that much like a dead-end. After he had defended this project to Carter during brunch, unable to admit that he might not be as successful as the neurosurgeon, he didn’t want Felicity to believe that he had lied.

“There is still hope.” Oliver cleared his throat, trying to get rid of the doubting tone in his voice. “I mean if we just find a more profitable way to produce-“

“No, no, no!”

Felicity shook her head firmly. She shot him a brief glance over the rim of her glasses before she looked back at the charts of charges the project had already required from them. Frowning, she grabbed her umpteenth mug of coffee and took in the numbers almost like she wanted to memorize them.

Oliver pressed his lips together and rolled them into his mouth slightly as he watched her. He guessed he had to admit that Carter had been kind of right. As promising as it was, there was no use in producing a semi-good piece of tech that was basically unaffordable anyway.

“There is still a little hope there,” Oliver repeated carefully, clearing his throat once more, as he wasn’t ready to admit defeat just yet. “I mean if we just find a way to make the production more affordable and-“

“No.”

Felicity’s voice was firm when she interrupted him. She put the piece of paper away with a shake of her head and lifted her gaze to him.

“No, if we are doing this, and God knows we will do this because this project is gold, we are doing this right,” Felicity told him. “We will invest even more money until the implant is functioning perfectly. There can’t be any normal malfunctions or something like that. Those have to be a rareness. After that, we will try to find a way to make it affordable for the general public.”

Oliver perked up his eyebrows. He wasn’t sure if he was more surprised that she wanted to continue working on this or about how she wanted to work on it. He knew that Felicity had quite a different perspective at something like this though. As a geek, she was just much more likely to see the technical side of their development, while Oliver saw the financial side of things. He looked at the red numbers in bold print on the paper briefly before he looked back at Felicity again.

“Are you sure this is a good idea?” he asked. “This project already cost a lot of money. If we invest even more money into developing the functions rather than making the product affordable, we might have a great implant at the end, but we have to tell everyone interested in it that they will never be able to afford it.”

“Maybe,” Felicity said, “but it doesn’t make sense to make it affordable before we know how to make it work properly. I have a couple of ideas for both developments that are needed, but we have to take one step at a time. The product is only promising if it works properly. As long as it doesn’t work properly, it can’t be on the market anyway.”

“But it would be like holding out a treasure for the people and telling them that they will never get it,” Oliver said. “It’s not fair.”

“It will give them hope,” Felicity objected, shaking her head. “If we make this work, even if we run out of money doing so, it’s still a greater success. People might even donate us money to help moving this project along if we really lose all our money.”

Oliver didn’t even want to think about what would happen if the company’s money was going to get lost during the first project he and Felicity had decided to take on. His father would probably behead him since the company had spruced those last years under his leadership.

“And you really think that we can make it work?” Oliver asked. “To make the biostimulant work and to make it affordable?”

Felicity cocked her head and narrowed her eyes at him teasingly. “What happened to If someone can make it work, it’s her?”

Oliver puckered his lips and nodded his head slightly. She was right. He had said that he trusted her to make this project successful after all. So all doubts aside, he should actually trust her now that she had trust in the success of the project.

“You are right,” he said. “If you say we can make it, we will make it.”

“Good, Partner.” Felicity smiled proudly. “Let me take care of the work at the implant and just make sure we are not running out of money in the meantime.”

Oliver chuckled. “Don’t worry about that, Partner. I already have an idea where we can spare some money to invest in the further developments.”

They smiled at each other for a long moment, both relieved that they had come to an agreement in this. They had put the discussion about what to do with this project at the very end of their long work day because they had feared it would take a lot of time to decide what to do about it. That just hadn’t been the case.

“We make a pretty good team, you and I,” Oliver said, and there was no surprise in his voice. “An even better one than I thought we’d make.”

Felicity’s smile widened. “We just complement each other perfectly. You know the company and where to scrape together some money. I understand what we are working on and know what is needed to be innovative in this branch.”

“Absolutely.” Oliver nodded his head in agreement and leaned back in his chair. “But I think that’s enough for today.”

“Thank God,” Felicity replied with a sigh that turned into a chuckle at the expression that spread on his face. “My head’s already spinning. I am not used to working through papers for so long. It’s the part I leave up to you gladly.”

“Hey, if you go down to the nerds in our operating departments, sure.”

Felicity chuckled. “Don’t worry. I speak Nerdish fluently.”

“Oh, I know you do. You are one of them after all.”

There was a long moment of silence as they were catching their breaths after the long time of work. They had only made a brief pause to grab some lunch. After that, they had gone right back to work, so it was no surprise that they needed some time to recover now. As much as they had enjoyed working together and as quickly as the time had seemed to pass, it had still been a long time of work.

Back in high school, when Felicity had studied with Oliver for every test and every exam they had had, time hadn’t passed so quickly. Every moment had been torture to him. Only the fact that Felicity had been there with him and had tried to add some fun to the learning had made him go through with it anyway.

It was different now since they were working together at equals. Oliver could still learn a lot from Felicity as she knew better than anyone else what all the developments their employees were coming up with meant. Maybe for the first time in their lives, Felicity could learn something from Oliver too though. She could learn the ropes of the company and the finances that made her work possible.

It was a good feeling.

Eventually, Oliver cleared his throat. “So, how are things between you and Carter? Did you fully move in with him yet?”

A grin spread on Felicity’s face, but she tried to bite it back when she answered, “Yes, I did. His apartment is incredible. It’s in an old building with high ceilings and a lot of old double doors. It’s lovely. You and McKenna should visit us someday.”

Oliver released a strangled noise. Just thinking about going to visit Carter Bowen seemed ridiculous. It was Carter Bowen after all.

At the quite sad expression that spread on Felicity’s face, he regretted it though. Felicity was trying to really get to know McKenna, so he owed it to Felicity to do the same for Carter.

He grabbed Felicity’s hand on the tabletop and squeezed it comfortingly until she lifted her gaze and locked eyes with him. He squeezed her hand once more, stroking his thumb over the knuckles of her fingers.

“I am trying,” he told her. “I promise I will do my best and really try to get to know Carter and maybe even like him.”

Felicity sighed and turned more towards him. Her fingers held onto his hand when she lifted her other hand to stroke her fingers through his stubble. She always did that in this gentle way that Oliver enjoyed so much.

“I know it’s rough for you because of how your mother always made Carter look like the perfect son,” she said, “but it’s all I am asking from you. Just try.”

Oliver nodded his head. He knew it would be impossibly hard, not just because it was Carter, they were talking about but also because it was about Felicity. When Thea had had her first serious boyfriend, Oliver had made sure the guy knew exactly what would happen to him if he hurt his little sister. Felicity was just as important to him as Thea, and he wanted to spare her heart from any heartbreak as much as he had wanted to spare Thea’s.

If Carter was the one Felicity had given her heart to, he would do his best to respect that. Even though it would be hard.

“Have you and McKenna made any progress with the wedding planning yet?” Felicity asked eventually and pulled both of her hands back to loosen her hair tie and redo her high ponytail once more. “It’s about time I’d say.”

“We want to meet later today,” Oliver told her. “And speaking of, I’d like you to come too. I think McKenna and I could use your help since you are probably the only one who is able to keep my mother in check?”

“I am?”

Oliver chuckled. “I think she’s still trying to stay in your good graces, almost like she thinks you might become her daughter-in-law after all.”

“I am not.”

“You and I know that,” Oliver replied with a wide grin, “but I doubt she does.”

Felicity chuckled, but it ended in a sigh. They both knew that their mothers would probably never lose hope that they would get together one day. They had quit being too obvious about it, especially since they were both engaged to someone else now, but Oliver didn’t doubt that they had abandoned that hope of one day yet.

“Now, is that the only reason you want me to be there?”  There was a playful smile on Felicity’s lips when she perked up her eyebrows and cocked her head. “Or is there something else?”

Oliver grinned, knowing exactly what to do. Since McKenna had already mentioned to her that he wanted her to be his best woman, he guessed she wanted to be asked officially, so that would be exactly what she’d get.

Getting up from his chair, Oliver stepped next to Felicity’s chair. He turned it around at the armrests, so she was facing him. His grin widened when Felicity leaned back and looked up at him with an amused sparkle in her eyes.

“Felicity Meghan Smoak.” His voice was soft as he spoke and got down on one knee in front of her, feeling his heartbeat quickening a little though he couldn’t really say why. She chuckled, slapping her hands in front of her mouth, but Oliver took one of her hand to hold it between both of his. He waited until she looked at him again. “You have been and still are the best friend I ever had. We have gone through so much together, and I want you to be there when I take the next important step in my life. So, will you please do me the honor of becoming my best woman?”

Felicity chuckled, nodding her head. “Of course I will.”

“Yes?”

“Yes, of course.”

They both beamed at each other for a moment before Oliver got up, pulling Felicity up onto her feet too. He wrapped his arms around her waist and lifted her into his arms slightly the way he had when he had picked her up from the train station ten days ago.

“You’re crazy, you know that?”

Oliver chuckled. “Maybe a little.”

He set Felicity back to the floor and smiled at her happily. She straightened up onto the tip of her toes and kissed his cheek, making him smile only more.

“So, how about we celebrate our successful first decisions as well as me being your best woman now with a drink?” Felicity glanced at her watch briefly. “I mean it’s only four, so it might be a little bit early, but I think we deserve it.”

Oliver scrunched up his nose. “I would love to, but I actually have someplace to be.”

Felicity perked up her eyebrows. “With McKenna?”

There was a moment of hesitation. Oliver almost felt like this was a déjà-vu since he had had almost the same conversation with McKenna this morning. It almost seemed like the two most important women in his life were jealous of one another. The thought only made him chuckle and shake his head though.

“No,” he replied. “It’s something else.”

Felicity looked at him expectantly, waiting for him to go a little bit more into detail. For the break of a second, he even considered telling her where he was going. She would be the first to know. Though Oliver knew that, if he ever told someone about his secret hobby, it would be her, he couldn’t bring himself to tell her. Not yet.

“What?” she asked when Oliver shook his head. “You are not telling me?”

“No, I am not.”

Oliver chuckled at the incredulous expression on her face and took the jacket of his suit to put it on. He had taken it off at some point to roll up the sleeves of his white shirt and made himself a little bit more comfortable. He buttoned the topmost buttons of his shirt and straightened his tie a little.

“I can’t believe you aren’t telling me,” Felicity said, her voice still of disbelief, as she watched him packing together his stuff. “This is the second secret you are keeping from me now. What happened to our friendship?”

Oliver chuckled. He knew she was trying to guilt him into telling her, but he wouldn’t let her succeed. The secret he was keeping was a good one, and he wanted to keep it to himself for just a little while longer. One day he would tell her, and he was sure she’d understand.

“Our friendship is still perfect,” Oliver told Felicity leaning forward over the back of her chair and kissed her cheek like she had kissed his before. “I will see you tonight.”

“See you tonight,” Felicity agreed. “Secretmonger.”

Oliver only chuckled and shook his head once more as he walked out of the door. He knew Felicity wasn’t taking offense at the fact he wasn’t telling her the truth. He knew her too well to think she really meant it.

* * *

Once his car was safe in the parking lot, Oliver turned off the engine and made a mental note to use his motorcycle when he came here the next time. His cross-country vehicle just wasn’t the best choice when he was heading into the Glades. There weren’t enough parking lots, and the ones there were just weren’t big enough for his car.

Oliver got out of his car and locked the car as he quickly walked around it to the sidewalk. He stayed there for a moment, looking at the little building in front of him. Pride filled his chest as he looked at the big sign over the red doors.

The Geek Squad.

This building, what was inside and everything it stood for was what made his life worth living. The work he was doing at Queen Consolidated was important. The project he and Felicity were working on was supposed to give people hope. She was the one who would do most of the work there though. He was just making sure there was enough money for her to implement her plans. With The Geek Squad it was different though. This was all his.

Oliver took a quick look around to make sure nobody he knew and no reporter from the tabloids was here. Of course none of his friends and not even the most desperate reporter would follow him into the Glades. Most people he knew were avoiding getting here as the neighborhood was known to be dangerous because of the poverty the citizens here were suffering from.

It was why the Glades had been the perfect place for him to build The Geek Squad. The people he wanted to help – people who didn’t have the money to reach their goals alone and who didn’t have the money for their children to reach their goals either – were living here, and he could help them without being praised for it at all.

He knew it was probably weird that he didn’t want to be praised for the charity he was doing. Unlike his mother, who was doing charity work to be praised for it in the local newspaper as well as by her friends, Oliver didn’t want any of that. He just wanted to do this because he was right. He wanted to do this because he knew how important it was that girls of low-income families that were interested in STEM had to be supported. Their interests and their skills had to be supported early.

Oliver smiled, looking at the building. This was his baby. Unlike the company and all of his money that he was just inheriting from his father, this was something he had built from scratch. It was why it was the one thing in his life he was most proud of.

With another quick look around, Oliver finally crossed the sidewalk and snuck into the building. Behind the wide red doors, there was a large entrance room. The cheap PVC floor coating had a certain smell to it, just like the old wallpaper. Maybe one day Oliver would replace them with something that had less smell to it

For now, floor coating and wallpapers were the least of his worries though. Much more importantly was that the girls who were coming here regularly got a chance to really live their hobby and have their fun. He wanted them to learn something here, something neither the schools they were going to nor their parents had the money to offer them.

Stepping towards the reception where Rosalie Norris, the reliable and always friendly secretary, was working, he leaned his forearms onto the top of the counter and looked at her. Rosalie was completely focused on something on the monitor of her computer. Oliver was almost sure that he would see some cat videos playing there if he just turned his head to look at the monitor. He didn’t care enough to actually take a look though.

“Hi.”

Rosalie flinched as she turned around to him. Her cheeks reddened and she put her hand to her heart as she quickly closed the window on her computer. Only then she turned around to him more and looked at Oliver with an almost smitten smile.

“I am sorry,” she said, smiling widely. “I didn’t see you, Mr. Smoak.”

Mr. Smoak. Now that Felicity was actually living in Starling City again, it seemed a little weird that he had decided to use the surname Smoak to hide his real identity. It had just been the first name that had come to his mind when he had been asked about his surname. Felicity had been a part of his life for so long that her name came so natural to him. It had fallen from his name as easily as his real surname would have.

He was sure that most people would think it was weird that he was hiding his real name even from the people working here with him. The name Queen was quite popular in Starling City though. He was sure that if he had used his real surname, it would have already become public that he was leading this center.

“Don’t worry about it, Rosalie,” Oliver replied. “I haven’t waited for long. I guess it’s quiet today?”

It was quiet most days. Oliver wasn’t sure if The Geek Squad just needed more advertisement to make interested girl know there was a place they could go or if maybe there weren’t enough girls interested in this. Maybe he should just be happy there was a handful of girls he was able to help.

“Actually, there is a new girl that is interested.”

Oliver perked up his eyebrows. “There is?”

Rosalie nodded, smiling happily. “Yes, there is. Her name is Josephina, and she is eight years old. Carrie is currently showing her around.”

Oliver nodded. Carrie, as little as he thought of her as a person, was good at making girls like The Geek Squad. She was just able to convince them of this project better than Oliver was able to convince them of it. He guessed with his broad chest and defined muscles he was rather terrifying for the young girls.

“Thank you, Rosalie.”

“You are very welcome.” Rosalie smiled. “Mr. Smoak.”

Mr. Smoak. Oliver doubted that he’d ever get tired of being called that. There was just something to the way that name rang that he liked very much. It was probably the fact that it reminded him of old times when he had called Felicity Ms. Smoak during her internships at Queen Consolidated. He had loved teasing her like that.

Straightening his shoulders and taking in a deep breath, he left the reception and headed around the next corner into the hallway that led to the laboratories where the interested girls could try some tech stuff. His small office was somewhere there too.

He had just turned the corner when he already saw Carrie with a little girl by her side. The girl was smiling all over her face. Her braided plait was jumping up and down with her bouncing steps. He guessed that she liked what Carrie had showed to her.

“And that, Josie, is Mr. Smoak,” Carrie said gesturing towards Oliver. “He’s the one who built The Geek Squad.”

Smiling Oliver went down on his knees, so he didn’t look that frighteningly tall. Josephina hesitated for a moment before she walked over to him and reached out her hand for him.

“Hello, Mr. Smoak.”

Oliver smiled, shaking her head. “Hi, Josie. Did Carrie show you everything?”

Josie nodded. “She let me try the microscopes in the laboratory, and it was so cool. I looked at one of my hairs under it.”

“That’s indeed very cool,” Oliver replied, his smile widening given how happy Josie was. “If you come here again, you can look at my hair or Carrie’s hair or maybe the hair of your pet. Or maybe you want to try something else.”

“No, I want to see more under the microscope,” Josie replied. “We once used them in biology, but they aren’t as good as the ones here.”

“Yeah, we spent a lot of money on finding the best microscopes,” Oliver told her, “so if you want to use them, you just have to come back.”

Josie nodded excitedly. “I will. It’s so cool.”

Oliver smiled. When he had been at her age, or any age really, he doubted he would have had interest in microscopes. Anything that would have remotely reminded him of school couldn’t have been cool. School just hadn’t been something he had had fun at. Ever.

“Do you have someone to take you here?” Oliver asked Josephina. “Can your mom or your dad bring you here? You shouldn’t walk through the neighborhood alone.”

Josie shrugged her shoulders. “I always walk alone.”

There was no sadness in her voice because she probably didn’t know it any other way. Her words made Oliver sad though. No kid should walk through the Glades alone and feel like it was okay that way. He didn’t know if her parents had to work all day and couldn’t afford for someone to take care of Josie or if they just didn’t care enough. Either way it was sad, and he hoped that The Geek Squad would offer a safe place for Josie to stay.

“Mr. Smoak?”

Oliver perked up his eyebrows and smiled at her. “Yes?”

“Why did you call this The Geek Squad?”

The smile on Oliver’s lips widened even more and grew even softer. It had taken him a long time to decide on a name for this organization. Once he had found it, he had known that he had been blind before.

“You know, I have a very good friend, my best friend in the whole wide world actually,” Oliver said, “and she is unbelievably smart. I have never met anyone who is as smart as her. She is a real nerd, and her friend, her other friends, were nerds too. That is why I always called them The Geek Squad.”

“So you named it after them?”

“Actually,” Oliver said and cleared his voice quietly, “I named it after her. Whenever I read the name The Geek Squad, I have to think about her and I am reminded why I am doing this.”

“And why are you doing this?”

Oliver grinned. He loved if kids were nosy. Nosiness was the key to learning. He was pretty sure Felicity had said something like that to him year ago.

“I am doing this because my best friend-“

“-the one you named this The Geek Squad for.”

“Exactly.” Oliver chuckled. “She is very smart, but she was also very poor. Her father left the family and her mother didn’t have the money to support her interests. I don’t think that she really understood it either. She got help from someone though, someone who did have the money to support her and that is why she was able to go to MIT and make all her dreams come true.”

“She couldn’t do so herself?”

“Maybe she could have done,” Oliver replied honestly, “because she is not just smart but also incredibly strong. I still think it has been a lot easier with the way it has been for her. She didn’t have to work a crappy job to finance her studies, and she doesn’t have to pay debts for the rest of her life.”

Josie nodded. “What’s her name?”

Oliver smiled. “It’s Felicity.”

“Felicity.” Megan repeated the name in a soft whisper. “That’s a nice name.”

“She’s a nice person.” Oliver’s smile widened. “She’s the best.”

There was no doubt in his voice. In all the years he had known Felicity, he had always known that she was the one person he really needed in his life.

When Josie eventually left, he was left alone in the hallway with Carrie. She stepped closer to him, inappropriately close maybe. Her chin was almost resting on his upper arm. Oliver stepped a little aside.

“I gotta go to the office now,” he said, clearing his throat. “I have some orders to make.”

Carrie perked up her eyebrows. “New projects, Mr. Smoak?”

“Yes,” Oliver replied. “I want to expand our possibilities a little.”

“That sounds promising.”

Carrie fluttered her eyelashes. When she took a step towards him, already reaching out her hands to touch him, Oliver stepped away quickly.

“I gotta go now. Bye, Carrie.”

He hurried to his office and closed the door behind him. By now, he was quite talented at sneaking away from Carrie Cutter. Since he had hired her to work here, she had tried to flirt with him. Sometimes she was more aggressive and sometimes she was less aggressive. Either way, Oliver had always managed to sneak away from her though even if he had had to get creative about it sometimes.

With a sigh, Oliver walked over to his small desk and sat down behind it. His so-called office was more like a cubby, but he didn’t mind. As long as he was here, he didn’t need a big office like the one he had at QC. All the money he was investing into this organization was money that should benefit the girls that were coming here to learn something. That was what mattered.

Oliver switched on his laptop and went through the order he had already finished. He added a couple more things to order before he sent it. He didn’t want to go too big with this organization because he wanted the girls of the Glades to feel safe to come here.

Leaning back in his chair with a sigh, Oliver looked at the photo he had placed at the right edge of the desk. It showed him and Felicity on her high school graduation. It still amazed him how she had managed to graduate a year before him although she was a year younger had been through the loss of her father and her home in young years.

No matter what life had thrown at her, Felicity hadn’t let anything stop herself from going the way she needed to go and becoming the person she wanted to become. She had been strong and she had continued fighting to make her dreams come true.

He knew that his parents had been a great help because they had managed to offer Donna and Felicity a place to stay. They had given their lives stability after Noah Kuttler had left them with a life that could have easily broken down like a card house. They surely had helped for Felicity to reach what she had dreamed of.

Still, Oliver knew that Felicity had done a lot for that herself. She had never given up to ask questions and to continue learning. She had never let the complications of her life stop her from following her dreams.

She was probably the most inspirational person he had ever met.

If it wasn’t for her, he might have never built something like this. With his privileged life, he might have never seen how much other people were struggling. His life had been so easy that he would have probably been blind for the struggle of others if it hadn’t been for Felicity.

Knowing Felicity had made him realize that people not being able to reach their dreams had nothing to do with the fact that they weren’t trying enough or the fact that they didn’t have any dreams in the first place. Instead, it was just because they were growing up in the wrong circumstances.

In the Glades, people didn’t have money. They had to work crappy job to afford the basic necessities in life. He doubted there were a lot of parents that could offer their children good education programs in addition to school. The kids were lucky if they were able to get to school safely in the first place.

Girls, even girls from well-earning families, had trouble establishing themselves in STEM because it was still a male-dominated branch. Girls from low-income families had even more trouble because their skills weren’t even supported in the first place. Their talents just got lost in their crappy circumstances surrounding their lives.

If he could just help one single girl to become successful in STEM, it would have all been worth it. Just one single girl.

* * *

@fannaz @promiseyoullbepatientwithme @bytemegeekette @felicity-said-just-in-case @phanseptiic @orangeisorange @mspotatohead14 @whentheheavenfades @emmaamelia95 @smoakingskye @seaolicity @ourwritinginvein @1022bridgetp @felicityqueenforever @leagueofolicity17 @yryssss @myhauntedblacksoul @sherlock44 @sinceriouslybea @arrowsalways @olivyflavescentdeer @olicitys-castle @ofnothingcharming @vaelisamaza @smoakedandcharmed @alexisa1206 @mysaudadespt2 @florence-bubbles @addictiontelly @queens-of-arrows @memcjo @hysterical-for-joshifer @oswinelevenforever @olicitylovemaking @bandanab310 @mymusiclove101 @lynslogic @scarletqueen23 @olicityshipper19 @alex-wesley @arrows-4ever @unabashedlynerdypatrol @louehmysoul @ligiapimenta @chattyyana @charlie-leau @coal000 @samcrowleys @ishippolivia @julianegomesqueen @malafle @miriam1779 @charlinert @melaux @ontheolicityship @myshipperlife @wrightainsley @lexi9515 @ladygreenwood @multi-fandom-crazy-fangirl @morinamel @mje-thomas @kebarry @canadianheartgirl @nannett2307 @almondblossomme @paarti12 @kathrynelizabeth89 @imdfabulous @cutearrowgirl @mrt2501 @mecha1330 @arsipaci14 @mzminx @salasvia @brandis91 @cainc3 @morganmiguess @pr0fessi0nal-fangurl @iamisalima @nessafrancis-blog @jonhdiggle @niki-is-amazing @universed-posts @hopeful-warrior @senoritaswiftie @bellemmie @green-arrows-of-karamel @iheartarrow @olicityovereverything @oliverfel4 @navyaarsha @fandoms-breathe-life @simone4mcswarek @olicity-in-the-heart @fullychippedcreation @geemarie @everything-but-normal-cat @myarroworld @tjmartinez @pleasantfanandstudent @itsmagnoliagirl @j69confessional2 @scentedcolorpirate @icanica74 @javinancupil @tjmartinez98 @certainmentalityface @tatianadamaceno @ryelew @wildwillowzepplin @missafairy @letsplaymurde-r @lipizette @positivepiper @nuttymilkshakehologram @laksagirl @turnupthemusicandscream @pumpernickle93 @onceuponanolicity @1106angel @jaspertown @fadinglands @morganashimi83 @mochababychristy @omglovechrissie @mariejr88-blog @thetaufactor @onceuponanolicity @speakandseethetruth @bri206 @aglasgo @thats0klaroline @geemarie @pineprincess @nerdgirljen @peterpanslostgirl666 @eternal-olicity14 @allyouhadtodowas-stay-stay-stay @lovelycssefan @tsseract @flowerandsunshine @dcnmarvelgamergeek @blondeeoneexox @monetsmark @soaring-cities @bb-olicity @mashamarty @rulerofsilence @erika-amber @felicity087 @i-claim-only-emily @pattid1 @westallenandolicityshipper @babyolicityandwestallen @nothingmorethanmyotps @kayleenyc @tonto16 @olicityfluv @olicitea1990 @olicity5ever @haahaaa2408 @pattid1 @faegal04 @24karatgem @wrldtravler @readerkas @valery6488 @lemmyeatspeaches @24karatgem

(If you want to be tagged or untagged, just let me know. :))

[rabid-dog-steve-horn]

If you have a chance to see Brian Kibler or any band he's involved in I suggest you do you won't be disappointed.

I'm not just saying that because he's my friend, he's a very talented singer, songwriter, and guitarist. Undiscovered talent.

If you do see Brian Kibler tell him you saw a Steve Horn post on Tumblr, he'll appreciate that.

(so will I)

[stickifingers]

This is Colombian flan (Leche Asada Tia Maria) - what Aussies call creme caramel. But so different. And that's not all. New in #myhood is @berbeobros serving Colombian street food by @chefjuanitoberbeo of @pastusorestaurant. It's casual and open until midnight on Saturday, 11pm weeknights is a win - we're late eaters and staggering distance from it. We really enjoyed our meal. Unlike a lot of street food around the world - which can be heavy going and greasy - I found Juan's Colombian food to have a light touch ... and of course it was delicious. It seems Colombians, like South Asians - enjoy the mix of sweet and savoury with a small kick of spiciness on the side. So another thumbs up from me. We ordered Choripan - Juanito's chorizo in bread with pickled red onions and salsa; Juanito's special arepa with Colombian morcilla la mona - again not as heavy as European black pudding; Berbeo Lechona - rice stuffed suckling pig roasted for 12 hours; caramelized plantain with mozarella cheese and panela, butter and cinnamon. All were served in small stainless steel bowls, which allows you to grab a selection of tastes. I want to try many more items. Along with the flan for dessert we also shared arepuelas de diosa, a fried arepa or perhaps in the Aussie way of thinking a flapjack, served with berries and we asked for dulce de leche too. Perfect with tinto, a short coffee with panela. There's a selection of Colombian soft drinks - ask for an explanation - and a liquor license has been applied for. Juan already has franchise plans brewing for CBD, interstate and overseas with a production kitchen onsite there to service the outlets. If you're in Melbourne and curious to try it, Berbeo Bros is opposite The Palace Hotel at the Port Melbourne end of City Road, opposite the Palace Hotel. Plenty of free parking around there. #melbourneeats #streetfood #southmelbourne #PortMelbourne #colombianfood (at Berbeobros Colombian Street Food) https://www.instagram.com/p/B65brpLANpU/?igshid=1ota5qhj1lxn6

[huffleporg]

At long last, it’s finally here... just in time for you to read before the third season drops.

The Coffeeshop Fire [T] Chapter Six || From the beginning

 Down in the Beverage District, a work of investigative journalism into the rivalry between two coffee shops leads to four calls to the City Health Inspector's office from J.S., three detentions, two fires, and one broken sugar bowl.

The trolley was far more crowded than she had expected it to be this early on a Saturday morning. When she had boarded the trolley with Duncan, they had needed to stand for a couple of stops before there was enough room on the bench for the both of them to sit down. With a sigh, Isadora rested her head on her brother’s shoulder and closed her eyes, wishing she were back in bed. The next thing she was aware of was Duncan shrugging vigorously to try to jostle her awake.

“I’m up,” she said, groggily. “Are we there?” She rubbed her eyes and looked out the window at the still dark shops that the trolley rumbled past.

“No, next stop,” Duncan answered. As Isadora let out a yawn, he smiled and said, “You should get a cup of Joe when we get to The Firebrand.”

Isadora rolled her eyes. She felt the trolley already beginning to slow down. “Right, because that bathroom there looks like just the sort of place I want to spend the day in before getting taken to the hospital.” The thought of the cramped, smelly washroom was enough to make Isadora shudder. If there was one disgusting thing she hoped her boss did, it would be that he would never ask her to clean that room. She doubted anyone, even someone with an iron constitution and an arm with the strength of steel could do anything about the rust and lime.

Duncan got to his feet. “To be fair, the water does get boiled, so if you were to get a cup that was reasonably clean and just let the whole thing drip over into your cup instead of into one of those pots… then maybe you wouldn’t come down with dysentery. Maybe.” They started walking towards the front of the trolley, even though it still was moving on the track. “I want to know who he’s bribing in the Health Inspector’s office,” Duncan said, his voice dropping so low that Isadora could barely hear it over the breaks. “No way he can legally be allowed to keep the place that disgusting.”

Offering a small nod, Isadora agreed. “I’d lick that bench before I ate something made there.”

The trolley came to a screeching stop, and two triplets disembarked from the trolley and started their way down the roads that had become increasingly familiar over the past few days. They passed few people on the street: a couple shopkeepers opening up for business, some harried business people rushing by with shiny shoes and briefcases. As they crossed officially into the beverage distract, they were welcomed by the snoring of a man on a flight of stairs leading up to the second floor apartments from an establishment the two wouldn’t be allowed in for several years yet.

In the end, it was too much to bear, To bother climbing up that last stair.

She turned to her brother, eager to share her latest composition, but as the two of them rounded the corner onto final block, her mouth dropped open. “They can’t be…” she started. Even though each step brought her closer to the small line of people that lead out the door, she couldn’t accept that they were all waiting to go into The Firebrand.

“‘Curiouser and curiouser,’” breathed Duncan, quoting one of their favorite books. He pulled his commonplace book out and flipped to page that already had several barely legible notes hastily scribbled there. In a few quick strokes he added, Line. 6 outside. He returned the notebook to his shirt pocket - a worn shirt that he had technically outgrown, but could still wear when the situation called for clothing that was going to wind up wrecked.

Silently, the two continued towards the coffee shop, trying to avoid staring at those lined up the way that they had seen children gape at animals in the zoo. As they bypassed the line, there were a few grumblings. “We work here,” Isadora said, almost adding an ‘unfortunately’ after. She pushed open the door to find the line continued across the sawdust strewn floor all the way up to the register. Instead of Count Olaf waiting for them behind the counter, two unfamiliar men busily took orders, poured coffee, and managed the cash register.

The tall, bald one caught sight of them after handing a styrofoam cup to a pinch-nosed woman and nudged his companion. The shorter man spun around to face the Quagmires. Isadora had to exercise extreme self-control to not let her eyes widen or linger as she realized that instead of hands the man had two hooks. She forced herself to look up, meeting the man’s gaze.

“Twins!” he said. “Don’t just stand around.”

The triplets approached the men, sending up bits of sawdust with each step.

With his two hooks, the short man motioned for them to come around behind the counter. Duncan and Isadora obliged.

“Pour,” the bald one said, forcing a full pot of steaming coffee into Isadora’s hands.

Unprepared to properly hold the hot glass, Isadora instinctively grasped her hands around the pot, only to a moment later let out a cry of pain. The coffee pot plummeted to the floor with a clank and a shatter. As the scalding liquid seeped through her sneakers and soaked her jeans, Isadora heard the tall man say, “Boss isn’t going to like that.”

The hook-handed man glanced up from the cash register. “He did say not to expect much.”

Isadora could feel a heat building on the back of her neck that had nothing to do with the steaming coffee that now soaked her bottom half. Though they had not worked there long and she had found none of the work to her liking, Isadora instinctively wanted to defend the small dent she and her brother had made in the mess that was this establishment.

“Am I going to have to wait for another pot to brew?” whined the customer standing at the register. “I’ll be late.”

“Not to worry,” said the hook-handed man brightly. “We always have several pots going this time of day.”

The bald man took a styrofoam cup from the stack on the counter and handed it to Duncan before directing him to the several pots of coffee in various states of brewing or emptiness. “Give him the house blend,” he said.

Duncan looked apprehensively at the brews and glanced up at the bald man. “And that’s the…” He reached out and took the nearest pot. When the man didn’t object, he poured the coffee and walked over to the cash register.

“Now you,” said the man, returning his attention to Isadora, who still stood in the middle of the cooling puddle, “do you think you can grind the coffee without sticking your fingers in the grinder? We don’t need to lose any more hands.” With a nod of his shiny head, he indicated the hook-handed man who was pressing the buttons of the cash register as adroitly as if they were his natively.

If it was meant to be a joke, she wasn’t laughing. “I don’t think it will be an issue,” said Isadora with gritted teeth. Between the implications over her own abilities and the insensitivity of the comment, Isadora was fairly sure her newest co-worker was a fairly despicable man. But, she reminded herself as she took her position at the large coffee bean grinder, this was a fairly despicable place.

She knew better than to wait for instructions. No one here seemed to be interested in giving either triplet proper training, and she didn’t want to summon the bald man or his annoyance. Assessing the grinder, she thought it looked straightforward enough. A scoop rested in one of several glass jars of beans of slightly varying shades. She reached in and filled the scoop with beans, transferring them to the waiting grinder. She minded the blades, unsure whether the brown stuff on them was rust or coffee grounds. She closed the lid and pressed the button. Instantly, a vibration coursed through her arms, and she held the button down tighter with both hands until finally she felt a change in the movement. As she opened up the grinder, she paused.

The rich fragrance of the earthy grounds wafted up to her. She had smelled fresh coffee before – her parents drank it every morning, and the teachers’ lounge always seemed to have a pot brewing whenever she passed it on her way to Language Arts. The scent had always struck her as an acrid, sharp sensation, strong enough to make her wonder just why adults bothered with the stuff. The grounds she had just made, however, invited her in, asking her to breathe deeply to fill herself with more of the ambrosial aroma.

She straightened up and turned to her brother, meeting his gaze. From the bemused expression on his face, Isadora immediately knew that Duncan had come to the exact same conclusion she had. The Firebrand’s house blend was something extraordinary.

***

As the earliest inklings of awareness crept up on her, the first thing Kit noticed was the sharp coolness of the air around her exposed leg dangling over the side of the bed. She tucked her leg back under the warmth of the blankets and rolled onto her side, facing Dewey. She pressed herself against him so her face was propped up on his shoulder into the crook of his neck and squeezed her eyes shut tighter and listened to the steady rhythm of his breathing, hoping it would help her find sleep again. It was Saturday, and she had absolutely no reason to be up quite this early. Just as she had started to drift off, the alarm clock reminded her that that was not the case for Dewey. He stirred underneath her. Wrapping her left arm around his bare chest she murmured, “Dewey.”

The alarm clock rudely blared on.

Kit could feel Dewey shifting as he reached for the clock radio on the nightstand. The loud beeping mercifully ceased. Groaning, Dewey pushed himself up into a sitting position, forcing Kit to rest her head on the ridge of his hip.

“Kit,” the librarian said softly.

Kit hummed into the skin his thigh and tightened her grip around him.

“Kit.”

She could hear the smile in his voice.

“I know you don’t like it when I work weekends, but if the library is going to be open, somebody had to be there.”

“Can’t we just stay like this,” she mumbled, her lips kissing him with each syllable. “Just for a few minutes.” Mornings like this were supposed to be savored, not rushed through.

“Last time a few minutes turned into an hour, and Hal was beside himself.”

She forced herself into a sitting position, allowing Dewey to throw the covers off himself and planting both his feet down on the worn wooden floor. She watched as he walked to the chair where his robe hung. A soft sigh of disappointment escaped her lips as he wrapped himself in the dark red fabric, which earned an appreciative smirk from the librarian as he made his way to the closet. Ink snaked himself between Dewey’s footsteps, meowing to remind them of his favorite part of their morning routine.

“I’ll get him his breakfast,” said Kit, abandoning the covers that had become noticeably cooler without her bedmate. She picked up the sleep-shirt that had been forgotten the night before and tugged it over her head. As she freed her dirty blonde hair from the back of the shirt, she continued, “And make us some… are there eggs?”

“Did you do the shopping?”

Kit looked up at the ceiling and sighed, “Guess I’ll improvise something.” She had known she was forgetting something yesterday, but between teaching two classes, office hours, and a meeting with a first year who had failed yet another exam, she had lost her to-do list. At least she had remembered to go to the pharmacy and buy stamps. Two out of three tasks wasn’t bad. Then again, she had failed the student who gotten that same percentage on the exam. “I’ll be sure to go today.”

“I can pick them up,” said Dewey, arms now laiden with the outfit he had picked out.

“No, I’ll do it,” Kit insisted. She picked up the pen on her bedside table and after a few tries managed to scrawl out E-G-G-S on her forearm. “See.” She pointed to the large letters. “I won’t forget it now. I’ll be reading Lemony’s book, and I’ll look down and…” She feigned a theatrical expression of surprise that she knew was better than ones she had seen certain actors give on stage, “I’ll remember! We need eggs!”

Detouring towards her, Dewey shook his head and gave her a quick kiss. “We need eggs… and about ten other things. I’ll write you a list.”

An annoyed yowl came from the doorway.

“I know, I know,” Kit told the black cat as she headed towards the kitchen. “Let’s get you that breakfast.”

***

Weary monotony did not mix well with the sharp clip of the morning crowd at The Firebrand. Isadora emptied what had to be the hundredth soggy coffee filter out, and for the first time when she looked up, there wasn’t a grouchy businessman staring back at her, annoyed by how long it was taking to get coffee. She turned to Duncan. “What was that?” she said, leaning against the counter.

“Saturday morning,” supplied the hook-handed man.

“You should see a weekday morning,” said the bald man.

Duncan shrugged his shoulders and pulled out his commonplace book to make a few quick strokes before he shoved it back in his pocket. “You get a lot of business, then?”

Both men nodded.

“I’m… it’s a little… I’m,” began Duncan, casting his gaze from the overflowing trash bin to the grimy windows. “Surprised.” The word came out higher and softer than how he usually spoke.

Not seeming to notice Duncan’s implication, “It’s the best coffee in the city,” said the hook-handed man while the other nodded. The man spoke with such absolute certainty and pride that Isadora for a moment actually considered taking a cup for herself before she remembered exactly where she was and just how little she wanted anything from here inside her mouth.

“Boss has some of the best connections,” the man went on. “He knows which growers make the best stuff, knows the roasters and distributors, and every brew in here is an original.”

Isadora didn’t exactly follow what the shorter man was saying, but Duncan seemed to have caught on. “So they’re all unique? Uniquely crafted blends?” the investigative journalist asked.

Both adults nodded.

“Envy of all coffee shops in the city,” the bald man said in a deep voice.

“Even though it looks like this?” Isadora couldn’t stop herself from saying.

“Like what?” the tall one asked.

Isadora bit her lip and glanced over to Duncan who sighed. She hoped that she hadn’t said something that would jeopardize his ability to ask questions. “It’s not really… it’s not like the other coffee shops here,” she stammered. “Very… very unique.” She had no idea how they could not be completely aware of how unhygienic the place seemed. Even accounting for various standards of cleanliness, The Firebrand was still a mess.

“People like unique,” the hook-handed man said.

Perhaps Count Olaf paid them well enough so their loyalty was bought - even if they were completely aware of just how terrible their working conditions were, or they were somehow brainwashed. Isadora made a mental note to tell Duncan her theory as soon as they were alone as she watched the tall man excuse himself and make his way to the back room.

With no instructions as to what to do during this lull in sales - or return back to the usual level of business at The Firebrands - Isadora looked around for something to do. Making more coffee grounds seemed entirely pointless at this time, so she picked up a sad and soggy sponge from the sink. It was hard to tell if it was originally grey or if it had become grey. As she wrung the sponge out, she scowled at the color of the liquid that emerged. It was better than nothing though, and she quickly busied herself with wiping down the counter. A glance over at her brother, and she could see that he was putting a new garbage can liner in, the old bag already out and tied.

Done, Duncan picked up the full garbage bag and headed in the direction of the back rooms, only to nearly collide with the tall man as he re-emerged from behind the dirty sheet divider.

“Gunther’s here,” he said, providing emphasis on the unfamiliar name.

The effect on the hook handed man was instantaneous. His eyes widened before he let out a sigh. “Remember your omelets,” he said softly. At the identical confused expressions of his newest co-workers, he clarified, “You know the little-” he held up his arms and punctuated the air with both of his hooks, making a popping noise, “dots. On the u.”

“Do you mean umlauts?” Duncan asked. Isadora could hear the laughter hidden in his voice.

The man nodded. “Those. Remember them. Boss gets particular-”

“Who’s Gunther?” Isadora interrupted.

“It’s one of his characters,” sighed the hook handed man. “You know. Like Coach Genghis. Stephano. Shirley.”

“I think we’ve only met the coach,” Isadora said. “Does he have a lot of these characters?”

“Never actually counted, but -” the hook handed man turned around as the sheet was lifted up, revealing a man far too well dressed to be about to spend the rest of his day working at a filthy coffee shop.

His leather boots were pointed and polished, and the suit actually cut his figure close enough to have been tailored. His face stayed in a one sided squint as he approached the counter, keeping a monocle in place. Each step was matched by the staccato of a cane. Though the he had put effort into his personal appearance and wore a nametag that read “Gunther”, there was no mistaking the proprietor of The Firebrand. “Good mornings, all.”

Isadora had to bite her lip to stop herself from bursting into hysterical laughter at the vaguely Central European accent.

“I trust business good, yes,” he continued, joining the two men and teenagers behind the counter.

“Of course, Gunther,” the hook-handed man said. “Typical Saturday morning. Usual crowd. Usual-”

“But explain, please,” interjected Olaf, turning to gesture at the triplets with his walking stick, “why are children at counter.”

All four of his employees exchanged uncertain glances.

“To help with the crowd,” supplied the hook-handed man.

Olaf gave a disapproving frown. “Children are not for seeing or hearing, please. Helping in back-” he used his cane to point at the dividing sheet, “- please. They left, what’s the word, booby-trap of pots.”

At this point, Isadora could only roll her eyes and hurry towards the back with Duncan in tow, glad to finally be able to silently let the laughter out as they let the curtain fall behind them, blocking the adults from sight. When she finally stopped shaking from muted fits of laughter, she straightened up to see Duncan’s face twisted up in just as amused an expression as she knew she had to be wearing. ‘What the-’ she mouthed to her triplet.

From the other side of the curtain, they heard the tall man say, “I take it Esme is back in town.” There was a definitive whack of something distinctively cane-shaped colliding with a body. It was immediately followed by a yelp and a nervous giggle from the third man.

The triplets exchanged wide-eyed expressions and hotfooted the rest of the way to the kitchen.

***

“You can’t seriously be planning on eating that.”

Hal looked up from the container he was about to microwave to cast his co-worker an owl-eyed look. “It’s my lunch,” he said defensively. “I know you don’t think much of my cooking abilities, but I-”

“There’s mold.” Dewey had always tried to be diplomatic when it came to Hal’s cooking, but when it came down to a matter of health and safety, he knew it was time to be blunt.

Frowning, Hal bent down to peer through his thick glasses at the left over curry he was about to pour over rice. “Those are pepper flecks,” insisted Hal indignantly. “They’ve been there-”

“At least a week longer than you’ve had that in the fridge,” interrupted Dewey again, already slicing his apple in half. “If you really want, I can go find Fiona and see what the budding mycologist thinks.” Before he had gone on his lunch break barely twenty minutes ago, he had asked the library’s page to man (or ‘woman’ as she had said) the circulation desk. Every time he brought the girl a new specimen to identify - whether from the ghastly garden behind his and Kit’s apartment building or something he had encountered unexpectedly - her face always lit up with excitement, and she almost always was able to name the fungus. Sometimes she needed to check one of the atlases in the library, but invariably, she identified the mold or mushroom.

With a heavy sigh, Hal set the curry to the side. “I suppose it is on the old side.” He picked up his steaming plate of microwavable basmati rice and joined Dewey at the break room table. He accepted the half-apple from Dewey with a small nod.

Guilt weighed in Dewey’s stomach, unsettling the lunch he had nearly finished, as he watched his co-worker scoop up a spoon full of abysmally plain rice. “I couldn’t just let you get sick,” Dewey apologized. “People have died from eating spoilt food.”

Hal swallowed and said, “Don’t worry about it.” He went back to his lunch as avidly as if he were eating what he had intended to have today.

Dewey finished his apple half in silence and got to his feet. “I’ll go and send Fiona on her break,” he said before leaving the break room and the awkward scene behind. It hadn’t been wrong to stop his friend from eating something that would make him ill, Dewey knew, but he still felt awful insisting that Hal not eat his lunch.

As he approached the circulation desk, he slowed, a small smile on his face forming, washing away the uncomfortable thoughts. Klaus Baudelaire at the circulation desk, leaning on his elbows with a stack of books as he talked animatedly to the youngest library employee. Beatrice’s son was hardly an uncommon sight at the library - Dewey was fairly sure the boy had been coming in every weekend on his own since his parents had decided he was old enough to walk the several blocks to the library. Recently, however, the boy had been coming in more and more, and it hadn’t taken Dewey too long to connect Klaus’s visits with the shifts that Fiona had started taking as a library page. They took the same trolley some days and arrived at the same time; she always went off to shelve books or check the returned books back into the library, and he always found some excuse to talk to her at some point during her shift.

Dewey knew that he had looked just as ridiculous when he had been only a year or two older than Klaus and he had pretended to not know anything about the system that shared his name just to have his favorite leather clad librarian help him find a book on some obscure topic.

He reached the desk and greeted the two teenagers with a smile. “Fiona, if you want to take your lunch break now, there is some mold that wants to be identified that Hal might have not thrown out yet,” he said, brightly.

The future mycologist stood and smoothed out her sweater. “If it’s Hal’s curry, I already have a few ideas.” She gave Klaus a warm smile and a “See you later” before heading in the direction that Dewey had just come from.

Taking Fiona’s now vacated seat at the circulation desk, Dewey said, “Hello, Klaus. What can I help you with today?” He wondered what sort of excuse Klaus would come up with.

The teenager’s mouth still hung open in a shocked expression, staring after Fiona, seeming not to have even heard the librarian.

Dewey laughed a little and shook his head.

That got Klaus’s attention. “Uh, nothing, Mr. Denouement,” he said quickly, looking down at the fake marble pattern of the circulation desk, as if he suddenly found geology the most fascinating subject in the world. “I was just…”

“Just talking to Fiona.”

The boy fiddled with with glasses.

“She’s seventeen.”

A flush crossed Klaus’s features. “I know,” he murmured. His voice was weary, as if it carried all the times he had thought about just how little a seventeen-year-old considered a thirteen-year-old as anything more than an adorable mascot.

“I know,” Dewey sighed, offering Klaus a small expression of sympathy. He had tried to tell himself numerous times how it was a good thing that the librarian showed no interest in him, but it hadn’t stifled anything. “I can…” he gestured to the stack of books, “check these out for you.”

“Thanks,” Klaus said, eyes still fixed on the counter.

Dewey opened the cover of the first book. It wasn’t his place or at all appropriate for Dewey to share what else he knew having been in Klaus’s shoes, but he wanted to tell him how for another young bibliophile infatuated with an older librarian, the bibliophile had been able to come back, a librarian in his own right, and finally see just how ridiculous his teenage crush had been. And he knew that if Bertrand ever related the poorly anonymized version of Dewey and Dashiell’s short-lived relationship, Klaus’s father would be sure to emphasize just how amusing it had been to watch Dewey figure that out.

“And here you go,” Dewey said as he handed Klaus his stack of books. “They’re due back two weeks from today.”

“I know.”

“I know you know.”

Klaus gave a weak laugh. “I’ll tell my dad you send your regards,” he said before picking up his stack of books and departing.

***

“We’ve made a decision.”

Isadora looked up from her commonplace book at her identical brothers as they stood in the doorway of her bedroom. “About?” She leaned back against her headboard, already knowing what her brothers had discussed without her.

“Wade Academy,” Duncan said, stepping inside. His hair was still wet from his post-work shower, slicked into a perfectly neat part.

Her suspicions confirmed, Isadora let out a sigh. She set her pen down, frowning. “I thought we were going to talk about that together.” Their mother had told them that there was an expiration date on the matter of just who would take that one spot on the lifeboat away from the sinking Prufrock, but Isadora had been convinced that the three of them would discuss the matter.

“We knew you’d insist that we wait until next semester,” said Duncan. “Hoping there would somehow be three spots open.”

“That is what I think we should do,” Isadora said defensively. “We shouldn’t split up. It doesn’t make sense for us to go to separate schools.”

“We have to,” said Quigley, sitting down at the foot of Isadora’s bed.

“There’s no guarantee that there will be three spots for fall,” explained Duncan. “At least not at Wade Academy.”

“There might be one spot at one academy. Another spot at another. If we’re lucky there might be two at one place.” Quigley shrugged his shoulders. “We’d be separated then, and there’s no way we’re going to start next year at Prufrock.”

“You need to take the spot at Wade,” pressed Duncan. “Three spots opening up this close to the start of next term for a ninth grade class isn’t going to happen. Schools admitted students for next term months ago.”

Isadora pressed her lips together tightly, trying to find an argument to use, but she knew that if Duncan was saying it, he had actually researched the matter and knew what he was talking about. Duncan would have read the papers and seen the articles about the admissions cycle for the private schools. “Why me?” she finally asked. “Don’t you guys want to leave Prufrock?”

Her brothers both laughed.

“Of course,” Quigley said.

“I can’t wait to tell Carmelita which cake she can sniff,” chuckled Duncan.

“You could tell her to sniff a urinal cake on Monday and go to Wade on Tuesday,” said Isadora. “I don’t see why you think it should be me to go.”

The two brothers exchanged a quick glance before Duncan crossed his arms and said, “You’ve drawn the short straw so many times, Dora. With this project… you’ve decided to help me even if you don’t have to-”

“That’s what sisters do.”

“And this is what brothers do,” Duncan said firmly.

“What if I refuse? What if I call: ‘All for one, and one for all.’” Isadora folded her arms, mirroring her younger triplet. “What if-”

“Then we’d have to find someone else from Wade Academy to teach us the material,” said Quigley slyly.

Suddenly understanding the plot her brothers had hatched, Isadora had to laugh. All things considered, even Isadora had to admit that it wasn’t the worst plan given the cards they had been dealt. “I’ll do it,” she finally said. “But you should know, I’ll be the toughest teacher you’ve ever had.”

“We’ve been at Prufrock since elementary school,” said Duncan. “You don’t have much competition.”

All three triplets were in immediate consensus.

Notes: Thank you so much for reading this! Please let me know what you think. likes, reblogs, and comments really make me smile and put me in the writing mood.

Everything really takes off in the next chapter, and hopefully you'll have it a lot sooner than it took for me to write this chapter. You'll have a lot to look forward to: Olivia and Jacques, Violet and Isadora, Esme finally makes her entrance.

I hope you have a Happy New Year! -Huffleporg

[itsalettucelife-blog]

Nice Cream

Whatsup my friends? Ever since I wrote the first post, my brain has been brewing with ideas for tons more! I love writing about things I’m passionate about, LOVE food (nobody knew that), and people are constantly asking me how I’m vegan in college, so it’s a win win for everyone involved! I definitely see this as an outlet for creative expression and to share mouthwatering recipes with you guys regularly. I’m currently headed into my last week of the spring quarter. Man time flies. Currently I’m a cognitive science major with a specialization in neuroscience. I’m not certain I will keep that major, but maybe. As of now, I have a quiz, paper, and research paper left before I’m done for the year. Yesterday I had my critique for my photography final which always causes my heart to beat out of my chest. Standing up in front of a class full of people to be roasted is a lot harder than it seems no matter how confident you are in your work. After I’m done here, I’ll be going home for a few days and then flying to Chicago to see my grandma for two weeks! Cooking and baking for her is always fun and almost anything I make is received with a smile. Stay tuned for a post about what I make for her. I can’t wait to see my dog named Lois who is a Bichon Terrier mix when I go home. It’s been so hard to be away from her. At least FaceTime exists. I’m sad to leave the friends I’ve made for the summer, but happy to go back to the city of angels and see everyone I’ve missed, as well as cross some bucket list items off this summer. And HAVE A KITCHEN AGAIN!!! No joke, the part about moving into college that I was most scared for was not having my favorite room of the house. My heart cracked. A true tragedy for me. Luckily I’d been experimenting with raw recipes since the spring of my senior year of highschool, so I was well prepared with things to make without a stove or oven. Part way into the winter quarter (yes, we’re on the quarter system ugh) I got a blender. The smoothie gods were smiling down. It was the best addition because smoothie bowls are easy, cheap, quick, filling meal options. I’ll go to the market here on campus, use dining dollars to buy as many bananas as my arms can hold (I quickly learned to bring a bag with me.) and peel them to freeze overnight so they’d be ready to blend up the next day.

Ingredients I get for smoothies and smoothie bowls are:

~bananas (Lots of em)

~blueberries

~strawberries

~cacao/cocoa powder

~acai packets

~mixed berries

~mango

~almond butter

~peanut butter

~spinach

Toppings I get for the bowls include:

~cacao nibs (for a chocolate-y taste)

~chia seeds

~shredded unsweetened coconut

~granola

~additional fruits

Liquids I use to get things blending:

~almond milk (or any other nut milk.)

~coconut water

When people see photos of my smoothie jars and smoothie bowls, they often ask how I get such a creamy consistency that is like soft serve. The golden rule is freezing EVERYTHING except your liquid the night before. And you only want to use about ¼-½ cup of the liquid. If you don’t have a durable-as-steel blender like a Vitamix, make sure you take breaks so your blender doesn’t die on you. (Opps might’ve done that once.) It might take a while to get to its creamy state, but don’t give up. It’ll be so worth it to contently be chowing down on your smoothie bowl/jar while your suite mates have lunchables. I mean if Lunchables are your thing, go ahead. (Jk, please don’t. They’re overly processed and damaging to the planet.) Ok, back to the recipe. Turn the blender off to stir every few seconds until it transforms into smooth, fruity heaven. If you need inspiration, check out the Instagram account @earthyandy. It’s run by the mom of a family in Hawaii and she is always posting her newest vegan ice cream (also known as nice-cream because it’s nice to the planet, the animals, and your body.) with her cute kids. On a couple different occasions this year, there’d be someone in the common room of my dorm while I’d be making a smoothie. They’d ask what I was making and I’d tell them and offer a taste. Every single time their eyes would pop out of their heads as the spoon entered their mouth. It makes me so happy to be that person to remind them of how delicious fruits, vegetables, nuts, and seeds can be in their purest form. The majority of the kids in my dorm now know me as the weird banana girl who rattles the sliding glass doors with the piercing sound of the blender at least once per day. It’s pretty funny at this point. It might seem odd to the lady working the cashier at the on-campus market that I buy more bananas than she’s had in the last 5 years, but I say it’s ultra weird and disturbing that we live in a society that says processed food and animal flesh are good. That the government has put such a heavy emphasis on protein and worked those animal “foods” into the MyPlate and MyPyramid chart that doctors and nutritionists look to for guidance. Question everything, and accept nothing. Otherwise the world is a trap. I beg you to educate yourselves. I’m currently sitting inside my favorite vegan cafe in La Jolla and every single one of the human beings here is alive. Vegans are more than just surviving, we’re thriving. Food can either be a drug or medicine. You choose.

Until next time,

Vegan College Gurl (aka Hannah)

[drazzilder]

A Hellish Encounter

By Drazzilder

Chapter 6: Testing

You wake up, and for the first time, in a room that makes you feel safe. You smell some coffee brewing and you get up and go downstairs to the kitchen. There you see Endeavor in his hero suit with all of the kids around the table just silently eating until you come in.

E: “Good morning, (Y/N).”

F: “This is the man you brought home? Good morning Mr?”

(Y/N): “You can call me (Y/N), I don’t have a last name, at least I don’t remember having one.”

H: “Well, (Y/N), did you want any breakfast?”

(Y/N): “Sure, I’ll eat anything at this point.”

F: “Here, let me get you some.”

After a plate of food is place in front of you, you sit and begin to eat.

N: “Is it true that there is a demon inside of you?”

Z: “Yes, my name is Zaheer, nice to meet you all.”

S: “Do you think it’s best to have a demon in the house dad?”

E: “Don’t question my judgment! Besides, he will only be here till he can find a place of his own.”

After some more awkward silence, Fuyumi speaks up. “Sorry dad but I got to go to school.” and she stands up.

N: “Same. Fuyumi, wait up!”

H: “I’ll take Shoto to school shortly, anything else you need?”

E: “No. I will leave shortly with (Y/N).”

S: “Bye dad.”

After everyone leaves the house, it’s just you two at the table. “What are we going to do today?”

“I mainly need to assess your powers and we will do some hand to hand training today.”

“It’s the first day and we are already training?”

“We need to train you as quickly as possible so we can get your powers under control.”

“Ok, I think I can handle it.”

After you both finish, you quickly arrive at the agency and head to Endeavor’s office. That is where are two doctors and a few other sidekicks are waiting for you.

“I know this may be a bit much, but I need to ask you questions about your powers and if you lose control while you’re here, my sidekicks should be able to contain you. I may have asked you these questions before but I want the doctors to hear all these from you.”

“I understand, but could the they remove their lab coats, it’s still a bit sensitive to me.”

Endeavor nods at the doctors quickly removes their coats. One pulls out a notepad and Endeavor begins questioning you.

“How old are you?”

“32 years old for me, 22 years on the earth.”

“Do you remember where to you grew up?”

“No.”

“Any family?”

“No.”

“You said you where six when you were taken, do you remember why they chose you?”

“They just said they needed a body and I was available.”

“Ok, so there isn’t really anything of your past we can work on, how about we move onto your powers. Do you have any quirks of your own?”

“No.”

“Zaheer, how many quirks do you have?”

“I’m not sure how to answer, I have great power but I’m don’t know if I can list it.”

“Very well, so we know you can teleport and control people, is there anything else you can do?”

“Not that I know of.”

“What do you mean?”

“When I first got a hold of Zaheer’s power, I could only control people’s bodies and minds. After I was locked in that room did I gain the ability to teleport and the body control got more powerful. When I lost control, everyone died because I overwhelmed their bodies to the point their hearts exploded.”

“So you could get more quirks at any time?”

“I guess, but I’m not sure how it works.”

“Don’t bother asking me, I’m not even sure how the boy survived that test facility let alone being with me.”

After a few more minutes of questions not getting anywhere, Endeavor finally asks: “Ok, doctors do you have any other questions?”

They both shake their heads. Endeavor then motions everyone out of the office.

“Ok, how about I give a few minutes to rest your mind and we will go to combat training.”

“That sounds fine.”

In the gym, you find large amounts of equipment. Some of it looks like weight training, some for cardio, while others look very specific, probably for quick training. Endeavor leads you to a room that is padded top to bottom. He takes off his gauntlets and faces you.

“I want you come at me with everything you got, no mind control, just hand to hand combat.”

“Can I teleport?”

“Do you use it to fight?”

“Normally I just is it to run away, but I can try it in combat.”

Right at that moment, Endeavor places a left hook to your gut and you curl down in pain.

“If your going to be a hero, you need to be ready for anything. Fight me boy.”

You look up at him, your right eye glowing brightly as you teleport. He looks around to see your behind him and you manage to take a swing at Endeavor but he dodges it easily. You teleport again, this time above and try to kick him. He dodges to the left and grabs your wrist, throwing you against a wall.

“Don’t you think your being hard on him?”

“I need to see what his abilities are in order to make a training program. So far, he is starting from zero.”

You look at him, so far he seems to be left dominant so you try to think of something. After another quick teleport, this time right next to him on his right, and you manage to land a blow to his gut. Your not that strong so it didn’t do much damage to the wall of muscle, but a hit is a hit.

“Good, but not enough.” He says as he punches you in the face. You’re dazed, flat on the floor, when your vision finally focuses, you are staring at Endeavor looking down at you.

“I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to hit you that hard. I let the moment get away from me but you learned your first lesson: never let your guard down.”

“It’s….it’s ok…” you say holding the right side of your head.

After that, you both head back to his office and you both start working on a program for you. There is some back and forth, mainly between Endeavor and Zaheer: he doesn’t want Endeavor pushing you too far. After some time, it’s lunch and Endeavor offers to take to somewhere. He wants you to get used to the city as well so going out to eat is an easy way to get started. After walking in Tokyo for a while, you come to a ramen shop. He must have learned from the night before and got something hot instead. When you walk up, a man approaches Endeavor and quickly find you both a table. After you order, Endeavor starts talking again.

“I hope you don’t mind ramen, it is hot so you shouldn’t be affected like last night. I know your cold sensitive.”

“It’s not like that.”

“Hmm?” as he raises an eyebrow.

“I guess I should tell you now. I can handle cold just like anyone else but the problem is my memories. Cold reminds me of the facility. The room I was kept in was cold. I had no shoes or even socks so when my feet hit the concrete floor, I felt cold. When they performed tests and surgeries on me, the steel table was cold. The tools they uses on me, cold. That room I was in for ten years, it was cold and dark. The only feeling I had for 20 years was cold. Right now the only thing I want is warmth, something I never had until now.”

“I’m sorry I asked, I didn’t mean to bring that up for you.”

“It’s ok,” you say looking down, “it’s better you know now, otherwise it might come up later and you don’t know what to do.”

“So if your emotionally unstable, just use warmth?”

“That’s the idea. That’s why I asked for you when I was in the hospital. Your quirks makes it warm around you and it’s enough to keep me calm.” Didn’t dare say anything that being around him also makes butterflies in your stomach.

“Then I’m the perfect person to train you.”

After Endeavor finished his sentence, the waiter brought your bowls. It was so warm and delicious. You never had noodles before so you were unsure on how to eat them. Chop sticks where a challenge but Endeavor explained how to use them and you quickly got the hang of it. After the meal, you both head back to the agency. If everything goes well, you soon should be on your way to be a hero. You want to prove to everyone that you can be a hero, especially Endeavor.

Next Chapter

[steveames]

Emily Ames,

3/29/21

No Matter Where We Are

I stumbled up out of the mattress and wobbled through the little NYC apartment into the kitchen. I felt the warmth of an immense yellow ball of hydrogen fusing into helium and smelled freshly brewed coffee before making out the sun’s rays resting gently on her figure. At the end of the long rectangular kitchen and inches from the square window she sat. Supported by a wooden chair with her back resting on an ancient grey pillow and her legs up on a stool, she studied the morning paper.

After circling an important point about climate change, my grandmother passed the paper to my mom and instructed her to read it thoroughly. Then, with determination, she unwound her legs and carefully placed her feet on the floor. It was time for us to make my grandmother’s signature granola for our breakfast. The stainless steel bowl sat waiting for me as I opened the lower cabinet and reached my short arm into the dark space. I plunged my chubby fingers into the glass jar of raisins that she had brought down for me from the upper cabinet. Two cups of oats and one cup of oil were poured into the bowl by her gnarled but steady hand. I licked the honey off of my fingers from squeezing globs of honey into the mixture. I felt like a professional chef as I sprinkled a handful of sesame seeds into the bowl. She gave me a big spoon, and I used all my strength to stir the concoction. Before adding the last and most important ingredient - sweet and spicy chunks of candied ginger - we each popped a chunk into our mouths. The granola was ready to cook, and we scooped it onto a flat pan. Stepping back a few steps from the low oven, I watched with fear as she assuredly popped the granola into the searing heat.

I sat at the mini kitchen table where my colored pencils and white paper were kept. Eating a red apple she had cut up for me, I reflected on the day before. My grandmother and I had gone to the Frick Museum and wandered through the halls for hours and hours gaping at paintings. We had concurred that William Beechey’s, “Elizabeth Sophia Baillie (née de Vismes)” was superior due to the perfect strokes of paint which formed her ruffled silk dress. A smile crept across my rosy face, and I began to wonder what adventure my grandmother and I would go on this day.

It wasn’t long before the kitchen filled with the delicious smell of browning oats infused with raisins and candied ginger. I brought my grandmother the oven mitts twice the size of my hands and breathlessly watched as she took the granola out of the blisteringly hot oven.

We assembled our breakfast bowls; my granola with milk and my grandmother’s with cream. A silver spoon was lifted delicately by her fingers painted with blue veins and sun spots. She drew out a hefty spoonful of cream and granola. A sparkle from the sun glinting off of her ruby ring surrounded by diamonds caught my eye as it lay round her ring finger seeming as though it had framed her hand since birth.

We began to chat about museums. “You know which museum is my favorite, Emily? The Frick! Have you ever been? Would you like to go today?” her tone changed from happy reflection to excitement. After a second of confusion, I glanced at my mother and then confirmed in an uneasy voice that I had never been to the Frick. “Great, let’s finish our breakfast quickly so we can get out the door. I can’t wait to show you!”

Bellies full and hearts ready, we traversed the few steps to the creaky doorway. My mother helped my grandmother and me with our coats and shoes and sent us out the door and into the elevator. I held my grandmother’s hand as the big metal box ground from the 11th floor down to the 1st floor. The door slowly opened to the peek of grandeur. A expanse of black and white marble floor stretched far in front of me. To the right was a sitting area in which my brothers and I were never allowed to sit; to the left was a mysterious stairway, and straight ahead was the front desk.

Standing behind the immense white marble desk with a telephone wire twisted around his arm as he conversed with a tenant, René tossed my grandmother and me a big smile. We both gave back our biggest grins and strode into the entryway. Swinging open the heavy front doors and opening the portal to the street, the doorman Angel wished us a happy day.

We strode along the streets of the Big Apple at a quick pace, my fingers intertwined with hers. It smelled of 8.4 million people’s trash and 6 hundred thousand dogs’ poo, and yet my nose didn’t sting with disgust; it breathed as freely as a chickadee in a New England forest. I felt extremely comfortable with my grandmother by my side and skyscrapers towering over me from all sides. The siren of an ambulance - closely followed by a police car with flashing rocket pop colored lights - practically deafened me as it whirled past, yet somehow I hardly noticed.

Hundreds of people raced passed us; each face was so dissimilar and unique whilst being shockingly cold and hostile. Suddenly, I was overwhelmed by the smell of a half puffed cigarette. I scanned for the puffer and was quick to spy a trail of smoke emerging from the tall man trudging ahead of us. Quickly plugging my nose, I put on the ugliest frown I could muster. As we dashed past, I made sure to glare back at the man for a second or two.

Carefully stepping over the cracks in the asphalt sidewalk, I hardly noticed the city blocks passing by. It didn’t take long to get to 71st Street, and before I knew it it was time to cross Madison Ave onto the Frick’s block. But my grandmother didn’t turn onto the right crosswalk, she headed straight. I held tightly to her hand and tried to stop her from stepping off the sidewalk into the road. Fear rushing through me, I gasped, “The Frick is to the right! Towards the park… Look! You can see its limestone walls from here!” She stopped in her tracks, and her face contorted with disorientation. I tried to hide my shock and reaffirmed that we had to cross Madison Ave to reach the mansion. After a few seconds, she confidently led us onto the right crosswalk as if nothing had happened.

We made it to the mansion, and I breathed a sigh of relief. My grandmother and I tramped up the four steps to the entrance. Clutching her light brown shoulder bag and carefully placing each white sneaker clad foot in front of the other, she quietly held onto my small hand for balance. The sixteen foot heavy wooden door loomed above my grandmother and me. With difficulty, we heaved it open and entered Henry Frick’s home.

A short hallway led us into the inner garden courtyard. The ceiling of glass let the sun’s midday light pour into the little green paradise. I longed to sit at the perfect marble fountain in the middle of the garden but knew - from her reaction to my request the day before - that my grandmother would never even think of that as an option. We were here strictly to admire the old master paintings and magnificent European sculptures and decorative arts. I tucked the hope behind me and followed her into the first hallway on the left.

“I’m so happy to be finally showing you the Frick, Emily!” my grandmother sighed with a big smile on her face. Following the identical route from the day before, we explored the marvelous hallways and studied each painting carefully. On passing William Beechey’s, “Elizabeth Sophia Baillie (née de Vismes)”, my grandmother pointed at the perfect strokes of paint which formed Elizabeth’s ruffled silk dress, just as I had the day before. A few hours passed, and we came upon a painting I hadn’t given much attention to the day before. On this day, my grandmother and I both were surprised by it’s beauty and stopped short in front of it.

Together we stood there, fingers still intertwined, mesmerized by the crashing waves and encapsulating clouds which seemed to be engulfing us. Turner’s “Van Goyen Looking out for a Subject” was more than just a painting. I stared at the tall ships and imagined my grandmother and me at the helm, steering through the foaming ocean. No matter where we were or what adventure we were on, I knew there was no place I’d rather be but there, holding hands with her.

[wineanddinosaur]

12 Things You Should Know About Genesee Brewery

Walk into a bar anywhere in the Northeast and ask for “Jenny,” and you’ll likely get a pint from New York State’s oldest brewery. Since 1878, The Genesee Brewery has brewed the same flagship Genesee Beer — also known as “Genny” beer — at its Rochester brewery. Along with this traditional American pale lager, the brewery is perhaps best known today for its Genesee Cream Ale, which set the standard for an original American beer style.

But Genesee has seen a lot of changes over the last 142 years, from Prohibition to the rise of craft brewing. Now part of FIFCO USA, the eighth-largest beer company in the United States, Genesee is keeping things fresh with trendy collaborations and dry-hopped variations of its classic beers.

Think you know Genny? Read on for 12 more things you should know about this classic American brand.

Genesee Cream Ale rises to the top.

Genesee Cream Ale, also known as Genny Cream Ale, maintains a bit of a cult status with beer drinkers. It’s hard to imagine a time when Genny Cream Ale wasn’t an option at your local watering hole. But the beer wasn’t actually introduced to the Genesee lineup until 1960, making it 82 years younger than the original Genesee Beer.

Looking for an alternative to the standard pilsner, then-Brewmaster Clarence Geminn turned to a classic American style. He developed a unique recipe (one that remains a secret but that Genesee has faithfully stuck to it) to craft the beer, brewed with ale yeast but fermented at lager temperatures. The result endures as the standard for all cream ales to this day. In the years since it first debuted, it’s taken home two gold medals from the Great American Beer Festival.

Who’s Jenny/Genny?

The brewery’s nickname, “Jenny” or “Genny,” has likely been around for decades but its 1952 ad campaign solidified it for everyone not already in the know. According to Genesee records, the original ad featured model and actress Daphne Dore (though some still question the identity of the first “Jenny”) balancing a pint of Genesee beer on a tray. A tagline invited customers to “ask for Jenny.”

The campaign succeeded and grew to become the brewery’s most successful ad to date. Over the years, several women stood in as “Jenny” to walk in parades or appear at events. While the last “Jenny” ad ran in 1962, the image of “Miss Jenny” still appears on brewery merchandise and patrons continue to ask for “Jenny” as they pull up a chair at the bar.

Genesee’s equipment draws crowds.

The original location in Rochester underwent a $50 million revamp in 2017. Construction lasted for nearly three years. The most exciting part of the project happened when Genesee’s 12 brand new fermentation tanks floated along the Erie Canal from Albany to Rochester, passing through the 35 locks that raised or lowered watercrafts as they flowed on through. Curious fans came to watch the tanks on their journey until they reached the brewery.

Turn left at the giant Genesee Beer sign.

In the early 1950s, Genesee gifted the people of Auburn, N.Y., with an iconic (and hard to miss) landmark. A 26-foot-high, 48-foot-wide Genesee Beer sign took its place atop a six-story building and lit up the sky every night until the 1970s when it shut off for nearly 40 years. In 2011, the brewery teamed up with local businesses to refurbish the sign with over 9,120 LED lights and relight it with a big festival in town.

Cream work makes the Dream work.

After fellow New Yorkers Other Half Brewing from Brooklyn launched a satellite location in Bloomfield, just a half an hour drive from Rochester, local journalist Will Cleveland had an idea: Other Half should brew a beer with its new neighbor, Genesee. Both breweries agreed, and got to brewing. Genesee brewmaster Dean Jones and Other Half’s Sam Richardson merged Cream Ale with elements of the Brooklyn-based brewery’s Dream and Daydream series. The collaboration resulted in Genny Dream Ale, an oat cream ale with lactose and a dose of Citra hops. The smooth, creamy beer came with a hoppy bite.

The Tri-State collaborations didn’t stop at Other Half: Genesee most recently concocted Hop State of Mind Cream Ale with Queens-based Big aLICe Brewing using hops from Chimney Bluffs Hoppery in Wolcott, N.Y. The beer blends Genesee’s classic Cream Ale with New York State artisan hops for another smooth brew that features a burst of hoppy flavor.

The original brewery bowled a strike.

Beer was a booming business in Rochester long before Genesee showed up. In 1857, one of the many breweries landing in the city, Reisky & Sky, opened its own saloon and bowling alley. This was the location that local entrepreneur Mathius Kondolf purchased and renamed Genesee Brewing in 1878.

While the bowling alley is long gone, the current Genesee Brew House still occupies buildings from the original Reisky & Sky brewery campus. In 2012, the newly refurbished location welcomed guests with lots of exhibits to show off the brewery’s past.

Its longtime brewmaster was born into brewing. Literally.

The Wehle family first stepped into the business in 1916 when Louis A. Wehle accepted the position of brewmaster and became the youngest person to hold that position in New York. That same year, Louis’s wife gave birth to their firstborn, Jack Wehle, on the property of the brewery.

When the brewery shut down during Prohibition, the elder Wehle opened a bakery and earned enough money to purchase Genesee Brewing in 1932, just in time to reopen it as the Genesee Brewing Company.

Jack Wehle, who joined the company at age 22, took over as chairman when his father passed away in 1964. Jack’s son, Ted Wehle, would later succeed him in 1993. When Ted passed away in 1999, that ended the Wehle family’s 67-year legacy running the brewery.

Genesee partied like it was 1933.

The 18th Amendment to the Constitution passed in 1919, and while Genesee was forced to close, Louis Wehle took up a new career as a baker. His business was so successful that he was able to sell it in 1929 for $1.3 million, which he then used to purchase the old Genesee Brewery as well as a neighboring brewery just in time for the repeal of Prohibition. He even hired as many of the former Genesee employees as he could.

Genesee is one of the few breweries in the country that can say where it was when Prohibition ended. The company restarted shipping beer on April 27, 1933. To mark that milestone, Louis Wehle hosted a huge bash. The event brought 4,000 attendees to the Powers Hotel in Rochester.

Genesee’s post-Prohibition beer delivery rivaled the Clydesdales.

Wehle also marked the end of Prohibition with a new beer: 12 Horse Ale, an English-style ale. He even got fancy with delivery, designing a 12-horse hitch — the first of its kind. Twelve red roan Belgian horses hitched in rows of three pulled a red wagon from bar to bar. A businessman through and through, Wehle made sure to trademark his one-of-a-kind hitch, making it the first official stamp of ownership for the brewery.

Now only occasionally available, the beer itself was the first Genesee beer brewed with top-fermenting ale yeast, one that the brewery acquired from England that year and would go on to gain notoriety as Genesee’s proprietary yeast. It was used in the brewing of all Genesee’s ales from that day forward.

Another former brewmaster brewed there for half a century.

In 2019, John Fischer retired from his position as Genesee’s corporate brewmaster. He’d been brewing there since 1967, making him the brewer with the longest tenure at the company. And while he did take a three-year leave of absence to serve in the military, he came back and created Honey Brown, a golden amber lager with a malty flavor.

Genesee’s Christmas tree is two stories high, and made with steel.

A new holiday tradition was born in 2014 when Genesee stacked 300 kegs in the shape of a Christmas tree. The structure stood over two stories high. Each year, the brewery recreates the “tree” in front of the Rochester brew house. In 2019, the “tree” reached 27 feet.

Genesee races to the finish line.

The brewery’s longtime legacy extends outside of beer. Since the 1970s, Genesee has sponsored race cars and raceways, including Warren Agor, who drove car number 13 around stock car tracks all over upstate New York. Genesee Beer’s logo graced the side of the car.

That legacy races on as Genesee teams up with Watkins Glen International Race Track in Schuyler County, N.Y. The pace car for each race features the Genesee logo.

The article 12 Things You Should Know About Genesee Brewery appeared first on VinePair.

source https://vinepair.com/articles/genesee-brewery-guide/