#I literally lack the patience for customer service

[originalcollectionartistry]

like your writing is so brilliant and I really enjoyed guess I waited too long and I noticed there’s been a SEVERE lack of unrequited love tech fics and I am a girl who likes all hurt and no comfort,,, what do I have to do to commission you to write one for tech where reader loves him but he doesn’t feel the same way/did in the past but has moved on,,, something like Silver Springs by Fleetwood Mac,,,, this is really long I’ll stop talking now but I’ll literally pay u to write it cause I can’t write for shit and don’t have patience 😭😭🫶🫶🫶🫶

So Much for Love

Oh my dear! You don’t have to pay me at all! I do this for fun! I'm just glad I can give some joy to others! I will definitely try and emulate Silver Springs as best I can.

Alright so you are a waitress at Dexter's and the batch are some good customers that come whenever they're in Coruscant. You've been infatuated with Tech and he seemed receptive until something changed. You confront him and he breaks off whatever you had going on. It was never labelled but you're heartbroken. However, Tech is happy alone and with his brothers so you can't be too mad. So you mourn what could've been.

No content warning.

Word count: 2981

Enjoy!!

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You had been screamed at, insulted, and had food thrown at you multiple times today. You were so close to breaking down and Dexter was not helping. He just saw everyone as friends and so dismissed your complaints of disrespect.

You finally had a lull between rushes and just leant against the counter. Your head hung in exhaustion wanting this day to be over. You hated being a waitress but it was the best job in the sector for you and your means. Your one light in your life, CT 9902 otherwise known as Tech, had been gone for the past 173 rotations. He had been keeping contact but it was sparse. His missions took priority and that made sense to you. It just hurt on days like this when you needed some comfort that he was gone for so long.

"Hey sweetheart! I need more caf!" a customer yelled, snapping their fingers.

Sighing deeply, you put on your best smile before heading over with a pot. You nodded your head and apologised for the wait before checking if he needed anything else.

You heard the doors open and a loud growl of affection before being lifted off your feet. You squealed in surprise and thrashed around until a giant clone set you back down.

"Wrecker! You scared the life out of me!" You scolded, before giving him a hug.

Hunter and Crosshair came in after with Echo following close behind. You greeted them with hugs and sat them down with cups of caf. You took their orders, giving them a small discount for their military service.

"Where's Tech? He's usually the first one demanding caf," you pointed out.

Hunter shrugged, taking a sip of his drink. "Said something about needing to fix the airflow on the ship. I don't know anymore."

You made a noise of understanding before moving on to other customers. You figured Tech would come around at some point. If not the diner then your apartment. He usually always made time for you. You smiled as you remembered the first time they walked into the diner.

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It had been a slow day at Dex's. You were sitting in a booth, ordering more ingredients and the like as Dex seemed to not bother about ordering in shipments. You were getting frustrated about the holonet as it was either freezing or slow. You hated the service as Dex never paid his bills on time. Which is why he hired you in the first place; you were a stickler for things being on time and it frustrated you that Dex was more focused on customer service.

"Excuse me. Do you work here?" a voice called you out of your thoughts.

You looked up to see a tall man with goggles and a data pad staring at you. He seemed to be expecting something of you and you weren't sure what. You nodded a yes to his question and asked how you could help.

"Well me and my brothers were hoping for some food and caf. We finally have some shore leave and need proper nutrition. Rations can get rather tedious after a while."

You peered around to see four other men behind him, waiting patiently for you to seat them. You slowly realized they were clones on leave from the war and jumped into action. You shut your pad off and ran behind the counter.

"I'm so sorry men! I was distracted. Have a seat anywhere and I'll serve you up some fresh caf!"

The shortest one, wearing a red bandana waved you off and told you not to worry. They were used to cold caf apparently.

Shaking your head, you poured fresh caf into their mugs. "You guys protect us from battle droids. It's the very least I can do to offer fresh hot caf."

"Well then you offer more than most. Many consider clones to be less than others. We are practically second class citizens in the eyes of the Republic." The goggled one spoke up before sipping his mug.

You grimaced. You hated that clones were considered objects and not human beings. Yes they were clones of one man but they were still sentient beings.

"So can I grab your names for the order?"

"Names? Usually civilians refer to us by our numbers."

You smiled, shrugging coyly. "Well maybe I'm just different then other civvies."

One by one they told you their names. Hunter, Tech, Wrecker, Echo and Crosshair. Tech was the one who approached you first. He was cute too. Yes they were all attractive but Tech intrigued you the most. So while they ate and drank their fill of caf and food, you flirted with Tech. You’d make little comments about his goggles, his intellect, his everything. Crosshairs seemed amused by this, teasing his brother relentlessly when they left. Hunter couldn’t help but smile as it wasn’t often they got interest from women; then again it wasn’t often they had shore leave.

Tech came to visit you on his own whenever Clone Force 99 had time off away from missions. He was curious and intrigued about you and your choice in him and not his brothers. He soon came to develop feelings for you and you for him. You messaged whenever he was away and made time for each other when he was in Coruscant. The Bad Batch became Dex’s favourite group of regulars as they ate almost everything and paid well.

You and Tech had never labelled what you had but it was clear to you both it was exclusive. You went as far as to say you were in love. Tech wouldn’t say that he was in love but rather he held “very intense emotion and high regard for you”. It made you smile that that was his way of saying I love you.

———————————————————————————————

Your shift finished and Tech still had not come to see you. Hunter gave you directions as to where they landed the ship as they continued on to 79’s.

You had a to go cup of hot caf and Tech’s favourite order in your hands as you approached the ship. It was silent save for the tinkering of Tech under the control panels. Setting the food down, you gently nudged his foot to let him know you were there. He slid from under the panel, glancing at you before returning to work. That was odd… he never not said anything to you when you came. It was always a “hello darling” or “one moment. I will be done soon.” Something!

You sat in the co pilot’s chair and waited. “I brought you food if you’re hungry. And hot caf,” you murmured.

“Thank you. That wasn’t necessary as I had some rations left over but I appreciate the thought.” Again, odd. He always loved it when you brought food to him. Much like all clones, Tech didn’t really like the ration bars but tolerated them as they were essential to a soldier’s survival.

Chewing your lip, you bounced your leg in anxiety. Did something happen? Was someone hurt? “Tech. Come out and talk to me please.” You urged. Something was wrong and you were going to find out what; no matter how upsetting the idea of confrontation was.

“In a moment. I’m almost done.”

“I’m serious Tech. It wasn’t like you to not come to the diner with your brothers. I was worried! You had been so sparse with your messages I’m scared something happened.”

Tech slid back out and sat up. Annoyance was clear on his face as you were interrupting his work, something he tolerated before. You recoiled slightly at the expression on his face. Something was wrong and it was affecting your relationship.

Tech then did the unexpected. He tried kick you out of the ship. He never did that! He always let you sit quietly while he tinkered around. Anger flooded your mind and red tinted your vision.

“No. I’m not leaving until you tell me what happened. What’s wrong? You never used to treat me like this. What’s changed?”

Sighing heavily, Tech sat across from you in his pilot’s seat. “I thought driving you away would be easier but I suppose your feelings are stronger than I calculated.”

Raising a brow, you urged him to continue as this was not like him. Nerves shot through you as the thought of him ending things became more a reality.

“I am… sorry. But I do not think our current relationship should continue.”

Tear pricked in your eyes. You cleared your throat to rid the tightness building. “Oh. Is there a reason why? Have I done something to upset you?”

“No. I just simply lost feelings for you. I realize now that I was just experiencing what Crosshair called a crush. It came and went and now I wish to end our relationship.”

Your heart broke. The man you loved never loved you back and now he was walking away. You grabbed the food and caf you brought and set it in your seat. You brought the food for him and now he could consider it a parting gift. You shared one more hug and you kissed his cheek. He gave you a pressed smile, letting you know he thought it was for the best and that physical contact wasn't going to be a thing as much anymore. You allowed some tears to fall as you let him know “You boys are always welcome at the diner. Regardless of our relationship status. See you later Tech.”

Watching you leave, Tech felt a sort of pull in his chest. Brushing it off, he went back to working on the air duct controls. The food you brought smelt so good though! It was one of the things about you he enjoyed. You always brought them all food and caf fresh from the diner. You brought his with a smile and a kiss on the cheek, not caring if he was covered in grease or oil.

Yes he will miss the connection he once felt but as much as it gave him discomfort to end things, he knew he wouldn't feel the same for you and so felt the most logical thing was to end your relationship.

Echo and Wrecker could see you leave the ship in tears as they came back to the Marauder. You walked in the opposite direction to them to avoid questions being asked. Also your apartment was the other way so that helped avoid Echo’s piercing gaze. They walked up the gangplank to see Tech putting his food away for later, an aura of normalcy around him.

“Why in Maker’s name is she crying? What did you do?” Echo asked Tech accusingly.

“I terminated our relationship. I did not expect her to cry at such a thing but I do not have any romantic feelings for her anymore. Why stay in a relationship if I don’t feel as she does?”

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You ordered all the ice cream you could as you cried into your pillow. A holomovie played the background, some documentary about a band where the lead singer and guitarist dated and broke up. Maker that sounded so much like you and Tech. You mourned what could’ve been. Once the war was over you saw you two living in a small apartment or house somewhere far away from Coruscant. Where Tech was a mechanic and you stayed at home caring for what children you possibly could’ve had. Now that was all gone. Tech had felt something but it wasn’t love. An infatuation! Almost 2 years for an infatuation. You started to hate yourself for not recognizing it sooner.

“I suppose I looked at it with rose coloured glasses. Or goggles I guess.” You murmured.

Time casted a spell on you both. Yours was one of love and adoration. Tech’s spell was a short lived crush that faded with distance and time. You wanted Tech but you would not keep him in a relationship he didn’t want to be in. You messaged Dex asking for time off. You didn’t think you’d be able to focus on customers and which tables were yours.

A knock spurred you out of your reverie and had you crawling out of bed. Surprisingly, Crosshair was behind the door. A bag in one hand, the other on his hip. You opened the door and invited him inside.

“Tech told us. I told him a crush can develop into more if he let it but I guess he didn’t want the ‘distraction’” He held out the bag and you saw chocolate, candy and a bunch of booze. Out of all the Batch you expected Echo or Hunter to come console you but Crosshair was pleasant surprise.

The youngest clone was snarky, full of spite and humour but after hearing Tech blab on and on about the ins and outs of your relationship, he felt the need to come see if you were okay. And considering Hunter was getting his rocks off with a civilian and Echo and Wrecker were too drunk to coherently give you what you needed, the responsibility fell to Crosshair. You had become his favourite civvy.

You curled into Crosshair’s side as you watched a new holomovie. Some dumb horror that made the two of you laugh. You didn’t expect the sniper to be this soft but it was a pleasant surprise after your breakup with Tech. Remembering what he said, you burst into tears again, feeling Crosshair pull you closer.

“It’ll be alright doll. My brother may be the smartest but he can be the most oblivious. He doesn’t know what he just let go.”

Through hiccups and sobs you asked him what was wrong with you. “Why can’t he give it a chance? We were a thing for two years Cross! Was that all nothing? Did I make it out to be more than what it was?”

Moving his toothpick from one side to the other, he spoke slowly. “Nothing is wrong with you. Tech’s never had feelings for someone before so he doesn’t understand that definitively expressing your plan is needed throughout a relationship. It was... what you both wanted it to be. He’s just ignorant of this side of human emotion.”

Eventually Crosshair had to return to the ship, but made sure you felt okay enough to be alone. You hated how things went with you and Tech but you couldn’t change it. He didn’t want you and so you had to mourn and move on. Besides, it was heartache. Nothing you hadn’t handled before. So why did it hurt so much more now? Was it because you actually saw a future with Tech? Or was it because he never felt the same for you?

Finishing the ice cream and putting the chocolate and booze away, you curled into bed again, wanting nothing more than to go back in time and never fall in love with that handsome goggled clone. Perhaps you’d go to 79’s and pick up a different soldier to sleep with. But you missed Tech and his little tangents of whatever was on his mind.

Dex responded giving you the time off you asked for. You rarely asked for time off so he had no trouble giving it to you.

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As Hunter stumbled back into the ship, he saw Crosshair giving Tech a hard time. Clearly something had happened between the two but Hunter was far too gone to even care. He continued to stumble into his bunk before Echo shouted for him. Groaning, he sat up and called out.

“What!?”

Echo yelled back “You might wanna hold Crosshair back! I think he's gonna kill Tech!”

Growling he moved into the cockpit to see Wrecker holding Crosshair and Echo shielding Tech. Tech was sitting in his seat, tinkering away while Crosshair looked like he was gonna tear him a new asshole.

Running a hand down his face, he groaned in exhaustion. “Alright men what’s going on? Why are we killing Tech?”

Wrecker looked sheepishly from Tech to Hunter. “Uhhh, Tech broke up with y/n and apparently she was pretty upset. Crosshair wants to teach Tech a lesson but I think he just wants to hit him.”

Hunter looked at Tech incredulously. “Fucking really? Why? I thought things were good!”

Shrugging, Tech continued tinkering, not stressed at all about the situation he put himself in. “I simply do not feel for her as she does for me. Why continue to lead her on if I don’t have feelings for her anymore?”

Smacking Tech up the head was the least Hunter could do in his inebriated state. He ordered Crosshair to bed and Wrecker and Echo to sober up.

“Tech, I know you think it’s logical but love isn’t. Did you at least let her down easy? Tell her you still care about her and her safety?”

Tech cocked his head to the side, confused. “I thought that was obvious. Why state it if it’s a known fact?”

Sighing, Hunter bid his brother goodnight. As he lay in his bunk, he sent you a message asking if you were okay. You responded with a no but you’d get better. You reiterated to Hunter that the boys were always welcome at Dex’s and you’d serve them with a smile. Hunter grimaced, fulling planning on teaching his brother a lesson on love; not as harshly as Crosshair but a firmly as possible.

While they were all soldiers and had little experience with love and relationships, Hunter knew basics. Don’t tell someone you love them if you don’t mean it. Let people down gently. Communicate and comprehend. Hunter knew Tech could be blunt so now it was the Batch’s job to make sure their favourite civvy was okay before the left for their next mission. Hopefully sooner than later as it was often they were sent away without notice.

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I hope this is what you were hoping for! I don’t really listen to Fleetwood Mac so I had to listen to Silver Springs on repeat to really get the emotion.

Please let me know if this was what you envisioned Anon! If not I will rewrite as best I can with everything going on in my crazy life!

Feel free to send in more requests friends! I enjoy writing and hopefully bring a little joy in your lives!

[sweet-jolly-fucken-ranchers]

I encourage lying to customers whenever you can get away with it (as long as it doesn’t throw your coworkers under the bus) and stealing from your job if you earn min wage. Putting an extra bag in the bin when we do wastage to catch the unopened food and leave it so I can take it home and either give it to my old coworkers for free at previous workplaces or give it to hungry people on the street (I don’t donate it to food banks because it’s usually not accepted if it’s going OOD same day and they’re closed when I finish work)

if you come in to a store 15 mins before closing we should be allowed to maim you in some way or at least call you a cunt. Sorry you have the time management skills of a fucking squirrel but no you don’t *need* a three shot latte with vanilla, two cortados, a brownie frappe and four paninis at 5pm. go fuck yourself I’m not joking

I work in a hospital and I only extend sensitivity and kindness to interns, doctors and nurses who are either just starting their 12 hour shift or finishing one when we close and yes they get freebies I won’t charge you for syrup if nobody is looking

customers who come up to where drinks are handed out and order there and then get pissy when I tell them to join the queue? electric chair

customers who spend all their time in the queue on their phones and then when I ask them what they want at the till and they act all flustered and laugh it off like hahahahahaha I am going to kill my self (my best friend literally had somebody hold their finger up to him when he asked what they wanted at the till because they were texting someone and I felt the rage from the other side of the room)

CUSTOMERS WHO WHEN YOU CALL OUT THEIR DRINK X3 ARE ON THE PHONE OR HAVING A CONVERSATION IGNORE OR DONT HEAR YOU SO YOU PUT THE DRINK DOWN AND. START A NEW ONE AND THEY PUSH IN WHEN YOURE TALKING TO ANOTHER CUSTOMER TO BE LIKE “IS THIS MY DRINK??? IM IN A RUSH OI OI” I WILL DESECRATE YOUR CORPSE

children who order their hot chocolate with a please and thank you mysteriously get two more extra marshmallows than they ordered I love you sweetie pies

children who scream and shout and knock over the reusable cups and don’t respond to their parents when they ask if they want marshmallows get put in the milk fridge and forgotten

customers who when I ask if they want a medium (standard) size respond with “yes” and then pause “the smallest you do” so I ask if they want a small instead and they go “hmmm no medium is fine” and then when I go past the point of being able to modify the order for some stupid fucking reason (not their fault not my fault only the fault of the company that doesn’t want to risk employees voiding off at will and losing them money) they change their mind “oh I’ll have a small actually teehee” I am,,,,, no words only angry

company that won’t give their employees free lunch or free coffee outside of the four standard core drinks (no syrups or alt milk except soy) but will do a “free iced drinks” promotion at the height of British summer with said understaffed underpaid and overworked employees die in a fire challenge

[mockingjayne12]

Take Me Home

(Jamie x Claire / Outlander Fic)

CHAPTER ONE:

Toes wiggle further underneath the blanket, chipped black varnish sinking her deeper into the darkness she sits in.  Pale freckles against even paler skin, hip bones jutting out through the sliver of space exposed in the stolen, oversized shirt she drowns in.  Half truths burn on her lips, screaming loudly in the settled wine at the bottom of her stomach.  Bound coffee stained words rest in her lap, speaking to a universal yearning for something she can’t utter but felt she’d grasped once before, fleetingly slipping through her gold ringed fingers.  Grown out, curly, dark fringe lays a veil over pools of blue, blearily leaving an image of what once was, the swirling memory of regret that continues to grow.

“You are my home,” she’d whispered to him, tears having threatened to mix with the beauty disguised as chaos, a breath away from ending them both.

For somewhere, once, she thought she had been truly seen, but found she was soon forgotten.

xxxxx

ONE YEAR EARLIER

Claire sets the plate back down, blowing her curly tendrils away from her forehead, an exasperated sigh escaping along with her patience with this day.

“What’s wrong this time?” She hears Rupert ask, bending to see her through the metal of soon to be waiting dishes, the heat lamp setting off a warmth that only leaves her feeling sweaty, her curls threatening to throw a tantrum along with the customers.

“They want the inside of the bread taken out…’too many calories’,” she says, momentarily ditching her English accent to put on her best impersonation of what she knew to be the typical toned voice that frequented the establishment, with a roll of her eyes, letting Rupert know she thought it was just as ridiculous as the raised eyebrows staring back at her.

She doesn’t miss his murmuring curse, and fights back a laugh - Rupert being one of the few friendly faces that has been around as long as she, working the trenches of customer service day in, day out.

Turning to wait for the remade food, she rests against the counter.  It’s a relatively slow day at the restaurant, the lunch crowd having subsided, only the few stragglers, straddling a meal at a time of day that made little sense, but allowing her more time to make a mental list of things she needed to do when she got off.  At the top of the list, stop and get cat food before Adso decided to lay claws to the walls in protest of his lack of sustenance.  

“I just had a guy tell me he wished I had more Daddy issues so I’d work at a strip club,” Claire’s coworker, Gillian, says with a flourish of her hands.

Claire makes a grimace, her face scrunching up in disgust.

“Not even the worst thing I’ve heard this week,” Gillian says with a shrug, blowing off the comment along with all the others that were meant to go in one ear and out the other, an endless cycle of demeaning words thrown at them, expected to be swallowed with a smile all in the name of “customer service.”

Claire traces the silver line indented on her hand, as the plate of remade food makes its appearance once more, ready to be served.

“Thanks, Rupert,” she tosses over her shoulder at the grisly man, Gillian staying behind, waiting for her.

“So are you doing the catering job tonight,” Gillian throws back at her, as Claire comes back to the cutlery station, meticulously folding forks and knives into linen napkins.

“I don’t think so,” she shrugs, blowing her fringe out of her face once more.  An errant curl refusing to submit to her frustration, dangling over her eyes, bouncing with the movement of her head.

“Come on, it’ll be fun,” Gillian hits Claire’s hip with her side, their heights significantly varied.   A raised brow and a quirk of her mouth suggesting there was no way that this party would be fun in the slightest.

“A bunch of rich, entitled people…” Claire starts, only to be interrupted.

“Eating out of the palms of our hands…literally,” Gillian says with a wink.

“I hope not literally,” Claire teases, sticking out her flat tongue.

“Think of the extra money…and you know, if you happen to meet a rich guy that can give you a good fuck,” she says a bit louder than intended, a customer looking up from their meal.

Claire shoots a knowing glance at her friend.  

Flashing a smile at the appalled woman, Gillian throws her head back.

“I’m gonna pay for that one,” she says with a shake of her head.  “See, now we have to pick it up, because I’m not getting a tip from that prude,” she gestures towards the woman.

“She’s your table, not mine,” Claire says with a smirk.  “I’m going to pass,” she says, putting the linen bundles into their bin.  “I’ve got a new book and I…don’t do actors,” she says with a huff.

“Come on, I’ll drive, it’ll be…”

“If you say, ‘fun’ I’m definitely not doing it,” Claire warns.

“Fine, it’ll be…monetarily beneficial,” she grins.

xxxxx

The flutes of champagne balance precariously on the serving tray Claire carries with her, her hands attempting not to shake enough that she send the gold liquid onto anyone, but as she scans the room of men who think they hold more power than they do, congratulating themselves on being masters of their craft,women lapping up the chance to be in their presence, she can’t help but picture a slip of the hand that’s not so accidental.

Glancing back, she sees the event coordinator motioning for her to smile, and she turns back, her eyes threatening to roll all the way back into her head.

It doesn’t matter, as long as you’re wearing this uniform, you’re invisible, Beauchamp.

The thought echoing a sentiment that had taken root in her for some time, yanking on a thread that could potentially unravel her ever so carefully constructed shield, whose protection she’d shrouded herself in before facing the day, for without it would leave her bare to the thoughts that would surely leave her with nothing but the ugly truth.

Her finger rubs at her hand, her eyes darting around at the extravagant decor of flowers and crystal jewels, only the biggest and best for, whoever this celebration was for.  Another Hollywood party that mattered very little, a host of people begging for the attention that would make a connection, garner them a return for the years of hustle they’d put in.  Exhausting.  The smiles on their faces were likely as fake as the one she now had plastered to her own face, looking more like a grimace than anything close to resembling happiness, as she offered up more alcohol to people that surely didn’t need anymore courage to make bad decisions.

“Whiskey on the rocks, sweetheart,” she hears behind her, turning around to find a balding man with a graying beard and a sinister grin on his face, suggesting he was a man who always got what he wanted, and as his eyes did a slow once over her, catching on the open button of her shirt,  she finds herself wanting to shrink into herself, her hand running over her palm, the bloom of panic tingling, before rising to her full height, which isn’t much shorter than this man, biting her tongue at the urge to tell him to go fuck himself.

“Right away,” she says with a grit of her teeth, quickly turning to head to the bar to grab the request.  Giving the bartender the order, the woman looks as irritated as the rest of them, but throws a knowing grin her way.

“Fucking Americans and their ice,” she mutters under her breath.

“Careful, Sassenach, they might hear ye,” the soft bur of an accent sends a jolt through her, causing her to hit the tray, sending the remaining few glasses of champagne everywhere.  The shattering of glass attracting the attention of the guests only briefly, a stray comment thrown out about clumsy help hitting its target, before they go back to ignoring her.

“Fuck,” she says under her breath.

Turning quickly, she fumbles to pick up the broken glass, a rise of red lighting her cheeks on fire, incensed with anger and frustration.

Reaching for a piece of glass, she sees the tray in question appear before her, an offering to gather the mess she’d created.  Looking up, she sees the man with the voice that had sent her reeling, a mop of curly red hair, looking like it had been attempted to be tamed, but had given up and decided instead to hang in perfect disarray.

“You don’t have to—“ she tries to get out, but he’s already gathered most of the remaining bits of glass onto the tray, peeking at her through his curls she sees a glimpse of blue that seem to pierce her, a flicker of something close to recognition passes through the sea like a wave, gone just as quickly, paired with a grin of understanding bristled in a stubble that begs to prick her finger and break the spell that seems to surround them.

“It’s the least I can do, seeing as it’s my fault,” he shrugs, the grin only growing wider, as he lifts his head, his bent stance has the kilt he’s wearing rucked up to where the muscles in his legs tease her, and she quickly averts her eyes, catching the raise of his eyebrows at having seemingly caught her glance.

“You’re right, it is your fault,” she says, straightening to a stand, and he peers up at her for a second, making her shift nervously from foot to foot before he stands, her eyes catching the glint of a scar contouring his cheekbone in the light.  An imperfection that grounds him in reality.  She moves to push her hair back from her face, having a hard time reconciling what she must look like next to this man.

She hears his gruff laugh, and swears it vibrates through her chest.

“I uhh, didn’t get you, did I?” She asks, her flustered mind only kicking itself at the excuse to roam over the expanse of his chest, slightly soaked, she immediately turns to grab a napkin on the bar, moving to blot his shirt, pressing gently on his chest, only having it dawn on her that she’s touching him when his hand comes to gently grab her wrist.  Her breath momentarily stilted, his fingers warm on her pulse - simultaneously skittering her heart to beat faster while leaving her with a sense of peace, like being held too close to the sun, a tranquil warmth threatening to burst her into flames, she pulls back on reflex, and he lets go, freeing her, instead of keeping hold.

“’Tis alright, Sassenach, a wee bit of spilled alcohol never hurt anyone,” the breath of his words washing over her, and she steps back with the napkin.  Her nose scrunching at the derogatory word he kept using like it was an endearment.  His smile rises at her blowing a stray curl out of her face.  “Especially when it’s champagne, “ he playfully grimaces, clearly not a fan of the bubbly.

“Too true,” she shrugs, turning to grab the whiskey she’d all but forgotten in her haste to completely drown this charming man in her work.  Her usual response to flee begins to rise in her - the calm she’d felt in his presence shifting, as the man whose whiskey she held approached the makeshift stage with a microphone.  “Ugh, here we go,” she rolls her eyes.

“Not a fan?” He asks, looking amused by her clear disdain.

“The only thing worse than actors are the people in charge of them,” she says, before catching the eye of Gillian, a curious smirk on her face, making her way towards Claire.  “Anyway, I hope I didn’t keep you from…whatever it is you’re doing here,” she looks down at his kilt again.  “Are you the entertainment?”

His eyes widen at the suggestion before biting back a laugh.  

“Something like that,” he says with what she swears is a twinkle in his eye.

“And now help me in introducing the reason we’re all here, actor James Fraser…”

The applause of the entire party seems to grow exponentially around her.  Glancing around, she tries to find where the man in question is hiding, until she feels the words whispered in her ear.

“At least I’m not the worst…”

The curly mop of red making his way towards the stage, shirt soaked, kilt  swaying with every step, and a smile that keeps glancing back at her.

Bloody Hell, Beauchamp.

[edspageds]

Reddie 18+ Drabble - The Challenge

For a request by @candy-gothic Technically this ran a slight bit longer then a drabble, but I liked the idea, and I hope you enjoy!!!

Summary: Eddie is pretty tolerant of Richie’s pranks, turns out, this is a very good thing.

Pairing: Eddie Kaspbrak/Richie Tozier

Warnings: notSFW, exhibitionism, naked man challenge

Word Count: 1.5k

Eddie likes to think he’s not easily fazed. Faced with the kind of idiots he works for day-in and day-out that like to make demands with little idea of how possible the job actually is, it’s amazing he hasn’t blown up in his superior's face more than twice. 

When faced with the kind of idiot he has at home, well, let’s leave it at living with Richie has prepared Eddie for even the most surprising of events. 

His endless patience combined with his unsurprised demeanor make it so he’s given Richie free reign to attempt whatever comedy thing he likes involving Eddie- within reason. He doesn’t understand the draw to any of those online internet comedy videos, but Eddie’s not really a comedy guy in general despite living with a literal comedian. He has final say on what is and isn’t posted, and when a joke is taken too far. Only issue there is, it takes a lot for Eddie to deem something ‘too far’.

Clearly, Richie took that as a challenge.

Eddie’s on a zoom conference, just taking a sip of his hot tea while the meeting droned on, and out of the corner of his eye he sees Richie. He doesn’t think anything of it, Richie likes to do his own thing, but be in Eddie’s company when he’s doing work stuff like this. It’s romantic, that he just likes being in Eddie’s presence even if they are doing separate things. That being together brings him a comforting blanket of warmth.

But, then he sees Richie, and chokes on his tea.

“Kaspbrak, shit, are you okay?” He doesn’t know which one of them asks, and really has to strain himself to suppress the reaction his body wants to make at the sight of Richie, buck ass naked, standing proudly in front of him recording.

He clears his throat, coughing, and schools his face into a bored expression. "Yes. Thank you for your concern. Please continue."  

His customer service voice takes over, and the meeting progresses. But Eddie’s lost any bit of the little attention he's paying it as Richie glides a hand down his chest wiggling his brows suggestively.

As if there was a way to take this that wasn't fucking suggestive. Eddie keeps his face neutral, but flips Richie off just out of sight. 

His grin grows, the little shit, and he points at his face and then his phone mouthing something along the lines of 'smile for the camera'. With startling clarity, Eddie realizes this is a prank. 

He wants to kill him. 

Instead of murder, he keeps his expression dull. “-and for the quarterly assessments, Kaspbrak?” 

“Yes, sir. If you’ll see the flow chart on page 23 of the packet I emailed you…” While he speaks, he palms his cock through his jeans, completely out of sight of his work call, but completely in-sight of Richie. 

Richie's breath goes ragged, laser focused on Eddie's hand, grip faltering on his phone as he quickly realizes his joke backfired spectacularly. And now he's standing naked, in their living room, with his incredibly irresistible boyfriend watching him out of the corner of his eye on the couch rubbing his crotch under the tv tray he's perched his laptop on, teasing Richie with what he can't have because he's on a goddamn work call. 

Or at least, that's what Eddie thinks is going through Richie's mind. That Eddie’s proved his point, and they'll settle this later. Clearly, he underestimated the depth of Richie's horniness and lack of shame when instead of escaping back up the stairs to jack off leaving Eddie in peace, Richie wraps a hand around his shaft pumping in a smooth stroke, hairy thighs flexing. 

Eddie covers his involuntary moan in a cough, quickly downing a sip of his tea in between talking. He could put a stop to this, shoo Richie off and focus on the current meeting. Get his half-hard cock to calm down, and pretend that he cares about what’s going on in the slightest.

But, that would imply Eddie wanted to stop. That his blood wasn't racing in his veins as Richie watched him through the lens of his camera, stroking his thick cock till it was red and weeping at the head. 

Eddie forces his expression to remain neutral as a dark flush works its way up his torso, beads of sweat budding on the surface of his skin like the growing wet patch on his boxers where his cock pleads for attention straining against his pants. "...It's hard to give an estimate here without more on-site data, but initial estimates by picture evaluation is included." 

He says the words on auto-pilot, having reviewed his notes more than twenty times. He tries to keep his eyes straight forward, but he can't help letting his gaze track to Richie. 

Richie licks his lips, thumbing the head of his dick, the hot length of him twitching in want. Eddie's nerves are a live wire as he pops the button on his jeans, slipping the zipper down slowly. Richie shivers, squeezing his cock as a heavy bead of pre-cum leaks out. Fuck, Eddie wants to push all this to the side and lick it up. His mouth practically watering, he has to audibly swallow the excess saliva.

He hopes the group just thinks he's nervous, or any number of normal explanations for his red complexion, even while he palms his tented boxers, Richie practically shaking in want but holding himself back till at least Eddie finishes talking.

"...any questions?" Richie steps forward, panting harshly as he pumps his cock not even two feet away pupils blown wide with lust.

"Only a few Mister Kaspbrak, what about the…" Richie actually whines low, but no one seems to hear it, and it just makes Eddie smile, shifting to nudge down his pants and boxers so his cock springs free, hard and aching for attention. While he keeps his expression cool and collected, he teases his length with feather light touches that have him arching forward. 

Richie is practically overwhelmed with desire, eyes locked on Eddie's cock, still angling the phone to capture all of Eddie's blatant debauchery. 

Eddie wonders if Richie will watch this later. Maybe while he's away on tour, and craving everything about Eddie. Think about touching Eddie everywhere but his cock, let him squirm trying to keep a good look for the camera while practically rutting up into the underside of the table desperately wanting touch in all his most sensitive places. Wanting Richie's touch in all his most sensitive places. 

He stutters briefly, squeezing the base of his dick, blinking a few times to keep his focus. 

Now, Richie's just behind his laptop. Large form making Eddie's balls tighten in want, the manly frame of him enough to have Eddie stumble over his words. He can't help being distracted, not when Richie's eyes are on him devouring him with reverent desire and affection. Eddie keeps talking mindlessly, and hopes his shitty speakers continue to be shit so no one hears the slide of Richie's hand over his cock. 

He wants him to cum all over his thighs, paint him white while Eddie fools his colleagues into thinking he's perfectly proper, even as he fucks into his own fist slicked by Richie's cum.

"...and I believe that concludes our business. Thank you all, see you in the office on Monday. Enjoy your weekends." 

Eddie doesn't even get in more than a half cut off 'Goodb-' before Richie shuts the laptop shoving it and the stand to the side crowding into Eddie's space to slot their lips together in a messy slide of tongues. The harsh burn of Richie's scruff dragging against his lips. Desperate to touch, Richie’s hands rove over his body, and Eddie's skin lights a trail of fire in his blood everywhere they touch. 

He shucks off his pants, Richie pressing close in between his legs, man handling him to get their cocks rubbing together. Eddie surges forward licking a strip up Richie's throat, savoring the taste of his musk. They can't stop, not now, not so close. 

Richie gets his hand around both of them, and Eddie's toes curl, fucking up into his fist and the slide of skin on skin, so delicious. It drives him wild. Richie drives him wild with thrashing, feverous wanting dipping and soaring through his blood. Like a stampeding herd vibrating throughout his entire body. Until he's on the edge, lips shiny with spit, slightly swollen from their aggressive mouths. 

Richie pulls back, camera still trained on him, as he cums, undone. 

It doesn't take much for Richie to tumble after, and into him, panting heavily on his shoulder. Bubbling great waves of warm affection making his limbs weak and his eyes heavy. Eddie smatters the side of his head in light pecks, warm content stewing. 

Cuddled close on the couch, catching their breath, it probably goes without saying, but Richie doesn't get to post his video.

[financenfreelance]

Advice For Freelance Beginners

Looking for some freelancing advice? Check out this informational article on advice for freelance beginners. It’s time to develop a success mindset of our own!

How do you define success?

Obviously, this is going to depend on who you ask.

Differing opinions makes the concept of success a little confusing.  With so many definitions of success, it can actually be confusing for anyone to decide for themselves what it means to them.

For a lot of people, success is going to college, getting a 9-5 corporate job, and following the societal script.

But if you’re a freelancer reading this article, I have a feeling you have a different definition. There is a huge glaring issue with letting people define success for you.

You greatly increase the chances that you end up with “success” that makes you miserable.

It is sort of like letting someone else order your food for you at a restaurant.  You’ll definitely end up with a meal that THEY love… but is it likely that you’re going to love it too?

This is probably what drew you to freelancing in the first place!

( Also, if you’re interested in this topic, please check out this other article: 6 Tough Lessons Learned From Freelancing For 6 Years )

Advice For Freelance Beginners for Freelance Beginners

Freelancers achieve success because they break the mold.

Freelancing is a really is an easy choice, for several reasons.

1: A HUGE variety of freelancing services are needed

What skills do you have to offer? Whatever it may be, there are people looking for it! You are solving people’s problems by providing your service.  They are looking for someone just like you.

2: You have control over your schedule

Freelancing is great because you have the power to set your own hours, create your pace, and work when you damn well please. If a project has a crazy deadline, you can pass. It’s all your call.

3: Gain power over your income

You set your own rates for each project. If a project’s budget isn’t what you want, you don’t have to take the job.

The main point here is this:

You have THE FULL FREEDOM to do what you want to do, and reject the rest of the bs.  You gain total control over your life, your money, and your freedom.

The Perfect Mindset for Success

This article will explain the mindset that bring freelance success.

This is important advice for freelance beginners.

A freelancer must develop character traits that will allow them to reach their potential.

These traits are the building blocks to become a freelancer who not only makes money, but has customers that trust them and respect them.

Self-development is a journey, and it’s deeply internal.

In this article, we wiill learn how to develop this success mindset.  This mindset will bring you literal and tangible results that are the result of successful thinking.

Think of this as a cheat sheet for successful thinking as a freelancer. Read this to refresh your realign your view and remind yourself that real success lies in the journey, not in the destination.

If you want to learn more on how to start your journey, check out How to Set Goals for Your Freelancing Business.

Important Advice for Freelance Beginners

So let’s get started, shall we?  It’s time to develop a success mindset of our own!

Have goals and a vision

“You have to have a dream, whether big or small. Then plan well, focus, work hard, and be very determined to achieve your goals.”

– Henry Sy

Number one in advice for freelance beginners: Set goals for your freelance business, and also goals for yourself!

For freelancing success, having a vision is your first step to greatness.

Develop a sense of imagination and possibility.

Within your business, your goals are your ability to visualize successful outcomes. It is your chance to imagine positive results.

Click here to learn how to set goals!

Learn to Focus and Commit – Be Persistent

Focus is a matter of deciding what things you’re not going to do.

John Carmack

It is a skill to have the ability to focus on the task at hand and complete it.  To be a good freelancer, you need to be able to persevere and get shit done, despite everything else.

Develop the ability to concentrate successfully on one task at a time.

Focus is an essential skill for all business owners, and especially freelancers.

So how do you stay focused? My advice for freelance beginners is this:

The only key is to have your attention on one thing and concentrate.  Sometimes, as I write, unplug.  Literally. I unplug the Wi-Fi, TV, and PlayStation.  I put my phone across the room on “Do not Disturb” mode.

Once I get going, it’s a lot easier to crank out work. Be sure to learn more on my article Freelancing Tips For Beginners: What I Learned My First Year .

Network and Connect

Networking has been cited as the number one unwritten rule of success in business. Who you know really impacts what you know.

– Sallie Krawcheck

Networking is essential to every successful freelancing business.  You will connect with contacts, leads, clients, partners, and much more.

Above everything else, it is an amazing source of profit, ideas, and support for freelancers.

Keep in mind that every social or professional engagement you have can be a chance to network. Don’t be pushy or sales-y, but just put it out there. You never know what opportunities may come your way!

Be Positive and Grateful

“Few things in the world are more powerful than a positive push. A smile. A world of optimism and hope. A ‘you can do it’ when things are tough.”

– Richard M. DeVos

It is important to embrace positivity daily.  I have retained a lot of my clients, because they are drawn to my positive outlook and cheerful personality.

It is all about pushing the skepticism aside and change your mindset.  Instead of thinking “I can’t do this”, ask yourself “How can this happen”.

This small change can open yourself to a world of opportunities.

Be Passionate about your Hustle

“What you lack in talent can be made up with desire, hustle and giving 110 percent all the time”

– Don Zimmer

You have to have a hunger to reach your freelancing goals.  Passion will be your driving force to keep you going.  If you aren’t excited about your freelancing, it’s probably not for you.

This is no secret.

The only way you will reach your goals is to put in the work needed to get there.

You will need conscious effort, along with concentration and a healthy dose of creativity. Overnight success?  There isn’t such a thing. My advice for freelance beginners is that you need to build up to it.

Take pride in your work and go the extra mile in everything that you do.

Have Confidence

“Positivity, confidence, and persistence are key in life, so never give up on yourself.”- Khalid

You should be confident of your freelance services. Make sure you are your biggest cheerleader.

If you don’t believe in you, no one else will! To learn more about this, be sure to read up on How to Stand Out as A New Freelancer.

Keep Going

“Successful people maintain a positive focus in life no matter what is going on around them. They stay focused on their past successes rather than their past failures, and on the next action steps they need to take to get them closer to the fulfillment of their goals rather than all the other distractions that life presents to them.”

Jack Canfield

Unfortunately, there will be some setbacks in freelancing.  These happen on your journey to success.

The persistent individual has to understand that failure is only a temporary condition. Because of this, it is important to remember that failure will hit everyone at one time or enough before they reach their goal.

Learn from your failures and keep going.

It is far more powerful in the end when you decide not to quit. You realize how strong you really are, and it’s super empowering!

Amongst the qualities a hero should have, I would include determination, loyalty, courage, perseverance, patience, focus, intrepidity and selflessness.

Ricky Martin

More Articles on Freelance Success:

6 Tough Lessons Learned From Freelancing For 6 Years

Advice For Freelance Beginners

Best Paying Freelance Jobs to Start Now (2021)

Freelance Jobs You Can Easily Do on Your Phone

How to Set Goals for Your Freelancing Business

Freelance Skills You Can Learn in a Week

Freelancing Tips For Beginners: What I Learned My First Year

How to Stand Out as A New Freelancer

How To Start Freelancing for Beginners (2021)

Mistakes You’re Making on Your Freelance Portfolio

Quick Guide to Setting Freelance Goals in 2021

How to Start Freelancing While Working Full Time (2021 Guide)

How to Stay Organized as a Freelance Beginner

The Ultimate Freelance Guide for Beginners

[cursedserpenthq]

(summer bishil, 33, woman, merperson) Blimey! Is that (BRIAR BRANDO)? (SHE) is the (CARPENTER) on the Cursed Serpent and has been onboard the ship for (TWO YEARS). Legend has it they are (QUICK-WITTED & PROVOCATIVE), but don’t get on their bad side, because I hear they’re (INFLAMMATORY & HEDONISTIC). Aye! Stop staring! (BRIAR) has their (FLINTLOCK BELT PISTOLS) out! (ooc: dea, pst, 24, she/her, rape/sexual assault)

THE CURSED SERPENT

After devoting several decades to living amongst her merfolk colony, conflicts of interest led to her choosing a more landbound existence. She found it easy to blend in with the lively energy Westburgh, having observed and the behaviours and dynamics of humans as well as the amount of traffic which crosses through the city. However, eventually, she found herself getting restless and in desire of a profession which would sufficiently satisfy her mind and body. She developed a fascination for metalsmithing and carpentry, shadowing masters of each field in exchange for fetching them supplies. Her good looks allowed her to barter fares for goods to a significantly lower amount, which paid off the space she took up. Otherwise, she kept a low profile and wore deliberately unflattering clothes, keeping her hair tied back and her words few; altogether generating an attitude aligned with a masculine demeanour that blended in better.

Time passed and eventually she grew restless in her apprentice positions, having understood what needed to be done multiple times over. Unfortunately, when Briar’s impatience flared an unfortunate event was soon to follow. Since her departure from the sea, she was careful to neglect using her sonic abilities — it was merely coincidence that the local lead carpenter happened to one night wander past the city limits and slip into a watery grave. With an open position, Briar seamlessly filled it and kept customers pleased and impressed with the speed and precision at which she worked.

Briar heard rumours of the Cursed Serpent throughout her years in Westburgh. Their reputation and the obstacles they’d surmounted preceded them — each one singing louder to Briar’s disobedient scallywag heart. To be a part of such a group always sounded enticing, although she was less interested in the prospect of being at the sea’s mercy for a prolonged period of time. Since leaving her colony, she harbours a hatred for the sea. The idea of swimming or being underwater to hear the voices of her kind leaves a sour taste in her mouth and a white hot anger under her skin. But, once again, she began to grow restless in her city-bound existence that followed the same rhythm everyday.

Considering life aboard a ship meant commanding the waves rather than falling beneath them, she reasoned with herself that it seemed a safe enough distance to submit to her heart’s longing for piracy. Soon, the siren call of adventure, prosperity, and infamy beckoned her over the edge. After following the trails of gossip, Briar found the Cursed Serpent and boldly pledged herself as the carpenter they needed to truly succeed in the rough times ahead. It remains her highest goal to maintain truth in the statement.

Briar enjoys being of aid and service to whatever the ship demands. She has a hungry work ethic and ability to juggle projects, likely to fly under the radar for stints at a time as she works in her preferred space — below deck. In the aftermath of storms she has remained acutely aware of any issues on board, and tends to stay an active member on deck taking initiative on repairs or reinforcements when others venture to shore, restock at ports, or find a rare moment of sleep. Briar mostly likes doing her own thing, but will readily take on tasks when asked. She works at an incredibly rapid pace without sacrificing perfectionism.

Briar fits right in with the lifestyle of a pirate with her rowdy attitude and hedonistic desires, likely to stir the pot whether she intended to or not. She finds it keeps things dynamic, and enjoys witnessing others as work almost as much as she likes bothering them. Although she likes the crew for their attachment to the Cursed Serpent, she has remained emotionally distanced and wary of everyone. Only shallow bonds have been formed with fellow members, in her reluctance to divulge much about herself nor interest in being close friends with anyone. At the end of the day, she wishes to find the Jewels more than anything else. Lives lost or injured along the way is inevitable collateral damage, hence her disinterest in growing too fond of anyone lest they be lost to the larger goal. Accordingly, in the face of any tragedy, she does not dwell in gloom or disappointment. Three modes govern Briar, at any given moment — rage, sardonic humour, and impulsivity.

The Captain’s death unnerved her, making the mistake of deeming him better than other humans for the kind of ship he ran and the notoriety he was responsible for. Briar deeply respected his leadership and intelligence, never in disagreement with the calls he made. His death had Briar, for the first time, considering him weak and tactless for not avoiding the final hit that killed him. It made her feel bitter. Human mortality was a heavy burden to live with and, with more dangerous waters likely ahead, above all else it frustrated her to think the Jewels may be harder to access without his level-headed order and discretion as the crew’s compass.

SECRET

In her spare time, on the down low, Briar likes to work on developing unique weapons. With a specific interest in fire and ignition; grenades, hand cannons, and other explosive projectile matter are her predominant under-development works. Most prototypes are too dangerous and volatile to work on in an enclosed space whilst active, and although it sacrifices swift progress, she ensures her materials are kept dampened until satisfied with her design. She remains confident that her awareness of the elements on board could curve any potential malfunction issues, but also knows better than to waste materials. In the meantime, she stocks up on ideas and their necessary frameworks as she awaits the day she can assemble something and put it to real use.

Briar was exiled from her merfolk colony for repeatedly breaking the law, branded for repeated fraternisation with a sorcerer that supposedly put her colony in jeopardy. Even though she claimed she was careful, travelling a great distance each visit, the relationship was deemed reckless for both the act itself and the (literal) dangerous waters she tread in the process. As a result of the mark bestowed upon her, Briar exclusively wears long sleeved shirts —  high collared or tightly laced at all times, at the bear minimum. Even on sweltering days. She would say it’s for protection from any shrapnel or splintering that she may encounter during her work. Due to the painful treatment her colony put her through despite her efforts to explain herself, she is very wary of other merpeople until she learns where their allegiance lies. Merfolk wandering in disguise amongst humans make her paranoid that her cover of normalcy may be blown. She is only sympathetic for outsiders, whether by force or choice —  she wouldn’t hesitate to help another in true and dire need, as it’s what she would have wished happened to her in her initial castaway phase.

KEY RELATIONSHIPS

ALLUDED APPRENTICE: Someone that wishes to learn more about carpentry. Briar didn’t like the idea of company at first, and was by no means interested nor in possession of the patience required to be a teacher. Initially it was purely through absorbing continuous examples of her at work from a distance that they were able to pick up a few things. Only when it became obvious how observant they were did Briar willingly begin to divulge a few techniques or skills that would enable better execution. Occasionally, she’ll make a game out of it and challenge them to making something in a limited amount of time. She’s far more critical than likely to praise anything they come up with, but she’s grown to appreciate having someone to share with and bond over her enjoyment of crafting.

CHARRED CAMARADERIE: Briar’s abrasive manner sometimes gets the better of her for its lack of discrimination. Anyone in her line of sight is fair game to rub the wrong way, even if that entails disrespecting someone ranked above her or twice her size. She doesn’t care much for rules and order, at the end of the day far more willing to be selfish if it means survival. It’s her unyielding audacity that this person can’t help but somewhat respect, yet they don’t want her to give her the wrong idea that she has any power in her beliefs. For the sake of order, no matter the weight of their personal opinion, they always make sure to shut down any instigative remarks she makes. Inwardly, she finds it both challenging and commendable that someone dares to keep her accountable and under some measure of control. At the heart of this dynamic, there is deep respect that goes both ways. However, on the surface, one wouldn’t be able to tell. It’s a lot of bickering and empty threats — a game of baiting and entrapping until one side concedes… until next time.

ALL THE FIXINGS: chock it up to plain clumsiness or one too many drunken stupors, this person is always causing bumps, scrapes, and breaks upon the ship’s materials as well as their own possessions. Briar fixes the result following each incident, no questions asked. It’s an explicitly need-to-know basis. The only thing she asks for her services is for there to be an exchange of some sort, which varies on her mood. Sometimes payment is as simple as a coin, other times a bottle of booze, or — for an undisclosed yet ongoing project — some pilfered gunpowder. The “don’t ask, don’t tell” rule goes both ways.

ANYTHING ELSE

Intended to play the assisting role in Lachlan Rhodes’ Guardian Angel WC.

[cyoza]

shrike

I was not going to post on here and I tried like 5 times but for some reason the ao3 link isn’t showing up in the tags sand I’m feeling very frustrated so I’m just going to upload the first chapter on here and then the rest of the chapters will be on ao3 because it took me forever last time to get all the chapters together here 

I’m going to post the link to my ao3 at the end and see if it works this time but its literally giving me a headache lol 

- 

In his 3 years as a protective agent of the CIA, Dick Grayson had never once slept past his alarm. However, he’d never felt the urge stronger than he did that morning. Even with the blaring siren of his alarm sounding, he’d lay staring at the ceiling for the few minutes he could spare wishing he could hit the snooze button. 

For the next 6 months. 

Dick had been very lucky in his 5 year career, shadowing various important but interesting diplomats and thus learning a lot more than the average person about the world and often top secret information. But it seemed like his luck had run out. For he was to spend the next 6 months babysitting some spoiled, pampered princess. 

Kory Anders had definitely built up a reputation for herself - and not necessarily a good one. From his research, he had found multiple articles that described her short temper, recklessness and honestly almost careless attitude towards dating; a new man or woman on her arm every month. It didn’t help that she was an actual princess which meant that guarding her was going to be a bigger pain in the ass than usual. When it came to Royals, they would feel more comfortable with their own services as well as CIA protection which made it all the more difficult to get the job done. Safe to say there was no real part of him looking forward to the task. 

But Dick got up anyway, clicking off both his phone alarm and battery back up along the way. He got ready in a daze, cruising on autopilot until he stood in front of the mirror adjacent to his front door. White shirt crisp and immaculate as usual, dark navy tie placed perfectly at the centre, all pulled together with a sharp angled black blazer. 

A picture of a model agent. 

Bruce Wayne would be proud. 

Dick watched as his eyes narrowed automatically at the thought but he forced himself to relax; he didn’t need anymore tension in his body today and thinking about his adoptive father wasn’t going to help.  

So he grabbed his keys and made his way to work, again not really present for the journey but the dread that settled in him as he pulled into the parking lot forcibly ejected him out of his reverie and back to reality. 

He tried to ignore it, doing the best he could to seem like his charismatic but professional self as he made it through security. Saying hello to Joe as he x-rayed his bag and commenting on Max’s new hair do as she scanned through his fingerprints and ID before making his way through the halls to the DS’s office. 

He paused facing the heavy mahogany door, bracing himself before knocking. 

‘Come in,’ was the gruff reply. 

Dick let out a sigh before entering, shutting the door softly behind him and making his way to stand by the double burgundy leather arm chairs opposite the mahogany desk. 

Directorate of Support Officer Charles ‘Chip’ Wenthem looked every bit the stereotypical middle-aged officer was to be expected to look. Thick grey caterpillar moustache with a matching buzzcut and permanently stress induced protruding coronary in the neck. 

‘Ah Grayson, good you’re here. The Royal Family will be here any minute. I know this isn’t the best assignment but I want you to put your best foot forward, alright? We really need this to go well.’ 

‘Of course, sir. Looking forward to doing the best I can for my country as always.’ He lied, giving him a tense but polite smile that neither reassured nor reinforced his statement. Yet neither of them mentioned anything, knowing the job would get done either way to an exemplary standard anyway. 

‘Glad to hear it, son. Now, as explained in the dossier, you’ll be guarding the Princess Kory Anders of Tamaran along with her personal protection services named Faddei Adeliyi. You’ve done this enough times that I don’t need to hold your hand, Grayson, but proceed with caution. The Tamaranians keep to themselves so we don’t know much about them for a background on customs. Follow their lead and watch yourself. You’re one of my best agents and I don’t want you to get kicked off this case for something stupid, alright?��� 

Dick suddenly felt the tension he’d tried very hard to suppress return to his body at full force. Chip was a good DS but it was times like this that he felt his patience with him was paper thin. 10 years of experience in law enforcement with 5 of them in covert operations just to have him speak to him like he was a teenager fresh out the force on his first mission. Dick bit back his frustration and gave him another tight smile but before he could speak again, there was a knock at the door prior to Chip’s mousy assistant poking his head through. 

‘Um, sir, we have the Tamaranean Royal family through security and here to see you.’ Arthur spoke quietly, shifting his eyes rapidly between Chip and the floor. Even after 2 years working here, Arthur was still terrified of every single thing; it was a wonder how he even got the job. 

‘Send them in.’ Chip waved his hand in confirmation sending Arthur’s head back around the door before he came back to swing it wide open again. 

Dick had seen beautiful people in his life as he seemed to always fall into their orbit unintentionally. But they all paled in comparison to the people who walked in the room in those next 5 minutes. The man who walked in after Arthur could only be described as ethereal. Towering taller than any other person Dick had come into contact with, it wasn’t his height that commanded the attention in the room nor was it his transfixing good looks. His shoulder length dark locs framed his face and corresponded with his gruff beard, which were both laced through with grey and emphasised the high slant of his cheekbones. It was his eyes, however, that drew the attention to the face, a gleaming brilliant gold that seemed luminescent even in the poorly lit office. But it was neither of these things that person would be enthralled by. Rather the aura around him was so authoritative and regal that it demanded an attention that you never wanted to withdraw. He seemed to glide as he walked into the room, his mulberry chiffon-like robe swishing around him as if there was a breeze that existed only for him. Dick could only assume he was the King, especially with the thin intricately woven golden crown he wore, pinning back some of his locs. 

Even the guards that trailed behind him were some of the most stunning guards he’d ever seen, despite them dimming in comparison to the King. A man and a woman, again taller than the average person and again dressed in a similar shade of mauve to the King but more combat appropriate. Dick felt his knowledge of gender binary being challenged as he observed them both, the woman’s head shaved with a complex design tattooed across the expanse and the man with equally elaborate braids running across his scalp and trailing down his back. He had never felt more inferior in his life, even with Bruce Wayne as a father. 

Dick’s attention was brought back to Chip as he made his way around the desk to greet them. 

‘Your Majesty King Myand’r, welcome to the US. It is our utmost pleasure to be able to host you on your stay here.’ Chip had never sounded or looked more nervous in his life, this interaction clearly having the same effect on him as it was having on Dick. 

‘Thank you..Charles, is it?’ He questioned, moving forward to extend a hand which ‘Charles’ anxiously but gratefully accepted. ‘And you must be Dick.’ He turned to Dick and stretched out a hand toward him too. 

‘Yes, Your Majesty.’ Dick hoped his voice sounded strong and stable but he made sure that his handshake was, uncharacteristically wanting to exert himself, as futile as he felt it was. 

‘So you’re the one protecting my daughter. Then let me introduce, my eldest daughter - Princess Koriand’r.’

King Myand’r stepped aside and it felt like all the breath had been punched out of Dick’s lungs. He had seen pictures, of course, but as beautiful as she was in them, they all felt like insults compared to the real thing. Dick didn’t know where to look first, completely overwhelmed by her presence. She seemed to be a head shorter than her father so she still dwarfed everyone in the room and it didn’t help that the vivid scarlet curls that sat atop her head gave her added inches that she really didn’t need. The crimson coils seemed to halo her face in a heart shape, her cheekbones high and sharp like her father’s and just like her father, her eyes were transfixing. Bright and shimmering, they mimicked his luminosity but hers were an emerald green that paralleled the jewels themselves. They were only emphasised by the glittery gold eyeshadow she wore, her pouty full lips also painted with a dark maroon. 

Dick knew he was being rude but he couldn’t help but look at her. It was difficult to look away, especially when she also wasn’t wearing very much. As relatively warm as it was in Virginia in September, it definitely didn’t warrant the outfit she wore, or lack thereof. Again she wore a varying shade of purple to her counterparts, but this time it covered way less. Clothed in a light cotton skirt he could barely call a skirt, it reached the floor but the two high slits travelling up her legs all the way to her hips left very little to the imagination so her legs seemed to go on forever which were only highlighted by the 5 inch gold gladiator sandals she was wearing. Her midriff was also bare, the top she was wearing covering her breasts and not very much else, wrapping around them with two tiny trivial spaghetti straps holding the fabric up. 

Dick felt like he had been staring at her for a lifetime but it was probably only 10 seconds, so he cleared his throat and stepped forward to greet her. 

‘Princess Koriand’r, hello. My name is Dick Grayson, I’ll be forming part of your protective team while you are here in the US. It is very nice to meet you and it’s an honour to be guarding you.’ Dick stepped forward to extend a hand to her but was taken aback when she merely rolled her eyes to the side and ignored his outreached hand to fold her arms. 

Dick looked frantically between the King and Chip dropping his hand and worried that he’d made a faux pas and offended her within a minute of meeting her. But he had merely taken the cue from her father with a handshake. Maybe it was different for different genders? Perhaps he was supposed to curtsey or bow? 

‘You must excuse my daughter, Mr Grayson, she is proving difficult to convince that she does in fact need your services. She is quite headstrong which is a trait we admire in our country as it shows strength. But in times like this, we could possibly do without it.’ He explained before gesturing to his daughter.

‘You don’t need to talk about me like I’m not here, Father.’

Dick reeled hearing her voice; it was rich and melodic and suited her perfectly. 

‘Well, Koriand’r, start acting like you are here and maybe I won’t have to,’ the King retorted. 

‘I don’t see why we have to be here at all. I am a trained warrior, there is no way that I could benefit from having these feeble h-’ 

‘Koriand’r, that’s enough!’ He cut her off sharply, eyes suddenly blazing. ‘It is time to stop acting like a child and act like you are next in line for the throne, for X’hal’s sake. The CIA were kind enough to extend their services to us while we are here and we were grateful to accept. You shall greet Mr Grayson here appropriately and behave yourself whilst you are under his care.’ 

Dick could see the fury building under her guise as her father admonished her, obviously wanting to argue when her body abruptly relaxed. She swung her head to face Dick, a wide, sultry smile on her face before making her way to stop a few inches in front of him, hips swaying enticingly as she strolled over. He only hoped his swirling mind wasn’t evident and his professional facade was still in place as he inhaled her sweet rosy scent. He swallowed the lump in his throat as he tried to keep control of himself and not let himself be party to whatever game she was trying to play.

‘Hello, Mr Grayson, it’s a pleasure. I can only thank you for your service and I look forward to being under your care.’ She purred, lifting her hand towards him. 

Oh, these 6 months were going to be longer than expected. 

- 

Further chapters: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21785914

[katieskarlette]

Honestly I am not surprised it is delayed, in case you forgot we are in the middle of a pandemic which has made shipping chaotic. You can throw extra money at express delivery but if they don't have a driver or are held up for X reason there is nothing that can be done. Believe me as someone that has also been dumb enough to pay for express during these bad times, you should have known better.

I got long-winded and uncharacteristically bitchy responding to this, so I’m throwing my reply behind a cut because nobody follows me for that.

Oh, I didn’t forget about the pandemic, since I wear a mask and rubber gloves to work, where literally 98% of my job has changed dramatically since we reopened for limited services a few weeks ago, and everything is a backlogged, chaotic mess.  Not to mention the elevated levels of anxiety I’m dealing with as a result.   So I’m well aware of it, thank you.  In fact, I’ve had to explain delivery delays to unhappy customers on the phone myself.  Miss me with that sarcastic, patronizing tone.  (If you didn’t intend it that way, I apologize for misinterpreting your words.  Chalk it up to text lacking the nuance of the spoken word and body language, and the fact that I’m upset and stressed.)

The thing is, we have warnings all over our website, social media, e-mails, and voicemails to let people know to expect delays.  When I ordered my new computer earlier this year, the website said in big, bold letters to expect delays in shipping.  I was patient for almost two months, and just happy when it arrived almost two weeks ahead of the originally estimated date.

Fast delivery is one of Amazon’s big selling points, and the mind boggles at the number of packages they ship in a day.  It would be totally understandable if they had a disclaimer saying “we cannot offer release-day delivery at this time due to uncertainty during the pandemic”!  I would have understood completely and planned accordingly.  But they didn’t.  There was nothing anywhere in the ordering process or the confirmation e-mails to indicate that I should expect anything other than release-day delivery--i.e. what I paid extra for.  

This pandemic has been going on for awhile now, so it’s not like Amazon hasn’t had time to add disclaimers, or to adjust their procedures to compensate for slower, more unreliable transport.  Yes, times are unpredictable and things can happen to throw a wrench into even the best-laid plans.  And of course people’s lives are more important than me getting a stupid video game tie-in novel.  However, I didn’t think it was unrealistic to expect one of the biggest corporations in the history of human civilization to be able to provide a service they were advertising.

And again, forgive me if I’m misinterpreting your words, but saying that I’m “throwing money at” the problem makes it sound like I’m some entitled rich person.  I’m not.  I’m fortunate enough to have a roof over my head and food in my stomach, but I also have thousands in medical debt that I’m dealing with.  I rarely splurge on fun things for myself, but it was important to me to get this book on release day, which happened to fall on my day off, so I decided to treat myself with fast delivery for the first time ever.  I was really looking forward to escaping into a book as relief from all this Covid-related anxiety and stress!  One little bright spot in an otherwise vast sea of utter and complete shit.  So yes, I’m pretty upset about it not working out.

I’m going to take a break from Tumblr for a little while, I think.  Between spoilers and my nonexistent patience it’s not a good place for me right now.  I don’t need to inflict my mental difficulties on the 1600+ people who follow this blog for fun Warcraft shenanigans.  Forgive me for bitching and/or being short-tempered.  I know we’re all going through hell right now.

See you guys when I’m calmer and/or have the book finished.

[mystic-soulsista]

Does anyone cleanse and protect their workplace? I work at a retail store and at the end if the night we have to mop, clean up etc. Sometimes we get dirty customers, literally and energy wise. People tracking in mud and paint but also people who are upset their phone service got cut off because they didn't pay their bill or someone gave them wrong information. I've been cussed out, threatened and I get yelled at on the regular. So about a week ago now, when I was at work, I used my Pendulum on my break to ask my guides if there were any negative energies hang around my job. I got yes, and I thought, well if I clear, cleanse and protect my house, why shouldn't I do the same at work.(since I'm practically @ work more anyways) So I came up with a spell to perform while doing my cleaning duties. Today, almost a week later, I check with my guides again to see if any negative energy had found its way back in, and I got no!

That was the confirmation I needed to know it works so I wanted to share it. I plan on doing it once a week at least unless I feel the need to do it before. This spell could also be done at home.

Protection spell 1

(I usually say it out loud or in my head as I sweep.)

From the windows to the walls

All negative energy please leave

From the ceiling to the floor

All negative energy please leave

From the windows to the walls

To the ceiling and the floor

and all the space in between negative energy please leave

(I say this as I mop the floors)

From the windows to the walls

Guardian spirit please protect this place

From the ceiling to the floor

Guardian spirit please protect this place

From the windows to walls 

To ceiling and floor and all the space in between

Guardian spirit please protect this place

(once I'm done cleaning I create a psychic shield around the building, but you could ask you guides or deity for them to protect as well.)

As I am creating the shield I say:

Now this place is nice and clean fill this space with white light protection.

(I repeat until shield is fully create)

Other than my spirits confirmation, the energy at work has felt so thick, for lack of better words. Customer don't seem as irritating either but that could also be me and my patience tea spells I've been doing!!

[howtoearnmoneyonline102]

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Today, blogging is not just a way to express your ideas but is also the biggest (in terms with numbers) source of income for online entrepreneurs, myself included. Websites like affiliatemillionsvideotraining-dot-com can teach you all the techniques to drive potential customers to your sites or affiliate sites and potential earn huge dollars online. Making $500 a day online is kind of normal and you can get started very quickly if you know the right techniques. Web designers, magazines and press need new photos, images and a lot of importantly good content daily. Often they will look for photo marketplaces and agencies to buy photos that fit their own need or article sites or PLR agencies to source their content. Website owners can earn money through other ways, and I have searched scores of sites on the net in search of the holy grail. Whilst I can't say I have reached utopia on my search, I can say that I have found some fantastic ways to earn money online along the way. 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However just be sure to include all active links and don't try and pass the article off as your own, as this can get serious copyright infringement consequences for you. You get free content and articles without having to write anything yourself or find the money for the content so don't abuse it. Articles, ecourses, books, scripts, videos, networking-it's all there and readily available back on the fantastic tool that is the internet. Advertisers are legitimate businesses who seek to reach the internet audience through Yahoo adwords. Moreover, paypal is now recognised as one of the most secure online transaction merchants. Ad placement is one thing but having to pay people is another thing. While they keep guessing, you can start earning, as AdSense and AdWords are no longer some sort of revolutionary new product and the domain of only the guru's, and those in the know. There are some fantastic courses on the market to allow you to have access to it as well and promoting it can give you the opportunity to make serious money if you put forth the effort. Promotion ads on blogs is an effective method to make money online and you should know when to put ads on your blog. You should ask yourself in advance of putting ads on your blog when should I put advertising ads on my blog? Ads can be easily tailored to display specific products or product categories in non-contextual mode, or highly relevant contextual ads based on ones page's content. Payout is as high as 50-80 cents per click so it can be extremely lucrative, but is mainly contingent on the quality and relevancy of the content on your site. Google AdSense is an excellent money making program on the internet and thousands of web sites are generating income with the Google AdSense program. For participating in this program, you need to have a highly professional, unique content wealthy website. Signup bonuses are realistic, referral bonuses are generous and upgrades are bargain-tastic. My only self deprecation right now would be the lack of ready-made creatives for members to advertise the site but I'm sure there will be some splash pages just around the corner. Sign up for Google's AdSense (which is totally free) and put your AdSense code on your site to share the money produced on any of your posts. The ads on the pages with people's codes are shared 50/50 with the person contributing the question. Start your business by working evenings and weekends while keeping your present job as long as practicable. In this way, if the business does not meet your expectations, you have not incurred debt and will still have a job! Start preparing a permanent vested income for the future by starting now PayPal is a globally trusted organization and if you haven't seen paypal they were founded in 1998. PayPal, is an eBay company, which enables any individual or business with an email address contact information to securely, easily and quickly send and receive payments online. PayPal's service builds on the existing finance infrastructure of bank accounts and credit cards and utilizes the world's most advanced proprietary fraud prevention systems to make a safe, global, real-time payment solution. PayPal has quickly become a global leader in online payment solutions using 86. 6 million account members worldwide and growing. Excellent content makes them come back. But whether superior or excellent, if the content is submitted in the right web directory for site and articles, visitors may become residents of your site. Excellent customer service will also fully guarantee this. Imagine for a moment a home job that is really easy, that you use only your computer to work and get paid by paypal everyday. Imagine training that will show you how to have a web site on top of the search engines with out paying anything to get you there! Imagine you are the owner of your own web business online, and whenever a customer makes a purchase you automatically earn money, even if you're sound asleep. Isn't is exciting to earn money online? You can earn money online in the next few minutes if you really want to! Finally imagine what you could do if you really tried?

[possumcollege]

During WW2, the American government rationed fuel, rubber, bacon, sugar, butter, coffee, imposed a 35mph national speed limit, suspended all civilian sales of automobiles, typewriters, bicycles. If you wanted a new tube of toothpaste, you had to turn in an empty one. Medications were rationed. Nylon, silk, and just about every metal you can think of were restricted to industrial use only. Companies that made jukeboxes, tractors, adding machines, were retooled to make weapons and equipment. It's why you can find vintage rifles marked "Rock-Ola, International Harvester, IBM."

Everyone was sorted into a ration class that determined how much of what you could buy/use, and you had to apply for special reclassification.

Towns and cities across the country imposed travel restrictions. Civil Defense enforced mandatory blackouts at night. People were drafted away from their jobs, their schools, their farms, and sent around the world to fight.

Legislators and isolation protesters want to compare this "attack" to Pearl Harbor, and want to call these isolation measures "tyranny," but they're turning a blind eye on the sacrifices Americans have endured in the name of civil defense, public health, and for the continued safety of our communities. People are threatening to declare war over the lockdown but they aren't willing to pull their own weight on the homefront in the fight against a very real enemy. They don't believe in the threat because they don't see the refrigerated trucks stacking up outside *their* hospitals. They haven't lost anyone important yet, so how bad can it be.

A few years ago, former KY Governor Matt Bevin tried to compare striking teachers to homefront Americans who refused to follow rationing during WW2. He said they were being selfish and shortsighted. Demanding that teachers, factory workers, restaurant employees, and service personnel return to work in a time where we still don't have effective countermeasures so we can go shopping, have a drink at the bar, get a haircut, buy cheaper things online, or so we don't risk paying higher taxes over their unemployment aid is the definition of selfishness. It's heartless and cruel, and a fierce lack of empathy.

Armed men are so anxious and enthusiastic to march on capital buildings in the name of getting back to normal, but they have no patience for hunkering down, for cutting their own hair, having to make their own meals for a few months. What do they think they'll be having to do if their beloved civil war kicks off? Is Great Clips going to be offering Bugaloo discounts if you show them your Gadsden flag?They'll wear a 20lb. plate carrier, carry a 8lb. rifle, and a rack of loaded magazines, but putting on a facemask to pick up a pizza is unthinkable. People have literally been shot for asking customers to wear masks. The "Greatest Generation" would be absolutely ashamed of them.

I know what it's like to fear for my future if I can't work. I've had to ask myself what I'm willing to do for rent if my job won't take me back. I've asked and found out what I'm willing to do without. I've eaten a lot of cheap food, repaired a lot of my own clothes, and spent a lot of nights at home instead of spending money on a night out. I've sold things I loved and made work I won't own up to for a few extra bucks here and there. I know how badly people want this to be over. It breaks my heart to have to constantly tell my kid all the things that have to wait "until the virus is over."

I know I'm in a place of privilege now but I haven't always been and I am going to say that if you can afford to build a full tactical loadout, drive across state lines, and spend the day waving flags then you have a few corners you can afford to cut. I don't want the world shaped by people who are willing to shoot at service employees over masking requirements, but who aren't willing to give up basic luxuries for the health, safety, and security of their communities. If you can't tolerate life without golf, dine-in restaurants, and prompt customer service, you don't deserve to draw blood in the name of freedom and liberty.

[onlyinmyimagination]

Love is Blind

Jason Todd X Reader

This did not turn out how I wanted at all ¯\_(ツ)_/¯ Maybe I’ll attempt a rewrite in the future but right now I am so tired of this story. I sincerely hope you guys like it more than I do. I’m so done.

Very loosely based on this prompt: “As a dating company professional, I never thought that I’d be able to match you with anyone because honestly, you’re such a terrible human being. But, in our search we found someone who fits your profile, and since you paid us to help you find a match, here is their information. God Help us.“

Also inspired by those social media au posts that float around the fandom. those are bomb af.

Genre: Romance, fluff I guess idk

Sorta social media au/celebrity au??? idk (someone tell me what kind of AU you think this is)

Warnings: Some foul language.

.

It started when Jason needed to quickly get a date to a launch party of some clothing brand by Wayne Enterprises (he never really cares for whatever new business venture Bruce Wayne busies himself with). He was supposed to glam it up with a partner at his side but he had put it off until the very last minute. His solution was to call up a reputable dating company because he simply didn’t have the time to screen the potential candidates on Tinder. And just like that, you were the dating professional assigned to him and he became your client.  

He hadn’t been the politest over the phone. He had been curt, a little aggressive, and much too particular about his preferences. Right away you knew he was trouble. But you resolved to do your best and stay professional. You had to compile his profile quickly and it was then that you found out that your newest client is a local celebrity. Hearing the name Jason Todd over the phone didn’t ring any bells at the time, but upon further research on your client you knew he’d be a challenge.

He had said he needed a date in less than a week and to his relief, you were able to meet him the next day with a potential match. Upon seeing your client in person you realized why his demands were so high. Not only is he the son of a billionaire, he’s also ridiculously good-looking and oddly intimidating. It must’ve been hard to find a suitable partner all by himself.

He had introduced himself, even though you knew very well who he was. He didn’t have as much attitude as he did over the phone, and he didn’t act as haughty as you expected him to be. With a practiced script and a customer service smile plastered on your lips, you invited him to sit at a nearby café while you reviewed the file of his potential partner with him.

He took the information with satisfaction and thanked you for your time. Unfortunately he didn’t last long with the match you found him, and you got another call from him a few weeks later. He needed another partner for an upcoming gala. And thus, the cycle continued to repeat itself, with your patience wearing thin and professionalism quickly dissipating with a few months. Before you met Jason Todd Wayne you’ve had a near perfect reputation, with an almost one hundred percent success rate with your clients. But he was ruining your reputation and it upset you tremendously.

“Jason, did you seriously ditch her last night?”

“It’s not what you think!”

“What do you...” you pause to take a deep breath and calm yourself.  You continue, “You literally ditched her at a party you brought her to.”

“Yeah, but for a good reason!”

“And what reason would that be?”

“Uhhh...I can’t say. But it really was a good reason!”

You give a skeptical look. “Did you even call her afterwards? Did you even think to apologize for leaving her alone?”

“...No. I got a little sidetracked, but I’ll do it right now!”

“She doesn’t want to see you again. I doubt she’ll want to talk to you.”

“Well that’s her loss.”

“Is it really, though,” you mutter to yourself.

“She seemed more than happy with me last night.” Then he adds, “Before I left her anyway.”

“What a coincidence—she said the same thing to me. I painstakingly searched through hundreds of files for her, and this is what you do? After you messed up all those other dates, it’s been near impossible digging up more matches for you.”

“I know, I know. I’m an asshole. But I also know you’ll find me another date in time for Bruce Wayne’s next big gala.”

“Can you at least try to be nice,” you say while shaking your head and rummaging through your files. “Nicer, I mean. I’m trying to find a potential lifelong partner for you here.”

“No guarantees, cupid.”

You eye him as you press your lips into a thin line. “I found a realtor who lives less than an hour away. Her profile is similar to your past matches and she seemed like she’d be able to put up with you. Realtors tend to have a lot of patience. Very admirable.”

“That’s pretty cold of you to say.”

“At this point, the one I feel sorry for is her.”

“Brrr...chilly.”

“From all the complaints I’ve been getting, you’re not exactly the easiest to be around.”

“You’re holding up just fine.”

“It’s part of my job.”

“It doesn’t change the fact that we’ve hung out longer than I’ve dated any of the partners you’ve set me up with. Technically you could say,” he says slowly, suggestively, “I’ve been on more dates with you than any of those matches of yours.”

“Like any of that is my fault. You get dumped after one date almost every time and I’ve got to set up a new match for you in time for your next big party.”

“Why don’t you just be my date from now on?”

“Not gonna happen. I don’t get involved with my clients.”

“A little uptight, aren’t you?”

“If you’re just going to pester me about how I do my job, then this meeting is over. I’ll see you in a week after this next one dumps you.”

“That’s ice cold.”

“We’ll see what happens in a week.” You plaster a professional smile on your face as you bid him goodbye but once you turn around you bite your lip anxiously. You didn’t want to admit his nonchalant invitation to be his date made your chest squeeze. Just the slightest interest toward you has you feeling a little too giddy even when you keep reminding yourself how much of a jerk he is. The more he flirts with you, the harder it is to stay professional. You feel awful and guilty about it, but you don’t get many chances to feel this way.  

Being a professional matchmaker left you on the sidelines as you constantly watch couples meet and fall in love. Finding love for yourself just seemed to be out of reach for you when you’re busy finding love for other people. And pursuing romance with Jason Todd is entirely out of the question. It became impossible the moment he became your client. So, you vow to keep him at a distance.

Just as you had predicted, a week passes and Jason Todd Wayne contacts you again for another meeting to discuss another partner.

You glance at the time and see that he’s twenty minutes late. You roll your eyes at this. It’s nothing new. His lack of punctuality is part of the reason his dates got so fed up with him. Bored, you scan your surroundings and see an ice cream shop next to the café. Seeing no harm in getting yourself a treat, you buy a scoop of your favorite flavor. You choose the cone over the cup to savor your treat. The purchase takes only a few minutes and you’re soon back at your meeting spot, with still no sign of Jason, of course. It’s a few more minutes later when you hear your name being called.

Pausing mid-bite, you turn to see Jason and don’t bother with a greeting. “See? What’d I tell you? It’s been a week.”

He chooses to ignore your jab and says, “Is that ice cream? You bought ice cream without me?” You’re caught off guard for a moment and you open your mouth to answer but he continues childishly, “Let me have some.” His hand is suddenly around your hand that’s holding the ice cream cone, and he’s guiding it to his mouth.

You’re fumbling over your words as he takes a bite and you finally say, “Go get your own!” You snatch your hand out of his grasp and gesture to the ice cream shop. He licks the ice cream from his lips as he looks over to the shop. That’s when you see the side of his face where a greenish-yellow bruise adorns the outer corner of his eye, just below his eyebrow.  

“What the hell? That was not there last week” you say, lifting a hand as if to touch his face. Then you realize what you’re doing and drop your hand again. “That looks bad. Did you ice it?”

“I did. But you should’ve seen it last night, it was so much worse,” he says good-humoredly but then clamps his mouth shut as if he had just revealed a secret.

“I don’t even want to know,” you remark with a shake of your head. You had heard about Jason’s mysterious bruises and wounds, but you never saw them on the visible parts of his body. Your clients on the other hand had often complained about him showing up with mysterious injuries, suspecting him of getting into brawls, fooling around with other lovers, and God knows what. You understand now why they chose to break up with him. Showing up with serious injuries and refusing to offer an explanation as to how he got them (or making some outlandish lie) would make anyone in his company uncomfortable. It’s disconcerting. But the longer you stare at his bruised face, the more you pity him. “Let’s just get you some ice cream.”

“For my face?” His fingers lightly brush over his bruise.

“I was thinking for your mouth or your stomach.”

He laughs and makes his way into the ice cream store. “What flavor should I get?” he asks as you follow him inside.

“Just get your favorite flavor,” you suggest curtly.

“But that’s boring. Predictable.”

You roll your eyes. “Then try a new flavor.”

“What if I don’t like it?”

You act annoyed to keep up a withdrawn attitude toward him. But if you didn’t know better, he seems like he’s biding his time on purpose and you can’t help but wonder why. “Please just choose something, Jason.”

He’s not fazed by your snippy attitude and asks, “You don’t want to share with me?” He stuffs his hands into his pockets as he examines the choices beneath the glass.

“You can share with your next date partner,” you suggest as you continue consuming your treat. He narrows his eyes at you and you hide your smile behind your ice cream.

“You’re no fun,” he mumbles.

It takes an agonizingly long time with a lot of back and forth between you before he could successfully pick a flavor. Then, in an unexpected turn of events, you both end up walking around while finishing your cold treats. You discuss the next profile with him as you both stroll leisurely through a shopping center. During this time, you find Jason isn’t all that bad. The complaints about him have been mostly regarding his carelessness after all, rather than his attitude. But you hate that you find him so charming. As if his good looks didn’t make you curse him enough already.  

The next time you see Jason is after a few weeks and you’ve agreed to meet at a local bookstore. You’re not surprised to find that once again, Jason is late and nowhere to be seen. While skimming the shelves, a book catches your eye and you flip through it curiously.  

“That book isn’t very interesting.”  

You turn to the familiar voice and shut the book. “Then what do you recommend?” you ask lightly, remembering that reading is listed as one of his hobbies.

“Well, you can’t go wrong with the classics.”

“Classics? As in?” you prod with a raised brow.

“Well there’s Charles Dickens, Jane Austen, the Bronte sisters,” he says. “What kind of stories do you like? Or do you like poetry? Plays?”

You hadn’t expected him to ask so much about your interests. But you remind yourself to stay professional, so you steer the conversation to the purpose of the meeting. “We can discuss books next time. I have another client’s profile for you.”

“Still as uptight as ever. Thought you eased up a little since we last met.”

“It was...a unique occasion. I won’t let it happen again,” you say while turning away in case your face gives anything away.

“So I have to get knocked around a little for you to be nice to me?”

“I am nice to you,” you say indignantly. “I’m just trying to do my job and find suitable partners for you.”

“Alright, cupid. Then who do you have for me today?” he asks with annoyance, holding out his hand for the file. He acts almost... sulky.

You hand him a folder and he flips through it quickly. You explain, “They live almost two hours away but—”  

“Too far,” he states as he closes the folder and gives it back to you. His dismissive attitude stuns you and you look back at him with a bewildered expression. Jason had never declined the potential partners you’ve presented to him before. Then he says, “Can’t you just be my date from now on, cupid?”

You blink and take a moment to gather yourself. “I told you, I don’t get involved with my clients.”

"What do I have to do to get a date with you? Am I supposed to fire you? Even for me, that’s kind of a douche-y thing to do.”

Your breath still at this. The thought of being fired distresses you, but at the same time, Jason’s intention behind his words has your heart racing.

“Are you serious?” you ask.

“Yeah. You gotta admit we have fun together, right? And don’t say it’s because it’s your job.” He is interrupted when his phone suddenly goes off and he takes out the device as if he had just gotten an important notification. You cross your arms while waiting for his attention to return to the conversation. As he scrolls through his phone, you wonder fleetingly if he’s simply just tired of all his failed partners you’ve matched him with. “Listen, I gotta run,” he says while stuffing his phone back in his pocket. “But how about we meet again tomorrow? Are you free?” Realizing he’s ready to speed off, you stop him with a pointed finger.

“Hold it right there! You can’t just ditch our meeting today!”

“But—but it’s an emergency!” he insists.

“Then come back after!” you reply. “If you really need to talk to me then meet me in front of the library at eight tonight. That’s where I’m meeting my last client today and I should be done by then. Will you be able to come?”

“Uh, I guess I could do that.” He looks unsure as he glances at the time.

“Try, Jason. I have meetings with other clients tomorrow so unless you can wait a few more days, that’s the best I can do.”

“Okay, okay. Tonight in front of the library, got it.”

You don’t manage to get another word in as he takes his leave. This must be the infamous disappearance act where he just ups and leaves, ditching his partners. Despite being annoyed with his flaky attitude, you’re more bothered by the conversation that just transpired. Did he really want to fire you?  

Regardless of whether he fires you or you resign as his matchmaker, you aren’t even sure it would work out with Jason if you agree to a date him. You didn’t exactly approve of his attitude after all, and who’s to say the relationship would last? You wouldn’t even be able to go back to being matchmaker and client if you ended up breaking it off, and then you would have no reason to contact him again. The thought leaves you feeling strangely forlorn, so you push the thoughts away and continue your day.

Later that night you bid your last client goodbye and you loiter around the supposed meeting spot. As expected, Jason is nowhere to be seen, and you lazily sit on the cement planters in front of the library to wait for him. After thirty minutes, you toy with the idea of calling him. But you conclude that he’s just being his usual self.  

While waiting, you pass the time on your phone. You visit Jason’s Instagram profile, telling yourself the action is strictly professional and for the sake of research. You notice a post from yesterday. It’s a picture of a playbill for A Midsummer Night’s Dream. He must’ve gone to see the play locally. You scroll down a bit to read the accompanying caption he wrote:  

“Love looks not with the eyes but with the mind, and therefore is winged Cupid painted blind.”

“Cupid, huh,” you mutter under your breath. The post has half a million likes and hundreds of comments, most of which are heart emojis. Did Gotham even have that many people in it? You don’t dwell on it too long and proceed to add the activity to his dating profile.

It’s another thirty minutes later when a noise behind you draws your attention and makes you flinch. It sounded like a thud, like something had fallen.  

“Why are you still here?” a voice asks, and you turn to face the infamous vigilante in the red helmet. “It’s late. You should be home.”

Red Hood is addressing you and it stuns you. But you’re distracted by the way he slowly staggers forward while leaning on the side of the building for support. This guy is not in the best shape.

“I’m supposed to be meeting someone,” you say unsurely as you stand. Not many people have had the opportunity to converse with Gotham’s vigilantes. Not as common an occurrence as one would think. “Am I not supposed to be here? Um, should I go?” You can’t help but dwell on his wording, the way he had phrased his words. A sudden thought creeps into the back of your mind that you didn’t want to surface, that you didn’t want to acknowledge.

“Heh. I’ve always thought that seriousness of yours is pretty cute.” Then he loses balance and falls forward.  

“Are you okay?!” you exclaim. Instinctively, you move forward to catch him and the next thing you know, you’re holding up half his body weight. As you help lower him to a more comfortable position on the floor you slowly register his words, and when you do, your breath stills. You had tried to push it down, keeping it at the back of your mind, but the implication is impossible to ignore. The timing is too perfect to simply be a coincidence. You nervously scan Red Hood’s appearance as you sit next to him. “Jason?” you try, not sure what answer you are hoping to hear.

He hums in response then he vaguely says, “You know me pretty well, cupid. Looks like you don’t need your eyes to see me at all.”

His words throw you off but then you’re reminded of Jason’s most recent post on his social media. If you hadn’t seen it, you probably wouldn’t have understood what he just said to you. “Love looks not with the eyes but with the mind,” you say softly and slowly, trying to recall the quote. “And therefore is winged Cupid painted blind.”

“Didn’t know you were a fan of Shakespeare. Or have you been stalking me?”

“I have to keep up to date with my clients’ interests, okay?” you say to defend yourself. “I needed to update your profile.”

“Oh. Right, right.” A short chuckle escapes him but he groans right after and he clutches his side in pain. He leans his head back against the wall behind him.

“Are you okay?” you ask in panic, completely forgetting he came to you barely standing. Your hands hover just over his wounded body, wanting to help but unsure how to. You don’t care that you’re losing your cool in front of him. Professionalism be damned. It’s impossible to control the turmoil of emotions flowing through you, especially the guilt. All this time, you had criticized his awful habits and nonchalant behavior. Now everything about him is suddenly clicking into place.  

“You should be going to the hospital or something with these injuries,” you say while eyeing the blood seeping from his side. You notice cuts all over his body and even the helmet is cracked. “Why did you come here when you’re this hurt?”

“Well I said I’d come, so here I am.” His tone is light-hearted despite the heaves of his chest as he struggles to intake air.

“You’re already super late anyway, idiot,” you snap back, though you can feel tears pricking your eyes. “You shouldn’t have bothered. I was about to leave.”

“Kinda relieved you didn’t.”

“What was so important that it couldn’t wait until our next meeting?” you demand. You figure the sooner you get the reason out of him, the sooner you can get him some help.

“Come on, don’t be mad. It makes it harder to say if you’re mad at me.”

You bite the inside of your cheek and say in a controlled tone, “I’m not mad.”

“Let’s hope it stays that way,” he says before taking a deep breath. “I just didn’t want you to find me another date. I needed to tell you...God, this is going to sound so sappy but to hell with it. I don’t want any more matches, or profiles, or whatever. I’m in love with you. I don’t want to see anyone else. Look, I know you’re wary of me but give me a chance. Even Cupid was able to fall in love, right?”

For a moment you’re speechless but you organize your thoughts and say, “I consider Cupid’s love story more tragic than romantic. He really shouldn’t be a source of inspiration... or object of affection.”

“You’re totally missing the point of my speech.”

“You’re the one who likened me to Cupid,” you reply, trying to keep your emotions under control.

“Oh, so we’re just going to ignore my heartfelt confession, then.” He moves to sit up straighter and groans while doing so. You reach out to help support him but he grabs your hand instead. “I’m serious about you, really. Give me a chance. I promise I’ll be more honest. I’ll try harder to be on time. I’ll keep our dates. I’ll be better, I promise.”

“Okay, okay!” you hastily answer out of nervousness. “But how am I supposed to date you if you’re dying right in front of me?!”

“This is nothing. I just need to make a call, and everything will be fine. Easy-peasy.” He groans again as he leans back. He continues to grip your hand, clutching it to his chest. “But more importantly, now that we’re officially dating, can I publicly announce it?”

“You should be making this call of yours the priority right now,” you say while desperately trying to ignore the heat creeping across your face.

He sighs dramatically. “Can’t you let me savor this moment a little while longer?”

“Well excuse me for worrying! If you weren’t bleeding out, I would let you savor this moment however long you wanted.”

“I can’t help it if I want to celebrate. I’ve finally caught Cupid, after all.”

You study his expressionless helmet. "What would you have done if I still said no?” you ask curiously.

“Remember how I said I didn’t want to be an ass and fire you? Well I would probably try to get you to quit instead. Then ask you out.”

An incredulous expression crosses your face and you ask, “Get me to quit? How?”

“Oh, probably a little bullying here and there. Just me being more of a jerk than I already am,” he says while using one hand to slide his helmet off. You’re glad to see his familiar face after staring at his mask for so long.

“Wow, that is just as bad,” you remark, your voice laced with humor. “That’s an equally terrible thing to do.”  

“Doesn’t matter now, cupid. I don’t have to do any of that stuff anymore.” He grips your hand again and tugs you closer, making you lean over him slightly as a result.

“Yeah, because you made me a promise,” you quip, attempting to maintain your composure despite how close you are to him.

"Indeed, I did,” he says in agreement, his voice dropping lower and making your legs weak. He tilts his head and his lips ghost just over yours. “So now I can be cupid’s match.”

Your lips stretch into a smile. “Then, as of now, I officially resign as your matchmaker.”

.

.

.

[scummy-writes]

Stupid and Sappy post

*waves hands* It’s time for Scum to say bye to MM under the cut! (This is very stupid jhfbjhf)

I can already feel people rolling their eyes at me for this, especially folks who keep like, vague tweeting me and shit over my opinions about this game, but guess what bitch is gonna write this anyway! Me! sfbjhdf

(This post is going to be incoherent at places, like as I am as a person, but also! I talk about heavy subjects like suic*de, so if that gets to you, please don’t read!)

To start it off seriously: even though recently I’ve had a lot of issues over this company with their lack of warning over heavy triggering content, and their very blatantly bad customer service, I still love the original game a lot. Not in the “Oh this plot is beautiful” way, but like. This game helped me at a time when I was extremely lonely, and was dealing with a lot of heavy shit at home.

If you guys have followed me since the beginning, you know know I started this blog just a few months after downloading this game. Like riiight at the beginning of Jan 2017, I made my first post on here- this blog is two years old! I started out as a HC blog and stayed that way for a while, and I think after I hit 1k followers I finally brought up the fact that I had an AO3 account- and folks realized I had started writing fics in oct 2016 for this game! So, a lot of people know that, wow! This game inspired me a lot creatively and helped me hone my writing skills a bit more after a while not being in a writing class! (And yes, my early fics I absolutely refuse to look at because I hate how I used to write JHBJSBFS).

What a lot of folks don’t know, is that at the very beginning of august, I had gotten out of a ward after coming very close to doing something pretty bad to myself. 

Granted, I didn’t have to stay in there long- I had put myself in there so I could also leave whenever I wanted (as long as the docs deemed me safe to leave as well) but I kept myself in there for a good bit so I could do a lot of critical thinking and not stress so much about my job at the time.

Afterwards, I got out, while I wasn’t still at That Point, I was still struggling pretty bad mentally. Home life was rough, my mom was battling with a terrible boyfriend at the time that lived with us, and I was still dipping back into some pretty bad thoughts.

Then, a friend I’ve had for a while now, introduced me to this game! And, well, I already covered that it helped me a lot in the creative process, but it also helped distract me a shitton from the bad home life I had.

A lot of people probably also remember that a month after having this blog up and running, my mom tried killing herself.

Everything is still really vivid in my memory about that- because like. So many things could have gone wrong. My little brother could have fallen asleep earlier before he found her, I could have picked up that extra hour for my shift at work, this, that- but long story short she’s still alive.

But it was a terrible year for me. Probably, arguably, all of 2017 was the worst year I’ve had in my life so far. So many things happened with my mother, she was mentally unstable, and after a lot of threats against me I even had to move out until she was more stable and, you know, not threatening to hurt me/break my shit.

And, a lot of you know, while I was constantly dealing with my own mother threatening me and trying to disown me, I was also being harassed on a constant basis over juz*n bullshit. Words cannot describe how laughably stupid that whole situation was, but it was completely, utterly, ridiculous bullshit. 

Add that onto me dealing with the IRL struggles with my mom, some of which are somewhat starting to repeat even now- to the point where I’m going to be moving out again soon- well. Shit! It sucked, lol. It sucked a lot, and there were many times where I wish I was back in the hospital or worse.

But, and yes I’m gonna say exactly what yall are expecting, again- this game helped me out a lot. I constantly felt alone and worthless- my own mother was abandoning me- and these voiced sprites made me feel less alone. Gave me the attention I wish I had IRL.

And, well, a lot of my 2017 year is easy to summarize. Constantly harassed, bullied, and dealing with stupid fandom wank. But, also, filled with wonderful messages and support from you guys. 

I’ve preached before how follower counts are ridiculous to base your self worth on- and yes I still agree to that, please don’t base your self worth on follower counts. Or anyone’s! - but some of you have literally followed me since the beginning, or for a Very Long Time, if not. I may be terrible with names, but I still recognize you guys and all the kind words you’ve sent me, and I hope you guys know you helped just as much as MM was helping me.

I’m getting incoherent, but a lot of what I’m trying to say is that, this game has helped me out a shitton. That’s probably why I get so vocal about issues concerning the company- not out of a sense of ‘they owe me’ (they owe me absolutely fucking nothing), but just. It sucks seeing a game that used to be so wonderful in its prime, go so fucking downhill so fast. Customer service used to be wonderful, I remember accidentally putting down my old address for the VIP package and messaging them right after I ordered explaining I needed a change of address, and a Live Person getting back to me within the hour and fixing the issue.

Comparing that with, you know, the Four Fucking Months it took to speak to Someone Successfully about the saeran daki bullshit- then you know...Well, yeah you guys know, I’ve went off about it before.

Now it’s apparent that they’re more money hungry, with how you had to pay 900+ hgs with the recent AE stuff with V, and...hoo boy, I’m sure everyones heard enough at this point.

So, backtracking a bit because I’m chugging coffee and all incoherent, this game has brought in a lot of positives in my life. You guys, healthier distractions than what I used to do to myself, friends, creative outlets being brought back to life again. I think thats why I get so upset at the fandom, at people snapping at me for not liking some of the recent things cheritz has done- people fucking vaguetweeting me, for fucks sake, and getting so personally angry at me over how I got upset at Cheritz. Like, I’m not shitting yall, I literally lost friendships  over my opinions on cheritz.

And it sucks! Not gonna lie, like it sucks because it’s so fucking stupid. But then you take a look into the fandom- with the ongoing and constant harassment over contributors in charity zines, constant harassment over people if they like a character you don’t or vice versa, the harassment against artists concerning repostings or, god forbid, them drawing a ship you dislike- and it’s just. 

How did a game, focusing on the message of how kindness and patience can help out in so many ways, create this rabid fucking fandom?

Even content creators fight against each other. I cannot explain the bullshit I’ve seen over people being mad that they’re not on someones personal “recommended blogs to follow!” lists, over people going out of their way to harass folks because they didn’t make it on a zine, over people trying to use a follow count over why they’re much better than so and so- It’s just...Bad. All of it.

And, well. Combine Cheritz rapidly making their own game worse, in ways we all have heard about me (or others) complain about, and this terrible fandom, I think that perfectly explains why I’m uninstalling and pretty much being done with the fandom once the other stuff I’m involved in finishes.

This game brought a lot of happiness for me, and even with my recent grievances with this game, it (laughably) hurts to uninstall it. I know its ridiculous, god trusT ME i know, but it still sucks saying goodbye to something I still love, but can’t stand being around anymore. At this point, the fandom feels like an abusive ex-friend/whatever and the game used to be what good the ex had left. And now that thats getting worse...orz

I’ll always treasure the doors this game opened up for me- how it allowed me to meet amazing people, some of which I can happily say are my friends, and how it helped me become creative again, how I’ve been able to be on zines to help charities, and how I’ve been blessed to hear my writing impact people in positives ways- but here’s my sappy goodbye while I try to scrapbook the positive memories and bury the negative ones in upcoming therapy session.

If you read this far- bless yoooooou I know I sound like the damn. Crazy image of the dude with papers pinned to the wall, but I hope I made some sort of sense. Thank you!

[indulgentia]

             ❛❛ 𝐓𝐡𝐞𝐫𝐞 𝐚𝐫𝐞 𝐧𝐨 𝐫𝐮𝐥𝐞𝐬 𝐛𝐮𝐭 𝐜𝐨𝐦𝐦𝐨𝐧 𝐬𝐞𝐧𝐬𝐞 𝐢𝐬 𝐝𝐞𝐬𝐢𝐫𝐞𝐝. ❜❜

⸻⸻⸻  ᴹʸ ᵒˡᵈ ᶠʳⁱᵉⁿᵈ ᶠʳᵒᵐ ᵒʳᵏᵘᵗ ᴿᴾ ᴹᵃʳᶜᵒˢ

Don't be a jerk ; this is rule number 1; The rest comes by extension. ⠀

Any questions? ask away. Any suggestions? speak up. Any problem? dialogue. I'm not an adamant wall, but I can't read minds either ( yet, unfortunately ). But have the bare minimum of delicacy and composure, because this is no customer service so there’s no obligation of putting up with lack of good manners for free. ⠀

No godmoding, metagaming, reblog karma and none those pretty terms I'm quite sure no one knows by heart. ⠀

I may not follow everyone that follows this blog; I want to interact with everyone I can and not lose track of my things. Also, I want to keep my dash clean for my own sanity. But worry not! Non-mutuals are all more than welcome to send in memes or even reply to an open ( unless otherwise stated ), and as the interactions goes I may follow people. I'm sorry. ⠀

This is intended to be a multimuse and therefore all interactions are welcome ( with canon characters, originals, crossovers of fandoms or original universes ), but I don't want anything with rape, dub-con, pedophilia. I'm not very good with smut and I won’t rp this with the minors. Do. Not. Insist. ⠀

Don't try to persuade me to do something that I clearly and repeatedly said I don't want to do. Be it a ship, interaction, answer you faster and etc. "No" doesn’t mean "convince me". Don’t force me. Really. ⠀

Hate, drama and vague posts will be completely ignored and if they are recurring it's gonna be soft or even hardblock right on your face. I am very tolerant with excessive ooc posts, but my patience is no longer that high and I have enough stress in my life. ⠀

This blog ( just like my life ) is a real mess. My time and inspiration are pretty fickle, so don't expect consistency from me, but I promise I will always do my best. I am a master / postgraduate student ( almost a cachectic lady with a lumbar spine of a 70 years old ) and for reals I am good person and I can deal with a lot of things, but life is hard and I am tired ( literally and metaphorically ). ⠀

My deepest apologies, but I tend to answer the threads in my native language (Brazilian Portuguese) quicker than the others. Don't take it personally; it's not about you or your muse, it's just easier for me to think of an answer. Also, I'd like to make clear that my English nor my French are that good either! So, please, be a little patient and understanding with me, I like to write a lot, but I also make an equal amount of mistakes! ⠀

If you follow this blog and have read this far you probably already know me a little bit, so you know that I am always open for dialogue and even some nice and chill chitchat. Modesty aside I swear I'm a sweetheart when I'm not in a momentary state of rage and deep ignorance. My name’s Bru, I'm 21+ and I go by any pronouns ( male, female and neutral ). I don't have any particular trigger, and I'm okay with almost everything. My motto is: Be kind to me (and my friends) and I will be kind to you. ⠀

other blogs you can find me at: @fallendragon​ ( semi-active ) ;  @lotusdelusion ( low activity ) ; @bestiard​​ ( hiatus ) ; @meanestmachine ( hiatus ) ; @santamadrecasino ( hiatus ). Personal blog: @kawaii-brutality. ⠀

COME AT ME AND LET ME LOVE YOU ♡

[silvvergears]

Late Shift

Happy birthday to @echotovalley, long time friend and enabler of Stupid Shit. This particular kind of Stupid - not even remotely edited Stupid - was based on an idea of hers that I decided to run with, so I hope I did it justice! Thanks so much for all you’ve done for me over the years, and here’s to many more~ 

Working night audit had long been Maka’s favorite shift, had been ever since Azusa had suggested Maka work a couple overnight shifts during the week. Though she missed her coworkers and their lively personalities, Maka loved having the night to herself; just the quiet lobby playlist and occasional sleepy-eyed guest to keep her company. It was on these long nights that Maka would sit with either her school notes or latest novel and let the sounds of the lobby act sooth the frustrations of the week.

That wasn’t to say nothing ever went wrong during the night shift, but at least it didn’t all go wrong at once. And Azusa trusted Maka with the night shift because she could handle whatever their guests tried to throw at her. Even the musically-inclined ones.

The late shift had gotten significantly more exciting while the orchestra was in her hotel, and Maka had come in expecting a night of noise complaints and escorting musicians away from the bar (Her only consolation was that a certain white-haired violinist was apparently a fan of his beauty sleep and never bothered her late at night). But it seemed that an important performance by the orchestra earlier in the evening had tired the whole group out, and Maka’s night had been blissfully easy.

Maybe that was why she had let her guard down.

Maka had made herself comfortable, jacket draped over the back of her chair as she curled up in her chair with her latest novel, when she noticed the music. It wasn’t the standard soft-pop hits that made up their lobby playlist, which at this point, Maka had heard so many times she barely heard them at all anymore. No, it was the soft playing of a lonely piano, each note drifting lazily through the quiet lobby. That was odd, they usually only had a pianist in the bar on the weekends… and certainly not at 2:47 in the morning.

This had ‘orchestra tomfoolery’ written all over it.

Groaning, Maka tucked a room key into her book to save her spot before standing. She didn’t bother to grab her jacket as she walked out from behind the desk, making sure the door was locked before making her way to the restaurant and bar. With the way the lobby was set up, the bar cut off Maka’s view of the baby grand piano until she was basically on top of it, and she spent the walk preparing her best customer service smile and ‘It’s 2 AM and I am not afraid to kick you out’ voice. It was a little odd walking through the restaurant without Patti’s beaming smile or Blair’s curling grin to meet her, but Maka’s steps didn’t falter until after she turned the corner and saw the head of white hair behind the piano.

Oh, for the love of God-

Maka’s annoyance died a quick, quiet death when she realized it was not, in fact, Wes Evans trying her patience yet again and banging away on an instrument he did not play just to prove he could. Instead, it was the younger, quieter Evans, seemingly unaware of Maka as he played. Maka’s interactions with Soul had so far been limited to requests for toothbrushes - he kept loosing them - or profound and exhausted apologies for Everything About Wes. He had struck her as the more sensible of the two, and it was only that that kept her from storming up to the piano and demanding he leave.

(Or at least, that’s what she told herself. To admit otherwise would mean admitting that something about his peaceful expression had struck  a chord with something in her, and that was just not going to happen.)

Instead, Maka kept close to the darker parts of the empty restaurant, watching Soul curiously. He looked like he had just come from the concert hall, jacket laying next to him on the bench and tie hanging limply around his neck. He’d even begun to unbutton his shirt, the dim light catching on shiny scar tissue near the neckline of his shirt in a very distracting way. His posture was lazy and slouched, but his fingers still moved perfectly across the keys, wrists straight.

The song he played was unfamiliar to her, a slow, sleepy lullaby that meandered from key to key. Maka had never been very musically literate, only understanding a song if she had lyrics or choreography to help her, but somehow Soul’s playing managed to reach even her. She felt just as peaceful and relaxed as he looked, her body subconsciously leaning against the wall lazily as she wrapped her arms around herself loosely.

If she listened closely, she thought she could hear Soul humming to himself, the deep timbre of his hushed voice striking against the soft, raw part of her being that his music had exposed.

She forgot all about the front desk, about her novel and waiting homework. Her stress from school and all of her upcoming exams seemed to drain from her as she slumped in her spot, eyes closed. For a moment, nothing existed outside of the dark restaurant and the pianist playing in the only dim light in the room.

Maka opened her eyes just in time to see the exact moment when Soul realized he wasn’t alone, his wine-dark eyes meeting hers in a heartbeat of a moment before he started almost violently and his knees crashed into the piano while his fingers tripped over the keys awkwardly. Maka snorted into her palm, eyes scrunched with amusement as Soul shot her a painfully awkward smile and scrambled for his phone. The screen lit up his face so she had a perfect view as he realized exactly what time it was.

“Shit,” he hissed quietly.

“Mhm,” Maka replied, pressing her lips together to keep from grinning too widely.

“Shit,” he repeated, scrambling for his jacket as he tried to step away from the piano and only managed to trip over the bench, long legs caught awkwardly as he struggled not to fall or kick at the keys. “I’m so sorry, I didn’t- I didn’t think it was that late-” he said, keeping his voice low as if he feared speaking at a normal volume would wake the whole hotel. “I just- I couldn’t sleep so I was walking around and I-”

“Soul,” Maka interrupted, amusement clear in her voice. The sound of his name brought the flustered musician to a dead halt, looking at her with wide eyes. “It’s fine,” she reassured, “you weren’t bothering anyone. I’m the only person in the lobby right now, anyways.”

“I promise I don’t normally do this,” he repeated in the same way he usually said ‘I’m so sorry about my brother’.

“Play piano? I figured doing that regularly was a prerequisite for the whole ‘orchestra’ thing.”

Soul’s eyes went wide, then narrowed. “Oh, god, you’re as bad as he is.”

“I take deep offense to that,” Maka said loftily. She moved closer, Soul watching her warily the whole time. She bent down, scooping up the tie that had slipped from around his neck in his frantic scramble and holding it up to him. “Really though, you’re perfectly alright. If you had been Gopher, I might have had a problem, but since it’s you…” She shrugged.

“Since it’s me?” Soul murmured.

“You haven’t given me any trouble yet, so I figure I can let some late night practice slide just this once,” she said with a smile. “Also, I really liked your lullaby.”

Maka couldn’t be sure in the dim half-light, but she could swear Soul’s already dark skin flushed.

“Thanks,” he said softly, finally taking his tie from her outstretched hand.

“I didn’t recognize it, who’s the composer?” she asked curiously. Now she definitely knew Soul was blushing, his ears dark with embarrassment between messy strands of white hair.

“Uh, you probably wouldn’t recognize the name,” he muttered. “Real niche.”

A single dusty-brown eyebrow lifted. “Try me.”

Soul shifted awkwardly. “Um. Evans.”

Both eyebrows went up. “You-?” Soul nodded, looking anywhere but at Maka. Her shocked expression went soft. “Soul, that was beautiful.”

“Thank you,” he said again, looking about ten seconds from an embarrassed meltdown. Maka took pity on the pianist and gestured for him to follow her back out of the restaurant and into the softly-lit lobby.

“I work the night shift once a week,” she told him as they walked. “If you want to practice on the grand at night, just make sure it’s on a night I’m here, and let me know.”

“You’re… gonna let me practice in the lobby? Just like that?” Soul shook his head. “Actually, no, don’t answer that, I don’t want you to reconsider.” Maka couldn’t help her amused snort.

“Hey, you’re not the sibling trying to practice in the cabanas, I think I can be a little lenient based on good behavior.” That got a chuckle from Soul, and Maka’s ears seemed to drink the sound in. Geeze, his voice was deep. Maka tried not to find that really attractive.

“I’ll continue to be on my best, then,” he said, stopping in front of the elevators that led up to the rooms. Maka stopped a few steps away, hands clasped behind her back as she turned to look at him. “I guess apologizing again would be in poor taste?” he said with a shy, crooked grin.

“Play something bad, and then I’ll accept your apology,” she told him, waving. “Have a good night, Soul.”

“You too,” he said softly, “… Maka.”

(Any shivers that went up her spine at the sound of her name spoken in Soul’s deep, sleepy voice were immediately blamed on the late hour and the sleep she so obviously was lacking.)

Extra:

Wes was generally very easy-going; happy to go with the flow and let his life take him where it will. As long as it took him to bed by ten. A man needed his eight hours, after all.

So rooming with his insomniac brother had been… a trial, to put it kindly.

Luckily, his expensive soundproofing headphones and eye mask helped Wes keep his strict sleep schedule without much intervention. Unfortunately, they couldn’t stop the call of nature, which is how Wes found himself awake at nearly three in the morning, faced with an empty bed and a missing brother.

“Come on, man,” Wes groaned, heading to the desk and his charging phone. Insomnia or not, Soul could have at least left a note or something before wandering off. Easy-going he may be, he was a big brother first and foremost, and he worried about Soul being alone in a strange place at such a late hour.

Thankfully, before he could finish his text, the prodigal son returned, looking… rather alarmingly flushed, actually. Late night walks were not that strenuous, especially at Soul’s base speed of ‘meander’.

“Hello?” Wes said, setting his phone back down. Soul looked at him with wide eyes, making a strangled sound before his back hit the door and he slid to the ground, hands over his eyes. Wes was at his side in a heartbeat, resting a hand on his brother’s shoulder. “You okay, Soul?” he asked, looking him over for any sign of being jumped or attacked.

“Peachy,” Soul groaned into his hands, bony knees up to his chest.

“Wanna explain before I assume the worst?”

Soul sighed. “I may have found the baby grand in the restaurant while I was walking around.”

Wes grinned. Ah, yes, that made sense. He had wondered how long Soul would be able to resist the chance to play such a lovely instrument. “Got caught by the front desk?” he said sympathetically.

Soul nodded.

“Got chewed out, huh?”

Soul shook his head.

Wait, what?

“She liked my composition,” Soul nearly whined, curling up further away from a very confused Wes. Again, huh? Soul was a talented composer, whether he believed so or not, but praise of his music had never flustered him like this. In fact, Soul only got flustered like this around…

Soul must have sensed the wide, shit-eating grin that spread across Wes’s handsome features, because he didn’t even have his mouth open all the way to tease his brother about a certain blonde front desk agent before Soul was shoving his jacket in Wes’s face, hissing for him to shut the fuck up, Wes.

[fuck-customers]

Gift Card Troubles

So I work at your friendly neighborhood green walled pharmacy, and as a fun fact that's extremely relevant to the story I'm about to post: We are unable to process gift card returns. At all. It's impossible to force, the registers literally *will not let us*, and once the transaction is completed, it's out of our hands and into whomever's gift card it is.

In this such case, I'm going to use an example of a Playstation card--note that this wasn't actually the one in question, but I'm changing the card in particular since this story is actually Really Fucking Specific and could reveal my identity.

Now, rewind to a quiet friday night, it's later in the evening, the manager's doing drawers, and it's mostly quiet. Steady stream of folks, but nothing too unusual for us on a friday night.

In comes the Asshole Customer.

He's--perhaps understandably--pissed that his Playstation card is *not working*, so before I call a manager over, I inform him of our policy: That we cannot do gift card returns. This irritates him, but he let's me see the card in question so I can check it out.

Now, this has actually been paid for, he even has his little gift card receipt. According to him, and the photo from his phone that he's showed me, he's input the code on their site, and it's not working. I can't really read the error message why, and I didn't get a long enough look at the phone to try and decipher it.

This whole time, he's getting more and more angry, much to the embarrassment of his son who's with him during all of this.

During all of this, he's also ranting at me, how we're the "middleman" and we're supposed to help him because he "Gave the money to us" at Greenwalls, and he's told me to shut up and listen to him no less than three times so far, despite my attempts to assist him.

It's about a second after the third time we've had the runaround that I page the manager to try and resolve this, and while I'm trying to explain the situation *to* the manager, Asshole Customer tells me to shut up twice while simultaneously trying to talk over me, and just generally being insulting about my capability to serve customers in general.

Flash fucking fact: About 90% of my customers? They fucking love me. There's a couple of old ladies who don't, and I know at least two of our more extreme couponers deliberately avoid me, but honestly? Most of the customers have nothing but praise about my attitude and have sought out managers to intentionally tell them this.

It's after he tells me to shut up that fifth time, in front of my manager and about six other customers since he's holding up my line at this point, that I basically just mumble "I'm done" and leave.

As if I hadn't, I would've told him to fuck off and where to stick his gift card with the attitude he was giving me.

For lack of a better place to go, I went to our office/locker room area where I ranted at another co-worker about how I would take the write-up for walking away, and how I wasn't going to be continually insulted in front of my manager and many other customers.

During all of this, my manager's trying to tell him what we can and can't do, he's still ranting and raving about all of it, and I'm sure his son's getting more and more embarrassed as it's going on.

Then the manager pages an IC3 to get help up front, since there were still other people in line when I left, Asshole Customer gives no fucks that he's a) insulted me, and b) that he's holding up the line.

I don't know how she did it, but the manager convinced him to wait over by the photo counter, so I went out again to help my coworker get through the line up front while my manager went into the office to look up the phone number/help line Asshole needed.

Something *he* claimed that it was *our responsibility* to look up for him, that he didn't even bother attempting himself before coming to unleash his hellish attitude on us.

Now, once he had his info, you'd think he'd leave, but no. He had to continue bitching at my manager about my customer service, and how she did the "right thing" by helping him

By this point, my coworker needed change for a hundred, something that's not too unusual that late at night, but my manager was the *only* manager there. So ANOTHER customer had to wait out this dude's pissy, spoiled brat rant before my manager could go get change.

After he finally left, his son came in and apologized for his father's behavior.

I later found out that my walking away was, admittedly, the right thing to do since despite my temptation to do so, cussing him out would have *actually* gotten me written up.

Also proved to a number of my coworkers that my patience *does* have limits.