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jinris · 6 years

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moon tangerine

(ao3)

Most nights at home are quiet just like this, the singular, amplified sound of a sharp pencil scratching skillfully against a paper surface permeating the room. Time extends, the air stifles with warmth, and the outside world disappears in this space. Late autumn rain patters melancholically against the window, cascading down the glass, blurring city lights into indistinct spots. To Keith, it is white noise, no more distracting than the static buzz of the dull light emanating from the lamp on the nightstand.

He stares blankly at his open sketchbook, propped up against his knee, and distractedly picks at the small binding ring at the edge of the page. The begrudging draft in front of him – a recent landscape commission – is uninspiring. Despite the relatively commonplace subject matter, the strokes feel forced after two concentrated hours and the willow tree still doesn’t look right. After impatiently tapping his pencil against the pad, Keith falls back against his pillow in resigned frustration, deciding to leave the draft for a new day.

Without lifting his head, Keith surveys the state of perpetual, accumulated clutter in their room. Old scientific journals stacked on the armchair, discarded drafts and open books scattered on every possible flat surface, he finds stability in the organized disorder. He’ll carry the small mountain of worn sweaters, jeans, socks, and knitted stockings draped over the chair next to the dresser downstairs to wash in the morning. On the opposite nightstand, the unfinished mug of chamomile tea resting on a woolen coaster is nearly cold. Finally, he rolls his head along the edge of his pillow, his eyes falling instantly on the messy spread of silver hair over the thick, white comforter, and a small smile emerges on his tired face.

Allura had fallen asleep over an hour ago after finishing an engrossed review of her most recent lab findings, succumbing to polyatomic basis sets in the end. She’s curled in his direction and buried deep under the blankets, clutching tightly onto the top sheet and revealing just enough of her face to breathe. A remaining token from late evening flirting, the fragile stem of a small, white jasmine flower picked from their potted tree clings loosely behind her ear.

Dreaming of clouds and the sun, she sighs, so softly and pleasantly, and in that instant leaves Keith breathlessly in love with her. His heart, beating furiously, swells with an aching passion. His grip on his pencil tightens – something switches on – and he turns the page, devouring the exhilarating sight of a fresh, blank canvas. He begins with the familiar, gentle curve of Allura’s cheek. Next, sure enough, the flow of her sleepy, disheveled hair is easy, every trace of loose locks and curls precisely drawn. He takes care to match on paper every detail – the angle of her thin, relaxed brows, the plush of her full lips, and the length of her side-swept bangs. She is still the most beautiful girl he has ever seen.

And then she shifts and momentarily stirs, adjusting her head against her pillow and tugging the sheets closer. Allura’s bangs fall forward, and the flower behind her ear drops down. Careful not to let its cool, metallic lining chill her exposed temple, Keith uses the very edge of his pencil to lift the flower back in place. He allows a few moments to pass, until he thinks Allura has fallen back into deep sleep. Then he silently reaches over to gently brush and fix her bangs.

Her sudden, muffled giggle into her pillow startles him, and he abruptly draws his hand back, immense guilt quickly overtaking his conscience.

“Sorry, did I wake you?” he asks quietly, apologetically.

Allura shakes her head, keeping her eyes closed.

“Not really,” she answers wearily, not yet fully awake nor wanting to be. “Are you drawing me because you finished the draft of the commission?”

“Uh.”

“I’ll take that as a no,” Allura laughs airily. She lets go of the sheet and runs her hand affectionately across Keith’s waist, warmly snaking it under his shirt. Locking her arm around him, she pulls herself closer and hides her face against the side of his chest. She inhales deeply, breathing in the faint scent of soap and peppermint.

Keith grins sheepishly and sets down his sketchpad against his raised knee. Adjusting the pencil in his hand, he extends his arm around her, reaches down, and idly combs through Allura’s long hair.

“I got distracted,” he insists. “Something else caught my attention.”

“You couldn’t possibly mean me?” Allura teases, speaking into his shirt. She pauses and sighs pleasantly, briefly taking in the slow rhythm and gentle touch of Keith’s fingers running through her hair. Almost reluctantly, she turns her head and looks up at him.

“Let me see.”

Allura pushes herself up, pressing her palms into the bed. Keith’s eyes flicker toward her before he remembers that she’s still wearing his favorite shirt, and he tries to hide his stare as the dark, oversized neckline casually falls off her shoulder, exposing her collarbone. In the act of sitting up, the flower wedged delicately behind Allura’s ear, now pressed and awkwardly bent, falls into his lap. He picks it up and spins the stem between his fingers as Allura eagerly leans over into his space to review his unfinished work.

Her bleary blue eyes study the modest drawing and shyly follow the graphite lines so well-versed in the shape of her. A faint blush spreads across her cheeks and her lips curl upward in a tiny, introspective smile. Keith has drawn her a thousand times, but every version is like this, soft, indulgent, and cherished – the wordless language of his love for her. Allura turns to meet Keith’s indigo eyes, caught in a storm of racing emotions. All she can hear is the fast beating of her heart pounding in her ears.

He’s expecting her reaction and smiles fondly when Allura looks at him. He tilts her chin up ever so slightly, and then he whispers, in the addictive low voice that timelessly sends shivers down her spine, “You’re beautiful.”

Just as Allura cracks a silly grin, ready to tease, Keith captures her lips with his, closing the gap between them and stealing a kiss. When he pulls back a moment later, Allura’s eyes are adorably wide and Keith smirks.

“Not fair,” she pouts.

“How do I make it up to you?” Keith answers without a second thought.

She lifts her hand and grabs his arm in earnest.

“Sleep. It’s so late.”

“Is it?” he genuinely wonders, glancing at the digital clock on their dresser.

Allura snatches the pencil from Keith’s hand before he can protest and leans over to place it on the nightstand. The pencil, still warm from Keith’s hard grip, rolls freely until it’s stopped by the sharp corner of an old notebook. Keith easily concedes, relinquishing his sketchpad to her as she takes it and the jasmine flower from his grasp. Gazing down pensively at her impulsively-drawn likeness, she presses the flower’s petals lightly against her lips. Then Allura lowers the flower, smoothing out its bent edges, and gingerly positions it in a blank corner of the page. She carefully closes the sketchpad with the flower inside, and sets it aside as well, away from their bed.

Watching her attentively, Keith leans back lazily against the headboard, and after she draws back from the nightstand, Allura rests her hand on his thigh. With his two hands, he embraces her face and stares fixatedly at her like she is his entire world. Because she is.

“You’re right. I don’t know what I’d do without you.”

Suddenly, Allura’s cheeks burn with rising heat and she blushes modestly. She quickly glances away from him, distracting herself enough to suppress a smile, but Keith, knowing Allura’s every quirk and habit, catches her in the act. By the time she looks back at him again, she has overcome her fluster.

“Don’t be so romantic when I’m too tired to fully appreciate it.”

“Then am I allowed to be romantic in the morning?” Keith asks suggestively, releasing her from his hold.

“Depends on how convincing you are,” she responds, as she slowly, enticingly runs her hand up his thigh.

Keith inhales sharply from the motion as Allura gets up on her knees and climbs into his lap, bedsheets peeling away from their bodies. The fresh bite of cold air makes Keith shiver. His rough, artistic hands find Allura’s slender waist and pull her forward as she assertively grabs his head, eyeing his lips for the briefest of moments, and kisses him deeply, breathtakingly like a shower of a thousand stars. Keith kisses her back, parting lips and intensifying their shared desire. She fiercely tangles her fingers into his hair and Keith reaches out to the nightstand, hastily feeling for the lamp switch, colliding with his pencil that falls to the floor.

The lights go out. In the heady darkness, the sound of heavy rain drums in the distant background. Allura’s snow white hair, reflecting light and faintly glowing, absorbs outside luminescence from the window. Keith toys with the idea of reclaiming his shirt and slides his hands underneath the thin cotton, then possessively up Allura’s back. Allura smirks at the heated touch, and before Keith’s hands can go any higher, she abruptly breaks off the kiss and yanks him down into bed with her, twisting at an angle and letting herself fall on her back.

Keith grunts in mild frustration and Allura giggles, scrambling to return to the head of the bed. As soon as she rolls onto her back, Keith climbs on top of her, seizing and throwing the comforter over them at the same time. Flashing an unsuspecting grin, Allura looks up at him impishly, only to meet Keith’s soft, infatuated eyes gazing down intently at her.

They take her breath away.

Just like they had when she first agreed to marry him, that one night at home after she had graduated. And countless times before and since.

She returns his entrancing gaze with a shy smile, but her eyes burn from exhaustion. She reaches up and timidly cups his cheek. Keith responds with an affectionate smile of his own. His head droops down then, and his wavy, unkempt black hair covers his dark shining eyes from her line of sight. He leans in as Allura slowly wraps her arms around him, and he presses his lips against the crevice of her neck.

“Trust me,” he says quietly while indolently peppering kisses up her neck, “I can be very persuasive.”

Allura bites her lip, forcing down an indicative smile as she clutches and digs into the back of his shirt in response.

“Oh, I know.”

#kallura #keith #allura #voltron #idek #nothing happens here but i needed this au out of my head and s6 really did That #c: keith kogane #c: allura #p: kallura #f: voltron

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islamicrays · 6 years

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I wanna start memorizing Qur'an In sha allah, do you have any advice on how to accomplish it ? Also please make dua for me to act upon it with dedication :)

Assalamu AlaikumThese are some tips given by bushra tabkhi who memorized quran in a short span of time. Hope it will help you in shaa Allah"Here are my humble tips:Seek Allah’s help. Make duaa. When you reach Juzu 7.. or 14.. or anything.. and you start to lose motivation- turn to him. They are His words and He alone can teach you them.Get a portion done in the morning, especially if you are busy. The days where I could manage at least 1-2 pages before noon, made the 10 pages much easier. If I started after noon, it would take longer. #EarlyBirdBarakehCancel Stuff. Say No more often. You have to cut back on some things you are used to. Its just the way it works. Even if you do have time to do other things, you don’t have the energy. Too much non-quran things really takes you away from the mood. If your friends start to get annoyed by how much you are saying no recently- then you are doing it right.Find Recitation Coach(es). I couldn’t stay with the camp the whole time- so I would recite to my mom, sister, and friends. Try to stick to a couple people but have more than one person. If you need to recite and the person is busy you will get discouraged- so try to have a back-up. I used to even recite on the phone sometimes!Memorize and recite DAILY. No days off. None. Even if you memorize only page and your goal is to memorize 10. It has to become a habit. Plus, you start one page… then the next page looks easy.. then the next one goes fast..Big chunks are easier! I used to think memorizing one page a time is faster- but actually.. memorizing 4-6 pages at a time makes it go faster. Its like your brain gets into “memorization” mode-and whats you recite to someone else its hard to get back into “memorization” mode to start again. So if you are doing 10 pages, try to memorize 6.. recite them to your “coach”, then the 4 pages will be easy inshallah. Even memorizing all 10 is not that hard!Don’t tell too many people at first. Because it gets kind of stressful when they keep asking where you reached, how many pages you’ve done, etc. Tell your “coaches” and tell your close friends for motivation and to not lose sight of the goal.Free your Mind-more than your time! It’s not about how many hours you have a day as much as how much you need to reduce mental clutter. I can get much more done in 2 hours relaxed than in 6 when I am worrying about something. The Quran does not enter with chaos. So before you start, make your to-do lists and put them aside, get essential things done, free yourself from worries and commitments. If anything worries you while you are memorizing, remember Shaytan doesn’t want you to focus and that the Quran will take care of your worries.When you are sleepy-do one more. I don’t even know why. I guess its just about pushing yourself. But I always felt barakeh when I did 1-2 more pages at night when I was getting sleepy rather than giving up.Motivate yourself with baby steps. Its daunting to be in Surat AlBaqara and be dreaming of Surat AlNaas. Just keep imagining how happy you will be to be in the next surah or next few juzu2s. When I was in the 13th I would be like: ya rab.. I want to reach 15…the middle. Then in 15- Ya rab, I want to reach 20th juzu2.. the majority. Then in the 20th.. Ya rab- till the 25th so almost nothing is left.. Then, ya rab- I have to finish!!Use one Mushaaf . Don’t switch around. I used mine every single day. And I used a pencil to mark around words and underline ayahs. And post-it notes for the next juzu2 so I would get excited to reach it. Try to get a standard size quran- too small is hard to memorize from. Too big is hard to hold. Avoid electronic Mushafs- they personally give me headaches and I find take more time. Plus you cant write on them.Phone- silent. Far away. I muted almost all notifications.Find your memorization-style. My best memorization technique is sign- language! I look hilarious when I recite something I know well. I memorize it all with hand gestures. It really helped me. I also sometimes would write them out, or write out the beginning of each ayah. Walking also helped because it gave me energy-but only for a few pages at a time. Listening to ayahs is nice-especially if you have trouble reading- but is time-consuming. But please do this if you can’t read it well because the worst thing you can do is memorize something wrong the first time.Divide page into halves or thirds-then glue together. Do one ayah, repeat a couple times. Do the next ayah, then repeat it with the one before it. Divide the page in halves or thirds depending on how many ayahs a page, then try them together at the end.When reviewing a large amount, review the BEGINNING of each ayah. When you keep repeating an ayah, chances are if you can start it you can finish it. So don’t waste your attention re-reading the whole page. Just test if you know the beginning of each ayah.Stay away from sins… but when you mess up- repent and keep going.Shaytan will tell you: there’s no point to memorize- you are a sinner. Or will remind you of a sin so that you feel that you can’t memorize. Seek refuge from Allah and keep going. If we were perfect, we wouldn’t need a Holy Book from Allah teaching us how to live our life. You won’t be perfect by the end.This is us trying to come closer to Allah as humans. Seek refuge from the shaytan, say Bismillah- and #justkeepmemorizing.Take breaks after reciting to someone- not after memorizing. I don’t know if this just worked for me- but I always found it more efficient. And don’t make them long. 10 minutes are a good refresher. More than that and you will lose the “memorization- mode”Find a partner. Or a group! Make it a challenge for those around you. Even away from the camp I was motivated thinking of the girls sitting memorizing at the camp working towards my same goal.Try to stay focused. When you take too long on one page because of distractions or daydreaming- it takes extra extra long. Stay focused, finish the page, then take your break.Not all ayahs are the same. Some ayahs are harder, you will have to find new ways to memorize them or repeat them more. That’s fine.Set time goals. I used to always have a max goal of half an hour per page. More than that- and I knew I was doing something wrong or not focusing. Sometimes it takes less- which is great! Just don’t lose track of time.Make connections. Sometimes I would relate one word with one word in the next ayah. It really helps. For example.. an ayah that has my friends name, and the next ayah would remind me of another friend. So I would connect those two words to tie the two ayahs together..Look up tough words. Sometimes understanding that ONE hard word in the ayah- makes you understand the ENTIRE ayah which helps you understand the page and really helps you memorize. Too much tafseer while memorizing makes it harder- you start to understand it but forget the actual words.Tarteel later.. (Tarteel: slow, beautified recitation) I suggest that you don’t keep repeating each ayah with full tarteel when memorizing- it takes too long if you are aiming for a short time-frame and sometimes you memorize the “sound” and not the actual words. When I would memorize I would repeat them relatively quickly- to not lose energy or focus. (When you are done memorizing- enjoy your tarteel.)Once you finish, start planning your revision strategy. It is not a once and for all thing, and revising is essential! Especially if you finish it in a short time period.Ayahs about stories are the easiest! Enjoy them!"I hope this will help you in shaa Allah. May Allah subhanahu wa ta'ala help you to memorize quran and act on it.Allahumma ameen

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seenashwrite · 6 years

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The Lore You Know (Part Five)

Status: Part 5 of 6 Word Count: 5.9K Category: Mini-Series, Mystery, On-The-Hunt, Humor, Behind-the-scenes Canon-Compliant Rating: 18+ [for language/sexual situations] Character(s)/Pairing(s): Sam x Reader/Female O.C. #1; Dean x Female O.C. #2; Reader/Female O.C. #1 x ??? (ahem-surprise!-ahem) Warnings: Coarse language; mild-to-moderate allusions to sex/activities of a sexual nature Author’s Note(s): The draft of this was lost, and this was to be completed a way long time ago, and boy howdy I’m sorry the muse didn’t hit me again til recently, but I hope you enjoy and that it was worth waiting for, one last part to go; see more post-story Overall Summary: see Part One ; reminder: this takes place in early S11 Part Five Summary: The agent stumbles upon a discovery that seems too good to be true; Dean lands himself in real trouble; the waitress shows a different side; the agent finally reveals the truth behind her mission

* ~ * The Lore You Know: Master Post * ~ *

WEDNESDAY

I slept like the dead that night, thanks to the fact that Sam didn't sleep in my room. He'd said something about not wanting to wake me up, though he did just that at half past the crack of dawn, when he came in and grabbed up his laptop and his bag, barely even looked at me. Well, that's not exactly true - he did at my admittedly snide goodbye.

"Cheer up, Sammy. It's Wednesday."

The door was slammed shut without another word.

I was still turning over the news from Wildcat in my mind. The trio of terror had most definitely gone rogue, and their stunt of turning my request for a touch of mayhem into a horror movie meant they were dunzo. The Recovery Team - which in this case, meant recovery of pieces because this was elimination-level shit - was supposedly en route, but I was hoping it wouldn’t be any time soon. I called Wildcat as I finished getting ready for the day, told him I was pulling rank, and Recovery should let me know once they had the goons cornered, hold off on the wham-boom til I gave the word.

"He won't like it," Wildcat advised.

"But you can get around him, can’t you? For now? Isn't he bopping around some other world, hunting for his X-marks-the-spot?" I replied. "C'mon. You're the best at covert shenanigans."

"And you are a control freak," Wildcat stated, but I heard him clicking away, putting in the team's orders, relating I was running point.

I finished applying my lipstick, rubbed my lips together, then made that pop sound just to piss him off; I grinned when I heard him sigh. "Kitty, I got no choice. Sam's onto me hard core. Got a feeling I'll need the distraction if I don't want this assignment to bloat and belly up."

"This better work. If he gets word, I wouldn't want to be in your Louboutins, my dear."

Wildcat's comment was perfectly timed, as I was right at that moment slipping them on. "Just make sure Recovery knows to keep those shitbirds corralled, no sedating darts, let the mania fly - and to keep out of sight of the Winchesters."

"I beg your pardon?"

"I'm sending them on the prowl, which they’ll do, because I’ll share how my fantastic partner in covert crime has alerted me to the location of the creeps-of-the-week. General vicinity. Give or take."

"So it's to be a snipe hunt."

I picked up my keys, walking to the door as I answered.

"Yup. I got work to do."

The boys took the bait, too pumped for the action to bother being pissed at me or question my saying I was going to follow a lead Wildcat had given me on the mara’s hidey-hole. I didn't have one, of course, and it didn’t matter since daylight hour evisceration wasn't her jam. What I was actually up to was boring as fuck, but a necessary bore - I was stuck in my car on an old-fashioned stake out, across the street from the waitress' house, waiting on her to emerge. I'd texted her under the guise of taking her to lunch, but got no answer, and there was no light on in the bedroom I knew to be hers; no doubt she was still asleep.

At least one roommate had returned to the roost, but I didn't get a glimpse of her until late afternoon, when she opened the front door, crossed her arms, and stared right into my eyes.

And when I looked into hers, I sat up straight, felt my eyebrow arch on its own. "Fuck me," I muttered.

As I walked across the street, she came out onto the small landing, closed the door behind her, re-crossed her arms. She was an absolute dish, tips to toes, tall and curvy, looked like she'd just hopped off a vintage Hollywood poster. It was a purposeful, polished presentation, one I appreciated, so much so I honestly didn't want to update the database with this newly encountered, mighty fine brand of mara.

To say I couldn't hardly get my head wrapped around this stroke of luck was the understatement of the goddamned century.

"You can call me Raquel," she said by way of introduction, didn't ask my name, and I didn't volunteer it.

"And our girl in there's working the Mansfield angle,” I replied. “Damn, now I kinda wanna meet the other roomies, who else we got? A Loren, a Monroe --- ooh, dare I hope --- a Lamarr?"

"You amuse me. You know why I look the way I look. Part and parcel of living alongside them. Which I enjoy more than hiding in the woods."

"Still. Didn't have to go bombshell to chum the waters. You got good taste." I gave her a lingering once-over, admiring more than just the perfectly fitted slacks and cashmere shell. "Beyond the Chanel, I mean."

"Likewise. Those shoes are in excellent condition for how old they are - though I could say the same for you."

"I'm real big on regular maintenance. Mind if we get down to business?"

"I've no business with you. I don't deal with your kind. I only want to know why you're camped outside of my home, yet doing nothing."

"Yeeeeah, but this may interest you - benefit you. I'd like to take a couple potential problems off your hands. And I'll throw in three super-powered square meals, team full of buffed after-dinner mints to sweeten the pot. All-male review."

"And what am I to do in return?"

I grinned. "Make a big fucking mess of main street tonight."

"I have plans tonight."

"That so? If you got another dirtbag lined up, well... you don't need my help, but I'd be up for a quick peep show. Never seen it go down in real time."

"I rarely go down."

My grin widened. "I wanna be like you when I grow up."

That earned me a wicked - but genuine - cackle, head thrown back and all. "Aren't you just a peach. I do take pleasure in a witty woman."

I tilted my head toward the house - and the waitress slumbering inside. "My experience with ol' Mansfield says you're in short supply. There's a not-so-good-head-on-her-shoulders joke somewhere in there, but I've been a little off my game."

"Your game seems quite on point from where I stand." She paused, returned the once-over. "So. Should I consider changing my plans for tonight, tell me: what's your pleasure? Traditional start? Or full gallop?"

"Hmmm. Mine? Given what you're working with ---" I took a step closer, ran a finger under the long string of pearls that landed right above her cleavage "--- may wanna come on the scene like Lady Godiva."

"That's how you'd have me come?"

Jesus. "Just considering, huh? I thought you didn't do business with my kind," I said, removing my hand, but letting it drift away slowly. That ultra-fine cashmere blend felt - dare I say it - heavenly.

"Are we still discussing business? Or I have I misread?"

I glanced at my watch. "We got a while til sundown." I looked back into those sharp, glinting eyes. "No business for hours. Not a man to deal with for miles."

Raquel brought a hand to my face, swiped a thumb across my lower lip then down, smearing the red lipstick to my chin, admiring her handiwork for a few breathless beats - breathless on my part, that is - before she met my gaze again, and responded.

"Give me a minute. I'll make sure the baby's fast asleep."

I couldn't say if it was when I was getting in some going-down, or if it was when Raquel was strapping up that the sleepy-time cocktail wore off and the waitress slipped out of the house, but the series of borderline belligerent texts from Dean sure pulled me out of a helluva afterglow.

The short version was that she'd gone to the restaurant for no good reason, then when her co-workers - the ones not on the slab - started talking about the manager's murder and the subsequent massacre, the brain cells that managed to rub together opted to regale the soon-to-be-stunned folks with so much detail about said deaths that one of them called the cops. Thankfully, brain cells three and four kicked in, and Dean was her phone call after she'd been officially arrested following enough of a quote-unquote confession to convince the powers-that-be she was definitely involved, whether the ditz routine - or the nutbar routine, depending - was for show or not. I managed to shoot a text to Raquel in the time that it took Dean to get back to the motel and pick us up, telling her that we were running behind schedule, but she didn't text back, and there wasn't much time to dwell on it, because, well, Sam.

I knew when Sam made with the flirting and the come-ons that it was an act, didn't even need to check the tap to know he and Dean had made a plan that morning while they were out chasing the fake lead, all to try and get one over on me, go after the mara on their own after the cakewalk of dispatching the trio - presumptive arrogant dicks - wanting to keep me busy, even if it meant Sam had to do the dirty work while Dean went off alone to finish up the recon.

Which was bad. Very bad. Extremely bad.

Sam had barely gotten his mouth around a nipple when my brain started screeching out a red alert, and I sat up so quickly, he rolled off the bed, bumping his head on the night stand.

"It was a set!" I shouted.

"The hell?!" he shouted back, rubbing the bump.

"Last night," I answered, quickly getting dressed. "Dean. Where was he?"

"What?" Sam asked with a frown, getting to his feet.

"Cut the bullshit, Sam, this is serious!" I exclaimed, whipping back around. "Stop with the fuck-her-incoherent plan for a second, all right?"

"What?" he repeated, but there wasn't much of a question in his tone.

"I know that you know I'm not all what I've put myself out there to be, and I also know that you know that I know this right here isn’t anything legit, so listen up: you're right. Dean's right. I'm a liar. But I'm not lying now."

"Sure you aren't."

"Dean's in real danger."

I don't know what the expression on my face looked like, but Sam immediately stiffened and gulped - he'd heard me loud and clear.

"Tell me," he said, hustling to get his clothes back on.

"You first - when Dean got laid last night, do you know who it was?"

Sam looked at me, puzzled. "The waitress was at the club ---"

"NO!" I yelled, threw one of his shoes at him, which he dodged. "Focus! In the car, dumbass! Who did he fuck in the car? Did he say a name? Did you see her, like was she the bartender at the restaurant, or was the medical examiner a chick, or ----"

"I don't underst ----"

Since he was officially being of no use to me, I bolted out of there, took a sharp left, started banging on the door of Dean’s room; the waitress finally opened it nigh on the twenty-thousandth pound, standing there cool as could be with that rat's nest of bleach piled atop her head, the near see-through joke of a blouse replaced by an old black tee of Dean's.

"Is something wrong?" she asked, sweetly, politely, even though there was a slight grunt underneath her words, seeing as how I'd shoved her ass to the side, plowing ahead to the bathroom where I rightly assumed the confirmation of my gut feeling was located.

"Oh fuck me," I said for the second - okay, more than that, but in this sense - time that day.

"I got almost all of my mascara off it," said the waitress, coming up behind me. "I didn't realize it was so nice."

She'd washed it out in the sink, that shirt-turned-snotrag that I’d found under the seat and handed to her earlier, and it was now hanging over the shower rod. It reeked of motel shampoo, and the mascara hadn't really come out, just gotten smudged around into grey stains that made the cream cardigan look like a jaundiced leopard. I reached up, pulled it down, closed my eyes briefly before I read the tag, even though I knew. I just fucking knew.

CHANEL

"It's, um, not yours, is it?" she asked.

I threw the cardigan into the tub as I turned to her with a look for asking such a dumbshit question, one I was now positive she knew the answer to, and not just because it was plain that I wouldn't touch Dean unless it was a proverbial gun-to-head situation.

She jumped slightly, the combo of the sharp splat of the clothing and the fierceness in my eyes rightly startling her. I took a small step forward. She took a big step back.

"Y-your... your eyes are... the, um... they look like how when... when sometimes my ex would take ----"

"Yeah, my pupils start to dial it up to eleven when I get scared or pissed, and I ain't been scared of anything in a long, long time, so guess where I'm at right now."

"Mad at me?"

I grabbed her by the neck, put her up against the wall, and she squirmed, clutched onto my wrist. I didn't choke her, nor did I lift her off the floor, but I had a damn good grip. She needed to get my message. Fast.

"Now I don't give three shits how you play it in front of Sam and Dean, or the rest of the human race for that matter, I really don't, but from here on you're dropping this dimbulb bunny shtick with me, because I get you're legitimately shit-for-brains and too stupid to breathe on most subjects, but not when it comes to people. You're pretty damn good at reading people, aren't you?"

Though she kept hold of my wrist, the halt in the squirming and the chagrined expression on her face was my answer.

"You navigate jobs like stripping and waitressing as pro as they come, and you handled those cops like a boss, and you summed up Dean in a hot second, knew exactly what fantasies to wrap him up in. How am I doing? Reading you?"

A barely-there shrug.

"Thought so. And you're crafty, I read all about how you got yourself out of the marriage to that asshole biker who liked to knock you around. Duke the Douche, your sister liked to call him, wasn’t that it?"

Widened eyes.

"Oh I did my homework on you, you think I wouldn't? So we're done with this sweet little ray of sunshine bullshit. I hate those small-dicked fuckers who hit women ---" I slid my grip up, pressed into her face hard with my fingertips "--- but I got a big dick, and I will break your jaw if the next words out of your mouth aren't in your real voice, and show some real brains, and have some real information, 'cause you don't start talking straight, you're not gonna talk at all, you got me, Malibu Barbie?"

She nodded best she was able, and I let her loose. As she sat on the bed, head dropped, posture slumped, she cleared her throat. And then she started picking at chipped polish on her thumb.

I huffed and crossed my arms. "We're on the clock here!”

Sam chose that moment to enter the room, opening his mouth to no doubt start yelling again, but the waitress beat him to it. Except it wasn't a yell that came out. What came out was a voice that was still light but less breathy, and a good quarter step down on the scales than what we'd heard so far.

"What do you wanna know?"

Sam's eyebrows shot up, looking from her, to me, then back again.

"When did Raquel get back in town?" I asked, getting right to it.

"I'm not sure when, exactly. I'd talked to her on the phone while I was at work the other night."

"We're gonna need to get some exactly. Was it when your manager was playing grab-ass?"

"Mmm-hmm. And I told her I was getting scared, being all alone. That the FBI was in town investigating those murders."

"And you told her about the murders? That they were your roommates’ boyfriends?"

"Uh-huh."

"And she made a beeline back, so you wouldn't be by yourself."

Another set of nods. "But she said she didn't want me to miss out on a good time, that I needed to get out of the house for some fun, get my mind off it, so she'd go with me to the club opening, hang around til I felt comfortable." The waitress paused and gasped. "She's okay, right? Did anything happen to Raquel? She was home when I left today..." A puzzled look briefly crossed her face. "I think she had company over, because I heard ----"

"Yeah, yeah, she's great, she's fine," I interrupted. I turned slightly to Sam, including him on the next level of my sleuthing. "I have the feeling that together, the two of you will fill in some big gaps. I want you ---" I pointed at the waitress "--- to tell everything Raquel said about last night, and you ---" my finger went in Sam's direction "--- to tell everything Dean said."

They both looked at me blankly.

"On your marks! Get set!" I prompted, and in my most threatening tone.

Sam went first. "Ah, well ---” He paused, glanced at the waitress. “Listen, I don’t want to hurt your feelings or anything, but Dean... he sometimes just ---”

The waitress cut him off. “It’s okay, Sam, I know he slept with somebody else. It’s not like we’re dating. Go ahead. Tell her whatever he said.”

And what Dean said was this: it seemed while Sam and I had been up to some legitimate dirty work the day prior, in the time between the morgue and the trio’s meltdown, Dean had decided to park himself at a bar and sulk over how the waitress was planning on having a ball without him. So after striking out with the hot co-ed bartender - god, just so unbelievably predictable - who'd reportedly called him "geezer", he took his bitter ass over to the club, despite the soiree being invitation-only. And he spotted someone more his age leaning against a light post to the side of the building, puffing on a pale pink Fantasia, someone who put that baby bartender to shame, someone who was an absolute dish, tips to toes, tall and curvy, looking like she'd just hopped off a vintage Hollywood poster.

And ol' Raquel knew him on sight, courtesy of the suck-face selfies the waitress had showed off of the two of them, bragging about what a tough guy he was, how charming, how he had all the right moves. Given the waitress' foul taste in men, and the way she was a damn dirtbag magnet in general, Raquel likely presumed Dean was one more in an ever-growing line. The waitress reported that Raquel hated the professor for stringing along roomie Monroe, and she loathed the long-time boyfriend of roomie Loren for stringing her along since junior high.

"Oh shit," I muttered, bringing a hand to my forehead. I'd inadvertently had two of the mara's prime targets taken out. At least she didn't know; if she had, she'd have likely tried to rail me in the not-so-fun way.

"Oh shit, what?" the waitress asked, and it broke me out of my thoughts.

"What came next? Did Raquel tell you she was leaving?" I asked as my reply.

"Mmm-hmm, because she’d met a guy. She said she’d stay if I was still nervous. But I told her it was okay, because my friends were..." the waitress began, but trailed off.

"They're dead, we know, gotta keep moving honeythighs," I said with a few snaps of my fingers, which caused Sam to glare at me as he sat on the bed next to her and put an arm around her shoulders. I sighed, opted to move her along without going full-tilt bitch. For now. “When did you know it was Dean - was it the sweater?”

Sam cut in, speaking to the waitress. "Time out - your roommate is the person who --- I don't ---" He looked to me. "She's the reason you think Dean's in trouble? I mean, you know this woman?"

"So do you.”

The waitress’ eyes grew wide as she stared at Sam. “You slept with Raquel, too?” Then, softly - “Wow.” Softer - “Ew.”

Sam frowned at her, then brought his eyes to mine with a look that said Spill it.

“You do. Well. You know her work," I said, hoping my return look conveyed my meaning, and boy howdy, did it.

Sam glanced down at himself, or rather, at his now-rumpled Fed gear. "Let me change," he told us, standing and rushing over to his bag.

"We'll be in the car," I replied, then gestured at our clearly clueless third wheel to gather up her stuff - and once we were settled, she started gathering some clues.

Leaning forward, resting folded arms on the back of the front seat, brow knit, she asked, "How did you know it was Raquel? I don't get how it has to do with Dean being in trouble. He's not in trouble with me. So you and Sam don't have to be upset on my account."

I fought the urge to pop her in her perpetually pouty lips, but instead just shifted to look at her. "I met the ol' girl earlier, noticed she was wearing the shell to that sweater set. Not many people dress like that around here. And it was crammed under the front seat, and he’d gotten his panties in a twist when Sam had put you in back last night. I put p-and-v together, like a good investigator does."

"But you investigate..."

The question trailed off and no babbles followed, so I took in the sight of myriad light bulbs firing up behind her eyes. "Go ahead.” I gave a quick point to the motel. “Apparently hair care's taking priority over certain death, we got a minute or two.”

“Is Raquel who you guys have been looking for? You think she did... that she's been murdering people when she was out of town? Because she wasn't? Wasn't out of town? She was in town? And she was ---"

"Yes. I'm saying Raquel came back in town and killed your manager."

"But she didn't kill the boyfriends or the people at ---"

"No."

"No?"

Shit. "Yes. They're, ah.... they fit her M.O. No to the club."

"’Cause she has an alibi,” the waitress said, glancing to her left, at the scene of Dean’s crime. Looking back up, she asked, “So Raquel’s, like, a for real serial killer?" A beat or two, a few of the bulbs ratcheting up the wattage."Oooh, orrrrrr...."

"Yeah. Or."

What felt like millennia of silence passed before the waitress spoke up again. "Can I ask you something? About something you said earlier?"

At that moment, Sam came out of the room, hair perfect, weapons bag thrown over a shoulder. I started the engine as I responded. "What?"

"You have a dick?"

I rolled my eyes. "Metaphor. Do I need to explain what a metaphor is?"

A sheepish look immediately hit her face. "Maybe?"

"Later."

WEDNESDAY, 5:38 p.m.

"You think she's going to kill Dean how she killed our other roommates' boyfriends, don't you?"

Sam and I looked up from our weapons assembly to stare at the waitress, surprised.

We'd broken into the diner on the modest main street, the one that had been our go-to lunch and late-night-dinner stop. They'd have normally been open and hopping, but the mayor had initiated a curfew; triple homicide plus mass murder'll light a fire under even the sleepiest of towns. It was a little extreme - everyone should be closed for business at 5:00, everyone should be locked in their houses at 8:00 - but it worked perfectly for me. I had no doubt my boss' attachés were in town, likely put their finger on the scale so that Recovery would have full run of the area.

"Do you think that's why she... why she did it?" the waitress added. "To see if he was a cheater? I told her we weren't serious."

"She's not your friend," Sam said, but gently.

"You think that's what it was, though, right?"

"Maybe she got the impression you like Dean more than you let on," Sam suggested, resulting in an instant down-turned look from the waitress as response, yet just as suddenly, she raised her head again, back to her bright, bubbly - and in this instance, clearly faked - persona.

"Hey, I bet you guys are hungry. Or, you will be after you're done... um, working. I'm gonna get going on some food, okay? Okay!"

She'd barely finished her sentence before turning and heading in the direction of the kitchen. I opened my mouth to call out and tell her not to bother, to just sit still for once. Sam put a hand on my arm.

"Let her feel useful," he advised.

I jerked my arm away, went back to looking over the arsenal we had laid out across the tables of three booths. Between the two of us, it was decently impressive. Impressive for most anything other than a mara of Raquel's caliber, anyway, that I made sure of - last thing I wanted was her incapacitated. Long as they worked her down to the level I could get her non-corporeal and pop her into that pandora gizmo (be still my heart, in-house coven and some FedEx-worthy transportation spell work), then I was gold.

"I don't know that our team will get here in time to nail the bitch, but this'll at least keep her busy, help you get Dean out of whatever bondage she's got him into," I commented. Lied. Whatever.

"So they are coming?" he asked.

"Oh yeah. Locked and loaded."

"Why do you think she'll go after Dean? Won't she have bigger issues to worry about, with them breathing down her neck?"

"What loyalty she thought Dean should have to Barbarella was beyond me, but suffice to say she took it for a test run, and he failed, and given that she couldn’t get her rocks off with the two long-time sources of her ire, it makes sense that the manager’s comeuppance was gore-a-palooza. Still. I met the broad, she's intense. No way that one asshole satisfied the craving. Especially since he wasn't actually involved with anyone at their Playboy mansion."

Sam nodded, began sticking various weapons on him, but when he started to put his jacket on, he noted me pulling out my case of toothpicks and froze. "Um, that's your prep work? You're not going to change clothes? Maybe bother with getting yourself locked and loaded?"

“Nope,” I replied, sticking the pick in my mouth and returning the case to my pocket. “I’m staying here with the waitress. Hold down the fort. Make sure she doesn’t add to the mess your brother’s gotten us in.”

He pulled his jacket on the rest of the way, straightened it with a sharp tug, and huffed as he ran a hand through his hair. Then he looked me dead in the eye, saying, "I could actually use your help, you know."

I shrugged. "She needs it more."

"Because you care so much about her," he shot back, the words coated in sarcasm.

"Has nothing to do with caring, it's just logical. You and Dean are a team, can practically read each others' minds. Like I told you before: it’s hunting 101. Limit liabilities in the field.”

“Thanks for the tutorial, it’s my first day.”

“I'd be a distraction. One of us could bite the dust."

"What, because I care so much about you?"

I snickered. "Oh honey, no. Because I care so much about me. It wouldn't matter if the sensible thing - you know, greater good and all that - meant you needed to handle some goon when another had Dean against the wall, you'd turn your back on what mattered just to rush to his side."

"Turn my back on... Right. Yeah. Since Dean doesn't matter."

"Are you leaving at any point in the next century? To scoop up whatever's left of Mr. What Matters?"

"You're a bitch," he muttered as he stormed by me, knocking into my shoulder on purpose.

"You’re a large-diameter dickhole," I muttered back; then, louder, as he walked out the door, I got in one final dig. "Have a stellar Wednesday! Fingers crossed it doesn’t turn out Tuesday!"

He shot me a bird without turning around.

I locked the door behind him, put the half-drawn blinds down all the way, and turned off all the lights except for the ones directly over the counter seating area, to make it look good for the waitress. She came out of the kitchen to find me taking off my suit jacket and hanging it on the hand-carved coat rack by the door. So, so quaint this joint - I hoped it'd catch on fire.

"We're closed!" she said, but when she saw it was me, a tiny frown hit her face. "Did I not hear the bell ding?"

"You did. Sam's off and running. It’s just us girls," I replied, walking over and plopping down on a stool. "So what's cooking?"

"Nothing yet, I'm just getting some burgers and a pie ready to go for when they come back."

"They may not come back."

"You think they'll leave without saying bye?"

I gave her a look. "What did I say about the playing dumb?"

She blinked a few times, then softly said, "Oh." After a pause, she added, "I guess it's a habit."

I took her in for a moment - minus the mascara still holding on from the night prior (fuck if I knew how, I'd have to ask her the brand), her face was clean of makeup, revealing a barely-there touch of freckles. Her hair was in a smooth ponytail, the clip-in extensions coming out when she took it down from the messy bun, and she looked fantastic. And I told her so.

She let out a near soap opera-level gasp. "Really? Seriously?"

"Lookit, if all that other shit makes you happy, I mean, you do you. But from where I sit, it doesn't seem to, and it seems like a real pain in the ass to deal with every day."

She snickered and nodded. "It's not cheap, either. But that’s what Dolly says. Takes a lot of money to look so cheap."

I grinned. "See, there? Smart cookie. You don't have to play dumb to be attractive. Trust me, the kind of men that attracts? The kind who don't even bother to remember your name? Not worth your time, anyway. I think you know that."

"Men like Dean?"

"Like Dean. He's a mess of trouble sewn into a sack of squirrel."

"You don't like him very much... I mean, the way you talk to him... talk about him..."

"I'm pushing him because he tends to get pulled off course by women, whether it’s chicks like you or his landfill of mommy issues, and I'll let you in on a secret: he's getting closer and closer to a real grade-A cunt back on the home front. He needs to get done with her so that he - and Sam - can really start getting down to business. Like I'm trying to get down to business. With you."

"I don't understand. I’m not playing dumb, I promise."

"I didn't come here for some creature, the mara wasn't my mission - neither were they, them being here was a surprise. A kinda nice one. See, my assignment was to get to you."

She eyed me warily. "What do you want with me? T-to... are y-you... gonna kill me?"

I laughed. "No, no, pumpkin - I try not to get my hands dirty nowadays. But I'll tell you another secret: I was behind the first two dirtbags taking dirt naps."

Her eyes got wide. "Are you really the creature? Not Raquel?"

"Oh she's the real deal. We knew about your roomies and their troubled love lives from profiling you, and her cover was way good. Don't get me started on our surveillance team."

"O-okay, I won't."

"That asshat manager of yours was an unplanned bonus, so was Raquel, but earmarking those other creeps as the ones to be taken out instead of some rando townsfolk was just me being... nice."

"You don't seem very nice."

I tapped her forehead with my finger. "See. Like I said. Smart. Ditch the dumb act for good. This looks prettier on you."

"But I don't get it - why'd you do that? Have them killed?"

"I wanted to scare you."

The waitress blanched. "It... it worked. But ---"

I reached out, took her hand. "I need you to go back home."

She stared at me, opened and closed her mouth a few times, then inhaled and exhaled a shaky breath which didn't do a thing to bring any color back to her cheeks.

"You need to patch up whatever went down between you and your sister. You know. The one who works at that low-rent wing joint called Cooter's, which should be getting sued any time now."

That got a response. "We haven't... it's been years."

"Your sis is roomies with a gal that my company's very interested in - but she's about to screw herself over with all the partying she's starting to do with said sister. She's gotta be as pure as a newborn babe... well, maybe not that clean, but at least on paper, she needs to be close if she's going to get her foot in the door with a politician who’s going to be a big damn deal. And you’re going to teach her how to be a class act."

"I don't know anything about ----"

"You will. Because I'm going to teach you."

The waitress pulled her hand away, took several slow steps back, shaking her head as she went.

I stood, began to walk around the counter. "Don't you think you've spent enough time on the run? Doesn't matter what name Dean calls you, 'cause it's not your real one."

Now her face flushed. "Well... I bet your name's not real either!"

"I bet you're right." I came to a stop right in front of her. “This gal is real, real important. And we don’t want your sister to play the part of mentor, we checked her out, and - no offense? - her idiot act is legit. There’s that, and the weed. She’s a space cadet, but you? You’re a diamond in the rough. Not to mention? You’ll be rewarded. Oh baby girl, will you ever.”

Another round of silence, some looking around at anything and everything that wasn’t me, and when she met my gaze again, I knew I had her when she asked, “So who is she?”

“Your new best friend is one Kelly Kline.”

The lights suddenly began flickering. Car alarms went off. I felt a small vibration up to my ankles as the ground briefly shook. Shouting floated our way from somewhere down the street. The Impala’s engine came and went. Then, in the not-so-far distance came the sound of galloping, and it got closer, and closer, and fast, the sharp clomps on the pavement indicating our favorite mare was not wasting any time.

“What is all that?” the waitress whispered.

I smiled, shot her a wink as I answered.

“It’s showtime.”

Feedback makes my ❤️ go boom

See Nash Write : Master | See Nash Write : Mobile

🏷️🏷️Wanna be tagged? Hit me up! 🏷️🏷️

Author’s Note #1: I am profusely sorry for the lateness of the completion of this story. The draft for the final parts was accidentally deleted, and then I had an out-of-the-blue thing, and then I lost my mojo on this story, blah-blah-biscuits, excuses and whatnots. Mea culpas all around, especially to the folks whose challenges this included. I won’t do this with challenges again, cross mah heart.

Author’s Note #2: My personal challenge was to see if I could seamlessly integrate more than a few prompts (okay, sooo… between y'all & some from my own challenge, it ended up around 20… what’re you staring at?) without the challengers feeling shorted & without you all noticing what they were. Why?

Even without the bolding of prompts that authors often include, sometimes they don’t feel like they “fit” with the writer’s typical style/cadence, at least for me. So see if you can guess them & be the judge of if I pulled it off.

The challengers are all being noted below, however the prompts won’t be revealed til the last installment. [There’s one that stretches throughout, and I didn’t want to ruin the ending!]

It is *not* my expectation the Challengers read this whole thing/beyond the part where their prompt(s) were (especially poor Melissa, whose prompt is the one that spans the entire shebang!), cross-my-heart!

Author’s Note #3: I’m also not gonna use the tags for all the challengers anymore because I’d given y’all the link to the master post way-back-when for inclusion in your challenge round-up posts/lists, hope that’s okay - besides, I’m finishing this up so late from when it started, I’m doubting you’re following your tags anymore. Did I mention I apologize? I’m *so* apologizing.

Author’s Note #4: All my stories (save the pure humor & goofy AU) are set in the same “universe”, and Top of the World readers may wanna pay attention to this one, in particular. ;) They’re getting an epilogue to this that contains some juicy behind-the-scenes tidbits in celebration of the completed first “season” and the premiere of season two later this summer, which is loooong overdue! (Wait, it’s August, is summer technically over? Okay, then, late summer/early fall. Eek.)

*~* The Challengers *~*

Featured in this part.....

a #Nash200

Featured in next (final!) part…..

@katymacsupernatural - #katys wish upon a star challenge [2/2]

@super-not-naturall - #Tristan’s 200 Follower Challenge

@hannahindie - #HanCelebratesWithPawnee

more #Nash200s

Previous parts….

@kas-not-cas - #Kas’ 2.5K dialogue challenge

@itswitchcraft-not-googlemaps - #GoldenGirls1.5k

@wideawakeandwriting - #randomwritingchallenge

@katymacsupernatural - #katys wish upon a star challenge [1/2]

@cas-is-my-hero - #cas-is-my-hero 100 challenge

@kathaswings - #Lina’s chiliad

@deansdirtyduchess [the artist FKA melissaj616] - #Melissa Celebrates!

@idreamofhazel - #hazels throwback challenge

…..and of course, #Nash200s

Also in past parts, the “JUST FOR KICKS” pair….

@theblackharrystyles [the artist FKA blackcaptainrogers, FFKA senselesssamii ] - #Samii gets scary

@impala-dreamer - #Dreamer’s OP4A Challenge

[This wasn’t their “real” entry, I just threw ‘em in because they honest-to-goodness happened to be close to things I’d wanted as dialogue anyhow!]

Tag List:

@impandagrl @waywardjoy @jalove-wecallhimdean @jame-sbarnes @just-another-busy-fangirl @amanda-teaches @fanforfanatic @salt-n-burn-em-all @thisgingerlikescoffee @cyrilconnelly @rozadolphin @carryonmycobaltangel @ilsawasanacrobat @klaineaholic @helvonasche @zepppie @amionthetumbler @tankcupcakes @littlegreenplasticsoldier @emlostinwonderland @michellethetvaddict @theoriginalvicki @ellen-reincarnated1967 @copperseraphim @mrswhozeewhatsis @crowleylovesyou @bumbleball13 @anticipate1003 @raspberrymama @lastactiontricia @butiaintgonnaloveem

#Supernatural Fanfiction #SPN Fanfic #Dean Winchester #Sam Winchester #Nash Writes #Queueby Dooby Doo #Dad's on a blog post and #he hasn't been queued in a few days

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mrsteveecook · 6 years

Text

pushy recruiter, sleepy employee, people eating at their desks, and more

It’s five answers to five questions. Here we go…

1. Pushy recruiter

I was recently contacted by a recruiter and ended up sending over my resume just to talk. They ended up sending it to a company who then requested to set up an interview. This all happened very fast and I realized after some thinking that I was not ready to leave my current position. I also read reviews of the new company online that were less than stellar.

I reached out to the recruiter to cancel the interview and apologize. They then called me multiple times from a blocked number and when I answered they were very aggressive. I apologized for the waste of their time again but they wouldn’t let it go, telling me I had nothing to lose by going on this interview.

I restated that I would not be going and did mention the online reviews when asked. The recruiter claimed that these sites are all simply all disgruntled former employees to be ignored. (I don’t believe this because my current company has a very high and accurate online rating.) Despite me repeatedly saying that my choice was final, she wouldn’t let it go and kept trying to convince me to change my mind. She then told me that I had wasted the future employer’s time and that I was burning bridges. Is this true? I had cancelled 48+ hours in advance and thought it would be worse to go and take up 1-2 hours of their time with no intent of taking the job. I understand that cancelling is never great but I need to know if what I did was truly terrible? And as this was also my first recruiter experience is this behavior and reaction normal?

Nope, you didn’t do anything wrong. It doesn’t make sense to waste your time or theirs if you know you’re not interested, and you’re never under any obligation to go to an interviewer just to appease a recruiter. There are all kinds of reasons you might cancel an interview — you changed your mind, you accepted another job, you got a promotion at work, you decided you don’t want to change jobs now after all, and plenty of others. None of these are bridge burners, as long as you explain and apologize. And no good company wants to waste their time interviewing someone who’s just there because they’re afraid of canceling.

As for whether this recruiter’s behavior is normal: No. There are some recruiters who are pushy and aggressive like this, but they’re exceptions. They’re bad at their jobs, they’re not serving their clients (the employers) well, and they’re to be avoided. Good recruiters don’t do this.

The bridge might be burned with this recruiter, but that’s because she burned it.

2. Can I get people to stop eating at their desks?

Everyone around me in an open floor plan eats lunch at their desks. Some group together at a table and chat during an extended lunch hour. I take lunch relatively early away from my desk, and am back at my desk trying to work when the smells of others’ lunches wafts around me. I turn on a small fan to help diffuse the smell, and put on noise-blocking headphones to cancel out the endless talking.

How do I influence a sea change and get the office to start using the very nice kitchen area, or picnic tables outside? Especially the ones that gather in the work area and chat during their lunch hour. I might add, that this chatting about not work topics goes on almost all day. It does not help that the CEO and COO eat in their offices, setting a bad example.

You might not be able to change it, if this is the culture. You could certainly speak up and explain it’s hard to work with the conversation (yes, it happens all day, but I’d bet lunch is worse if people are gathered together specifically to socialize) and the food smells, and you could ask if people would be willing to use the kitchen or the picnic tables instead. But a lot of people like eating lunch at their desks because they want to read online or do work while they’re eating, and if that’s the case, you may not get anywhere. If you don’t, you’re stuck with seeing if there are changes you can make yourself that would help. You’re already on that path with the noise-canceling headphones. Could you also take your own lunch later so that it’s around the same time most other people are eating? It’s not ideal to have to change the time you eat, but it might get you away from the worst of this.

3. The word “bitch” at work

I work in a female-dominated industry although our top boss, Fergus, is male. Fergus is in his 60s and not always great at being politically correct in his workplace conversations. Recently, he has begun using the word “bitch” in meetings with staff, perhaps on a weekly basis.

The context is never him calling someone a bitch, it’s more referring to how staff might perceive someone for an action that they have done. Such as, “Jane changed this policy that impacts her staff. They might think she’s a bitch, but I think it was a needed move.”

I am a woman in my mid-30s. I’m several steps below Fergus, but we work together fairly regularly on projects, and have a pretty good rapport. I’d like to talk to him about the changing way that this word is perceived, particularly among women, and how he probably needs to just cut it completely out of his vocabulary, but I’m not sure how to start this conversation. Any words of advice?

This is one of those words where a lot of people don’t realize that the way it’s perceived is changing. Lots of people who are otherwise thoughtful about their language use still use it and aren’t bothered by it, even as many others are becoming more aware of how gendered it is — the word itself, obviously, but also the behavior it’s often used to describe. (This article describes it well, pointing out that we use it to shame both men and women for “doing gender wrong.”).

Anyway, if you have good rapport with Fergus, by all means talk to him. You could frame it as letting him know something he probably doesn’t realize. For example: “You’ve used the word ‘bitch’ a few times in meetings recently, and I wanted to mention to you that it’s increasingly being seen as a misogynistic slur, especially by women. I know you don’t mean it that way, so I wanted to alert you.”

4. Employee keeps falling asleep in staff meetings

I’m the manager of a department and have noticed that one employee tends to doze off at our weekly departmental meeting. I don’t believe she has any medical condition that would cause this, and I don’t see her dozing off at other times. But I’ve noticed the dozing off many times during these weekly meetings (usually held after lunch or around 3 p.m.).

We’re a laid-back office, but this feels disrespectful and unprofessional. Should I speak with her about it and ask if there’s a medical issue? Should I ask her to drink more coffee?

Yes, you should talk to her! She’s presumably supposed to be paying attention at these meetings and if she’s sleeping, that’s not happening. Plus, she’s doing her reputation no favors — if you’ve noticed her sleeping, other people probably have too. And if you don’t intervene, other people are going to think you’re okay with it.

Say this: “At our weekly department meetings lately, it’s looked a few times like you’ve fallen asleep. Is everything okay?” Then, depending on her response, you’d say something like, “I do need you awake and engaged for these meetings. Can you do whatever you need to to solve this?” You don’t need to make specific suggestions like drinking coffee; she’s an adult and should be able to figure this out on her own. You just need to let her know what you need from her. (Of course, if she mentions there’s a medical issue, that’ll require a somewhat different approach. You’d probably still need her awake for meetings, but you might give her more time to get it under control, offer to schedule them earlier in the day, or otherwise work her on it.)

5. Should I tell my boss about an email sent to my old manager’s account?

I get forwarded my previous supervisor’s emails, as he left the company about six months ago and there’s the chance a low-contact client will send something important to that email address we need to catch.

Recently, we’ve lost access to a client’s account and I’ve gotten emails (sent to my old supervisor) indicating that the client has revoked our access because he’s moving to work with my old supervisor, presumably at his new company. Do I have a responsibility to disclose this to my current boss? I feel like the answer is yes, but it doesn’t seem like this client is open to being won back — he’s just waiting on the go ahead to tell us he’s left. Also, my current and former managers used to be close friends outside of work and my current boss took it especially personally when my old boss left. I suppose I’m worried that my current boss would take his resentment at my old supervisor out on me, the messenger, which seems a bit silly written down.

Yes, you should tell your boss. You have information about a client that’s highly relevant to your company, and you received it through a work-related channel. It would be weird if your boss later found out that you’d know this and didn’t tell her. It doesn’t change things if there’s no way to win the client back; it still isn’t right for you to know something important about the account that you don’t share with your boss. And it’s very unlikely that he’d take out his resentment at your old boss on you; if anything, he’s likely to see you on “on his side” for sharing this with him.