Narrator: “Water. Unlike other cats, long-haired Persians need regular baths to keep their luxurious coats healthy and fluffy. Reginald doesn’t care if he has a prize-winning coat. He just wants the ordeal to be over.”
Reginald: *meows in distress*
Narrator: Unfortunately for Reggie, there’s one last step. He’s about to learn that getting wet is nothing – compared to getting dry.”
I always think of the description I saw years ago: Self-imposed deadlines don't help me, because I know the person who set them, and they're full of shit.
Give yourself the treat before you start. I'm serious. And ideally during the task and afterwards too.
Executive dysfunction comes from a lack of available dopamine. Common advice is wrong. You need to provide your own dopamine before you can start. Otherwise you're trying to run your car on empty.
"But what if I still don't do it" well you already weren't getting it done anyway. Now you have a little treat. Try again later.
You deserve kindness and care even when you aren't being productive.
(Also read How to Keep House While Drowning by KC Davis)
I give my students a LOT of techniques for starting writing when it feels overwhelming or daunting, but one of them is exactly this: dopamine load BEFOREHAND. It may sound weird to people on tumblr dot com, but a lot of people seriously struggle with executive dysfunction when it comes to writing literally anything, to the extent that it can cause such symptoms as panic, depression, and AI chatbot use.
I usually suggest this technique as a "Reverse Pomodoro." In the original Pomodoro, you work for 25 minutes and then take a break for 5 minutes (the times vary, but that's the essential ratio). People with executive dysfunction often find this insurmountable, and they get even more frustrated, and then the task seems even more difficult. So instead, flip those times.
FIRST, spend 25 minutes doing something energizing and engaging that you like to do. Not scrolling social media passively, not watching tv, not napping. Try something like colouring, doing yoga, running/walking around the block, talking about your favourite tv show with someone in real time, playing with the dog or cat, making and eating a lovely sandwich, hula hooping, something active. Having a little treat absolutely falls in this category!
(on the subject of little treats: refusing yourself food until you do work is for fucking Puritans and you can be kinder to yourself)
Then, after 25 minutes (or however long it takes to eat the sandwich or finish the yoga routine, it doesn't have to be exact), spend 5 minutes writing (or doing whatever you're struggling to start). Most people can coax themselves into doing something they find difficult for five minutes, if they have already filled up the joy/energy/engagement bucket. You can put a timer on for the 5 minutes if you want, or if you find that annoying, just work for as long as you like.
The other key is: don't push yourself to keep going when you're frustrated or tired—that will just reinforce the negative belief that you already have, which tells you that this task is painful to do, and needs to be avoided. If you've commonly had to force yourself to do this kind of task, that's likely part of why you think of it as painful and have trouble starting it now. Also, you should just, at a basic level, try not to put yourself in pain for the sake of productivity. So just do it till the good feelings run out. Then start hula hooping or colouring again for another 25 minutes. When the tank's refilled, try another 5 minutes of work, if you can. Adjust times to taste.
Not every technique works for everyone, but I've seen this one work for many students who are genuinely and seriously disabled by executive dysfunction. And many people find themselves getting more and more excited and engaged in the "difficult" task—because the good feelings from the hula hooping carry over, and because they're suddenly able to do the task without feeling pain, and feel accomplishment without feeling pain.
I honestly think Gen-Z and younger simply does not understand how recent widespread smartphone adoption is.
I am not that old, and I didn't have a smartphone until probably late high school. For most of my life, many if not most people were not walking around with a magic internet machine in their pocket that they pulled out and used constantly for everything.
summary: robbs family are obsessed with his wife to the point he can’t get a moment alone with her
content: fluff, robb going insane, no war au!!
notes: this fic gave me an unmatched sense of joy. I love house stark!! I’m actually sansa starks biggest fan on my editing account I’ve posted 128 edits with her in. I saw we dub me head sansa stan. Also I will do a THOUSAND of these happy house stark fics w robb x reader it’s my fav
Robb should have known this would happen.
He married you in the godswood beneath the heart tree, snow drifting softly through the air, his entire family watching with shining eyes. It had been perfect. Quiet. Sacred.
He had thought, foolishly, that marriage would mean more time with you.
Instead, it has meant that the entire Stark family has decided you belong to them.
It begins before breakfast.
Robb wakes with you tucked against his chest, your hair a mess across his shoulder. For once, the castle is quiet. Pale morning light creeps through the shutters.
He presses a kiss to your temple.
“This,” he murmurs, half-asleep, “is what I imagined marriage would be.”
You hum sleepily. “You imagined me drooling on your shoulder?”
“I did not say it was dignified.”
You laugh softly, and he feels victorious already.
Then the door bursts open.
“Robb!”
Arya’s voice.
No knocking.
No hesitation.
He doesn’t even move at first. Surely this is a dream. Surely..
“Robb, Ghost stole my boot again and Jon won’t help because he says it builds character! oh.”
There is a pause.
You pull the blankets up instinctively. Robb stares at the ceiling.
In the doorway stands Arya, hands on her hips, entirely unrepentant.
Behind her, Jon leans casually against the frame, smirking.
“You’re married,” Arya says flatly. “Not dead.”
“Out,” Robb says, voice muffled in the pillow.
Jon grins. “Father says breakfast waits for no man.”
“I am not just any man.”
“You are when you’re late.”
You are trying very hard not to laugh.
Robb finally turns his head to glare at them. “This is my chamber.”
Arya shrugs. “It’s our castle.”
And just like that, they leave, satisfied.
Robb groans.
“It is too early for this,” he mutters.
You kiss his cheek. “Your family loves you.”
“They love you,” he corrects darkly.
Breakfast is worse.
You barely make it to the table before you are intercepted.
Sansa is immediately beside you, discussing fabric choices for a new gown. Bran wants you to hear about something he saw from the battlements. Rickon climbs into your lap without permission.
Across the hall, Theon raises an eyebrow at Robb.
“You look troubled, Stark.”
“My wife has not sat beside me once,” Robb replies.
Theon glances toward you, currently laughing as Bran animatedly gestures about something involving ravens.
“She did marry into a large family.”
“She married me not them.”
“And yet she appears to be preferring their company over yours. Shame.”
Robb shoots him a look that promises violence.
At the head of the table, Ned watches the scene with quiet amusement.
Catelyn leans slightly toward him. “He is sulking.”
“He is learning,” Ned replies mildly.
Robb finally manages to reach you… only for Jon to clap a hand on his shoulder.
“You’re needed in the yard.”
“I am needed here.”
Jon looks pointedly at you being tugged away by Sansa and Arya simultaneously.
“I think you’ve lost this battle.”
The yard offers no relief.
Grey Wind bounds toward you the moment you step outside later that morning, nearly knocking you off balance. You laugh, dropping to your knees to bury your hands in his fur.
“Traitor,” Robb mutters.
Ghost appears at your side as well, serene and watchful. Even the wolves have chosen you.
Shaggydog barrels past, chasing Rickon, who is shrieking in delight.
“See?” Theon says, nudging Robb with his elbow. “Even the direwolves adore her.”
“They are my wolves.”
“They are her wolves now.”
Robb watches as you rise, brushing snow from your skirts, only to be immediately handed a practice sword by Arya.
“She said she’d spar,” Arya announces.
“You said you were terrible,” Robb protests.
“I am,” you reply cheerfully. “But she insists.”
Arya grins wickedly.
You take a stance.
Jon folds his arms, intrigued. “This should be interesting.”
You swing too wide. Arya disarms you in seconds.
You laugh.
Robb does not.
He is watching the way your cheeks flush from the cold, the way you push hair from your face, the way you beam at his sister like you have always belonged here.
He loves that they love you.
He does.
But he would also like to hold his wife without an audience.
You finally slip away from Arya, cheeks flushed, hair slightly wild.
Robb finds you in the library.
Alone.
Reading.
Hope surges.
He shuts the door behind him quietly.
You glance up, surprised, and smile.
“There you are.”
He crosses the room in three strides.
“You vanished.”
“You were sparring.”
“I would have stopped.”
You tilt your head. “Would you?”
“Yes.”
He reaches for your hand…
The door opens.
“Ah!” says Sansa brightly. “I thought you might be here.”
Robb’s shoulders drop.
Sansa steps inside with a stack of fabrics.
“I need help choosing trims.”
You blink between them.
Robb says very evenly, “Now?”
“Yes,” Sansa replies innocently. “It will only take a moment.”
It takes an hour.
Robb sits in the corner like a storm cloud while the two of you debate silks.
By midday you are seated beside Jon at lunch, discussing archery techniques you learned watching him.
Robb sits across from you.
Again.
Again.
Theon leans over. “You’ve spoken to her… what, twice?”
Robb counts silently.
“…something like that.”
Jon is demonstrating hand placement using your fingers.
Robb nearly inhales a bone.
“That is enough,” he mutters.
You look up. “What?”
“Nothing.”
But he doesn’t stop staring.
After lunch you all find yourselves in the yard again. Snow crunches beneath your boots as you cross to where Robb is.
Robb is sparring with Theon, wooden swords clashing sharply.
You pause to watch.
Theon spots you first.
“Ah,” he says, ducking a swing. “The true ruler of the North arrives.”
Robb rolls his eyes. “Ignore him.”
You laugh softly and lean against the fence.
Within minutes, Arya Stark appears at your side.
“Bet on Robb,” she mutters. “He sulks if he loses in front of you.”
“I do not sulk!” Robb calls.
“You do!” Arya shouts back.
Theon grins wickedly. “He fights worse when you watch.”
Robb lunges at him.
You clap when Robb finally disarms Theon.
He looks immediately toward you.
Victorious.
Breathless.
Snow in his hair.
You smile at him like he’s done something extraordinary.
He forgets entirely that Theon is still speaking.
Then Bran tugs your sleeve. “Come. You promised.”
Robb’s expression falls.
“For what?”
“She said she’d read me all the books and fairytales she brought from home.”
Robb lowers his sword slowly. “You promised?”
You hesitate. “Briefly.”
“How long is briefly?”
Bran answers for you. “Long enough.”
And just like that…
You’re gone again.
Jon steps beside Robb.
“You look wounded.”
“I just want my wife.”
“She will return.”
“She said that yesterday.”
From the tower above, your laughter drifts down.
He softens instantly.
“Gods,” he sighs. “I cannot even be angry.”
Late afternoon.
Robb finally corners you in the corridor.
“You are avoiding me.”
“I am not.”
“You are.”
“I have been busy.”
“With everyone except me.”
You soften. “Robb,”
“Reader!” calls Sansa’s voice from the stairwell. “Oh!! there you are! I was hoping,”
Robb goes very still.
Sansa approaches sweetly.
“Could you walk with me? I wanted to ask you about court etiquette.”
Robb stares at his sister like she’s declared war.
You hesitate.
He sees it.
He sighs through his nose. “Go.”
You squeeze his hand before leaving.
“Not as if she had time with you before.” He mumbled under his breath.
He stands alone in the corridor.
Again.
It’s nearly evening when you finally return to your chambers.
Robb is there.
Sitting on the edge of the bed.
Waiting.
You close the door gently.
“Are you angry?”
He shakes his head once.
“No.”
“Robb.”
He stands slowly.
“I woke with you this morning.”
“Yes.”
“And since then I have seen you in passing.”
Your chest tightens a little.
“They love you,” you say softly.
“I know.”
“And you love them.”
“I do.”
He steps closer.
“But I married you.”
The words are quiet.
Honest.
And for a moment, it feels like the world narrows back down to just the two of you…
A horn sounds.
Dinner.
Robb closes his eyes.
You almost laugh.
The Great Hall is loud.
Warm.
Full.
You are seated between Arya and Sansa.
Robb is three seats away.
Three.
You’re laughing at something Arya says.
You haven’t noticed him staring for several minutes now.
Theon leans in. “This is painful.”
Jon adds, “I almost pity you.”
Robb stands.
The bench scrapes loudly against stone.
Conversation dies down.
He walks around the table deliberately.
Stops behind your chair.
Places both hands on it.
“My lady.”
You look up, smiling. “Yes?”
“I require you.”
“For what?”
“For my sanity.”
Laughter ripples.
You open your mouth…
And he doesn’t wait.
He lifts you straight from the bench.
The hall erupts.
“Robb Stark!” Catelyn scolds, though she’s smiling.
“You have all had her since dawn,” he declares. “I am reclaiming my wife.”
Grey Wind barks.
Theon laughs.
Jon shakes his head.
Arya shouts, “That’s unfair!”
Robb ignores them all.
He carries you out of the hall, up the stairs, down the corridor.
Into your chamber.
He shuts the door.
Turns the key.
Leans back against it, breathing out like he’s just survived battle.
You’re laughing in his arms.
“You’re dramatic.”
“I am patient,” he corrects.
“Since when?”
“Since this morning.”
You wrap your arms around his neck.
“And now?”
He presses his forehead to yours.
“Now,” he murmurs, voice warm and low, “they can knock all they like because I am not stopping.”
Summary: Clark goes out for a drink and unexpectedly meets you.
Word Count: 300
Playlist Prompt: Therefore I Am - Billie Eilish / “I don't think I caught your name”
Warnings: Drinking, a touch wholesome, "fake dating", Clark Kent (he's a warning, okay?).
A/N: Day 6 of the June Jukebox Scribbles Challenge by @societynsoelsscribbles and I am slowly but surely catching up! ❤️ Not beta read and written on my phone, so any and all mistakes are my own. Divider by the talented @saradika-graphics. Please follow @navybrat817-sideblog for new fics and notifications as I no longer do taglists. Comments, reblogs, feedback are loved and appreciated!
Clark wasn’t sure how Jimmy talked him into going out for happy hour. It wasn’t like he couldn’t tune out the sounds from the bar, but it was still a lot. Still, it was nice to really be human for a short time, enjoying the company of his coworkers and friends.
He was nursing a drink, one that wouldn’t get him drunk anyone, and nodding along to the chatter when heard you.
“There you are!”
Clark’s eyes widened when you sat in the empty seat beside him and smiled. His heart flipped. And flipped again. Golly, you were beautiful.
So beautiful.
“Oh!” he exclaimed when you went in for a hug, keeping his hands in a safe place as he returned it and glancing at an amused Jimmy and Lois. “Um…”
“This guy at the bar won’t stop bugging me, so I told him I was meeting up with my boyfriend. I’m sorry,” you quickly whispered.
That caught Clark by surprise.
Even with his height and build, he always did his best to look unintimidating and unsure of himself when he wasn’t Superman.
Why would you choose him to be a fake boyfriend out of everyone there?
“I can go if you want,” you offered when you pulled away.
Clark’s eyes narrowed behind his glasses when he saw a guy staring at you from a few feet away, his protective instincts flaring up.
“No. Please, stay,” he said, slipping an arm around you and giving you what he hoped was a charming smile. “But… I don’t think I caught your name.”
You giggled and leaned in again to tell him in his ear.
He repeated it. “I’m Clark.”
“Nice to meet you, Clark.”
And who knew?
Maybe being a fake boyfriend tonight could turn into a real thing later on.
Golly, he’s adorable. Love and thanks for reading! ❤️
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- MISCELLANEOUS CHARACTERS
- including Robbie Jennings (ataps), Drover (australia), Leopold Mountbatten (kate and leopold), Conrad Fisher (tsitp), and Kaz Brekker (shadow and bone), Joe Macken (albert nobbs)
- JAMES POTTER
- TANGERINE
- POLY MARAUDERS
- COUNT VRONSKY
- SERGEI KRAVINOFF
- DAVE LIZEWSKI
- PIETRO MAXIMOFF
- TOM RYDER
- LOGAN HOWLETT
- FRIEDRICH HARDING
- CLARK KENT
- PETER PARKER
- STEVE HARRINGTON
(Bonus, 4k Celebration) - MOODBOARD MASTERLISTS
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summary: After the early stages of relationship bliss, familiar insecurities start to eat at you…
details and cw: description of feeling inadequate, discussions of asexuality, eatablished relationship, hurt/comfort, angst but not really angst yk? they love you very much, no use of y/n
A/N: This is the first thing I’ve ever written tbh (might delete it again), it’s very very self indulgent because I’ve been feeling a little off these past days and was craving reassurance in my sexuality after devouring most of the ace!reader content on here. Anywho, English is not my first language and I proof read this once maybe, so bear with me.
My participation in this fandom does not mean I support or agree with JKR, her opinions, or her values. I don’t.
—————————————————————————
Things with Sirius and Remus felt easy. After all, they say the honeymoon phase of relationships is light and bright. It was almost surreal, having long before decided that love was not in the picture for you, that the lack of sexual desire predestined you for a life of loneliness. But they proved you wrong, persisted, and won you over slowly.
But, after the rosy haze of early love clears a little, insecurities pave their way into heart and head. Joining a relationship after they established a rhythm was difficult, Sirius and Remus had been together for a while before falling in love with you. Not questioning your place in their hearts, especially when you question yourself daily as is, proved itself to be herculean. But maybe it’s your tendency to overthink pulling a prank on you. Maybe you just imagine them gravitating to one another in rooms, or laughing about jokes that have long been established between them, excluding you without the intention of doing so.
Sometimes, then, it feels like you have not quite surpassed the status of friends in more than the word, stuck in a limbo between platonic and truly romantic.
A spectator to their love rather than a participant in your own relationship.
These thoughts creep in during the small moments. When you watch them dance at a party like they can anticipate the other’s next movement, when they’re telling stories about their school days, when Sirius automatically orders Remus’s food, knowing his preference, and then turns to you to ask what you would like to have.
Or when they’re both late to dates, like now.
You prepared everything for a cozy night in: dinner, tea, a movie, a soft record in the background. They arrived almost an hour late with guilty apologies and soft kisses to your head. They ‘got caught up’ as Remus so delicately puts it, the blooming hickey on Sirius’s neck and the slight glow to them both telling you enough.
It’s not that you feel bad about them having sex, you would never dare to. Quite the contrary; You basked in the knowledge that while they loved and cared for you, they still had one another to love and care for, and to satiate those desires that you do not need to satiate yourself. That you cannot concentrate on the movie or Remus’s warm hand on your thigh lies solely with feeling less than, because they arrived late due to being caught up in one another. The movie’s picture blurs when your eyes lose focus, mind running in circles around the usual thoughts that plague you, that plagued you long before they entered your life in a contradicting storm of affection and mindfulness. If you were normal, you could have been there. Participated. Known what it feels like to be loved like that and not feel like they were afraid to touch you.
Remus notices the exact moment you zone out; he always does. His fingers squeeze your thigh gently. “Dove?” When you don’t reply, he repeats the affection, Sirius looking over as well now. You hum and look at him, shaking out of your spiral for a moment to give him your undivided attention.
“You okay? Seemed like we lost you there for a moment.”
“Oh, yes, sorry.” He smiles gently, “penny for your thoughts?” You return the smile, “not important.”
Now Sirius chimes in, “always important if it’s occupying your mind like that, lovely.”
With how they both look at you now, nothing but adoration reflected in their gaze, you feel your sinuses burn and tears push against your lash-line. “Sorry,” you mutter quickly and press your palms into your eyes, voice giving out halfway through the word. Suddenly it feels like you’re alone on a stage, spotlight bright and insistent on you sharing something with the audience that consists of your boyfriends. There’s a moment of silence before the couch dips on your other side as well, now sandwiched between both men.
“Take your time, focus on your breath,” Remus instructs gently, the way his fingers flex slightly on your thigh before retreating to his own to not crowd you the only indication of any inner distress he feels. Sirius is less subtle; you can feel him shift nervously beside you. “What’s wrong, baby?”
You just shake your head, not trusting your voice yet. It’s a curse, really, how it refuses to cooperate in moments when everybody expects you to articulate yourself. They give you the time you need, Sirius’s hand interlacing with one of yours in reassurance, lightly at first should you feel like you need to pull away, then more firmly when you don’t. Taking a moment to sort your thoughts, you grapple for a way to voice your feelings sensibly. “Are you two sure you want to be with me?” By the silence that follows, you’re sure to have caught them off guard. “Of course we are, dove. Why would you think we wouldn’t want to be with you?” You take a breath, using your free hand to wipe beneath your eyes. “Sometimes I feel like I’m just… not offering enough. Logically, I know you love me, you have told me as much, but I don’t know what I’ve done to deserve that.”
“You don’t need to do anything in particular to deserve our love,” Sirius’s thumb strokes over you’re the back of your hand when he says that, his tone softer than you expected. Your heart squeezes.
“Every moment you two share feels sacred, like it’s an honour to witness it. And then I ask myself how I deserve to be part of that, how will I ever know you two the way you know one another. I can’t participate in the most intimate moments. I can’t have sex. And just maybe… I’m too broken to be with.” You reply, voice barely above a whisper. No turning back now, you’ve laid out your most crucial insecurity before them to do with whatever they please to. To your surprise Sirius looks baffled, appalled almost, that you would talk about yourself like that. Remus’s face tightens minutely, but understanding fills his eyes.
“Knowing a person takes time. We don’t expect you to achieve that immediately, dove. That is the fun of a relationship – learning each other’s uniqueness. Being asexual does not mean you’re less worthy of getting to know and love us or be loved and known. It just means that we have to find ways to make you feel as appreciated and desired without sex. We should have properly asked what affection you feel comfortable with and learned your boundaries. I’m sorry if we made you feel like you’re not enough, and I’m sure being late today hasn’t helped much.” You nod, new tears filling your eyes. “I should have communicated that earlier.”
“It’s my fault, really,” Sirius chimes in in an attempt to diffuse the situation. “I hold back so much when you’re close, I never know what to do with the urge to squeeze you that you give me, so poor Remus had to compensate. Really ought to know what I’m allowed to do with you, lovely. I’ll go mad.” You laugh a little, squeezing his hand. “How about we start with cuddling and the occasional kiss?”
They don’t seem to need to be told twice. The movie is rewound and you find yourself in a tangle of limbs and warmth soon after. For the first time in a while, your brain is quiet. You’re not broken; all you needed was somebody willing to love you the way you didn’t know you needed to be loved and accept the ways you don’t want to be loved.
Description: The team heads underground into an unsafe mine due to the mine CEO and his pet Attorney General.
Words: 7.5k
A/n: As a life update: I've recently moved states for a new job and am currently on night shift, so still in a posting when I can stage with no planned consistency. Thank you so much everyone for reading and showing interest even when I'm not consistent. It means the world, truly!
Hope you enjoy!
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Nate and Eliot met with the client this time. He was a miner who had lost a lot of friends two years ago in a mining accident due to inadequate ventilation and safety measures. The mining company received money from the government to improve safety measures after the accident, but the CEO swindled the money away. According to our client, the mine was worse than it was before. It was just a matter of time before there was another catastrophic accident.
I had to do a double take as Eliot entered the apartment. “You’re looking… Rustic today,” I said before thinking too much about it.
Eliot paused and turned to me, “Did you just call me old?”
“What?! No!” I flushed, “I just meant… You just grew out your facial hair more than usual, is all.”
His stiff posture loosened, “Oh.” His hand started scratching his beard, “Uh, yeah.”
Hardison started laughing and I threw a pen in his direction to shut him up.
“Alright, run it,” Nate said, not entertaining the banter today.
Hardison stopped laughing, eventually, and started pulling up the slideshow, giving some background on the mine and its operation.
I leaned back towards where Eliot was standing behind us at the desk and whispered, “I like it, by the way.”
He looked down at me with a tilt of his head, assessing. After a moment of his blank expression, I was going to sit back up, but his lips twitched up into a smirk. He leaned forward and whispered back, “Is that right, sweetheart?”
I flushed again, lips parting as the gravel of his voice vibrated in my ear. My mind was blank, or at least, far from what we were supposed to be discussing.
Hardison cleared his throat, snapping my attention back to his briefing, “Well, it turns out Blackwell did use the money for safety measures, or one big safety measure.” Pictures of a woman slid onto the screen, “She's named Debra Pierce.”
“West Virginia Attorney General,” Sophie said.
“Her hair's so poofy,” Parker happily commented.
“Thanks to a recent Supreme Court decision removing limits on corporate campaign contributions,” Hardison continued, “Blackwell was able to sink all of his safety money into Pierce's political action committee.”
“So instead of making the mines safer, he just hired himself an Attorney General,” Eliot summed up.
“Yeah. Well, he's getting his money's worth. Since the explosion two years ago, Blackwell has received nearly 400 citations for unsafe working conditions.”
“Yikes,” I cringed, that was almost one every other day.
“Well, even he can't just make 400 citations disappear. Can he?” Sophie asked.
“Nah. But he can bury 'em,” Hardison told her.
“What he does is he appeals them,” Nate explained, “and Pierce makes sure that those appeals go on forever. So while the citations are under appeal, he doesn't have to pay a cent.”
“That’s a big and convenient loophole, if I ever heard of one,” I sighed.
“We can't go after Blackwell with an A.G. In his back pocket,” Eliot pointed out.
Nate agreed, “No, but we can take down both of them. What we do is we get Blackwell to give us the money from the PAC, and then once that money is transferred, we flag both of them for misuse of campaign funds.”
After a moment, Sophie suggested, “The Skagway shuffle.”
“Yeah. That's what I was thinking,” Nate agreed thoughtfully.
“See, now y'all are just making stuff up,” Hardison nearly whined.
“It's like the fiddle game,” Sophie clarified.
“Yeah, only underground,” Nate added.
“Are Eliot and y/n gonna be the fiddle again?” Parker asked.
Sophie and Nate responded at the same time, “No.”
“Can I be the fiddle?” Parker asked.
“No,” Sophie and Nate repeated.
“The mine is the fiddle,” Sophie explained, “We convince him that he's got something valuable in his mine, then we sell him a process to mine it, and then we take all his money.”
“Right. Good. So, how are we gonna do that?” Parker asked.
Nate answered, “We're gonna sell the guy his own mine.”
We started doing preliminary preparations before we left Boston for West Virginia. Nate and Sophie wanted Parker to gain some confidence in her grifting skills, so Sophie set up a grifting 101 class for her that I sat in on.
Sophie had information on Pierce on the monitors as she began, “A great grift is like a romance. You have to find out what they want and just give it to them. You have to woo them.”
“I don't woo,” Parker grumbled.
Sophie looked at her for a moment before requesting: “Tell me how you break into a bank.”
“Clock the cameras, count the guards, find the silent alarms, look for a weak spot to enter, pick the vault's combination, and steal the money,” Parker answered with a shrug as if it was the easiest thing in the world.
“Just analyze Pierce the same way you would a security system. Here.” Sophie handed her a little notebook, “Take notes. There's your mark. Find her weak spots. With politicians, it's usually a need for adoration. The same way that you wear black to mask yourself from security cameras, flattery can mask your intentions. Find the right combination, and you can unlock the mark's trust. And then you can steal her…”
“...Soul,” Parker finished with a nod.
“I was gonna say ‘confidence.’ You can do this, Parker. Just trust your instincts.”
Parker still had a slight frown on her face, but she seemed thoughtful. She looked at me sitting across the room, “How have you picked this up so easily, why aren’t you doing it?”
I thought about it for a moment, “I mean, customer service, getting clientele, it’s already doing what Sophie mentioned just on a shallower scale. To put it simply, I’ve had some practice. That doesn’t mean I’m not anxious about it. As for why I can’t do it, they’re gonna need me with Hardison sometimes. I just can’t dedicate the time to getting Pierce on the hook.”
She deflated a bit, as if that was her last chance of getting out of it. I gave a sympathetic laugh and pat on her knee before going to pack my bags. The truth was, they didn’t need me with Hardison that much that justified me not doing it. Nate told me as such that they needed Parker to be a little more rounded in her skill sets. I had a feeling Parker wouldn’t like that answer though.
Once we arrived in West Virginia, Eliot went undercover in the mines. He had a couple of jobs to do before we got started. The first, was to plant some signal boosters that would work with the mine’s communication system so our comms would work underground. The second, was to salt the mine with coltan, so we could con Blackwell out of his money. The miners spread limestone dust on the walls of the mine to keep the coal dust levels down and prevent coal dust explosions in a practice called rockdusting. We mixed coltan in with limestone dust and sent that in with Eliot, so after they rockdusted, mineral readings would say that coltan was in the mine.
Once that was done, it was showtime.
“Morning,” Sophie greeted as she and Hardison entered Blackwell’s trailer.
“Can I help you?” A voice who I assumed was Blackwell asked.
“I'm Cara Hetzel. This is Jesse Oaks. We're here from the mine safety coalition to do a spot inspection,” Sophie said in her American accent.
“Fine. Let me get my mine supervisor, show you around. Clark!” There was a pause before he continued, “Can you, uh, be so kind as to show the inspectors around? Uh, be careful what kind of rocks you turn over down there. Mining can be a dangerous business,” Blackwell said cryptically.
“It sure can,” Sophie agreed, just as cryptically.
As they left to ‘inspect’ the mine, Nate barged into Blackwell’s office next.
“Who are you?”
“Uh, hey, uh, Mr. Blackwell. Bob Gibson. I'm here to make you an offer you can't refuse,” Nate told him in his salesman voice.
“Really?” Blackwell asked, intrigued.
“I want to buy your mine,” Nate said.
“Excuse me?”
“Oh, sorry. I didn't realize you were hard of hearing. I heard that can happen to miners.” Nate raised his voice and talked slower, “I want to buy your mine.”
“Mine's not for sale,” Blackwell said simply.
“I was afraid you'd say that. So, all right, I'm gonna write down a little number here, and we'll stop playing these games.”
Blackwell mimicked Nate’s enunciation, “The mine is not for sale. Or are you hard of hearing?”
“You don't have to be rude,” Nate grumbled. “I just want to give you an opportunity to make a lot of money. Now, look, I know you country folk, you like the simple life. But the simple life looks a lot better on the back of a 100-foot yacht, say.”
“I appreciate your generosity, Mr. Gilman,” Blackwell stayed polite.
“Gibson. Bob Gibson.”
“Gibson. Yeah. Well, I'm doing fine on my own.”
Nate laughed, not entirely convinced, “Okay. If you say so. Listen, if you change your mind, give me a call.”
I heard the door close behind him as he exited.
“Okay, Parker, are you in place?”
She looked at me, “Uh, almost. You sure someone else can't do this?
“Uh, well, we need all hands on deck on this one,” Nate answered. “Just do what Sophie told you.”
I nodded, “You’ve got this. I’ll help you get your foot in the door and getting set up. I’m nervous too, let’s take a deep breath okay?”
She nodded, inhaling and exhaling with me.
“Okay, let’s go.”
I opened the door to Pierce’s office, Parker trailing behind me.
Pierce was reciting a speech into a mirror, “Under my continued direction, the people of West Virginia will be known as the people who love freedom, who love justice, and who fight for what they love! And…” She paused and then changed her tone, “And who fight for what they love. Will you let me continue to fight for you?”
I knocked on the door, catching her attention, “Hi, Ms. Pierce, it’s nice to see you again–”
She looked at me, puzzled, “I’m sorry, who are you?”
I straightened my posture and had a disappointed look on my face, trying to subtly release the shaky breath within me, “Oh, I’m Kathryn, Kathryn Hall? I’ve been an intern here for a few months now?”
She flushed in embarrassment and nodded her head, “Of course, Kathryn. What can I do for you?”
I smiled and pulled Parker up to stand in front of me, “This young lady requested to meet you. You had an opening in your schedule, so she was hoping to talk to you for a minute.”
“Beautiful speech, Ms. Pierce,” Parker cut in, already getting to the flattery.
“Oh, well I–”
I checked my watch, “Oh! That’s great. I’ve got to run, feel free to holler if you need anything, I’ll be right down the hall!” I waved and exited the office. I walked down the hallway away from the door, and then waited as Parker made her case to Pierce.
“Hi, Ms. Pierce, I’m hoping to be your new campaign consultant,” Parker cut to the chase. “I've been following your career since your first term in the state senate. And this is your chamber where you dispense justice and fight for freedom!”
“I didn’t catch your name, sweetie,” Pierce said.
“Oh, Kelly Beth? Kelly Beth Laughlin? But you can call me Kelly Beth. Can I call you ‘boss’?”
I smiled, that was a clever hook.
Pierce gave an amused laugh, “Oh, darlin', as much as I'd love your energy in the homestretch of this campaign, I don't have much of a budget for a campaign consultant.”
“I'm Kelly Beth Laughlin, of the Maysville Laughlins,” Parker said, as if the name should be recognized. “See, I don't need a salary, okay? In fact, I would pay for the experience of working for you.”
“Well, damn, I'm happy to work with anybody willing to pay for it. Welcome aboard Team Pierce.”
“I'm in,” Parker said in a tone that said she was mostly talking to us, not Pierce.
Sophie and Hardison were still in the mine, doing inspections and suspicious ‘dust readings.’ Pierce left her office for a little while for a meeting. I entered after she left to help Parker set up. We placed bugs around the office, gave Hardison a connection to her computer, searched through the pile of files on her desk, planted files, and I helped her set up some social media accounts and websites for her to show Pierce.
“I've set up re-election facebook and twitter accounts and opened a political action committee called Tomorrow's Women to consolidate the online donations,” Parker told Pierce once she came back to her office.
“I like it,” Pierce complimented.
“Oh, and, uh, so far, we've raised $436.”
There was a pause where I assumed Pierce was looking things over, “Well, color me pink and put me in a pigpen. You're a fast worker.”
“Well, you know what they say about idle hands,” Parker quipped.
Pierce didn’t say anything that I could hear through Parker’s comm, but it seemed to have gone well.
“You’re doing better than what you give yourself credit for, Parker,” I told her from down the hallway. “I’m gonna leave you to it.”
Parker seemed to have sputtered a bit, but didn’t argue after I reassured her that she was doing great and didn’t need me there.
I made my way to the van where Hardison was monitoring everything. “How’s it going?”
“Good,” Hardison replied typing into his computer. “Blackwell is about to confront Sophie about meeting up with Nate.
Sure enough, Sophie said in her American accent, “Oh. Hello, there, again, Mr. Blackwell.”
Blackwell’s voice came through the comms, “Just cut the act. Now, who are you and what are you doing with Mr. Gibson? You know, uh, impersonating a federal safety inspector is a felony in West Virginia.”
Sophie dropped her American accent in favor of her regular English one, “My name is Eloise Tinson. I'm a mineral extraction expert. I'm in town to make Mr. Gibson a very wealthy man, take home a little something for myself.”
“Well, your expertise is wasted on Mr. Gibson. He doesn't own the mine.”
“On the contrary, Mr. Blackwell, he owns the 400 acres to the north and east of yours and I hear he made a little offer on yours today.”
“Ah. Well, mine's not on the market. And, uh, his land is, uh, mined out years ago.”
“Yes. For coal. We're looking for something a little more... lucrative.”
Blackwell hummed in question and I heard a slap of a folder hitting a table or counter.
“Coltan?”
“Columbite-tantalite” Sophie clarified, “It's a mineral found in cell phones, DVD players, computers. It's found in abundance in central Africa. And frankly, everything's a bloody mess over there. American companies are desperate to get their hands on a domestic source.”
“What is your role in all this?”
“My company developed a process for locating and mining Coltan. Mr. Gibson is buying that process.”
“Well, if there's, uh, Coltan in my mine, Mr. Gibson isn't gonna get his hands on it.”
“Well, according to the readings that my partner and I took today, yes, there is Coltan in your mine. And using our process, Mr. Gibson is gonna be able to mine it right out from under you.”
Blackwell’s tone dropped, “The hell he will. You're not the only one with a partner.”
Hardison turned to me, “Did you and Parker plant that form?”
I nodded, “Yeah, all of them are on her desk.”
“Good,” he continued typing on his computer, “Parker, Blackwell just left Sophie. Make sure Pierce finds the mineral rights application.”
She hummed in acknowledgement. There was some shuffling of papers and files as Parker chatted with Pierce until Pierce’s phone rang. Pierce dismissed Parker while she spoke with Blackwell and Parker confirmed that Pierce had found the file before she left her office.
A few minutes later, Sophie took a quick call from Blackwell and she told us through comms that he was hooked and ready for a meeting tomorrow morning.
Sophie and Hardison headed to the mine earlier than I would have liked. I trudged my way to the van so I could monitor the equipment while Hardison was out and start listening to the recordings of Pierce’s office to see if we could find anything useful. I started at the beginning when Parker and I planted the bugs, sorting through where there was actual conversations and information, cutting out when the office was empty.
“Our sonar-detection technology tells us exactly where the Coltan is located,” Hardison explained to Blackwell, beeping from his detector coming through the comms.
“Oh. Look at that. There's a very strong presence of Coltan in here,” Sophie said.
“Really? Well, this is quite a fancy machine. I-I hope, uh, you don't mind if I double-check the old-fashioned way?” Blackwell asked.
“Uh, Coltan's generally found in isolated pockets, so those, uh, surface tests, they can be very inconclusive,” Sophie said almost defensively, as if trying to explain why his chemical tests wouldn’t work.
“I'm sure,” Blackwell replied skeptically, but after a moment his tone was pleasantly surprised, “Well, we'll see here. Oh. Look at that.”
“Well, that looks conclusive to me,” Sophie agreed.
I sighed in relief, the rockdusting of coltan seemed to work in fooling Blackwell.
“Oh, oh. Well, this, this area right here is lighting up like a Christmas tree,” Hardison said, the beeping from his machine getting louder and more frequent. “You'll be able to get a good six months out of that vein. And this area, not so much. But this right down here now, this, you'll be able to put that new addition on your house and get that fishing boat you've been wanting.”
“That's the beauty of the process. No more digging blind,” Sophie pitched.
“Oh. Well, it sounds good to me. You know, maybe I'll be able to lay off some of these hillbillies I pay to dig in the dirt all day long here. Mining used to be worthwhile, you know. But, uh, now with the unions and the workers whining all the time about not getting paid enough and they're never safe enough and all, I mean, it's hard to--to keep a business and make a buck.”
I rolled my eyes. The fact that he wouldn’t be having most, if not all, of those ‘problems’ if he had just used the government money the way it was supposed to. And he would probably be making all the more money for it, too!
Hardison hummed, trying to sound like he agreed.
“I'm pretty confident, using this process, you'll be able to make quite a few bucks,” Sophie emphasized the last few words.
“Well, I'm convinced.”
“Excellent. Let's talk numbers.”
I looked over the accounts that Hardison hacked into before he left, “Uh… he's got $125,000 liquid in his personal accounts and $500,000 in the PAC.”
“$600,000. We're gonna need it in one payment. We've found that installments can get a little bit messy,” Sophie admitted almost conspiratorially.
“Of course,” Blackwell agreed.
“By tomorrow,” Hardison added. “Mr. Gibson was gonna write us a check in the morning. Now, if that's gonna be a problem for you–”
“No. That's no problem. I'm having a fundraiser for the Attorney General at the Morgan Club tomorrow. You stop by there, I'll cut you a check,” Blackwell assured.
“Perfect,” Sophie said.
“Okay, Eliot. Sophie's done with Blackwell. He's hooked. You can surface,” Nate said from the cafe down the road. To say I was peeved that he could hang out in a cafe while I was in the van sorting through recordings was an understatement.
“Ahh. I don't want to leave these guys one man down,” Eliot replied.
“Okay. Fine. You can finish the day. But tomorrow, we're gone,” Nate told him.
I couldn’t help the soft smile that crept up my face as Eliot began to tease and give advice to one of the younger miners, easily slipping on the role of mentor as if it was an old, well-loved coat.
I left him to it and turned back to the recordings from Pierce’s office. Most of the recordings were boring, filing out paperwork, meetings about things I couldn’t bother noting down. There was a private meeting with Blackwell Thursday afternoon that I quickly skipped over once hearing the beginning, trying not to visualize Blackwell and Pierce together. I did note it down, but moved on as quickly as possible to try and cleanse the palette.
Hardison came back to the van and was sorting through Pierce’s computer and manipulating various systems when Parker showed one of those manipulations to Pierce.
“Ooh, your latest numbers are up.”
“Ooh. Significantly up. I don't think I've ever seen it jump this high,” Pierce commented in surprise.
“Really?” Parker asked, her voice high pitched.
“Hey. Nate said to make them higher. How am I supposed to know what's ‘significantly higher’ and what's ‘insignificantly higher’?” Hardison defended and turned to me, “Why didn’t you say anything?”
I looked at him and removed the headphones I was using to listen to recordings, “You didn’t ask me, Hardison. I’m not gonna be looking over your shoulder all the time.”
“No, that's fine,” Nate cut in. “W-we just need her to feel she has a comfortable lead so she'll be fine with Blackwell using the PAC funds.”
“Well, we must be doing something right,” Pierce said happily.
“Yeah, must be your latest commercial,” Parker jumped on the excuse. “Or your hair, people love your hair!”
“Really?”
“Yeah.”
Pierce dismissed Parker and she told us, “Blackwell's here. It's happening.”
I tuned the comms to be listening to the bugs in the office in real time.
“No! No way! I have an election coming up,” Pierce denied. “The Coltan mine's not gonna do you any good without me in office keeping it from getting shut down!”
“If I don't have that money by tomorrow, they're gonna sell this process to Gibson,” Blackwell pleaded.
“So? Use the mine's money.”
“The mine doesn't have that sort of liquidity.”
“You're paying your workers with something, aren't you?”
“Yeah. I-I suppose I could take the money out the payroll. But that would bankrupt the mine.”
Pierce purred, “You say that like it's a bad thing.”
Blackwell hesitated for a moment before reluctantly agreeing. “Alright. Here we go. Clark? Tell the men not to come to work tomorrow. All of 'em. And make sure there's nobody in that mine. And then call me back. I got a job of work for you to do.”
Their conversation didn’t continue much longer after that, with Pierce going back to paperwork.
“Well, that's a great day's work,” Sophie groaned, “Blackwell's shutting down the mine and using the payroll money to pay us.”
“So we've just bankrupted an entire town,” Parker concluded.
“Worse,” Nate argued, “He's not just shutting down the mine. He's blowing it up.”
Parker huffed, “That does sound worse.”
“You know, working in insurance, I've seen this play a thousand times. And now that we've convinced him he has Coltan, his mine is worth more dead than alive.”
“At risk of sounding optimistic,” I commented. “At least he’s not purposefully killing anyone by having them come to work.”
“Yeah, but he's not gonna have time to get a bomb and plant it in the mine by tomorrow,” Parker said.
“Well, his mine is practically a bomb already,” Nate pointed out. “I mean, you could throw a lit cigarette there, and that thing would blow. Won't take much.”
“What are we gonna do, Nate?” Sophie asked.
“We're gonna convince him that you're a lying, greedy bitch,” he replied far too easily.
“Of course, I’m sure this won’t go wrong again,” I commented to myself.
The next day Nate had insisted I go to the fundraiser with Parker and Sophie instead of going to the mines with the boys.
“I know what you’re doing, Nate,” I told him. “Just know I’m only going because I can’t think of anything helpful I could be doing by going along with you.”
Nate had that small knowing, triumphant smile and went to rub the top of my head.
“Hey, I worked hard on my hair,” I grabbed his wrist, stopping the motion. “Don’t get blown up please.”
“Tell that to Eliot,” he said as he got into the van.
Eliot was grabbing his hardhat and toolbelt when I approached, “You heard the man, please don’t get blown up.”
He smirked, “You sure? Because I think I heard you say that.”
I couldn’t hide my annoyed amusement and reached over to playfully shove his shoulder.
He grabbed my hand at the wrist and I caught the brief look over my shoulder where the van was before pressing a quick kiss to my knuckles. “Don’t have to worry about us, sweetheart,” he said with a wink as he followed Nate into the van.
I snatched my hand into my chest once he gently released it, trying to suppress my heart rate jumping. Why and how does he keep doing that? I couldn’t believe how determined he was to tease, but I quickly made my way to the car so us girls could head to the fundraiser.
“Why’s your face red?” Parker asked as I got into the car.
“Oh– uh, must have put on too much blush this morning,” I excused, my voice a little higher than normal. I tried patting at my cheeks to simulate brushing some makeup off, but I knew that was just going to make it worse.
“Micro detonator, surround sound, dust spray, modified oxygen meter, and... What? What? Yes, I do spend my weekends making these things,” Hardison said over comms. “Man, w-we're coming to a mine. It's not rocket science.”
“I like it,” Nate said, “It gives him a whole village people, uh, construction-dude thing.”
“Thank you.”
“Okay. I'm gonna call Blackwell and draw him here. I mean, he's not gonna blow up the mine while he's in it, is he?”
“That will give us enough time to find the bomb,” Eliot said.
“Oh, yeah. Plenty of time. Meanwhile, I'll be here, in the van, as far away from the mine as possible. My dude. Go with God.”
“What are you doing, man?” Eliot asked
“For morale, man!” Hardison replied.
I couldn’t help the giggle for the callback from when we were trapped in the forest with the militia. I had a feeling ‘For morale’ was going to become a running joke.
“All right, all right. Let's get this show on the road,” Nate said. “Mr. Blackwell. Uh, yeah, it's, uh, Bob Gibson here.”
We entered the fundraiser and spotted Blackwell at the bar, talking into his phone.
“No, I'm calling to tell you that we've both been had. Yeah, there's no Coltan in your mine or anywhere near it.” There was a pause where Blackwell replied.
“Well, listen, I can prove it to you. Just meet me at the mine in fifteen minutes.”
Blackwell quickly stood and passed by, talking into his phone whispering, “Clark, l-listen. Where the hell are you? Now, don't plant the device. I'm on my way to the mine now. Do not plant the device.”
“He's on his way to you now,” Sophie told Nate before turning to Parker and I, “All right. While they deal with Blackwell, we've got to spook Pierce.”
“On it. So we need ghosts,” Parker replied seriously.
“No. We need secrets,” Sophie gently corrected. “We've got to get her to move the money out of the PAC.” She grabbed a flute of champagne off of a waiter, “Thank you. Right. Tell me everything you know about her.”
Parker pulled out a small notepad, “Okay. I've got some really good stuff in here. Okay, she likes sugar in her coffee, lots of sugar. And she hides tasty treats on her desk. She's got a sweet tooth, maybe we could use that.”
“Probably not. What else?” Sophie asked.
I moved around to look over Parker’s shoulder, reading her very thorough notes on everything about Pierce. It would have been impressive if it wasn’t slightly concerning.
“Um, she never takes calls from her mother,” Parker continued, glancing up at Sophie for approval, “No? Ooh! Ooh! I got it. She- she mixes her blue pens with her black pens, in the same cup. Like, mixes them together.”
“Yeah. Parker, I'm looking for something that someone might find weird,” Sophie said gently. “Someone normal. Um, yeah. Someone normal might find weird.”
“Mm. Uh…” She started flipping through the notebook, occasionally pausing on a page before continuing, “well, Thursday afternoon, she had a closed-door meeting with Blackwell, but it sounded like they were working out.”
“‘Working out’?” Sophie repeated.
Parker hummed the affirmative.
“Oh…” I said in realization, remembering the recording I had listened to earlier and had tried to block from my memory. I knew where this was going.
“Hardison, do you still have the audio file saved?” Sophie asked with a smile.
“Yeah, but y/n was the one listening to it, there’s over a hundred hours on there,” Hardison said.
“Just pull up the files from Thursday afternoon.”
“Between 3:26 and 4:15,” Parker clarified.
“Hardison, listen to me very carefully,” I said looking directly at Sophie. “Do not open that file, you do not want to know what is on it.”
“What?” he asked.
“Sophie, it is exactly what you are thinking, can we just move on and use it please?”
Sophie had a smug smile as she took another sip of champagne.
“Why? What is it?” Parker asked.
“I don’t know, here it is,” Hardison replied.
Before I could stop him he played the moans and odd little sounds that Blackwell and Pierce were making while being intimate.
My face scrunched in disgust.
“No! No! Ew! Old people! Ew!” Hardison yelled, quickly pausing the recording.
“I warned you.”
“Yeah, that’s on me, I’m sorry,” he gagged.
“Parker, they're not working out. They're, you know,” Sophie tried to get Parker to connect the dots.
“With that, I can make her do anything I want,” Sophie practically purred.
“Hey, look, y'all, this has been real cool, but I have to get back to, you know, helping Eliot find the bomb,” Hardison commented.
“Please do,” I replied. Hardison and Eliot began bickering about finding the bomb and about Hardison’s software being like the game ‘Frogger.’
I put on my figurative intern hat again and walked Sophie over to Ms. Pierce who was networking.
“Hello again Ms. Pierce,” I said, reaching out to shake her hand.
“Ah, yes…” I could see her fishing for a name again, recognition on her face.
“Kathryn,” I provided.
“Of course.”
I turned to Sophie as she took a step up beside me, “Ms. Tinson here requested an introduction.”
“Eloise Tinson,” Sophie introduced herself, waving me off. “Ms. Pierce, I was hoping to steal a minute of your time. I've heard so much about you.”
“Of course,” Pierce repeated. “The Coltan woman. Huh?”
“In the flesh. I have to say, it's been such a delight working with Danny.”
“‘Danny?’ You mean Mr. Blackwell.”
“Of course. You know, the addition of this Coltan mine is gonna do wonders for the state, and I wanted to thank you personally for your contribution.”
That made Pierce pause, “I'm sorry? My contribution?”
“Well, there's no need to be modest. It's your money. Or is it the PAC money? I never quite got that straight,” Sophie wondered.
“Well, that's odd, because yesterday he told me he was using the mine funds for the purchase.”
“Oh, no. That's not what he said last night. Or was it this morning?” Sophie laughed, “Time got a bit blurred. Regardless, I'm pretty confident he said he was using the PAC money and that he was gonna make the transfer today. So, thank you. Thank you so much.” Sophie smiled and walked away, or rather, sauntered away. With the context she implied, the message was clear down to the way she walked.
“The way you can walk the line between subtlety and bombshell is frankly unprecedented,” I commented as I took a sip of my drink.
Parker approached Pierce, “Great turnout.”
Pierce hummed, a bit distracted.
“Can I get you anything?”
Pierce checked her phone and a deep frown formed on her face.
“What's wrong, Ms. Pierce?”
“That thieving, cheating bastard!” She replied.
Parker continued chatting with Pierce about donations and funds, including the account Parker and I set up for her. Nate was talking with Blackwell, convincing him, or rather explaining to him that we had salted his mine with Coltan and there wasn’t actually anything to mine out. Hardison was guiding Eliot towards the bomb when it sounded like there was someone else in the mine.
Suddenly there was an echo in the comms and Hardison was calling Nate and then Eliot’s name.
“I’m here,” Eliot’s voice came through.
“I-I’ve lost Nate,” Hardison stuttered.
“What?” I hissed, already heading towards the car. We should be done here with Pierce.
“What do you mean, you've lost Nate?” Sophie asked, turning away from the group she was networking with.
“I don't know. His comm is down. You need to get down here,” Hardison said.
“Parker, Y/n, meet me at the car now,” Sophie directed.
“Already ahead of you,” I said. “I’ll pull the car around to the front.”
“One second,” Parker replied.
“That takes care of that,” Pierce’s voice came through after transferring the PAC funds into our account where Blackwell couldn’t reach it. She would be able to either, but she didn’t know that yet. “I need you to get new keys made for my office and call security.”
Parker hummed the affirmative.
“I don't want Dan Blackwell stepping foot in that building.”
“Yes, ma'am.”
Eliot ran into the younger miner from before that he was mentoring, and not long after that was in a fight. Probably with the goon who had planted the bomb.
I reached the car and started pulling around to the front of the building to pick up Sophie and Parker.
Pierce’s voice came through the comms, “I don't like anybody leaving my parties in such a hurry.”
“There's been an accident at the mine. Dan's trapped. We have to get over there,” Sophie replied impatiently.
“So let the cheating bastard suffocate. I'm not letting either of you steal my money,” she said, almost smugly.
“Nobody's trying to steal your money,” Sophie told her flatly, blatantly lying.
“I know when I'm being played. I'm just gonna put this money where no one can get to it.”
“Fine. It's just money. We need to get over there.”
If I were you, I'd worry about yourself. Someone as pretty as you is not gonna do well in one of our prisons. Our women, they don't take kindly to outsiders,” Pierce purred.
“Yeah? What do you mean by that?” Sophie was holding her ground, her voice challenging. She only got like this when one of us, specifically Nate, was in danger.
“Oh, I called the cops,” Pierce explained, “They should be here any minute to arrest you on fraud, racketeering, and impersonating a federal officer.”
“You can't get me arrested.”
“Sure, I can. It's one of the perks of being Attorney General. I own the law.”
“Debra, we're on the same side here. Dan deceived us both,” Sophie tried.
“No. You both deceived me. Now, I am done being lied to.”
“Ms. Pierce! Ms. Pierce,” Parker called. “Oh. I have a phone call for you.”
“Not now. Not now!”
“Oh.”
“Damn it. Now look what you did!”
I looked up to see Sophie dashing out the front doors and hopping into the passenger seat. Pierce’s voice faded from the comms as she made a call, probably to the cops, as Parker made her own way to the car, sliding into the backseat.
I drove away, quickly heading to the mine. Eliot finished his fight and resumed his search for the bomb.
“All right, Eliot. I think I got a lock on the bomb.”
Eliot deliberately exhaled and cautiously replied, “I got it.”
My hands squeezed the wheel, my whole body tensing up.
“What's it look like, man? Red wires, blue wires? What?” Hardison asked.
Eliot hesitated in answering. There was a slight click that I wasn’t sure if I actually heard.
“Boom!” Eliot yelled.
I jumped in my seat, the car slightly jerking before I straightened course again. I quickly apologized to Sophie and Parker.
“Ha ha, you're not funny,” Hardison said as Eliot laughed.
“Don’t do that,” I whined with a sigh, finally relaxing a bit as I drove. At least we didn’t have to worry about the bomb anymore.
“Sorry, sweetheart,” Eliot replied, still a laugh in his voice.
A couple of minutes later, Hardison’s voice came through the comms again.
“Okay, Nate, whatever you did, you just got your comm back up, so listen. I've wired your comm. transmission to the P.A. System. All you have to do is get that confession, and Eliot will come get you.”
We all sighed in relief in the car. The bomb was taken care of, and we had Nate back on comms. I pulled up and put the car in park next to the van. It wasn’t long before Pierce with the cops passed by to sit in front of the mine entrance.
“Say, uh, what about, uh, this intercom? I mean, can't we, uh, you know, call for help or something?”
Blackwell sounded dejected, “No, you can't radio out. It don't work.”
“What do you mean? You got all that money. I, uh, I mean, you got new intercoms. You got new, uh, ceiling supports. You got new retrofit ventilation. I mean, I saw the paperwork,” Nate challenged.
“It's all fake.”
“Oh, h-hold on there. What do you mean, it's all fake?”
“Well, the ceiling support and the ventilation and the intercom, that's all fake. The only safety measures that that money bought went to the Attorney General. All the government money went to her,” He almost sounded amused. We peeked around the buildings at the mine that was hiding us from Pierce and the cops' view. The officers had turned on Pierce, asking if what was said was true. After some sputtering in the negative, the officers arrested her and stuck her into the back seat of their cruiser.
“Is that right? Great investment,” Nate replied sarcastically.
“Yeah.”
“Well, there's got to be a way out of here, right?”
“Yeah, well... There might be, if we look down there!”
There was a slightly sickening thunk that sounded through the comms that made me jump again.
“Nate, are you okay?” I asked, but didn’t get an answer.
“That bastard!” Sophie bit, stealing the words from my mouth.
Eliot’s voice came through, digging his way into their collapsed chamber, “Mr. Blackwell! It's Eric! Eric Randall! I'm almost through! Can you squeeze?”
“Yeah. Yeah, I can get through,” Blackwell grunted.
“Are you okay, sir?”
“Yeah, I'm fine. Just get me the hell out of here.”
After a moment Eliot said, “Bombs on Blackwell. Getting Nate now.”
“Is he okay?” I asked, anxiously pacing next to the cars.
Nate grunted, “yeah, I’m alright. Old bat doesn’t have that much strength anymore.”
Blackwell came stumbling out of the mine, covered in dirt. The State Troopers quickly detained him. He protested, blaming Nate for the bomb, but the troopers found the one Eliot planted on him quickly and shoved him into the car next to Pierce. We could practically hear them bickering from in the car as Nate and Eliot came out and around to join us next to our vehicles. I quickly looked them over to confirm they were okay and they both waved me off assuring that they were.
“Nailed it,” Parker said as the police car passed by, Pierce and Blackwell finally noticing all of us together.
“Pierce transferred all the PAC funds into Parker's account,” Sophie told the boys.
“Nicely done,” Hardison complimented.
“Well, I had a little help from Sophie,” Parker admitted. “But, yeah, I nailed it. I'm a grifter. I grift.”
“Yeah. You do know you don't get to keep the money, right?” Nate pointed out.
Parker looked at the balance on her phone and then held it to her chest with a defensive, “Don't ruin it.”
Hardison followed Parker into the van while Eliot walked away, following after a young man that came out of the mine before the rest of them did.
“Uh, what are you doing?” We heard Hardison ask through comms.
“Stealing souls is exhausting,” Parker admitted, causing a smile to appear on my face.
“Uh, let's see. Let's see. Let's see. ‘...Right hand... Answers phone, left. Blinks 15 times... Smells like bubbles.’ Hey, Parker, you're not gonna start keeping notepads like this about us, are you?”
Parker answered with her own sleepy question, “Did you know you touch your chin every 2.5 minutes?”
It sounded like Hardison tossed the notebook and went back to his laptop to finish things up.
I laughed as I took my earbud out, following Eliot’s lead. At least that’s what I had assumed since I couldn’t hear his conversation with the other miner. Not that I wanted to eavesdrop on his mentoring, or anything.
Nate was trying to brush himself off, which almost made his dishevelled outfit worse before he gave up and went to rummage through the van to see if he had a change of clothes.
I looked around, the now quiet of the canyon and mine becoming almost heavy. I felt so out of place on the gravel road in my carefully pressed clothes, ironically trying very hard to fit the part. One glance at Sophie almost made the feeling a bit sharp, she somehow not only stood out against the backdrop, but complimented it perfectly, just like any room she stepped into.
Sophie sighed absentmindedly, “We did good work on this one.”
A bittersweet feeling settled in my chest that I didn’t want to think about, “Yeah… Parker did well.”
Sophie hummed and slid back into the car, ready to start packing up and heading home.
I opted to soak in the quiet to spare myself from the stuffy car air for a minute, waiting for us to gather up to leave.
Eliot eventually wandered back over before Nate reemerged from the van.
“Good job on not getting blown up,” I mentioned casually as he approached
“Oh, but I did. Didn't you hear the boom?” He quipped.
“Not funny,” I deadpanned.
“Sure it is, especially since it was nothing,” he teasingly began the motion of poking me with his filthy hands, but I dodged before he actually touched.
“Don't get me dirty!”
“Come on, it's not that bad.”
“Yeah, but you're in grubs, I'm in my nice clothes!” I retorted as I skipped a couple steps away from him.
There was a glint in his eye and a smirk appeared on his face as he began to playfully chase me around the gravel lot waving his hand in a ‘I’m gonna get you’ kind of way.
I giggled as I pranced away from him, being careful of my footing in the gravel.
“Come here, you're not allowed to stay clean at a coal mine.”
“Tell that to Hardison!”
“Oh, I'm going to, after I get you,” he made a move that I tried to dodge again,but this time he caught my hand and made a point to ensure it got dirty.
I gave him an annoyed smile, “Really? That was necessary?”
He gave a goofy smile, “yes.”
I rolled my eyes good-naturedly and stepped closer so I could rub the dirt off of my hand on his shirt.
“You can't give it back!” He argued but made no move to stop me.
“Come on, kids, let's get out of here!” Nate called, startling me a bit.
Eliot jumped a bit too, backing up a step, effectively separating us.
I gave him a sheepish smile as we retreated back to the van and car, ready for us to give the client the good news and head home.
A/n: Reblogs and comments are welcome and encouraged! I love hearing what you think! Thank you for reading!
i love the brewpub plot in leverage s5 because, to me, it’s clear that hardison got the pub FOR eliot and keeps goading him into running it by doing things like putting sardines and pineapple on the same pizza. he was like, hmmm my guy needs enrichment in his enclosure now that we’ve moved cities again, how can i annoy him into following his passion-
Description: Y/n Ford is Nate's niece, of whom he looked after after his brother, her parents, died. Y/n gets pulled into the adventures and shenanigans of the Leverage team through this series rewrite, but she loves being along for the ride. The overly talented and handsome hitter doesn't hurt :)
Warnings: canon level violence, swearing, drinking. I'm sticking pretty close to the show thematically. I'll add warnings if needed.
A/n: This'll be a slow burn, btw. Partially inspired by @thegeeksideofsr and their Ford!reader, I thought it was an awesome idea to have the reader related to Nate!
No set updating schedule
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Season 1
Ch 1 - Phone Calls
Ch 2 - The First David Job
Ch 3 - The Second David Job
Season 2
Ch 4 - The Beantown Bailout Job
Ch 5 - The Tap-Out Job
Ch 6 - The Order 23 Job
Ch 7 - The Fairy Godparents Job
Ch 8 - The Three Days of the Hunter
Ch 9 - The Top Hat Job
Ch 10 - The Two Live Crew Job
Ch 11 - The Ice Man Job
Ch 12 - The Lost Heir Job
Ch 13 - The Runway Job
Ch 14 - The Bottle Job
Ch 15 - The Zanzibar Marketplace Job
Ch 16 - The Future Job
Ch 17 - The Three Strikes Job
Ch 18 - The Maltese Falcon Job
Season 3
Ch 19 - The Jailhouse Job
Ch 20 - The Reunion Job
Ch 21 - The Inside Job
Ch 22 - The Scheherazade Job
Ch 23 - The Double Blind Job
Ch 24 - The Studio Job (V2 REWRITTEN)
Ch 25 - The Gone Fishin' Job
Ch 26 - The Boost Job
Ch 27 - The Three-Card Monte Job
Ch 28 - The Underground Job
Tags: Let me know if you wanna be tagged :)
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In case anyone finds it helpful because mobility aids are horrifically expensive and inaccessible…
And for those people who have access to mobility devices but might benefit from a second chair they can abuse without risking expensive damage…
Erik Kondo has made a website, Open Source Innovations, that details plans for DIY wheelchairs. These wheelchairs can be made from common materials like wood, plastic, and pvc. They are lightweight and can be custom fit to the user allowing from the same degree of movement you would get from a custom chair. And they are durable and easily repairable. (he has been stress testing his latest design by dropping it down stairs, dropping it out of a car, launching it across a driveway, and throwing it off a deck). Its 12lbs and I think he said its was in the $200 ish range for parts.
He also is working on cheap, open source, accessible designs for beach chairs, off road chairs, motorized attachments (think smart drive), and so on. Plus he skateboards in his wheelchair. Cool dude, helpful info, pass it on.
It's incredibly sad people have to resort to this, but it's a damn good resource. Use it. Spread awareness. Maybe one day people with physical disabilities won't need DIYs like this. But until then, reblog and share.
[ID by user paniniwitharugula: a wooden wheelchair made primarily of two-by-fours with a low back, tall wheels, and black seat cushions. The front wheels are hardware caster wheels. end I.D.]
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