#the admin is cursing out their bosses

[deadsetobsessions]

Her name is Drake, Tim Drake.

Except, unlike Bond, James Bond, she’s not a badass who saves queens and get the girls at the end. Well, no, she did get the very amazing woman at the end, and she had the ring to prove it. But not right now. No, right now, she’s a tiny little girl in the middle of a mental breakdown as her parents cart her away from the bodies of the flying Graysons and their wailing son.

See, Tim Drake wasn’t supposed be a girl. Tim Drake wasn’t supposed to be Theodora Janet Drake, shortened to Timmy because her air headed jackass of a father forgot her name once.

Tim Drake wasn’t supposed to be a woman shoved into a body that wasn’t hers.

By the time Timmy got out her catatonic state of existential crisis, her parental units (faulty parental units) had already left to a dig site a world away. The nanny they’d hired for the three year old had left the slip of a girl in her room, content to just make edible toddler food and spend the day casually checking in on her. The nanny had no concept of stealth, so at least Timmy could hear her thundering footsteps long before she got to Timmy’s room.

She would have been sad, had she not had a full set of memories of a well adjusted adult. In fact, all she felt was relief.

As weird as being comic book character is, Timmy supposed that she should be glad she wasn’t like the original. The dysphoria was already significant, in this tiny body, so pale and white, unlike her calloused and tanned skin she’d come to love. If she was in Tim Drake’s male body…

No, Timmy knew when to count her blessings.

Not that being beholden to Gotham was much of a blessing. Timmy could tell already that whatever had brought her here was going to make sure she stayed. How did she know?

There’s a gamer’s interface hovering on the right of her vision, blaring [WELCOME TO GOTHAM, PLAYER 1!] in annoyingly large white letters.

Timmy sighed and gave in. She tapped the ‘start’ button and the world greyed to a stop.

[ACHIEVEMENT- SO I’M IN ANOTHER UNIVERSE- MET!]

Underneath it, to Timmy’s tired mind, laid the damning and probably helpful:

[TUTORIAL UNLOCKED!]

Timmy tapped the screen again.

[Welcome to Gotham!] The informational screen started. [By now, you’ve realized that you’ve been reincarnated into the lovely and not at all depressing world of Batman!]

Timmy muttered, “Just Batman? Not DC?” She blinked as the informational screen paused its typing before replying to her.

[Right now, you’ve only got the Gotham mode unlocked. Work hard and you can unlock the rest of the world! Maybe even the universe!]

Huh. An interactive interface. Timmy wonders why she’s so calm about this.

[That will all be explained shortly! Please allow for the tutorial to continue and make sure to save your questions for the end!]

Well, Timmy doesn’t want to be rude. She nodded. Interestingly, the interface picked up on both her thoughts and her movements.

[Welcome to Gotham!] It starts again, and Timmy felt a bit of guilt in making it start over. It’s like getting cold called and the caller is just a tired person trying to make their quota for minimum wage and instead of patiently listening to the spiel, Timmy had interrupted so now they had to restart the rehearsed speech. Oof.

[You’ve been reincarnated into the body of our very own Red Robin, Timothy Drake! How exciting! The powers that be, was, and will be has selected your lucky soul to be a beta tester for their relatively new reincarnation roulette!]

See, none of that sounds particularly… “good” for Timmy. Timmy hums as she settled back on the greyed out floor, eyes fixed onto the screen.

[As such, to be the first player deposited in this universe-]

And oh, doesn’t that have some interesting implications.

[The powers that be have decided to grant you a boon! The Gamer’s Exclusive Ultra Package!]

The interface exploded with holographic confetti.

Timmy thought her wife would have loved this… had she not died months before Timmy did.

[Included is the exclusive Gamer’s Mind and Body passive status! You won’t be as traumatized by traumatizing things! A boon, in the hellscape that is Gotham!]

Timmy’s calling it. Whoever wrote this was a total troll. And had a sense of humor she could appreciate. That explained why she’s so… not freaking out about this entire thing.

[It also includes ten lucky draw tickets, with guaranteed five star skills/abilities per ticket! Wow! It’s almost worth getting killed and isekai’ed!]

Timmy snorted and tapped accept.

[And two revival tickets! These can bring any Schmuck dumb enough to get killed, right back to life, with zero drawbacks! To be used on anyone you wish, post tutorial.]

Timmy tilted her head. Useful. She tapped accept.

[Now, you might wonder: ah, why would the de oh so awesome and all powerful gods make me reincarnate here instead of allowing me to enjoy my afterlife with my beautiful wife?]

Timmy stilled, heart in her throat. That’s right… why?

The screen turned red. Ominously, smoke starts to steam out from the side.

[You’ve got blood on your hands, Timmy. That’s hard to wash away.]

The screen blinked back to its neutral blueish-white color.

[That, and it’s because the Powers that be made an oopsie and messed up this world so bad, we needed a soul from a different universe to replace Tim Drake’s. He kept dying! Which meant Batman kept dying! Which meant the entire universe went to shit! But we can’t just cut it off, it’s a main Universe! But nooo, does anyone listen to the admins? Noooo. Of course not! What does the literal administrator know in the face of an all powerful god-!]

Timmy blinked, sympathy welling for this person. This administrator. That sounded rough.

[Ahem. My apologies.] The admin apologized, somehow conveying sheepishness through a screen. Timmy got a notification.

[ACHIEVEMENT- COMMISERATING WITH A CO-WORKER- MET!]

[1,000 Shop Points Granted. Message: You’ve worked under tyrannical bosses too! Kindred Soul!]

“Yeah, it be like that. I’m sorry you had to clean up their messes.” Timmy said.

[I, too, am sorry you were dragged from your afterlife for it.]

The two overworked employees shared a solemn moment.

[Well, then! This brings us to your goal! Keep Batman from killing himself, and fulfill Timothy Drake’s Destiny!]

“And what is his destiny, exactly?”

[To keep Batman from dying, becoming a crime-fighter, get beat up by Jason Todd, and destroy Ra’s al Ghul’s work with explosions!]

“That’s… really specific. I just have to fulfill those?”

[Yes! Not in any particular order, of course. And in any way you see fit!]

That last part was italicized, like the admin knew what was brewing in Timmy’s brain. They probably did.

[And now, please direct your attention to the screen to the right. ]

Four boxes popped up.

SHOP

LUCKY DRAW

QUESTS

PROFILE

[Underneath “Quest” is all of your current objectives! For now, the Tutorial is selected and can not be put on hold!]

Timmy obligingly tapped “QUEST.”

Main Quest: Get Your Shit Together, Batman!

Main Quest: Jason Todd and His “E is rated for Everyone” Hands!

Main Quest: No Crime Under My Watch!

Main Quest: Play Bomberman With A Bunch Of Ninja Assassins Led By A Borderline Immortal Cult Leader!

Main Quest: Tutorial!

Side Quest: Level Up!

Side Quest: Learn a Skill!

Side Quest: Nanny Bye-Bye!

And so on, and so on.

“Woah. Nanny Nye-Bye?” Timmy tapped, clicking away at the reminder that Tutorial could not be paused.

[Side Quest: Nanny Bye-Bye.]

[Your nanny has been embezzling the allowance your parents gave her to feed you! Since your bourgeoisie parents have no sense of how much things should actually cost to eat, you’re stuck eating boxed food and unhealthy things while your nanny goes out for hotpot every other week! The injustice! Get her fired before the month ends!]

[Rewards: 1000 EXP. An approving nod from the scary Draconic Janet Drake. $800 per month.]

[Failure: -2 (permanent) to Health. Your status will be [Malnourished] until 17 years old. A disproving glance from the scary Draconic Janet Drake.]

…

“What the ****?”

[Language filters are unlocked at level five.]

Timmy grumbled.

“What if I need to curse to complete my missions?” She asked.

[Then Player One needs to buy herself a sense of creativity.]

Timmy scowled but moved on. She perused the shop, window shopping as one might say, while asking the Admin some more questions.

“Does the Keep Batman Alive quest have a time limit?”

[Until Damian Wayne has had at least four years of being Robin.]

Timmy nodded, brain whirring with plans.

“Hey, admin?”

[Yes, Player One?]

“If I’m player one, does that mean there will be other players?”

[Yes, Player One. There will be more! But unlike you, their abilities will be based on your feedback of the reincarnation system. Not to mention, they will not be reborn as a predetermined Main Character like yourself. This is because your existence was a result of a cosmic oopsie that had better never happen again or I’m going to rip their star-riddled hides from their cosmic bodies. Does that answer your question, Player One?]

Timmy leaned away from the screen. Intimidating.

“Yep. Thanks.”

[Anytime. Would you like to play the Lucky Draw?]

“Yes, please.”

The Luck Draw Menu was pulled up again. Timmy looked at the amount of tickets she had and shrugged. She tapped the “DRAW ONE” option.

The gacha machine spun and spun until:

[DING! DING! DING! Congratulations! You got a five star skill! Eloquence Beyond Measure!]

Timmy checked it out.

Eloquence Beyond Measure!

[As expected of a true Bristol elite (and not one of those snotty snobs of children running afoot with their parent’s money), you’ve gained the ability to spit fire and ice out of your mouth! What you want to say will always come out of your in a way that benefits you most! Diplomats kneel to your eloquence! Socialites dare not provoke you in fear of your barbed words! You’ll never sound like you don’t know what you’re doing ever again!]

Huh. Timmy grinned.

“Thanks, Administrator. Is the tutorial done? I just had an idea about that Nanny Side-Quest.”

[The last task is to check your profile, Player One.]

“Thanks. You can call me Timmy, you know? We’re in this together now.” Timmy grimaced. She just wanted to rest. Chances are, so did Admin.

[Timmy, then.]

Timmy tapped PROFILE.

Theodora “Timmy” Janet Drake

Level 1 (EXP to Next Level: 500)

Status: Healthy. Alive. Uninjured.

SKILLS: Eloquence Beyond Measure

[STATS]

Timmy sighed and exited out of the window to finish the tutorial. She could peruse the stats later. She’s kind of hungry.

[Now that you’ve finished the basics, the powers that be encourages you to try your best to live out this life and fulfill your destiny! The Prize at the completion of Tim Drake’s destiny will be a reunion! With your beloved wife! Work hard, and she’ll be placed on this earth once more!]

Timmy sat up, throat burning. She could see her wife again? To tell her how she missed her and how much she loved her?

Timmy’s heart burned once more since the death of her wife.

Determination filled her now small body. She’ll wrangle the Bats to therapy kicking and screaming if that’s what it took to meet her beloved wife again.

[CONGRATULATIONS! YOU’VE FINISHED THE TUTORIAL! LEVEL UP! (1000 EXP TO LEVEL THREE)]

[REWARD: A PHONE! 100 SHOP POINTS!]

Timmy dialed the first contact she saw in the phone.

“Hello, this is Theodora Drake. Might I speak to my mother?” Her three year old voice smoothed out, suddenly eloquent and powerful in a way it simply wasn’t before. Eloquence Beyond Measure was proving useful already.

“Yes, of- of course, Miss Drake. Please hold.”

She waited.

“Theodora. What is it, daughter? You know better than to interrupt our digs.”

“Mother, it has come to my attention that my nanny is embezzling money from you. I have been eating boxed mac n’ cheese and only that for the past three days. They cost four dollars each. I would hate for my growth to be stunted.”

Two days later, Janet Drake and Jack Drake stormed into the mansion and threw out the nanny. Janet gives her an approving nod at her sudden eloquence (wow, these people had no idea what children were supposed to be like) and gave her a credit card to use freely.

Rich people. Honestly.

Timmy’s sly gaze was highlighted by the invisible glow of the congratulations banner.

[f1fnatic]

SUR LE POINT ⤿ c. leclerc 16

→ ( in which. . . ) you, toto wolff's daughter, are dating semi-rival team driver charles leclerc and toto is trying his best to support your relationship while also being a proud dad.

→ ( fanfic genre. . . ) smau

→ ( face claim. . . ) taylor hill + pictures from pinterest

→ ( pairing. . . ) charles leclerc x wolff!ballerina!reader

→ ( content warnings/disclaimers. . . ) cursing, fluff, google translated german and french

→ ( author's note. . . ) woohoo another smau! these are genuinely so fun to make but sooo time consuming. i hope you enjoy! see end for more

→ ( masterlist )

─ INSTAGRAM ↴

y/n_wolff

📍monte carlo, monaco

liked by susiewolff, lewishamilton, yourbff, charles_leclerc and 953,730 others

y/n_wolff a break between shows 🌞

view 19,572 comments

user7 she is stunning!

user10 mother is mothering

charles_leclerc that dog better not be in the apartment when i get home.

y/n_wolff um about that!

charles_leclerc oh mon dieu

y/n_wolff btw her name is olive!!

susiewolff Meine schöne tochter 💓 (my beautiful daughter)

y/n_wolff woher, glaubst du, habe ich es? (where do you think i got it from?)

mercedesamgf1 baby boss is glowing 🫡🫧 liked by y/n_wolff

yourbsf my legs are dead because of you.

y/n_wolff not my fault you couldn't keep up 😒

user44 need to know where you got that top!

y/n_wolff its actually a dress and i made both of the flower and lemon one myself!

user16 i wonder how toto feels ab this

user19 he was asked during an interview and was hesitant, but supportive !!

charles_leclerc holy 🥴 liked by y/n_wolff

lewishamilton you're in monaco and you dont even stop and say hi? smh 😒

y/n_wolff I AM SORRY BLAME CHARLES

charles_leclerc WHY ARE YOU DRAGGING ME INTO THIS?

y/n_wolff BECAUSE ITS YOUR FAULT?

lewishamilton i was kidding 😀

charles_leclerc has added to their story!

caption: i can't even be mad 😔 y/n_wolff

lewishamilton has added to their story!

caption: apology accepted ✅ y/n_wolff

─ TWITTER ↴

─ INSTAGRAM ↴

y/n_wolff has reposted a story!

caption: she's in the zone dnd 💆🏻‍♀️🌙 y/n_wolff

y/n_wolff

📍vienna, austria

liked by charles_leclerc, lewishamilton, susie_wolff, francisca.cgomes and 987,540 others

y/n_wolff ladies and gentleman... your 2024 white swan!!

it is such an honor to be awarded this role. ever since i was a kid and saw my first performance of swan lake, i fell in love. from that moment, i knew i wanted to be odette. this is truly a dream come true.

i would like to thank the wienerstaatsballet for such a wonderful opportunity and trusting me with such an important role. along with my amazing parents, toto & susie_wolff, and my wonderful boyfriend charles_leclerc. you have all shown me such support and love, i couldn't have done this without any of you.

(p.s. see the link in bio for showings 😉)

view 23,517 comments

user16 she is so unbelievably pretty

mickschumacher woohoo!! you go y/n!

y/n_wolff thank you mickyyy

user8 CONGRATS Y/N! liked by y/n_wolff

charles_leclerc so happy for you mon cynge 🫀 (my swan)

lewishamilton congratulations y/n! i remember watching you as a young girl just starting out, this is such a wonderful achievement, you deserve it more than anyone 🖤

y/n_wolff thank you so much lew 🥹💞

user5 they're so sibling coded 💔

mercedesamgf1 woohoo! congrats baby boss 🥳🙌🏻

y/n_wolff thank u admin 🥰

charles_leclerc when you called me to say you got the part, pride flooded my senses. i know how much this part means to you, etoile. i am so happy for you, je t’aime plus que tout ❤️ (star, i love you more than anything)

y/n_wolff i love you so much, mon coeur 💌

yourbsf the best to do it ❣️🦢 liked by y/n_wolff

yourballetfriend happy for u y/n 🙂

user77 she doesn't seem happy...

user44 i wouldn't blame her 🤷🏾‍♀️

user2 yeah but ballet is competitive it's part of the sport

susie_wolff Ich bin so stolz auf dich, Y/N. Worte können meinen Stolz nicht ausdrücken. Es ist mir eine Ehre, dich meine Tochter nennen zu dürfen (i am so proud of you, y/n. words cannot express my pride. i am honored to call you my daughter)

y/n_wolff hör auf, mama, ich werde weinen, ich liebe dich so sehr (stop mama, i'm going to cry, i love you so much)

francisca.cgomes my fave ballerina 🩰✨ liked by y/n_wolff

scuderiaferrari 🩰🏎️ liked by y/n_wolff

user10 i am so normal about this (i am so insanely happy for her)

─ TWITTER ↴

─ INSTAGRAM ↴

toto_wolff

liked by y/n_wolff, lewishamilton, susie_wolff, charles_leclerc and 2,836,123 others

tagged: y/n_wolff

toto_wolff Congratulations to my wonderful daughter, Y/N. Ich bin so stolz auf dich, meine Blume. Zu sehen, wie du zu dem heranwächst, was du jetzt bist, war so ein Segen. Ich fühle mich geehrt, dein Vater zu sein. Mach weiterhin großartige Dinge, ich liebe dich. (I'm so proud of you, my flower. Seeing you grow into what you are now has been such a blessing. I am honored to be your father. Keep doing great things, I love you.)

view 959,237 comments

user71 THE STREETS WERE RIGHT!!

user50 this is so sweet oh my god

user9 oh to have a dad like toto wolff

y/n_wolff oh papa, ich liebe dich so sehr. Ich hätte mir keinen besseren vater wünschen können, ich danke dem universum jeden Tag dafür, dass ich gesegnet genug bin, dich als meinen vater zu haben. danke, dass du immer für mich da bist 😭❤️ (oh papa, i love you so much. i couldn't have asked for a better father, i thank the universe everyday for being blessed enough to have you as my dad. thank you for always being there for me)

user11 i want what they have 🥲

susie_wolff Unsere wundervolle Tochter (our wonderful daughter)

lewishamilton What a star🌟!

user14 crying in daddy issues

christianhorner Congratulations, Wolff. You have raised a wonderful daughter.

toto_wolff Thank you, Horner.

user88 the passive aggression

user51 the girls are fighting

mercedesamgf1 Boss man making us cry 🫡

charles_leclerc it is such an honor to be dating your daughter, toto

toto_wolff Couldn't have asked for anyone better.

y/n_wolff does this mean that you will let him win, papa?

toto_wolff No.

*comments under this post have been limited*

whoop! another fic done 🥳this was super fun to write, i loved looking for pictures, especially the toto-baby reader one 💔 not a lot of toto content... oh well. i am thinking of making a taglist, so let me know if you would like to be on it! also, hope i made it clear enough that toto does not know how to use instagram, and reader had to help him with making a post/comment. he doesn't know how like comments yet. thank you for reading! as usual, requests and feedback are welcome. make sure to leave a comment and kudos! (only if you want :P)

[burntheedges]

Maintenance Request Chapter 21

Joel Miller x f!reader | new chapter every Friday 18+ | ao3 | main post & chapter list chapter word count: 3.5k

chapter summary: back to work! and where is it that Joel works, exactly? 🤔

a/n: well, y'all, this is chapter 21 of 23. there are two more chapters and an epilogue, which will be posted on 5/24. so Maintenance Request will be fully posted this month. I can barely believe it. I'm feeling emotional about it so I might do some sort of fun ask thing as we get closer to the end. thank you all for reading. 🧡 and thank you as always to @katareyoudrilling for being the best beta 💕

chapter tags/warnings: flirting, kissing, lingerie mention, bra and chest mention, cursing, pet names (darlin’, baby, honey, cowboy, sweetheart, good girl, gorgeous), smut: groping, teasing, semi-public sex, desk sex, p-in-v sex, dirty talk, cuddling

Chapter 21

Friday, November 22 Thirteenth week of the semester

In the week after your successful brunch with Ellie, you felt lighter than air as you walked around campus. You knew you were smiling a lot, more than normal. You even smiled at Trevor once and he looked so taken aback and panicked that you almost laughed. 

On Friday, you were meant to meet up and go to dinner after work, but Joel texted you that he was running behind just as you were packing up your bag. You decided to go find him at his office, which you still had never been to. You knew what building it was in, of course, but that was it.

As you walked across campus to the maintenance and grounds office, you realized that you still didn’t know what Joel’s role was, exactly. Or his title. You’d been assuming he was on the maintenance crew, but now that you really thought about it, that didn’t make sense. He was out and about too much and you’d seen him working with too many different teams of people.

Maybe he was actually with landscaping? But then why would he take maintenance requests? 

You puzzled over it as you turned the corner and the small quad in front of the building with his office came into view. It was a nice green space tucked away in a corner of campus you rarely visited, since most of the buildings were administrative. Glancing around, you wondered why you’d never bothered to look up his role. Maybe it had just seemed straightforward until you tried to figure out what his actual title might be, just now.

As you entered and looked around the office, you noticed their front desk admin had already gone home for the weekend. You shrugged, and started to walk down the hallway of offices, figuring you’d find the one with his name on it eventually. 

You passed the first few, brows furrowed, looking for his name and not finding it. You started to wander further down the hall to where you assumed the bosses’ offices would be. Maybe you passed it?

And then you saw it. The last office, in the corner – the one you figured would have a nice view of the small quad outside. And there was Joel’s name on the door.

Joel Miller, Director Construction, Facilities, Landscaping Landscape Architect

Your jaw dropped open. Director?

He was the boss? Of the entire department?!

You weren’t sure how long you stood there, mouth open, staring at the door, when suddenly it opened. Joel wasn’t looking up as he came through it – he had his eyes on his phone and his bag on his shoulder.

“Joel!” You almost shouted his name, too shocked to do anything else. He startled, eyes flying up to catch yours.

“Shit!” He shook his head. “Baby, I had no idea you were here.” He dropped his bag and pressed a hand to his chest. “Shit,” he repeated, taking a deep breath. “Where’d you come from?”

You ignored the question, too aghast at your discovery. “Joel Miller, are you the freaking boss?” 

He blinked, looking taken aback. “Ah, yes, darlin’. I am.” He slipped his phone in his pocket and sort of gestured towards the nameplate on his door as he smiled at you, obviously confused.

“Joel!”

“... darlin’?” 

“Why didn’t you tell me?” You felt like your mind was spinning and you couldn’t keep up, totally overwhelmed by this new information. “I thought you were, like, a maintenance guy!” 

He rubbed the back of his neck, looking sheepish. “I honestly thought you’d guessed, I suppose.”

“No!” He started to look a little worried and you realized maybe you were overreacting. You reached out to take his hand, lacing your fingers through his. The touch grounded you and you squeezed his hand. “Joel! I had no idea.”

He laughed. “Well, at first, I suppose I didn’t want you to be even more angry with me. You kept sayin’ I wasn’t the boss, so you couldn’t blame me for all the problems I was causin’ you.” 

You groaned and leaned forward to rest your forehead on his shoulder. “I was so terrible.”

“Nah, baby, you were rightfully annoyed. And I didn’t want to admit I was in charge of the construction schedule. Or that I’d ordered the flowers.”

That last point startled you, and you laughed as you leaned back to look at him. “Oh, Joel, I’m sorry. They were pretty, though. Even if they made me sneeze.”

He shook his head. “Won’t be putting in any more of those.”

You rolled your eyes. “You can’t plan the landscaping for the entire university around my allergies.”

He raised his eyebrows at you. “Oh? I am the boss, you know. I can do what I like.” 

You laughed again, but then stopped when something struck you and you tugged on his hand. “Joel, did you make your employees change out the flower beds around my building?!”

He smirked at you. “Nah, darlin’, I did that myself. Didn’t take too long.” 

Your mouth dropped open. “You did all of that work? By yourself?”

“I wasn’t about to make my staff do it. Felt like askin’ ‘em to help me with something that wasn’t their job.”

You sighed, and smiled at him as another thought occurred to you. You raised an eyebrow at him. “Well, Mr. Director, speaking of things that aren’t your job, what were you doing taking maintenance requests, anyway?”

He grinned, a little sheepish again. “Well, I was filling in while we were short handed. Don’t usually do ‘em. Or leave my office so much. But I saw your name on the request, and, well.” He hesitated, and then nodded. “I was already leavin’ the office more, hoverin’ around our different work sites, on the off chance I’d run into you again. Was drivin’ the crew a little crazy, to be honest.”

You laughed, astonished. “You were?”

He nodded. “They were already givin' me grief for being around so much. ‘Don’t you have paperwork to do,’ and so on.” He laughed and lifted his free hand to trace his fingerstips down your arm. “When they saw you kiss me that day a few of ‘em put it together, why I was always around. When that maintenance request came through, it was right when I was beatin’ myself up and worryin’ I’d never get another chance to talk to you. Felt like fate.” 

You smiled, charmed. “Maybe it was.” You looked at him, and then at his name on the door, and smirked. You dropped his hand and rested both of your palms on his chest. “You know, Mr. Director,” you started, pushing him and his bag backwards into his office and letting the door close behind you. “We haven’t christened your office yet.”

Joel grinned as he let himself be pushed, looking surprised and delighted. “No, honey, I don’t suppose we have.”

You took a moment to look around his office and you noticed he did, in fact, have a nice view of the quad. You felt his eyes on you as you walked over and shut the blinds. With the overhead lights off the room was suddenly darker, cast in soft shadows. 

When you turned back and grinned at him he was already looking at you, eyes intent. “So, Mr. Director. Tell me. Any office fantasies I should know about?”

A slow smile crept over Joel’s face, and you felt your cheeks heat as it turned into something wicked. “Well, baby, I have to admit I have pictured you in here a time or two. In a couple daydreams.”

You bit your lip as you walked towards him and he reached out to grasp your hips to pull you closer. “Oh? And what was I doing in these dreams?”

He leaned in and pressed his smile to your cheek in a kiss. His voice was deep and gravelly as he murmured, “lettin’ me bend you over this desk. Sittin’ on my lap on the couch. Lying down across the desk and letting me get my mouth on your pussy. Will you let me do that, gorgeous?”

You shivered and nodded.You felt heat climbing up your spine as his words inspired images in your mind. “Which one, Joel?” You had no idea where to start.

Joel grinned as he leaned back to catch your eye again. “C’mere, baby.” He pulled you into a searing kiss that stole your breath and drove away whatever thoughts you’d been about to have. You were pretty sure by this point that you were never going to get used to the way this man kissed you.

As he moved his lips against yours, his hands slid down your back and crept under your shirt. You smiled and lifted your arms when prompted so he could pull it off. “Hmm, well, isn’t this pretty?” You followed his gaze down to your chest and the lacy bra that had caught his eye. 

“Well, we did have a date planned. I know how much you like it.”

“I do like it, honey,” he confirmed as he thumbed over your nipple through the lace. You hummed. “And it’s even better when I know you’ve got it on but I’m the only one who gets to see it.”

Suddenly he wrapped his arms around you and spun you around so that you were leaning against the desk. “Take a seat, baby.” As you did, he gently freed your breasts from the lacy cups of your bra, licking over his bottom lip in concentration. “You are so goddamn gorgeous. Should just keep you right here, just like this. Would be great motivation for me, you know.”

You laughed when he winked at you. “Joel, I feel like that would be the opposite of motivation to get your work done.”

He pressed his smile against your own in a sweet kiss. “But then I could do this whenever I want.” He pulled you into a deeper kiss and thumbed your pants open at the same time. 

You broke away and sucked in a breath as he tugged your pants down. Soon you were almost naked while he stood fully clothed in front of you, eyes dark. Something about the contrast made your heart start to pound.

“Well, Director Miller. Bend me over this desk.”

Joel let out a sound that sounded almost like a growl and stepped forward to grasp your hips again. He pulled you from the desk and flipped you around, pressing up against you from behind. You could feel his hard cock in his pants.

“Just like this, baby.” He pressed a line of kisses down your neck and you fell forward onto your elbows. “Shit, yeah, just like that.” He snaked his right hand down your side and over your ass until he could slip it between your legs to cup your pussy firmly from behind. “Honey, you are soakin’.”

You huffed a laugh. “You said you were going to take me over this desk, Joel, what did you expect?”

He bit your shoulder lightly. “You are so sexy, baby. Can’t wait to slip inside you.” Keeping his hand in place, Joel pushed forward and curled his middle finger until it rested against your entrance. You gasped. “You always feel so good.”

Joel kept pushing forward with his finger until it slipped inside you and you moaned, maybe too loudly. But everyone else was already gone for the day. He pressed kisses down your spine and you could feel that he was grinning. 

“More, Joel–” you breathed. “Fuck me, cowboy.”

His hips stuttered against your own and he swore, lowly. “Yeah? Was gonna warm you up, sweetheart.”

You shook your head. “Already warmed up. Want you inside me.”

He nodded and reached down to quickly undo his pants. You felt his cock slip free and slide against your ass. You wiggled your hips and spread your legs wider in front of him. 

He groaned. “Fuck do you look good like this.” He trailed his fingertips down your back and you shivered again. He slid his cock between your legs and you dropped your head to rest on your forearm, suddenly out of breath. 

“Please–” you started to urge him forward, but he was already moving.

“That’s my good fucking girl.” He was breathing hard, too. You felt the head of his cock enter you and gasped. The angle was perfect. You could feel every inch of him as he filled you up, slowly, gently, relentlessly. “Takin’ it just like I asked. Shit, honey.”

Soon his hips came to rest against your ass and you both took a deep breath.

“Ok, baby?” he asked, sounding winded. 

You nodded and smiled to yourself, knowing the effect your words would have on him. “I said take me, cowboy.”

He moaned again, and then he did. 

You felt his right hand slide up your spine and find a home cupped around the back of your neck, pressing you down onto the desk. His left had a firm grip on your hip and you bit your lip as you imagined the hand-shaped bruise you’d likely have as a souvenir. “Stay right here, baby, just like that. So fucking gorgeous like this. Goddamn.”

Joel pulled out and slammed forward again, driving your breath out of your lungs. You watched a couple of pens rattle and roll off his desk. “Fuck.” He whispered as he did it again, and again, and again.

The rhythm he set was vicious. You found yourself clutching the far edge of the desk for leverage as he pounded into you, right on the spot that felt amazing. You tried to push back with your hips to meet him but it was so much, he was moving so hard and fast. You relaxed in his hold and let him sweep you away.

“This is better than anything I ever imagined, baby. Fuck. You look so fucking good over my desk.” He squeezed your hip on his next downstroke and you whimpered. “You’re squeezin’ me so tight, honey. Fucking love this cunt.” Your breath hitched. “Don’t know how’m gonna get any work done in here. Gonna close my eyes and see this perfect ass, feel this perfect fucking cunt, every fucking time I sit at my desk.” He pulled his hand from your neck and you made a noise in protest, but he soothed it down your back. With a firm grip he used both hands to tug your hips up and back towards him and the new angle made your arms shake.

He leaned forward, almost lying against your back, and murmured in your ear. “Can we do this every day, honey? I’ll ask real nice.” He nipped at your neck and you sighed. “Promise I’ll make it worth your while.” You giggled, but it turned into a moan as he snapped his hips forward again.

“Y’know–” your breath hitched. “We’d get caught, Joel.”

He nodded. “I know, but a man can dream, can’t he?”

You could feel it building inside of you and you weren’t surprised when his left hand began to snake forward around your hip to find your clit. Joel could read you like a book, especially when you were about to come.

“And fuck, baby, if this isn’t better than anything I could have dreamed up for myself. Daydreams ain’t got nothin’ on you, gorgeous.” 

He began to circle your clit in the same rhythm of his hips and you closed your eyes. You were so fucking close.

“Joel–”

“That’s right,” he pressed open mouth kisses across your shoulder. “Give it to me, honey. Let me have it.” He bit down lightly on your shoulder and you shivered, again. “Be my good girl and come.”

His hips kept up their devastating pace and suddenly you were there, you were falling over the edge with only Joel’s arms to hold you up.

You cried out, and he belatedly covered your mouth with his free hand. “Shhh, sweetheart. Fuck.” hips sped up as you squeezed his cock. “M’gonna–”

He pressed his forehead against your shoulder hard as his hips snapped forward one more time. He came with a devastating low moan of your name. You felt his muscles relax against your back and closed your eyes, overwhelmed.

You crept back to awareness and the realization that Joel was almost smothering you on top of his desk.

“Joel–” your voice was mildly strangled and he suddenly stood, almost too fast. His cock tugged backwards slightly and you winced. “Careful–”

He sighed. “Shit, sorry sweetheart. Let me–” he slid out of you slowly and you squeezed your legs together to keep his cum inside of you. “C’mere.” He pulled you up gently until you were leaning back against him and guided you to the couch you only just now realized was behind you.

You followed as he pulled you down, and soon enough you found yourself tucked against his side with his arm around your shoulders, lying down and entangled on the couch. You snuggled into him and felt him press several gentle kisses along your hairline. 

“That was so fucking perfect, baby,” he whispered against your hair. “Shit. So much better than I ever imagined.” He tightened his arms around you and you sank into his embrace.

After a few minutes of just breathing together, though, you felt your curiosity return. 

“So, Mr. Director.” He snorted and you grinned at the way you could feel it in his chest. “How’d you end up in this job?” You trailed your fingers down his naked chest and smiled when he made a contented noise in response.

“Well, I can’t remember if I told you before that it’s all Tess’ fault. We met about 15 years ago, and it didn’t take long for her to start pestering me about getting a degree. You’re too smart, Joel, you should go to school. Look at your work, it’s too good.” You laughed at his imitation, knowing it didn’t really sound much like her. “And she knew I wasn’t satisfied with just construction.” He sighed. “So anyway, she pestered me into community college and then roped Frank and Tommy into helpin’ me get through the whole degree while takin’ care of Sarah. The business took off sometime in there, so Tommy got himself together a bit to take that over.”

You leaned back and smiled up at him. “I’m glad. You are really smart, you know.” 

He blushed. “Well, I started lookin’ for more steady work after I finished school, so I could be around more for Sarah. And I didn’t start out as the director, I started out with the grounds crew. But since I also knew about construction and a bit of maintenance, well, I moved up. Turns out havin’ experience with construction and contracting, and the degree and schoolin’ in landscape architecture, well. It’s almost the ideal combination for managing this office of lunatics.”

You laughed. “That makes sense. You have the practical skills and the knowledge to back it up.” 

Joel nodded. “Anyway. I’ve been here about 6 or 7 years. Know my crew pretty well. But I was surprised I’d never seen you before, last summer. Would’ve noticed for sure.” He ran a hand up and down your forearm that was resting on his chest.

“Well, it’s only my second year here. I feel like I would’ve noticed you, too.” You slid your hand up to cup his cheek and smiled when he turned into it to press a soft kiss to your palm. “I’m glad we found each other anyway.”

He pulled you closer into his arms and kissed your forehead. “Me too, honey. You got no idea how much.”

…

you (5:47 PM): you will never guess what I just learned

bestie (5:49 PM): what

you (5:50 PM): Joel is the DIRECTOR (5:51 PM): OF HIS DEPARTMENT

bestie (5:52 PM): …yes (5:52 PM): babe (5:53 PM): did you seriously not know that

you (5:54 PM): Beth!! (5:54 PM): why did you know that?

bestie (5:55 PM): I googled him (5:55 PM): like, 3 months ago (5:56 PM): you didn’t??

you (5:57 PM): um 🫣

bestie (5:58 PM): ??? what is wrong with you (5:59 PM): you didn’t look him up like the second you learned his name??

you (5:51 PM): I knew he worked here! I don’t know how the grounds department works

bestie (5:52 PM): oh my god (5:53 PM): you are ridiculous

you (5:55 PM): shut up (5:55 PM): why didn’t you tell me??

bestie (5:57 PM): it never occurred to me for even a second that you didn’t google him yourself (5:58 PM): I threatened to go to his office!! Because I knew where it was!

you (6:00 PM): ok forget it

bestie (6:01 PM): no way (6:02 PM): I’m not anywhere near done making fun of you for this yet

you (6:05 PM): 🙄

...

a/n: the truth is out! Joel is the big boss! 😂 I know some of you guessed it but I hope the reveal was fun lol

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@myloveistoolittle @iknowisoundcrazy @beezusvreeland @screechingphantommaker @bigboiseason123

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[beardedjoel]

new addiction

boss!joel x f!reader one shot collection | part two

summary: you’ve been fantasizing about your boss, but when he leaves you a mysterious note to meet him after work hours, everything changes.

warnings: 18+! MDNI! non-apocalypse au, boss!joel is a lil mean but not too mean, oral sex (m receiving), dirty talk, unprotected piv, spit kink, size kink kinda, panty stealing? does that need a tag idk, this is a filthy nasty fic and i love it

word count: 4k

a/n: basically just a shamless one shot of joel being your boss and you getting to fuck him, this is not my most proof read work i’ve ever posted but i hope you all like it! inspired by the new taylor swift song “i can see you” it’s literally my religion right now

You feel the crinkle of the paper in your hands another time, staring down at it as if the words on the page are going to change any time soon. You read over the simple phrasing, almost wanting to trace your fingers over the inking just to check that it’s truly real.

my office

6pm

JM

You’ve been working for Mr. Miller - Joel, he told you to call him, but old habits die hard - for a little over four months now. You’d always been taught to refer to any person of authority this way, so it was taking some getting used to to just call him Joel. 

This has been the longest four months of your life, mostly due to the man in question - Joel fucking Miller, your boss, the man responsible for your livelihood, the man you absolutely should not be pining over. How you can stop lusting after him is beyond you when he looks like that - his dark hair has grown out a bit since you started, brown curls flecked with gray that match his beard traveling down his neck now. Curls you dream of sinking your hands into and tugging in the heat of the moment every single day. Every time his dark brown eyes catch yours during conversation, you have to fight your mind to stay on track.  Watching his lips move, wondering what they’d feel like on yours, on any part of your body. It’s been completely mind bending, the attraction you feel for him. 

It all started a few weeks ago, when you started to wonder if the attraction was mutual. At first, it was a sidelong glance that lasted a bit too long here and there, then a few times where he brushed his body a little too close to yours, and you’d feel the heat of it linger long after he was gone. You could scarcely breathe when he got that close to you, a few times he’d hovered behind you at your desk to look at something on the computer with you and you wondered how you weren’t combusting, flames dancing across your skin. The moment you’d felt his hot breath on your neck, you fought hard not to shudder, and when one slipped by, you cursed yourself, hoping Joel hadn’t noticed. You’d thought maybe he hadn’t, but he suggested as he walked away that maybe you get a sweater to wear inside if you were so cold.

Fucking asshole.

He had to know the effect he was having on you. No matter how hard you tried to hide it, he was flirting in his own, restrained way. The most you’d gotten out of him was when he put one of his large, my god, so large, hands on your lower back as he’d breezed past you in the small, cramped employee break room to get to the coffee machine. 

“‘Scuse me, doll,” he’d said gruffly as he passed, and you nearly choked upon hearing the little pet name from him. Doll… you’d rolled the word around in your mind the entire rest of the day, amazed you could get any work done.

It was a small office - just a little, rented space to run his contracting business out of, and you’d been hired on to do any kind of admin work, really. There wasn’t any kind of official job title, you’d just been needed to tend to the books, appointments, and making sure everything was in order. It wasn’t a bad gig, not your dream job by any means, but now that you’d fallen deeply into your infatuation with your boss, of all people, it was making it hard to want to leave. 

And if you’re honest with yourself, you should want to find a new job - Joel can be, well, an asshole, to put it mildly. He doesn’t have time for bullshit, and he makes that perfectly clear to everyone in his vicinity. All the employees at the construction sites and office do revere him, and know he’s one of the best in Austin to learn from and have on your resume as far as contracting goes. On his good days, however, he really is a pleasure to have around, and you relish in the times you get to see his warm smile and hear him laugh at one of his employees busting his balls. On those days, you can see the speck of hope that keeps the people around him in his life.

Joel typically stops in at least once a day before rushing off to check on things at his job sites, and sometimes you do worry he’s wearing himself too thin. He comes in looking exhausted some days, snapping easily and drinking copious amounts of coffee. But you have to constantly remind yourself that’s not for you to worry about - you aren’t his wife, his girlfriend, his anything. You can’t fight off the desire to be something for him, though, wanting to be there for him, to provide some kind of release for him on those tightly wound days. From there, your mind drifts to the deepest corners of depravity, thinking of all the ways you could help him release.

On one such stressful day, he dropped a note on your desk, so quickly in passing anyone else in the room might have missed it. He didn’t bother to look back at you afterwards, leaving you wide eyed, staring down at the small piece of paper that was folded in half as he continued on to his office.

You felt like you were floating the entire day, anticipation boiling in your gut as you wondered if this note could mean what you think it does. By the time 5:45 rolls around, Joel having breezed back into the building and shutting himself in his office thirty minutes ago, you’ve decided you’re either getting canned or fucked tonight, and both options are making you so nervous you might jump out of your own skin. The few people left in the office pack up for the day and head out, leaving you pretending to finish up work as you wave goodbye to them.

You stand up right on time, smoothing down the short pencil skirt you’re wearing before breathing deeply and reaching for the doorknob to his office. You knock as you open the door, poking your head in. Joel looks up from his desk, where he’d had his forehead on his palm, looking over some paperwork.

“See you got my note,” he says, his voice slightly hoarse from a day of likely speaking and barking orders at his various job sites. “Shut the door behind ya,” Joel adds, and you feel your heart jump further into your throat, a slightly shaky hand shutting the door behind you as he asks. 

“Sure. Er, what’s this about, Mr. Miller?” You fidget with your hands in front of you, resting them on your belly as you wait expectantly. 

“Joel, remember?” he replies with a cocky smile. You still haven’t quite figured out his intentions, and at this point, you figure it could go either way, and you’re bracing yourself internally for either losing your job or what could be the best sex of your life.

“Right,” you say with a shaky chuckle. “Nervous habit, sorry… Joel.”

“Nothin’ to be nervous about, why don’t ya come on in,” Joel says genially, a hint of a smirk pulling at his lips at hearing you say his name. 

You slowly make your way to the chair that’s across from his desk, a cluttered mess that you’ve learned is organized in his own way, as he always seems to be able to find everything he needs despite you offering many times to help organize it for him. S’okay, I’ve got a system, he’d repeat every single time, so eventually you’d given up on asking.

“How was your day? You seem stressed,” you dare to ask as you sit down, and Joel quirks a brow at you.

“Same old bullshit,” he says breezily, rubbing a hand down his face and pushing the papers on his desk aside, focusing his attention on you. “So fuckin’ stressed, but you don’t need to worry about all of that.”

“What if…” you start, swallowing hard. Now or fucking never. If you’re about to possibly lose your job, you may as well go out with all you’ve got. “What if I did worry about that?” you blink a few times, eyelashes fluttering in his direction and Joel gives you an indiscernible look, but you swear his eyes go a shake darker. “Just, that you’re stressed, I mean. Isn’t it my job to help you?”

Joel barely even reacts other than a flicker across his eyes that you only notice because you’re looking so intently. The bastard was probably prepared for this, like he knew you’d come in here ready to flirt your little heart out if the situation called for it.

Fucking. Asshole. But an extremely hot asshole with his eyes trained right on yours, making you melt instantly and forgetting all about the cursing him you were doing in your head.

“That so?” Joel says slowly with an amused, deep chuckle. He stands up, making his way around the desk towards you, and your heart picks up, practically beating out of your chest now. “That in your job description, hm? Help ol’ Mr. Miller when he’s stressed?” 

His tone, his body language, everything is screaming green lights for you to continue this witty repartee. “It could be, if you wanted it to,” you reply, squaring your shoulders back, not cowering from his gaze, but rather intensifying yours with a small pout of your lips. Joel’s movements over to you are slow and calculated, practically sauntering until he’s standing in front of you. He absolutely towers over you now, more than usual, his broad shoulders looking even wider from your angle below him. He leans back on the desk, perching on the edge, giving you a direct view at his crotch, a now very apparent bulge in his jeans.

“Pretty thing like you’d really want to do all that for me?” Joel asks.

You lick your lips, trying to steady your breathing. “Mhm,” you sound, and your confirmation is enough to have Joel leaning forward, placing a hand on your cheek, fingers ghosting along the skin as he makes his way down to your neck, the light trace of his calloused pads sending goosebumps along your arms.

“Like the way I’m touchin’ you, pretty girl?” he asks quietly, and you manage to let out another affirmative noise. You watch his thick fingers tracing down the top of your chest, silently begging please keep going, please. When his hand reaches the top button of your shirt, he pauses, and your legs squeeze together in anticipation. You nearly whine when he withdraws his hand, but seconds later he’s using a finger to tip your chin up, indicating for you to stand.

You meet him against his desk, his legs opening wide for you to step in between them, and you press in close, feeling unsure of what to do with your hands, how far he wants to take things. You delicately place a hand on his thigh to steady yourself, and he slips his arms around you, immediately sliding them down your back and to your ass.

“Fuck,” he mumbles as he squeezes your ass firmly through your skirt. “Such a sexy little thing, you wear this for me?”

“You’ve caught me,” you say with a sly look. The skirt isn’t anything that scandalous, but you do suppose it shows more of your legs than may typically be deemed appropriate in an office setting. You’ve always blamed the more skimpy clothing you’d wear on the hot Austin climate, but you know in the back of your mind, it was all always for Joel.

“Don’t have to wear all this to get my attention, y’know,” he says a little more tenderly, still kneading the globes of your ass hungrily, pulling your skirt up in the process.

“Seemed like you enjoyed it, all those times I saw you watch me leave your office,” you quip back.

“Damn right I did, ‘m only human, darlin’,” he says gruffly, yanking you forward, and the hardness in his jeans is pressing right into your own throbbing heat, sending a swirling wave of desire in between your legs. Slickness is gathering there quickly, leaving your underwear already wet and uncomfortable against your skin.

“On your knees, now,” Joel says, pushing you down by your shoulders until you bow under the pressure, getting down onto the carpet and sitting on your knees. “That’s a good girl,” he says with a smirk. He makes quick work of his belt and zipper, freeing his cock within moments, and it takes everything in you not to gasp at the sight laid before you.

His cock is beyond what you’d imagined - he’s a big guy overall, but you can’t say you’ve ever been with someone his size, and it’s immediately intimidating. And the bastard knows it, you can tell by his coy little smile as you look at his throbbing cock with wide eyes, taking in the size of him at full attention. You take a little comfort in the fact that he seems painfully turned on by you, the head of his cock leaking pre-cum, pink and pulsating for any part of you to be on it.

“Go on now, doll, ain’t got all night,” Joel says, snapping you out of your reverence for his cock, and you glance up to him before placing a few kisses on the head. Joel hisses through his teeth, his hips bucking forward at your face. When you lap up the drop of precum, swirling your tongue with your eyes locked on his, he lets out a full groan. You hover over his cock, letting your drool collect and fall down onto his shaft in a long string, and the warmth of it brings out a frustrated growl from Joel. He watches with darkened eyes, and his hand shoots to the back of your head, gripping your hair tightly.

“Knew you’d be so fuckin’ dirty, such a little tease,” he growls out. He uses your hair to tilt your head back, so your neck is craned up, facing him more directly now. “If you’re gonna act like that, be willin’ to take it in return, sweetheart,” Joel says more coldly. “Open your mouth.” It’s not an ask, but a command, and the authoritarian in him makes you want to listen. You pop your mouth open, shaking a little bit under his tight grip as you watch him gather his own saliva and let it slowly fall out of his mouth, straight down into yours. You taste the strangeness of the sensation, never having had someone else's spit in your mouth in such a copious amount.

“Now swallow,” he demands, and you make a show of swallowing hard, eliciting a devious smile from Joel. “And get back to work,” he says, loosening his grip on your hair and pushing your head back to the level of his cock, dripping and awaiting your mouth.

You immediately slide your mouth down his shaft, not wanting any more pushback from Joel on your teasing, and you taste the saltiness of him as your mouth stretches more than you’re sure you can accommodate. You start to bob more quickly, savoring the myriad of groans and hums Joel makes in the height of his pleasure. 

“Fuck… your mouth’s even better than I ‘magined,” Joel says, his hips thrusting in time with your bobbing, sending his cock back further into your throat. A gag slips out, but you swallow him down, allowing him even deeper as your hand works on the rest of him that won’t fit inside of your mouth. He inhales sharply before pushing you back by the shoulders, his cock leaving your mouth with a loud pop.

You barely have time to be confused by the sudden interruption before Joel pulls you up under the arms, spinning you and flattening you against his desk, and you scramble to slide back, papers and office supplies spilling and moving everywhere. He flings a frustrated hand to clear it out of the way, sending everything flying onto the floor, and you stare wide-eyed, thinking this kind of thing only happens in the movies. And here you are, living in a real life fucking movie.

Joel grips your face, turning your attention back his way before crashing his lips into yours, ravenous kisses and swipes of his tongue taking over every sense. You moan, grinding your hips into him as you return the energy of his kisses, pulling back to trace your lips along his chin, the roughness of his beard scratching your face before you reach his earlobe, giving it a few gentle sucks.

“Shit,” Joel hisses out, pushing down your chest to have you lay back on the desk. He tugs under your knees, pulling you to the edge and hiking up your skirt in the process. His hand slides up your thigh, and you’re panting in anticipation, knowing he’s about to see the very evidence of your arousal absolutely soaking your lace panites. When Joel hooks his thumbs in the sides, pulling them down, he makes a satisfied huff at the slick, shining stain that’s left on the black fabric.

“Now that’s a sight…” Joel says, holding the panties up before slipping them into his back pocket. “Didn’t know you’d wanted to help me de-stress this badly, darlin’, would’ve called you in here ages ago,” he teases you with a wry chuckle, clearly enjoying the very compromising position he has you in.

“I do,” you say impatiently. “Didn’t know if it was okay to… you’re my boss.” 

“More than okay. Y’see, I’ve been thinkin’ the same thing f’ a while now, havin’ to resist such a perfect little thing that walked right into my office one day.” He tuts with frustration, tightening his grip on your thighs. “Seen you watch me like you couldn't wait to get that mouth on this cock, sugar.”

You nod, confirming everything he said was true. “I j-ust see you so worked up, so much on your shoulders, Joel. Let me…” you heave, “Take it all out on me.”

You tempt him to take that next step, wrapping your legs around his hips, your ankles crossing over each other to pull him even closer. 

“Sure you ain’t gonna tell anyone about this?” Joel asks with a few huffs, clearly holding back from what he really desires right now. His body is radiating the unmet need of release that’s throbbing from his every pore right down to his painfully hard cock.

You shake your head wildly, the back of your head moving along the desk. You sit up enough to peer at him and make sure he knows you’re serious. 

“Our little secret,” you whisper huskily, letting a smile curl onto your lips. 

“Good girl.” Joel returns the smile, one much more cunning as his features darken and he pushes his hard cock against your opening, the large head alone already making your hips twitch with pleasure. When he pushes in you make a small whimper, but try to stuff it down quickly as he stretches you with a beautiful sting along your opening. 

“Fu… oh my god,” you murmur, as he pushes in further and further, until you’re sure you couldn’t possibly be more full of him. When he moves past even that point, you groan and realize he’s fully seated inside of you, deeper than you’d ever imagined was even possible. You quickly pulsate around him, your body adjusting to his size until it starts to feel more pleasurable than painful.

“There we go, look at that…” Joel says breathlessly. “Takin’ this cock so pretty, aren’t ya?” He doesn’t even take a beat before he begins thrusting, his massive hands holding tightly onto your hips to steady you as you jostle back onto the desk. Your back arches into the pounding of your two bodies together, warmth growing from deep inside of you where he’s hitting so perfectly. You decide that while you’d made this about him, you wanted to fulfill a fantasy of your own while you had the chance. You’d daydreamed of a certain scenario countless times over the weeks, one you intended to have come to life and turn out to be even better than you could have imagined.

“Fuck me over your desk, Mr. Miller,” you say, an extra bite on the last words, knowing he won’t correct you on his name this time. He growls, a noise deep in his throat at your words.

“Want me to bend you over ‘n fuck you right on this desk, d’ya?” Joel asks, not even allowing you to answer before pulling out of you. You brace yourself on the desk, hopping off and immediately turning around, standing up and pressing the entire length of your body back onto Joel’s. You reach an arm up around his neck and pull him down for a kiss, and he lets out a low hum, grinding into your back.

He doesn’t let it last, though, the tender kiss, before he pushes you down with the palm of his hand on your back, guiding you to rest with your ass out and body pressed low onto the desk. You pant hard, feeling slick gathering between your legs all over again at how close you are to fulfilling your ultimate fantasy with him.

Joel has no mercy, slamming his cock into you, and this angle is completely devastating, ready to ruin you at any moment as your legs immediately begin to shake when his cock hits against your walls hard. He thrusts into you over and over, and you can’t help but be anything but loud, moaning out his name and every expletive that comes to mind as you practically go wild over the way he pumps you so full each and every time. You feel tears sting your eyes, the release trying to build to a crescendo deep in your core. 

One of Joel’s hands finds your clit, rubbing tight circles and you fold, completely undone at the large pad of his finger starting to coax your climax out of you. 

“C’mon, let me feel you come on this cock, know you’ve been wantin’ to,” Joel says haughtily, and you give in to the sensation, letting the waves of practically transcendent pleasure overtake you as you come hard, screaming Joel’s name in the process.

“Fuck, sweetheart, I’m gonna - “ Joel says in the midst of your writhing, moaning mess, before being cut off by his own orgasm being pulled from your pussy squeezing his cock. He quickly pulls out, letting himself spill onto your back with a few extra jerks of his cock, the ropes of cum warm on your skin. Joel breathes heavily, caught off guard by the intensity and quickness of his climax, knowing he nearly didn’t make it.

“Jesus, sugar, gonna make a man fuckin’ crazy with a pussy like that,” Joel purrs, using a tissue to begrudgingly clean up your back - he’d thought you’d looked much better all flushed and covered in his cum, and was already plotting a way to see it again and again.

You hum a satisfied sigh, turning back to look at him before sitting up and settling on the edge of the desk. “Glad I could help, boss,” you say teasingly, and Joel already feels another twitch in his cock at your toying with him. “You still stressed?” you ask, batting your eyelashes innocently.

“You’ve no fuckin’ idea…” Joel sighs. “Got a whole new set of problems now,” he says, looking you over with greedy eyes.

“Well, you know where to find me, if you ever need any help with that,” you say with a wink before hopping off the desk and breezing out of his office, daring a last look back at him.

[velvetcloxds]

FLEETING | E.M.

word count: 1k

warning: mutual pining, no happy ending per se, eddie x boss’ daughter!reader

summary: you realise the two of you aren’t being all that subtle with your little interactions and you wonder how long you have before your dad gets in the way

part one: linger

You couldn’t think straight. You’d been making Eddie some special cappuccino from your secret stash, hallway through reminding him to talk to you and not around you because you couldn’t keep up, giggling as he made a show of looking you directly in the eyes with that boyish smile of his when you noticed Robin smirking from across the office at the sight of you.

She was convinced that Eddie was soft on you because he had a thing for you, you were convinced he was like that with everyone. He didn’t care much for space, or boundaries, you didn’t question him speaking with his head by your neck as he reached over you to point at your papers, thought he was being kind when he insisted on not taking lunch until you did cause he knew you’d not take it otherwise, he was just being friendly when he cursed off anyone who was mean to you, he smiled that much at everyone it didn’t mean anything that he did it for no real reason with you, he didn’t mean to touch your hand that often, wasn’t purposely bumping into you or sneaking up to you, and him jokingly serenading you when you were stressed was definitely him just being goofy.

Now you were spiralling, you thought the two of you were just comfortable, casual, now your head was in bits trying to figure out if you were doing anything to make her think otherwise as well. If only you knew she had the very same conversation with Eddie the day before. Pointed out how for some reason you didn’t mind sharing your things with him and how your strict hand sanitiser rules didn’t apply to him, how you didn’t mind asking him for help, brought him up in any conversation without prompt, looked for him first thing when you got to the office, kept track of his things because he left them all around or how every time he looked at you a little too long or said your name a little too softly or whispered something for you to remember you smiled bigger than you even realised. Eddie had his suspicions and you did too but it was easy to ignore the little things when the days were so chaotic.

Besides, your dad would have a heart attack knowing you even spoke to Eddie about anything but work, he’d pop an artery at the sight of his leg draped over yours or his lips on your cup or his hands on your shoulders, he’d send him packing on sight- not to mention what he’d do to you. Eddie was a good worker, hard worker, didn’t have to be checked on or threatened- your dad valued what he could do for him, but Eddie represented trouble in leather boots and rocker shirts and if this time of the year wasn’t such a horror show, Eddie would’ve been out the door the second he dared even look at you.

He was the only good part of working with your parents, he made it less torturous having to solve crisis after crisis because he didn’t leave you to your own devices. The logical part of you considered that if the two of you were so obvious about it that you should maybe take a step back, leave him be. The selfish part of you considered how nothing could become of your strange little connection, how eventually your dad would use him for maintenance instead of admin and you’d be sent off to one of the other buildings he managed, alone in a little office while you endured two more years of working there to complete university to get to real life. And the part that very rarely got a chance to have a say, the romantic side, well that part considered that no one has ever been this sweet and genuine with you before, that for whatever reason he brought a little joy into your life despite all the things about him that would usually scare you off, and you hoped there was something about you that did the same for him.

“Here, let me see,” you smiled, holding onto his finger and searching for a bandage in your bag, shaking your head as he looked at you so shyly, so pure. He’d been trying to multitask, talk and help and search for people on your list at the same time and caught his finger on a staple. “You can’t do everything at once, Eddie,” you noted and he rolled his eyes, watched your brows knit together as you wrapped his finger up. He didn’t deem it an injury worthy of the treatment he was getting, he’d hurt himself much worse when he was changing locks on rooms with your dad during the holidays but you were so serious about it, held onto the palm of his hand, brushed your thumb over the material to smooth it out and honestly he wasn’t going to stop you.

“But you can?” he countered, kicked lightly at your feet with his boots and leaned a little closer. “Thank you for my threat,” he tried to be soft about it, knew you didn’t hand out your stash to just anyone, knew he’d get himself another cup tomorrow if he looked at you just right, knew you’d get so flustered you’d offer to make it just to get a moment to compose yourself.

“Don’t tell the other boys,” you squeezed his hand, missed the feel of it when you dropped it, got a little container from your pocket and held it in front of him, he breathed a little laugh, he didn’t think you took him seriously when he told you to bake him some cookies to make up for having him run around the building for you. “They’ll think I have favourites.”

“Screw them,” he tutted and he meant it in more ways than one, they didn’t respect you in any way to begin with, wasn’t like they needed a reason in the first place, he knew you hadn’t given them one still. “Everyone knows I get special treatment.”

“From the boss’ daughter,” you gasped, stole the first cookie from his hand before he could bring it to his lips and shrugged, he laughed. “How lucky are you?” you were teasing, but the words did hold some sting, the title didn’t earn you many niceties around the motel.

“The luckiest,” and he stole the cookie right back, not a care as he bit into the side you’d been eating at, ever dramatic as he told you how much he loved it, how amazing you were, how pretty you looked in your pink dress and your hair down like that, how smart he thought you were for taking charge and creating a system from nothing. It was very daydream worthy, the butterflies lingered, but the concept was fleeting, your dad would come to take you to the new building before Eddie finished the drink in his disposable paper cup.

[fuck-customers]

cw: i cursed a lot this time, sorry

now officially former escape room worker here throwing in a final FUCK YOU to my former boss who tried to get me to extend my two weeks notice until the new guy finished training. as if i havent been working Three Jobs with no days off for the last two weeks.

i’m so glad i refused because i just walked out of my final shift ever and i feel free. i feel like a person again. i never have to talk to that asshole ever fucking again. the rest of my now-former coworkers are also on the job search, including the “manager” (in quotes bc he was never officially given the job title, and was only supposed to be covering payroll and scheduling until the boss hired someone else) so i hope he enjoys watching his entire staff jump ship in the next few weeks. good fucking riddance to that hell hole. if i never work customer service again, it will be too soon.

Posted by admin Rodney.

[mostlysignssomeportents]

Biden should support the UAW

On September 22, I'm (virtually) presenting at the DIG Festival in Modena, Italy. That night, I'll be in person at LA's Book Soup for the launch of Justin C Key's "The World Wasn’t Ready for You." On September 27, I'll be at Chevalier's Books in Los Angeles with Brian Merchant for a joint launch for my new book The Internet Con and his new book, Blood in the Machine.

The UAW are on strike against the Big Three automakers. Biden should be roaring his full-throated support for the strike. Doing so would be both just and shrewd. But instead, the White House is waffling…and if recent history is any indication, they might actually come out against the strike.

The Biden administration is a mix of appointees from the party's left Sanders/Warren wing, and the corporatist, "Third Way" wing associated with Clinton and Obama, which has been ascendant since the Reagan years. The neoliberal wing presided over NAFTA, the foreclosure crisis, charter schools and the bailout for the bankers – but not the people. They voted for the war in Iraq, supported NSA mass-surveillance, failed to use their majorities to codify abortion rights, and waved through mega-merger after mega-merger.

By contrast, the left wing of the party has consistently fought monopoly, war, spying, privatized education and elite impunity – but forever in the shadow of the triangulation wing, who hate the left far more than they hate Republicans. But with the Sanders campaign, the party's left became a force that the party could no longer ignore.

That led to the Biden administration's chimeric approach to key personnel. On the one hand, you have key positions being filled by ghouls who cheered on mass foreclosures under Obama:

https://pluralistic.net/2023/03/06/personnel-are-policy/#janice-eberly

And on the other, you have shrewd tacticians who are revolutionizing labor law enforcement in America, delivering real, material benefits for American workers:

https://pluralistic.net/2023/09/06/goons-ginks-and-company-finks/#if-blood-be-the-price-of-your-cursed-wealth

Progressives in the Biden administration have often delivered the goods, but they're all-too-often hamstrung by the corporate cheerleaders the party's right wing secured – think of Lina Khan losing her bid to block the Microsoft/Activision merger thanks to a Biden-appointed, big-money-loving judge:

https://pluralistic.net/2023/07/14/making-good-trouble/#the-peoples-champion

These self-immolating own-goals are especially visible when it comes to strikes. The Biden admin intervened to clobber railway workers, who were fighting some of the country's cruelest, most reckless monopolists, whose greed threatens the nation:

https://pluralistic.net/2023/02/11/dinah-wont-you-blow/#ecp

The White House didn't have the power to block the Teamsters threat of an historic strike against UPS, but it publicly sided with UPS bosses, fretting about "the economy" while the workers were trying to win a living wage and air conditioning for the roasting ovens they spend all day in.

Now, with the UAW on strike against the monopolistic auto-makers – who received repeated billions in public funds, gave their top execs massive raises, shipped jobs offshore, and used public money to lobby against transit and decarbonization – Biden is sitting on the sidelines, failing to champion the workers' cause.

Writing in his newsletter, labor reporter Hamilton Nolan makes the case that the White House should – must! – stand behind the autoworkers:

https://www.hamiltonnolan.com/p/whose-fault-is-it?

Nolan points out that workers who strike without the support of the government have historically lost their battles. When workers win labor fights, it's typically by first winning political ones, dragging the government to the table to back them. Biden's failure to support workers isn't "neutral" – it's siding with the bosses.

Today, union support is at historic highs not seen in generations. The hot labor summer wasn't a moment, it was a turning point. Backing labor isn't just the moral thing to do, it's also the right political move:

https://pluralistic.net/2023/09/14/prop-22-never-again/#norms-code-laws-markets

Biden is already partway there. He rejected the Clinton/Obama position that workers would have to vote for Democrats because "we are your only choice." Maybe he did that out of personal conviction, but it's also no longer politically possible for Democrats to turn out worker votes while screwing over workers.

The faux-populism of the Republicans' Trump wing has killed that strategy. As Naomi Klein writes in her new book Doppelganger, Steve Bannon's tactical genius is to zero in on the areas where Democrats have failed key blocks and offer faux-populist promises to deliver for those voters:

https://pluralistic.net/2023/09/05/not-that-naomi/#if-the-naomi-be-klein-youre-doing-just-fine

When Democrats fail to bat for workers, they don't just lose worker votes – they send voters to the Republicans. As Nolan writes, "working people know that the class war is real. They are living it. Make the Democratic Party the party that is theirs! Stop equivocating! Draw a line in the sand and stand on the right side of it and make that your message!"

The GOP and Democrats are "sorting themselves around the issue of inequality, because inequality is the issue that defines our time, and that fuels all the other issues that people perceive as a decline in the quality of their own lives." If the Democrats have a future, they need to be on the right side of that issue.

Biden should have allowed a railroad strike. He should have cheered the Teamsters. He should be on the side of the autoworkers. These aren't "isolated squabbles," they're "critical battles in the larger class war." Every union victory transfers funds from the ruling class to the working class, and erodes the power of the wealthy to corrupt our politics.

When Democrats have held legislative majorities, they've refused to use them to strengthen labor law to address inequality and the corruption it engenders. Striking workers are achieving the gains that Democrats couldn't or wouldn't take for themselves. As Nolan writes:

Democratic politicians should be sending the unions thank you notes when they undertake these hard strikes, because the unions are doing the work that the Democrats have failed to accomplish with legislation for the past half fucking century. Say thank you! Say you support the workers! They are striking because the one party that was responsible for ensuring that the rich didn’t take all the money away from the middle class has thoroughly and completely failed to do so.

Republican's can't win elections by fighting on the class war. Democrats should acknowledge that this is the defining issue of our day and lean into it.

Whose fault is a strike at the railroads, or at UPS, or in Hollywood, or at the auto companies? It is the fault of the greedy fuckers who took all the workers’ money for years and years. It is the fault of the executives and investors and corporate boards that treated the people who do the work like shit. When the workers, at great personal risk, strike to take back a measure of what is theirs, they are the right side. There is no winning the class war without accepting this premise.

Autoworkers' strikes have been rare for a half-century, but in their heyday, they Got Shit Done. Writing in The American Prospect, Harold Meyerson tells the tale of the 1945/46 GM strike:

https://prospect.org/labor/2023-09-18-uaw-strikes-built-american-middle-class/

In that strike, the UAW made history: they didn't just demand higher wages for workers, but they also demanded that GM finance these wages with lower profits, not higher prices. This demand was so popular that Harry Truman – hardly a socialist! – stepped in and demanded that GM turn over its books so he could determine whether they could afford to pay a living wage without hiking prices.

Truman released the figures proving that higher wages didn't have to come with higher prices. GM caved. Workers got their raise. Truman touched the "third rail of American capitalism" – co-determination, the idea that workers should have a say in how their employers ran their businesses.

Co-determination is common in other countries – notably Germany – but American capitalists are violently allergic to the idea. The GM strike of 45/6 didn't lead to co-determination, but it did effectively create the American middle-class. The UAW's contract included cost-of-living allowances, wage hikes that tracked gains in national productivity, health care and a defined-benefits pension.

These provisions were quickly replicated in contracts with other automakers, and then across the entire manufacturing sector. Non-union employers were pressured to match them in order to attract talent. The UAW strike of 45/6 set in motion the entire period of postwar prosperity.

As Meyerson points out, today's press coverage of the UAW strike of 2023 is full of hand-wringing about what a work-stoppage will do to the economy. This is short-sighted indeed: when the UAW prevails against the automakers, they will rescue both the economy and the Democratic party from the neo-feudal Gilded Age the country's ultrawealthy are creating around us:

https://doctorow.medium.com/the-end-of-the-road-to-serfdom-bfad6f3b35a9?sk=207d6afdb89b0351b92233cc3318ab94

There's a name for a political strategy that seeks to win votes by making voters' lives better – it's called "deliverism." It's the one thing the Trump Republican's won't and can't do – they can talk about bringing back jobs or making life better for American workers, but all they can deliver is cruelty to disfavored minorities and tax-breaks for the ultra-rich:

https://pluralistic.net/2023/07/10/thanks-obama/#triangulation

Deliverism is how the Democrats can win the commanding majorities to deliver the major transformations America and the world need to address the climate emergency and dismantle our new oligarchy. Letting the party's right wing dominate turns the Democrats into caffeine-free Republicans.

When the Dems allowed the Child Tax Credit to lapse – because Joe Manchin insisted that poor people would spend the money on drugs – they killed a program that had done more to lift Americans out of poverty than anything else. Today, American poverty is skyrocketing:

https://thehill.com/opinion/finance/4206837-poverty-made-an-alarming-jump-congress-could-have-stopped-it/

Four million children have fallen back into poverty since the Dems allowed the Child Tax Credit to lapse. The rate of child poverty in America has doubled over the past year.

The triangulators on the party's right insist that they are the adults in the room, realists who don't let sentiment interfere with good politics. They're lying. You don't get working parents to vote Democrat by letting their children starve.

America's workers can defeat its oligarchs. They did it before. Biden says he's a union man. It's time for him to prove it. He should be on TV every night, pounding a podium and demanding that the Big Three give in to their workers. If he doesn't, he's handing the country to Trump.

If you'd like an essay-formatted version of this post to read or share, here's a link to it on pluralistic.net, my surveillance-free, ad-free, tracker-free blog:

https://pluralistic.net/2023/09/18/co-determination/#now-make-me-do-it

[sidesteppostinghours]

WIP its-not-Wednesday-but-close-enough

tagged by @autistic-sidestep! thank you for the tag :D i have,,, so many wips rn. pulp stop starting a million projects challenge. all of these are very rough, and a lot of them feature other steps, but i wanted to share a few :]

for writing, ive got these:

“What the hell, man!” Mitchel hisses. He’s let go, but he hasn’t bothered lowering his voice. Too loud, but real. Caine groans, pulling themselves up from the mattress. At least it wasn’t the floor– this could’ve hurt a lot worse. They wince at the throb in their shoulder as they reach for the wall, probing for a light switch. When he flicks it on reality re-establishes itself once more.  It’s Caine’s room, familiarly bare-bones. There’s only a singular twin sized bed in one corner of the room and a desk just across, with a heap of laundry they haven’t bothered to do taking up the chair. Mitchel stands on the mattress in the middle, both parts pissed and bleary eyed. His cheek is a lightish colour that’s a telltale sign it’s going to bruise, and a portion of his blanket stubbornly clings onto his shoulder. There’s no threat in here, or at least nothing more threatening than Mitchel annoyed. The knowledge doesn’t stop the blood pounding in their ears.

-caine wakes up and gets jumpscared by @hyper-pixels mitchel. they react to this calmly.

Marshal Steel has hair stuck in his finger joints. That's the first thing Daniel noticed when he came in to work this morning. Steel has his civilian hands on, which is normal when he has admin work. Those civilian hands will usually have hair in it too, mostly from Spoon. That's also normal. What's not normal is the colour; because instead of the odd tufts of grey fur Daniel's used to seeing scattering Steel's joints, this is a single, longer strand that he's sure wasn't left on purpose. Because the hair strand is brown. Suspiciously similar to Ortega's own brown hair.

-herald is suspicious that his boss is having another secret relationship with a pretty old man, but its none of his business! not at all. thats why hes eavesdropping on them from the breakroom pantry.

“What are you two talking about?” Ortega jerks, nearly spilling coffee all over Wei, tearing a curse out of him as he yanks his head to the direction of the voice.  Speak of the devil. Caine glances between the two, head cocked. When did he get here? Ortega doesn't remember inviting him, and nobody told him he was coming either. Not that Ortega isn't happy to see him, but the timing… “Dios mio, Spot, how long have you been standing there?” he mutters. He gives his coffee a once over, but nothing's spilled.  He turns back to Caine and double takes. The poor guy looks like he's just run a marathon– he's drenched in his own sweat. He's not wearing his raggedy sweater, for once. Instead, he's got a skintight suit with a simple white tee over it.

-a multi-pov fic featuring the same conversation, but told from the perspective of ortega, chen, and caine. trying to practice voices with it, and so far its been fun digging into each of them!

as for art wips:

-arde and vera based on the song "the villain i appear to be"! i actually made this today after playing the new revelations demo lmfao. i do not remember what arde looks like 😔 im so sorry ive done you a disservice

the next two have blood+mild gore in them, so im throwing them under the cut!

-cyrus gets Fucked Up by a dream version of fawn from @villainsidestep, based on this absolutely vile(/pos) soul read of him:

because why not fuck him up even more??

-mitchel painting i have yet to put down colours for that i am lovingly dubbing "cannibalism (NOT ROMANTIC)". chew it out with your teeth mitchel!!!!

ill be tagging everybody mentioned in the post, plus @idlenight, @disastersteps, and maybe @euelios if you all wanna give this a shot?

[ionicslime]

Excuse me waiter my full name is,

Ionic "im already in cool mode" "tutorial character" "i will get a color role if you beat the path of pain in hollow knight" " @king-of-fuffies do radiant gruz mother" "ADMIN WATCH DAWGS HES TRY TO CHANGE MY COLOR WITHOUT MY CONSENT" "THERE WAS NO BASEMENT! IT WAS THE SECOND FLOOR OF MY HOUSE!" "i don't know what a bong is. WHAT THE FUCK IS A BONG" "there should be a suggestion box on this server. THEY CALL IT THE LITTERBOX" "im going to take an emergency shit" "YOU FORGOT TO PICK UP THE LEGO ON THE FLOOR" "i was the best man AND the pope" "does this look like the face of mercy" "you own him therefore you are responsible for them" "the" "you are the father" "if im a moth do i deal 2 masks of damage" "my body is ready" "if it needs a color role you'll never take me alive" "it was funny but also" "extremely" "extremely" "extremely" "extremely" "cursed" "carleah, not pillar john" "he soaks up more damage that way" "everyone has a horror game dopelganger" "Ruck" "Fuffy get your man’s, He exploded" "I need to find Carleah and steal their liver to take their ability to open the thousand-one year door" "Only then Keane McZupp will explode turning into a bagel at 3 am after ordering the among us happy meal" "ethereal toasters are the only thing that can control toast" "all toasters have secret potato slots" "he is several parallel universes behind" "the internet is a giant mcdonalds" "I’m a ocean" "i cant even throw you, much less pick you up" "he didn't know FedEx had a stand" "funny words magic man" "nothing to see here" "Za Waldo!" "Remember besties, don’t blow stuff in peoples faces unless it’s air kisses, or darts!" "fuffy left me in the car for 4 hours" "There are no mistakey wakeys" "Fuffy I’m like 300% sure you are a pony" "He was pouring out lemonade into the abyss" "**Fuffy was ejected. One Sussy Boy remains**" "The abyss was thirsty" "A funny" "I am not safe for clothes driers" "Can your wall eat a lawn mower" "squirrels do not die at terminal velocity. also theres lizards that fire blood from their eyes as a defense mechanicism" “I bowl like my sexuality: Not straight” "short" "You have 5 minutes to live" "IM A FUCKING CAR KEANE" "\*I mean edgy I mean edgy I mean edgy I mean Edgy" "What is this mario party" "no" "brain issue" "i even crashed your computer" “Seduce the Skeleton!” “Kentucky Fried [REDACTED]” "im scared of my own pasta power sometimes" "He becomes noise pizza tower" "Anything is possible, with the power of Crazy Dave’s Twinkysdinkys" "he eats the golf ball and dies" “Everything is a weapon if you hit someone hard enough” "Happy tale of under unde of tale tdat" "fuffy brain melt. he die" "why are you in my chem textbook" "where is the dinnerbone cat." "Everything is a table." "Was schmoving too hard and bust my ass." "That was just my normal attack. Deploying Unexplainable Gifs" "I am immune to gachas. And they’re immune to me." "Did you know you don’t have organs. The constitution I wrote myself says so." "Go to Burger King" "My attack was so powerful discord crashed" "Fuffy open the door I have 3 sad poems and one sparkler" "If you rearrange final you get fianl" "stop watching cringe and beat the shit out of every boss." “Alright, you’re getting stepped on.” "i am the bio-weapon in youe walls" "*Hello my name is now temporarily humphrey*" "Also I beat up a toaster today," "we got a job to do" Slime

[dirigibleplumbing]

nothign more stressful than google's autofill. I accidentally drafted a google docs fic using my main email address, so I went to share it with my fandom email so I could change ownership. I started typing the username and each letter I typed suggested a more horrible person to share my >15k of kinky MCU CNC Steve/Tony porn. the boss from my high school retail job. the HR manager from the terrible admin job I had at a finance place out of college. the administrator at the org that pays for my mental healthcare. the head of the board of directors of the teen theater group I used to do graphic design for. only half of them even had letters in their name in common with my username. what a cursed service

[neodarkdark]

SVERN CHARACTER INSPIRATIONS + INFLUENCES

Here's a read more because wow paragraphs.

Team Dim Sun Admin - Pokémon Ranger: Shadows of Almia

Classic. This should be self-explanatory and I'm quite sure you can tell with a glance that this is the origin point for Svern's design. His hair may have been changed up a bit, and the eye colour, but it's still pretty obvious. Svern began his life as a Team Dim Sun admin, those nameless guys who broke the fourth wall to complain about their namelessness... in terms of his main story relevance, that's still what he is. Just another guy in the villain gang.

...Keep thinking that.

Dazai Osamu - Bungou Stray Dogs

BSD has a Thing going with stupid smart characters, eccentric characters, characters with Specific kinds of vibes and behaviours, and mixing action and silly nonsense with philosophical twists. Probably in large part because it's heavily inspired by the works of the authors the cast is named after.

Dazai is no exception. He's full of lies and clown behaviour, under which he hides an absolute crapton of stuff. He's also Extremely stupid smart and is constantly playing godtier 4D chess games (with BSD's other stupid smart characters, there are several so they balance each other out).

I cannot possibly explain all of what's going on with Dazai to those not already familiar with BSD in a way that won't sound absurd so I won't try. Finally, he also struggles to see the value in living (he is heavily soaked in suicide themes). Lots of these relate to Svern in some way. Lying liar? Yep. Silly guy with way too much more going on below the surface? Yep. Issues with feeling detached from the rest of the world? Also yep.

This is no surprise; I got into BSD around a similar time I was working on the current interation of Svern (you may remember I've said I got into BSD because of Svern). So I truthfully don't know how much was already there and how much Svern has taken from Dazai.

Nakahara Chuuya - Bungou Stray Dogs

THIS GUY is the reason I got into BSD. I was looking for a faceclaim for Svern and nailing the right vibes with both appearance and expression was really annoying and then boom there was Chuuya.

Chuuya and Svern are massively different in personality, I can't think of much they have in common. Where influence from Chuuya has crept over is in Svern's physical abilities. Chuuya's very active/combat-oriented; which rubbed off on Svern's physical skills getting a buff that wasn't in his original concept, and being more readily involved in physical situations vs just being a big brain. It's honestly a huge improvement and Svern's a lot more fun this way. Chuuya would still absolutely wreck him in a fight though.

I think some of Chuuya's aggressive/angry vibe rubbed off on Svern as well (the anger is mostly underneath the surface in Svern's case though, and Chuuya isn't the only place that it's come from).

Dimentio - Super Paper Mario

This hecking dude. He's a silly clown minion of the main bad guy for most of the game, but you get hints dropped throughout the story that there's more going on with him. Turns out he was plotting behind the back of his boss all along and was only working under him to take advantage of the Cursed Item that his boss unleashed. You have to fight him as the twist final antagonist. Dimentio is on nobody's side but his own and is playing everyone else. He talks like... heeheehoo silly guy dialogue.

I only realised recently that this possibly carried over into some of Svern's manner. As for the role of minor bad guy who turns out to be major bad guy, yeah that works. This one was accidental and probably because SPM is thoroughly embedded in younger me's subconscious.

Obi - Akagami no Shirayukihime

Another one who has a silly guy thing going on. Admittedly it's been a while since I watched AnS or kept up with the manga (I'll get back to it someday), but still relevant nonetheless. If Svern was in a fantasy type verse he'd probably be even more similar to Obi.

Obi's manner and body language are often pretty similar to what Svern's ended up with and although Obi's again, probably more skilled in combat than Svern is, the physical skills do carry over too.

Obi's also referred to like a cat. So. Make of that whatever I guess.

[oldflyingraven]

Day 28: It’s just the tip of the iceberg

Prompt: Anger born of worry

Xisuma gets killed by a glitched wither. Ex is mad.

Read it here or on AO3!

@whumptober-archive

His hand was bleeding heavily. So was his collarbone and some parts of his arm. Xisuma was pretty sure that one of his ribs was broken. He could feel the withering take hold of him. Bad. This was so bad. Hairline fractures were obscuring his vision. When had the wither hit his helmet? Xisuma bit back a curse as he tried to angle his body away from the mob shooting at him again. Glitched mobs were never fun. Glitched boss mobs were even worse. He didn’t have much time left before the thing would take him down. It was inevitable. All he could do was take it down as much as possible so Joe could jump in and finish the job. His fellow admin was standing on the opposite side of the room, digging through the wither’s code with both his hands.

“HOW MUCH-” coughs wracked his body before he could continue. “HOW LONG?!”

“I’VE ALMOST GOT IT X!” Joe responded.

Voidwalkers had a higher resistance to withering, but he wasn’t immune. He could feel the fever take ahold of him. The burning pain from his wounds worked its way deeper into his bones. It almost made him drop his sword. He sliced at the monster again and tried to duck out of the way.

But his reflexes weren’t fast enough anymore. His helmet shattered as his body hit the ground with a violent thud.

Xisuma was killed by a skull from the w̴̢̦͇̼͈͇͕̘̎͑̍̓ĩ̵̼̃̕̚t̵̲͈̭̺̼͍̲̭̻͑̀̃̇h̷̫̙̅̓̉͑̕͝ę̷̧̛̹̘̍̓̄̐͌͒͊́́̓̏ṟ̷̻̭͎̤͕̉̋̒

He woke up gasping, the thick air of the overworld immediately coating his lungs. Luckily, unlike the last time his helmet broke, he did remember where the spare one was. And it was close. He forced his deeply, deeply aching body out of bed and over to his ender chest. The purple particles inviting him over. He couldn’t keep his body up as he reached it and stumbled to the ground. He barely managed to attach the helmet and breathe in the sweet, thin air when someone burst through his his door.

“You fucking IDIOT!” Ex shouted, crouching down to level with his brother.

“Profanity,” Xisuma responded weakly. His chest spasmed, both from the residual withering and the shock of fresh air. It made him cough painfully again. It seemed like the respawn hadn’t cured all of the withering. Neither had it fully healed his broken rib. He gasped in pain.

“What’s wrong?! God X, you’re so stupid. A glitched wither, all alone? You should be glad you even respawned,” Ex continued angrily. Yet contrary to his words he still helped his brother up and over to his bed while he ranted.

“Joe was- Joe is still there! I need to-” Xisuma tried to force himself out of the bed again, but Ex pressed him back down.

“Like hell you are. Joe’s an admin as well. If you really want to check how he’s doing you can use your HUD.” he breathed out. “Fuck, Xisuma. You could’ve asked me for help as well. I might not be an admin but I know my way around code. And Void knows I have experience with glitches. You’re an idiot. You know what glitched withers are like!” he noticed the way his brother was shivering. Without saying anything, and with a lack of access to his brothers forehead he reached over and grabbed his wrist. “You’re running a fever,” he concluded.

“Must be the withering. Respawn didn’t cure it all,” Xisuma said thinly. “And please,” he breathed in shakily. “Stop shouting at me.”

“I’m- one second,” Ex said, turning away and walking out of the room. When he returned he was holding a potion. “Regeneration one. Won’t cure you but should help with the fever and pain a little,” he said, decorking the potion and handing it over with shaky hands.

Xisuma forced himself to drink it even though his stomach felt like there was a brick in it. “Thank you.”

“You scared me,” Ex admitted quietly.

“What?” Xisuma responded dumbly.

“I- I’m sorry for shouting at you. You scared me,” he repeated.

“Oh,” Xisuma breathed out. “I’ll be fine Ex. I didn’t mean to scare you.”

“Then don’t do this again. Please. At least tell me if you’re going to do something like this again. Void knows that I know how dangerous glitches can be. I don’t want to-” he didn’t finish his sentence, but Xisuma got what he meant anyway.

“You won’t,” he said. “But I’ll tell you in the future. Thank you for telling me.”  

Ex couldn’t look at Xisuma after that, the vulnerability becoming a little too much for him. So he looked down at his communicator and shot Joe a message.

EX whispers to Joehillssays: Suma is here

EX whispers to Joehillssays: You got the wither under control?

Joehillssays whispers to EX: It’s down. Thanks for looking after Xisuma.

Joehillssays whispers to EX: Is he okay?

EX whispers to Joehillssays: He's not in danger anymore.

EX whispers to Joehillssays: I’ll

EX whispers to Joehillssays: I’ll make sure he’s okay.

[madillhethen]

Cursed arm hassan, kintoki, and/or Dr. Roman for the character bingo?

Cursed Arm Hassan-I’ll be honest and admit I forget a lot about him. In HF, I absolutely hated him but at the same time, I couldn’t really hate him. Everyone was fighting for a wish, he wanted a wish, even when Zouken was hacking with admin access the Grail War, Hassan tried to stay focus—but he was a loyal servant to his master. We didn’t get to explore much on him, but I did feel a sense of disturbance between his relationship with Zouken so not completely agreement.

Obviously FGO, expands his character which I actually really loved. His relationship with Arash and the other Hassan’s, his almost knightly demeanor towards King Hassan, it was all great. I feel the fan base just forgets him a lot so yeah, done dirty. Also, I do think he’s a lot deeper than he seems—man just wants his face and name because he doesn’t remember and we can pick that apart layer by layer.

I keep forgetting to put free space for everyone pfft. Anyways, Kintoki. Honestly, I don’t know much about him 😅. I’ve seen him in events and he appeared in London. He seems cool, reliable and has an amazing fighting style. I definitely feel he needs more then his last-boss ally support appearance that he got.

And he has a biker theme. How can that not be cool.

Romani--my favorite character from FGO. I definitely love him a lot despite what the bingo makes it look like. As for cool design, I actually wouldn’t describe Romani’s design as ‘cool’ but more...aesthetically pleasing? Romani’s almost pastel palette makes him like a calming and charming type of character. 

I know its contradictory to say that he’s deep and not as deep, but I feel if you take his connection to Solomon and Goetia as a whole, he seems rather deep, but if you ignore all of it or exclude it, Romani’s just a regular Doctor. He’s mostly done away with his part as Solomon so just taking him as he is, I don’t think he’s a terribly complex character. 

And I do standby that Romani hasn’t done anything wrong in his life. I know Chaldea and Marisbury is rather suspicious but Romani himself joining and giving Mash a somewhat childhood/regular life as best he could, him taking on the Director’s job, he never had to do any of it. After he became human, he technically had no obligation to save humanity. He still went out of his way to do it, and even if Chaldea is sketchy, it was the best possible course for him to save humanity.

[fuck-customers]

TW: Drug Mention, Cursing

Look, if you're gonna come into the store so high you don't remember how to speak it's probably not worth your time to try and steal from the store. Like I get it right, the cost of living and needing courage blah blah blah, but we're a small business. We barely can afford to be open as it is because distributors are charging a kidney and an eyeball for us to get products in. We have a well advertised hold program where we'll set something aside for you and when you have the money it will be there for you because was get that life fucking sucks right now. Please just use that cause I'm tired of using the mom voice and banning people.

Also to the lady to who dropped her little baggie (you unfortunately know the one) and looked DIRECTLY INTO THE CAMERA just know we all had a good laugh and took care of it. Not that management really cares and we're not gonna rat you out cause we all have our vices, but the deer in headlights look was priceless. Next time leave your shit in the car or, even better, at home.

And to the lady who was beating down the locked door ten after close; I hope watching me leave out of the back door was as satisfying for you as it was for me. The dark store, me walking down the middle aisle in full view, the flash of light as the door opened only to leave darkness behind and you looking dumb as fuck? I've shown the replay to all my coworkers and even my boss, I want that shit played at my funeral, a qr on my headstone that links to the video.

Oh, to the guy who picked up our cute little outdoor chalkboard in broad daylight and walked off with it you got guts dude. Like damn you got some nerve taking my one joy at this job away from me. Am I gonna report you? Nah, things was cheap as shit and I'm tired of customers as it is. You do you man, I get paid to be here either way.

Posted by admin Rodney.

[the-letter-horror-lover]

Another Horse, Fiery Red by Javanne

Anime » Kuroshitsuji Rated: T, English, Drama & Supernatural, [Alan H., Eric S.] [Grell S., William S.], Words: 134k+, Published: May 28, 2021 Updated: Oct 27

3Chapter 31: Planning

Minutes of the Hiring Committee; Meeting Room A. Attendees: Eric Slingby, Personnel; Samuel Terry, Personnel; Alan Humphries and Diederik Ten Hagen, Operations.

*click* Eric: Is this thing working? The light's on… *click. Squeee wibble wibble is this thing working? click*

*click* "Okay. The purpose of this meeting is to plot our responses when the Angels break the Thorns curse. We want to start recruiting from the Hostel at once, getting our hires lined up as soon as the doctors pronounce them fit. This will not happen all at once. The sickest will probably need care for a while. Sam Terry's my Number Two. Dutch, you are here because you are most familiar with the patients. Alan, you're our boss and too damn clever to leave out. Liz, please have one of yer interns type this up and give us all copies."

Dutch: "There are quite a few possible hires in the hospice right now. You can write off the Maritime Reapers. They are longing to return to the sea. They'll all be off to Margate for reassignment the minute they're released. But drylanders who were expelled from their branches for being cursed are definitely going to be looking for new jobs. London's famous as a good place to work."

Alan: "We have to determine if applicants bring unacceptable philosophies with them. I won't have anyone who's unable to adjust to the diversity of London. If they don't want to work with anybody who didn't come from the same ignorant and insular Branch that they did, then by the Highest they go back home."

Eric: "No bullies, no bigots, no swashbucklers, no slackers. Damn, we're spoiled, aren't we? After years of skimming the cream from the British Academy and training them up from their internships? Well. We'll take the ones who look like decent matches and transfer anybody who can't behave. Plenty of other Branches will be eager to hire them. Sam, are you done in Bristol? I want you to take charge of this."

Sam: "I've suggested some people to replace me there. Senior Garraway is interviewing now and will probably hire three of them to cover all shifts. I've been going with Dutch on his candy runs, taking requests for different flavors, talking with everyone who's well enough to talk with me."

Dutch: "Really, there are very few truly nasty Reapers at the hospice. Most are just folks who were doing their jobs. There's a lot of anger, but it's not focused on London. We're the ones who took them in when nobody else would."

Sam: "Yes, and the understaffed Branches who banished them might sit on their records to force them to return. Our Admins can talk to their Admins. We can request their student records. As for their work records, we may have to appeal to Auditing or Judicial to get the originals."

Eric: "Copies are good enough. As soon as we add our data to them, the originals go out-of-date and are worthless. We'll get the copies. I'll see to it, or Liz will."

Alan: "Sam, could you make up a 'Work for London' packet, listing our salary schedules, housing options, medical care, shift requirements and rules of behavior? With an interview request form? Name, rank, number, Branch and Academy? I'll get Supplies to print them for you. You can hand those out the day the cure is announced."

Eric: "We'll look pretty damn good compared to the other headhunters who arrive the next week with jolly promises but no materials. Sam, offer info on the support services too. They'll be happy to have trained fighters in case of invasion. Then we interview those who still want to be Reapers."

Sam: "A lot of the ambulatory are still working support jobs. Should we ask the other Divisions if they want to make up their own packets, and hand them out at the same time? That way we don't have to filter out the Reapers from those who want to continue in Supplies or Admin."

Dutch: "Can't do it. That spreads the rumor that there's a cure already. Also ruins our chances of being first through the door. Mister Humphries—Alan, can you keep the print shop quiet, or should we wait for the Silence to be lifted?"

Alan: "Good point. We wait."

Sam: "But the minute we have permission, I'll talk to the other London personnel departments and they'll only be a day or two behind us. Then we can tell the patients that the Personnel representatives for the support services will soon arrive. We'll collect the Reaping applications and go over them to weed out the odds and sods. I'll want you to tell me about any unpleasantness you've had at the hospice."

Alan: "There wasn't any that I saw. Patients never objected to me filling candy bowls. I was considered a friend of Werther's. For the rest, I was just another paint-splattered volunteer until Supplies and Maintenance arrived. One or two of them recognized me. It was their superiors who complained that I was meddling."

Dutch: "Besides the inflexible or unpleasant individuals, a lot of them may prefer smaller Branches if it's what they're used to. London may be overwhelming. Maybe the application should ask for preferences? And ask if they've trained Juniors in the past. They can help teaching our Juniors while we're getting them ready to return to war."

Sam: "The best of the lot get a guided tour through the Branch. We drop anyone who turns purple at the idea of an office not restricted to a single gender or race. Then we do final individual interviews, and hire based on that. Jobs provisional for six months, because that's when the glamor wears off. We want them able to change their minds and leave without too much paperwork. Also, we need to be able to terminate people who only start being poisonous after they're settled in and feel secure in the job. Remember Anders." Anders had been Terry's first Senior. Terry would never forget training under a mentor who was sinking into madness.

Dutch: "Introduce them to Alan, too. There are some odd rumors in the Realm about him. Don't want anybody to try preaching them here."

Alan: "May I suggest you take some help with you on your recruiting run? Jacobs and Knox? Each has his own magic. Avram looks comfortable and understanding. Ronnie looks like fun, which is something these Reapers have forgotten about. Gupta and Onayemi might encourage their countrymen to apply. Note anybody who reacts poorly to them. Sorry, don't mean to interfere, I know you'll do a fine job."

Eric: "We're going to have to set up combat and conditioning training for recruits severely out of practice."

Alan: "We can do that at the Academy. I'll sell it to the Bursar as auditable classes for students and instructors interested in foreign techniques, and as research into adding those techniques to our own classes. You might consider housing our convalescents there as well. There will be a gap between release from the Hospice or Hostel and their first paychecks. We don't want them starting out in debt to Housing. If you like, I'll ask for unused beds in the new dormitories. Medical care would be easily available for the inevitable training injuries. I'll mention that these Reapers will be a pool of free advisors with battlefield experience. That should be worth their food and rent."

Eric: "Aye. Then we'll run them through the same classes we give our Academy hires, to give them time to get comfortable with our rules and procedures. Also, they'll need a review of Operations. We should schedule a few entire-branch emergency drills, we're overdue anyway. They have to learn what to expect if we're invaded and Admin forts up. Don't want any of ours getting squashed when those big filing cabinets pivot and lock to form a shieldwall. I'll ask Liz to talk to Dorrie and Fred. They'll arrange everything."

Dutch: "All we need is the cure."

Sam: "I'll start on the hiring packet today. Alan, can we bribe or bully the Print Shop to be on standby for a medium-size job for us, to take priority over other runs upon delivery?"

Alan: "Suppose we go visit them now. You'll like Senior Vollmer."

Eric: "I'll ask Liz to have one of her interns type this up. Dutch, can ye make up a list of yer top picks so I can start folders on them?"

*click*

"I suggest you go to Will and tell him your plans now. I'll go to Brock and ask him to set up the processes to add multiple names to the payroll." Alan closed his desk drawer and locked it. Eric waited at the door.

"D'ye think Spears might object to filling our roster to the limit? He's always concerned about exceeding his budget."

"All these empty slots are within the budget. He knows that, he knows I know that. Let him call me in to make a token protest if he feels the need. Brock and I will spike his guns. But cost is not his worry here – the real drawback will be the screams of outrage from all the Branches who didn't think ahead to a possible cure, who didn't realize that convalescents could become an untapped pool of unemployed Senior Reapers. Some will want their expelled Reapers back, whether those Reapers want to return or not. He'll need to warn Madame Administrator that there will be protests, so they can agree on their responses."

"On a sliding scale between 'finders keepers' and 'sod off,' Spears will probably hover at 'you had your chance and blew it.' He'll enjoy that."

"Oh, won't he just. But they'll all know who to blame. We've put off the day when Madame will have to separate us or allow me to assume battlefield duties."

"Alan—"

"We'll recommend our rejects to the Branches where they will fit right in. That should settle everyone down. I mean, of course, that you and Sam will. Sam's stepping right up, isn't he? So's Dutch. And I begin to see in Ronald the beginnings of a Director. Madame approves of them."

"How do you know that?"

"Still here, aren't they?"

32: The Breaking

In Margate, Junior Hayes collapsed during his daily rounds. His teammates ran to defend him, but there were no demons to be found in the area. Hayes regained his feet, stumbled, and finally was able to walk three steps unsupported. "It snapped. I can breathe," he said, and fainted dead away. He was taken to his Branch's first-aid room, where he fell into a heavy healing sleep under the concerned eye of a nurse.

In London, Charlie Fancher was commenting on a sudden chill breeze when Jonas Burns suddenly fell to his knees and wrapped his arms around his torso. "Charlie. Something, something broke. Get me back, I need to lie down."

"Be still, Jonas." Charlie tapped his glasses. In three minutes, five Reapers had arrived to help transport the unconscious Burns to the Infirmary.

In the Hospice, the Angelic nurses suddenly came to attention. They left whatever they were doing and fled to the wards which held the weakest patients. A cool wind seemed to brush through all the rooms. Suddenly the Hostel's ambulatory patients moaned or gasped and fell to the floor or onto their beds. Orderlies and nurses-in-training ran to help them. Cafeteria and Maintenance personnel heard calls for help and ran to pick up the fallen. There were injuries, mostly bruises. The patients lost consciousness quickly. Doctor Stafford alerted the Medical Division and asked for all possible doctors and nurses who could be spared from the Academy Hospital.

Across the Realm, Thorns-cursed Reapers dropped at their desks, at their stations, on their rounds; those on rest shifts cried out in their beds, fell into a deeper sleep and could not be awakened. Dropped or tapped glasses lit up the Monitoring boards. Sweep teams responded at once. Branch infirmaries filled with unconscious Reapers brought in by frightened partners and co-workers.

Doctor Collins, called to the London Infirmary, found Burns on a cot surrounded by Humphries, Slingby and other Operations personnel. They stood away as he approached his patient – he'd trained them well. They watched silently as he pulled away the covers from Burn's chest.

The Thorns scars were retreating. Fading away.

Humphries looked at Collins. Collins nodded and addressed Burns' partner.

"He's healing, Mister Fancher. He's in a healing sleep. The best thing we can do is leave him undisturbed; his case was in the early stages, and he is strong. But we have a warehouse full of patients who are far sicker and weaker. Reapers, will you give them time?"

"Yes. We will. Tell us what to do."

"Come to the portal, then."

Doctor Stafford was at first displeased with an invasion of Reapers during a time of great disruption. Collins quickly explained.

"These are healthy volunteers who wish to grant time to those who might not last out their healing sleep. Please direct us to those most in need," said Collins, and Stafford led the way to Ward One. In the silent ward he pointed out the dying. To each went a Reaper who sat down, pulled off a glove and laid a hand on bare skin. Patients sighed, breathing eased and became regular. Collins followed, checking up on each one. "Don't force it, Mister Knox, gently – that's good. Humphries, do not overextend yourself. Very good, Mister Slingby, but if you feel any pull on your bond send your partner home. Excellent, Miss Solway. You have a talent, Miss Brodie. That's good, Mister Fancher, but you are weary and worried. I shall call Mister Spears to tell him where you all are, and to ask him for more volunteers; the first to arrive shall replace you, and you shall go back and rest."

"May I return to the Infirmary, Doctor?"

"Patient intake at the Infirmary will be rapid now. You'll be in the way. Better if you go drum up a few more volunteers. Send along as many off-duty people as you can find; there are three more wards of the seriously ill. Tack up notices in your Cafeteria and the local bars. In about four or five hours you can try the Infirmary again. Your partner will not wake before then. I expect he'll sleep until morning. When he wakes, I want to see him before they discharge him. You have my number at the Academy, I know, and do you have the number for the switchboard here? Very good."

Collins made his call to Spears. Spears, for once – Heaven be praised – did not argue.

"Doctor, may I assume that this emergency is specific to our Thorns sufferers?"

"Yes, sir, the entire Hostel and Hospice patient population went down together, but Medical and support staff were unaffected. All patients have entered a healing sleep. Please send whatever staff you can spare. We are asking them to grant time to those who are not strong enough to complete their healing. I know this is a great deal to ask; it will tire them, and they will have to rest afterwards."

"I understand and will comply. Thank you, Doctor. Expect groups of volunteers soon."

Nurses led in a few more volunteers from the food and housing services. Collins returned to Ward One to send Fancher to find other helpers at the Branch.

Fancher found Spears amassing those who could be spared.

"Senior Jacobs, you and I shall stay. Senior DePoy, you also, and enough of your people to manage any emergency. Senior Brock, you or Peabody may go but not both of you. The rest of Bookkeeping may go. Senior Terry, you have materials for the Print Shop; deliver those, and then you may go. Senior Ten Hagen, stay and hold Operations. Mister Wójcik, ask Scheduling to switch to a skeleton crew. Send all the freed staff here. Call the Infirmaries and the Hospice and Hostel, find out where our people are most needed.

"Senior Vanderveldt, check the breakrooms and showers for strays. Bring all desk-duty Juniors and Seniors in here now. Senior Gupta, start alerting other Branches to check up on any personnel who've gone missing or were working alone. Medical may be delayed in issuing a bulletin, but once they do you may stop.

"Mallory, keep enough of Security here to repel any attack. Senior Fancher, you will guide this group to the Hospice and see them deployed by the doctors there. Ask if we should be ready to supply a second shift, and if so, how many. Return and report. Senior ffoulkes, go with him and remain to adjust the portals to move people to other venues as the doctors require.

"Senior Knox – Knox, where are you?"

"He's already at the Hospice, sir."

"Senior Jacobs, contact the Garrison and warn them that we have a situation. Tell them we have gone to minimal staffing for this shift. Ask them to step up their patrols and protections. They should contact Medical for further information."

"At once, Director, although they certainly already know. A curse-breaking of this magnitude would echo through their halls. The Angelic nurses at the Hospice would have had a moment's warning, at least, which might have also extended to the Garrison." Avram chuckled, then laughed. Spears raised an eyebrow.

"A blessing, Will. A malicious and powerful curse is broken. It has released its victims and rebounded upon its casters. Twofold at least. Maybe tenfold. No, I don't think we'll see many demons outside the Demonic realm for the next few days. Careful there, Director. You almost smiled. Appearances must be maintained!"

At the hospice, Slingby murmured to Mister Jones. "Hold on, laddie. I have you safe. You will recover. I'll see you do not go back to the mines. Would you like to work on Snowdon, up against the sky? Watching the stars wheel about you, the clouds swell and fade, the seasons marching in their order? Or the Hielands of Scotland, if ye can bear to leave Wales? I know some of the local Branch managers. Ye'll see the heather in its bloom, the running rivers, the storms and the calms, the dawns and the dusks, the comings and goings of moon and sun. The mines will be worked by those who hate weather, who long for the dark and silence and the slow songs of the living earth. But ye must hold on, be ye ever so weary. The pain is gone, the marks are going away. Sleep deep, let the healing cleanse you of all the damage the curse has done. I will not leave unless another takes me place, to give you all the strength and the time you need. You will wake to a brighter day. A pretty nurse will bring ye tea. Or an orderly, for I cannot honestly promise ye the pretty nurse, but still you will have your tea. And ye will tell me where you would like to serve."

Across the room, Alan smiled. Another cool breeze gently passed. A hand fell on his shoulder. "Alan Humphries, friend and counsellor. I submit your boon."

"Sandriel. Seraph of mercy. Will my Reapers, my students, will all these people recover?"

"That's why I'm here, and not only myself. The hosts of Raphael are sent to all the corners of your Realm, to visit the weakest who cannot recover unaided. Behold," and a hand reached down to touch the cheek of the patient in the bed. There was a scent of spring, a slight glow of summer. The patient sighed.

Alan sat up and looked behind him. "Careful you don't catch your hems on the bedframe."

"Alas, circumstances require full ceremonial robes. Or so I have been instructed. Admittedly I will shed this costume the minute I can. Listen, a very few of the neediest are in their own beds in your catacombs. Please do not claim that our visits to them are trespassing. Strictly emergency medical care, do you agree?"

"Of course, and so I shall say to any indignant official who needs to hear it. My deepest thanks. Can you please see to the rest of the patients here as quickly as possible?"

"Yes. Come along, this man no longer needs your help. Ah, Mister Slingby, let me aid your patient. Oh, he's very weak, poor fellow." He reached out. "Blessings and strength be yours, Reaper, and hope for a new day. The quickening of spring, the burgeoning of summer…There now. That will do very well. I'll have another look before I leave, but he will be well. Miss Solway, well met. Let me – there. He'll survive his healing now."

Sandriel quickly moved around the ward. At the completion of his circle, he addressed the volunteers. "You have done all you can here. Go to the other wards to see where you are needed. I will follow as quickly as possible. When we have strengthened all who need help, you will be free to return to your homes and duties. Let's go to Ward Two now."

33: A riffling of pages

*click* A riffling of pages

Sam: Um. Liz, can one of your interns transcribe this please? Copies to us both, Terry and Ten Hagen.

Dutch: We've got forty-eight solid prospects. Is that enough?

Sam: Should fill out first shift, half of third, half of second. But that's assuming that all of these applicants will pass inspection, that none will change their minds, that Alan will persuade Spears that we can afford to staff fully. Avram's marked a couple of these fellows as iffy, in that he feels they're embroidering their histories. Ronnie is unsure about three who seem to be trying too hard to tell him what they think he wants to hear. Chichi has flatly stated that there are six she does not have time to educate, four of whom may not be educable at all. If they aren't willing to work with all their colleagues, they will be very unhappy with Scheduling's decisions. Scheduling will not cater to their prejudices. The six include all of the ones flagged by Avram and Ronnie.

Dutch: Not my job, I know, but if Chichi won't approve them, we shouldn't either.

Sam: Eric evidently has a use for them, well away from us. He sent them to Dorrie to apply for a group deal with Chilwell. He says it's an undemanding assignment for convalescents. They won't have to work with anyone but each other. For now, I'd say our actual number of possibilities is forty-two.

Dutch: If we keep recruiting as the more damaged patients are released, we'll slowly fill to near pre-war levels. But they will need time to recover, learn, become comfortable and settle in.

Sam: We have to remember that none of these will be immediately available for battlefield duty, unless like Jonas Burns they were in the earliest stages. Most will need rehabilitation. But when that's done, we're getting experienced battlefield Reapers, not graduates or new Juniors with up to three years of training yet to go.

Dutch: Had my eye on a fourth-year Junior, but he's already being courted by Maritime. You can smell the salt across the room. Oh, well. A Brummie told me he'd heard that the three-year requirement may be dropped to two and a half. Just a rumor.

Sam: Nothing official on that. Maybe it will be a Branch-by-Branch decision, depending on staffing levels, but it hasn't hit Bristol yet. They'd be one of the first. Most of our rejects will be directed to Bristol to shore up D'Acres' rebuilding of that Branch. Possibly the perfect destination for applicants with diversity problems. Bristol can't hire graduates yet. The stuffier applicants will be gradually introduced to a wider world as D'Acres begins choosing trainees from our remarkably diverse Academy. They'll adjust or move on.

Dutch: Comes of Britain being a trading and transport hub for the world's shipping. How are Roland and Fitz doing? I miss them sometimes.

Sam: They're doing fine. Enjoying themselves and improving the place no end. Now, we have forty-one good prospects. There are a few others debating whether London is a good choice – mostly folks who aren't sure about big city work, when the war is over. A few who were happy in their last Branches but aren't sure they'll be welcomed back. Thorns still carries a huge stigma in some of these places.

Dutch: We'll need to be careful… (pause) however are we going to protect them…

Sam: Explain.

Dutch: Alan's a target. He's resented in many Branches which did not welcome his innovations. There's a lot of jealousy of London's successes. There are many places where plush and cozy arrangements and positions got upended by his changes. And Eric is well-hated by any number of people who started fights that he won. We are used to defending against demons, and are cautious around Angels. But our own people? Not as much.

Sam: Ah.

Dutch: Now we are going to salt our Branch with strangers. Lots of them. English, Scottish, Welsh, Irish. Every flavor of European and Asian and African. All we ask is competence, diligence and the pretense of tolerance. Not trainees fresh from school, or transfers off a years-long waiting list, but unknown Seniors with their own long-established histories, customs and alliances. We could hire another Anders. We could take in someone who's been promised rewards for information. For plotting, for gathering a few conspirators to arrange Reaping accidents. Or bar fights which roll out into the street where scythes are legal. They might feint at the Operations chiefs while actually targeting Spears; they could do us a great deal of future damage by removing Knox.

Sam: Which is why the induction forms and procedures have been changed. Eric has his worries, though they are mostly focused on Alan. He has asked Dorrie to rewrite the contracts. She's adding some fine print. Basically, anyone applying must be interviewed by Avram. If they make him itch, we send them off. Then there will be background checks. And they will, if hired, be partnered with Londoners.

Dutch: Add a clause that allows us to question them in the presence of a Garrison Angel so they can't lie. Some of them will make stupid but harmless mistakes, we all do that. We want to detect the acts which were deliberately malicious. I know you've already got a 'fired without notice or references' clause.

Sam: Well, no. Just the 'out on your arse' bit. We shall give them references which explain in detail exactly why we sacked them. Eric says it's unfair to the next employer to cover up a known problem. Besides, many Branches won't care about the prejudices we don't tolerate. But just getting hired doesn't put them back on active duty, you know. They'll go through retraining and reconditioning. That will expose them to everybody on their shift. They'll have story times with Avram, weapons drill with everyone with a skill to teach and a tale to tell. We'll drag them to the Scythe and Skull. We will learn if they can manage their drinking, and find out what sort of jokes they think are funny, and which people they will avoid. We'll see what they make of gentle Reapers and warlike Admins who share office space in happy amity. Think of it as a month-long Gather.

Dutch: And we warn Security, and we watch. Remember, the Scythe and Skull tonight, no later than twenty-two hundred.

Sam: To meet Eric and his party for the Twa Corbies.

Dutch. Yes. He wants Alan there. That means a sizeable escort.

Sam: Bar fight expected?

Dutch: Not exactly. House rules forbid indoors aggression but the outside is street rules. It's an interesting setup, a neutral country in a way. Citizens of all realms are welcome so long as they behave themselves. Offers special services and amenities unavailable elsewhere. No, I know what you are thinking. It's not a brothel. Strictly a drinking establishment.

Sam: O joy. O rupture. Remind me why we are doing this.

Dutch: Because our presence was requested by a demon who can probably kill us both, if he can catch us outside. Because Spears demanded to know why the heck a satanic military leader wants a chat with us. Because Alan's curious about the sudden cessation of demonic predation. Because Avram's been chuckling for two days and won't tell anyone why. Because Eric said so, and it's safer to grump at me than at him. Sorry, Sam. Fergilept has news for us. If it was private he wouldn't have gone through Spears. Also, I think he needs to discharge the debt he owes us.

Sam: I hate you. Officially on the record, too, because this machine is still running—

*click*

34: The Twa Corbies

The first of the Londoners to enter the Twa Corbies that night were Knox and Grell. She had explained that no lady could go unescorted into such a place. Will could not go; it would imply official interest, driving the other customers away. Knox was voluntold by Will to provide that escort and any protection necessary.

Grell wanted to be first into the target site, but not to attract unwanted attention. Dressed in a faded, frayed uniform borrowed from Supplies, hair tied back under her collar and color-changed to brown, carrying a stout basket, she played the part of a worn and weary Reaper buying wine for her kitchen (fully blessed, please, it's been such a difficult month for us; one good burgundy, one good chablis, and two vins ordinaires.) After a short discussion with the cellarman, she accepted a glass of sherry from the bartender. While the bottles were wrapped and snugged into the basket (ordinares on top, please) Knox ordered a pint. They drifted off to the benches to join other shadows in silent drinking.

The next to arrive were ffoulkes and Sorenson. Sorenson identified himself to the host as a chauffeur, one staying sober to transport his friends home, and ordered a lemon squash. The bartender offered him the traditional parting coffee on the house – "Just ask for it when they're almost ready to leave," - and drew a mild and bitter for ffoulkes, who appeared to have been drinking for a few hours already.

Frank Bourne arrived alone, procured a glass of wine and faded silently to a table near the rear.

Eric ported Alan directly to the front door and whisked him inside. Alan looked around carefully, trying not to betray his great interest. Dim quarters with an uncertainty about the positioning of walls and furnishings. The seating was all in shadows. Dimensions seemed theoretical at best. Sound seemed muffled. "How big is this place?" he murmured.

"As big as it needs to be. Not too many Reapers here tonight, that's reasonable. Many regulars will be in happier places celebrating the recoveries of their partners and friends."

Customers were hunched on benches or over tables. Quite a lot of them were demonic and drinking with a grim determination. Several more might be Angelic, although it was difficult to be certain. There were groups standing and sitting in quiet conversation. The only illumination was over the bar, the light broken and diffused by the hanging wineglasses. The bottles and barrels on the wall included shapes and colors Alan had not seen before, not that he was terribly experienced with liquor; drinking did not ease his pain or sorrow as it did for Eric.

Alan ordered a half pint. He waited while Eric conferred with the Cambion behind the bar. After a discussion and two or three small samples, the bartender filled his flask with a fine single malt. With a pint of stout in hand Eric guided Alan to the table where Frank waited with his glass of red. They settled down into companionable comfort.

"Do they hire Nephilim too?"

"Ach, yes. Their brewmaster, for one. Taste yer ale and you'll see. The Angels can bless the ingredients and the finished product, but ye need a master for the brewing. Else ye'll never have perfection."

"Yes, of course. Frank, once all our convalescents leave the Hospice, I'd like to negotiate for deliveries of the angel-blessed tea for general distribution to the Cafeterias and to any Reaper who wants it. Will that upset anyone in your Realm?"

"No, it shouldn't. Talk to Ramiel at the Hospice."

Eric looked around and counted. The backup crew was now in place.

There were strict rules governing any fight tonight. Firstly, of course, by house rules it must take place in the street outside. Secondly, by rules of the Realm, Reapers could not draw scythes on each other outside the training fields or duelling pitches; certainly not in the midnight hours outside disreputable bars in bad areas; never when they had been indulging in alcohol. Their attackers would include Reapers, or demons glamoured to look like the sort of Reapers who would disobey those rules. Rather than spend the next morning explaining themselves to the authorities and then to Spears, the crew would limit themselves to utility knives, fists, belts, and any mundane object that could be picked up from the remarkably clean street outside the bar. Obviously the street was raked and hosed down every morning.

Ten Hagen and Terry arrived shortly after. Dutch looked relaxed and ready for his ale; Terry looked like a man who was humoring his partner and was determined not to enjoy it. He did, however, find his drink to be remarkably good. Together they settled at a table between Eric's and Sorenson's. Dutch talked quietly, as one who was trying to ease his friend out of a sulk.

A large demon solidified at their table. He had been a dark spot on the benches on the wall. He'd already had a few, as demons count them, and was just a little tiddly.

"There you are. About time! I'm here to discharge my debt. The damn thing itches unbearably."

"Hello, Fergilept," said Dutch pleasantly. "How's life?"

"Perfectly dreadful, thanks ever so." He drew up a chair and settled himself. "The Angels did something awful to us. I know you bloody Reapers are at the bottom of this; on their own, those smug, self-satisfied, conceited pigeons can't be bothered with an external problem unless it's shooting at them or disrupting their choir practice." Fergilept took a hefty swig of whatever noxious brew was attempting to eat through his glass. Dutch looked at the drink, which looked back with hostility.

"Surely they didn't bring an assault on your gates?" asked Sam innocently. "Aren't there treaties about that sort of thing?"

"Nothing so direct, of course. I have no idea what did happen. A large number of middle-level managers just exploded. More have been converted into skeletons woven from brambles; nothing to be done but pot them up and plant them out as roadside hedges or formal shrubberies. Wind blowing through the canes sounds like distant screaming, so they fit right into the general décor. There's already a betting pool on whether they will bloom and fruit in spring."

"Probably the best possible use for managers anyway," offered Dutch sympathetically. "Careful with the berries, they'll be poisonous."

"Whole hosts of middle managers have taken to their beds. Lower-middle and lower-upper types are ill, and all the communications lines and command channels are down. The power vacuum is enormous. Work is halted while the remaining boss hopefuls claim the new vacancies with all available weapons and henchbeings."

"Oh, dear," said Sam with a fair imitation of distress. Fergilept growled and quaffed messily. A few drops landed on the table and scuttled away.

"Lucifer is laughing his arse off, when he's not ranting about 'independent actions taken without prior notification of their superiors' and 'due consideration of rollback strategies to mitigate the consequences of failure.' His lieutenants are going mad trying to settle the status wars among their underlings while preserving their own positions."

There were a few snickers from dark demonic figures around the room.

"Whole penitentiaries of souls condemned to serve as scribes have broken loose. Their surviving guards and overseers are fleeing in all directions. The escapees are running wild amidst Hell's bureaucracy. Most are drunk. All are starting fires in the file storage sections. All the pipes are frozen solid. None of the pipes that burst were anywhere near the fires."

"Your Admins must be frantic," said Dutch. A drop of Fergie's drink was gnawing on the toe of his shoe. Dutch eased his foot close to Fergie and shook the beastie off. It fastened on to the demon's … leg? Shank? Nether limb. It chittered at him indignantly.

"Reports from the Human Realm indicate large numbers of escaped souls have re-embodied. They're begging admission into religious communities as penitents. The local authorities are arresting them as fugitives from military conscription and turning them over to the armies. They have exchanged one Hell for another. You'll be returning them to us from the battlefields. Their escape routes are now blocked, which means nobody gets in or out without papers, which cannot be obtained because that office is shut down for a power war. Fortunately, as a battlefield worker, I already have all the proper documents. The guardians of the gates charge for passage according to a list of prices posted on the walls."

Fergilept's drink extruded a tentacle, which he flicked back into the glass. He finished the drink, tapped the glass on the table, and it spontaneously refilled. Obviously, he had a prepaid arrangement with the bartender. It fizzed up a towering head of foam.

"All the less ambitious demons are in hiding, and nothing, nothing is getting done, and one must port into the Human realm to get a proper breakfast." Shadows along the wall groaned in agreement. "I bribed my way into this Realm using a pot of hot, freshly brewed coffee and a plate of bacon butties." He bit the head off his drink and chewed it angrily.

"Ah, I believe the Angels broke a curse, and what you are seeing is the rebound," Dutch said. "The curse was laid on Reapers in violation of the Balance. Most of our injured are recovering. We have noticed the absence of demons from their usual patrols. D'you have any idea of how long that might last?"

Fergilept snorted. "And here I repay my debt. Pay attention, for I will say this once, and then I will be free of any obligation to you. In about a week all the jockeying for position will have ended. Give Lucifer two weeks to review the new rankings and to remind the winners who the ultimate boss is. He may have to destroy and replace an upstart or two whose ambition aims at his own defeat. Once the dust settles, general orders will be issued. He'll demand Mission Statements, plus statements of Synergy and Core Values, from the new bosses. That will take another week or two. In the meantime, expect a treaty agreement driven by the Admins of the three supernatural realms; their word will be final. Ravenings will stop, because we're too few to staff them. Individual predations will continue, Angelic as well as Demonic, but it will be well-documented and exquisitely polite. You lot will be left to your duties unless you really infuriate someone. Interactions will be comparatively peaceful for a while."

"A while? How long?"

"Listen to the Seeing Reaper of London. He's been warning you lot for years. Tell him to keep up with his newspapers. There will be a new disaster beginning in the Human Realm soon, very soon, and we supernaturals are almost too few to deal with it. And it must be dealt with. Admin has put its collective foot down. But once that's over, if we're all still here, Lucifer will begin to plot. It's his nature, after all. Our population will begin to grow again. There will be no more bounties set on the Seeing Reaper and the Planning Reaper. Their predictions are as useful to us as to you – more so, because we credit what they say, when your own people often do not.

"One more thing. I say this to you, Mister Ten Hagen, once only; a great bounty has been placed on the Learning Reaper. There is no being in your Realm more dangerous to us. He binds the angelfire to your scythes. He created the bonds which can hold us prisoner. Do not believe him safe because he never leaves your Realm. Our influence is everywhere and corrupts rapidly. Your Realm has no secrets from us, not for long."

"Smitty?" whispered Dutch.

"My debt is discharged. We are done, we three. If you will excuse me, I have some serious drinking to do before getting back to my duties. Talking has sobered me. I need to rectify that. I wish you no good, Reapers. May we never meet again."

"I'm free," said Alan. "They're not hunting me. I can walk free."

"Bull," said Eric, finishing Alan's drink. "Ye'll go escorted as always. The demons are not yer only enemies. Nice try, though."

"Thanks, it's good to get credit for the attempt. I'm going to get you some subscriptions to American newspapers now that they're committed to the war. I'm already cultivating a few of their Reapers for news on their humans. And listen, Eric, we'll be able to take some Reapers out of Defense roles while our new hires are still retraining."

"I think we have a few months yet before the next disaster begins. It's certainly going to overlap the one we've got now. But it's good to know that Molly will begin battlefield work when demonic activity is low."

"Grell's got two wine bottles moved upright in her basket. I hope we can leave peacefully, a pity to waste them. She can leave at any time. Ronnie is getting coffees for them both. Ffoulkes is pretending to doze off. Sorenson's ordering his coffee. Would you like another glass, Eric? The brewmaster is indeed remarkable."

"Aye. Frank, might I buy ye another of yer favorite wine?"

"That would be a welcome gesture." Frank sat back. "Bring an empty glass as well, and I'll give Alan a taste of mine. The wines here are very good, Alan, but I know you won't want a whole glass."

As Eric walked off to the bar, Alan asked Frank, "Do you think there will be a temporary cease-fire between your Realms?"

"Could be, could be. Like the humans, we are nearly at a standstill. We shall see an armistice – where enemies draw back behind their diplomats. The diplomats trade lies to give the armies time to reorganize, reposition and re-equip. No one has to admit that they are near defeat. The Admins are more powerful than most know. They'll work to preserve the Balance. I'd say the next offensives will be Demons on Angels rather than Demons on Reapers. But we are a stronger opponent, and they're too few to swarm us as they like to do. Yes, an armistice, with the occasional guerilla strike to test our alertness and resolve. There's a bit more truth than usual in your demon's words, enforced partly by the debt and partly by malice. Obviously, Eric is the Seeing Reaper and you are the Planning Reaper. Who's the Learning Reaper?"

"Scythes Engineer and Senior Artificer Edward Smithfield. Ten Hagen's roommate in Housing."

"Ah. Yes, of course. I remember him from the Scythes Tent at the Gather. Several Gathers. One of the few Reapers who has visibly grown and matured. Engineers do that in our Realm too. I will pass that warning on. Our own artificers speak well of him. Perhaps we can counter some of the threats that Fergilept implied."

"That would be excellent. Oh, thanks, Eric." Eric set down a glass of wine and another of stout, then an empty wineglass. Frank poured an ounce of his wine into the empty glass and passed it to Alan, who sipped and was very pleased. Eric smiled.

"Let's wait a bit longer. Grell and Ronnie will go outside first. They'll chat a bit and check out the street. Sorenson will help ffoulkes out next. They'll talk with Grell, who has her basket, and if there's an attack they'll both grab a bottle by the neck and whale away while Grell drops her disguise. Ronnie will tap his glasses and the Monitors will raise the alarm. Frank will run out, and you and I, Alan. There will be a grand donnybrook. Once we're done, we'll bring Sam and Dutch back to Housing without interference."

"Spoilsport," said Sam behind Eric's shoulder. "We can fight our own way out, as is right and proper. But truly? It's not going to be much of a fight if half of Hell is rioting in its own streets and the rest is hiding or drinking. Maybe no fight at all."

"A pity if all your planning goes to waste," said Dutch. "Look, we need to return to the S&S first. I'm concerned about Smitty, who's probably still there drawing diagrams with the London Lab R&D team."

"Don't try to confine him," warned Alan. "He'll waste time figuring out ways around you, time he needs to spend on his work, and it might break up your friendship."

"No worries," said Dutch. "We will warn him, in front of Franklin and Cole and all their evilly inventive tribe. Then we will warn Engineer Crawford in Scythes. They'll deal with it. Whatever they do is no fault of ours. We're just the friends to whom he complains."

35: The End of the Night

The Twa Corbies boasted a wide walkway between the front door and the street. It was dimly lit by coach lamps. Ronald escorted Grell down the walk into the shadows. They paused there in conversation, two weary Reapers of no particular note. Still, by the time Sorenson and ffoulkes joined them, Knox had switchblades hidden in both hands. Grell was balanced to jump in any direction. Sorenson came up to speak with them, not standing so close as to interfere with sudden movements. Ffoulkes staggered up and down the walk and into the street, singing happily. Sorenson called him back. He sat down on the walkway and smiled muzzily at everyone. Grell set her basket of wine down in front of her friends. She spoke trivial nonsense while Ronnie and Sorenson pretended close attention and watched ffoulkes' hand signals: Three on the right. Five in the alleyway. Roof above is clear. Opposite roof, three.

Bring them in, signalled Ronnie, and said "We should be going. Mitch, do you need help with effie?" Sorenson said, "Let's see if he can cooperate. C'mon, effie, it's late. Stand up now and I'll port you home." Ephraim ffoulkes giggled and declared that Mitch was no fun at all. The night was still young. Rude songs were still unsung. Worse yet, a great deal of beer was yet undrunk. It would be a terrible shame to leave it lorn and lonely.

Mitch sighed and pulled him to his feet. effie draped himself on Mitch's shoulder and pulled him into a hug, vowing eternal friendship. With only Grell and Ronnie appearing to be free to fight, the lurkers left their dark places and gathered to attack.

Grell straightened up and smiled viciously, holding a wine bottle by the neck, ready to dent some heads. Blades suddenly flashed as Ronnie-the-kid became Knox the Knife. ffoulkes sprang away from Mitch, wine bottle in one hand, a blade in the other. Sorenson summoned his scythe, a heavy-duty Supplies model designed for double duty as a club or crowbar.

The attackers stepped back.

The bar doors opened. Slingby and Bourne emerged. With his angelic advantages, Bourne was already fully sober and had summoned his sword as he cleared the threshold. Humphries followed, drawing his knives, with Ten Hagen and Terry right behind him in an obvious hurry. Eight reapers and an Angel versus eleven demons.

Bourne looked at the attackers with great cheerfulness. "These are all demons under a glamour. No need to hold back."

"Oh, good," said Sorenson, and turned his scythe to use its blade rather than the shaft.

One of the demons dropped its glamour, disarmed, growled, and said, "Angels? Not in the contract. I just want a drink."

And that was that.

Dutch and Sam ran Smitty down in the Scythe and Skull's lounge, where a group of people were studying a technical drawing and some photographs spread on a table. Representatives of Automotive, Aeronautics, and Research were all frowning in concentration.

Smitty, a red-haired man with the strong spare build that Scythes technicians tended to develop, looked up from the layout. "Good evening, Sam, Dutch. What did your demon have to say?"

"Evening, Smitty. Fergie said quite a lot. It seems that when the Angels broke the Thorns curse, it rebounded on the casters with compound interest," Dutch replied.

"Good," said Donnie Cole from across the table. "Many happy returns on all of 'em. We've got a problem with this design somewhere, Smitty. The engine works for a while, then suddenly ignites."

"The organization chart of Hell is now being rewritten at every level except Lucifer's," offered Sam.

"Whee," muttered Cole absently. "Sounds like fun to watch from a safe distance." He moved a finger over the chart. "They think the problem's with the fuel feed, Smitty. Can't be sure 'cause nothing was left but charred lumps."

Dutch carried on with a determination born of long practice. He'd roomed with Smitty since they had graduated from the Academy. "Their infrastructure is all at odds, and the pipes froze. They won't be up to much mischief outside their own Realm for maybe a month until the politics play out."

"That's going to be a nice rest for our Reapers," said Les Franklin, whose courtship of Tonia Asaro was public knowledge since their handfasting at the Paris HQ. "A month, you think?" But his eyes were still on the table.

Smitty laid a finger on the diagram. "Here. Fine as long as the engine's cold, but when it heats up, this tubing will expand and rub against this rod until it ruptures. Lots of air streaming by to feed the fire."

Sam and Dutch shared a look of perfect agreement. Dutch removed his jacket – he wore a larger size than Sam – and held it by the shoulder seams.

Sam tapped the table. "Listen up, please. There are things you need to know. There will be no more Ravenings. Heaven and Hell will be banging out a treaty over this. We will keep you current on the terms as much as possible, because we will pump Knox for info coming down from Madame Administrator to the Director. Hell has cancelled its bounties on Slingby and Humphries. We are to be attacked twice daily by pink fluffy bunnies."

"That's good," said Cole absently. "We could rotate this unit counterclockwise—"

"Attention please. They've established a new bounty on another man."

"Fifteen degrees should do it-"

Dutch swung his jacket up and dropped it over the tabletop. "The bounty's on you, Smitty."

Franklin, Smithfield, and Cole straightened up. Three pairs of glowing eyes met Dutch's. The other Scientifics came to attention.

"Really," said Cole.

"Really," said Sam.

"Just spite, surely?" said Smitty. "Some demon probably messed about with one of our locking mechanisms and triggered the Kīlauea destination. Or Mount Erebus. Anyway, I'm so far back-office that they pack air in by mule train. Demons can't get into Scythes."

Dutch turned on him. "Do you know how irritating it is to guard someone who trivializes the risks? I do that all day; I'm not going to do it all night. Tell Engineer Crawford, he might get caught in the backblast. Fergie said, and I quote, 'Our influence is everywhere and corrupts rapidly. Your Realm has no secrets from us, not for long.' Don't you dare tell me there isn't jealousy of your success among those who haven't done as well. And you're teaching, now. What of your students' safety? What if someone tries to take you out in the middle of a class? How easy would it be to arrange an accident in the Stinks and Booms lab? How easy to skewer you with a scythe blade from your own workbench? D'you think yourself safe where the cleaning crew knows how to make bombs out of the stuff in the wastebaskets? Les, Donnie, if they start going after the Engineers and Researchers, you're next. Start thinking, all of you."

Franklin blinked. "Didn't think I'd ever see a display of temper from Dutch. Isn't that Sam's thing?"

"He's right, though. Damn," said Cole. "We need to hire a Reaper who understands security. Then we can lay our boobytraps to best effect."

Smitty rubbed his chin. "Sorry, Dutch. You're right, of course. I'll tell Crawford and O'Bannon. They are far more valuable than I am. There might already be protections in place that I don't know about. Would you be willing to talk to them if they have questions?"

"Sure," said Dutch, returning to his normal affability. "I've given you the news and won't say anything more about it. Talk to Duncan and Mallory. They'll find you somebody to subcontract." He reached for his coat.

"Is Humphries really that annoying?" asked Sam.

"Yes, he is, and I'm his partner as says so," Slingby said from the doorway. "Remember, now, Will's expecting detailed reports from us all tomorrow. Will ye please send me copies of all that the demon said? I think we must run his words past Avram, ye see. Dutch, I've told ffoulkes that I'll be Alan's bodyguard this week. I know he's been a right pain this last month, with the Angels and all. I'll talk to him about making your lives difficult. It should get better now."

Grell brought her basket straight home and put her wines into the rack to rest. She had been quite disappointed in the fight outside the bar. The attackers were few and unhappy to be there. They put up a token snarl or two and retreated when the Reapers snarled back. They lost all interest when Eric and his Angel came out. When the rest of the party emerged, the confrontation simply dissolved. Half the attackers fled. Half shrugged and peacefully entered the bar. None of them even looked at Alan, who should have been their primary target. There was obviously a story there. She'd winkle it out of him tomorrow.

Will was waiting for her at the desk in his study. She'd found it in the Human Realm, a beautiful walnut rolltop with nooks, crannies, hidden compartments and many drawers. It delighted his orderly soul. He was pretending unconcern, but stood a little too quickly and nearly knocked over his lamp in his haste to make sure she was unharmed. To reassure him, she raised her arms and did a little pirouette. Then she blew him a kiss.

"Don't look at me in this dreadful getup. Let me clean up, darling, and I will be right back. Nothing exciting happened at all." Nevertheless, he followed her into the bedroom, wanting to be near her after his long worried wait.

Because of his sentence of non-promotion, Will was the only Reaper who could count on keeping a long-term home. It had never occurred to him to improve his billet; Will lived by the Rules, which decreed that a Reaper must always be ready to pack everything he owned in a duffel bag and move to an identical rental in a different Branch. It was always the same bleak tiny room or apartment with the same minimal furnishings, unless the previous resident had left behind something that would not fit in that duffel, and if Maintenance had not confiscated it when they came to clean the room for its next occupant. Some misguided Higher Up probably thought that this made a Reaper feel at home no matter how often or how far away he was relocated. Grell had snorted at this. Nobody was going to tell her that a dim chamber with a lumpy bed and a hard chair was all that her Will deserved.

Grell had taken immediate advantage of Will's 1889 decree of enslavement ('Nonsense, dearest, security. They need you, they've cheated to keep you, and I intend that the price they pay shall be your comfort and contentedness. Among other things. Don't ask.') His rank entitled him to an apartment with a kitchenette. Heartlessly she moved them both into a larger place and ordered basic furnishings from a catalog usually reserved for ranking Administrators. She sat her beloved down and presented a budget for the improvement of their home; where the Realm failed to provide, she proposed to go to human purveyors.

Budgets were one of Will's many talents. He suggested a few upgrades, increased his share of the cost, then accepted it with as much ceremony as he would have shown Madame Administrator and considerably more than Humphries would ever receive in the future.

While all the Realm was agog over the reinstatement of those criminals Slingby and Humphries, Grell worked behind the scenes to make a home. She had managed to acquire a comfortable couch that was long enough for Will to stretch his considerable length upon. It took nearly a month to get him to try it, but try it he did, and was surprised when his headache eased.

There were two matching easy chairs with footstools; two small tables held books and lamps. An oriental rug, rich blues and maroons, warmed the floor. Grell had requested, and received, a functional fireplace from Maintenance. After the effort of hauling furniture between Realms, and back and forth across the sitting room until Grell was perfectly satisfied with their arrangement, Maintenance found the establishment of a flue in a top-floor apartment to be simple enough. Will, to his own surprise, found that comfort and companionship off-duty did not weaken one's character.

The windows were draped and curtained in lovely flowing white linen, swagged with golden cords. Will knew where she'd gotten that material. Far from being jealous of her long-ago conquests, he treasured the knowledge that her interest in such adventures had faded away. He occasionally gazed at them with satisfaction when he'd put in a hard day negotiating with Angels. When she slipcovered his chair in the same cloth, he laughed aloud and noted that the world did not end.

Originally there had been a great deal of red. After eight months of battlefield reaping, Grell had the place repainted; there was blood enough in her daily work. Something within her was satiated. She Reaped con brio, came home to her Will who was equally fierce in his own way, and was happy.

As avowed partners living together, they had a tiny extra bit of protection and security. Grell knew she was unlikely to be called to a new posting. The Higher Ups did understand the consequences of arbitrarily breaking up long-term partnerships. Besides, what other Branch would be willing to have her? She would scythe, strut, scandalize and seduce her way through their staff until they begged Will to recall her. It was a maxim these days that only the London Director could control the madness of the Red Reaper. Grell had asked Alan to spread that story throughout his extensive network of cronies and henchfolk. Alan had laughed in delight. That rumor now came winging back to her from all the ends of the earth.

He was a handy little fellow to know, Alan, for all that he was so earnest and boring and nearly invisible unless he laughed. In the farthest corner of her mind, she considered herself in his debt, and acknowledged that the 'boring' was an act. Once, a long time ago, she had seen him drop his guard fully to give his vows to his partner. That night she realized what Eric saw in him, and what Alan saw in his partner. From that moment on, she never again considered Eric an available candidate for her meaningless flirtations. Why risk the friendship, when the Realm was packed wall-to-wall with potential playmates? None of whom were as wonderful as her darling Will.

The worn black uniform was tossed into a laundry bag. Will added a note that it should be returned to Supplies after cleaning. Grell demonstrated again that she carried no marks of combat, then stepped into the bathroom to wash away the hair color and the dull makeup that had disguised her features. Clean and smelling of lavender soap, she returned to the embrace of her Will.

Some time later, Will cleared his throat, ran a hand over his dishevelled hair, and asked her for a report. His attempt at dignity was somewhat defeated by being naked in bed. Grell, to whom being naked in bed was all the dignity necessary to a happy life, nevertheless pulled up a sheet to signify that the conversation had turned to Branch business.

"Well, darling, I could not hear all that was said, as Ronnie and I were placed somewhat away from the discussion, and the sound in the bar is damped. Do you want my guesses, or will you wait until you can grill the others in the morning?"

"Your observations are always informative, Grell. Please give me your impressions."

"That bar has the finest sherry I've ever tasted, and normally I don't like the stuff. The employees are courteous and attentive to tired, shabby women who are not young and beautiful or high in rank. That's rare. Now I know where Eric fills his flask. Someday I would like to take you there, suitably disguised so the customers don't stampede out the doors and windows when they see you.

"Ronnie's growing into the role you've assigned him. So are Terry and Ten Hagen. Terry tends to a sour outlook, Ten Hagen to optimism, and they balance each other nicely because they like and listen to each other. ffoulkes has a secret talent for acting. He played the role of a determined drinker, fuddled but not legless, and kept it up right through to the confrontation outside. Which was a complete fizzle, my dear. Bourne pulled out his sword and the game was over.

"Terry's demon is probably of considerable rank. He, or it, was sober enough to be in reasonable control of his anger. He was a bit loud at first. I think the broken Thorns curse whipped back on the casters. Remember Avram talking about that? Apparently the Angels put a good deal of force and a bit of spin into it. There's a lot of damage and confusion. The demon was very indignant about it. Alan was with Eric and Bourne at the next table, listening to the demon's rant. Something he heard reassured him – his shoulders dropped.

"Whatever the demon said interested Eric greatly. Bourne too, possibly for slightly different reasons. The demon's words were approved by other demons sitting nearby, ruefully, I think. At the end, the demon got quiet and vicious. He said something that visibly upset Dutch. Dutch insisted on returning to the Scythe and Skull once we'd fought our way out. I suspect he wanted to pass news to somebody there; ask him. If it closely concerned the Branch, he would have given me a message for you.

"Then we all finished up, went outside for a nice punch-up, were disappointed, and I came home with two bottles of very good wine for special occasions and two bottles for sipping and cooking. Would you like beef bourguignon on Sunday?"

« First « Prev Ch 35 of 52 Next »

36: Analysis

Avram sat back and looked over his glasses at the two Reapers in his office. "I have read your reports from the Twa Corbies carefully. They agree. Good job, you two. They'll be reviewed by Higher Ups who know things we don't. Now let us consider what Fergilept has told us, by my best guesses. I'm probably pretty close to right on most of this.

"There is a balance that a demon must maintain when repaying a debt. One truth, one half-truth, one lie. All obfuscated by misleading wording. But you did have him in a bind here. He owed you both for rescue and for repeated refusals to expose him to Angelic execution. Yes, that would have itched. He told you of the disruption in Hell; a truth which does not count as repayment. It does neither harm nor good, as we knew that already from the sudden cessation of predation on the battlefields. That was just gossip and venting, which would not have diminished the weight of his obligation – the 'itch' he hated.

"Samuel, you pulled him out of a collapsed trench. At that time you did not recognize him as a demon, but the rescue counts. You did not expose him when you were introduced at the field hospital. That is a debt. Dutch, you protected him in the ambulance, at admission to the hospital, during the hospital stay and when you introduced Sam to him. That's kinder treatment than he would have had from his own species. It probably still confuses him.

"So let us seek the balance. He owes Sam a truth, and Dutch at least two. The greatest of these truths is owed to Dutch, who placed himself and his partner at risk of Angelic retribution.

"The settling of political balances in Hell; we knew that. Doesn't count. Fergilept is ranting. However, during the rant there will be lies of omission, because he has to balance his response to you in a way which will not get him into trouble at home.

"Ravenings will stop; a lie. Ravenings will be smaller, far fewer, and more carefully planned, but they will continue.

"Peaceful interactions for a while, just until they are in a position to escalate. We have already noticed it. It's just a description of Universal Admin's battlefield adjustments, masquerading as a new development. Nothing new there. Still counts as a half-truth because he admits that demonic compliance will be temporary.

"A new disaster. We've known that for years. Admin enforcing compliance on all sides and all departments until it's over; that we didn't know, although the estimable Senior Solway will probably be informed of that pronouncement very soon. A provable truth, probably, because too easily disproved. We'll know by the end of the week. However, this truth is countered because Dutch offered a truth of his own – the rebound of the broken curse. They suspected but did not know. Fergilept has thus received a further kindness from Dutch, and with it an additional obligation.

"This explains the major truth that follows. A major truth, disguised as a minor truth; instructions to pay attention to what Slingby says when he's been reading his newspapers. Fergilept was probably not going to offer this one until he was thrown out of balance by Dutch's truth. Not that Eric is perceptive and shrewd, which we know, but that the Demon Realm has been listening to his predictions for years. How do they hear them? Probably from Branches grumbling about installing upgrades. That's your truth, Sam. He did not intend to give it to you until Dutch cancelled his previous truth.

"Bounty cancelled on Slingby – a lie. Attacks on him are simply too costly. They've run out of demons stupid enough to try for him. Bounty cancelled on Humphries – a great lie, and an attempt to get him to venture out into the open. Sorry, Dutch. Warn ffoulkes that the demons will be watching to see if Alan gets careless. They will take any opportunity. He has allied himself with the Angels far too strongly for a neutral Reaper. A strike at him is a strike at them.

"The bounty on Smithfield – a great truth, extended to Dutch as full repayment of debt. Bounties probably will be extended to other Researchers and Artificers as well. Working through Reapers, against other Reapers, for demonic purposes – another truth, but one long-known and not a part of this payment. Unless this is an obfuscated warning of a new plot already in progress. I think it is. We will need to be vigilant.

"Their ease of infiltration into our Realm is a half-truth. The ease of infiltration into the London Branch is a lie until we start fielding new hires we aren't sure of. Even then it will be difficult. Ease of infiltration into Scythes and Scientific is a matter for the individual departments. Research has already had one such event some years ago. We can only warn them, which you have already done. We shall ask Will to send formal memos. He will escalate this to Madame Administrator, who now oversees all Divisions of London and Bristol.

"Two truths or possibly three, three half-truths, three lies. A copy of this report will go to your superiors and into your files. Very good, boys, very good. Now stay away from demons, if possible, for you have attracted their attention. They know your names."

Reginald Tyler Wayland, rather the worse for a dreadful battlefield shift, had decided to treat himself to a beer at the Coffin Corner. It was a smallish Reaper bar on the outskirts of London, whose major attractions were a jolly barmaid, a fiddler, and an exclusive arrangement with a brewery in the Human Realm. Having availed himself of an Irish Dry Stout, he leaned upon the bar and waited for the screaming inside his head to stop. It faded, slowly. His Reaps were so young, most of them. He'd delivered them all safely, but the echoes took a while to fade. There had been one he would have spared if he could. Unfortunately, the man's body was far beyond his ability to heal, too damaged to sustain extended life. What a waste.

He drank half the beer down quickly. It deserved to be savored. But first, one must be steady.

He sighed as the beer did its work. He became more aware of the solid floor beneath his feet and the conversations around him. He greeted a few friends who were also recovering after a long shift. They all agreed that poison gas was a perfectly vile invention that only the humans could even imagine. The friends decided to play a short game of football and left. Wayland remained, as his right ankle was healing from a twist. He took a seat and paid proper attention to his glass of stout.

"We'll be discharged in a couple of days. I'm thinking of applying to London, they're actively recruiting, but so are many other British and French Branches. I don't want to be posted back to Düsseldorf. They were pretty unpleasant about the Thorns and will stigmatize the survivors. Can anyone tell us about London? I've seen their application forms. They're so very different in their requirements."

"Different in what way?" asked Wayland.

The speaker turned to him. "Are you London?"

"I trained there. I'm stationed near Guildford now." He was running Aldershot, actually, but these folks didn't need to know that. Aldershot was not hiring.

"Is it true that they do not demand overtime during rest shifts?" asked one hopefully.

"Director Spears is said to be a harsh Commander, a martinet, is that true?" asked another.

"Their Personnel Chief is named Slingby. Is that actually the Great Scot, or another by the same name?"

Wayland settled back and let the Londoners answer. My, these folks had come up with some interesting rumors. He pulled out his Death Book to check for local Aldershot Reaps. Nothing today, good. Aldershot was a small town hosting an enormous military base. Most local Reaps were among the townsfolk who were too young, too old or too damaged to be swept into war work. He began making a schedule for the rest of the week. There was always somebody at the Base who was about to fall off a horse at full gallop.

Wayland's brain suddenly caught up with the ongoing conversation.

"And an Elder named Jacobs, they say he knows far too much about the Demonic Realm."

"I heard the Red Reaper beds every new applicant before she will approve them!"

"They say that Slingby is something more than a partner to Humphries…"

"Is there really a Humphries, and where does he hide that he's so seldom seen?"

"He gets special treatment, some say. He only reaps locally, swing shifts, with that monster Sorenson. He scythed an Angel once, so he may be considered too mad for regular duty."

"But Sorenson's gone, transferred to battlefield duty, partnering one of those frightful mannish female Reapers. So who is Humphries' new Reaping partner?"

"Another of London Operations' Security unit. Competent, strong and experienced. But drop that 'frightful female' stuff right now, or you'll be back in Düsseldorf with the rest of the old fogies and fossils."

"Humphries teaches a lot. I had some of his classes years ago. He's really good. Stands up for his students, too, where most instructors don't. If he's Reaping too, one can hardly call it an easy schedule."

"But what are all those other duties he's supposed to have?"

Wayland began taking notes.

To Senior Reaper Eric Slingby, Operations Manager, Academy Instructor and Personnel Chief of London:

Hey, Senpai.

I was decompressing in a local pub tonight when I heard a convo between nine Thorns convalescents and the local Reapers. Most of it was curiosity. They've been approached by London recruiters.

They know it's a far different environment than European Branches; some are afraid they can't cut it, others are worried that they'll have difficulty adjusting. A couple are spreading those nasty rumors invented by competing Branches. One was digging hard for info which is none of his business.

Here's a list of the participants: ….

And these are the two slanderers: ….

The spy I'd like to Reap in the name of public hygiene is F_ S_ from Düsseldorf. By the way, he displayed an unhealthy interest in certain employees of Scythes as well as Collections.

And these are the Reapers they spoke to, none of whom gave any info they shouldn't have...

I've warned my people about talking to nosy strangers in bars, though.

Be aware.

Your most respectful student,

R. Waylan

Acting Assistant Director of Aldershot, isn't that a grand title for a sweeper-up behind horses?

P. S. My very best regards to Alan Senpai

P. P. S. Don't let him out alone, please.

37: New Hires

At least it wasn't raining. Chandra Gupta was well ahead, to the north, and Gerritt Vanderveldt well south. Grell, at rearguard, was keeping an eye on the three new hires working in the middle of the triangle. All were Thorns survivors who had not wanted to return to their original Branches, after being expelled for being cursed. This was much better than training youngsters. These three were Seniors in their own right, perfectly capable if a little slow; just needing to get back into practice after a long stay on the sick list.

No stupid mistakes, no inexperienced foolishness, no manifesting into the Human Realm and collecting a half-pound of bullets. Just a bit of clumsiness and the occasional stumble when they tried movements their bodies weren't quite up to yet. The formation Reaped steadily eastward as Grell worked cleanup and watched out for her teammates.

The Demons were present with their own Lists. Everybody was behaving. No poaching on either side. There were one or two Angels about, with little to do. In the past, Grell reflected, she would have preferred an all-out fight. Today, everyone was too tired, too drained, too busy to go off-List.

A shell exploded. Dvořák turned toward it. Tsiakals shifted his course slightly and O'Connell held her position. They were working very well, actually. Getting a little tired, of course, but the shift was nearly over. All six of them would adjourn to the food tent and then to the nearest Reaper-realm bar. She'd rather go home and meet Will coming off his shift, but she and her partners had been assigned overtime to stay with their new hires - to eat and drink, and above all, listen.

Grell rather liked these three, as much as she liked anyone when she was at the end of a hard shift. They were polite, companionable, and accepted her as a damn good Reaper to work with. Didn't try to patronize Gupta, either. Grell was ready to approve them for partner assignments as soon as they were just a little stronger. Eric would pair them off with seasoned Londoners and they would do perfectly well.

Even though it was late, Eric was waiting for them at the War Room Portal. He waved the trial trio off home while holding Gupta's team behind.

They settled in Eric's office, which offered mismatched but comfortable chairs.

"I know ye've all had more than enough today. Just a quick report on yer probationers, please, and then ye're free."

"I think they are ready to start work with single or double partners. They tire a little quickly still. Maybe not the front lines just yet, except as part of a larger group," yawned Vanderveldt.

"They worked very well with us and with each other this week. O'Connell's defenses are a little weak to her left, which may be an artifact of training rather than her curse," said Gupta.

"Habit," said Grell. "Her previous partner always worked to her left. Find her another lefty."

"Is that partner likely to want to join her here, d'ye know?"

"Oh, he'd love to work in London, but he'd never get past his first interview – he's a bounder, and it shows. Cait despises him. He dumped her in front of their whole shift when he found out she was cursed, you see. Now that she's recovered and far better employed, suddenly he's back. He cornered her in the Scythe and Skull last Saturday. The cad told her to request that he be transferred in as her Reaping partner. She turned him down as firmly as a lady may and still be a lady. He started shouting and grabbed her arm. I slapped him to stop his tantrum. The bouncer picked him up off the floor and the host told him he was permanently banned."

"Did ye help throw him out?"

"Of course I did not! We two ladies stood aside and looked on with righteous approval and admiration while the gentlemen took out the trash. Besides, I didn't want to get another week-long ban for myself."

Gupta chuckled. "It was a group effort. Nearly a record distance, measured from the front door."

"We would have beaten the record if the bouncer hadn't held onto his belt a little too long," added Vanderveldt. "But then his trousers wouldn't have ended round his knees when he landed. By the time he got them back up, he'd noticed that the walk was full of people just waiting to see if he'd like to have another go."

Grell laughed softly. "He's gone home to tell everyone that she's a terrible person who spurned his generous offer of reconciliation. He'll not be back. Let Cait work with Iris or Antonia for a week or three. Give her strong partners and a white uniform. She'll be amazing."

"What about Dvořák and Tsiakals?"

"The same, with less drama. No warning, no defense. Escorted out to the street, declared Lost. They've no desire to reconnect."

"Thanks, and a good evening to you all, then. I'll line you up a new group for next week. Grell, Will was called to Madame's office and isn't back yet. He left a note for you with Anton."

Anton's desk was covered by Brock for this shift. Fred saw her coming, unlocked a drawer and passed her a sealed envelope. She took it to her office. How empty it seemed, with Ronnie off being a grownup and Molly graduated to her own Reaping team and desk. Perhaps—but no; better to work with the Thorns survivors. Taking an apprentice would require major changes to her current status. She'd need a permanent single partner, a reassignment to local Reaping for at least the first two years; no, she was needed more in her current position. Perhaps when the humans got tired of their war, and Alan's next disaster ran its course, Eric would come looking for mentors. Or he would bring her a third-year for introduction to the wars.

She opened her envelope and slid the letter out.

My Dear Grell,

She was warmed by that one extra word; it had taken years for him to unbend to the point where he could call her his.

Madame Administrator has called me to a meeting of her fellow Uppers. I do not know how long the meeting will be, nor the subjects of discussion, but I suspect this will be an extended session. I have asked Knox to cover this shift, and Humphries will take the next one, with Solway backing them both up. I ask you to consider what recompense I will owe Solway for the extra shift.

How considerate of him to remember that additional work deserved additional pay. She'd ask Marisa whether she'd prefer a bonus or time off, or had some other secret wish that could be granted. It had only taken Humphries twenty-four years of nagging to get Will to reward good work instead of dismissing it as merely doing one's duty.

If I am not back for dinner, do go on without me. I hope that your battlefield shift was uneventful.

Yr obdt servt

Spears

Just like Will to assume that anything written would end up in the archives. 'Obedient servant' indeed. She'd find a time to remind him of that. Gently she refolded the note, replaced it in its envelope and tucked it into an inner pocket of her trenchcoat. She'd take it home and add it to her treasured bundle of letters from Will.

38: Waiting for Will

Will did not return that night. Knox handed off to Humphries at midnight, reporting no unusual occurrences. They quietly agreed that Knox would rest and return to take the eight-to-sixteen-hundred next morning, in case Spears was still working with the Uppers. Marisa Solway stayed on for an extra hour, then surrendered her responsibilities to Senior DePoy. DePoy checked in with Humphries, who suggested that they consider scheduling as though Spears were on an outside mission. "We can't let ourselves become exhausted enough to start making mistakes. We need Knox on mornings, and myself on the graveyard shift. Let's put a sensible Senior on afternoons, which tends to be the quietest shift, with Marisa to back him up. If they run into something they can't handle, they can wake up whoever isn't out Reaping. Then you take the shift that you would work normally, and Brock on the third, will that do?"

"Sounds good. Do you think Mister Spears will not return?"

"No, of course not, but if he is long delayed, we need to see that everything runs smoothly. When he gets back, the second thing he will ask is how we arranged coverage. I want to have a good answer for him. Partly to minimize the obligatory rant, of course, but mostly to put an emergency procedure in place; we really should have had one these last few years."

"I agree. Who will you put on Will's desk for third shift? Don't say Mallory. We don't want to start a policy of falling back on Security; it limits us too much."

"Yes. We have to create a tradition of selecting the best available Reaper, not just whoever is holding Ops Security at the moment. I would like to put Chandra Gupta on Will's desk. But that would mean his partner Vanderveldt leading his team, Grell having to take orders from him, and they are due for a new and untried team of convalescents. Frankly, I don't want to stress Grell while Will's away. It's going to be hard enough on her without changing all the rules."

"Then I would suggest Caroline Cortland from Scheduling. She has her finger on the pulse of London as well as the battlefield shifts. She's also used to working closely with Admins, which Senior Gupta is not. Chichima Onayemi is fully capable of carrying Caro's responsibilities as well as her own, and has competent backup in her own section."

"Agreed. That leaves Grell's team intact. Let's set it up. Getting it done assures that the Director will be back before it's needed."

Grell woke to a lonely bed. She told herself that Will had been sent away on independent investigations before, and with no warning at all. Reapers served where they were sent. Even if they were rarely sent away from a regular posting – arbitrary assignments usually occurred if one was 'at liberty' for more than three days; one or two failed interviews and you landed wherever the need was greatest. Will was a respected Director of a successful Branch. Surely, he would return soon to resume his many duties.

She went through her morning routine, taking assiduous care with her makeup and clothing. She made up the bed, with Will's side turned down in case he returned while she was at work. She left the teapot and the best tea on the table for him. She met her team for breakfast, which tasted like sawdust. She politely responded to Chandra's introductions of three new graduates of the Hostel. She listened to him instruct them on the triangle formation they would be working within for this shift. She intervened when Gerritt wanted to tease them.

Because, dammit, even if Will was gone, she was a professional. She could do her best work when she didn't feel like it. These people needed her support, protection and instruction. They would have it.

But if any demon got in her way, she would nail its hide to whatever wall might be still standing on the battlefield. If no wall remained, she'd tie it around one of those useless Angels.

Vanderveldt saw the fire in her eye and shut up. Sensible man.

Knox arrived on time to relieve Humphries. They sat in Will's office with Anton Wójcik, who went over the appointment book for the next two days. Humphries presented the shift schedule; Knox was relieved to see he was not going to be working every other shift. "Anton, do we need to find a backup for you? Is Will's schedule extending beyond your hours? I'm sure it would be a plum job for a Senior Admin. Think about it, talk to Marisa and Dorrie, and let me know."

Wójcik stiffened. "If my work is not acceptable, Assistant Director—"

"It's excellent and everyone knows it, but we're setting up a three-shift daily schedule here. We need to build a schedule we can plug new people into if the current ones are killed or reassigned. We also need a list of competent replacements. When Will returns we'll go back to the schedule he prefers, but this one will be available if needed. You are essential to it. You can't work around the clock, and we can't ask somebody to do Will's job without access to Will's daybook. As bad as things are, worse is coming. We have to be ready for it. Find somebody you can trust with the book. Two somebodies, and a third to cover days off. All Admins. For now, hand it off to the senior Admin in charge."

Wójcik relaxed slightly. "I understand. Succession planning. Admins who can train. Yes, sir. Quite right. Should be required in all Branches, really."

"Until Will returns, I will take the graveyard shift with Senior DePoy. Ronald, you're second shift, with Anton and Brock as backup. Ron, while I had a substitute take my first class today, please note I have to leave on time each morning to teach. Come a little early for the handover report. Caro Cortland is third shift, with Marisa as backup. Is that acceptable to you both? Good. Tell me if you think of anything else we should add." Alan gathered his papers and left, calling to the portal Admin to open a window to the Academy.

"Worrisome little man," muttered Knox, and grinned. Wójcik, of course, showed no sign that he had heard.

Grell returned with a trainee in tow. This convalescent had worked to the end of the shift, turned in his harvest, gotten a bowl of stew from the food tent, and walked halfway to the bar before falling apart. He could not—never, never—no, please, no—please, was there any other job, he would scrub floors or wash pots or run bedpans or dig trenches or anything, anything but—no, never again, no more killing, please, Reap me, send me to the demons but don't make me go back.

Gupta had scooped up the rest of the group and gotten them out of the way. Grell waited until the man was able to walk again and brought him stumbling back to the Branch. She sat him at her desk where he buried his face in his arms and wept. She waited until Ronnie came by, just off his Director stint.

"Ronnie, will you stay with him a moment? I need to find Eric."

"He's teaching and Terry's Reaping," Knox said. "This man looks like he needs to talk to a representative of the support services anyway. Marisa's just begun her shift. Let me bring her in here. She has all the connections. Avram's on duty, write him a note."

The man lifted a tear-stained face, offered a broken apology, repeated a plea for alternative employment, and lowered his head again.

"I'll be right back," and Ronnie closed the door behind him. Grell sat at his desk and wrote a quick report. By the time she had finished, her trainee had recovered himself somewhat. A knock at the door proved to be Fenner, holding a folder of hiring flyers from Admin divisions. Grell slipped out, closed the door, and sighed. "Thanks, Knoxie."

"It happens. Mari will find him a quiet desk deep in the Stacks while he considers his next step."

"Any word from Will?"

"No, not yet. Sorry."

Grell took her report to Personnel. Avram offered her a chair and a choice of tea or coffee. He read her report while she poured and stirred.

"He worked a full shift and managed to complete his duties before collapsing. Well, good for him, poor fellow. Please tell me what he said… really? Well. Sounds like his home Branch deals pretty sternly with burnouts. Which is wasteful, they can be quite valuable in other jobs if they cannot recover enough to Reap. Good thing he's here, then; we'll take proper care of him. Thank you for seeing him safely back."

"I have no idea why I bothered with him. He's Chandra's problem."

"But you wanted to see if Will had returned?"

"Don't read my mind, Avram, it's rude."

"I have no such ability, Grell. I'm reading your face and posture. You did a good deed today. Don't worry. I won't tell anyone."

Caroline Cortland was taking a handover report from Knox when both of them saw Grell bringing in a Reaper suffering a breakdown. They exchanged a glance. Knox finished his briefing and took off after Sutcliff. Cortland caught Wójcik's sleeve on his way to the Cafeteria and said, "Anything scheduled for the next hour? Good. Go get your meal, whichever this one is for you, and come back to give me a rundown on the rest of this shift. I do not like being thrown in the deep end on a new job. I will not tolerate being handed responsibility without authority or training. Who's my Admin advisor this shift?"

"Senior Solway, Madam. This meal will be my dinner. I will return quickly, but in four hours I must begin my rest shift."

"Go on, then. Marisa? What the actual bloomin' fishsticks is going on here? And why am I suddenly Madam?"

"Good afternoon, Caro. Nice to see you, too. We, as you might guess, have a Situation. Director Spears has been called away by Madame Administrator. We do not know when he will return."

"Oh. That explains why Knox and Humphries had to be rescheduled. Alan took graveyard, Knox got second, and why exactly am I the third shift supervisor?"

"Because you have the right temperament; because you have sufficient depth in your department that it can run without you; because you are smart and cannot be baffled with bullshit as long as I'm here to define what is and is not bullshit. Also, because the other choice was Chandra, and can you imagine turning Sutcliff and Vanderveldt loose on an unsuspecting world without him? Third shift is usually the quietest. Now, dear, do take advantage of the situation. Come on in to Will's office. You get to choose a comfortable chair and your very own pot of tea or coffee – just tell Bradshaw your preference, and we'll sit down while I tell you all the news."

"One quick question then. Why not you? I'm untrained and Knox is a perpetual adolescent."

"He's growing up. I think you'll be surprised how well he handles his shift. Like him, you will learn. It's becoming my responsibility to train the people who will cover Will's desk. I'm Admin, not Collections, and Alan believes that one noncombatant can survive many Reapers and teach a long succession of them. And you will also have Senior DePoy for legal questions."

"You're going to need a couple of Wójciks as well."

"Oh, yes. He's going to be interviewing from our waiting list. You do know that we have a waiting list of Admins who want to work here? Lots of talent. Tea or coffee?"

39: Still Waiting But Not Patiently

Will's absence, the third day

Eric came in from the Academy an hour early. Alan should have joined him there to help pack up the Gymnasium before going off for a meal. He tried their apartment first, where he found his spouse half-awake and trying to shave with a switchblade.

"Here, now, me Light. What's messed up your schedule this time? Ach, no, give me that! I'll finish up your face. Hold still. What's on first shift that requires you doing overtime? "

"I am. On first shift. Will hasn't come back yet. I fly his desk until oh-eight-hundred. Ronnie is eight to sixteen and Caro is sixteen to midnight. Ten Hagen, ffoulkes and Duncan are covering me for anything I can't fit around Will's duties and my teaching."

"Did you get any sleep?"

"A little. Stayed late at the Academy. I get off this shift at the same moment my basic Demonology class begins. I had to warn my teaching assistants to be ready to pick up the first few minutes if my handover report to Knox runs long. That drew a Punctuality Is Essential rant from Pollard. I waited until he started preaching to the whole room and slipped out when he was glaring at someone else. Then I straightened out a student dispute – we aren't keeping them busy enough if they have the energy to fight each other, so I handed them both a six-hour stint with Maintenance. And paperwork, you know, end of term stuff."

"Let's get you some breakfast, then."

"Let's both go into the office. I'll put up a pot of coffee, receive handover from Caro, then I'll order in for us both from the Cafeteria. You can have dinner and I'll do breakfast. Eric, in all your years, has a Director ever vanished permanently from his desk? I mean, been called away by the Higher Ups and never returned?"

Eric considered while Alan retrieved his shoes from under the bed. "Maybe. Once. Now there were some lost in action, but called Upwards…once. Don't know if he was reassigned or promoted, but he was competent and in no trouble that I knew of."

"Hmm. Thanks. I wonder if any other Divisions have Branch Directors missing? I need to ask around. Caro doesn't have any political strings to pull, but Ronnie might have some drinking buddies in various places. If we don't hear from Will soon, Grell will be sawing a hole in Madame Administrator's door. That is actually my job, because London does not abandon its missing."

"Now, me light, Madame would not—"

"Madame can be overruled by her superiors. Why has Will not been in contact with Grell? Why has Madame not explained his absence to us? I can think of one very good reason and several very bad ones. I'll make a few inquiries, some arrangements. If we haven't heard from him in a week I will request a meeting with Madame. If I also vanish, I've left notes for Knox and Cortland in my left-hand drawer filed under In Case of Executive Stupidity."

"Alan, you are too tired to make such decisions. Look, you didn't even hang up your jacket last night, or put your shoes away. Poke around for information all you like, but don't bite anybody while you do it. Avram might have some insights. Teach tomorrow, but I'll see you leave on time and get a full shift's rest. I'll have Scheduling match my shifts to yours so we can work together and leave together."

"You are right of course. I need caffeine. It's not a full moon or a weekend. Not much civilian knife-and-gun. It should be quiet until the small hours, when the death rate rises in the hospitals and homes. I'll call around here and there. Who else would have been at this meeting? Supplies, maybe. Cafeteria? Medical? I don't know enough about Admin, but Dorrie would."

The fourth day

"Frank? Eric. Look, London's Director – yeah, Spears – was called Upstairs for a meeting four days ago and has not returned. D'you have any idea where he is or what's going on? Because Upstairs is not talking to us.

"– We're doing fine. We've a number of people who have stepped up to cover his desk around the clock. But his partner Grell is worried about him, as are we all. Nothing? You sure? Because we're approaching a Branch insurrection here. We don't abandon our missing. Somebody important has forgotten that.

"– If he's incommunicado, then yes, by our standards he's missing. If you run across anybody who does know about this, let me know? Because Grell – well, yeah, what would you expect? Grell has gone all quiet which means she's already decided where to dump the bodies.

"Alan? he was angry at first, but mostly worried now. He thinks he may know what's going on. He's going to visit Madame tomorrow and request an update. Senior DePoy is going with him to demonstrate that Admin is also concerned. She's an Auditor and cannot be brushed off as easily as we can. Grell's promised to hold off until then. There's unrest among the new hires, too; they know all about being suddenly listed as missing. Will's their hero. Alan's announcements offering them sanctuary and medical care and work were issued over Will's signature.

"Some of our people are talking a general invasion of the Upstairs to search for Will. Nothing that will affect the Garrison, just internal Reaper politics."

The fifth day

"I can tell you, Mister Humphries, that Director Spears is in no danger."

"We need evidence, Madame. While your word is enough for me, my word is not enough for Senior Sutcliff and the Reapers of the London Branch. Still less would my word suffice for Bristol. Seniors Garraway and Fairbairn are most distressed by the absence of Director D'Acres. Also Oxford, Brighton, Southampton and the Land and Maritime offices of Portsmouth. One might assume that other major cities in the South are also missing key managers."

"Senior DePoy, will your word as an Auditor persuade London?"

"It might have, last year, Madame. Now we have a large number of new hires who do not share London's experiences. They are learning that Auditing has stood between London and the worst attacks from Judicial, and that in London the Admins and Reapers work very closely together. But trusting our unsupported reassurances of the safety of a Director gone missing? One who is highly valued? No. Not after having been cast out of their own Branches through no fault of their own."

"Mister Humphries. I saw that smile. Explain."

"Nothing, Madame, I assure you."

Madame gazed at him with such coldness that icicles could have formed on the lampshades. "Now."

Alan looked up with a grim face – here's a fine hill to die on, Dorrie, hold my beer – and said, "This is a test. Have we passed?"

Madame raised an eyebrow.

"You've pulled the Directors out of their Branches without warning. You needed to see whether the second level of management would step up, consume itself in office warfare, or fall apart. You need to know whether their Reapers would follow orders given by the new management. London has compensated and continued. However, we do not abandon our missing. The hunt for our Director has begun. I don't think that was anticipated. Bristol's starting that too; expect a visit from them soon. Ditto Portsmouth Maritime. Their Admiral is highly valued by all of the Sea Reapers. Show me my Director, Madame, or I will tell every other Branch exactly what is going on, and –" Humphries paused.

"And?"

"And, of course, there is Grell."

Madame's face softened slightly. "Indeed there is. Yes, Mister Humphries, this is a test for you all. It is not yet over. Go back and persuade your Reapers not to assault my doors."

"And Director Spears, Madame?" asked Dorrie.

Madame pushed a button on her desk. A screen behind her cleared to show a room filled with Reapers, maps, charts, and a passionate argument which Will appeared to be winning.

"He is no happier with me than he usually is with you, Senior DePoy. You may tell Senior Sutcliff to expect him home in two days. He will be in a vile temper; we are changing his duties. He hates change above all things. Tell no one else. Tell her to tell no one else. If she cannot be silent, have her assigned down into Collection's private Stacks. You, Humphries, will say no word, not even to your bondmate. No word, note or gesture. Do not let your body language indicate that you are any less worried than before."

The chainsaw lay on newspaper on the kitchen table. Each component was clean. A few had been examined and replaced. Grell capped the grease and oil containers and set them aside. She unwrapped the new chain and examined it carefully for flaws.

They would expect her to use this, and use it she would, but it would not be the only scythe she would carry. There were times when stealth was required. There were other times when the general perversity of the universe would require the chain to break or the gears jam. There were yet other times when one needed a weapon that did not run out of fuel. Grell had experienced and survived all of these situations since the Great War began. She would banish the chainsaw and summon her illegal acquisition, and there was always her Angel blade for close work.

She threaded the chain on the clutch drum and sprocket. She replaced the side cover loosely and adjusted the tension on the chain, then tightened the cover nuts and locked the brake lever. She would take her chainsaw to some remote spot, fire it up and listen to the engine and the blade for any odd notes which should be investigated and corrected. But first, she must clean up her mess and put the tools and cans away. Some coffee would be nice. She set up her drip carafe and set the kettle to boil.

As she poured boiling water into the grounds, there was a knock at the door. Will would not knock. Nobody else was worth her time today. She wrapped her tools in a canvas belt. The newspapers were bundled and dropped in a wastebasket along with her gloves.

Another knock. Oh, Alan might be waiting to tell her what Madame Administrator had to say about Will. She stuffed her fury down into her belly and banished her chainsaw.

A firm knock in an unfamiliar rhythm. "Miss Sutcliff, I know you are in there. Open up. I have news you need to hear."

Who? Familiar but not immediately recognized. Grell drew her blade and held it to her back before cracking the door open to the length of its chain. "Senior DePoy. Admin/Auditing, right? What does Auditing want with me?"

"Auditing wants to come in, sit down, kick off its shoes, and share a cuppa. Put away your knife, child, it's not needed."

Grell peered through the door. DePoy appeared to be alone and weary. "Is anyone out there waiting to jump in if I open this door?"

"No. Just me. I have a message which I am not going to mention while I'm out here in the hall where any snoop with an ear to a door can hear me… Mister Taylor, you do not want to spy on Auditing. Go away." A door down the hall opened and closed. Footsteps pattered away. "Please clear any evidence of whatever you are planning, Senior, and then unchain the door."

Grell paused, then dropped the chain and opened the door. "Nothing but Rule Two, Auditor, cleaning my scythe. Please enter. Would you like to share a pot of coffee?"

"Yes, please, that would be most welcome. I'm working third shift with poor Alan." DePoy closed the door firmly, tested the latch, and reset the chain. "He sends his regards, by the way. He's not allowed to tell you or anyone else what I have to say. Madame Administrator is not entirely pleased with him. Some Upper concocted a clever scheme which Alan figured out too early. I think he would have kept silent if Fenner hadn't noticed that you'd kept the scythe you took from that breakdown you brought in."

"Do come into the kitchen and have a seat. I have a fresh pot brewing. I don't have much to offer with it, though—"

"No problem." DePoy held up one hand. A confectioner's box appeared, tied with a ribbon. "Very wise of you not to take that poor fellow to the nurse. She'd have recorded his condition on his permanent record. He would have panicked. He comes from a Branch which would have used it against him."

She placed the box on the kitchen table, sat, and toed off her shoes. "Fenner and Howe have merely offered him alternative employment in a desirable position which we have had trouble filling. We do that all the time in Admin. Now we can get him proper help on the quiet, while reassuring him that his prior Branch's policies are considered inexcusably abusive by London."

"Will does say it's all in the wording. Cream and sugar? Let me set out a plate for the biscuits. Do you have news about Will?"

"Yes, my dear. Oh, that coffee smells heavenly! Thank you. What a lovely cup. Decorated with spider lilies, beautifully done."

Grell growled. Senior DePoy sipped and smiled.

"Director Spears will return to his desk in two days. Now, he may be a little difficult when he returns. Madame says they are changing his duties, by which she probably means they are adding to them. That's going to require him to reassign many of his current responsibilities. Part of this exercise is to judge whether the rest of the Branch is ready to assume his work. Madame says he hates change. You'd know more about that than either of us, of course, but I can tell you he's in a terrible temper."

"You actually saw him?"

"We did, though he did not see us. He's fine."

"Thank you. I was going to go upstairs tomorrow and shake the place out."

"Yes. I know. Just as well you don't have to. That stolen scythe won't return to you or to its former owner. Supplies has reclaimed it."

Grell grimaced. Of course. The burned-out Reaper would not be allowed a scythe until Medical cleared him. They'd doubtless send him to choose a new one that carried no memories of his previous Branch. But she did have access to another—

DePoy sipped her coffee and loosened her tie. "And if you're thinking about using Iris Quirke's old billhook, the one you keep for sparring? Do keep in mind that Madame also once had a reputation. She has allowed it to fade into history but has never stopped honing her skills. Remember that Senior Slingby does not argue with her. Moreover, the upper halls have their own unseen protections."

Grell cooled down a bit. Dear Will had chided her before about letting anger overrule careful planning. He would be disappointed.

"Now, can you keep quiet? You may not tell anyone by word, writing or gesture. Can you maintain your aura of fury and borderline control? Or should you join your rescued Reaper in the silence of the Administrative Stacks, filing reports until Director Spears returns? That would be most inconvenient for Senior Gupta's team, you understand."

"I will continue in my assigned duties, Ma'am. I am an excellent actress. Is Alan in much trouble?"

"For figuring out the situation, no. For adjusting to it, and for seeing that everyone else adjusted to it, no. For acting on it when he feared you would take it to battle, yes. He was not supposed to go Upstairs and say, 'I know what you are doing. I will blow your secrecy out the other side of this building if you do not demonstrate that my Director is alive and unharmed.' Politely, of course."

"He's always polite," Grell acknowledged. "Well, usually."

Dorrie chuckled wickedly. "Madame got even by forbidding him to tell anyone anything. Specifically, he has to keep his husband in the dark. Can't even tell him that he can't tell him."

"Oh," said Grell. "That is – oh, what a bi—ah, bother. Eric will demand to know everything. Poor Alan."

"Caught between his vows and her orders. You can't tell Eric either, remember."

"Did she make you promise, too?"

"Nice try. Of course she gave me the same orders. They really should have factored Alan's intelligence into their plans. It's very possible that Madame is looking forward to telling an Upper 'I told you so.'"

40: Will's Return

On the evening of the seventh day, Will came home. He entered his apartment, dropped a large bag of documents on the floor, hung up his jacket, and turned to greet his wife.

They hugged in silence.

"They would not let us call out of the meeting or from our rooms. They would not let us send any messages. It was partly a test of how our Branches would cope with our absence. Forgive me, my love, I could not even pry a window open to summon a pigeon, we were so closely guarded."

"Alan figured it out, dearest. He and Dorrie went upstairs and persuaded Madame Administrator to prove you safe. Saved me the effort of tearing up the whole level to rescue you."

"It was my greatest fear."

"Well, I did do my monthly scythe maintenance a bit early. Tell me, my love; have they moved you? Will we lose our home? Will I lose you?"

"No. Or at least, not yet. I have new duties but I will perform them from London. There will be a redistribution of responsibilities. How did the Branch handle my absence?"

"Beautifully. Come into the kitchen, dearest, and we will have dinner. I have chicken fricassee and a dish of new peas."

"Wonderful. The food upstairs is dreadful."

Grell dealt cups and plates while Will set the kettle to boil and opened a bottle of white wine. The conversation lagged while Will tucked into an excellent dinner after a solid week of stale sandwiches and lukewarm tea. Grell was capable of learning any skill she truly wanted to master. Cooking was one such subject of study. She had abandoned the Victorian approach – find something marginally edible, carefully remove any nutritional value, overcook and cover with a sauce designed to conceal that the meat had gone off. She had gradually introduced Will to vegetables other than cabbage. It had done him a great deal of good.

Once he was beginning a second serving, he asked for a status review.

"I assume Humphries rose to the occasion."

"All of Operations stepped up like champions. Ronald and Anton took second shift without any trouble, Cortland took third with Solway, Onayemi took over Scheduling, and Humphries took first shift with DePoy. The Admins adjusted easily. Your Reapers never missed a step. The new hires were ready to follow me upstairs. They are scared to death of incurring one of your scolds, you know, but they credit you with saving their lives. Good people, at least the ones I've been training. One breakdown, who's recovering. Two if you count Alan."

"Not up to the work? I would not have expected that."

"No, no. He performed perfectly. But Madame had her revenge upon him. She flatly forbade him to tell anyone, and specifically Eric, anything about his visit upstairs."

"Oh."

"Of course, the very first person he met upon his return was Eric. In a tizzy. Demanding to know where he had gone without a Security guard, what had he been doing, hadn't he promised not to sneak off any more, in general what the hell. And Alan was caught between his husband's tantrum, direct orders from on high, and his refusal to lie about where he'd been. He couldn't get any rest before he began first shift. By the next morning he looked absolutely frazzled and furious. Eric feels he can keep secrets from Alan, but Alan's not allowed to do that to him."

"That has been a problem before."

"They went off to the Academy in a cold silence. I went off to Reap. Which was exciting. Our team got posted off to Saint-Michel-de-Maurienne to continue cleaning up after a derailment and fire. Troop train. Officials and army officers running about, frantic to hush it up because it was all due to negligence and the laws of physics.

"When that shift ended, I managed to catch Eric checking in with his department. I yanked him into his office and told him to shut the fuck up. Just that, no more, not disobeying orders. Oh, and I issued an invitation to try picking on somebody who was willing to pack him off to the infirmary. In a box. For a week. To regrow his little pair of– "

"Grell!"

" – kneecaps, dear, what else? Would you like another dumpling? – Anyway, Alan did not go home that shift. He went to the room they keep for emergencies, changed the passcode, and is sleeping there. Now that you are back, he can tell all and they can maybe kiss and make up. Fair warning, most of their staff are in hiding until they do. Except Avram. Nobody's braver than Avram." Grell poured Will another sip of wine. She did love to feed her husband.

"But I think, Will, that Madame has made a serious mistake. She's lost some of Alan's loyalty. And mine."

"Yours, Grell? She has been a good friend to you."

"I am just a friend when they need a fourth for bridge. Now, darling, you are getting better at this. Think, and tell me why this was not a good idea."

Will paused. Slingby and Humphries did have a co-dependent relationship. They also had a history of responding badly to separation and to perceived danger to their spouse. Both had tempers rarely roused but furious. Had they ever lost those tempers with each other, simultaneously?

"Grell, have they ever had this serious a dispute before?"

"Not to my knowledge. Never a shouting, stomping, name-calling, cup-throwing, door-slamming, moving-out fight, because they've never lost their tempers at the same time. Boring, really, but works for them. Keep thinking."

"But if they are separated, Humphries goes into depression and Slingby goes into mania. Not particularly useful, either of them, when that happens, which is why we take care to keep them scheduled for at least one shift together each day." Will moved a pea around his plate. "And their bond. Probably both were getting feedback rage through that bond."

"Oh, very good, darling. And?"

"Both are vital resources in peace and war, as long as they are together and content. Yet Madame deliberately set them against each other."

"Yes. Once Eric's had the full story, he should realize how he was used. If not, Avram will certainly tell him, possibly with a whack 'round the ear for not stopping to think. Keep going, please."

"Humphries had a choice. He chose to obey Madame's orders. It was the right decision for the Branch but a disastrous decision for the marriage." He moved a second pea to the opposite side of the plate. Grell smiled encouragement. He followed the thought to an unwelcome conclusion. "If the situation arises again, he will disobey Madame without a moment's regret."

"Right you are, darling. Never forget it."

"Grell, I do not see how I can help them. Their happiness is vital to London but their marriage is very much not my business."

"This is a situation where your natural preferences are correct, Will. Do nothing. Alan will go on duty at midnight. I'll pop over after dinner and tell Cortland you're back. She'll tell Alan when she gives her handover report. That frees him from his silence. He'll meet Eric in the morning when they go off to teach. He'll explain himself then. Wait to see if he moves back home on the next shift. At least they should be talking by then. Eric should recover quickly. Alan, I think, will not. He's deeply hurt and unhappy."

"He'll blame Madame."

"He's right to do so. This is not something that will become funny in time, not to Alan; he won't forgive this. Go easy on him for a few days, because he might be on the edge of a depressive episode, just when we really don't need one."

"There is one possibility, Grell, which might improve the situation. Did you know that Slingby and Madame are of an age? They have known each other for centuries and cooperated well in recent years. Slingby may go upstairs and protest her actions. He might extract an apology."

"And he might not. Will, do not ever let her set you against me. I swear I will never allow her to set me against you. In such a situation, all you have to say is I cannot tell you. Can you disobey her even that much?"

Will thought carefully. Then he proved to her that yes, he could.

« First « Prev Ch 40 of 52 Next »

41: Next Morning

Will went to the office a little early the next morning, arriving as Humphries and Depoy handed off to Knox and Wójcik. Slingby was not present.

"Humphries, when are you due at the Academy?"

"Not until ten hundred today, sir."

"Good. Will all of you please enter my office? Bradshaw, tea and coffee please, and a selection of pastries from this morning's delivery. Mister ffoulkes, take Mister Wójcik's desk. No calls, no interruptions but Mister Bradshaw's."

They all gathered around the meeting table. There was a shuffling of chairs. Will took his seat at the head of the table while the others aligned themselves automatically by seniority. Will waited until the Uncomfortable Chair had been shoved to the wall and the voice recorder was loaded with a new wax cylinder. The silence continued until Bradshaw arrived with the largest tray. He poured tea for Will, then served the others. Humphries, grim and weary, asked for coffee. His face was drawn and grey, his usual good humor absent. At Will's signal he turned on the recorder.

Knox, fresh and dapper, quickly secured the largest pastry. "Good to have you back, Director. Am I off desk duty?"

"No, Mister Knox. As my duties have changed, so have yours. You will continue to work eight to sixteen hundred as Acting Director and one short shift as Reaper. Miss Cortland will also continue to work one full shift as Acting Director, but that shift shall be midnight to eight hundred. Humphries, you will work with me sixteen to midnight. I will need you to match my schedule for some time; you will introduce me to your collection of maps and instruct me in their use. You will teach at the Academy as always on first shift with third shift off. To ease future schedule changes, each of you will select two people to back you up on your daily responsibilities, with the purpose of training them to take over when necessary. Knox, present this information to Miss Onayemi or to whomever is running Scheduling this shift. Tell Mister Mallory that Humphries and I may be traveling together with Miss Sutcliffe as our battlefield guide. He is to assign such escort as he and Scheduling see fit."

"Yes, sir."

"Mister Wójcik, keep Cortland and Humphries' schedules as free as possible for three days while they adjust to switching shifts. Seniors DePoy and Solway have their own responsibilities, to which they must return. You are to find Admins who will serve Cortland and Humphries as you serve me and Mister Knox. Each of you will then train a subordinate to cover for you if you are otherwise employed. Miss DePoy, until your replacement is ready to take over, switch shifts with Miss Solway so that you may continue with the Assistant Director you have been supporting."

"Director, if I may?" Humphries wrapped his hands around his cup; were they trembling? "I would like to propose, if Mister Wójcik agrees, that Mister Bradshaw be offered the position of my Personal Aide. He's due for promotion and performs most of those duties now."

"Mister Wójcik, your opinion?"

"A good choice, Director, if he is willing to accept the additional duties, and some training from Security."

"Great," chirped Knox. "Make sure he teaches the rest how do the tea and coffee and pastry orders."

Something like the ghost of a smile touched Humphries' face and vanished.

"Very well, everyone; Mister Wójcik, will you please refresh our cups? I need reports from you all on the events of the last week while I was gone. Mister Humphries, you first, since you must leave soon."

Humphries checked his watch and gave a quiet, thorough, rigidly controlled review which somehow barely mentioned his encounter with Madame and mentioned Grell not at all. He managed to imply that the entire week of Will's absence had been a period of unbroken monotony, with all the usual deliverables being handled by exemplary employees capable of managing an infernal invasion without raising a finger from their typewriters. The others nodded in solemn agreement. Spears sat stone-faced and resolved to get the dirt from Jacobs and Mallory if his subordinates didn't loosen up after Humphries left to teach.

Humphries, hands hidden in his lap, calmly answered Spears' questions. He excused himself from the table and left to gather his teaching materials. Slingby was not waiting for him outside the door.

When the door closed, Spears lifted an eyebrow. "Well?"

"Huge fight," said Knox. He pointed across the table to Humphries' empty plate. "Alan's not eating. Probably not sleeping. He's moved out of their apartment. Eric's shut down their bond connection and both are getting a little crazy. Alan's buried himself in his work. Ten Hagen's proofing everything he does, because Dutch is a nice man and so is Alan. Eric, though, Eric let his fury boil over onto his group. Liz Brodie and her crew aren't speaking to him right now. Terry yelled back. He discovered a sudden need to assist Garraway in Bristol. He'll stay there until Eric apologizes."

"Did Slingby actually allow a domestic dispute to affect the office?" Spears' voice promised retribution for absolutely unforgiveable behavior.

"Er. Well. I'm getting ahead of myself. When Alan came back from Madame's office, Eric was really angry. Nobody knew where he'd been, you see. Eric assumed he'd ducked away from his guards again. Alan left to get some rest before his night shift, and yeah, to take the argument somewhere private. Eric followed him home, shouting. Alan packed his duffel in silence and moved into a room lower down in H block that has a Franklin lock. Eric can't force the door without landing in the Great Dismal Swamp."

"And how do you know all this?"

"C'mon, Will, everybody knows all this. Eric stood yelling outside the locked door. That floor is single and double rooms full of Senior veterans and new hires, so 'all this' is public knowledge in the entire London Division. A Scythes Engineering Senior and two Supplies Upper Admins came out in the hall and ran him off. They're not Eric's employees. They are not afraid of him. If Eric challenged Supplies, they'd walk away and report him to you. If Eric challenged Scythes, they'd lay him out in lavender and then report him to you. The news has had two days to spread."

Will removed his glasses and pressed a hand over his eyes.

"Eric demanded Alan do something that Madame forbade him to do," sighed DePoy. "This may have been the first time Alan ever stonewalled him. For some reason Eric overreacted. Alan was very short on sleep and already angry. The only way to obey orders was to leave the situation."

"Mister Slingby had just returned from the battlefields," said Wójcik. "Conditions there, I am told, were very difficult that day. He found that his partner had left the office without his usual Security escort. There have been disagreements about that before, and promises made that can, unfortunately, be overridden by persons of higher rank."

Will considered. He knew he was not good at understanding his employees' personal feelings, beyond banning them from the workplace. He dropped the effort to understand the passions and turned to the politics of the problem.

"Have they been performing their duties in the workplace?"

"Alan's doing his best. The work gets done. His support staff have taken over some conflicting duties. That's simply because he can't be Acting Director and Chief of Operations at the same time. They're doing fine. Eric's being Eric. Cold rage. Fortunately, Avram's keeping things going. He's appointed two aides to share Terry's duties."

"Senior Auditing Adjunct DePoy. Why did Madame phrase her orders in such a way as to punish Mister Humphries?"

"Sir, I am not privy to her thoughts. I can only speculate."

[the-blackorchid1]

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