#//also the task thing is say someone needs a job covered but they can't do that bc they're at the market so it's doing a favor for them

[mechahero]

@viopolis asked- Character Setting! ( do tell! ) send me “character setting!” to learn about my muse’s home! (accepting!)

There's a certain section in Motor City where that street in particular is a permanent farmer's market. Trinkets, jewelry, clothes, food, just about anything you can imagine and most of it is going to be found in that part of the city. You're not going to be able to walk down that street without seeing something different at every single shop.

Newcomers to the city though may be a bit confused when it comes to getting something they'd like though. Items aren't purchased with money but instead, they're bartered for (or you can simply ask if you can have it, most people are willing to give up an item when asked politely enough) either with an item the seller might like or offering to do a task for that person. Time is just as a valuable after all.

[giantkillerjack]

the average person doesn't expect you to be a perfect ethical consumer, that's not possible for the vast majority of us. but what youre saying is it's better to do nothing at all and choose the worst possible options (sweat shops, overseas shipping waste, idea/product theft, all wrapped up in SHEIN) than to put even the tiniest effort in where you can.

[they are referring to this post]

What I said was "some people are doing literally everything they can to survive and have no extra bandwidth to spend extra time and money on their purchases, and it is cruel and therefore un-punk to gatekeep punkness and add additional shame to these people's lives based on that fact."

I think it's still a good thing to try to ethically consume; I literally never said it wasn't. I had never even heard of SHEIN before. Rather, I am much more concerned about what I saw as arbitrary gatekeeping based on ability and income.

And frankly how dare you claim that I am supporting sweatshops and abuse by saying that this additional work you are demanding (in this case, presumably, vetting every clothing company you buy from) is not always possible for people. It is not a light accusation to accuse me of supporting abuse.

"How dare you say we piss on the poor", Etc. 🙄 this isn't Twitter. You are determined to enforce moral purity, but you are failing to see the nuance.

Because when I say "no extra bandwidth," I mean no extra bandwidth. This is not the "car shows it's on E but actually secretly it has a lot of gas left" situation that abled people constantly assume disabled people mean when they say they are at their limit.

This is "the car has stopped moving, and to move it I'd have to break my body pushing it." This is "at a certain point, people will hit a wall in terms of money and time and energy, and any energy spent after that comes directly out of their life force."

So the argument "okay but just spend a little more time money and energy actually" is not a valid one.

And the argument "if you are not able to do this specific task, then it means you're not doing anything else to make the world a better place" doesn't exactly impress me either. You said yourself that it is impossible to be a perfectly ethical consumer for most people.

How do you know what else people are doing to resist oppression? How many hours per week until your standards are met?What if someone works 3 jobs? Does that mean it's harder to be a good person if you're poor?? Why do you get to decide what specific avenue of bettering the world is the most morally repugnant or acceptable? What kind of proof of goodness and effort would make you satisfied enough to lay off on the shame?? Who are you helping??

Clothing is a fundamental human need, and some of us have to buy cheap fucking clothes quickly. Billionaires are buying their seventh yacht this month. The people who own fast fashion companies are abusing their workers and putting local affordable clothing stores out of business - and this applies for basically every company with price points that low because governments are failing to regulate corporations to enforce basic human rights.

I have $300 to spend on a new wardrobe as my old clothes have fallen apart or become too small. Do you have a way for me to get a new winter coat, 3 flannels, 10 shirts, 3 dress shirts, new sandals, 10 pairs of pants, 5 bras, 12 pairs of socks, and 10 pairs of underwear within that budget and also definitely 100% ethically sourced, with free returns in case it doesn't fit? Or will I simply have to use the cheap stores?

I have about an hour to spend on this per week. Many mainstream stores doesn't make clothes in my size, and I am now in *year 5* of needing an electric wheelchair and being unable to get one; plus I live up a flight of stairs, so I can't even bring my walker out with me - so thrift shopping is not gonna cover this. Should I continue to wear small and tattered clothing until I have the time, money, and energy to meet your standards?

Did you know there are more empty homes in this country than homeless people? If I decide to splurge on only 100% ethically-produced products, and I can't make rent, and I become homeless, are YOU going to be there for me?? Or are you too busy litigating the endless tiny shames of poverty in your own community?

So I ask you again, are you SURE this is where you want to direct your punk energy?

Because there are a whole lot of rich people relying on people like us punching down and to the side instead of looking up to see where the money is going.

Because energy and time, as it turns out, are limited resources. And I would never expect you to secretly have more than you claim to have.

[howtofightwrite]

Writing a story where there's a spy in the palace whose eventual goal is to kill the king once she finds info she's looking for. Anyway, what I need is when this spy get into defensive fights in front of others [there is other trouble going on] she needs to pretend she only has rudimentary fighting skills as she's supposed to just be a princess's servant and if she kills someone needs to come across as lucky. How can she do that?

By avoiding combat entirely.

So, let's unpack this a little, her primary mission is regicide. Understandably, that tends to be a big deal. Completely shifting the political landscape big. Realistically, assassinating a king is a pretty good prelude to completely conquering a nation. So, in that sense, her job is to completely eliminate the kingdom she's infiltrating.

It shouldn't need to be said, but the royal garrison's unlikely to be chill with that plan.

A smart spymaster would have tasked the intelligence gathering to another spy. This is for a few reasons. First, assassinations and intelligence gathering are different skillsets. Second, this means that if either infiltrator is exposed the other can continue operating. Especially if they don't know the other spy exists. Which, yes. It is to the assassin's advantage if they don't know about the spy who's collecting intelligence from the palace at the same time they're working to maintain their cover. Third, it means that the assassin only needs to work at maintaining her cover, without engaging in risky behavior, before her opportunity to act. If she has to also go around rifling through locked cabinets, that jeopardizes her ability to actually snuff the king.

Just to be absolutely clear, if anyone suspects what she's there to do, she's dead. Her cover needs to be perfect until after the king is dead. This is a character who could legitimately die if she accidentally lets someone knows she speaks a language she's not supposed to know.

Her cover identity, as the princess's servant, probably shouldn't have any combat training. That's what the guard are there for.

Now, one perk is that she probably doesn't need to hide her ability to sneak (though maybe tone it down a little.) A somewhat important skill for domestic servants is the ability to avoid detection when they're presence is unwanted. This may range from an encyclopedic knowledge of the palace's hidden passages, to a serious knack for spotting and avoiding people while traversing the palace. Again, this is actually, “safe,” for her, because it is a skill that her cover identity should possess.

It's important when you're writing a character to remember their strengths and weaknesses, and then play into their strengths when they engage in problem solving. In the case of a spy, this creates an added wrinkle, because their cover identity has its own strengths and weaknesses, and they need to consciously consider their approach versus how well it meshes with who they say they are.

It's also really important to remember that a spy's strengths are social. Even if she's working as an assassin, and very skilled at killing people, she's (probably) not a fighter. Her strengths lie elsewhere.

If there's potential witnesses, she probably cannot afford to fight, as that will blow her cover.

As a related concept, it's much harder to, “pretend,” to be a worse fighter than you actually are. To some extent, this is true of most skills, but with fighting, you can't really whiff it in actual combat, because if you do, there's a very real risk of dying. Also, I get that it's a trope, but the whole, lucky fumbling fighter also isn't a thing. Getting lucky means looking like you meant to do that. Everything after that is physical comedy, which doesn't work if you're trying to be serious.

If she needs to kill someone, she needs to do it quickly, quietly, and away from prying eyes. Preferably in ways that will not draw attention to her. So, playing to her strengths. There are options here, particularly because she knows how to get around quickly, and in the worst circumstances might even be able to, “discover,” one of her victim's bodies, if someone else finds her before she's had a chance to make an escape. (Though, this will only work once, before she starts drawing suspicion.)

Now, this is going to be a little more complicated, but it's something to consider. Every time your characters score an easy victory against an opponent, that reduces their threat (in the audience's eyes.) (You can sometimes mitigate this effect if your character is exploiting an enemy's weakness, but that can be pretty tricky as well.) There are ways to have protagonists who can casually curb stomp their way through engagements, but it leads into a different kind of story, and requires a different tension with the antagonists.

If your character is getting into fights against enemies who are so ineffectual, that she can clown on them, that will kneecap their ability to function as a serious threat. Even against other groups. Ironically, it doesn't make your character come across as particularly powerful, they stay as the median, it makes their foes appear weak. This can even drag down the perceived power of other characters who have faced off against them.

So, like I said at the beginning, the best option is for her to avoid combat if at all possible. It's not her area of expertise, she cannot afford to win a fight (if there's witnesses), and if she does win while managing to pass herself off as just getting lucky, that will will diminish her antagonists.

-Starke

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[imogenleewriter]

do you currently have time to read fics yourself, and if so, what were the last ones you read and really liked? like something that stuck with you, or where you laughed a lot, etc… :)

I do! I tend to read shorter fics now because I don't have the time or attention span to read long ones at the moment - as a long fic writer, I'm glad other people do! I wrote the summaries below, but the authors' actual summaries are better than mine, so don't let my shitty ones turn you off the fic!

Somebody's Got Your Trainers On (It's You) by @greenblueish (bluegreenish on ao3) Words: 28k. Almost-exes to lovers. Hospital AU.

Louis is a paeds RN and Harry is a paediatrician that used to work at Louis' hospital. Harry leaves, ending his Situationship with Louis. He returns two years later.

My Thoughts: I LOVED this so much that I commented and then messaged Jill. I honestly don't understand how it's only 28k words because it felt like a whole-arse novel! I work in healthcare (and have worked in paeds) and it was the most accurate description of a ward setting, ward life, healthcare, and paeds that I've ever read. Not a single thing made me cringe. It was paced perfectly and had the right amount of tension and resolution. SO good.

you've set my soul to dreaming @so-why-let-your-voice-be-tamed (we_are_the_same on ao3). Word count: 9.2K. Strangers to lovers. Kind of time travel... kind of.

Harry wakes up one Christmas morning expecting to be alone, like he was when he went to be the night before. Instead he wakes up in his bed, but everything else has changed. He quickly falls in love with his new life and is terrified that it won't last.

My Thoughts: Another fic that felt much longer than the WC (9.2k) because it was so in-depth. I have so much respect for writers who can say so much in so few words! It definitely lived up to the fluff and angst tag. I was almost worried it wasn't going to have a happy ending but it did and even included a short but satisfying epilogue.

Love in Conversation by @hellolovers13 Word Count: 4.9k. Strangers to lovers. Baking phone line.

Despite his protests, Louis has been tasked with making a birthday cake for his younger siblings. The problem? He has no idea what he is doing. After some failed attempts, he stumbles across a helpline for baking mishaps. The other voice on the line does their best to help over the phone, but when Louis still can't get it right, they realise that Louis might need a bit more guidance.

My Thoughts: Just like the premise, this one was super sweet. Both characters were extremely lovable. Just a really cute fic.

Just the two of us (we can make it if we try) by @starryhaze28 (starryhaze on ao3) Word Count: 5.9k. Established couple. A/B/O. Mpreg.

Louis is concerned because his omega has been yo-yo-ing between needy and distant and won't tell him why. As time goes by, he gets increasingly worried. Then he founds out his omega is pregnant.

My Thoughts: Established relationships and mpreg aren't usually my jam, however, this one had enough angst and fluff to draw me in. Very, very sweet.

The Space Between by @alltheselights Word Count: 39.9k. Strangers to lovers. A/B/O. Famous/Non-Famous.

Harry Styles is an alpha and famous rockstar who has everything except for the ability to sleep. When he reaches breaking point, Louis Tomlinson, an omega psychology PhD student, is contacted for his professional sleeping skills. Their relationship drifts into unprofessional territory, though.

My Thoughts: As someone very invested in sleeping - because I also lack the ability - I appreciated this fic. It was another "How did they cover so much in so few words" fic. Had the perfect amount of angst towards the end, a satisfying and lovely resolution.

Something To Remember by @parmahamlarrie Word Count: 25k. Strangers to lovers. Soulmate AU. Famous/Non-famous.

Both Louis and Harry find themselves in an Exclusive Resort in Maui for their respective jobs. Living in a universe where tattoos appear on your skin when you see your soulmate, both of them are surprised that tattoos start showing up. As time keeps passing, getting closer to their departures, they start to fear they'll never actually get to meet their soulmate.

My Thoughts: Not going to lie, I got a bit anxious that they weren't going to meet. You know I love a good countdown and this fic had one... and it served its purpose well, lol. But they do meet, and it's beautiful. Another beautiful fic.

Quiet People Have The Loudest Minds by @2tiedships2 Word Count: 38k. Strangers to Lovers. A/B/O.

Louis is a non-verbal omega and is at a Broadway show, but the alpha next to him is stealing all of his attention, and he just wants him to leave. Until the alpha introduces himself as Harry and offers to leave.

My Thoughts: ANOTHER one that felt as though it had a much longer word count because it was so in-depth. I really like the diversity representation. As someone who isn't non-verbal, I can't vouch for the accuracy; however, from the knowledge and experience I do have, it seemed to be handled really well and respectfully. Extremely well-written and another lovely read.

The next two are both by @zanniscaramouche (zanni_scaramouche on ao3):

My Pleasure (to make you mine), Word Count: 6.5k. Strangers to lovers. Piercing. Praise Kink.

Harry decides to get his nipples pierced, and Louis is the right person for the job.

Your Pain (is mine now) Word Count: 5.1k. Stranges to lovers. Tattoo. Pain and praise kink.

Louis decides to get a tattoo done by Harry.

My Thoughts: I'm putting them together as they have very similar vibes (and are written by the same person, lol). Both have light elements of BDSM and are portrayed softly and sweetly. The writing is amazing! You know how people say, "I've read fics where the writing is better than published books?" Well, okay, that IS a lot of fics, but Zanni 100% fits into that category!

Do You See What I See by @allwaswell16 Word Count: 2k. Mix between Strangers/friends to lovers.

Harry just really cares about lost animals. Really, really cares about them. He cares about potentially lost ones too. Ones that, you know, might not actually be lost. Best to take them to the vet, just in case.

My Thoughts: You asked if I have read any funny ones that made me laugh a lot, and I'm still laughing about this one. It's only 2k words, so I don't want to say too much about it. But awkward Harry is my new favourite thing.

Also, whenever I reblog a fic, that is generally a sign that I loved it!

For transparency's sake, I read a lot of questionable smut that is so questionable that I have not included it!

[yumethefrostypanda]

I have three questions regarding our Favorite Ghost

1. Why do you think Ghost wears the mask . Do you think in future Games he will take off the mask and just be Simon

2. What do you think ghost will be like in a relationship

And lastly 3 . Why do you think Ghost join the SAS and why did John pick him to be on Task Force 141

Side note : I love love your blog keep up the good content and keep on blessing us with COD Content 🩷🩷🩷🩷🩷🩷🩷

Hey! First off, thank you for your sweet side note and for asking my thoughts *-* Let's do this (gonna be a long one)

If we look at the Ghost comics it tells us how Simon became the "Ghost". For reboot Ghost i think the reason(s) are somewhat align with the comic story, though the specifics may ofc differ. I do think the reason he started to wear his mask/prefers to be covered up is due to severe loss and torture (as in the comics). And as his bio stated;

Will he take is mask off (again) but now we see his face? Hmmm, it feels 50/50 to me. I don't mind either way. But they already teased us with Simon taking of his mask in the MWII campaign (whilst we gasping in the back of his head :')). So maybee if the story/game(s) comes to an end (which i hope is gonna take yearss *delulu*) we MIGHT just see his face :3 I will be satisfied with him lifting up his mask just halfway tho 😇 And if he will continue to be 'Simon instead of Ghost' in the field is a good and hard question. In the campaign Soap seemed to loosen Ghost up a bit and Alejandro's trust let Simon reveal his face (in short). Soo if they all would be so kind and keep being awesome Simon might fully return 🥹 But still, he is Ghost for most of his career, it's a (big) part of him. Seems hard to let go off.

2. If Ghost would (ever) be in a relationship i would think of him as gentle, careful (not to hurt you) whilst you see him 'struggle' to let you in and fully trust you. I'd like to think for his "reticence" persona, he is more talkative around you but also can enjoy (your presence) in silence. I feel like there is alot more to it or to say about it, i just can't really find the words rn XD Cause what also comes to mind is; has he ever been in a (serious) relationship before? IF not (or it was before the loss and torture) he might need to 're-learn' a thing or two on how to relationship ;P i feel like. And i don't mean it in a twink way but in a way he has to (re)discover these kind of feelings(etc) -where you come in and sorta guide him (by also being just you) :3 (Not that CoD is gonna give us that kind of lore anyway😭) 3. Please know i'm not too familiar with the military and everything revolving around it. What first comes to mind to Price wanting Ghost in his team is because of his skillset and probably mindset. Price is a "uncanny instincts and unchecked determination."(-CoD Wiki) kind of guy. John fights for the greater good. I also believe that for Ghost (and Gaz-as we've seen in 2019, and Soap-as i've seen in his persona). You do want some align thinking minds in your unit if you wanna get the job done, imo :) For Ghost to join the SAS feels like it happened because of his skills("The mental and physical resilience of these guys are what stands out."-SAS article) and i also think Ghost gets some kind of 'freedom' in how he wants/gets to operate, he is in a elite force after all. Who knows Ghost also sees this as an achievement for his hard work and determination in the army. Just for him, to maybe be proud of this achievement if the military is kind of his life. Since he only seems to 'brag' about his skills in a jokingly/uplifting(someone) way.

[fuck-customers]

Just a curious question for mods (Rodney) and followers: At your retail job (current or past) what does being a store lead entail? What responsibilities/privileges come with it + what are the upsides and downsides?

My boss recently pushed the idea of being a lead on me and essentially said "someone is leaving, so a lead position will be available, you should do it, you've been here long enough" I haven't officially been offered the position, but she essentially said she wants me to do it.

Which....yes, I have, but the reason I'm not a lead is because a lead has almost all of the responsibilities of a store manager, with the exception of hiring new employees and doing payroll, for about 1/3 of the pay.

Plus, even though a lead position is a management position, it's not full-time.

Essentially, if I agreed to be a lead, I would gain about $2 more an hour, yet still be part-time (so, no benefits) and my hours would POSSIBLY increase from 4-12 hours a week, to maybe 20+. (But not necessarily, because there is a current lead who has 8 hours for this entire week)

Regardless, if I am officially offered the position, I will probably take it anyway, because I need something more for my resume and I think that'll look good. And I'm hoping to move soon, so I won't have to do it for long.

The responsibilities of a lead at my store (to my knowledge) are:

-open/close the store (physically open the door with the key, set/disable the alarm, open/close registers + count the cash, do the sales report at the end of the night) + now we have to clean the bathrooms every night (with no proper ppe, but that is another tale)

-cover employee breaks (this is the easiest and least objectionable one)

-are in charge of getting coverage if an employee calls out/doesn't show up (ask on the clock employees to stay late, call off-clock employees to come in)

-are actually usually the one that has to cover shifts (now I can't just ignore my boss's texts, rip)

-deal with any Karens/unruly customers/get yelled at by customers, essentially any time anyone "needs to speak to your manager" you gotta go over there

-deal with/solve any employee disputes/problems that don't have to do with payroll

-do whatever daily tasks the SM assigns on a list for you to do, usually includes things like putting up/taking down sale signs, cleaning certain aisles, doing inventory tasks, exception counts, etc.. I've seen various daily tasks lists...they're usually 2+ pages long.

I'm sure there's other responsibilities I'm forgetting/am unaware of, but this is all I can think of right now. It seems like a lot for just $2 more an hour, not even full-time tbh.

BONUS QUESTIONS:

-At your current/former jobs, what responsibilities did leads have? More or less than what I listed?

-Any advice? I have a few things in mind that I plan to do, such as always standing by my coworkers and taking their side over the customer. (Unless the employee is 100% in the wrong, but even then, I plan on phrasing it like "I think my coworker here was a little bit confused on the policy, but they tried their best, this is the way it's supposed to be, but it was not my coworker's fault" basically I won't throw anyone under the bus) I also plan on not completely kissing customer ass. If you're a customer and you're being rude and disrespectful to my employee, you will not still get your discount or whatever you wanted. I am not bending over backwards for disrespectful Karens. And I plan on regularly consulting with my coworkers for any suggestions on how I could improve/make things easier for them. Any other suggestions?

I have never worked anywhere that had a "Team Lead" position. So I can't say with experience.

My daughter works at the bread bowl place and when they made her a team lead all they told her was that she needed to train new people and know policies and procedures 100% and they were suppose to give her a $2 raise. But her and a friend started at the same time, made team lead at the same time, but he got the $2 and she got $1.50 and had to fight for almost a year for the .50.

Since her getting the title she has not trained the new people (the new hires have) and she is treated like a normal part timer. She has also said most of the people working are team leads.

-Rodney

[dabisbratz]

OKAY IM NOT A WRITER BY ANY MEANS SO CUT ME SOME SLACK BUT I WANTED TO WRITE A LITTLE CHOSO THINGY EHEHDJWN

After struggling for embarrassingly long to get your keys out of your pocket and unlock your apartment door, you sluggishly drag your feet through the door and close the door behind you with more force than necessary. You let out a long, exhausted sigh and you set your bag and keys down onto the counter. You kick your shoes off, not caring where they land on the floor. Your entire body feels so heavy, and your brain is pounding from a killer headache. Sleeping has never sounded better.

Your coworker definitely owed you for the amount of shifts you covered for them; you were too nice to decline when they asked you to even though you know you'll always feel like crap after. But you also feel angry at yourself: why would you agree to work longer when you're already swamped with school? Why can't you just let yourself relax? You drag yourself over to the kitchen where you notice a few dishes in the sink and the trash you need to take out. 

But before you can take the trash bag out, from the bedroom, you hear a deep voice say, "Y/n? My love? Are you home?" 

Even though you feel perturbed, something about hearing Choso's voice instantly makes you feel a little better. His voice never fails to make you feel this weird feeling of warmth and comfort, and he doesn't even seem to realize it. You walk into the bedroom's doorframe, smiling weakly at him. "Hi Cho. 'm home, was just about to clean up a little around the place." He sets down the book he's reading and smiles back at you. You can see his mocha eyes widen a bit in concern after he observes how tired you look. He sits up and extends his arms out towards you.

"My poor baby. Come here. Relax for a minute." 

"But I need to finish my end of the chores first... I need to

"Please, honey, don't worry about those right now. I'll take care of them later," he says calmly.

"But I'm sure you're tired from your sorcery stuff, my job isn't nearly as hard as yours, I can do it... I'm just gonna really quickly-"

"Y/n. I promise you it will be fine if you hold off on it for a little." Choso is looking at you in a way that's like he's pleading you to just take a breather. You know he's right, but you don't want to burden him with the tasks that were technically your responsibility. 

You sigh again, going to sit on his lap, your chests up against one another as you rest your cheek against his shoulder and wrap your arms loosely around his torso. He immediately hums deeply, securely wrapping his arms around your waist. You can feel the vibration from his humming and it makes you feel more at ease.

"'M sorry Cho, I just had a long day," you mumble against his shirt.

He turns his head to give you a soft kiss on your temple, silently telling you that he understands and you have nothing to be sorry for. You feel like crying, like you don't deserve someone so understanding. You feel like crying because of how stressed you are. How overworked you are. How worthless you feel. So you do, you let your tears that feel like they're burning your eyes build up and fall onto both you and Choso's shirt.

Choso can't stand to see you cry, but he knows that he has to be strong for you right now. So he rubs your back with one hand, as he slowly moves your hair out of your face with another. You look up at him through your blurry tear filled eyes, and immediately want to bury your face back into his shoulder. You ball your fists up and clutch onto his shirt like it's the only thing keeping you safe, and like it will make you feel less any vulnerable.

"Shh, sweet boy, don't be embarrassed. I understand. You can cry all you want, 'm here, honey." 

Eventually you calm down and go to kiss him, which he happily returns. You whisper a soft, "Thank you, Cho" as he hums again, giving you a tissue that you gestured for. You shift in his lap, suddenly feeling the urge to want to relieve your stress in another way.

Like always, Choso can read you like a book. But he wants to be a bit of a tease today, so he just asks, "Something wrong, y/n?" 

"I- want you to.. to..." you're choking on your words. You hate having to beg like this. You lean back so you can see Choso's face, which he has an eyebrow cocked up in curiosity.

"Take care of me Choso. Please." You can feel your face turning red and you wish you could hide, looking to the side so you don't have to see the smug face he's undoubtedly making.

But Choso finds it adorable, smiling and nodding. "Of course, my love." He gently flips you over so your back is now leaning against his chest, and you feel dizzy just thinking about how effortless that movement was for him. You hate how your brain turns into mush whenever he shows you just how strong he is. His muscular arms and rough hands lifting you or caressing you gets your dick so hard, and it's frustrating how easily he can make you such a slut. 

But when you feel his large, slightly rough hand snake up under your shirt, you stop caring about anything else and focus on the pleasure. He gently squeezes your pecs, pressing sweet kisses against your neck and jawline. Your breath hitches as he suddenly switches from kisses to marking your neck with big hickeys instead. 

The moan you let out as he unexpectedly starts rubbing your nipple catches you both off guard, but Choso continues his ministrations. You can feel your cock aching, and your overwhelmed brain tells you to guide your hand over to it to provide some temporary relief. You try, but Choso uses his other hand to hold your wrists together.

"Just be patient f' me, baby. I promise I'll take good care of you. Make you feel so good." He gives you another kiss, this time on the cheek, and lifts your shirt off. You glance down and see his hand twisting and stimulating your nipple, and with the combined pleasure you feel from said stimulation, let out a loud whine and buck your hips forward. As if that's the response he was waiting for, Choso lets go of your wrists and pulls down your work pants and boxers. You throw your head back and let out a loud moan your neighbors are sure to hear as you feel Choso's hand cup around your cock. It feels like it's throbbing, begging for release. Your eyes involuntarily go cross eyed as he moves his hand up and down your length. Squeezing just the right amount and deliciously smearing the precum back around the tip.

"Y-yes! Fuck, Cho- yes... please, please! 'Been so good, wanna cum for you, be a good boy f' you!" God, you can't even believe how good he makes you feel. He hasn't even been doing this for long and you already feel like the knot inside your stomach will snap. He lets out another deep hum, rumbling throughout you and making you whimper, as you look down at his hand that's slowed its pace stroking you.

He removes his hand, making you immediately let out a bratty sounding whine, as you feel his hand gently guide your hand to your dick. He places his hand on top of yours, ready to guide you. "That's it honey, make yourself cum for me, yeah?"

You can't tell if it's Choso's hand that's making yours move or if you are moving your own hand, but you watch as your dick starts leaking more precum onto your hand, and you feel the urge to speed up.

"Close! Close! Oh my god, oh, fuck! Cho, 'm so close, please!" You feel him lean forward a little, his lips pressed against your neck again, and you can feel his lips move up into a smile.

"Go ahead, my sweet little boy. Cum for me." Almost instantaneously your back arches and you're cumming all over his hand and yours, breaths sporadic as you try to come down from your high. You softly whimper and moan until you're finished, guiding Choso's cum covered fingers into your mouth to clean them off. Caught off guard by this, he lets out a groan and gently moves you to lay down next to him.

Still sounding out of breath, you croak, "Thank you." He kisses your forehead and walks out to get a washcloth to clean you up. He dresses you into more comfortable clothing, and makes you drink some water and eat a little something before letting you go to bed.

As the two of you snuggle next to each other, you pull down your boxers and grab his cock, guiding it towards your hole. You let out a groan as the stretch burns a bit on account of being too impatient to prep yourself first. Choso says you don't need to cockwarm him if you don't want to, not wanting you to overexert yourself, but you sleepily reassure him that you don't mind. You shift and finally take him in entirely, feeling him reach one arm over and interlocking your fingers together.

You and him both know that the dishes still need to be done and the trash still needs to be taken out, but right now, you two could care less about that. You just want to feel safe and loved in each other's arms (and quite literally inside each other.)

-🧌

THEUSIS SO FYCKUN GOOD HES HES HES HES LIKE THE SWEETEST SOFT DOM EVERRRRR THIS IS SOSOSOOSNXUTE HE JUS KISSES AWAY YOUR TEARS N SLOWLY THRUSTS <3333 N THE AFTERCAREEE JUS ABOVE N BEYOND he’s so cute this is so cute mgonna explode i need him. in my bed. rn. immediately.

[thotsforvillainrights]

Can I request a one shot of Giran comforting his “ secretary” (aka reader ofc) after them and one of his employees got into a fight please?

(Also how is the baby so far? How long are you?)

(How am I doing? I have some info tacked onto the end of this post regarding the baby HERE! Also I am officially 22 weeks along. Wow time seems to be speeding by so very quickly omg!)

~Cat Fight~

headcanon|scenario|imagine|match-up

Just because you loved and respected him didn't mean you felt the exact same about his coworkers. You made sure to always keep your guard up no matter how comfy you got around the others. This is because whether it was a client or a worker, it was a villain all the same. You learned your lesson a very long time ago when you trailed with him to work on day and got caught in an alleyway by a potential client. Had it not been for Giran nearby to save you, that fucker might've hurt you or worse. Since that day, you silently vowed to never get caught slipping again, and to never need Giran to come to your rescue either.

"Another productive day at the gym baby?" The old man asked with a smirk on his face as you entered his office covered in sweat. You nodded and looked around for a change of clothes you always kept in the room somewhere. He chuckled and watched you. "Y'know if you're gonna be my secretary, I'll need you on time for work more often than this babe." He teased you and you rolled your eyes before looking at him with a smirk. "Yeah? I'll try to keep that in mind the next time you're the reason I'm late after a long night hmm?" He smiled at you before turning his attention to his work. You silently celebrated your triumph and getting the last word over him as you undressed in the corner of his room and prepared to use the office shower room.

Careful of the curious eyes ogling you from beyond the thin lenses of those glasses~

After changing clothes into something much fresher, you'd went to take care of your usual tasks. When you first took up this little job for him, he was extremely hesitant on letting you in. The way he saw it, you were better suited as arm candy and someone for him to love on rather than getting mixed up in the black market dealings he took place in. You eventually proved your potential to him and he finally started to relax bit by bit. The two of you trusted each other not only as partners behind closed doors, but partners in the business too. You never had to worry about him either way and he didn't for you either. At least until you caught glimpse of the new hire...

What the hell was he thinking hiring them!? Some sexy little thing trotting down the hall with an arm full of paperwork no doubt on the way to his office. You grit your teeth and watched carefully, the sway of her/his/their hips as you got passed up. Perhaps the most noticeable trait was the soft cat ears atop their head and the tail swishing in time with their steps. There was no way in hell you'd let this sit without a complaint. Later that night when you got home, you laid everything on him. He laughed and brushed it off before pulling you into a hug. "I aint even fully in charge of hiring folks for different projects baby, you know that! besides, none of these people are really all that permanent. The only one is you...in every way possible." He smirked before nibbling along your neck and taking your mind off the subject right away. It wasn't as if he was lying to you though. He had no interest in the new hire in the least bit. His mind was on work and getting the new products pushed to get the sales up quickly for the winter months.

But you can't say the same for the new employee. It was increasingly obvious the longer you surveyed their behavior...

They had a thing for your Giran.

When you finally found a calm day to approach, you made sure to have a relaxed expression at first. Respectfully you let them know that Giran was taken and wasn't looking for anyone else aside from you right now...or EVER. What you wanted to hear was a polite apology and reassurance this wasn't the case. Instead you heard a loud laugh as the newbie rolled their eyes at you and smirked. "Oh please. You might've been first but I promise you after a few more days, I'm gonna be his last sweetheart. Why don't you hang up your shitty little blazer and those busted ass shoes and give it a break eh?" Perhaps a few seconds later a fight had broken out. Thankfully the two of you lacked any defining quirk that would grant an advantage so there was no need to feel outmatched. It was a fair fight...until you started wailing on them. Giran himself had to come break the fight off.

Let's just say the new hire was terminated rather quickly and you had a lengthy punishment pertaining to your behavior today. Or rather a reminder of the fact he wouldn't dare leave you. No further need to worry. Shortly afterward he'd taken a second to be more gentle than usual, pulling you into a soft embrace and rubbing small circles into your back. "How many times am I gonna have to nail this into your thick pretty little skull? I said it a million damn times but I suppose I'll say it a million times more if need be." He sighed before placing a gentle kiss on your forehead. "I love you, and you should know it by now. I aint gotta say it every day and every hour do I? It's you and only you, and I mean that Y/N. Now if you don't mind, would you please stop beating the shit out of my other workers so we can get something productive done tomorrow?"

[heres-to-all-that-is-mine]

Unfinished stuff part two! Written Before The Third Game Came Out And Abandoned By Now Edition. This one’s called “Work benefits”. I believe it was about Zor offering Phoenix a job, citing the terrible Agency work conditions and the benefits of a job with Zoraxis, and Phoenix actually considering it but ultimately deciding against it?

They skid around the corner in a panic, bullets whizzing past and pinging against the floor, but they don't falter for a moment. If they did, they'd be dead.

Their Handler's voice, usually ever present, ever droning, has been reduced to a staticky crackling in their ear through the work of some kind of jammer, maybe, they're not entirely sure, but it means they're on their own and that's... not new, not foreign, but disconcerting. They'd gotten used to having him there, talking, though they didn't always listen.

It leaves them feeling more jittery than usual, though adrenaline has drowned out most of their worries.

The situation- they're running through an unfamiliar building, pursued by Zoraxis agents who would like nothing more than to put them six feet under (or quite possibly more, if they can get away with it) after stealing some very valuable files. Blueprints, maybe, the details escape them but they're important, and they have them- …the situation is not ideal. What's also not ideal is the stinging, burning sensation building in their shoulder where a bullet must have grazed them. They shift the files to the other arm, hoping they didn't manage to get blood on it, and glance around quickly.

The goons are only seconds away, and they can't keep running for much longer, so they need- aha! A door, left slightly ajar, the room behind it pitch black. They really hope it's empty because the agents are catching up and they've just lost whatever advantage they had by hesitating- and what the hell, they might die either way, so they throw themself into the darkened room and close the door carefully in one jerky movement, hearing the footsteps race past.

For what seems like an eternity, they sit hunched against the door, holding their breath and hearing their blood rushing in their ears.

...Nothing. They're safe- for now.

Slowly they begin to take stock of their surroundings, eyes adjusting to the dark. They quickly locate a string connected to a light, and give it a tug with their telekinesis, unwilling to stand up just yet.

It's a small room, the walls lined with shelves of old equipment and a couple of cleaning supplies here and there- most things are covered in a fine coat of dust. Ironic, perhaps, for a broom closet to be so dusty. It looks like some strange hybrid of an equipment storage room and a broom closet.

It doesn't look to be regularly used. Good.

Having given everything a quick once over, they turn their attention back to themself, checking on the wound that had begun to ache properly by now. It doesn't look too deep, but it's still sluggishly bleeding and patches of black are spreading through the dark fabric of the uniform they'd snagged, rendering the disguise mostly useless. With a strained grimace they look around the room again, and find a spare uniform hung on a hook at the far end of the room, setting about tearing strips of fabric from their current uniform to use as impromptu bandages.

Focused on the task as they were, they didn't notice one of the dusty monitors star flickering with static until a strange, warbling voice crackled to life.

"Hello, Agent," the voice says conversationally, and they jerk back in surprise, the back of their head hitting the door hard enough for them to wince in pain.

This... is not their Handler, nor is it anybody who's voice they recognise- it sounds distorted, masculine and feminine voices seeming to overlap, shifting from a low to a high pitch rapidly, and yet it has a tone reminiscent of someone calm and collected, someone in control.

...They have a sinking feeling that they do, in fact, know who this is.

"I've been watching you for some time," the voice continues, and they wonder why this person would possibly do such a thing if they are indeed who the agent thinks they are. "Your track record is most intriguing. I understand you're the agent behind foiling a number of our "schemes"."

To sum their current situation up in one word, it was 'bad'.

[Yes, well...]

They sign, grimacing at the ache in their shoulder.

"It's your job, yes," the voice finishes their sentence for them, tone something reminiscent of friendly, with none of the warmth associated with such a tone. "I know. I know quite a lot about you, Agent."

The room suddenly seems more claustrophobic than before, they think, as they finish tying the makeshift bandage.

"...and I expect you know some about me, as well."

[You're not just a Z agent.]

A burst of static- laughter, maybe, or a scoff- makes them twitch, increasingly unnerved. This conversation is telling them nothing, not why they're having a conversation like this, nor how this person knew they'd be here.

"I am not, no. You may know me as Dr. Zor."

Shit.

Well, they're officially screwed! Or, well, they're not really sure. Why on Earth would the head of the Zoraxis organisation want to speak with them- or, more pressingly, why are they still alive and unrestrained for this conversation?

[dominiquewritesthings]

Disclaimer: Some of these apps have the option to pay for them, but I use the free version of most of these apps. Whether or not you wish to pay for them is up to you. I will mark with an astrick and clarify at the bottom of the page for what version I use and what features come with it. 

IBIS PAINT X - I use this app to create overlays, do minor editing to backgrounds, and create sneak peeks and more story marketing! I used to use this app to make Episode covers, but thankfully I have enough money in my life to commission someone. In my opinion, commissions look 10x better than my artistic skill. But, if you can draw (unlike me), IBIS could help you, since it's primarily a drawing app. 

Yes! I had to block out some things so you wouldn't get any sneak peeks. Since I'm kind, I figured I'd show you what The Other Half of Me looks like. You can't blame me for spoilers since I already wrote it, and it's been complete for some time now. 

Of course, no one needs to put this much effort into aesthetics, but it helps me write and direct later on. Also, it makes me excited about planning. That being said, if you want something plainer, Evernote will get the job done! 

Instagram - I use this app to help promote my stories. I'd say this is pretty self-explanatory because loads of people do this as well, but it's also a great place to network. 

Episode Forums - I don't use the forums as much anymore for selfish reasons. I typically step in once a week to see how everyone's doing and check for new contests. That being said, once you publish a new story it's always a great idea to share it there with those who are not on Instagram. Who knows, maybe you'll find a read for read or gem for gem opportunity. People may read it and give their opinion, too! 

Google Tasks/Taskboard - I use google tasks to keep on top of deadlines I set for myself. Of course, you shouldn't rush the writing process, but I will spend way too long on every step if I don't set small deadlines for myself. It also reminds me of what I should be doing, instead of working on something completely different. These are great for read for read deadlines (I always set them for a week later), chapters I'll be publishing, posts on Instagram, and more. You can use the app Taskboard for desktop, Tasks the mobile app, or find the pullout if you go to Gmail. 

Google Keep - I this for short memorandum-like notes for story ideas. I also try to keep my dreams in this before I transfer them over to my dream journal. What if my dream is so exciting, that I turn it into a story? You never know. 

[eishtmo]

Why Your Inventory Sucked Part 4

Sorry this is a bit late, my current job is kicking my butt this week.

It's weird how much my current job is like the old inventory job. Both are done when they're done, both have me driving to various places, both involve going to Dollar General, a lot. But there are some differences, like I can move jobs around, and choose when I start them, and in what order. I have a lot more freedom. And I get a lot more sleep.

Anyway, this is less a part 4 and more a continuation of the last part. Sorry, it was just getting very, very long and this one will be longer.

Here's the thing: Everything I wrote in the previous parts, all the issues that can make an inventory go bad, they can be accounted for. There are solutions, ways to reduce the the effect. It varies, of course, and the inventory won't become GOOD by any stretch, but it can be prevented from being worse.

But there is one thing, one solitary thing, that I can't do anything about. I can't fix it, I can't mitigate it. If it happens, everything gets worse. Minor issues become magnified. Stress goes up, crews get mad, it takes longer, it gets messier, everyone is unhappy. It's all about. . .

PART 4: Bad Prep

Inventory prep is a many nebulous thing. On the surface, it's really just about lining product up on the shelves, but there is more to it. Inventory takes over the store for a day, or two in some cases, and there's a lot more to be ready for, and a lot more that can be failed.

Let's start with the knowledge part. The store staff needs to know what to expect when we come in. Because eventually they will hear the mating call of the inventory counter

"SKU CHECK!"

Sku's (pronounced skew) are basically the identification number for a product. Usually it's the UPC, but not always. The scanners read the UPC, find a match in the master file the scanner has in memory, and then prompts for a quantity. However, if the UPC doesn't have a match in the master file, it complains, "NOT ON FILE." Thus, "Sku check," is called. "This isn't on our master file, come tell us what to do with this."

It's also the catch all for when we need help with, well, anything. No barcode to scan? Sku Check! Need help moving something big and heavy? Sku Check! Oh dog the shelf is falling, help me! SKU CHECK! This is all fine and good, but it requires the store staff to KNOW why we're calling Sku Check.

Which bring us to Lowes. Yeah, the blue hardware store. They are notorious for not responding to sku checks. I even developed a special "Lowes voice" for them. It was loud, and got louder every time I had to say it. Once it got so loud that I, in one corner of the store, could be heard in the OPPOSITE corner of the store. No one responded to that either.

Why? Because Lowes has a special inventory crew that goes in, and NONE of them tells the regular store staff what's going on. They have no idea that Sku Check means to come as soon as possible. The Lowes inventory crew can't be with us because they have their own tasks, so we have to hope someone responds. Eventually I tried to learn enough about how their item system worked so *I* could respond to Sku Checks.

Which is better than what one counter told me he did. He was a legit bad counter, not just slow (which he was) but also inaccurate and just didn't care. Anyway, he said he would call Sku Check twice, and if no one came, drop the item on the floor and kick it under the shelf. He lost his job not long after.

Lowes also had an annoying habit of opening multiple boxes of the same thing and throwing them on the shelf. STOP THAT! You do not need 6 boxes of outlet covers open on the shelf. For one, it makes loss prevention easier because, guess what, it's easier to steal one item than entire box of items. Two: Sometimes people want to buy a whole box of those things. Three, now I have to count them because a sealed box has a set number of items in it, an open box does NOT. Don't open them until you have to, PLEASE!

Inventories are inherently destructive. We WILL destroy your store. We try not to, and the better prepped for inventory the less destruction we will cause. I used to tell my counters to try not to wreck the store any more than a customer would, and if you know what a customer can do to a store, that should scare you.

When you don't prep the store, the gloves come off. We have work to do, and we aren't going to make your store look nice, we don't get paid for that.

I was in a JC Penny. I had already done a morning job and was asked to help (and deliver some extra tablets, we were always short of them). So there was this table of stacked, long sleeved, Nike shirts. Probably 20 piles of shirts, maybe more. Now in a well prepped store, the store staff will pull the tags out so they're easy to access. I mean, I will still turn the piles over to make sure I got them all, but the pile will stay more or less sorted, you know, how a customer might leave it.

No tags were pulled. I can still do it, just pull the tag out. It's either in the collar or at the end of the sleeve (usually, there are cases). Well, they weren't in the collar, so at the end of the sleeve. So I reach in and, I can't find it. What I mean is I can FEEL it, through the clothing, but I can't get my fingers on the tag itself.

Turns out they were folded so that the tag was IN the sleeve, and that was folded up inside the shirt. In other words, the only way I can get to it, is to undo the fold. On ALL of the shirts (clothing is AQ-1, gotta scan them all). Now I kept the piles together, but that neat table I started on was a wreck when I left, and I apologized to a nearby worker, but I don't get paid to fold, I get paid to count.

Another factor is basically hiding stuff from the inventory crew. Franchise stores are often like this, especially the gas stations. As I said before, whatever they're short, they have to pay the parent company, in cash. So they have a "trick" to minimize that. They bury product, look at the numbers and then go "oh did you count this?" and pull of box of bullshit out of a shed.

This is a bad idea, they shouldn't do that. The parent company tells them not to do it. It can only lead to issues further down the line. But sometimes, they don't do it on purpose. I had one store that was coming up short. The franchisee (or was a store manager for a franchisee, I forget which, doesn't matter) looks at the numbers and we start walking through the store making sure we didn't miss anything.

Now the office area in this store is quite large, big enough to contain the cigarette cage (locked box for cigs and tobacco) and both freezers for their hot wings or whatever. I have a tag just for this room and separate tags for the freezers and cage, so to my knowledge we have counted everything in this room.

Then he opens a drawer in his desk.

Disposable razors. Half a dozen at least. Opens another drawer, more razors, another, more razors. Must have been 20 or 30 of the damn things, and it's a good chunk of money. We counted this room together, and he didn't think to mention these were in the drawers, in fact, he didn't seem to REMEMBER they were there. Now maybe he was hiding them, maybe not, but it made me paranoid at every store from then on, I would pull open drawers looking for more product.

And sometimes, things happen. Dollar Tree is a store that respects our time as counters: It knows it's full of junk and lets us treat it as such. Those giant bins at the bottom of the shelf are scan one, count them all. There were a few exceptions, namely Bibles, and flowers which were to be counted AQ-1.

This store was packed. It was in a shopping center with a K-Mart as an anchor (yeah, this was a while ago now) and so if people went to K-Mart and couldn't find what they wanted at the price they wanted, they'd swing over to the Dollar Tree. Which was fine, until the K-Mart closed. Now fewer people came to the shopping center at all, yet they kept sending the same amount of stuff to the store. So it was packed.

I was set to count the over stuffed stock room, which took a while. They did the best they could, so I don't blame them for bad prep here. Anyway, as I get near the end, the store manager comes up to me. He apologizes and tells me that he only recently took over and has just found something his predecessor had left behind.

The previous manager would get in seasonal flowers that needed to get put out. But the current flowers had packed the sections so what to do? Well they grabbed a box, dumped the old flowers in and threw that box in a closet. And did this SEVERAL times. Something like 20 times.

These are not small boxes, these are big moving boxes. So instead of me finishing the stock room and joining the sales floor crew, the sales floor crew had to come back to help me count the boxes of freaking flowers. Hidden in a closet, GAH!

Now I must rant about Dollar General.

DGs are the quintessential inventory. They have a bit of everything and represent just about everything we do. It's also where I came to loath bad prep, and understand the difference good prep can have on an inventory.

Their stock rooms are usually made of rolltainers. They're cages on wheels. Full boxes of product are placed on it and when prepped right, the specials labels are facing outward so I can scan them. Of course the distribution center doesn't do that, so the store has to. If they don't, I have to remove everything from the rolltainer. Worse, there are certain labels that I cannot scan, which we called "Pack Ones" which had to be opened and counted. Or sometimes they would miss a single box and either put the label somewhere unreachable, like inside of the stack, or behind one of the bars of the cage.

That said often the stock rooms were just full of rolltainers, to the point that we would have to stage some out on the salesfloor just to be able to get the next one out to scan. Pray to dog you sequence it right so the salesfloor crew doesn't run into them while you're working or they'll skip the 2 or 3 tags those rolltainers are blocking.

Then there's the top stock, or as some corpo dipshit called them "sky shelves." The idea is good, instead of keeping stuff in your stock room, you'd stack excess on the top most shelf of the area and restock from there, except DG doesn't stop sending shit to the store so the stock room is still, to this day, full to the brim with crap. Worse, the top stocks are now full of crap too, including bins full of candy (otherwise it falls on the floor). So it takes that much longer to count and, and. . .

Totes.

Dollar General wants many things AQ-1'd. Some of them are silly, at one point they wanted toothbrushes counted this way, for example. Packs of underwear, pillows, towels, nicknacks in their "home" section, picture frames, all books, and of course flowers. It makes SOME sense, so I won't completely knock it, but then there are totes.

Totes are technically gray, plastic shipping boxes with folding tops that the distribution center uses to send items that can't easily be stored on a rolltainer. You've probably seen them sitting on the salesfloor as the staff empties them out onto the shelves. But they can also be any bin, box or container in the store. Everything in them MUST be AQ-1'd. Yes, even that full box of candy bars someone put in there, every bar is supposed to be scanned (this never happens because we have better things to do with our lives).

DG had a problem with them for a log time, still does in some places. I've heard tell of 300 totes in one store, but I don't think I've ever seen more than a couple hundred, and that was enough honestly. One store I did had random boxes of all shapes and sizes in their stock room. One had a label as to what was supposed to be in it, and it simply said "bunch of shit" and it wasn't wrong. It was so bad that at one point the entire crew would descend on these boxes and try to knock them out early, only to be there for a couple hours before even starting the proper salesfloor.

And then there was that one store. The worst store I have ever seen and counted. I shouldn't have counted it, I should have forced a cancellation, but I was a fool, and had a fool for a boss.

Would you like to see pictures of it? Oh yeah, I still have them, it was that legendary. Keep in mind these are small due to me having to use our scanners to take them to send them to corporate, but they're clear enough. Let's start simple shall we?

There's some totes for you. This is down the hallway leading to the bathrooms. The registers are behind me as I take this picture, easily viable by anyone at the registers. That's 23 totes just here, not even in the stock room.

Those boxes are held together with hopes and dreams and stuffed to brim with toys. Random boxes like this were all over store.

Remember how I said full boxes were supposed to be on rolltainers? Well they took them off and put them on the salesfloor, without opening them.

But really, this isn't the true madness. THIS is.

The front door is at the far end of this picture. Look at the boxes. Those aren't just boxes, those are boxes whose flaps have been taped up so they could get more shit into them.

Reverse angle. See that shape in the back? That's a rounder of clothing, there's another box UNDER that we wouldn't find until the end of the count. I look at these pictures and I keep tell myself this was at about 6 am that morning, while my memory is of much later when my counters got through with them and dumped PILES of items that were to be disposed of (penny items) on the floor because where the hell else was it supposed to go?

The worst part is that those gray totes from earlier, there was an entire WALL of them in the stock room which I didn't picture because it was UNREMARKABLE!

But this pile of Christmas stuff is. BTW, if you need Christmas wrapping paper or lights in the middle of summer, ask the local Dollar General. The manager especially, odds are good they've got some in their stock room they'd love to get rid of. But this was just stupid.

The point of all this? We remember the bad stores. We will TALK about the bad stores. We will tell other stores in the same company about the bad stores. It doesn't just effect YOUR inventory, but every inventory. The affected crews will be tired and cranky. We will dread returning to your store, and pass warnings to other offices. It will hang around your next like a stone for a long time.

I think it took them another year after this to put a hard cap on tote count. If it was crossed, the inventory would be canceled, no questions asked. To their credit, most stores managed to cut down on this mess and near the end there were maybe 50 totes in a store, if that.

Good prep, though, is the greatest thing. A very different Dollar General, with the same layout as this one, had what I call "perfect" prep. The stock room was empty, like straight up empty, no totes, no rolltainers. The shelves were heavy but organized. The crew ripped through the store so fast we had to wait for the audits to catch up at the end. A 4 hour day for a store that should take at least 6. Prep the store right, and the inventory goes smooth as butter and fast as lighting. We don't forget those stores either.

There, I think I spent all my ranting energy finally. It's out of my head now. I feel better.

Wait.

No, there's something else. One last thing. See, there is one client, one company, one chain of stores that I hate for all the right, and all the inventory reasons. One store that is basically a living nightmare, and one that I must talk about specially. So next time, that story.

[thecatfarm]

So, about this comic strip

For the guys who view these four examples, see them as *only* four, individual instances, understand them as compliments, and are therefore confused as to where the issue is:

Let's take these one by one.

1.

Compliments are indeed great, when given sincerely and -important point- unfrequently. Because then, it helps us build up confidence, as it's obviously tied to actual effort on our part. It's terrific.

Now, imagine, you walk into your job the first day. You're complimented on your body by two out of ten people.

Maybe you feel nice about it.

Maybe not.

But. By the end of the year, all males in the office have complimented your body. And so have they complimented every other woman who comes in. It becomes obvious, it's not an individual compliment to *you* and *your* effort to present.

It's now obvious it's just a "look, boobs!" exclamation.

You start to resent this.

Your male friends tell you to learn to take a compliment.

2.

The first time you turn in your job, you're complimented. Sure, it sounds a bit more excessive than how your other coworkers were complimented, but there were "good jobs" all around, and you appreciate that. It's good to be complimented.

One year in, the compliments have become rare for your colleagues. Not as rare for you, especially from one or two specific bosses. Once a month someone comments how impressive it is that you, a girl, can work computers so well.

Every time you turn in your job, you get an excessive compliment, as if just getting you to do a task is compliment worthy. It becomes clear that, either you are, indeed not trusted to do the thing by *the collective*, or, some people are actually flirting with you.

You start to resent this.

Your male friends tell you to learn to take a compliment.

3.

The first time your section of the office is adressed in a sweeter, more informal way, it might be jarring -but you might like it. Maybe this office is just a nicer, less formal environment.

Then, you find out that when there are no women present, the tone becomes more serious.

You begin to realise that the attitude change makes people subconciously discuss less important issues with you. You get less chances of taking charge, because not many serious issues are covered -only those that *need* to be.

You start to resent this.

Your male friends tell you to learn to take a compliment.

4.

Your first day of work, a costumer tells you sou're too pretty to be a cashier. You smile -it's a cute thing to say, it's an older grandpa-ish gentelman, you feel complimented.

It's fine, surely.

A year in, after you've heard this 10.000 times, you begin to realise, that people subconsciously sort workers into categories, and they think that "pretty" deserves to work less, or can't work that hard- and the distinction is blurry.

You realise you're not valued as a worker as much as you're valued as an accessory.

You start to resent this.

Your male friends tell you to learn to take a compliment.

But, you see it, even if they don't:

It's not four times.

It's not four people.

It's a constant, dripping stream, onto your forehead. If you're very hot, and you rarely get splashes of water on your forehead, you might think "wtf, that sounds awesome and refreshing, are we really bitching about *water* now"?

And you don't realise -if it's constant, if it's unavoidable, if it's nonconsencual -it becomes torturous.

Tomorrow we'll learn: How those daily, constant, non consensual things get worse if you're also *any other minority*

Comic credit: Casia Babis https://thenib.com/author/kasia-babis/

[crucipuzzled]

About Psychiatry stuff in SPYxFAMILY. Part 2

In Part 1 I covered some aspects of working as a Psychiatrist in a Hospital. We still have some things left regarding this topic. In Part 3 I'll talk a bit about Psych exams and wrap some minor details and the question about Donovan's head scars in Part 4.

Thank you for your comments in Part 1! You guys make some really interesting points, it's a pleasure to talk to you. I've noticed that some of you are asking for an psychoanalysis of the Desmonds. I may do so in a different series of analysis, but pinky promise, I will talk about Donovan's head scars in Part 4, as I wrote less there.

Let's go!

4. The rest of the Psychiatry Department staff

Aside from Psychiatrists and intern med students, every Psychiatric Unit in a Hospital has nurses, psychologists/therapists (I'm aware that they're not always the same in some places, particularly in the USA), occupational therapists (OT) and social workers, between the most common professions.

The OT is kinda a new addition since the profession is relatively new compared to the others, and its inclusion in Psychiatric Units started around the 70s, focused in social rehab (a really important task). I think SPYxFAMILY takes place around the 60s so I'm really not sure if there is an OT here.

Are they all joyous like in the manga? Well...

5. What's the hardest part of the job?

For what I've recollected from talking with Psychiatrists, the hardest part of the job of a Psychiatrist working in a Hospital is dealing with real nasty shit coming from psychotic patients. I remember a young Psychiatrist in a Psychiatric Hospital that told my class of the time when she had to physically restrain a patient from gouging his own eyeballs out of his eye sockets, because he couldn't stop seeing demons and horrible monsters. Or the ones that paint the walls with their own feces. As I said, real nasty shit.

Of course, this goes for the rest of the staff as well. Not a very happy place to work, but you gotta do what you gotta do for the patients's sake.

Still, fortunately we live in an era with more tolerance towards psychotic patients, and social rehab is very appreciated (although its value may depend on your country's public health policies). Also, most psychotic cases don't behave in such an extreme fashion. Hopefully one day science will discover the definitive cure for Psychosis.

Are you a Psychiatrist and have a different opinion? Please write in the comments below!

-Ok but talk about what Loid is saying in those panels!

Indeed, nobody can read minds. Even if someone could, I wonder what exactly that person would see. I mean, try to concentrate in what is at the top of your own mind for 5 seconds. A ton of thoughts came rushing, right? Some of them very shady, even if they just flashed for less than a second.

But, we have our tricks to discern what is the most important issue for a person. Listening to our patients free of pre-conceptions is a basic rule. Observing their behavior is another. You can't start to listen if you don't work on a relation based on trust, of course (something that, indeed, nobody can teach you how; good luck figuring it out, use this bunch of tips though. Best wishes, your Psychotherapy teachers).

That said, there are many things that you can listen and observe from one single sentence said by a patient, depending of your understanding of the human mind.

A famous baldy named Michel Foucault wrote a book titled The birth of the clinic in which he claimed that modern Psychiatrists operate under what he called the medical gaze, which is an attempt to put a group of symptoms into a gnosographic cathegory (aka diagnosis) regardless of the actual subjective experience of the patient. This implies that Psychiatrists, like any other doctor, need to determine a diagnosis before doing anything else, and care a bit less about the patient's experience.

This isn't something bad. Imagine having someone trying to gauge his eyes out of his head to stop seeing demons in front of you. Would you ask that person how does he feels, or what he associates with the demons? Now, it's slightly problematic when you, as a Psychiatrist, deal with neurotic patients.

Neurosis is the direct contrast of psychosis; you're either living in a paralel reality, or in this one. You, dear reader, and I, are both neurotics. The fact that we are neurotics doesn't mean that we are sick; it's just a psychic structure. Now, we could get mentally ill, in a lot of ways. There's a ton of diseases listed in the DSM-V if you feel curious. But we probably won't experience hallucinations and say Meh, here comes Charlie the Satirus again, wazzup bro.

Operating under the medical gaze logic makes things way easier for Psychiatrists, specially when they don't have much time to develop a relationship of trust with their patients, like in some Hospitals. We therapists cover the rest of the job, performing psychotherapy and operating under a listening clinic. I'll illustrate the difference with a really burd example:

Let's say that you have been having a hard time trying to sleep at night for a while, and you decided to look for help. A behavioral therapist will teach you techniques and excercises to fall asleep more easily. A psychoanalyst will try to make sense of your symptom by making you freely associate it with whatever comes to your mind. A Psychiatrist will listen to your description of your symptoms, write "Insomnia" in the diagnosis and prescribe some benzodiazepine. Easy peasy, come see me again in one month.

Of course, not every Psychiatrist is like this; I've met some helluva awesome ones working in Hospitals. But once again, wether they're allowed to display their full potential or not is a matter that strongly depends of every country's public health policies. Psychiatrists do receive training in psychotherapy and they can take their time to talk with their patients, but having the conditions to do so is a completely different thing. If you want to be treated by a full-powered Psychiatrist, your best shot is to consult in a private clinic. Mind your wallet though.

Seems like Berlint General Hospital is a really nice place to work for Psychiatrists, as they apparently can hold psychoterapy sessions with their patients. PLEASE HIRE ME

6. The consultation room

It's pretty common to depict Psychiatrists and Psychologists as the guys sitting down next to you taking notes while you are laying down in a divan talking your sorrows away. But have you ever wondered why it's always a divan?

It all starts with old sweet Sigmund Freud in 1890. By that time he was just staaaarting to think that maybe hypnosis wasn't the way to go for female hysteria, and the idea of an unconscious mind wasn't developed yet. On that year, a female patient sent him an elegant divan as a thankful token.

Golly, thank you miss! But what the heck do I do with it? The only possible thing, of course! Cover it in persian rugs and make your patients lay down on it while you tried to hypnotize them.

Remember, we are in the 1890. By that time, there were still doctors that believed the only cure for female hysteria was generating a 'hysterical paroxism' (too embarrassing to explain here).

Less than 10 years later, Freud realized that hypnosis didn't cure female hysteria but noticed that his patients got better after talking about it. So he decided to just sit down and listen to his patients lying on the divan, thus inventing the Free Association method, which is, basically, talking about whatever comes to the top of your mind and associate it with whatever comes next. Before you realize it, you're talking about the actual cause of your mental suffering.

THIS. WAS. REVOLUTIONARY.

While their patients laid down in the divan, Freud was sitting right behind them, like in this photo:

-Why like this? Why behind?! Are you some kind of pervert, you Freudian fiend?!

No. The reasoning behind this is transference, one of the most important concepts in Psychoanalysis, Psychology, Psychiatry, and pretty much every kind of Psy-discipline. Transference is what makes a psychotherapy work and yield its results. It also explains why psychotherapy fails, when it does. It's similar, not equal, to what Americans call "therapeutic relationship" or "therapeutic bond". Transference made to the world of Psychology what the Industrial Revolution made to the world.

-You're exaggerating. What even is transference, anyway? Wait, don't answer I was kidd-

In every relation you establish with someone there's a quota of transference, which is the subjective place in which you put that other person in relation to you. This subjective place stems from your own relationship with whoever took care of you in your very early years of life: your mom, your dad, your older sister or brother, an uncle, a nanny, a caregiver from an orphanage, you name it. It doesn't matter who, as long as that person was interested in you enough as to preserve your life and make you feel like your life has value.

We are born in such a helpless, defenseless way that our strongest desire is to be the object of attention of someone else, to be desired enough as to be feed at least 3 times a day. Of course, if you're actually loved in the process, the better. Desire here doesn't have a sexual connotation; it's to mean something for someone else.

To mean something for someone, even if you end up meaning shit for that person.

Sometimes, meaning shit is way better than have no meaning at all and being completely ignored as if you don't exist for anyone. I've seen this in a bunch of cases of victims of domestic violence. It's quite sad.

In psychotherapy, patients inevitably stablish a transference with their therapists, who act like a white canvas in which the patients display those early relationships and how they affects them. Notice that I'm using the present tense; transference is something that changes little over time, unless you decide to explore why you choose the kind of friends you always choose, or why you always fall in love with assholes, or why you feel like you can't tolerate your boss anymore despite him being a good person.

-Get to the point, goddammit!

In order to facilitate transference, Freud decided to sit down in an angle in which his patients wouldn't see him. The reasoning was: if my patient can't see me, I'm more of a white canvas for him/her, and transference will be easier to discern and analyze.

The divan is no longer used in modern day except by some Psychoanalysts, but it's just tradition to have a divan in your consultation room if you are a therapist, as a form of homage to the man who changed our understanding of the human mind forever.

I've never seen a divan in a Psychiatric Unit of any Hospital, and actually, its absence makes sense, because you must NEVER, EVER, PUT A PSYCHOTIC PATIENT IN A DIVAN. NEVER. NOPE. NOOOPENOPENOPENOPENOPE. They can't tell reality from hallucinations apart, and if you have THE SINGLE WORST POSSIBLE IDEA of sitting behind a psychotic patient in the divan, you'll only get the patient think that your voice is another hallucination and make everything worse for him/her AND FOR YOU, FOR BEING A NEGLIGENT IDIOT. If the patient ends up hurting you, YOU WOULD DESERVE THAT. Just use a regular face-to-face interaction.

Aaaand oops, I did it again. I wrote a lot. There are still some things I want to write about, so see you in Part 3, dear reader!

[the-broken-truth]

Broken-Style Remix: Yandere Mother Talia Al Ghul

Broken: When it comes to Yandere Mothers, Talia Al Ghul is one of my favorites; considering how obsessed she is with her baby daddy. Recently, I came into a Yandere Talia Al Ghul Image made by @anxiousnerdwritings & with their permission, I have been allowed to make this Broken-Style Remix! Now, let the words weave together!!!

@anxiousnerdwritings's version: LINK

SUBTITLE: THE ONE YOU THREW AWAY

Talia Al Ghul wanted things thing and would do anything to obtain those things - Complete Control & Undeniable Power. She was the daughter of Ra's Al Ghul - The Head Demon of the League of Assassin & Immortal Mad-Man, well...not anymore; now Talia was on the Throne as Head of the League of Assassins, but there was a time before everything went to hell. Talia always wanted to have power but she also wanted someone to share it with - that came in the form of the Protector of Gotham - The Masked Savior, Batman. Talia was entranced by his power and skill, he would have been a perfect partner to rule with if he wasn't so hesitant to kill but she could sculpt him to fit her mold one way or another but first she needed to get him on her side. Her father thought of him as the perfect heir but there was no way the protector would join him, so Talia planned and that plan was to give herself and Bruce an heir - the perfect combination of the two of them. However, a wrench was thrown into that plan when inside of one - there were two.

A Son & A Daughter.

A Son that mirrored his father in young as he would in adulthood, with the exception of the emerald eyes that Talia possessed - the eyes of an Al Ghul. He was given the name Damian.

Her daughter was another story: she grew to look just as Talia did in her youth but she had her father's calm blue eyes - the eyes of a protector. The eyes of a Wayne. The eyes of a savior, not a killer - she was flawed with those eyes. She was named Bellatrix - just as her father, she would be expected to be a great warrior.

When it was time to hone their skills, it was clear that they were the perfect combination of the Al Ghul and Wayne Genes - Damian more. He was the perfect killer, merciless and quick; he wouldn't give his enemies time to speak. No, enemies were too kind of a word to describe them - they were his prey while he was the hunter. He didn't care how many he had to cut down; he would never tire until all of them were dead at his feet.

Bellatrix - on the other hand - was a different story. It was clear she had the skills, it was obvious that she had the power, but the main issue was that she wouldn't finish the job; she lacked the most important trait of the Al Ghul Bloodline - she refused to kill. Talia feared this - she was just like her father and she didn't want weakness into the pain; especially since she was the eldest of the two. She either had to fix the problem or completely remove it.

And she would much prefer the latter.

Ra's loved his grandchildren all the same - he didn't care of Bellatrix didn't kill, he was pleased enough that she was able to complete impossible tasks alone and come back unscabbed. He would praise her and he would train with her in his free time - the two of them were fond of meditation to keep themselves centered.

"Remember Granddaughter: If you are completely centered then there is nothing you can't overcome. Knowing your center is knowing your true power." - That is what Ra's would tell her during those times.

As time passed on, Talia noticed that Bellatrix gained in power and knowledge every day while her son showed just how much of an Al Ghul he was every time he went on a mission, but that didn't matter to Talia - that girl...that mistake...was a single dot in the way of her son's rightful place as Head of The League & she had to something about it.

And she did.

One night - Talia told Bellatrix to accompany her to the desert for recon and the girl agreed, thinking it was going to be a mother-daughter experience. The two of them sourced their bounds but found nothing, Bellatrix looked around the dunes to see if there was something hiding in the desert's darkness until her body made her move and she dodged just in the next of time as a blade came in close contact with her throat. She reached for her sword, only for her hand to be grabbed, and turned it to her back. She was then grabbed from other directions before being kicked in the back of her knees and came to her knees in the sand. She struggled and looked at the cloaked figures that held her until she looked at her mother.

"Mother! Help!" She begged for her mother.

"Why would I do that," Talia walked over to her bound daughter as one of the assassins handed her a sword, "When it took me so long to get you here?" Talia looked into her daughter's eyes with emptiness.

"You...You planned this? Mother, why would you do this?" Bellatrix asked.

"This is something I should have done from the start, after all - My Beloved needs an heir, not a burden. You are a stain on the Al Ghul Name, an Al Ghul that refuses to kill is not an Al Ghul; hell, you aren't even an assassin. You're a defect, a flaw, a wrench in my plan to have my beloved rule behind me as King and Queen of the League of Assassins."

Bellatrix's eyes widened at the sight of her mother raising her sword.

"And all defects must be eliminated." Talia growled as her arm thrust forward - Bellatrix's eyes widened and her jaw locked to keep herself from screaming as the blade ripped through her chest and came out on the other side.

Talia lifted her foot - the other assassins released the girl - and kicked her to the dirt and watched her groan in pain before going limp in the cold desert night.

"Dispose of the body. I have to deliver the news that the heir has been killed and watch my one true child take his rightful place." Talia didn't give her daughter's body a second glance as she turned and walked away to her jet that was waiting for her.

She should have checked her vitals.

[Timeskip - Years Later]

Years had gone by but Talia still thinks back to the night she stuck her sword through her daughter's body and left her for dead; she was so certain that was what she wanted by there was something missing and for once in her life, it had nothing to do with her Beloved Bat. She tried to put those thoughts aside for she was on a mission.

After the death of her father, she found some research on a mind-control agent that she could use to have the one she wanted most but the League was too thin and most were doing other tasks while some were rebuilding the complex, thus the Head of the Demon Clan had to deal with it on her own, which she was fine with.

However, something felt different - she wasn't sure what it was...but she knew something was going to happen tonight.

Talia did what she had to do and secured to the agent before making her way back to the roof - only to have two people walking for her.

One was a tall man with a red helmet, a brown leather jacket, a gray Bat-Armor with a Red Bat Insignia on the chest; Talia could see the pistols and ammo belts around his waist.

The second was a feminine figure: She was around the same height as Damian, wearing Bat-Armor that looked a lot like a Ninja's outfit with a sword on her back and a dark blue Bat Insignia on her chest. Her hair was long and black but tied in a ponytail, except some hair that freely fell in her face and covered some of the ribbon eye mask around her eyes.

"I guess my beloved couldn't make it to see me?" Talia asked as she placed the agent in her pocket.

"We were the closest in the area so he sent us to what it was about - didn't think we'd find his batshit crazy baby-momma here." The Red Hood said as he folded his arms.

"Too bad, he might have convinced me to surrender but I don't have an issue with breaking children who stand in my way." Talia said.

"You never had an issue with killing them, why would you have an issue with breaking them?" The female said.

"What did you say?" Talia said as she looked at the female figure.

"You don't remember the child you killed? The blood of the Al Ghul you spilled? The child you detested because she wouldn't kill so you decided to kill her instead?" The female stepped forward and reached for her eye mask, "You don't remember my voice...Mother?" She pulled it off and Talia's eyes widened when they locked with the blue eyes of her late daughter - the one that was supposed to die. The stain in her plan.

"You lived? After all of these years, you dare come to face me again?" Talia narrowed her eyes.

"Rather cold to say to your kid who came back from the dead, Lady." He looked at Bellatrix, "Bat-Fang, you wanna deal with her while I wait on the old man?" He asked.

"You read my mind." Bellatrix stepped forward and pulled her sword out, "Arm yourself."

"I guess some stains are harder to wash out." Talia said as she pulled her sword out, "I'll make sure you don't come back."

Emerald and Sapphire locked with each other before the thunderclap of the coming storm sent them both into attack mode. Their blades clashed against each other as the two women danced in a deadly dance, Talia was focused but at the same time confused - how was Bellatrix this focused when the anger in her eyes was so strong? Talia tried harder and used more power but that was the opening Bellatrix needed.

Talia watched as the girl grabbed the sword with her left hand before delivering a swift but devastating kick to her gut, sending her skipping like a stone against the roof as she released the grip of her sword. Talia picked herself off the ground and glared at her eldest as the girl place her own sword back in its sheath and shatter Talia's into two halves, letting the shards and sword halves fall to her feet before she charged at her mother. Talia's guard went up as the two of them locked in a brawl.

'What is going on here? She was never this fast or ruthless! What is...'

Her thoughts were cut off as Bellatrix grabbed her foot and began to swing her until Bellatrix let her go and got stuck in a window. Talia opened her eyes from the impact just in time to see the glare on her daughter's face as she came soaring and her fist connected with Talia's face, sending them both into the abandoned building. Talia groaned from the pain but more pain was added when she felt her daughter grab her by her hair and pull her to her feet.

"What do you have to say now, Talia? Am I still defective?" Bellatrix asked before she punched the Assassin Leader in the face, making her crash into a crumbling wall.

"Am I still a flaw?" Bellatrix asked as she spartan-kicked Talia through the wall and into the living room, making the woman fall on her back.

"Am I still the wrench in your perfect plan? Am I?!" Bellatrix barked as she grabbed her mother by the next and punched her in the face, making her back hit a window. Talia's version was blurry from the pain but when it came together - her eyes widened at the murderous gaze in her eyes.

"Am I still not an Al Ghul?" Bellatrix punched her in the face again - sending the woman crashing through the window again but this time, she felt on a lower roof of a building just as another thunderclap echoed through the sky and the rain began to fall. Talia grunted at the pain but opened her eyes to watch her daughter jump out the window and walk over to her; glaring down at her with blue eyes.

"How... How did you survive?" She asked.

"You should have checked my vitals before you left me to die; once you were gone, I took care of the assassins that you had hold me. I'm not proud I shed their blood but I knew if I didn't, they were going to make sure I was dead." Bellatrix answered.

"You survived... You killed... And now, you have me helpless." Talia smiled at her, "I'm so proud of you, My Baby Girl." She cooed.

"What?" Bellatrix glared with confusion.

"You are everything I want in a perfect heir: You survived my trap, you killed those who held you captive, and you reduced me - the Leader of the League of Assassins - to this pitiful state. My darling, you are perfect." Talia smiled at her daughter.

"I don't know what you are thinking but I'm nothing like you want me to be and I never will be." Bellatrix reached down and took the mind-control agent from Talia before turning and walking away.

"You can walk away now, My Sweet Child, but know that I am coming for you. I will bring you home and you will be what you were born to me - The Perfect Al Ghul Heir. Run while you can, my dear, Mother is coming for you." Talia laughed at Bellatrix as the girl jumped off the small roof, leaving the woman alone.

Talia looked up at the rain in the sky and smiled before picking herself off the ground, touching the side of her lip, and looked at the blood - her blood - that her daughter spilled.

'It was a mistake to let you go but now that you are back, I shall have you once more and we shall be a family. You can't escape your blood, Bellatrix; you're an Al Ghul...and you belong to me.'

[cinnamonest]

Daily Life - Scaramouche

Ahhh ye I loved writing those. For anyone who hasn’t seen them I’m linking the posts from when I did this theme with Kaeya and Diluc as well as the one with Zhongli, Xiao, and Childe

--------------------------------

He's... not much of a morning person. He's actually pretty quiet in the mornings, he's still groggy and having to wake up and all that. So he doesn't say much, just kinda nudges you. Do NOT make him do it twice, though, no doing the thing where you groan and roll over or beg for more time. He'll just yank the covers off of you. 

That's if *he* wakes up first, though, which is... unlikely. It's more likely you will find yourself in the reverse situation -- telling this grown ass man that yes you have to get up. Yes you have to go to work. You're going to be late. Come on. Get up. I'll make you food if you do. Please. It... takes a while. He’s actually late quite a bit due to his tendency to wait until the last possible minute and drag his feet. Not that anyone ever has to audacity to actually confront him about it. It can almost be kinda... cute? In a weird way. Just don’t actually say that out loud.

But still, it's rather surprisingly quiet. Yeah, sure, he could get food from his work, there's certainly a sort of eating area where they provide food for the masses of the underlings, but it's gross so, eating here it is. He used to do that before. Not that he would actually, god forbid, sit around and mingle with anyone, but he used to take it and go munch on whatever was provided, by himself. Just because it was easier and the man has probably never cooked anything in his life, doesn't know how to, but you do right? Well, if you don't, figure it out. Now that he has you he shouldn't have to go out of his way to get fed, you can do that, make yourself useful. 

He has the same thing going on as mentioned in the daily life post for Xiao where he just kinda... creepily watches you go about your morning. Except not from the other side of the room, no, he just follows you around. The days actually have an awkward start because you don't want to be the first one to speak and risk making him grumpy, so you just kinda wait for him to talk. It's never a "good morning," he just jumps straight into telling you what the day is going to look like plan-wise, or complaining about this or that. But he will stand kinda right beside you the entire time, if you're making food he just stands there and leans against the counter and talks to you. If you're getting ready and have to go get this or that he'll follow you into each room and keep talking. Boy is clingy.

You could look at it as a blessing or a curse that the man takes you everywhere he goes. You don't get locked up and chained to a bed with nothing to do, but you also... have to deal with him pretty much every waking moment. If you've proven yourself annoying when not given things to do, you get things to do, simple measures to keep your attention consumed and not bothering him. Books and pencils and paper and whatever. But if he has a task to be done, it's your job, will call out the occasional go put this over there or go get that and bring it here. Why should he stand up and do it himself when you can? And it's in your best interest to do it immediately and quickly. 

If it's a mission sort of day, going from place to place, he just drags you along wherever he goes. Expects you to just stand there quietly and not interrupt while he's talking to important people. If there's like, actual physical combat... well, if combat is expected, it's one of a few times you'll get left under the care of someone else (value and cherish these precious moments), and if it's unexpected hostility from someone, well, you know the drill -- go run away a hundred yards or so and stay behind something until it's over. And don't you dare think of using the opportunity to do something stupid or run. You tried a few times in the past... it didn't go over well.

The two things you get a lot of throughout the day is complaining and fucking. The first is usually after interactions -- some subordinate that has to come up to him to talk to him, some connection he's forced to converse with for the sake of a mission -- either way, he gets grumbly as soon as they're out of earshot. Honestly it's not hard to deal with, just kinda agree with everything he says, give a nod and smile and say he's right. You don't even really have to listen to what he's saying. As for the latter, fucking follows a predictable pattern, you can pretty much accurately estimate that you're about to get bent or pushed to your knees at specific times -- namely, whenever he's particularly stressed or nervous about something, when someone beneath him fucks something up or upsets him in any way, or when you specifically do something to upset him, be it intentional or unintentional. Lots of quick rough fucks throughout any given day, really.

Now, there are a very very very few days where you genuinely can't tag along, this is pretty much for your own safety and to prevent him from being distracted by concern for said safety. This is only when there is a planned conflict with formidable enemies. It's one of very few times you'll ever be left alone. Not under the care of any one person, but likely two or three personally appointed guards that he knows well enough to trust. During this time, they are given the instruction to keep an eye on you while you're given your normal idle task options like reading. It's not very eventful, and there's not really any opportunities for escape, it's just boring.

Unlike a lot of the other yans, you don't get a "honey I'm home now listen to me rant about my day" sort of deal, because you've been with him all day and heard him complain throughout. That doesn't mean the complaints don't continue, but he gets quieter once settled in for the evening. It's also the softest time you'll get -- at that point he's tired from whatever events occur throughout the day and has less energy to be irritated.

He never really verbally insisted on it, but the habit of bathing together just kinda naturally formed from the first few days when he had to drag you back and forth to follow a normal living routine. It's very very quiet. You never asked him to, but he just automatically does everything for you, scrubs at your body and hair before you get the chance. It's... not very gentle, but he's not intentionally trying to be rough or anything. Nor is it intended as a gesture of kindness or anything, you're pretty sure he just kinda started doing it since you were stubborn and refused to move a muscle when you first came here, and now does so on autopilot, without really thinking about it. You've decided to not bring it up. It's nice enough.

He's actually kinda particular about his sleep. He can stay up late if needed, but prefers to go to bed more or less soon after, and no, you can't stay up on your own, if he's going to sleep so are you whether you like it or not. He doesn't fall asleep immediately, just kinda lays a while and stares off in thought. As long as he knows you're awake, he's not gonna make any movements to touch you or anything. If you pretend to be asleep though... you might get somewhat cuddled. And if you decide to move to lay on him on your own or nuzzle up to him, he's not going to fight it. Will probably be surprised and embarrassed, but will lay there and allow it, maybe gently pat your head.

[ladydaemon]

SICK DAYS

kaz brekker x female! reader

A/N: Yes, I realize how cliché and very non-Kaz this is. I tried my best guys, but I am in the mood for fluff and only fluff so yeah.

Summary: After a night in the rain, Y/N has a cold and it's up to Kaz to take care of her, a difficult task indeed.

Warnings: swearing, really horrible writing, not proofread writing, just me spitting out Words™ at three in the morning

Dangerous assassins do not need sick days.

It was an extremely hypocritical thought, and Y/N knew it. She thought the thought anyway, because at this point, there seemed to be no aspect in her life that was not fueled entirely by spite.

"Please, for the love of the Saints, go to sleep, Y/N," Inej begged, forcing the woman back onto the bed. "You are sick. You need rest."

"I do not need rest, I need caffeine and waffles," the wheezing woman replied stubbornly, trying to get past Inej, who was blocking the doorway of her room. The Slat, usually thundering with noise and chatter, was silent as the grave - it was one of the rare days in Ketterdam where it was sunny, and everyone was either out enjoying the weather or enjoying pickpocketing someone who was enjoying the weather. "I am a grown-ass woman who also happens to be very good at using the bang-bang machines we call guns so please move aside, I need fresh air."

It was arguably entirely Y/N's fault that she was stuck inside in the first place - first, she had stayed out in the rain too long, despite Kaz's numerous protests. Second, she had, in a grave act of stupidity, gone down for breakfast the next morning. Normally, this would not have been a problem. However, on this particular day, her eyes were red and swollen and itchy and her lungs hurt and it was generally very obvious that she had a cold.

These were the deciding factors which led to her ultimate demise:

House arrest.

Though the fact that she was notorious for her spontaneous, impulsive, reckless, throw-caution-to-the-wind nature (along with the fact that Kaz, from multiple bad experiences he would rather not repeat, knew that she had nearly no self-preservation skills) probably had something to with it.

Also she apparently needed a chaperone. Which was probably a good idea, but Y/N wasn't about to admit that anytime soon.

"You are seventeen and you have a window, darling," the smooth voice of one Kaz Brekker, the devil himself, interrupted Y/N's feeble excuse of an escape.

"But Kaz," Y/N whined, pouting. Inej gave the man an exasperated look as if to say, See what I've been dealing with?

"Darling, you'll only have to stay here longer if you don't try and get better."

"Still."

Kaz, lips twitching in a very non-Kaz way, turned to Inej. "You can go. I suppose I'll play nursemaid."

The Wraith chucked darkly, already stepping out Y/N's window. "Good luck with that."

As soon as she had climbed out the room and was well out of earshot, Kaz turned on his heel and walked out. Y/N, thoroughly confused, took a second to contemplate whether this act was meant that she was officially free, or that she was supposed to follow him. Her question was answered a moment later when he called out, not sparing her a backwards glance, "Are you coming?"

She sighed dejectedly, following him up the stairs to hid room. With a flamboyant and smug bow, he opened the door for her. "Ladies first."

She rolled her eyes at him but entered the room nonetheless. Kaz closed the door behind him and strode heavily to his desk, taking the time to shuffle and order some papers. Y/N stood awkwardly in the middle of the room, unsure as to what in the hell she was supposed to do. Kaz flicked his eyes up to her and jerked his head towards the black-sheeted bed that occupied almost a fourth of the room.

She stared at it for a moment. "You want me to sleep. On your bed. While you watch." It came out more an incredulous statement than a question.

"Sorry to break it to you, but I can't devote all my time to taking care of you, and I also can't leave you alone unsupervised while ill. This is our compromise," Kaz explained somewhat impatiently.

"I am not going to get in that crusty-ass bed, that, in case you have forgotten, belongs to my boss, AKA you. For all I know you sleep nude."

One of Kaz's eyebrows twitched. "The sheets were changed this morning. And for the record, I don't."

"Still not going to do it. That takes the creepy-o-meter to like, a thousand."

"You're a criminal who spies on brothels. This is nothing."

"Still not doing it. This feels fundamentally wrong."

"I'll buy you a nice dagger if you just shut up and get in the damn bed." Saints, he was already exasperated, and he had barely been here five minutes. A new respect for Inej found its way into his being.

Y/N went quiet for a minute, considering. "One of the serrated ones with the fancy gilded handles?"

"Whatever dagger your heart desires."

"Two daggers and a gun."

"One dagger and a gun."

"Deal," Y/N decided, plopping down on the bed. It still felt wrong, but she did need a new dagger - Wylan had blown hers up in a previous job.

She carefully peeled the pristine sheets and blankets away from the mattress, half expecting a dozen poisonous things to pop out. The only thing it released was the strangely comforting smell of wood oil and ink (and a bit of gunpowder, but this was Kaz Brekker we're talking about).

Y/N slipped beneath the covers, her head resting comfortably on the cloud-like pillows.

I bet this bitch sleeps like a baby every night.

"I can still beat your ass, Brekker," she mumbled. Yeah, she was sick, but she also had a reputation to uphold.

"On a regular day, I have no doubt about it. Currently, you are prohibited from doing anything that isn't sleeping, peeing, or contemplating life. Doctor's orders."

"Well, I'm going to go pee then. More freedom." She attempted to stand up from the surprisingly soft bed but the in the second it took for her to try and stand, Kaz, moving surprisingly quickly for a man with a cane, pinned her to the bed by her shoulders with an exasperated sigh.

"Just stay still. Please," he breathed.

"Get me a sweet bun and maybe," she breathed back, but didn't move. Despite her almost child-like demeanor, she was one of the original Dregs, here as a child even before Kaz. He had been the only one her age when he had joined, so naturally, she had befriended him (well, as much as you can befriend Kaz Brekker). She knew about his phobia of touch, and how much it meant that he was touching her, even with his gloves on.

Kaz released her with a sigh and stalked over to his desk where he rummaged around for a bit until he produced a small tin that looked abut as old as he was. He tossed it at her and she grabbed it, opening it to see some biscuits that looked as hard as rocks. "That's all I have, and all you're going get. Don't break a tooth."

Y/N sighed, staring at the biscuits mournfully before taking one out of the tin and gnawing on it. It would have been easier to bite on the barrel of one of Jesper's guns. "You're mean."

"You're acting like a petulant child."

Y/N made a disgruntled noise from the back of her throat, sinking back into the silk pillows and wrapping the blankets tighter around her. She had made no visible mark on the cookie, and had only succeeded in covering it with slobber. She put it back in the tin and noticed Kaz wrinkle his nose at her.

She doubted the biscuits would ever see the light of day again.

She watched Kaz do his paperwork, a surprisingly interesting thing to do. He had taken off his hat and jacket, and rolled up his sleeves. He even took his gloves off, preferring to use a pen without the ridiculous slipperiness of the leather. The papers shuffled in a soothing rhythm, and soon, Y/N began to feel less cooped up and a bit more relaxed.

Ever since she had been taken away from her family and thrown onto the tiny slaving ship, Y/N had always had a touch of claustrophobia (well, it was a bit more than a touch, but she wasn't willing to admit that just yet). The tiny room with a mattress on the flooor was really just a decoration at this point - she slept on the roof most nights and every waking hour was in Ketterdam, simply walking if there were no pockets to be picked.

Drowsily, she watched as Kaz scratched something out on paper, his face creasing ever so slightly. The pen made a nice sound, she found, and paired with the strangely calming scent of his room and the rustling of papers, it made her feel almost like it was rainy day, the kind where you curled up by the fire and read a book or cuddled with someone.

"I doubt staring at my face will help you fall asleep, love," Kaz noted without looking up from his work.

"Your face is the most interesting thing here."

For the barest fraction of a second, Kaz looked like he had short-circuited. The moment was gone as soon as it came, however, and he simply raised an eyebrow at her. "You're very immature sometimes."

"Thanks!" Y/N said cheerfully. "It was the trauma."

"Trauma hardens people, it doesn't make them softer," Kaz dismissed.

"I agree wholeheartedly. However, there's a difference between an excellent mask and incompetence," she replied. "Now come over here and show what's bothering you, I can see it on your face."

Kaz looked up at her, noting the fact that she probably wouldn't shut up unless he did as she asked. He rolled his eyes, hobbling over to the bed. As he sat, she could feel his weight pushing the mattress down.

Before he could say a word, she snatched the paper in his hands and began scanning it. "What's wrong with it?"

"The numbers don't add up."

She stared at the document for another second, then back up at Kaz. "Who are you and what have you done with Kaz Brekker?"

He blinked at her.

"You forgot to carry the one. The numbers don't add up because you... well, added them wrong," she explained softly. She looked up at him, concern crossing her features. "Do you need a nap?"

Kaz huffed out a breath. "I'm fine. You're just distracting me, that's all."

"We're going to ignore the fact that you think I'm distracting and instead focus on the fact that you have not slept in several days."

Kaz's nostrils flared slightly in indignation. Before he could speak, however, Y/N cut him off. "Kaz, I have known you since I was eleven. I'm also not fucking blind. Yes, I know you are essentially running a mafia at age seventeen. Yes, I know you are under pressure. Yes, I know there is at any given moment a bounty on your head. Yes, I know I am sick and it is technically your job to take care of me. But can we please just make a deal or a truce or something in which you get some fucking rest?"

Kaz was quiet for a moment before the corner of his mouth twitched. "Always the mother hen for everyone except yourself."

She was startled into a laugh. "What can I saw, I was a born hypocrite."

Kaz did end up getting a couple hours of sleep, even if it was at Y/N's insistence.

However, he almost regretted it when Jesper barged in and, with a gleeful cackle, found them both sleeping in the same bed with one of his legs pressed up against hers - Kaz's version of flat-out cuddling.

Almost.