literatureatthebowofnails

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theyre unlocking new types of guy over on reddit apparently

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Studmuffin: Oh, today is St. Patrick's?

Me: No, it's the Ides of March.

Studmuffin: I don't want to know how you know that.

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Happy Ides of March!

We should all totally just stab Ceasar!

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A scorpion, not knowing how to swim, asked a frog to carry it across the river. “Do I look like a fool?” said the frog. “You’d sting me if I let you on my back!”

“Be logical,” said the scorpion. “If I stung you I’d certainly drown myself.”

“That’s true,” the frog acknowledged. “Climb aboard, then!” But no sooner than they were halfway across the river, the scorpion stung the frog, and they both began to thrash and drown. “Why on earth did you do that?” the frog said morosely. “Now we’re both going to die.” 

“I can’t help it,” said the scorpion. “It’s my nature.”

___

…But no sooner than they were halfway across the river, the frog felt a subtle motion on its back, and in a panic dived deep beneath the rushing waters, leaving the scorpion to drown.

“It was going to sting me anyway,” muttered the frog, emerging on the other side of the river. “It was inevitable. You all knew it. Everyone knows what those scorpions are like. It was self-defense.”

___

…But no sooner had they cast off from the bank, the frog felt the tip of a stinger pressed lightly against the back of its neck. “What do you think you’re doing?” said the frog.

“Just a precaution,” said the scorpion. “I cannot sting you without drowning. And now, you cannot drown me without being stung. Fair’s fair, isn’t it?”

They swam in silence to the other end of the river, where the scorpion climbed off, leaving the frog fuming.

“After the kindness I showed you!” said the frog. “And you threatened to kill me in return?”

“Kindness?” said the scorpion. “To only invite me on your back after you knew I was defenseless, unable to use my tail without killing myself? My dear frog, I only treated you as I was treated. Your kindness was as poisoned as a scorpion’s sting.”

___

…“Just a precaution,” said the scorpion. “I cannot sting you without drowning. And now, you cannot drown me without being stung. Fair’s fair, isn’t it?”

“You have a point,” the frog acknowledged. “But once we get to dry land, couldn’t you sting me then without repercussion?”

“All I want is to cross the river safely,” said the scorpion. “Once I’m on the other side I would gladly let you be.”

“But I would have to trust you on that,” said the frog. “While you’re pressing a stinger to my neck. By ferrying you to land I’d be be giving up the one deterrent I hold over you.”

“But by the same logic, I can’t possibly withdraw my stinger while we’re still over water,” the scorpion protested.

The frog paused in the middle of the river, treading water. “So, I suppose we’re at an impasse.”

The river rushed around them. The scorpion’s stinger twitched against the frog’s unbroken skin. “I suppose so,” the scorpion said.

___

A scorpion, not knowing how to swim, asked a frog to carry it across the river. “Absolutely not!” said the frog, and dived beneath the waters, and so none of them learned anything.

___

A scorpion, being unable to swim, asked a turtle (as in the original Persian version of the fable) to carry it across the river. The turtle readily agreed, and allowed the scorpion aboard its shell. Halfway across, the scorpion gave in to its nature and stung, but failed to penetrate the turtle’s thick shell. The turtle, swimming placidly, failed to notice.

They reached the other side of the river, and parted ways as friends.

___

…Halfway across, the scorpion gave in to its nature and stung, but failed to penetrate the turtle’s thick shell.

The turtle, hearing the tap of the scorpion’s sting, was offended at the scorpion’s ungratefulness. Thankfully, having been granted the powers to both defend itself and to punish evil, the turtle sank beneath the waters and drowned the scorpion out of principle.

___

A scorpion, not knowing how to swim, asked a frog to carry it across the river. “Do I look like a fool?” sneered the frog. “You’d sting me if I let you on my back.”

The scorpion pleaded earnestly. “Do you think so little of me? Please, I must cross the river. What would I gain from stinging you? I would only end up drowning myself!”

“That’s true,” the frog acknowledged. “Even a scorpion knows to look out for its own skin. Climb aboard, then!”

But as they forged through the rushing waters, the scorpion grew worried. This frog thinks me a ruthless killer, it thought. Would it not be justified in throwing me off now and ridding the world of me? Why else would it agree to this? Every jostle made the scorpion more and more anxious, until the frog surged forward with a particularly large splash, and in panic the scorpion lashed out with its stinger.

“I knew it,” snarled the frog, as they both thrashed and drowned. “A scorpion cannot change its nature.”

___

A scorpion, not knowing how to swim, asked a frog to carry it across the river. The frog agreed, but no sooner than they were halfway across the scorpion stung the frog, and they both began to thrash and drown.

“I’ve only myself to blame,” sighed the frog, as they both sank beneath the waters. “You, you’re a scorpion, I couldn’t have expected anything better. But I knew better, and yet I went against my judgement! And now I’ve doomed us both!”

“You couldn’t help it,” said the scorpion mildly. “It’s your nature.” 

___

…“Why on earth did you do that?” the frog said morosely. “Now we’re both going to die.”

“Alas, I was of two natures,” said the scorpion. “One said to gratefully ride your back across the river, and the other said to sting you where you stood. And so both fought, and neither won.” It smiled wistfully. “Ah, it would be nice to be just one thing, wouldn’t it? Unadulterated in nature. Without the capacity for conflict or regret.”

___

“By the way,” said the frog, as they swam, “I’ve been meaning to ask: What’s on the other side of the river?”

“It’s the journey,” said the scorpion. “Not the destination.”

___

…“What’s on the other side of anything?” said the scorpion. “A new beginning.”

___

…”Another scorpion to mate with,” said the scorpion. “And more prey to kill, and more living bodies to poison, and a forthcoming lineage of cruelties that you will be culpable in.”

___

…”Nothing we will live to see, I fear,” said the scorpion. “Already the currents are growing stronger, and the river seems like it shall swallow us both. We surge forward, and the shoreline recedes. But does that mean our striving was in vain?”

___

“I love you,” said the scorpion.

The frog glanced upward. “Do you?”

“Absolutely. Can you imagine the fear of drowning? Of course not. You’re a frog. Might as well be scared of breathing air. And yet here I am, clinging to your back, as the waters rage around us. Isn’t that love? Isn’t that trust? Isn’t that necessity? I could not kill you without killing myself. Are we not inseparable in this?”

The frog swam on, the both of them silent.

___

“I’m so tired,” murmured the frog eventually. “How much further to the other side? I don’t know how long we’ve been swimming. I’ve been treading water. And it’s getting so very dark.”

“Shh,” the scorpion said. “Don’t be afraid.”

The frog’s legs kicked out weakly. “How long has it been? We’re lost. We’re lost! We’re doomed to be cast about the waters forever. There is no land. There’s nothing on the other side, don’t you see!”

“Shh, shh,” said the scorpion. “My venom is a hallucinogenic. Beneath its surface, the river is endlessly deep, its currents carrying many things.” 

“You - You’ve killed us both,” said the frog, and began to laugh deliriously. “Is this - is this what it’s like to drown?” 

“We’ve killed each other,” said the scorpion soothingly. “My venom in my glands now pulsing through your veins, the waters of your birthing pool suffusing my lungs. We are engulfing each other now, drowning in each other. I am breathless. Do you feel it? Do you feel my sting pierced through your heart?”

“What a foolish thing to do,” murmured the frog. “No logic. No logic to it at all.”

“We couldn’t help it,” whispered the scorpion. “It’s our natures. Why else does anything in the world happen? Because we were made for this from birth, darling, every moment inexplicable and inevitable. What a crazy thing it is to fall in love, and yet - It’s all our fault! We are both blameless. We’re together now, darling. It couldn’t have happened any other way.”

___

“It’s funny,” said the frog. “I can’t say that I trust you, really. Or that I even think very much of you and that nasty little stinger of yours to begin with. But I’m doing this for you regardless. It’s strange, isn’t it? It’s strange. Why would I do this? I want to help you, want to go out of my way to help you. I let you climb right onto my back! Now, whyever would I go and do a foolish thing like that?”

___

A scorpion, not knowing how to swim, asked a frog to carry it across the river. “Do I look like a fool?” said the frog. “You’d sting me if I let you on my back!”

“Be logical,” said the scorpion. “If I stung you I’d certainly drown myself.”  

“That’s true,” the frog acknowledged. “Come aboard, then!” But no sooner had the scorpion mounted the frog’s back than it began to sting, repeatedly, while still safely on the river’s bank.

The frog groaned, thrashing weakly as the venom coursed through its veins, beginning to liquefy its flesh. “Ah,” it muttered. “For some reason I never considered this possibility.”

“Because you were never scared of me,” the scorpion whispered in its ear. “You were never scared of dying. In a past life you wore a shell and sat in judgement. And then you were reborn: soft-skinned, swift, unburdened, as new and vulnerable as a child, moving anew through a world of children. How could anyone ever be cruel, you thought, seeing the precariousness of it all?” The scorpion bowed its head and drank. “How could anyone kill you without killing themselves?”

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This is the cutest thing ever!

the family i rehomed my cat to includes him in their purim costume every year 🥹 this year they were each a suit of cards and he was spades and he got his own little hat 🥹

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I'm doing my part!!

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Am I projecting, or is our dear reader bipolar? This is so sweet so far

Moon River 1

Warnings: non/dubcon, manipulation, and other dark elements. My username actually says you never asked for any of this.

My warnings are not exhaustive but be aware this is a dark fic and may include potentially triggering topics. Please use your common sense when consuming content. I am not responsible for your decisions.

Characters: Loki

Summary: your husband is a mischievous man.

Note: this kinda just came together.

As usual, I would appreciate any and all feedback. I’m happy to once more go on this adventure with all of you! Thank you in advance for your comments and for reblogging ❤️

Your eyelids glow. You open them and stare up at the dark ceiling. Slats of silver drape over your body and the one next to you. Your husband's breaths cascade over you in slow draws, his leg tangled over yours.

You look at his silhouette in the supernatural light. He looks oddly blue as he slumbers. You carefully drag your leg from beneath his as you sleep up. Insomnia has ever been a constant companion, not that you ever lack for energy. It's only that even when you sleep, your mind wanders away.

You go to the window and sit on the cushioned bench before it. You peer up at the lunar deity beaming back at you. You admire the distant craters and the sharp border against the night sky.

An urge to go outside and lay in the grass has you on your feet. You glance at the bed. Loki's lean finger splays over it, nearly corner to corner. You tiptoe past him, snatching up the green cloak from the bedpost. You drape it from your shoulders as you flit into the hall.

You grow careless as you get to the stairs. You hurry down and to the front door. You spin out into the night as you shut the door behind you. You face the moonlight and sigh. You go out past the birdbath and spread the cloak on the ground. You lay on it and bask in the eerie haze of the full moon.

The stars wink back at you as the dewy air breezes over your body. You hum an off-key melody you can't place. You hear footsteps in the grass. You're not scared.

"Darling," Loki stands above you. "What ever are you up to?"

You look at him. The moon illuminates the veins beneath his skin, the blue hue still in his complexion. You smile.

"Look," you point to the sky.

He lifts his chin as he follows your finger, "what am I looking at?"

"The moon! Isn't it wonderful?"

He tuts and steps around you. He sits on the other side of the cloak. His eyes fall down to you.

"I've seen many such moons, darling. It begs to ask why you should be out so late," he touches your arm, "why I should wake to an empty bed."

"She's so pretty."

"Who?"

"The moon, silly," you stick your tongue out.

"Ah, not so much as you," he slithers.

You swat him playfully. "You are cheesy."

"Shall I be cruel instead?" He counters.

You put your hand on his and bring it to your heart. You hold it there and gaze up at the sky with a smile. He relents and lays next to you.

"You Midgardians are apt to catch an ague in the night chill," he girds.

"I've me fae husband to keep me safe," you insist.

He sighs, "must you call me that. I am not a fairy, dear."

"You are magical!"

"Hm," he exhales again and drags your hand to his chest instead. He shifts and snakes his arm under your head. He brings you against his side and you nestle into him, eyes clinging to the goddess above.

You blink and wake in bed. You're still against him. He's asleep. He got you in one of his tricks. You know the moon was no dream but he would not let you stay outside. He worries more than he likes to admit.

You try to sit up and he groans, catching your shoulder with his other arm and pushing you back down. He turns onto his side as his hand goes to your cheek. "You are running away again?"

"No!" You argue. "I'm awake and bored."

"You are restless," he reprimands. "Be still, let the world rise."

"Loki," you gently pull his hand away and sit up. "I have an idea."

You get to your knees and bounce. His hand settles on your thigh. He watches you with languid eyes.

"Yes?"

"The aquarium."

"Derived of your midgardian Latin, aquarius, pertaining to water..."

"A big museum of water," you explain. "And fishes."

"Fish, I believe is the plural." He corrects.

"And turtles," you smile. "I always wanted to go. It was on my list. Remember?"

His cheeks tauten and he nods. His eyes stray. "Yes, but that list was for... then."

"The list is forever, so..."

"Hmm," he drones, as he so often does. "Today?"

"Why not?"

He frowns, "you are always in such a hurry." He slowly sits up, leaning on the heels of his hands. His dark hair hangs to his shoulders, tangled. "Is there a reason I should know?"

"Loki," you brush his arm. "I'm well, I promise."

"Yes, let us see this aqua room."

"Aquarium," you correct.

"Yes, yes, as you will," he lifts a hand to your chin, "only after you are ready."

He leans in and kisses you. You smile as he does then push away. You bounce across the bed excited.

"You make certain you do not miss anything," he girds.

"I won't," you chirp as you hurry into the bathroom.

You take out the long container with its seven compartments; one for each day of the week. The doctor gave you these pills. You pluck out Tuesday's dose and swipe up the swirling green bottle that Loki prepared. You wash it down with a measured helping of the sickly elixir. Loki appears behind you in the mirror.

"You certainly are lively, as late," he muses.

"Mm," you give a tight smile as the icy flow permeates your stomach. "I'm just... happy."

"Happy?" He muses as he goes to the shower and cranks it on.

"Very. Aren't you?"

He hums, "so I am." He comes to you and tugs at your nightgown. He teased you last night for the little sheep printed on it. "And I daresay a bit ripe from last night's games."

You make a face at him and raise your arms as he strips you of the cotton. You sigh and drop your arms as his gaze lingers on your torso. You put your hands to your scars, not ashamed, but aware.

"Lulu," you call him by your pet name. His eyes meet yours.

"We match," he traces the deep scar down the center of his chest.

"We do," you shimmy and let your fingers fall down the ridged tissue beneath your skin. Not quite the same but both marked.

"Let us be clean, for a time," he takes your hand guides you to the show. "I can never wait very long before dirtying you once more."

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Another old wip that I just put colour on, I'm not sure where I was going with it. I was cleaning my folders and decided I'm not gonna do anything else with it so here it is, between posting commissions

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🌿🌸🌼🌺

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Any setting where the elves have weaker booze than the dwarves isn't committing to the bit

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Ooo, this looks like it'll be interesting. Spitfire character combo

The Novice 1

No tag lists. Do not send asks or DMs about updates. Review my pinned post for guidelines, masterlist, etc.

Warnings: this fic will include dark content such as noncon/dubcon, , age gap, and possible untagged elements. My warnings are not exhaustive, enter at your own risk.

This is a dark!fic and explicit. 18+ only. Your media consumption is your own responsibility. Warnings have been given. DO NOT PROCEED if these matters upset you.

Summary: your first job brings a lot more work than you could anticipate.

Characters: Loki Laufeyson, Lloyd Hansen

As per usual, I humbly request your thoughts! Reblogs are always appreciated and welcomed, not only do I see them easier but it lets other people see my work. I will do my best to answer all I can. I’m trying to get better at keeping up so thanks everyone for staying with me.

Your feedback will help in this and future works (and WiPs, I haven’t forgotten those!) Please do not just put ‘more’. I will block you.

I love you all immensely. Take care. 💖

As per usual, I humbly request your thoughts! Reblogs are always appreciated and welcomed, not only do I see them easier but it lets other people see my work. I will do my best to answer all I can. I’m trying to get better at

Your first job. That's what this could be. Admittedly it's late but better that than never, as they say. You don't think your father would agree but he'd be happy to hear you got something.

That's if you get it...

It's still a big question mark. As you find your way to the third floor and stop before the sign marked L&L, you pause. You peer through the glass door to the row of pretty women sitting in stiff acrylic chairs. The answer to that question seems stamped in red as you search for the courage to enter.

No turning back now. You are a bad liar and you have to at least try. You can't handle your dad throwing another conniption. Even after all these years, his yelling and slamming makes you feel like a child.

Twenty-five. You should really be a lot further than you are. That self-reproach accompanies you through the door. You offer a nervous smile to the waiting women, your fellow candidates, as you claim an empty seat. None of then look up from their phones.

You have your cell firmly tucked into your purse. You don't want to give a bad impression and be caught in a dazed stare at absurd memes. You clutch the folder containing your resume and cover letter and bounce your legs as you wait.

It's going to be so bad. The other women are so pretty. Perfectly highlighted hair and tailored skirts and dresses. All those things your father said you could have if you got yourself a damn job. In his mind, you just don't try, but in your experience, you just can't win for trying.

You look down at the plain white folder and sniff. You're the only person wearing trousers. You like the wide-legged wool that cinch at the waist to give you a bit more shape, though the thrifted blouses doesn't quite fit you right.Still, compared to your competition, you're gunning for last place.

Your eyes wander along the walls, a blinding shade of white. The doors are all thick glass trimmed in silver. It's all very pristine and prestige. A post-modern corporate utopia.

A door opens and a women taps out in her heels, strutting like a model down a runway as she goes. The next is called; not you. A six-foot-blond with perfect beach waves stands and greet the black-haired man with an outstretched hand. Your lips move silently and you curl your fingers. You should remember to do that. At least pretend you believe in yourself.

The woman in the next seat sighs and you catch her glance at your jittering knees. You still yourself, tapping your toe instead as the fidgeting itches under your skin. You stop from chewing your nails and peek at hers. A perfect french manicure. Your short and filed nails are so basic.

Another candidate emerges. The next rises and the script continues. You wait with your head down. Your interview is for 12:15 and it's past that. You wonder if they overbooked.

It's ninety minutes before the other chairs are empty. A few who arrived after you were called ahead of you. You start to squirm. Is this the wrong place? Did you misread the email?

The lithe black-haired man does not call another name as he sends off the last candidate invited inside. Your heart drops. What happened? He sends you a look before he spins and strides back through the door.

You sit, paralysed. Should you just go? He didn't look confused at your presence. But why didn't you get called? It doesn't make any sense.

You wait five minutes then stand. You should leave before you cry. The door opens as you get to your feet. You peer over at the man who pokes his head out. It's not the same man. This one has brown hair and a matching trimmed mustache. Where the black-haired man had sleek locks combed back behind his neck, this one sports shaved sides. He steps half out and snaps his fingers.

"Come on. Let's get this over with," he commands.

You blink and nod. You agree with the sentiment. Get it over with and go home and fall apart. As you near, you wipe your hand on your trousers then offer it to him with your name.

He turns away without shaking it. You trip over the threshold behind him as you enter at his back. He stands aside as you pass him and he shuts the door. He clears his throat and points to the empty chair on one side of the long conference table. The black-haired man sits on the other side and drags his fingertip over a tablet. He doesn't look up.

The other man sits on the end of the table, bending one knee as he keeps a foot on the floor. He watches you as you sit. He sucks his teeth.

"Laufeyson," he snips. "You don't swiping right?"

"Mm," the black-haired man hums and sets down the tablet, sending the other a sharp look. "Hansen."

You're invisible as they glare at each other. You set the folder on the table and pick at the edges. The noise of it draws their attention.

"You have no experience," Laufeyson intones. You see your resume on his tablet already.

"Well, sir, no, but I can learn--"

"This isn't a school," Laufeyson interjects.

You flinch, "I understand, sir. But you'll see, I've taken some courses--"

"Free courses. Uncredentialed," he insists.

Your mouth opens slightly and you look between him and the other man, Hansen. The latter only sits and watches. You try not to frown. You must have a rather tortured expression.

"I..." you gulp. You couldn't afford real school and your dad refused to pay. Like a snake eating its tail; you don't have the education so you can't get a job, you can't get the education because you don't have a job to pay for it. "That's true." You slip your fingers under the folder. "I realise I've wasted your time. I'm sorry--"

"Nah, come on, Laufeyson, look at it this way. Blank canvas," the other man speaks at last. "No bad habits to break."

Laufeyson sighs, "the others had experience."

"And? That means they'll think their way is the right way. You know you hate being wrong," Hansen argues. "Not that you ever are, buddy." He turns to you and smirks. "Besides, desperation makes for hard work."

You wince. He's right. You'll do whatever you need to to keep the job, if they pity you enough to give it.

Laufeyson runs his fingers through his hair and raises his chin. He reaches to black the screen of the tablet. "Fine, hire her. But any questions, you will answer." He stands and swipes up the tablet, "I've spent enough time on this parade."

He struts around the table and leaves the door open in his stead. His soles carry a steady tempo down the hall. Your furrow your brow and look at Hansen.

"Does that mean..."

"You got a job, baby cakes," he pushes off the desk.

"Awesome, I mean... thank you," you get up. "I really appreciate it."

"Ha, don't thank me yet. I'm a hard ass and so's the serpent," he chuckles. "Let's get you started."

"Right now?" You cheep.

"Yes, now," his grin falls. "Come on, move it, cheeks."

You flutter your lashes. Cheeks? You touch your face and tilt your head. He laughs again and waves you out the door.

You go into the hall and stop, looking one way then the other. He grabs your shoulders and you squeak in surprise. He marches you down to the space by the door. An empty white desk awaits you. You hadn't noticed it amid your panic.

"Go on, lamb chop," he lets go of your shoulder and taps your ass, "get to it."

You stumble away from him, your bottom tingling at the unexpected swat. That's not appropriate. You won't say so. You'll just try to forget it.

You go around the desk and put the folder and your purse down. You look at him.

"Don't you dare ask me what to do," he points at you. "You said you'll learn, so figure it out." He leans on one heel, "oh, I put my neck out for you, don't fucking blow it."

You flinch at his language. He's not very professional, is he? You might not have an extensive resume, but you know better than to curse in the workplace. You don't even do so at home. Your father would lose his mind.

He leaves you with a whistle and you look around. You sit in the white leather chair and examine the desk. A large flat monitor, a mouse that's almost as narrow, keyboard too; a pen cup with the white pens. It's all white, white, white. You feel like a stain.

You wait and listen for any noise. Just the click of another door. You grab your purse and dig out your phone. The internet is a wealth of knowledge, right? You type; 'how to set up a new work computer'.

The desktop has no password. You start by making one. Then you go through the list on the first suggested webpage. You don't know the business email. That will be something to ask. Later, when you have the chance. You download all the relevant apps. Your phone buzzes. A message.

'Login folder attached.' That's it. You can assume one of them got your number off your resume but you can't guess which. You open it and find a list of accounts by program. You don't know which ones you'll need.

It takes longer than you would expect to get it all done. Some applications block you out as you aren't permitted access outside the admin device. You take the hint that those aren't your domain. When at least you feel like there's a semblance of direction, you bring up the website for L&L Agency. You reviewed it enough in preparation for the interview but now you'll really need to have it down pat.

An email chimes in. You open it. You go back to the inbox. Oh. There's a lot. You see your name labelled on most of them. Right, that probably means you're supposed to deal with those.

The first one is a mystery... you don't know how to answer the question about rates. You don't have any sort of reference for prices and the website says 'contact for rates'. You feel like if you had pretty beach waves and glossy lips, you'd be able to ask questions. No, you're just blaming other people for your issues again.

Your phone rumbles again, reverberating through the whole desk. You look at the ID. It's your dad. You pick up.

"Hi, um, hi, dad," you eke out.

"Where are you?" He barks.

"At work," you answer.

"Work?" He sneers.

"Yeah, I told you, I had that interview. It went well. I got it."

"Mm," he growls. You wait. He doesn't congratulate you. "You flipping burgers?"

You shrink down and swivel the chair to face the wall, "I'm... a secretary..."

"Oh, you remember how to read. That's great," he scoffs.

"Dad, I..."

"When are you going to be home?"

"Um, I..." you look at the clock. It's four already. "I'm not sure."

He huffs, "I trust you will be before dinner time."

You murmur, "yes, dad."

He didn't actually care you weren't home. He only wanted you to make him supper. You swallow. The line clicks. Oh. Guess that's all.

You turn and put down the phone. You jolt the chair on its axle as your eyes meet another pair; green and gleaming. Laufeyson stands with arms crossed, his posture suggests he's unimpressed.

"I need these alphabetized," he nods. There's a filing box on your desk.

"Yes, sir," you reach for the box.

"No personal calls," he slithers.

He doesn't give you a chance to answer before he disappears back down the hall. You don't take it to heart. You shouldn't be answering calls on work time. Besides, as cold as these men are, your father prepared you for the storm.

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I really love this series. Can't wait to see how coffee is

Paradigm Shift 6

Warnings: this fic will include elements, some dark, such noncon/dubcon, and other untagged triggers. Please take this into account before proceeding. It is up to curate your online consumption safely.

Summary: you get transferred to a new position but it’s hardly a breath of fresh air. (plus!reader)

Characters: Loki, Bucky Barnes, this reader is known as Billie.

Author’s Note: Please feel free to leave some feedback, reblog, and jump into my asks. I’m always happy to discuss with you and riff on idea. As always, you are cherished and adored! Stay safe, be kind, and treat yourself💜

💼Part of the Bad Bosses AU💼

You sit against the wall as the important people line the edges of the desk. Swiveling, toying with ballpoint pens, tapping on flat tablet screens. You're the only assistant there and it's made more obvious as you're the only one not invited to sit with the VIPs.

The executives go down their agendas. Boasting mostly about their numbers, others using flowery language to hide their less than stellar results, and some posturing rather than sharing anything of value.

Odinson looks less than interested. His eyes stray now and again to the walls. The glass is covered by the drawn blinds which he seems to forget as his mind arounds. He must have found a new distraction. You got out just in time.

He cracks his neck, "very well. Submit your numbers as usual. I'll be in touch with those I need to be."

He stands and struts to the door as the rest of the table look at each other. They're put off by the suddenness of his dimissal. Ellie was still presenting her budget.

"Billie, a word."

It's your turn to be surprised. As the other suits pack up or lounge and swipe at their phone, only two gazes react to the command. Barnes and Laufeyson turn to watch you stand. This is treacherous.

Barnes tilts his head and Laufeyson squints. Like a wolf and a snake, measuring their prey. Well, you will not be devoured so easily.

You cross the office and follow Odinson out. He doesn't look ahead, rather cranes to focus on something, or someone you can't pick out. He stops short and you hit his back.

"Ah, uh, oh," he spins to face you and plants his hand on the wall, his other pushing back his stands of blond hair. "Am I in your way, darling?"

"Hm? No, you told me--"

"Ah, yes, yes," he chuckles raucously, "be assured, I had good reason," he leans in and looms over you, "my brother, tell me your thoughts."

"Erm, well, it's not been very long," you reply.

"You are a clever girl, Bill, tell me."

"He is good with numbers and I think he's well-placed. He and Barnes could be productive but I think Logistics needs--"

He raises his head and searches the bull pen. He huffs and stands straight, turning on his heel.

"You will keep notes for me on this matter," he demands. "Be off, before he is about one of his moods."

He strides away without your reply. You wouldn't have anything nice to say anyway. That was abrupt and odd. As for his last remark, you're not sure which of your bosses he refers too.

You march back toward the conference room with your laptop under your crossed arms. As you approach, Laufeyson steps into your path, no doubt having observed your conversation. Before you can tell him to move, he winces and steps away from the door as Barnes rescinds his thick finger from his jab in his cohort's ribs.

"For someone so skinny, you make a hell of a wall," Barnes snips.

"I am lean, not--" Laufeyson sighs and shakes his head, turning back to you. "What did my brother want?"

"Yes, what did the big bad want?" Barnes stands shoulder to shoulder with Laufeyson, well almost, he is a bit shorter.

"He asked if I needed anything. Like a desk mat or tranquilizer." You retort.

Barnes snickers and Laufeyson glowers deeper.

"Very witty indeed."

"I'd love to do my full set for you two but I believe you have other meetings in your calendar," you advise.

"You sound like my drill sergeant," Barnes scoffs.

You arch a brow and stare back. You wait. You will. You're not there to do their work for them.

"Have you a mind for coffee, James?" Laufeyson asks.

Barnes growls, "I'll drown you in it if you call me that again but yes, I could use a boost."

They keep their eyes on you. There power plays are boring. Do they really get off on grounding down an assistant sentenced to purgatory? Actually, that make you feel a bit better. That's how little they have going on.

"I'll go--"

"We'll come," Barnes insists. "Could stretch my legs? How about you, Loki? Built like a spider, sitting in those chairs--"

"You shouldn't be so concerned with my physique and perhaps start cutting those mid afternoon muffins, eh?" Laufeyson retorts.

Even when they get along, they dont.

"It would be quicker if I went myself," you say. "You have Rogers--"

"He's a friend. He'll understand," Barnes interjects. "Garcons?"

Laufeyson nods, "perfect."

You blink but don't let your agitation through. You simply nod.

"Alright, I'll need to put my computer away--"

"Eh, you," Laufeyson catches a passing intern by the back of his collar. "Take this to logistics."

He takes your laptop before you can react and hands it to the spindly yellow-haired undergrad. You give an apologetic look as he utters out a 'yes, sir' and hurries away.

"You didn't need to do that," you argue.

"I hope my brother didn't give you the impression that I take orders from you, darling. It is rather the other way around." Laufeyson sniffs.

"He only takes orders in the bedroom," Barnes chuckles.

"That's hardly appropriate," Laufeyson huffs.

"Loosen up. Skip the coffee and take a shot," Barnes raps his knuckles on Laufeyson's sleeve.

They turn and grumble at each other. You don't move until they reach the elevator. You're not stupid. They have to show their dominance. Too bad you don't care who's in charge, you just want to get the job done.