#been searching forever for the extras from the interview and had no luck but thanks to this youtube channel for uploading it!!

[beatleswings]

So you know how Mary interviewed Paul in the Wingspan documentary? Well, here is more of that interview but these were not featured in the main documentary but were part of the extras in the DVD.

[americaswritings]

A Beautiful Lie | Day 3

Prompt: Fake dating au

Summary: During a live interview Tom reveals that he has a girlfriend. When he pleads you for help, you jump in to be his fake girlfriend for a while. But no one of you realizes how grave of an impact his beautiful little lie will have.

Words: 4.1k

Warnings: swearing, horrible writing

Pairing: Tom Holland x reader

A/N: Okay so first of all, yes I am not dead! I know I have been absent for more than a while and haven’t updated this story in what feels like forever. I am so sorry! Hoewever, I feel like I owe you an explanation. 

There were a lot of things happening in my life, which I can’t talk about yet. To make up for it this chapter is extra long!

I hope you forgive me and I hope you enjoy!

This is for @underoossss writing challenge.

Add yourself to my taglist!

Series Masterlist

You stared after Tom for a while before turning your attention elsewhere. The doors leading to the main area where the show would take place were still closed so you couldn’t get to your seat just yet. Sighing you took out your phone, hoping that the time would fly by so you wouldn’t have to be alone for long.

You leaned against the wall and scrolled through your messages. There were a few from Haz, Harry and Elysia asking how the Oscars were going so far. But then there was also one from Jacob, congratulating you and Tom. 

For a second you wondered how he already knew, but Zendaya had probably already texted him the news. You quickly answered all of them, leaving Jacobs message unreplied. You felt guilty.

You put your phone back into your purse and realized someone was making their way over to you. Glancing up you saw a young man with dark hair and sparkling eyes casually walking into your direction.

“Hey, gorgeus”, he smirked when he reached you and you huffed. “From all the things you could have said you chose that?”

You grimaced and he laughed. “Sorry, I just can’t help myself around such a beautiful lady.”

You blushed at his words and he gave you a satisfied grin. “Uh- I’m actually here with someone”, you explained, not daring to look at him. “He is one of the presenters this evening.”

You peeked into his direction to see the man still smiling at you. “I should have known that you are already taken”, he commented, but his smile had grown warmer and friendly.

“I’m Nate!” He held out his hand and you eyed it for a second before shaking it. “(Y/n).”

“I came over, because you look a little lost. Why are you here all alone?”

You fiddled with the hem of your dress before putting back on your dull smile. “As I said my boyfriend”, the words felt weird on your tongue, “is one of the presenters this evening. There are still some organizational matters for him to take care of.”

The man, Nate, nodded in understanding. “What about you? Aren’t you here with someone?”, you asked, hoping to not have to talk about yourself anymore.

Nate cringed at your question before laughing it off. “Well, my date jumped me yesterday so that kind of sucked.”

You couldn’t help but break into laughter. “Why would she do that?! It’s the Oscars”, you wondered then. “Turns out she was using me just for the fame and now found someone better to play with.”

You clenched your jaw and although Nate seemed to be completely loose talking about it, you still felt an uneasy feeling in your stomach.

For one, because you felt sorry for him, but then you also couldn’t help but project his words onto your and Toms situation.

Was he just using you for fame? Were you only something that brought him into the headlines for a while, before he decided that he had found something better and moved on? 

But no, that couldn’t be. It was Tom you were talking about. He wouldn’t use you nor anybody like this.

But somewhere deep inside of you doubts were nibbling on you. Harrison’s words had planted an idea into you; something he might not even realized he had done.

“Okay I know it sounds bad, but you don’t have to feel bad for me”, Nate’s voice woke you out of your thoughts and you quickly put on your smile again. 

“Sorry, I just-”, you didn’t finish. “Went somewhere else?”, he finished and you nodded in gratefulness that he seemed to understand.

“Sorry!” You felt a little embarrassed about it, but Nate quickly shook his head. “Don’t be.”

You talked to him until the doors opened a good few hours later. You found out that he was actually very funny, a little sarcastic, but what completely took you by surprise was that he seemed to have a deep side as well.

He knew that something was off, but didn’t ask any further and instead tried to distract you for a while.

You had even exchanged numbers.

“C’mere!” 

A familiar voice caught your attention and you spun around to find Zendaya petting an empty seat next to her.

Relieved that you had found her this easily you slid into the seat next to her and exhaled.

“Thank god! I already thought I would never find you and have to sit alone.”

Zendaya grinned in amusement before starting to poke your arm. “Hey, I wouldn’t have let that happen! I might would have even called out for you on stage to make sure we find each other!”

You laughed and watched the people passing by, hoping to make out Tom somewhere.

You hadn’t seen him since your conversation with Zendaya earlier and you feared that you wouldn’t see him again before his presentation started.

“Searching for your lover boy?”, Zendaya teased and you giggled. 

“I just wanted to wish him good luck, that’s all”, you muttered, a little disappointed that you wouldn’t be able to do it.

“I am sure Tom will forgive you”, Zendaya joked and you nodded, knowing that Tom wouldn’t be mad at you.

“But since you already started the topic.” You turned your head to meet Zendayas cheeky grin. “I wanna know everything!”

“Okay, so I think you have to be a little more specific!”, you commented and she laughed. 

“Is Tom a good kisser?”

You broke into a fit of coughing at her direct question and Zendaya broke into loud laughter. “I suppose that’s a yes?”, she giggled and you shook your head in playful annoyance.

“No comment”, you smirked and leaned back in your seat. It was nice talking to Zendaya. She could always make you laugh and didn’t seem tensed about the situation.

But that didn’t mean you weren’t terrified of her questions. How should you answer the question when you had never kissed Tom? 

“Have you done that yet?” 

“Done what?” You frowned, trying to figure out what she meant when suddenly you realized what she was talking about.

“Oh my god Zendaya! I’m not gonna talk about this to you!”

The girl didn’t seem to mind your rejection and laughed even more.

“I can’t believe you and Tom are a thing”, she suddenly said in a more serious tone.

“Really? W-why?”, you stuttered, now insecure when Z got serious.

“I don’t know to be honest. I guess it makes sense considering how close you always were, but I can’t believe Tom kept his mouth shut.”

“I guess he didn’t have a choice or else he wouldn’t be breathing right now”, you shrugged, but Zendaya didn’t react to your joke.

“So you were the one, who wanted to keep it a secret?

You gulped, hoping that the show would start any minute and release you from this situation.

“No, no, we both wanted that”, you protested and Z turned her head to you.

“I get that you didn’t want people to know. Trust me, I really do, I just wish you would have told me before all of this chaos started.”

Your guilt was heavy, but at the same time you hadn’t been able to tell her any sooner. A part of you wanted to tell her the truth, but you had made Tom a promise.

If you started to tell more people you wouldn’t be able to stop. “Where do we draw the line?”, Tom had asked and so you had agreed with him.

But right now, looking into Zendayas disappointed chocolate brown eyes made you fill with blame.

“I’m sorry”, you whispered and you hoped that she could see how true it was.

“We should have thought about you too.”

But the girl already wore a smile again, patting your shoulder. “Don’t worry. I know how love can be sometimes. It makes blind.”

You gave her a grateful smile when suddenly the light was dimed and the show started.

It all went by in a rush. Too many impressions were overwhelming you, but although your head had started to hurt, you felt happy. Sitting next to Zendaya made you forget about everything around you for a while.

All the press and fans that would be going wild about you and Tom were out of your mind and you just concentrated on having a good time.

Eventually it was Toms turn. You knew that he was beyond nervous about his presentation, but he covered it up perfectly- just like you had expected.

Seeing him on the big stage suddenly didn’t scare you anymore, but instead you felt unbelievably proud. 

You could still remember when Tom had first told you about his dream of becoming an actor. It wasn’t uncommon for kids to have such imaginations, but with him it had been different.

You had always known that it wasn’t just a phase. Tom wanted this and if he had set his mind on doing something, there wasn’t anything or anyone that could stop him from fulfilling his passion.

Tom had talent and finally people had witnessed how special he was. And somehow you were still here, by his side in all of this.

You knew that people were talking. How Tom would dump you and Haz sooner or later and choose more famous people to hang out with instead, but you couldn’t imagine it happening ever.

Tom was too smart and too kind-hearted to lose himself in fame. He didn’t care much about money nor fame. All he wanted was to act, the one thing that seemed to make him genuinely happy.

Applause erupted and you joined in, wearing the biggest smile while watching Tom leave the stage with a smile himself.

You glanced towards Zendaya to see her watching you with a smirk. “What?” “Nothing”, she shrugged it off. 

You were making your way out of the hall along with a crowd of other celebrities. The show had just ended and you were hoping to find Tom somewhere.

Searching the crowd you tried to make out his figure, but had no luck. So you searched for an empty corner to wait for him.

“Here you are!”

You glanced up from your phone to meet Tom’s relieved eyes. “I just wanted to call you”, you explained while putting your phone back into your purse.

“Sorry, I had to clarify some things backstage, but now I am ready.” You nodded before reaching out to hug him.

He was confused at first, but quickly pulled you closer into his chest. “I am so proud of you”, you whispered into his shoulder, but it was loud enough for Tom to hear it.

You felt his lips curving up into a smile before he stepped back to get a look on your face. “Thank you. That means a lot to me”, he whispered. “I hope you know that.”

You smiled, nodding while your eyes didn’t leave his. For a moment you had forgotten about your surroundings, only you and Tom being important right now. “I do.”

He smiled as well and you felt how vulnerable the moment was that you were sharing. You had missed this, just being with Tom without caring about anything else. And as much you loved teasing and joking around with him, you needed these moments as well.

Moments when you and Tom were honest with each other. It reminded you that you could tell him everything, even your deepest feelings, and he would make it his mission to help you. 

It was just who he was.

“About earlier”, Tom started and you knew the moment was over. You glanced to the ground, fiddling with your hands. “I don’t blame you for this Tom”, you interjected before he could say anything.

“Why? You should do it. This is all my fault!”

You sighed again, before reaching out to take his hand into yours. “C’mon, that doesn’t matter now. Zendaya isn’t mad at us and the reporters will eventually focus on a different topic.”

Tom nodded, but a frown was still covering his face. “I guess you’re right”, he stated and you grinned.

“Besides, it will allow us to spend more time together without being suspicious.”

Tom laughed at that and you were glad to relief some tension. “Now let’s go back to the hotel”, you suggested.

“You don’t want to go to the after party?”, Tom questioned and you shook your head.

“I am hella tired, aren’t you?” 

“Fair point”, Tom remarked and chuckling you made your way to the entrance.

The ride to the hotel hadn’t been easy, but eventually you had arrived. You had just put on some sweatpants and a loose t-shirt when Tom returned from signing a few more autographs.

“I can’t believe they waited all this time for a signature”, he chuckled while beginning to change. 

“Well I can”, you smirked, continuing to rub the make-up off your face.

“Yeah?”, Tom replied and you tried your best not to gaze into his direction. “If you didn’t know me, would you be standing out there too?”, he asked with a grin and you snorted.

“Totally!” You both laughed at the sarcasm in your voice. “I would be your biggest fan, Holland”, you added and he chuckled.

“How come I can imagine that so easily?”, he smirked and you huffed. “Oh shut up! Just because you delivered a not so terrible speech today doesn’t mean you’re irresistible.”

You turned to find Tom already in a pair of sweatpants and a t-shirt lying on the bed while scrolling through his phone.

“Trust me, I know you can’t resist me”, he grinned and you rolled your eyes, but not without being able to stop a smile from forming on your lips.

“You wish”, you chuckled while awkwardly walking over to the bed, stopping in front of it in uncertainty. 

Tom didn’t seem to notice at first, but then he looked up with a questioning look on his face.

“Is there anything you need?”, he asked while raising his brow. 

“Yeah the bed so make some space.”

“Oh.” Tom quickly moved to the side, putting his phone on the nightstand. 

“I could sleep in the armchair”, he suggested, but you shook your head. “There is enough space for the both of us”, you explained, still a little unsure about the situation.

It wasn’t like you and Tom hadn’t slept in the same bed before, but that had been years ago. While getting older you had become more aware and insecure of the situation and build walls around yourself.

But at night when you were sleeping, you were completely vulnerable. And you didn’t want to make this awkward for any of you.

Keep it simple.

“Are you sure?”, Tom wondered, visibly insecure himself. “Yeah, it’s no problem. Just don’t steal my blanket”, you tried to loosen up the tension a little.

“I will give my best”, he winked while getting comfortable. You did the same and soon Tom had switched out the light.

You woke up to the light flooding your room. Tom was still asleep next to you so you reached for your phone. 

8:30

Yawning you checked your messages and social media. But all tiredness vanished when you saw the hundreds and thousands of messages and followers you had reached. 

Zendaya had uploaded the photo of last night and you had to admit it looked pretty adorable. 

The comments were filled with hearts and cute messages and your mood brightened up immediately while reading all the positive messages.

The people really seemed to be happy for you. 

“What are you looking at?”

Tom’s voice woke you out of your thoughts. He had turned around, watching you with tired but attentive eyes.

“Social media. The people really seem to like us together”, you explained, grinning when you mustered Tom’s curls falling messy into his face.

He looked so much younger like this.

“See, I told you they would.” He had never said something like it, but you ignored that and just smiled.

“What’s the plan for today?”, you asked instead. 

Tom yawned, burying his face in his pillow. “Nothing to be honest. Just relaxing”, he murmured and it took all your attention to understand his muffled voice.

“That sounds lovely”, you smiled, really looking forward to a day off. 

“Tell me something I don’t know”, Tom smiled and you rolled your eyes.

Later you found yourself at the couch, scrolling through your phone again. All the comments begged for you to be seen and you couldn’t force yourself to stop reading. 

“Can’t get enough of all the love?”, Tom teased you from across the room. “Ha ha”, you commented, not looking up from the screen.

“Unlike you I don’t get compliments 24/7″, you defended yourself. 

It was silent for a second until you gazed up to see Tom sitting down facing you.

He hadn’t been able to unhear that you were bothered about it.

“Is that hard?”, he asked and you raised your brows. “What exactly?”

Tom cleared his throat. “I mean it somehow has become normal for me to look at my phone and see tons of compliments and lovely messages. Does it bother you that you don’t?”

You would have liked to smack him for that question, but his voice told you that he wasn’t intending to hurt you nor make you look small. He actually seemed to care about your thoughts and feelings towards the situation.

“Of course not!”, you called out, but Tom raised his brow. 

A look that urged you to tell him the truth. 

“Okay fine”, you sighed.

“Sometimes it might be a bit difficult to see one person get tons of love and attention while being invisible. I mean, I am happy for you and you deserve everything of that, but at times it makes one feel less of a person, like you are better than me. 

When I am depressed I can’t just scroll through my phone and see all the love of people that care about me. I will just sit at home and stare at a black screen.”

You didn’t know where your emotional outburst came from, but suddenly everything you had always kept to yourself came to the surface.

Talking to Tom just had that effect on you. He always gave you a reason to tell him your deepest feelings and you knew that you could trust him more than anything.

But now, when Tom was asking this question you just felt bad. You had never wanted to say those things out loud, especially not to him, but now it was too late.

But at the same time you felt like a small burden was falling from your shoulders. All this time you were feeling like you lived in Tom’s shadow and although you were fine with it most of the time, sometimes you struggled to accept it.

How should you learn to love yourself when you were always in the dark? When your two best friends gained all the attention and you were standing in the back as if you didn’t know them?

It was silent. You had put your phone away and were facing Tom, who seemed deep in thought. He was being completely serious and you could see on his face that he was surprised by your words.

“I’m so sorry. I should have asked this way sooner, but I never really paid attention to how you felt with me being famous.”

Tom’s voice was soft and like a warm embrace. “Don’t!”, you protested while rapidly shaking your head. “Don’t feel guilty. None of this is your fault!”

Tom smiled a little, but still seemed sad. “I just wish I would have known this sooner”, he sighed.

“I should have come to the conclusion that it isn’t easy for you, but I guess I just wanted it to be easy and ignored it.”

“Tom!”, you demanded for him to stop and he stilled. 

“Don’t do this to yourself! You deserve this more than anyone. I am unbelievably grateful that people see how amazing you are and show you how much love you deserve. It makes me so happy to see that people finally recognize you for all what you are.”

Tom’s eyes didn’t leave yours while you spoke and you could feel the nervousness kicking in.

Butterflies were erupting in your stomach and you did your best not to stumble over your own words.

“Thank you”, he smiled and you nodded with a smile yourself.

“You don’t have to thank me, Tom. That’s what friends are for, right?”

Tom shifted, but didn’t move away from you.

“Right.”

You smiled at him once more before trying to reach for your phone, when you suddenly heared his voice again.

“But I wanna say something too.”

You looked back at him with an amused smile on your face. 

“Go for it, Holland”, you encouraged him with a smirk, but Tom’s calmness told you that he was still being serious.

So you gave up your playfulness and waited for him to continue with a serious expression.

“I want you to know that, (Y/n), you’re not invisible. You are all I’m looking for when I enter a room and everything I could ever ask for. I don’t know why you’re still here or how I got you to be my friend, but please know that I am really grateful for that.”

You felt a lump in your throat and gulped to cover up how touched you were by his words. 

“I care about you! So whenever you’re depressed you text me, okay? I don’t want you to be alone and feel less worthy of love. You deserve so much more than that!”

Tom was watching you with sharp eyes, waiting for you to make him the promise. 

His words felt like a cure and poison at the same time.

They seemed to make up for every moment you had spend wondering why no one seemed to be interested in you and if you were less beautiful or smart or funny than Harrison and Tom.

But simultaneously they reminded you that Tom couldn’t keep his promise. As much as he might want to, it wasn’t possible.

You remembered when you had one of the worst days imaginable. Coming home you had broken down in tears and spend the rest of the evening crying until you eventually fell asleep. But through those tears you had called Tom multiple times and send him messages.

And you could still remember his only message. 

Sry, but I’m busy. Call you back later.

Not only had you found out that he had been out partying with Harrison, but also he had never called you back.

He had never asked you about the evening again, so you had just dropped it.

Or the other little moments when you had needed him and he had been unavailable; in an interview, filming, on press tour. It was always the same.

But right now that didn’t matter. Bringing it up would only make Tom feel bad about something he couldn’t control.

Well, except for the partying.

So you nodded.

He gave his best, so you should do too.

Besides, his words gave you weak knees. He cared about you. You are all I’m looking for when I enter a room and everything I could ever ask for.

Only a few words and your mind was going wild. Maybe he felt the same, maybe he was in love with you too. 

The hope that you so desperately tried to ignore grew and you began imagining what could happen next.

Maybe he would kiss you.

“Thank you”, you smiled, tears in your eyes.

“You don’t have to thank me. That’s what friends are for, right?”

His words felt like a punch in the stomach. Although he was only repeating you without any bad intentions, it felt like a slap.

You were brought back to reality. He wouldn’t kiss you. Why should he? You were just a friend to him.

Before he could sense the impact his words had on you, you forced a smile on your lips and reached for your phone.

Your mind was numb, while you scrolled through social media. 

You didn’t read any of the messages, was your mind too distracted to deal with the sudden rejection.

But you feared that if you stopped acting like you were distracted, Tom could talk to you again.

And right now his presence felt more like a burden than a gift.

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[the-voice-of-hell]

Rent is Theft, part 23

Read from the beginning here, read the previous chapter here.  Note:  My MC is a Filipina trans woman and I am not.  If you have notes on that or anything else, hit me up.

                                                      ***

      I turned on the fans, turned off any lights I’d missed before.  Don’t panic.  The quick increase in the heat was counter to what the internet said about concrete, but maybe that was just because it’s a rather thin layer of the stuff.  Nothing supernatural in that, right?

      We drank our water.  I unlashed the twine that bound the ottomans into my fake bed, so we could space our bodies out a bit more as we lay there.  I retied them into two beds, as much as I didn’t want the extra labor.  You lay on three ottomans in a row, they’ll slide apart on you over time, and your body will be unconsciously tense as you try to hold them together.  That would be more work, ultimately.

      So we were on two improvised mini-beds, three feet apart, like a Hays Code era film about a married couple.  No implied fucking in this household.  The conjugal bed is hidden in the attic, along with the gay stuff and prospering criminals and other contraband concepts.

      “Did I apologize for this yet?,” I asked.

      “Yeah, stop doing that.”  She rolled the bottle on her forehead.  The cooling effect wouldn’t last.

      “Maybe we should talk about something to take our minds off the heat.”

      “I can’t think of what.  I don’t wanna tell cute stories when it’s like this, because when I think about the story after that, I’ll think about being hot.”

      “Yeah.  I could play music.”

      “But... same thing.”

      “Oh yeah, even worse.  I know whenever I hear a song I’ll remember other stuff that was going on when I played it before.  Maybe we’ll just talk about cold things, see if we can trick our imaginations.”

      “I don’t think my imagination is that good.”

      “Alright I thought of something I can do, but will you be OK just layin’ there alone?”

      “You’ll be here with me, right?”

      “You bet.  I was gonna go on my laptop and try to get more job interviews.”

      “Good idea.  Thank you, Courtney.”

      “You don’t have to say that.”

      I got my laptop out of the living room and brought it in.  I knew running it in that heat was a bad idea, but was getting desperate.  I lay down on my belly, chin propped with a thin pillow, arms dangling over the edge of the ottoman to my compy.  I turned it on.

      It took only a little longer to start up from nothing, but once I was past the loading screens, I found performance still very laggy.  Slow background startup operations, I’m sure.�� But I had a bad feeling and kept my eye glued to the bottom right of the taskbar.

      I was waiting for a specific program to load - one that monitored motherboard performance.  I wouldn’t have to open it, because once it loaded from startup, it would display the processor temp right there in thumbnail.  A useful little thing.

      The thumbnail was only part visible glowing red beneath a pop-up window from the program.  “Excessive heat alert.  Shutdown recommended.”  Shit.  That made it official.  I couldn’t afford for my computer to melt now, so I turned it off.

      “My computer won’t work.  There goes that idea.”

      “Ugh.  I’m sorry.”

      “We apologize a lot, don’t we?”

      She seemed like she wanted to turn her head to face me, but that it would be too much exercise in her current state, and gave up after the most fleeting glance.  “Sorry about that.”

      “Love you.  I’ll think of something to talk about.”

      “OK.  Just remember.”

      “Nothing that will remind you of this later.  Roger.”  I drank my warm water and pondered it.  There was another knock at the door.  Fine.

      The doorknob was as hot as a hot shower now, initially shocking to the touch, but not scorching.  I got it open.  “Deandre.  Kids.  Pretty messed up, huh?”

      Deandre said, “Yeah.  Feels like we should all get out while we can.  This can’t be safe.  What are the odds they see us if we just use the stairs, go down one more floor, and hide out in the hall?  Ain’t nobody lives on that floor.”

      Knobby asked, “Are we gonna be alright?  I’m, eh, gettin’ kinda...”

      “I don’t know guys.  You could try it, I just...  I’d hate so much for any of us to get caught now, y’know?  It makes me sick.”

      “Heat can make you sick,” said Olivia.

      “I know it,” I said.  “I say, do what feels right.  I can’t tell you what to do and I wouldn’t want to.”

      “That’s the problem.  Nothing feels right,” said Deandre.

      “Well, until you make a move, drink plenty of water and rest as much as possible.  Guy said one hundred twenty-five degrees for three hours, but that’s up there.  Shouldn’t be that bad down here.  It shouldn’t.”

      “Yeah.”

      Me and Leimomi drank more water, as best we could.  It’s hard to chug when your body is starting to cook like a hot dog.  I searched my mind in increasing desperation.

      “Erotic Grime thriller.”

      “What?  Why?,” she asked.

      “Because it was the first thing I thought of, and the less we think of that guy sexually, the better.  You won’t wanna remember this later and you won’t.”

      “Heh.  Fuck it, OK.”

      “So Grime is a fast-paced computer programming man in the fast-paced world of computer programming.  The office is abuzz with activity.  It’s crunch time.  That’s when a product is about to hit a big milestone and we’re lagging behind expectation, so we all have to work extra hours.”

      “You’re there?”

      “Naw, no thanks.  Funny I was thinking of myself as part of that world.  I never do that, these days.  Maybe it was because I’ve been looking at job listings.

      Anyway, Grime is burning the midnight oil.  He’s wearing his skinny jeans and one of those ‘communist party’ t-shirts that has Karl Marx and Lenin with lampshades on their heads and bottles in hand.”

      “Don’t know that one.  Hard to imagine.”

      “It’s a bright red t-shirt.  It shrank in the wash a little bit.  Not enough he would throw it away, but a tighter fit than he’d usually go for.  In the cold late fall weather his nipples are pressing against the cloth.”

      “Ooh.”

      “Yeah, they’re ‘green’ buildings, so management skimps on AC in summer and heat in winter.  So Grime is there, nippin’ out, but typing so fast, like Sick Boy in Hackers, green matrix code raining down across his screens.  He’ll win the day.”

      “Does he have cool sunglasses?”

      “Is that hot?”

      “We’re all too hot right now, Courtney.”

      “His midnight black wraparound shades are ink dark portals to a level of Hell that is pure ice.  I think there was one of those in Dante’s Divine Comedy.  But yeah, frost is forming on the keys.  He has to step back, lest he freeze the whole desk like a liquid nitrogen bath.”

      “I can’t imagine it.”

      “Point is, he’s sexy action cool.  And he thinks he’s alone, but he’s wrong.  A sound from several cubicles away makes him leap for the katana at his deskside.”

      “Like a ninja sword?”

      “Exactly.  They let guys have those if they have enough corporate spirit.”

      “OK.”

      “His blade flashes like blue lightning, but nobody falls to his deadly moves.  He sees a guy step into the hall.”

      “A guy?  Huh.  A guy?  Are they gonna..?  Is there a girl in this one?”

      “No way.  It’s old school slash, baby.”

      “Does that mean..?”

      “Yup.  So he sees the guy stretching and is embarrassed.  He tosses the sword into a nearby cubicle, hoping he isn’t noticed.”

      “What’s the guy look like?”

      “He’s a silver fox.  Name is Michael Haeckel, he’s like six foot four.  Not chubby like Grime but not too skinny either.  You can tell just because he’s that tall and has big hands, he’s packing *redacted*”

      “Whoa.  Is he real?  Did you used to work with him?”

      “Yeah.”

      “Is it OK to make a dirty story about somebody else?”

      “I dunno.  We’re getting broiled like baby back ribs in here.  Ethics can wait.  Anyway, Michael was kinda sleepy and started to get *redacted*”

      “Can that happen?”

      “If you’re sleepy enough and you are packing *redacted* in my story.  So the outline of *redacted* is pretty visible in his acid wash jeans, and Grime is like, whoa, shit.  He hopes he wasn’t noticed.  He lucked out.  Michael does notice his situation though and picks up a clipboard fake casual to hold over his *redacted* while he goes to say hi.

      ‘Hey Graeme,’ Michael says.  ‘Hey,’ says Grime.  They talk about work, and how other guys don’t have the dedication like they do, to work so late on crunch.  Randomly, the subject of donating to charity comes up.  All the tech boys do it for tax breaks.”

      “That’s nice.”

      “It would be better for the world if any of those pricks paid their taxes.  Michael mentions that he’s giving to some LGBT charity.  Grime says that’s cool, but wonders why Michael feels like that’s a good one.  After all, he’s married to a lady and stuff.”

      “Hm.”

      “He says he’s actually bi.  One time in college he had sex with a dude and feels like it was beautiful and nobody should be judged for love.  Grime is like, cool, but you have been with nothing else but ladies forever.  Do you still feel bi?”

      “That seems rude.”

      “So does the funky bass music starting to play out of thin air - the sounds of love are soon to come.  Michael says, ‘Yeah,’ and they have a big moment.  Sexual tension in the air so thick you could cut it.”

      “Hm.  He’s six foot six?”

      “Yup.”

      “Silver fox?  Like a furry?”

      “Sure, why not?  So the guy says, ‘Maybe my wife doesn’t mind if I do stuff sometimes,’ and Grime is like, ‘Oh shit, I’ve never been with a dude before.  Is this really happening?’  And Michael is like, take it slow, and they do.”

      “Like taking off their clothes slow and stuff, or *redacted* slow?”

      “The first one.  Michael suggests they just watch each other *redacted* for a few minutes, see how it feels.  Grime and him are alone, think it’s funny.  Why not take advantage?  They *redaaaaaaaacted*”

      “Cool.  But I can’t *redacted* myself right now.”

      “Good.  That would be unethical, maybe.  I don’t know, whatever.  So the guys are showing each other what they got, and Michael is like, ‘Damn, Graham, what you wanna do now?,’ and Grime says ‘Graeme,’ but kinda chokes on it because he’s *redacted* like it’s water in the desert.  Oh. reminds me, drink some water, babe.”  I did the same, hard as it was.

      “So,” I continued, “Grime is *redacted*  Michael has to push him back a little and say, ‘Easy there, tiger.’  And that makes Grime all sad because he was fixin’ to experience *redacted*  That thing is too magnificent.”

      “What’s it look like?”

      “It’s like a white dude’s *redacted*, y’know, all *redaaaaacted, includes missile metaphor*”

      “Wow.  Haha, his *redacted* is the bomb.”

      “True.  So Michael says he wants to *redaaaaaaaacted*”

      “What’s it feel like, for somebody to have their *redacted* on a *redacted* ?”

      “Kinda crazy, like you got two *redacted* in a wrestling match, daring each other to make a move, but they can’t.  Not without help.  So Grime grabs *redacted*  He remembers to check in with Michael, because he doesn’t want to lose his privileges.  Michael lets him know, yeah, he’s doing it too *redacted*

      So he loosens up his grip a bit, and *redaaaaaaaaaaacted*

      “Yeah.  So they’re *redacted*?”

      “Yeah, y’know *redacted*  Does that make sense?  Anyway, it feels real good.  They’re feeling it, because *redaaaacted* lightly while *redaaaacted* tightly.”

      “That was a rhyme.  You should be a rapper.”

      “Oh yeah.  That’s a good job.  Where do I interview for that one?”

      “Sorry.”  She drank more water.  “Go on.”

      “They can’t take much more of it.  *redaaacted* so they gotta step back.

      So Grime is looking at the big man’s *redacted* and feeling inadequate, feeling like a child.  The guy senses his hesitance and says, ‘I like what you got, kid.  Let me see that.’  Then he goes down to his knees, taps an office chair to suggest Grime sit down in it.  Our boy rolls into position.

      He isn’t feeling it that much, like, *redaaacted*  But Michael gives him a look, so kind and beautiful like Obi-Wan Kenobi.  Then the older guy nuzzles Grime’s *redacted*  He feels Michael’s beard on his *redacted*  It feels crazy, but he knows he can't just *redacted* because it would scratch up his *redacted*

      Then Michael *redaaacted*  Grime is lightheaded, feeling like he might *redacted* at any moment, *redaaaaaaacted*

      But then Michael relents, right as Grime is about to *redacted*  He leans back and says, ‘You wanna feel this *redacted*?’  He’s gesturing to his *redacted*  Grime is speechless.  How can he say yes?  He’s never done anything like that before.  But still, he agrees.  Sometimes you hafta jump in the deep end.”

      “Whoa.  You think Grime would take a *redacted* in the *redacted*?”

      “Probably like it better if it was *redacted* but I bet he would.  Y’know, it’s just a story though.  Grime could have two *redacted* and taste like rose water if we wanted.”

      “Two *redacted* and he can *redacted* a furry?  OK.  Tell me about it.”

      “For real?  Grime has two *redacted* now?  And I’m supposed to get real about the furry thing?”

      “You mean he wasn’t really a furry?”

      “I guess he could be.  What kind of furry do you like?  Wolf boys?  Horse boys?”

      “Um, you said he was a silver fox.  And now Grime has two *redacted* and he wants to get a *redacted* in his *redacted* for a first time.”

      “Hm.  So Grime’s *redacteds* are kinda hanging there, like *redacted* but as soon as the older guy suggests *redacted* they both *redacted*

      “Why couldn’t Grime have had two *redacted* instead of the red hands thing?”

      “You really picturing that?  Because it’s just kinda abstract to me.  Hard to call the image to mind, really.  For me.”

      “I was thinkin’ like what it would feel like to have both in my *redacted* at the same time, be all filled up like that.”

      “Damn, baby.  I’d like to see that.  But I can’t *redacted* right now.  It’s too hot.”  I took a drink.

      “I know.”

      “Before I go on, should I describe the fox *redacted* looking like a fox *redacted* or a human *redacted* that maybe has some more hairs on it?”

      “What’s a fox *redacted* look like?  Don’t do it if it’s real weird.  That’s just gross.”

      “I don’t know, but I’d imagine they look like regular dog *redacted* which are pretty fuckin’ gross.  Moving on then, the silver-furred fox man stood up to his full height, his long human-like *redacted* brushing against Grime’s *redacted*  It was time for Grime to *redacted*

      They pushed all the printers and folders and three by five cards and highlighters and shit off of the desk, and Grime sat himself there with his legs up in the air.  Fox Michael probably made a sound like a fox makes, whatever that is.”

      “A howl, probably.”

      “Probably he howled.  Sometimes a howl is a mournful sound, the baying of bloodthirsty creatures on the moors, singing how theirs is a life of pursuit, of famine and violent feast, and eternal scraping in a social order from which the only escape is death.  But for the horny fox man, the howl is of Looney Tunes-esque hubba-hubba awooga-styled lust.  He rubs Grime’s *redacted* all over with his big fox paws, giving him little scratches with his short sharp claws.  Grime finds that exciting and bites his lip.

      Then Michael *redaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaacted*

      “What are Grime’s two *redacted* doing?”

      “They’re wondering why they only have three *redacted* between them and not four.”

      “Three *redacted*?  What would that be like?”

      “Three *redacted* is good when you’re rubbing them on a regular set of two, because the *redacted* go between each other, don’t butt against each other and get sore.  It’s pure sensation, like God intended.”

      “Damn.  That makes me wish I had three *redacted* Courtney.”

      “Would you also like two *redacted*?  While we’re handing out body parts, it’s OK.”

      “No, I don’t know if I could have *redacted* right.  I don’t know.”

      “It’s OK, I prefer you with *redacted*  I mean, if you have a *redacted* and three *redacted* that might be kinda hard to *redacted* without being like you’re getting kicked in the *redacted* all the time, so you have some decisions to make.”

      “I don’t know what to do.”  She seemed a little upset.

      “It’s OK, babe!  It’s just a game.”

      “Ugh, sorry.  It was just the heat.  That would be weird if I was sad about pretend *redacted*”

      “Oh good.  I love you too much, honey.”

      “I’d laugh but it’s too hot.”

      “I understand.  Do you want me to keep going?”

      “Can you?  It’s bad in here.  Real bad.”

      “We’re just trying to kill time.  How much time have we been doing this?”

      “I dunno.  Feels like hours.”

      I got up the will to look at the time on my phone.  “Oh Christ.  It’s only been eleven minutes.”  I sobbed once, before I even noticed what I was doing.

      “Don’t cry, Courtney.”

      “You’re right,” I choked it down.  “Gotta conserve my water.”  I took another drink.  “So Grime is holding his *redacted* together loosely, one palm over the *redacted* kinda *redacted* so he doesn’t *redacted* before the fox even gets started.  Michael *redaaaaacted*”

      “Uh huh.”

      “Maybe I should be doing Goldilocks and the Three Bears.”

      “Whatever’s easiest.”

      “I guess we’re already here.  And I’ll have time to get through the whole fucking Grimm Brothers catalog.”  I almost cried again.

      “It’s OK.  You can stop, and we’ll just...”

      “No, no.  I can do this.  So Michael has his *redacted* all *redacted*  It’s *redaaaaacted*  I think if Michael is basically so humanoid his *redacted* looks like a *redacted* he’s gotta have a tail and an animal head.  So his tail is wagging like a happy dog and his face is all, again, awooga awooga.  You know, like a cartoon wolf when he sees a hot chick.

      He *redaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaacted*

      Meanwhile, Grime is losing his mind.  He’s insane with ecstasy, didn’t even know it was possible to feel that good.  But he can’t get it together to help out, or say something, or do anything yet.  His mind is a technicolor CG explosion, like a commercial for expensive fruit juice.  Meanwhile his grip on his own *redacteds* has firmed into a stiff claw shape, like he’s clutching a stick shift in a muscle car.

      Finally, sometime around *redacted* Grime gets his brains back.  He says, ‘*redacted*’  Michael is ready and *redacted*  Grime knows if he actually *redacted* he’s gonna *redacted* on the spot, *redaaacted*”

      “Holy shit, Courtney.”

      “So Grime knows it’s basically game over, but he doesn’t wanna go out like a bitch.  He’s gotta get Michael to *redacted* somehow.  He knows he has practically no chance, but he begs for it, hopes that’ll work.  ‘Michael, *redacted* please.  I need your *redacted* dude.’  Michael likes that, but will he do it?”

      “I don’t know.”

      “You could make that up.  No pressure.  But does he *redacted* first?”

      “Yeah, but I can’t say it like you.”

      “OK, maybe I can teach you how someday.  You can be my bard apprentice.  In the meantime, Michael felt his *redaaacted*  His mind turned inside out, his mirthful expression went slack as lust stole the blood from his brain, then his eyes bulged and nostrils flared as...  I forgot he has a fox head.  Let’s say his long pink wet tongue flopped out the side of his mouth and he rolled his muzzle around and his ears went like... helicopters or whatever.

      Just for funsies, let’s imagine *redacted*  When it’s *redacted* hitting Grime’s *redacted* he feels a thrill *redacted* and he knows he actually won.

      He gets each *redacted* in a medium firm grip and they *redacted*  For whatever reason, *redacted*  Each got *redacted*  Grime’s *redacted* was *redacted* but in his excitement, and with his *redacted* it *redacted*  A *redacted* in a magic instant, then *redacted* their *redacted* like in the fancy grocery store, where they got those little pipes that spray water on the lettuce heads.  You know what I’m talking about?  Remember seeing one of those?”

      “OK, but it’s *redacted*?”

      “Yeah, it’s Grime’s *redacted* and it’s *redacted*  He yells in joy and then sucks in his mouth and bugs his eyes.  Oops, he thinks, somebody might be around.

      Michael *redacted* hastily, but not too fast, just to avoid accidents or discomfort, and uses his tall vantage to look around over the tops of the cubicles.  There’s nobody in sight, and he says as much.  He takes a wad of tissues out of a box and dabs up the *redacted* on himself while he watches Grime recover.

      He’s not recovering fast.  When Michael *redacted* the sensation prolonged his *redacted* even more, though there wasn’t much *redacted* left to *redacted*  It was kinda pathetic, just his two *redacted* rapidly *redacted*  Michael could see Grime’s *redacted* in the crappy green lights and the way they *redacted*  Grime’s head lolled and all he could say was ‘oh man’ over and over again.”

      “Oh fox man.”

      “Good catch.  I guess Michael’s probably lapping up the *redacted* from his muzzle and chest, leaving dabbed tongue shapes on his shirt.”

      “They didn’t get naked?”

      “I don’t remember.  That’s a missed opportunity.  Coulda said what they look like naked.”

      “Fox man and two *redacted* Grime.”

      “It’s true.”  I exhaled.  It would have been a sigh but I didn’t have the strength to muster a good inhale at the beginning, just weakly deflated my shallow lungs.  I had to hork down some air a moment later to make up for it.

      “You OK, Courtney?”

      “Ugh.  Sorry.  Let’s drink more water.”

                                                        ***

   Read next chapter here.

[shystoryrebel]

Fake Revolutionary

Ayesha Ansari was very nervous.

She had just five minutes left for her interview to start but she couldn’t find the right address. Lost, she stopped in the mysterious corridors of JNU to ask the address.

Nobody paid any attention to her. All ignored. She was bewildered and confused. Wondered why?

All were talking in English but the accent was more confusing. It was neither English nor Bihari, Bengali, Hindi, English and what not. All mixed and with twenty five per cent really good English.

‘Common room…please guide? I have to attend the interview…I am from OBC

/minority/backward region category. Where is the common room?’ She almost cried.

‘Where are you from, girl?’ asked a girl with uncombed hair, dirty jeans, cotton kurta, and cigarette in mouth.

‘Me Ayesh Ansari from Jalmahal, Bengal.’

The girl laughed. She wanted to show that she was modern and advance and she was a rustic villager.

‘What are you interviewing for? Guard or a peon?’ The ill mannered soiled clothed girl again laughed.

Ayesha Ansari did not reply as she did not want to spoil her interview. She and all seemed to be political activists. Another girl, tall and slim had some pity for her and replied, ‘Take a right turns at the multi story building and you will see there a ‘Q’ for interviews.

‘Thank you,’ she said very coolly.

‘The sign board is in English not in Bengali!’ the girl took a long puff and muttered.

Her friends pulled her and whispered some nasty things about her.

It was the first interview of Ayesha Ansari’s life. Four old men sat opposite to her. She could not understand whether they were professors or migrants of some drought hit areas.

Uncombed disheveled hair, floating beard, dirty trim fit jeans, long dirty kurata. One of them was puffing a cigar and two others were taking black tea. She was taken aback by their mannerism.

She had a different notion about the graceful attrite of professors.

She was taught to wish people before an interview. ‘Pranam, sir.’

‘We are four here,’ retorted the man sitting in the middle chair. He was around sixty years old, wore thick glasses and a loose jacket.

They all unitedly smiled at me in sarcasm. It was the English-class-to-Indian-class smile. The smile of superiority and arrogance that she wished them in Indian sanskars.

‘Pranam,’ Prof. Mukherjee said tersely.

‘Directly from village to Delhi,’ good break. Said Prof.Mandal,

‘OBC, minority, woman and the backward region category,’ said Prof.Siddiqi.

‘Dada Sunil Gangoupadhaya should be here to interview her,’ all laughed together.

‘Her category and backward region are her final merit,’ said the Prof. Mukherjee.

‘OBC, minority, woman, backward region category, Jalmahal Bengal,’ asked Prof.Siddiqi, scrutinizing through her file.

‘Yes sir,’ she was bewildered by their response.

‘Can’t you speak a full sentence?’ Prof.Yadav said in a rude voice.

‘Yes, yes, but I am afraid due to your high scholarship,’ she said meekly.

‘So…why you want to join JNU?’

There was hushed silence. All looked at her like wolfs.

‘I want good university, good city and scholarly environment for my future,’ she replied in wavering voice.

All smiled on her answer.

‘What is good about JNU and Delhi?’ Asked Prof. Mukherjee.

It was enough for her in English. She switched to Hindi. She was not comfortable in English. They will laugh on her English and she was sure to be rejected by them.

‘This university has a big name in Bihar, Bengal, Odisha and Jharkhand etc., states,’ she said.

‘Can’t you speak in English?’ Said Prof.Mandal.

She observed her slip-up on their smiling faces. She had said it because she was more at home in Hindi. But here the panel was more interested in showing their wrong accent English rather than knowing her correct Hindi.

‘Prof. Siddiqi even raised a question, how did she get a call for interview?’

Prof. Yadav perhaps realized her tension and nervousness and said to her ‘JNU desists Hindi as the medium of instruction.’

With her own mother tongue Hindi, she felt very panicky. Now she was trying to find out the easiest way to leave that place and go back to Bengal. But suddenly one Professor Yogesh Bhardwaj entered the room.

‘Bengal se ho? He said.

She was surprised but relieved.

‘Yes, sir. Bengal.’

She wanted to touch his feet. All four English speaking revolutionaries were staring at her and looking at each other with twisted brows.

‘Tell us about yourself and achievements.’ Bhardwaj Sir said.

Seeing me nervous he spoke,’ be easy and take your own time.’

The four professors were looking at Bhardwaj Sir with contempt.

She made herself relaxed and spoke her prepared lines.

‘And you want admission in M.A. English. Why?’ Asked Prof.Mandal

‘It is a very tough course. Need lot of study. Remarked Prof. Siddiqi.

She could not understand why they were against her?

‘I am from OBC, minority, woman and the backward region category or from a poor family will not work her.’ Sarcastically uttered Prof.Siddiqi.

‘Can I explain my point in Hindi Sir?’

All were surprised on her newly acquired confidence in Hindi.

All remained silent. She explained her point in Hindi.

Small crowd of students, mostly seniors, had gathered around the interview rooms. New admissions always pull the students. She stretched her neck and looked at the crowd. She saw a very simple boy. Very tall and slim.

Six feet is very attractive for an Indian boy. His fair colour, sharp features, long neck, broad shoulders, long and athletic legs were enough to pull the attention of every girl. He was an applicant of the general cum merit category. He wore blue very decently stitched trousers and white shirt.

‘5% reservation for attractive looks,’ a senior girl commented as he entered into the interview room. All the girls there giggled but he remained unfazed as if he was used to such comments.

When he passed her, she saw his sweaty charming face from close. They made eye contact for a split second and he vibrated her heart. She was attracted towards him. It was love at first sight. She felt something deep inside her heart for him. It was the most attractive face she had ever seen in her life.

All is wrapped in destiny. He returned after few second.

‘Pen, please,’ he said. She felt almost paralyzed.

She put out my pen from her bag.

‘I said pen, please,’ She held the pen for an extra second. She wanted to look at his innocent face a bit longer.

She gave him the pen. He took it nervously and looked at her.

‘Good luck, speak in English with the monsters.’ She said.

‘What?’ He looked at her. She wished she had worn better clothes.

‘They prefer English speaking candidates.’ she said. She couldn’t take her eyes off him.

He caught her staring. After the interview he walked up to Ayesha Ansari to return the pen.

‘Thanks,’ he said.

‘Your pen was lucky to me. My interview was good,’ he said to her.

A few girls tried to make eye contact with him but he ignored them. She wanted to speak to him more.

‘What is your good name?’ She asked.

‘Good or bad, you know but one name, Yogesh Sharme.’ He said and smiled.

Yogesh! She liked his simple name.

‘Your name?’ He asked. For the first time in her life a handsome Brahmin boy has asked her name.

‘Myself Ayesha. Ayesha Ansari.’

‘From Bengal,’ he said and laughed.

‘You. You?’

‘From Haridwar UP..’

He was so attractive and charming that she wanted continue talking to him.

‘Wow, you are really good,’ she said.

‘Thanks,’ he said.

‘Anyway, I have to go,’ he said and lifted his hand. ‘Bye, nice meeting you.’

‘Bye,’ she said, although her heart didn’t want it to end.

‘Unless god blesses us both and we are both lucky,’ he added and smiled.

‘Yes God will definitely bless us,’ she said.

‘Yes. If he does, then hope to see you again. Else, bye forever.’

He walked away. Her heart sank. She wanted nothing more than both of them to get admission in JNU.

She stood alone in the corner of the verandah. All others had left. She saw the red brick-coloured building and forest around it where young cupids were sitting inside every bush.

‘Good Morning,’ he said. His sober voice startled her. She had been scanning the university notice board.

She turned around. She had prayed for both of us to get admissions. She made it but his name was nowhere in the list.

She was very sad and shocked. She had only fifty percent but Yogesh Sharma had eighty five percent. Fifty percent was selected and eighty five percent was rejected. She never thought of this that her caste, religion and backward region will pay her so handsomely.

She joined the university but could not get a place in the hostel. One day she was roaming in a nearby colony in search of a room. She was shown a room in a flat. Inmate of the other room was a boy. She was hesitant but on her amazement the resident was none other than Yogesh Sharma. She gave advance and took that room.

Perhaps she was in love with Yogesh. But it was useless. She could not control her feelings. Yogesh Sharma, handsome Brahman boy, preparing for civil services and giving tuitions, most handsome boy on the earth, owner of an extraordinary intellect and speaker of mesmerizing lines and snatched her heart.

Every day she used to go to the university and he gave tuitions to students. In the night he prepared for civil services.

Sometime they walked down the university roads together. He was with her for hours.

‘You made friends here?’ he asked.

‘No’ she said.

She could not tell him that you are her only friend here.

‘You?’ She asked.

‘I am still trying to adjust,’ he said. ‘I feel I don’t belong here.’

‘Trust me, next year you will get admission,’ she said.

Our flat was a ground floor flat. There was small piece of land behind our flat. Yogesh was very fond of gardening. He was a lover of trees and plants. He planted red hibiscus, mango trees in the garden. Soon the small garden had lush green plants all around. She also started helping him in his hobby of gardening.

In this manner time passes. Days, weeks, months and a year passed.

Next session started. He again applied. But again he could not get admission due to faulty admission system where merit has less points but caste, backwardness of the region, gender etc., have more point. This system was a new kind of apartheid.

One fateful morning when she got up, Yogesh was not in his room. He had collected his belongings and left the flat.

She was shattered, devastated. In a moment, her world and dreams were crushed.

His phone was switched off. Her messages were not delivered to him. She waited for him at the entrance of the flat every evening.

Their neighbors could not understand her trauma. But they all saw it, “It was the first thought that came to her as she woke up. He was gone. And, soon, this bedroom, the house in whose eastern corner it sat, and the tiny garden outside with its gnarled old red hibiscus and the half-grown mango tree they had planted together, all those would be gone as well. It was the strangest feeling ever.”

After this her personality changed. She became silent. She never missed any class. She sat on the front seats and took notes very seriously but never participated in any discussion or activity. She would sit in the flat and the garden for hours but never talked to anyone.

Sometime she lurked on the university roads, hoping to see him again. Nights hit her hardest. She found it difficult to sleep alone. She lay on the bed where they used to sleep together. She ended up being more shattered and puzzled. She wanted to get Yogesh out of her mind but she failed.

She passed M.A. and got some jobs too. But she did not want to work in Delhi or in any big city. She got a job of a teacher in a village, Bhawanipur, Bengal. She preferred that job, where she could serve her own people and make them good citizens.

She reached the school. But she could not understand. Should she focus on the teaching or see the cracking plaster of ceiling?

‘Live with self-respect. Live for others, which are how one can earn respect.’ This was taught by her father.

School was a fifty minute walk from the main kasba of Bhawanipur. After passing through field, she reached the grey-and-red school building. It was very old building, perhaps not painted nor repaired for decades. This was the gift of our much hyped revolutionary comrades and secular TMC. Rains create more havoc.

The school has three classrooms and a common staff room. There was no electricity although electric poles were there. School has no toilet. Teachers and students have to go to the field to relieve. Ayesha used bushes or the field as do all the teachers of the school.

There was no fee; even then enrollment was very low. Indians have beggars inside. Without any fee they want all the degrees.

Imran Ansari was the most notorious boy of the school. He was hardly eighteen but appeared much bigger than his age. He belonged to a very rich and politically connected family. Both Communists and TMC leaders used to visit his father due to his grip over his community votes. Ansaris were in meat and scrap business and were doing very well.

Imran was addicted to whisky. Imran spent as much money on whisky, almost equal to the school’s entire budget. Imran was very short stature but his confidence and bullying nature made Ayesha seems like a kid answering his questions. Imran’s family was insanely rich and rough. He had an Urdu accent, used to wear skull cap and lived in a Muslim ghetto.

One day he did a horrifying thing with Ayesha. He bent forward and to hold of her waist. She was too shocked to understand this. Imran lifted her. All students giggled.

A part of frustration came from her heart. Ayesha has lived with this fakeness all her life. She was a like a refugee for Imran and his fellow students cum friends.

One day Ayesha got up very early and went to relieve in the fields. When she was washing her shit and her butt in the village pond, from the other side, a voice devastated Ayesha:

‘myadama kaal skula khulbe ?’ (‘Madam will the school open tomorrow?’) It was Imran.

Ayesha Ansari fainted. On regaining consciousness, she rushed to her room, collected her belongings and took the first morning train to Haridwar to find out her true love.

[secretlystephaniebrown]

Pineapples Don’t Belong on Pizza

First prompt done! @sroloc--elbisivni requested I write the Suckington Pizza Delivery Guy AU which I talked about ages ago (found here!) on encouragement of @whimsical-writer, whose birthday happens to be today! Happy Birthday Heza, hope you have a great day!

Pairings: Sucker, Suckington

Warnings: Possibly for mild sexual harassment in a workplace setting? IDK It’s Kai and Tucker hitting on Wash the pizza delivery man, I’m not entirely sure how else it was going to turn out. 

Also on Ao3

It starts, like most things in Kai’s life do, with a challenge.

“No way we can order every single item on the menu from that place before it closes,” Tucker says. He’s sitting on the couch, completely naked. Kai is so glad that she’s finally dating someone with a sensible approach to nudity.

“We’ve got like, two months,” Kai argues.

Tucker pauses, considering. “Well, no harm in trying, right?”

“And then we don’t have to cook for like, ages!” Kai grins.

“True!” He glances at the TV, where the video game match with their friends is starting up. “You joining?”

“Nah, I’ll place the order,” Kai says, and starts her hunt for her cell phone while Tucker grabs the controller and starts talking shit at Dex and their friends.

Freelancer Pizza is a weird, local place, and apparently half of the management just got arrested for like, tax fraud and/or attempted murder. But it’s open for the next six weeks still, so Kai feels relatively confident they can make their way through the menu.

She calls the number and talks with the cranky lady on the other end, ordering a large supreme with everything on it—and she means everything, because Freelancer is awesome and has all sorts of weird shit available. Kai’s always had a fondness for pineapple on pizza, and it’s cool that this place has it as an option beyond the shitty “Hawaiian” pizza that most places have.

“It’ll be there in half an hour,” the lady tells her. Kai nods cheerfully and goes in search of the beer, which they hid again yesterday cuz Tex and Church had come over to visit, and those two zero in on any alcohol that’s left in their proximity. Realizing it’s probably rude to show off her tits to a random delivery person—although really, anyone should be glad to see them, her tits are fantastic—she grabs a baggy t-shirt and a pair of pantie and puts them on.  

Tucker’s cursing out Sarge for giving away their position—why he plays with the gross old guy is beyond Kai, but whatever. Beer in hand, she passes him one and curls up next to him on the couch, playing games on her phone while they wait for the pizza to arrive.

Several matches later for Tucker, and several levels later for Kai, the doorbell rings. Kai leaps to her feet, barely remembering to grab her wallet so she can pay the guy.

She throws open the door, expecting to see their normal teenager with glasses—Church’s cousin Theta is their usual delivery guy, and the poor kid always looks at her like she’s gonna punch him, but it’s not.

Instead, the new guy is hot. Dyed-blonde hair, steely grey eyes, muscles, a jawline that Kai could use to slice the pizza… Kai is so glad Tucker’s a sensible guy about her ogling other people, because yep, Kai is ogling, and she’s not about to stop, because this guy is a regular dream boat, and she’s appreciating.

“Large supreme with everything on it and… extra pineapples?” The guy makes a face. Clearly, despite being hot, he has no taste in pizza. Well, it’s good to know he’s not too good to be true.

Kai grins, letting her eyes sweep up and down him again, because she has no shame. “That’s right,” she says, pulling out the bills. Tucker looks up, and his eyes go wide as he takes in the hot pizza guy, because her man has excellent taste.

Kai’s tempted to invite the guy in, because hello, she wants to see what he looks like under that ugly uniform, but she sees like five other pizzas in his hand, so he’s got work to do. And Sheila says Kai can’t sleep with people when they’re on the job, it gets them “fired” and things like that.

“What’s your name?” She asks, handing over the money.

He sighs, and it’s only then that Kai realizes he hasn’t even glanced at her legs, which she’s almost offended by, because her legs are great.

“Wash,” he says, taking the money. “Do you want change?

“Keep it,” she grins, and he nods briefly before leaving.

Kai takes the pizza and sits down next to Tucker again.

“We’re going to bang him,” Tucker says.

“Duh.”

Tucker grins at her, and this, this here is why she loves him, he’s gets her. She pops open a beer and they knock their cans together and start in on the pizza.

They order again the next day, this time going for the stuffed crust. Tucker gets to pick this time, so no extra pineapple, because well, he’s not perfect, but he does bring home some nice beer after work so she supposes she can forgive him.

Tucker gets to answer the door this time, and sure enough, it’s Wash the hottie again. Thank you shrinking staff, Kai thinks, grinning. Tucker’s opted to go shirtless, wearing only baggy sweatpants that hang suggestively low on his hips, and Kai approves. If they can’t go naked, there’s no reason why they can’t show off. And she likes it when Tucker shows off his abs like that.

Tucker tips generously, then invites Wash in for an extra tip. Kai can hear him sigh loudly, then close the door behind him, which Kai decides is a no for now.

“Was he looking?” She asks, because that’s really the most important question here.

“Hell yeah,” Tucker says, flexing. He pauses. “But he might have been looking at the scars,” he admits. Kai frowns. If Wash is the kind of guy who’s gonna stare at Tucker’s scars, maybe they shouldn’t bang him after all. Rude. She climbs on Tucker’s lap and starts kissing him to try to distract him from those kinds of thoughts, and when she’s done they drink the fancy beer and eat the only slightly cold pizza, and Kai is willing to consider that a successful round 2.

Tucker is willing to bet that their plan is going to work by the end of week one when Wash hasn’t gotten tired of their flirting. He doesn’t get that “exasperated, why is this my life” look that Tucker is half-waiting for. Instead, he just continues to awkwardly avoid all of it, but he’s staring more and more, as if intrigued by everything it is they do.

Kai is the one who has the idea of wearing bathrobes one day. Tucker goes to answer the door, and Tucker flirts with Wash for a good three minutes before she “comes out” to “see what’s taking so long”, and wraps her arms around his waist and kisses his neck while Wash stares.

It’s kind of fun, playing this kind of long-game seduction, but it is getting frustrating, because Wash won’t ever do more than stare and get slightly turned on. He always runs afterwards, even though they know he’s not seeing anyone, cuz Kai asked on day three. Tucker’s not quite sure what the hang up is, but whatever, it’s not like they’re in a hurry. There’s still five weeks until Freelancer closes, and they’re going to make the most of it.

And hopefully see Wash’s ass by the time they’re done, because the other day he wore skinny jeans with his uniform shirt and they’re fairly certain that it would be possible to bounce a quarter off that ass. (Tucker wants to try it once they actually get him in bed, cuz that would be fun.)

“Wait, you’re trying to seduce Wash?” Tex asks him the next day when she swings by the next day.

“You know him?” Tucker asks eagerly.

“I used to work at Freelancer, remember?” Tex says.

“Right.” Tucker had actually forgotten that—Tex has been a private chef for so long, he forgot she’d been making pizzas at a shitty local place for years when they’d first met her. “What? Is it a bad idea?”

Tex pauses, considering. Then she starts laughing. “Nah,” she says. “I think it’s just fine.”

Tucker decides to take that as implicit encouragement, and so does Kai.

“Maybe,” Tucker says thoughtfully. “Maybe he’s holding out because he’s on the clock? Doesn’t want to bang people while he’s working?”

Kai nods, considering. “But the point is to seduce the pizza guy,” she complains. “That’s how it works in porn.”

Tucker has to concede she has the point there. “I don’t know,” he says. “We’ll keep trying. If he holds out until it closes we’ll get Tex to introduce us properly.”

Kai agrees that this is an acceptable plan, and the two of them start choreographing out their next order so they can lure Wash inside.

The biggest element, they determine, is to be the last order on Wash’s list. Niner, the lady on the phone, has managed to figure out their plan, and has explained to them that Wash doesn’t have to come back to Freelancer after his last delivery of the night—so once he delivers their pizza, he’s off the clock, but it still counts, because he just delivered a pizza. It’s going to take precise timing, and a little bribery to manage to get things just so they’re the last order on the list. Tex has advice for bribing Niner—apparently, she has a weakness for the strong, good coffee beans Tucker can get from work, and fresh produce that Kai can get from the farmer’s market on her way to work, so they manage to come to an understanding with Niner.

It’s been two weeks of attempted seduction, and Kai and Tucker are pretty sure they’ve managed to work out enough of Wash’s buttons to try to hit all of them at once.

They set the stage carefully, then place the order at the last possible second. Niner laughs at them as she takes their order—one thick crust meat lovers with extra pineapple and one thin crust with sardines and anchovies, because Niner says that’s what Wash likes—and wishes them good luck before she hangs up the phone.

Now all they have to do is wait.

Wash has reached the point where he’s counting the minutes until Freelancer closes and he’s free forever. Sure, he has absolutely no idea what he’s going to do afterwards—he hasn’t had an interview with any of the places he’s applied to yet, but surely something will come along, even if he has to take York up on his offer to cook at his bar.

He pulls back in, and Niner glances up apologetically. “One last order Wash.” She grins wickedly. “From your favorite customers.”

Wash moans, pressing his forehead against the steering wheel. “Every night,” he groans. Tucker and Kai, the inhabitants of the apartment, are two of the most attractive people Wash has ever encountered, and not only that, but they flaunt it. And they somehow managed to zero in on Wash’s staring, and are determined to make fun of him for it.

Niner just laughs at him and passes him the pizza. Wash gives her the cash for it like he usually does for the last order, so he can just take their payment and go home. Wash takes a deep breath and heads towards their apartment—it’s not that far from Freelancer, or too far from his own place, which is nice, because Wash can almost guarantee he’ll need to jerk off after whatever ridiculous stunt they’re going to pull this time.

It’s Tucker—the guy—who greats him at the door this time. He’s actually wearing a shirt for once. Well, more specifically, he’s wearing a flimsy red tank top that shows off his shoulders that bears the words “ORGASM DONOR” in white lettering. He grins at Wash. “Hey!”

“Hi,” Wash says, eyes sweeping the room behind him for Kai automatically. It’s not polite to stare, after all, even if Tucker’s arms are well defined, and the tank top’s riding up, exposing just the barest hint of his stomach.

“Long day?” Tucker asks.

“Yes,” Wash says shortly.

“Bet we could make it longer,” Kai calls from the couch, and Wash’s gaze flickers over to her—she’s wearing a crop top and cut-off denim shorts that show off her thighs and stomach, and Wash feels his mouth go dry.

“This your last delivery?” Tucker asks, leaning against the doorway, which causes the shirt to ride further up. Wash swallows.

“Yes,” he manages to say, his eyes darting between the two of them.

Tucker grins at him. “Want to come in?” He asks. “Have a beer?”

“I—” Wash suddenly doesn’t think they’re teasing him. Tucker passes him the money, and Wash takes it automatically, passing him the pizza box, but Tucker leaves the door open. “Well?”

“I—” Wash feels his resolve crumpling. It’s got to be better than going back to his empty apartment; he really needs to listen to Carolina and just get a cat already. Kai stands up and walks to the fridge, bending down to fetch something, giving Wash an amazing view for a few seconds before he forces his eyes back to Tucker, not that he’s staring less at him, not with those shoulders. “Sure,” he finally says.

He finds himself sitting on their couch, a beer in one hand and a slice of pizza in the other before he can even realize what he’s doing, or register what a terrible idea this is. They’d ordered two pizzas for once, and somehow his favorite was one of them, and Wash usually avoids pizza now that he works at a pizza place, but Niner still makes really good pizza, and Wash is tired and hungry, so he finds himself eating hungrily, still trying not to stare at Kai and Tucker.

“Did you put extra pineapple on a meat-lover’s pizza?” Wash asks, scandalized.

Kai grins. “What? Don’t like it?”

“Dude, you put fish on your pizza, you don’t get to judge us,” Tucker adds.

“Pineapple doesn’t belong on pizza,” Wash says. “It’s a fruit.”

“So’s tomatoes,” Kai says, sticking her tongue out at him, and there’s sauce just at the corner of her mouth, and all Wash wants to do is reach over and brush it away (or maybe kiss it off) but he holds himself back, because that would be too much. Far, far too much.

Kai catches him looking. “Something on my face?” There’s a look in her eye he can’t place.

“I—yes. Sauce. Corner of your mouth.” He takes a large gulp of beer to try to hide the flush he can feel on his face.

Kai starts to try to clean it off, but—but she’s on the wrong side, she’s missing it, and finally Wash just reaches out and brushes it off with his thumb.

“There,” he says. Kai lowers her lashes at him, and Wash really wants to kiss her right now, but that would be so many levels of inappropriate, because she’s got a boyfriend (never mind that Wash has been fantasizing about Tucker’s shoulders this whole time) and he’s sitting right there.

“Thanks,” she says, and she leans closer. “You know,” she says. “I think you’ve got something on your face too. Riiiiight,” she moves right into Wash’s space, “there.” And then she’s kissing him, and Wash nearly falls backwards onto the couch.

She pulls back almost instantly. “Sorry,” she says. “You not into that?”

“I—Tucker—Kai—what?”

Tucker and Kai both stare at him. “You think we got your favorite pizza by accident dude?” Tucker asks, snickering. “It took like five bags of coffee to bribe that info out of Tex.”

“I mean we also got the meat lovers, cuz you know, we always need more sausage in our life,” Kai says, holding out her hand for Tucker to smack in a high-five.

“You know—wait, what?”

“We’ve been trying to seduce you for two weeks now,” Tucker says. “Did you seriously not notice?” He’s grinning at Wash, moving closer. If they weren’t making fun of Wash before, they certainly are now, Wash realizes. But not for the reasons he’d expected.

Wash goes over the entire situation in his head, and determines that the only rational response to all of this is to kiss that smirk off Tucker’s face.

Clearly

[sending-the-message]

Gold has destroyed far more souls than iron has destroyed bodies by generic_spookywriter

I stepped off the dusty Greyhound bus that had come to a halt at the Oregon border. I had ridden this same bus, with no stops in between, all the way from Wyoming. I was tired, hungry, and I didn't have a nickel to my name. I had never been out of my state, and barely out of my hometown, until last night, when I spent all the change in the Mason jar on my dresser on a one-way bus ticket to Oregon.

What I was running from isn't important. Let's just say I had some very sticky fingers and some very bad people were looking for what I had stolen from them. I was a well-known thief back in my hometown. But I was determined to make a new life for myself here in Oregon. At the bus station, I found a rack with a few maps of the state. The closest town appeared to be about 2 miles down the road and was called "Falling Spruce." I buttoned my denim jacket and started walking with my thumb in the air.

I wasn't lucky enough to get a ride but the walk was not too terrible. I made it to the town limits before 8 PM and there was still enough light. I walked into a well-lit truck stop, ordered a cup of coffee, and asked if anyone had a newspaper. A middle-aged truck driver was kind enough to give me his classified ads. I thumbed through the paper until I found the job listings. Most were for temporary custodial work or landscaping jobs. I was thinking of calling a farmer about his opening for a farm hand when I saw the ad that would change my life forever.

Help Wanted: Foure's Shooting Irons. Shopkeeper/gunsmith needed. Stop in for details.

I asked the waitress about the place, which was situated outside of town about a mile. She set me up with a small room at the truck stop for the night and told me not to worry about paying for the coffee or the room, and that she would have breakfast for me in the morning. I thanked her and shut the door, falling into a fitful sleep.

After breakfast, I took a walk to Foure's Shooting Irons. As I walked, I thought about what a great job this could be for me. I had been around guns all my life and was excellent at caring for and maintaining them. I found the shop and stopped outside to look at the sign. It was old and worn, and the building itself looked like it was plucked out of the Old West. I figured it was just part of the gimmick, along with the old-fashioned name. I shrugged it off and stepped inside. The inside was a completely different story.

I was immediately greeted with a bright, iridescent light. The walls were covered in military-style assault rifles. Along the back wall was a tall gun rack full of hunting rifles. In the center of the floor were rotating racks full of shotguns. Inside the glass counter was a magnitude of handguns ranging in make, model, and caliber. I was almost taken aback by the amount of weapons in a single place.

"Can I help you?" A firm but friendly voice inquired from the office behind the counter, and a middle aged man emerged from the door.

"Umm, yes. I'm here for the job." I began to feel nervous. I had no legal work experience. "Who is it that I need to speak to?"

"That would be me. I'm the owner," the man stated as he crossed the counter to shake my hand. "I'm Joshua Foure."

"Daniel Davis," I introduced myself and we began the interview. He hired me that day on the spot and told me I could start the next day. When he told me the pay, I was almost floored.

"How's $25 an hour sound?" He asked me.

"That's fantastic!" I almost shouted from excitement. Joshua then did something strange. He placed his hand on my shoulder and said something to me so quiet, it was almost a whisper.

"Just remember: Gold has destroyed far more souls than iron has destroyed bodies."

About 6 months went by at my new job. I grew to love the store more than anything. I learned that Joshua purchased the store from his grandfather after moving from California. He had been operating it entirely by himself ever since then. He was a very meticulous businessman who kept immaculate records. That partly explained his success.

Even so, I noticed Joshua had some very strange habits at the store. He was a very generous businessman and would often give big discounts to customers. Every time I would ask him about it, he would repeat the same line: Gold has destroyed far more souls than iron has destroyed bodies. I soon shrugged it off, thinking he was just being generous. Joshua Foure was a very good-hearted man, after all. And I had no room to question his business practices. I was being paid well, certainly more than enough for rent, and Joshua was doing quite well for himself at the store. I also learned from some of the locals that Joshua had strong feelings about greed and living a life if excess. According to them, he would give his last dollar for the happiness of someone else. I decided not to bring up his overly generous habits again.

About a month later, my old habits got the better of me. I started skimming a few hundred bucks a month from the register. I would sell guns at full price, write a receipt for a discount price, and pocket the extra money. On some level, I knew I was gonna get caught. And of course, I did. Joshua Foure called me into his office after closing one night. I didn't have the heart to lie to him any longer. I spilled and told him everything.

"Daniel, you know how I feel about this," he stated with a disappointed look on his face.

"I know, and I'm so-" he cut me off with a hand gesture, the way a conductor would cut off an orchestra.

"Daniel, I have something to tell you." Joshua Foure's face lost all expression entirely. "The story about this shop being in my family for generations isn't exactly true." Daniel then told me a story that I wouldn't have believed if it didn't come from a more honest man's mouth.

"The year was 1849. San Francisco was filled to the brim with prospectors, all searching for riches in the California hills. Almost every one of them lost their shirts in the search for gold, and many died in their efforts to strike pay dirt. I was one of those prospectors." I gasped. At first I thought he was joking. He coughed and continued.

"After seeing my brother and best friend shot for the gold dust in their pockets, I left that place behind. I rode for days, not knowing at all where I was going. I ended up here in Falling Spruce. I fell to my knees, denouncing my previous life as a gold seeker and promised to whatever god that would listen that I would never again allow my life to revolve around money. And one of them must have heard me, because the next day I found this old gunsmith shop purely by luck. I purchased the old shop with the little gold I had left and began a small practice." He paused for a moment and pulled a photo off the wall. It was of Joshua, standing in front of the store. The photo was unmistakably old and grainy. When I flipped it over, I saw that it had been dated 1849 in pen.

He started to smile a bit as he continued. "It was quite some time before I realized that I hadn't aged a day since I entered Falling Spruce. As my friends and neighbors all grew old, I kept the youth that I had left. I even felt younger." He took off his glasses and looked directly at me. "I was 43 when I entered Falling Spruce, and I have been 43 ever since."

I couldn't contain it any longer. "How is that even possible? You would be over 200 years old!" I was practically shouting at my boss.

"Daniel, the key to immortality is to renounce your greed." Joshua said this quietly, countering my excited and terrified tone. "I can't tell you how many guns I've sold that would go on to kill another person over money. I watched from the street as stock brokers jumped from the exchange after the market crash of 1929. Even in our little town, people have been beaten, mugged, and even killed over what little cash they had in their pockets." He looked disgusted when saying this. "Age isn't what wrinkles our skin or brittles our bones. It's greed."

I was 29 when I left Falling Spruce, and I have been 29 for a very long time now.

[son-of-a-duck]

February 13, 2017

This morning I slept in and it was wonderful.  And then I went to work.  I took notes today because I definitely would have forgotten everything if I hadn't.

When I got to work I pulled most of my homebound books.  I came up with the list last week and several of the books had been checked out so I had to spend some time finding new ones.  I was able to get a brief start on processing the books before I had to go to dinner.

The passage of time tonight was odd.  I felt like I was getting a lot done but when I looked at the clock very little time had passed, which seemed weird.  And then out of nowhere it was time to close. But I did get a lot of things done.

I got all of my homebound books checked out, made the bookmarks, and got all of the bookmarks cut out.  All I have left to do is put the bookmarks in their respective books.

I emailed all the people signed up for our class tomorrow because the librarian teaching the class ran out of time to send the message she had written.  So I copied and pasted her email to me and sent it out. I also made the handouts for the class and updated the website for class.  I believe everything is now good to go.

I was finally able to update the attendance and feedback information for the Minecraft program last Thursday.  It feels good to get that out of the way because it felt like I was going to forget it because last Thursday seems like forever ago.

The patron who has a history of yelling at people in Circulation and recently got upset about us not having particular financial newsletters anymore (even though we got rid of them a year ago), came in tonight with some questions.  One of the daily financial periodicals has switched to a weekly issue and mentions full articles and interviews available online and he was wondering if there was a special login for that.  I told him I wasn't sure but said we could look up the address he had written down to see what happened.  There appeared to be a premium version of the site but it didn't block out any of the interviews or articles.  The one annoying thing was that the article online had a different title than the print article, which made it hard to search for.  I ended up having to Google it, but thankfully that led me to the right spot.  In the end the patron was pretty happy, at least for now.

The mayor left her purse at the library this afternoon and that turned into a bit of a thing tonight.  One of the librarians found it and the mayor was contacted to let her know her purse had been found. Before I got back from dinner someone from her office called to inquire how the purse could be retrieved.  She called back when I was on desk and a short time later another person called.  He wanted to speak to the director but it was just after five o'clock so I wasn't holding out hope but I transferred him anyway.  He didn't call back so I assumed he managed to catch her but then he showed up at the library.  

The people in Circulation wouldn't give him the purse without verbal confirmation from the mayor that she wanted this person to pick up her purse.  Apparently she would have come herself but she was in a meeting and then going directly from that meeting to another meeting out of town.  So the guy showed up, and didn't quite like what Circulation told him so they came and got me and I went down and told him the same thing.  He then proceeded to put his phone on speakerphone and called the mayor, got her voicemail, and left a loud voicemail message so everyone could hear him.  That was kind of obnoxious.  While we waited for a response I annoyed him a little more by asking for an ID to prove who he was.  I stopped short of asking for a blood sample because I didn't want to press my luck.  I also asked how his day was going, other than the current situation. He said he was having a good day, other than the current situation. I didn't press it any further because he didn't seem like he was in the mood to talk.  Several minutes later one of the assistants called and the guy explained the situation and told her to just hand the mayor the phone so that I could talk to her.  He accidentally hung up his phone but quickly called back and got the mayor, who then told me that she wanted this person to pick up her purse.  I told Circulation he was allowed to take the purse and thanked him for his patience and told him to have a good night.  All things considered, I would say he handled it very well because he was clearly very annoyed by the whole situation.

At the end of the night I had a little time to take a look at the stuff I need to do for the first week of my ecourse.  I think I'll probably end up doing stuff at home and not telling my boss.  The only thing I accomplished tonight was recreating and reformatting the schedule they gave us because it was confusing and hard to read. It's much better now.

My coworker was a few minutes late getting to work because his car wouldn't start.  It is a regular problem he has to deal with and no one has been able to figure out what is wrong.  After work it wouldn't start again but he carries a charger with him now because it happens so frequently.  A few minutes later he was good to go and I headed home.

When I got home I made some popcorn and watched some YouTube videos to unwind a little bit before starting this.  And now I am going to record my audio journal so I can go to bed.  I get to sleep in a little bit because I have to make up an hour and fifteen minutes because of the workshop we went to on Friday.  I opted go in late tomorrow morning, not only because I will get an extra hour in bed, but mostly so I can get the hour over with so I won't have to worry about squeezing it in somewhere else.  At least it is easier than trying to figure out my schedule after the ALA conference.