#<- the last strike at My workplace happened before i was hired

[transgenderboobs]

contract renegotiations are happening in 9 days and besties i will not lie. a strike is looking more and more likely with each passing day

[piscespetals]

summary: you & sevika work in an office, and developing a silly schoolgirl crush is the last thing you expected to happen at this point in your career...

word count: i stopped counting 3/4 of the way through once I reached 16k so this is pretty hefty!

content: pinning (of course), fluff, gay disaster, the tiniest sliver of smut

thanks for reading!

Kinda in my feelings about what it would be like to work in the same office as Sevika...

╰➤ I feel like you see her in passing a lot, since her office is only a few doors down from yours.

╰➤ The both of you often strike up casual conversations in the break room, filling the silence while awkwardly waiting for your food to heat up in the microwave.

╰➤ You always notice when she walks into the same room as you because she's constantly dressed to the nines—slacks hugging her thick thighs just right; form fitting and sleek. They shape the curved muscles of her calves as if the manufacturers make the material just for her.

╰➤ You also notice that she has a knack for neutral colors, especially with her dress shirts. She likes the top buttons to be undone, sleeves rolled up to her elbows and collar perfectly crisp. The air that swarms her is usually woodsy with a hint of spice.

╰➤ She's magical.

╰➤ And because of that, you aren't surprised at the buzz about her in the workplace. She's one of the new hires so it's natural for her to stir up curiosity. But beyond that, there's no doubt that she's quite the enigma. You've even heard a few colleagues gossip about how much they want her.

╰➤ The first time you interact with her is when you're waiting for the microwave to finish warming up your lasagna.

╰➤ Her dress shoes click softly against the tile floor as she enters the break room, causing you to glance over your shoulder. Your eyes widen when her gaze flickers from the microwave to you.

╰➤ "Hi," You mumble pathetically. Your stomach churns and your toes curl and all of a sudden, it's like you're a shy prepubescent person all over again.

╰➤ She smells good.

╰➤ "Hey," Her voice is deep and warm. It rings straight through you before settling at the pit of your stomach.

╰➤ "Uh," You swallow, shifting your weight. "I'm almost done. Then you can use it."

╰➤ She doesn't say anything else.

╰➤ Her lack of silence sparks a wave of nerves. Next thing you know, you're gesturing towards the microwave wordlessly.

╰➤ She follows the motion, eyebrows quirking up with interest.

╰➤ "I'm having lasagna for lunch," You announce. "This is my third time having to warm it up. I forgot how stubborn pasta can be in a microwave." Then you're patting the top of the rectangular miniature oven.

╰➤ You almost allow yourself to think that her expression has morphed into amusement. But before you get carried away with your thoughts, a loud ding! sounds.

╰➤ Quickly, you open the microwave door, carefully reaching for your steaming tupperware container so that you don't burn yourself.

╰➤ "Well, it's all yours!" You don't have the courage to meet her gaze anymore, finding more interest in the carpet as you leave the room and make a beeline straight to your office.

╰➤ Interactions after that are somewhat similar. Sometimes, she asks, "How've you been?" If the wait to use the microwave is longer than usual.

╰➤ The conversations are more surface level than anything—a routine song and dance to fill up silence for the sake of politeness.

╰➤ They're strings of, "The weathers been nice lately" and, "What are you eating today?" and, "How's the workload been for you?"

╰➤ Then you both are scurrying off to your own little sanctuaries, not planning to see each other until the next business day.

╰➤ There's another time when you're late to going on break. You usually like to be one of the first ones to clock out and heat up your food. There's only one working microwave because your boss is too cheap to replace the second one (that has been broken for several months now), which causes a long line to form for those wanting to warm up their home lunches.

╰➤ Unfortunately, today is the day where you have to join the majority and step in line. Due to a phone call that lasted longer than you expected, you don't end up going to lunch until 15 minutes later than you usually do.

╰➤ You're softly rocking on your heels when Sevika comes into view. She rounds the corner of the office, stalking towards the line with taut muscles and a grinding jaw. An air of annoyance lingers around her, eyes unfocused and seemingly far away, hands—

╰➤ "Are you gonna step forward?" Shane, a co-coworker, asks. He appears disgruntled, pointing at the gap of space in front of you.

╰➤ That seems to gain Sevika's attention. She peers at Shane shortly before dragging her piercing stare towards you.

╰➤ Shane huffs at your silence.

╰➤ "Oh, right!" You breathe, breaking away from Sevika's regard. "Uh, sorry."

╰➤ Taking a few steps forward, you close the distance, doing your best to ignore Shane's rant about "dillydallying workers."

╰➤ A few moments pass before that familiar image of Sevika's grey eyes resurface in your brain. Glancing back towards her, you find her scuffing the heel of her dress boots against the carpet, attention set on no particular thing. She jumps between the carpet, to the gossiping co-workers nearby, to the flickering ceiling lights.

╰➤ Just when you're about to turn back around, she glances towards you. Your gut pulls, ears rushing with adrenaline and veins buzzing.

╰➤ Then, she mouths, "Hi," and you almost combust right then. Gone is the frustrated expression that was adorning her features moments before. Instead, a ghost of a smile plays on her lips.

╰➤ You blink a few times; stunned.

╰➤ You think you wave back at her, but you can't seem to be entirely in touch with whatever your body is doing.

╰➤ "Um, hey." You reply, clearing your throat.

╰➤ It's loud enough for her to hear. But it also may have been too loud. A few other people surrounding you look over in confusion.

╰➤ "Were you talking to me?" Brian, a colleague who's standing right in front of Sevika, asks.

╰➤ You bite the inside of your cheek. "Oh—uh, no. Sorry."

╰➤ Brian looks around, not so subtly, probably trying to find out who the hell your greeting was directed to.

╰➤ Sevika laughs at the interaction. It's the kind of laugh where she presses her lips together, shoulders shaking and eyes dancing with humor. She's trying to be polite—trying to contain her laughter—but she's not doing a very good job.

╰➤ The sight causes you to shuffle your feet in embarrassment, blowing a raspberry.

╰➤ "Look, I've only got twenty minutes of my lunch break left so if you aren't gonna pay attention..." Shane admonishes, voice thin. He's gesturing to the growing gap in front of you again, clearly fed up with your lack of wherewithal.

╰➤ You bite the inside of your cheek, choosing to ignore the way that Sevika seems to be laughing harder now. Fighting off a giggle of your own becomes difficult.

╰➤ "Okay." You reply. Then you face forward, catching up with the rest of the line. "Sorry."

╰➤ The next time you see Sevika, it's when you run into her before a staff meeting.

╰➤ Literally.

╰➤ You aren't paying attention, too busy with shuffling through your purse for a granola bar, eyes downcast and head hung low, when you walk straight into her.

╰➤ Her body is firm, your forehead knocking against the rounded muscle of her shoulder. Your breath catches, eyes widening as you try to glance up, struggling to regain your bearings.

╰➤ Strong hands grab onto your upper arms. The feeling of thumbs pressing into your skin jolts you awake from the daze you've been experiencing all day. And like a moth drawn to a flame, you feel yourself hovering closer—drunk off of the delicious air that surrounds you.

╰➤ Sevika's air.

╰➤ "Oh," You huff, blinking up at her with wide eyes. In the back of your brain, you register the feeling of her large hands encircling your biceps. It's a feeling you welcome. But it becomes faint when you realize the reality of the situation. "I'm so sorry," You spit out, remorse crashing into you. "Fuck—I mean...frick." A startled laugh escapes you. "Frick because fuck is totally not work appropriate...obviously."

╰➤ You swallow thickly. Your legs tremble, an undeniable pressure sprouting in your gut under the feeling of Sevika's pressing gaze. Her stormy grey eyes examine you with interest. It leaves your mind clouded over with impure thoughts—unprofessional thoughts.

╰➤ "I wasn't looking." You add.

╰➤ "Clearly." Sevika's sporting a shit eating grin. Her hands squeeze your biceps. "You good?"

╰➤ "I'm good. Just—" You clear your throat. "Well, I was actually looking for a granola bar. I forgot to take a lunch break because I'm drowning in paperwork. And then Cam announced the meeting at the last minute so I thought I could get a quick bite on the way. Except I'm pretty sure I've somehow lost my granola bar which is just my luck. And-"

╰➤ Sevika's eyebrows are raised so high that they almost meet her hairline. "I see," She mutters, sounding impassive.

╰➤ Fuck.

╰➤ Fuck. Fuck. Fuck.

╰➤ Maybe you're talking a bit too much—a habit you've been trying to break lately—but it's only because Sevika makes you nervous.

╰➤ It goes beyond her demeanor that screams, "I don't like people so respectfully, leave me the fuck alone."

╰➤ Sevika is your work crush. She's gorgeous and good at meeting the weekly stats, and smells good.

╰➤ Despite the office rumors of her unapproachability and death glares, she's not entirely awful in your presence. She's pretty cordial with you in fact. Which means, she doesn't dislike you as much as she probably does the others.

╰➤ After all, she always lets you use the microwave before her. And she doesn't make you feel completely useless when you tell her a cringey joke, or make an embarrassing attempt to strike up conversation.

╰➤ But now, you've opened your mouth.

╰➤ You've opened your fucking mouth and have probably turned her off before she could even get a chance to truly know you.

╰➤ You've fumbled.

╰➤ The realization embarrasses you.

╰➤ "Yeah," You respond. The both of you fall silent and you imagine a static screen being displayed on a person's TV somewhere in the world. That's the perfect personification of this moment, you think.

╰➤ Sevika hums, letting her hands fall back to her sides. Then she's stepping back, slightly faltering and looking down at the space between you both. You follow her gaze, eyes widening at the sight of fingers gripping the hem of her shirt. Your fingers.

╰➤ "Oh! Sorry," You repeat. You tug your hands away, breath catching in your throat. "This is—" Your lips pinch together.

╰➤ God, this is embarrassing.

╰➤ Clearly scandalized, you tread a few paces backward.

╰➤ "Um, actually, I should go pee! I haven't had a chance yet, w-with the workflow and all. Especially now that the staff meeting starts soon," Your thumb juts in a general direction of the restroom behind you. "Gotta hate those bladder infections, am I right?" Pathetically, you force out a laugh.

╰➤ Humor trickles onto Sevika's features. Her lip twitches. "Right..."

╰➤ "Not that I have a bladder infection right now! I'm preventing one by going to the bathroom. My bladder is perfectly fine." One of the straps of your purse falls off your shoulder. You readjust it. "...Not that you care, or like, anything."

╰➤ A pause bleeds into the atmosphere. Slight chatter travels from a few offices down. People emerge from their desk, hastily making their way to the conference room behind Sevika. You struggle to ignore the sound of tapping keyboards and squeaking chairs. The lull is excruciating.

╰➤ "Okay, well–" You force a cough. "I'll go now. Catch you later, Sevika." You almost allow yourself to believe that her eyes widen when you say her name.

╰➤ But then you're turning on your heels and scurrying away, discarding the ridiculous notion.

╰➤ It's the next day when you run into her again. There you are, standing in front of the microwave, when you hear chuckling. It's easy for you to know it's hers. You find yourself savoring the sound every time it leaves her lips.

╰➤ A smile stretches across your face, and you peer over your shoulder, eyes landing on her for the first time that day. Sevika's wearing a white long-sleeve undershirt, partially covered with a black sweater vest and beige slacks. She has her hair styled in a half-up, half down. She's fiddling with a gold plated watch on her wrist, expression smug and eyes regarding the person beside her.

╰➤ The microwave beeps; a sign that it's time for you to retrieve your lunch and head back to your office. But your eyes can't help but linger on the stranger beside Sevika.

╰➤ Well, they're not really a stranger. Their name is Kai. You don't know Kai personally. You just know of them. They work in the warehouse, so you only see them during the times that all departments are required to attend the staff meetings.

╰➤ Occasionally, you may see Kai if they visit one of their friends that work on the same floor as you. They have chestnut brown eyes and a badass sleeve that covers their entire right arm. But besides that, they’re a complete stranger.

╰➤ "Smells good," Kai announces, turning to you. There's a glint in their eyes as they gaze at you, and that makes you feel exposed for some reason. You can't understand why or even how.

╰➤ Then, your attention diverts to the way that Kai’s fingers dance along the cuff of Sevika's sleeve. They trail up the material, alongside Sevika's forearm, before pulling away. It's the smallest gesture—something a general onlooker wouldn't notice without staring incredibly hard—but you noticed. You wish you hadn't.

╰➤ "Thanks," You mumble.

╰➤ You turn around, swallow, blink, and open the microwave door. You ignore the burning of the tupperware container against your skin, trying to shut out the pounding of your heart.

╰➤ "Hey," Sevika greets, the quietest she ever has.

╰➤ It's harder for you to meet her eyes in that moment. You're distracted by Kai’s swaying, and how it's perfectly on beat with the music that echoes through the office speakers; how they’re majestically relaxed in a way that you never can be.

╰➤ You don't understand why such strong feelings surge through you; feelings of envy and doom and a hint of jealousy. It doesn't make sense. It isn't logical. But it's there. It's annoyingly there.

╰➤ "You're the one who just got promoted to be Cam's assistant, right?" Kai asks. You stop in your tracks, halfway between the microwave and them. A wave of shock washes over you. You never thought they ever noticed you.

╰➤ "Um, yeah. It's not really a promotion, though..."

╰➤ "No?" Kai glances at Sevika out of the corner of their eye. "Vika said so. She's mentioned it a few times, actually."

╰➤ That's when you find the courage to glance over to Sevika. Her cloudy grey eyes observe the floor, jaw grinding and hands shoved into her pockets. Sevika knows your job title?

╰➤ It feels ridiculous to be excited over such a revelation. After all, you and Sevika work in the same fucking building. How can she not know what you do?

╰➤ But there are countless coworkers in surrounding cubicles who never catch your attention; people you've never talked to. People who would never know that your office resided within walking distance from them. And the notion is the same for you when you find yourself surrounded by unfamiliar faces on days you stray too far from your office.

╰➤ But Sevika knows. She pays attention. Whether that's a good or bad thing, you allow your heart to savor the thought.

╰➤ "Oh," You mumble, swallowing thickly. Suddenly, the thought of Kai’s close proximity to Sevika doesn't seem so bad.

╰➤ "Well, anyways, there's a clerk position opening up and I may have interest in it. Kinda wanna be a corporate person now, you know?" Kai grins, laughing lightly. You smile in return. "If I land the job, maybe you can help me get adjusted to office life? Show me the ropes a little. Vika says you're the best one on the sales team."

╰➤ Vika says you're the best one on the sales team.

╰➤ Vika says you're the best.

╰➤ Sevika's head lifts, rolling her eyes as she nudges Kai with her elbow. Kai yelps then coughs seconds after. 

╰➤ "I just do what's in my job description." You bashfully admit.

╰➤ Kai’s grin widens. “Right…” Their words are slow and heavy with an unspoken implication.

╰➤ Their gaze shifts to Sevika, then you, then Sevika, and back to you again. The hairs on the back of your neck stand and you find yourself feeling self conscious; it feels like they know something about you that you don't want them to.

╰➤ “I’m just gonna squeeze by really quick,” Kai announces.

╰➤ You side step, allowing them to head towards the vending machines. You make the mistake of not being spatially aware, moving over a bit too far and knocking into the table positioned to your right. 

╰➤ "You okay?"

╰➤ Your eyebrows furrow at Sevika's question—at her concern. The way her gaze flickers between you and the table has your stomach tugging. Your fingers tighten around your tupperware container.

╰➤ "Just clumsy," You explain, nodding at her. "Which you probably already, uh, know."

╰➤ Your memory travels back to the day before, and how you ran right into her.

╰➤ You're not sure you'll ever be able to forget something so embarrassing.

╰➤ Sevika smiles and you realize that it's the most genuine thing you've seen all day. "Oh," She says knowingly. "I do."

╰➤ She's teasing you but you don't mind it. You couldn't even if you tried because you're too caught up in how breathtakingly handsome she is. The intricate details of Sevika's smile always has a powerful effect on you.

╰➤ She has the tiniest dimples in her chin, puffy dark lips gorgeously contrasting to the whites of her teeth. And her gap—goodness, that gap has you wanting to curl up into a ball and melt away. It's placed right between her two front teeth.

╰➤ You hold your tupperware container tighter against the lower pouch of your belly, feet rocking forwards and backwards, head swimming from Sevika's presence. She has you completely gone for her. A proper crush—and surely, due to the current circumstances of being coworkers—a rather inappropriate crush too.

╰➤ "You know," You find yourself saying. "I just realized...I've never actually introduced myself to you."

╰➤ Sevika straightens, eyes flashing with that familiar light of humor. "You're right. You haven't," She clicks her tongue. "How rude."

╰➤ Your skin prickles, "I'm the rude one?"

╰➤ "Are you insinuating otherwise?"

╰➤ "Yes." You nod, trying to erase your smile. Your cheeks are starting to ache. "Did it not take you two months to say more than just Hi to me?"

╰➤ "Not true." She clears her throat. "Sometimes, I would say hey instead."

╰➤ Your jaw drops and silence fills the room.

╰➤ And then you're laughing. It's the type of giggle that bubbles over with an emotion similar to returning home. Your cheeks ache and so does your stomach; your vision momentarily blurs from the action of squinting. Sevika joins you with her own laughter but hers is more beautiful. It's like the soft breeze of the wind on a spring morning. You'd try to make her laugh forever if you really could.

╰➤ Soon you're exhaling softly, features relaxing as you glance towards her. "I'm sure you already know who I am, and what I do here. But, for formality reasons..." You begin. It feels weird to introduce yourself to her, especially after seeing her nearly everyday for the last four months. After all, it seems like she knows enough to have already talked about you to Kai. But it makes you feel better to do it this way. You give her your name personally and shake her hand.

╰➤ A proper introduction.

╰➤ Sevika repeats your name under her breath, trying it out for herself. The sound of it causes your toes to curl inside of your shoes. When she shakes your hand, you take note of how large her fingers are compared to yours. One of her hands could engulf the both of yours without any effort. And her skin is warm and calloused. Despite the rough exterior, she touches you with such fragility that you have to glance down for a second. It's almost as if she's afraid of breaking you.

╰➤ But then the moment is over. Kai returns, this time with two bags of Doritos in their hands. They throw one at Sevika, and thanks to Sevika’s fast reflexes, it’s caught without a single flinch. 

╰➤ “This should hold us over until Leah clocks out.” Kai sighs. “She wants to go to Famous Dave’s again and I’m kinda in the mood for like, anything other than that. Like I can only eat a certain amount of that stuff before I start suffering from a serious case of heartburn.”

╰➤ Sevika scrunches her nose, popping a chip into her mouth. “Then tell her that.”

╰➤ “I can't,” The whine of Kai’s voice becomes oddly endearing. “You know how she gets.”

╰➤ “Then don’t tell her.”

╰➤ “Or maybe you can tell her. She listens to you.”

╰➤ Sevika rolls her eyes. “No.”

╰➤ “Why not…”

╰➤”Kai, just talk to her. It’s literally not that hard.”

╰➤ “...That’s what she said.”

╰➤ You marvel at the way that Sevika stops mid-chew, gaze still downturned at the red bag in her hand before muttering, “Hilarious.”

╰➤ You try to wipe the growing grin off of your face as you bite the inside of your cheek. Kai glances at you once more, eyes sparkling a gorgeous brown. “Do you want to join us? We’re catching dinner at Famous Dave’s.”

╰➤ Your jaw falls slack, shock hitting you like a ton of bricks. “Oh.” You respond. A breathless laugh leaves you. “Um…”

╰➤ “It’ll just be me, Leah and Vika. Do you know Leah? She’s in accounting. Kinda tall, lanky…socially awkward with bright purple hair?”

 ╰➤ The description doesn't ring any bells for you. “Uh, no. I don't think I’ve seen her around yet.”

╰➤ “Understandable. She works all the way up on the 8th floor.” Kai tilts their head, regarding you with a warmth you aren't used to receiving from anyone in this building besides Sevika and your boss. “Anyways, the offer still stands?”

╰➤ That’s when Sevika glances up at you through her lashes. She doesn’t necessarily crack a smile, but a corner of her lip has curved into something subtle. 

╰➤ “I wish. But I’m working overtime to help Cam with our pitch tomorrow.” You attempt to ignore the way your heart deflates as you say this. 

╰➤”Aw, man.” Kai tosses their empty Dorito bag into a nearby trash can. 

╰➤ "But we should definitely plan something soon.” Before you do anything stupid, like flaking on Cam last minute just to meet up with coworkers for dinner, you urge yourself to bid them goodbye. “I'll catch you guys another time, alright?" 

╰➤ "Nice meeting you!” Kai calls. A short hiss escapes the bottle in their hand as they twist off the cap and tilt their head back. It's a diet coke.

╰➤ "You too!”

╰➤ It's awkward when you slip past them both, proximity dangerously close to Sevika. You find the courage to whisper, “Later Vika,” to her at the last second.

╰➤ Her body stiffens and it almost sounds like she chokes while swallowing another mouthful of her chips. It’s probably the least collected display of behavior you’ve ever witnessed from her. 

╰➤ You stifle a laugh, brushing past her and towards the direction of your office. 

╰➤ You feel really fucking sad today.

╰➤ Days like today are days that you dread. It isn't a result of anything particular. Of course, you want to be able to blame an event or cause. But the truth of the matter is that you're just having a really bad mental health day.

╰➤ It first starts off with you waking up late. You never wake up late. Your mornings are pretty routine. Some may call them mundane, but routine helps you get through the day easier. So when your alarm doesn't sound and you wake after a bad dream, realizing that it's 30 minutes past the time that your alarm usually rings, your heart sinks.

╰➤ You don't have time for a full breakfast. You have to settle for toast and orange juice instead, slipping on the cleanest pair of jeans and shirt that you can find. When you make it to work, you're just on time. But everything is off.

╰➤ Because instead of your usual business casual attire, you're sporting faded jeans, a blank t shirt and beat up sneakers. Your muscles are still sluggish and your eyelids are heavy. So far, the morning isn't great.

╰➤ As time passes, you realize that you're quite ahead in your work. Cam is off for the day, which means you don't have any extra errands or tasks to do for him. There is truly not much left to accomplish.

╰➤ You settle on the mission of clearing out your voicemail box. But that's soon completed. Your latest emails are nothing of importance and you don't have any upcoming meetings to attend. A cloud of doom hovers over you. By 11 AM, it doubles in size. Once noon hits, it's time for your lunch break and a sorrowful cloud clings onto you like a leech.

╰➤ It's hard to gain a semblance of what to do next. Your heart's true desire calls for your bed and a long restful sleep. Your chest seizes with dull aches and your mind swarms with everything yet nothing at all. This is a familiar feeling that you always hate. It's hard to prevent days like this. It always creeps up on you before you can find the strength to prevent it.

╰➤ You're nearly 30 minutes late to taking your lunch today. You've packed a deli sandwich with grapes, pretzels and a bag of potato chips. But none of it is appealing. And for the first time in months, it's a cold lunch—which you don't usually prefer.

╰➤ Your legs take you to the break room. It's almost empty, with only the buzz of a few coworkers trailing in and out. You sit at one of the tables in the corner, sighing softly and staring down at your lunch.

╰➤ You aren't hungry. Whenever the rare days like today hit you—days when your appetite for life fades—a dwindling appetite for food soon follows. But if you don't eat, then you'll later find yourself crouched in your bed with aching temples, fighting off the pains of a skipped meal. So you open the tupperware container that has a handful of green grapes and take a few bites.

╰➤ There's something about working in an office environment that you enjoy. It's mostly independent-driven, which you prefer. You don't mind the quiet solace that comes along with being in your own office, surrounded by towers of paperwork and due dates. The system of doing the same tasks throughout the day—of working through the same checklists—always leaves you feeling at ease.

╰➤ Even the soft rings of telephones and fingers typing against keys provides you the same comfort that brown noise does for other individuals. Everything about your job is monotonous and ordinary, and therefore absolutely perfect.

╰➤ Your shoulders soon relax as you eavesdrop on a conversation between two coworkers huddled together on the other side of the break room. It's silly workplace gossip about other folks that you don't know, but for the sake of people watching, you allow yourself to become preoccupied with the way they interact with one another.

╰➤ Both of the girls are dressed in fashionable attire, with sleek knee high boots and pencils skirts. Their faces are painted with spotless makeup, nails freshly manicured and eyebrows perfectly arched. Your gaze travels back to your faded old jeans and dirty white New Balance sneakers.

╰➤ Sighing, you tug on the soft hem of your crew neck sweater, which you've thrown on due to the chilly air of the building. That's when a chair beside you squeaks. The legs are dragging against the tile floor due to someone pulling it out and sitting on it.

╰➤ You're met with the familiar features of Sevika. Her hair is pulled back into a perfectly sleek low-bun. There's a slight hint of mascara and eyeliner, barely noticeable if you hadn't already seen her on the days where she's bare faced. She smells of everything good; the walking embodiment of heaven.

╰➤ And she looks just as nice as she smells, with her beige button up and black slacks and matching black dress boots. She looks expensive. She always does.

╰➤ You blink, not only taken aback by her beauty, but also by her sudden presence. Isn't her lunch break supposed to be over by now?

╰➤ "Hi." She greets, which is nothing more than a murmur.

╰➤ Sevika has a very distinct way of communicating. Her lips move so fast that sometimes, you aren't sure if she's truly speaking or if it's all just your overactive imagination. She doesn't talk much, but when she does, it's intentional. You know that every word she does say is meant to be said. And you appreciate that trait about her.

╰➤ She's not the type to raise her voice. Out of all the encounters you've had with her, there's never been a time when she's even gotten remotely close to losing her composure. But a part of you is not sure if composure is the right word. Sevika just seems to be naturally indifferent; mellow. Constantly unbothered. That's what draws you to her. And that's why you feel a dose of comfort shoot through you at that moment. Her presence will probably always be welcomed, no matter what mood you're in.

╰➤ You give her a small smile in return before popping another grape into your mouth.

╰➤ She hovers for a bit. You're not sure what to say, or even if you should say something. 

╰➤ "Not using the microwave today?" She adds.

╰➤ You force out a small chuckle. "No."

╰➤ Silence resumes.

╰➤ Her lashes are quite long.

╰➤ She really is beautiful.

╰➤ You glance away from her, absentmindedly playing with the tattered ends of your sleeves. Your left leg is crossed over your right, rocking back and forth out of habit. There's a moment when it lifts a bit too high, knocking into Sevika's shin.

╰➤ You grimace, "I'm sorry."

╰➤ Out of the corner of your eyes, you pick up on the movement of her broad shoulders shrugging. "It's all good."

╰➤ Your rocking resumes. You make sure to angle your body away from her after that; ensuring that you won't accidentally kick her again.

╰➤ Slowly, you nudge your container of grapes towards her, "Would you like some?"

╰➤ She hesitates, "No." Another pause, then, "It doesn't seem like you've eaten much of your lunch today."

╰➤ "I'm not as hungry as I usually am. It's been a rough day."

╰➤ She positions herself to where her elbows lean against the tabletop. It appears that she's inches closer and the smell of her practically overpowers you because of it. "Is it worth talking about?"

╰➤ You peer up at her, eyes widening when you see the dilation of her pupils. Her hands are clasped together, chin resting on her knuckles and grey eyes regarding you with interest. The squaring of her shoulders causes her muscular biceps to bulge through her beige dress-shirt. It's a gorgeous sight.

╰➤ Your heart stutters.

╰➤ "Um," You blink, trying to concentrate despite the ongoing brain fog. "I'm just sad today, Sevika." You swallow thickly, finding yourself inching a little closer with your chin resting on your own hand. "But there's not a particular reason why. It's ridiculous, to be honest. Simply one of those days, you know?"

╰➤ She shifts towards you.

╰➤ Your foot brushes against her calf.

╰➤ A solemn ease envelopes around the both of you as an expression of understanding trickles onto her features. She nods quietly.

╰➤ There's not much to say, or rather, not much that you want her to say. You're grateful that she doesn't make a huge deal of your admission. Sadness lives in every human throughout their life. Just sitting with her is enough to ease the tide waves of grief that has been rolling through you. At that moment, sitting in the break room with Sevika, your sadness somehow finds a way to transform into still water; a sea of tranquility solely from Sevika's presence.

╰➤ She hooks her foot around the leg of your chair, dragging you closer towards her. Your stomach does somersaults and if you weren't so flustered, you'd probably be brave enough to ask her why she's doing this. But instead, you're left trying to stabilize your heart and trembling fingers. You allow yourself to bask in her closeness.

╰➤ "Your sadness isn't ridiculous," Sevika begins, wetting her dark full lips. Her breath smells of peppermint. Your foot grazes against her calf again, this time for a few seconds longer. "I don't know who or what's made you believe that, but it never will be."

╰➤ The shift in her is abrupt; something powerful enough to cause you to gawk at her. With each passing second, all of your worries slowly begin to unspool and relax, because her words ring with unrelenting truth. You know that she 100% believes everything that she's just said. That's enough for you.

╰➤ "And I don't blame you." Sevika adds. "I mean, this job alone is enough to send anyone into a fucking spiral."

╰➤ You laugh for the first time today. Your palms rest against your cheek and your eyes crinkle shut momentarily. Somehow, she makes laughter on even the most difficult days easy. "Oh, I don't know." You respond, after finally calming down. "This place isn't so bad."

╰➤ "Are you sure?" Her eyebrows raise. "I find that very hard to believe."

╰➤ "Well, there are perks. Like the wattage for the microwave here...It's—what—1500? That's way better than the one in my apartment."

╰➤ She rolls her eyes, but you don't miss the way that they flash with amusement. "Sweetheart, no wonder you're depressed. You've turned to microwave usage as a source of entertainment."

╰➤ A giggle escapes you and you squirm in your seat from her teasing.

╰➤ Sweetheart.

╰➤ The pet name echoes in your ears.

╰➤ "There's not much else to be entertained by. The wallpapers here are quite dreadful."

╰➤ She grins, glancing at the wall behind you. "Oddly obsessed with microwaves and picky about interior design. Noted."

╰➤ Your nose scrunches as you fight off another smile, sighing melodramatically.

╰➤ Sevika looks as if she's going to speak again. But then her phone vibrates against the tabletop quietly. She grabs it, peering at the screen before exhaling. "That's my cue." She says with a reticent expression. "My lunch break is up."

╰➤ You feel yourself deflating but you do your best to cover it up, nodding instead. "I should be getting back too."

╰➤ You both stand up, the lingering tension in the atmosphere snapping like an elastic band. Sevika spares you one more look, pocketing her phone and stretching her arms. Her smile is small but the effects of it leaves you feeling disembodied.

╰➤ "See you around, sweetheart." 

╰➤ Then she leaves.

╰➤ You stare at the door in front of you, trying to gain the courage to knock on it.

╰➤ This is ridiculous, really.

╰➤ You're ridiculous.

╰➤ Your palms are sweaty and your heart is beating entirely too fast. You want to turn around and walk back to your own office. You want to forget about ever doing this, or being delusional enough to think that this was a good idea.

╰➤ But you've already gone through the trouble and effort of preparing everything...

╰➤ Plus, numerous coworkers have witnessed you standing in front of this door for quite some time now. Turning around and walking away without even knocking would not only be embarrassing, but also probably attract some negative attention.

╰➤ Sucking in a breath, you raise your free hand, knock three times, then exhale.

╰➤ One second passes and you instantly regret it.

╰➤ You shouldn't have done this.

╰➤ You're sure numerous minutes pass before the door finally swings open—at least it feels that way. Round brown eyes greet you and your heart skips a few beats.

╰➤ You definitely should have thought this through a little more.

╰➤ "Oh, Kai." You breathe. "Hi."

╰➤ “Hey!” Surprise filters onto their features. "What are you doing here? Have you been standing out here for long? Sev—uh, you have…” They disappear behind the door, whispering something indiscreetly. 

╰➤ "I was just stopping by." You shift your weight, growing uneasy. You try to glance past them but it's hard to see considering you're several inches shorter than them. "F-For um, well... I was hoping to speak to Sevika."

╰➤ Kai appears in front of you again, smirking impishly. “...Any minute now, Vika. It’s not like you have someone waiting out here for you or anything.”

╰➤ You swallow. Inconspicuously, you glance around you, hoping that no one is eavesdropping from their cubicles. "I was wanting to give her something. I'm sorry that I interrupted." You rub your palm against your forehead, not knowing where to go from here. "Honestly, it can wait. It's not urgent or anything. It's just a gift. I know we don't usually stop by each other's offices like this so I'm sorry for showing up unexpectedly. I just thought...I don't know. I can come back? Yeah, I'll just come back another time-"

╰➤ "That's not necessary." Sevika appears over the shoulder of Kai. Your chin tilts up in order to meet her gaze, and you take a few steps backwards, clasping your hands behind you. "You weren't interrupting anything." The handsome woman muses, brows raised. You marvel at the way that her eyes glaze over you, up and down, before settling on your face again.

╰➤ Nodding, you allow your attention to flicker to Kai, who is now standing in between the both of you with raised eyebrows. The awkwardness of it all makes you clear your throat, shuffling your feet and wishing you had thought of a better way to do this. Maybe you should haves waited until you saw Sevika again in the break room.

╰➤ "I’ll catch you guys later, okay?” Kai chirps, barely glancing at Sevika as they pocket their phone. They’re practically beaming at the both of you when they step past the door threshold. Then, they disappear behind the rows of cubicles.

╰➤ Your mind reels at everything that's just happened. You struggle to fully understand why the temperature of the central AC suddenly feels like a searing heat wave. 

╰➤ When you peek over at Sevika, you find that she's already observing you. Her two front teeth sink into the plump flesh of her lower lip, eyes a darker shade of grey and swarming with undeniable heed. You can't help but admire her lips and how they appear to be perfectly crafted. They look softer than a billow of feathers, and you desperately want to touch them—want to feel them—and want to allow them to sweep you up into another world.

╰➤ That hunger inside of you grows, a specific feeling that she's only been able to bring out lately, and you know that no one can ever satiate such a desire but her.

╰➤ God.

╰➤ You've got it bad.

╰➤ She releases her lip and you become enamored with the way her throat jostles as she swallows. Painfully aware of your obvious staring, you force your attention back to her eyes.

╰➤ "I've got something for you," You say. Your voice is unfamiliar to your ears—huskier.

╰➤ Silently, she gestures for you to come in. You step forward and close the door behind you.

╰➤ Sevika's office is similar to yours. The desk and chair are quite the same, along with the filing cabinets and additional chairs for guests. But she also has a dark purple rug, with numerous framed pictures and a mini fridge shoved in the corner.

╰➤ A pair of dark purple curtains are drawn, allowing the sunlight to creep in, and more picture frames line the windowsill.

╰➤ Before you allow yourself to get too swept up with your surroundings, you turn to her and pull your left hand out from behind you, which holds a card. It's a simple blank one that you bought at the store and it has the words thank you written with one of your favorite sparkly ink pens, along with your signed name and lip print stained by your favorite lipstick shade. Above the personalized message are a few pairs of pressed tulips.

╰➤ "I just wanted to express my gratitude." You explain. She takes the card, staring down at it silently. "I was feeling a bit down the other day and you helped me by keeping me company. It may sound silly because it was just a simple conversation but," You shrug. "Conversation goes a long way sometimes. Especially for those that need it."

╰➤ Her thumb traces over one of the petals, lips parting and eyes widening. It's hard to know exactly what she's thinking and a part of you believes that maybe you've overstepped—that you've crossed an unspoken boundary. Her ongoing silence causes an unexpected panic to stir within you.

╰➤ Desperate to clean up a situation that you fear will go haywire, you open your mouth to say, "These are from a small garden that I’ve been trying to grow." Your forefinger hovers above her thumb, gesturing towards the flowers. "I pressed them myself, so that they won't die on you." You lick your lips, mouth feeling dry all of a sudden. Oh god. Why does she look like that? Why isn't she saying anything? This can't be good. "And I...well, now that I'm thinking about this, I'm realizing that this may be coming off as weird. I'm sorry. If I've made you like...uncomfy or anything, I totally understand and I'm sorry. My intention wasn't to make things weird."

╰➤ Her head raises at that, expression completely unguarded. It's rare when you're able to see unfiltered emotions flitting across her features. Sevika isn't the type to walk around with her heart on her sleeve. But with the way that she's looking at you, you realize that there's something unbelievably tender about her gaze.

╰➤ "And you'll probably tease me for this," You continue. You curse yourself for sounding breathless. Tearing your eyes away from her, you point at the card again. "But I used my microwave to press the flowers. Only because the other methods would have taken too long."

╰➤ That's when she laughs.

╰➤ You exhale softly from her hearty chuckles, relief immediately enveloping you.

╰➤ Laughter is a good sign.

╰➤ "I should have maybe waited to give you the card. I just didn't want to anticipate your reaction until noon, if I'm being honest." You wring out your hands, not able to shake the nervous jitters running through you. "I hope you like it."

╰➤ She runs her thumb over the material once more, lips rolling inwards before she rubs them together, deep in thought. You impatiently wait for a sign, any sign, that indicates her feelings towards your gesture.

╰➤ Her eyes, set deep above the plane of her cheekbones, slant as they peer downward towards the cardboard in her hand. She inhales through her nose, relaxes her lips, then exhales.

╰➤ "You didn't have to do this," She finally replies. "But of course I like it." She doesn't smile. However, you do notice a new light in her expression when she refocuses her attention on you. "Also, you apologize a lot." She pauses before adding, "...More than you need to. You haven't done anything weird at all."

╰➤ You want to bury your face in a pillow and squeal. But you settle for a smile instead. "Oh."

╰➤ Her lips crack into a knowing grin before she turns on her heel and walks over to her desk. She delicately positions the card so that it's standing upright next to a picture of her and a skinny brunette man. "The card is beautiful." She observes. Despite the natural raspiness of her voice, it has a warmer lilt to it now. "Thank you."

╰➤ You determine that Sevika thanking you is a new favorite. You want to shower her with endless gestures if it means that she'll continue to show fondness towards you.

╰➤ She leans against her desk, halfway sitting on the top surface, before shoving her hands in her pockets. Through the material of her slacks, you notice that they seem to be balled into fists.

╰➤You shift your weight as a strong sense of pride swells in your chest, opting to rest your shoulder against the door frame.

╰➤Only—you remember too late that nothing is actually beside you, and that the door frame is several paces behind you. Instead, you stumble when you realize that there's nothing close enough to catch your weight.

╰➤ Your arms sprout out in an attempt to catch your balance.

╰➤ "Um," You mumble dumbly, flustered by the mess that you've become. "...Thought there was a wall beside me." You clear your throat, attempting to right yourself again. 

╰➤ Sevika stares at you, eyes dancing with merriment, as she struggles to swallow her chuckles. She forces out a few coughs, trying to cover up her mirth, but it's clear that she finds your lack of coordination entertaining.

╰➤ You rest your hands on your hips in an attempt to find a comfortable standing position. You want to cringe. You want to crawl under a rock and never be perceived again.

╰➤ You puff out your cheeks before blowing out a heavy exhale. The room feels really hot and your heart is doing backflips in your chest. You can't tell if it's because of your stupid schoolgirl crush or the embarrassment of nearly eating shit in front of Sevika.

╰➤ Probably a combination of both...

╰➤ "Gravity really hates me." You jest.

╰➤ Her grin widens. "I can tell."

╰➤ You let out an exasperated chuckle, palm reaching up to rub against your forehead. She has to be aware of her effect on you.

╰➤ Like it's just painfully obvious at this point.

╰➤ Right?

╰➤ Your lips part and your hands pool with more sweat and you feel like the biggest lovesick loser to ever exist. There she is, with her perfect face and perfect laugh and perfect everything. You've barely talked to this woman outside of lunch breaks yet here you are, giving her pressed fucking flowers and worshiping the ground she walks on just because she sat with you for a few minutes. There can't be any other way that you can become more obvious.

╰➤ Your hands are flailing ridiculously around you, towards her plush purple carpet and curtains and picture frames before you're saying, "Nice office by the way."

╰➤ And she's looking at you with that knowing expression that's borderline condescending, which you really love despite how much you want to hate it, when she replies, "Thanks, darling."

╰➤ You blink rapidly and try not to combust right then.

╰➤ Your feet carry you to a nearby bookshelf before you can think otherwise. A shitload of CD’s are neatly stacked on them with names of artists you didn't know anyone still listened to. You preoccupy yourself with shifting through them, trying your best to ignore the zoo erupting in your stomach. There’s collections of Nina Simone and Freddie Hubbard and Bill Withers. Your eyebrows raise at the eclectic catalogue, not bothering to swallow the surprise that sprouts within you. It should be known at this point that Sevika will never fail to surprise you.

╰➤ Your hands tremble as they hold an ABBA CD. They cling tighter to the plastic case, attempting to make the shaking less noticeable. Something warm brushes against your shoulder, before taking the CD from you. You peer at Sevika, observing the way that she wordlessly takes out the disc and moves to a CD player that is situated farther to your left. 

╰➤ Despite her being concentrated on getting the speaker system to work, you’re totally enraptured by her. Her smell surrounds you like a cloud of ecstasy. Her hair is down today, a feathery cut that stops just below her jaw. Loose ends are tucked behind her ear, highlighting the rarest features of her face that you probably have overlooked before. Her lips purse together while she deeply concentrates, puffing out in a way that makes them look unbelievably inviting. Your breath catches, a prominent ache building between your thighs as the room fills with the beginning chords of The Winner Takes It All.

╰➤ She hums underneath her breath as the first verse begins, neatly placing the CD on top of the player. Slowly, her eyes drag back to you, unfocused and clearly lost in the music that fills the room. But then she freezes, seemingly not expecting you to already be observing her. The harmonies of the song contrast to the moment of stillness then; a corded tension falling between the two of you. 

╰➤ The feelings you have in that moment are visceral. Your head is spinning and your heart is racing. No matter how hard you swallow, your throat remains dry and your skin yearns for her—for her touch and her warmth and her firmness. 

╰➤ Your eyes burn and you have to blink rapidly in order to clear your vision. You can't understand why these feelings have hit you so suddenly, and why they're so intense for a woman that's only your coworker. But you try not to scold yourself too much, rubbing your palms against the material of your skirt instead.

╰➤ “What’s wrong?” She whispers, scanning your face.

╰➤ And that's when you realize how close you're standing to her. Maybe you were the one to step forward—or was it her?—and shorten the distance, but you can't know for sure. You should pull away. You should bid her a good day and return to your office (you'll have to be on the clock soon anyways) but you can't.

╰➤ You can't because it's too late. She’s already roped you in with her aloofness and cheshire grin and warm sultry voice. The window to escape has already passed. You're simply in too deep now.

╰➤ “You're just really fucking beautiful.” You blurt out. 

╰➤ When Sevika registers what you've said, it seems like she stiffens in shock. Her lips part, a sharp breath being sucked in while her stare intensifies. 

╰➤ You don't have enough wits to properly downplay your words or try to retract what you've said. The most you try to do is blink away the tears in your welling eyes and say, “I’m sorry.”

╰➤ You take a step back, then two. The reality of the situation hits you like a brick wall. You let out a heavy exhale, trying to calm the storm beginning to brew in your mind.

╰➤ Holy fuck.

╰➤ What if you’ve made her uncomfortable? You've clearly crossed a line. You're at work. In fifteen minutes, you’ll both be on the clock and trying to get your day started. This is inappropriate. 

╰➤ You feel like employees from the Human Resources department will barge right in at any moment, confronting you about your intentions and hauling you off to be questioned. Guilt rumbles in you like an unrelenting river breaking through a dam.  

╰➤ Sevika is shaking her head, eyes searching yours with growing alarm. “Sorry? Sweetheart, you have nothing to be sorry fo-”

╰➤ “...with the flowers and the card and calling you beautiful. I shouldn't be doing those things and saying stuff like that. I mean, not because I don't think you're beautiful. You're so beautiful. It's just... Oh lord—I’m doing it again. Fuck. Frick. Uh,” You gulp, taking a few more steps backwards. “I just don't want to make you uncomfortable. I'm totally aware that we’re coworkers. And I don't wanna be that one creep in the office who-”

╰➤ “No, it's okay.” She shakes her head again, a small smile appearing on her face. “You haven't weirded me out at all.”

╰➤ You stop mid rant, mouth hanging open and eyes trailing back to her. “Are you sure?”

╰➤ “Completely sure.” 

╰➤ Your attention hooks onto the details of her laugh lines. They become more prevalent as her smile widens. You want to brush your lips against hers and feel the curve of her laugh lines against your skin. 

╰➤ You fight the urge, responding with, “Okay,” instead. 

╰➤ She hums quietly underneath her breath, arms folding against her chest. 

╰➤ “Okay,” She echoes. Her weight rocks backwards, a slight sway that causes her hair to brush lightly against her jawline. You're captivated by the sharp edge of her jaw—and how it seems to become even sharper with each passing second—as she momentarily clenches it. 

╰➤ She’s opening her mouth to say something else when there's a knock on the door. “Sevika?” The silhouette of a woman, probably a coworker, shines through the frosted-glass door. Reality slams into you like a semi truck.

╰➤ Your heart jumps at the interruption. For some reason, you take a few more steps away from Sevika and your muscles tense.

╰➤ There's a hesitation that looms in the air. 

╰➤ Sevika's eyes hold something undefinable. Her gaze is level and full of intent. And you can't understand why everything feels so convoluted right now.

╰➤ After a few agonizing seconds of silence, she sighs, shoulders falling as she shifts her attention to the ground. “Come in.” 

╰➤ The door opens and a pretty brunette with glossy lips and mascara-coated eyes walks in. You've seen her numerous times throughout the day. She's one of the receptionists. 

╰➤ She smiles at you and you're surprised when she greets you. You’ve never realized she knows your name. 

╰➤ “Tara,” Sevika addresses. “What's up?”

╰➤ The receptionist turns to her, “I was trying to call you but it was going to voicemail. I wasn't sure if you’ve turned on your phone for the day? I’m really sorry for interrupting. But you have a gentleman waiting for you in the lobby, he says he has an 8 o’clock with you? I just wanted to confirm.” She clears her throat, shifting her weight awkwardly. Then she’s eying you again with a small smile. “I’m sorry—”

╰➤ “No, no. You're totally fine.” Sevika’s features morph into an expression that's more genial. “Did you catch his name? I do think I have an 8 o’clock, I just lost track of time.” She’s making her way over to the CD player, swiftly cutting it off. The music stops and the air stills.

╰➤ Hair stands on your skin as she walks to her desk, fiddling with a few buttons on her landline. 

╰➤ “Yes,” Tara replies, glancing down at a yellow sticky note. “He’s from the branch in Chicago. He goes by…”

╰➤ “I’ll catch you later, Sevika.”Your voice is rushed and barely above a whisper. The feeling of overstaying your welcome floods you.

╰➤ Sevika glances up under her lashes, hands faltering from the paperwork she's rummaging through. You don't give her a chance to reply, simply shooting her a smile and wave before slipping out of her office. 

╰➤  You sigh at the sign in front of you, bold words reading, BROKEN! PLEASE USE ANOTHER ONE on a piece of paper attached to the microwave. A low groan burns in the back of your throat. You’re starving. In fact, it’s been forever since you’ve let yourself grow this hungry.

╰➤ You didn't eat breakfast this morning. You were too preoccupied with thinking about Sevika’s gift, and how the hell were you going to give her a card with pressed flowers in a non-creepy way. But the task has been done, and for the most part, Sevika didn’t appear turned off by your gesture. So now, you are hungry. 

╰➤  Your stomach growls and your mouth pools with saliva. Spinning on your heels, you march out of the break room, trying to think of any other parts of the building that has microwaves. Your floor definitely doesn’t, which means you would have to take the elevator. And you don’t want to do that, especially if it means having to walk through another department. 

╰➤  Your mind is swarming with what ifs and maybe’s as you travel through rows of cubicles. The possibility of finding an unoccupied microwave is slim to none. If the one on your floor has been broken all morning, then there’s surely a growing line at the other ones. Dread gnaws at you and you huff with distaste. 

╰➤  There’s a part of you that considers eating your food cold. But your nose wrinkles at the idea and it’s quickly disregarded. 

╰➤  When you reach the elevator, you're met with the sight of Sevika leaning against the adjacent wall. She is lazily scrolling on her phone, her other hand occupying her pocket, and her cross body bag hanging off of one of her shoulders. Similar to the sudden dip of a rollercoaster ride—visceral and unexpected—a warmth spreads within you. Your head feels light–weightless even–and you can feel the rush of adrenaline coursing through your veins. 

╰➤ Your arm lifts and presses the button that summons the elevator. It’s a silly action, since you’re sure Sevika has already pressed it if she’s waiting for it to arrive. But you need something to do with your body; something that can expel some of the excess energy and calm your belly acrobatics. 

╰➤ Your movement seems to catch Sevika’s attention, causing her scrolling to momentarily freeze as she glances up.

╰➤  Your gazes lock and your breath hitches and you’re pretty sure you begin to hear fireworks sounding in the distance. She smiles and you return the gesture. Or was it you that smiled first? 

╰➤  “Hi,” You say.

╰➤  Her attention trails to the lower half of your face, lingering there for a few moments before climbing back up to your eyes. In a millisecond, she’s pushing off of the wall, body upright and phone slipping into her pocket. “Hey, you.” Her grin curves even more.  

╰➤ You don’t know what’s making you feel so lovesick: the inviting cadence of her voice or the fact that she’s practically glowing. You don’t think you’ve ever seen any blemish on her face besides a few faded scars. Seriously–what kind of skin care routine did the robust woman have? You made a mental note to ask her. 

╰➤ “The weather’s been nice today.” She adds.

╰➤ You fight off a chuckle, nodding in response. The conversation is elementary and completely like all the other ones that you’ve had with her countless times before. But you enjoy how mundane your chats are with Sevika. It isn’t really the topics that interest you rather than the calming consistency of her presence. The both of you could be counting the wall tiles to pass time for all you care. 

╰➤ Sevika cards her fingers through her hair as she rolls her eyes at a corny dad joke you’ve just told. “Clever.” She quietly muses, husky voice thick with sarcasm. Her lips are fighting off a smirk though, so you know she isn’t as annoyed as she’s trying to seem. 

╰➤ “Thanks.” 

╰➤ When Sevika centers her weight, she peers at the carpet, causing a singular strand of hair to fall in front of her forehead. A small part of you wants to reach out and run your fingers through it, but you softly shake your head to refocus. You listen to the faint rings of telephones in the distance instead.

╰➤“Well,” You drag out, growing uncomfortable by the silence. “Did you have a good weekend?”

╰➤She lifts her head, nodding softly. “Yeah.” A slight pause. “I went to dinner with some friends on Saturday, and then we watched the superbowl on Sunday…Made a day out of it, really…” She clears her throat. “Yeah. It was nice… What about you?”

╰➤ You don’t register the swaying of your body until your shoulder brushes against her bicep. “It was okay, I guess. I finished a novel. Went grocery shopping…did some gardening.” You wrinkle your nose, embarrassment washing over you. “Probably not as fun or eventful as yours, I suppose.”

╰➤ “Ah,” She chuckles. Her bicep brushes against your shoulder again. You can’t decipher if it was her fault or yours this time. “I doubt that.”

╰➤ You offer a thoughtful hum, but keep quiet otherwise.

╰➤ The elevator sounds with a soft ding! All too soon, Sevika is encouraging you to step on board before her. 

╰➤ “Hi Shane,” You say, smiling at the coworker that is already inside of the service lift. He barely regards you, lips frowning and worry lines prevalent on his forehead. He takes off his baseball cap momentarily, revealing a receding hairline glistening with sweat, before wiping it off with the back of his hand and repositioning the cap.

╰➤ “Hi.” The middle aged man grumbles. He nearly throws a fit when Sevika takes her time walking through the elevator doors. His face is firetruck red, left foot tapping impatiently as his finger presses the button for the 8th floor. 

╰➤ Your eyebrows shoot up and you look at Sevika. She observes the entire situation with passive amusement. 

╰➤ “Stupid elevators.” Shane grumbles. 

╰➤ You press your lips together, trying your best to refrain from laughing while reaching around him to press the button for the 6th floor. Usually, there’s a few microwaves on that one. “Where to?” You angle your head towards Sevika.

╰➤ “6th floor as well.”

╰➤ The atmosphere fills with the trademark grinding of the elevator and Shane’s disgruntled mumbling. The minutes tick by agonizingly slow and you even feel bad for giggling quietly when Shane huffs again, looking up at the ceiling with a grinding jaw. 

╰➤ Your fingers press against your lips in an attempt to remain calm, and your eyes flit over to Sevika knowingly. 

╰➤ Shane’s always been pegged as overly anxious and impatient in the office. He seems to be perpetually unhappy with everyone and everything. He seems to just be unhappy in general.

╰➤ A few levels down, the doors open and relief fills you. Riding the elevator with a fretful Shane definitely wasn’t on the top of today’s To-Do list. But then you falter at the sight of a plain concrete wall in front of you. Your eyebrows furrow and you glance back at the row of buttons. The number 6 is no longer illuminated, but you certainly aren’t facing the cubicles on the 6th floor right now. 

╰➤ "Shit…" Sevika mumbles. “This isn’t good.” 

╰➤ “Oh, come on!” The elevator shakes slightly in response to Shane obnoxiously stomping his foot. 

╰➤ Your breath hitches and you feel your arms searching frantically, trying to grab onto something to ground you, but only finding empty air. 

╰➤  Sevika’s already scanning the surroundings, probably for an emergency call box. You don’t say anything. You’re not sure if you can. 

╰➤ Don’t freak out. Don’t freak out. Don’t freak out.

╰➤ “I can’t believe this!” Shane’s voice is several pitches higher now. “I’m going to miss my appointment. Dammit!” He stomps his foot again, snatching his cap off. It falls to the ground and his hands tightly grip his hair–or, what’s left of it.

╰➤Sevika’s head snaps in the general direction of his. “Let’s not do that.” Her voice is icy. It comes off as a command instead of a suggestion and even you find yourself trying to gain your bearings. 

╰➤ Shane sends her a glare but he makes sure to keep his foot planted and his mouth shut. 

╰➤ Your eyes are burning and you're beginning to find it hard to breathe. 

╰➤ You’re stuck.

╰➤ The elevator is fucking stuck. 

╰➤ No–you can’t freak out. That won’t help. 

╰➤ Your hands are bunching against the material of your clothing, feet working into nervous tapping. Oh God.

╰➤ Oh God.

╰➤ Sevika finally finds a button next to an icon with the emergency bell symbol, which doesn’t seem to be immediately obvious at first glance. The noise is loud and jarring when she presses it, before an automated voice begins to speak words that you can’t fully register. 

╰➤ And then she’s talking with an operator, that much you can process, but it’s all blurring together too much for your liking.

╰➤ Shane is breathing loud. Annoyingly loud in fact. 

╰➤ You want to tell him to shut the hell up, especially when he starts crying, but you can barely see through your blurred vision and it doesn’t seem like your body will listen to your brain even if you will it to.

╰➤ Then there’s warm hands pressing into your shoulders, squeezing them, before lowering to your elbows. 

╰➤ “It’s okay,” Sevika reassures. “I just talked to the operator. They’re going to try to reset the system.” 

╰➤ You shake your head and grip onto her shirt. “We're going to die.”

╰➤ “Hey,” Her breath fans against your cheeks as she ducks down to look at you levelly. Her touch retracks before you feel warmness on your face. Her thumbs are swiping your skin. “Sweetheart, it’s gonna be okay.” 

╰➤  That’s when you realize that you’re the one who’s breathing heavy, because you’re also the one who’s crying. Her thumbs are wiping away your tears.

╰➤ “Sev…” You respond, breath ragged. “I’m sorry. I’m just scared, I-”

╰➤ “It’s an honest human reaction.” Her lips brush against your left earlobe as she pulls you in for a hug. “...Better than stomping your foot and shaking the entire cabin, that’s for sure.” 

╰➤ You let out an ugly combination of a sob and laugh.

╰➤ “Not funny, you asshole.” Shane isn’t too happy with the jest.

╰➤ “Hey!” You find yourself objecting. You lift your head but know it’s no use. Sevika’s too tall for you to be able to see over her. “Be nice, you two.” 

╰➤ Shane grumbles a few other curse words, this time much quieter. Sevika tightens her hold around your waist, nose rubbing into your shoulder with an odd tenderness, but she doesn’t say anything else.

╰➤ You’re sniffling as you try to relax in her hold. You’ve given up the task of restarting your heart because you know that you’ll never be able to truly calm down until you’re safely out of this elevator. But for the meantime, you try to distract yourself with the smell of Sevika, and the feeling of her pressed against you. You cling onto her like a raft in the middle of a storm, praying that she can continue to keep your worries at bay.

╰➤ “Sev,” You say again, voice shaking. “I’m really scared.”

╰➤ “I know.” 

╰➤ The elevator slips down a considerable amount, causing the both of you to lose your footing and nearly fall. Your scream melts into a gurgle of cries as Sevika curses lowly.

╰➤ She lowers the both of you to the floor, hands attempting to steady you. The panic you feel is definitely taking over now. 

╰➤ “We’re going to die.” You hiccup, eyes widening. 

╰➤ “Darling,” Sevika pauses. You almost believe that she’s trying to gather more patience, and you can’t blame her if she is. But the pause is too brief for you to know for sure. “We aren’t going to die. Hey–”

╰➤ Her fingers are gingerly pinching your chin, urging you to meet her gaze. An air of passivity rolls off of her. “Can you breathe with me? You’re hyperventilating.” Her brows begin to furrow. “I can’t have you passing out on me, you know.”

╰➤ “We won't make it out of here.”

╰➤ Her lips fix into a thin line, “Do you trust me?”

╰➤ Your reply is immediate, “Yes.”

╰➤ “Can you trust that I will make sure you get out of here safely?” Her palms begin to press against the sides of your face, holding you close to her. She strokes the apples of your cheek with her thumbs, expression pensive. “I've got you. I…” She wets her lips, eyes flickering with an odd light. “I promise.”

╰➤ A few stray tears escape your eyes, rolling down your face and onto her palms. You inhale a long shuddering breath as you nod, mouth souring everytime you think of your current predicament.

╰➤ “Okay.” You rasp. 

╰➤ The both of you are a breath apart, huddled in one of the corners. That's when you realize that you're actually sitting in her lap. 

╰➤ “I just can't believe I’m stuck here simply because I was wanting to use the 6th floor microwave.” Your eyes flicker shut, another wave of doom hitting you. “I just wanted some lasagna!”

╰➤ Sevika laughs. “If only you took the stairs.”

╰➤ “I know, right? I don't usually because I'm lazy, but maybe-”

╰➤ “I get that this is an emotional moment right now,” Shane grunts. “But does anyone have a bottle or something? I really need to piss.”

╰➤ Your nose crinkles. Ew.

╰➤ Sevika grinds her jaw. “You will keep your pants on, or so help me God…”

╰➤ “Okay, okay. I got it.”

╰➤ You clear your throat, shifting in her lap and glancing at Shane. He has his left leg crossed over his right, legs tense and face seemingly straining with concentrated effort. A vein is bulging out of his neck and sweat is gathering around his forehead again.

╰➤ “Tell me another one of your lame jokes.” Sevika whispers, completely disregarding him and squeezing you closer to her.

╰➤ The shift in conversation feels like emotional whiplash. 

╰➤ Everything about today has been weird. You never thought a day would come where you're actually sitting in her lap, and being comforted in the most gentle way.

╰➤ But then again, you never anticipated getting stuck in an elevator with her so…

╰➤ “They are not lame.” You refute, feigning offense. “They're dad jokes.”

╰➤ “Okay, well...” Her attention zeroes in on your nose. One of her hands raises, brushing at it before inspecting a small fuzzy and flicking it away. “Tell me one of them.”

╰➤ Your blink in thought, scanning your brain for one that you haven't told her yet. It's starting to become hard to decipher which jokes you have and haven't shared with Sevika, especially as the months continue to carry on. You fear that you'll run out of them sooner than you’d like to (at least the funny ones) and then you won't know how else to entertain her. 

╰➤ “What do you call a fake noodle?”

╰➤ Her forehead scrunches as she ponders on a possible answer. 

╰➤ A slow smile curves at your lips while you mutter, “An impasta.”

╰➤ You can practically see the gears in her brain shifting before she registers the pun. Her lips are puffy from constantly being chewed on when they pull into a playful scowl. The tiniest wrinkles appear along the slope of her nose as she scrunches it, eyes peering at you through narrowed slits.

╰➤ “You're ridiculous.”

╰➤ That causes you to laugh, heart warming at the slight annoyance in her voice.  “Ridiculously funny and charming? Sure.”

╰➤ “...Oh my god.”

╰➤ “You love my jokes, just admit it.”

╰➤ “Sweetheart…They're not actually yours. I know you google them.”

╰➤ “ It's my delivery though. No one delivers jokes better than I do. It takes actual skill.”

╰➤ “Somehow, I find that hard to believe.”

╰➤ “...There's the timing you have to consider and the vocal inflection.” Your hands fall down her arms, resting in your lap as they tug on one another. “It involves real artistry.”

╰➤ “How dumb of me to think otherwi-”

╰➤ “Oh, thank you! God! Thank you!”

╰➤ You jump at Shane’s outburst, examining the way he stands to his feet, a grin breaking across his face. He’s pointing at the elevator doors, which are now closing. A low hum fills the air. Soon after, the sound of cogs becomes louder and the elevator begins moving.

╰➤ You and Sevika startle at the sudden shift, moment now broken. When you peer at her, she's smiling softly, grey irises drinking in every one of your features. 

╰➤”I told you we’d be okay.” She says.

╰➤You're too relieved to properly respond, allowing her to help you stand up instead. 

╰➤ The intercom beeps and a voice says, "Rescue team here. Please remind us how many people are there with you?"

╰➤ “If you feel any sort of stress from today, please don't hesitate to use this number.” Cam says as he shoves a business card into your hand.

╰➤ You roll your eyes. “I’ll be fine. I swear.”

╰➤ “There's no shame in using the services, I promise. Just input your employee number and the company code on the website and it’ll—”

╰➤ “Cam,” Your left hand reaches up to squeeze his shoulder. You make sure to hold his gaze. “I’m totally fine now, I promise. I’ll admit that it shook me up a little, because it felt like we were going to be stuck in there forever. But everything's okay.”

╰➤ He scans your face, searching for any sign that you're being untruthful. When he doesn't find any, he nods smally. “Go home.” His stare becomes stern. “Take it easy for the next few days.”

╰➤ “Cam—”

╰➤ “I’m serious! If you go back to your office for the rest of the day, I’ll take a deduction from your wages.”

╰➤ You roll your eyes, “That doesn’t sound legal.”

╰➤ “I’m sorry, I can't hear you anymore.” He shrugs his shoulders, pacing a few steps backwards. “I have meetings to attend now.” He doesn't allow you to object, adding, “Have a good weekend, kid,” before turning around and leaving the room.

╰➤ It hasn't been long since you’ve been rescued from the elevator—maybe 30 minutes, at most. Cam made his way over to the three of you once he received notice of everything. You feel relatively fine. The medics accessed you first, since you seemed to be the most shaken up when they arrived. And ever since they finished, Cam has somehow convinced himself that you, Shane and Sevika should take the rest of the day off.

╰➤ He also seemed adamant about offering you the free therapy services that your company provides, hence the business card in your hand. But you feel like it might be a desperate gesture to cover his ass. Surely, this isn't the first time that someone's been stuck in the elevator while on the clock.

╰➤ The medic team seems to just be finishing their assessment with Sevika and Shane now. You stand off to the side, watching helplessly, as Sevika sits in a chair and chats casually with a buff paramedic woman. 

╰➤ The three of you were momentarily moved to a nearby conference room when rescued from the elevator. One of the office supervisors said it was to give you all a space to “wind down and decompress.” But you're pretty sure it's because the company is trying to gloss over the elevator incident. 

╰➤ The door to the conference room opens and you're met with the familiar face of Kai. Their eyes are wide—frantic—as they scan the area. 

╰➤ “Dude,”  They gasp, attention on Sevika. “You won't believe the stuff that's circulating the office right now…it's some crazy shit!”

╰➤ Then they’re grabbing one of the chairs closest to Sevika, plopping down in it. “Are you guys okay? Seriously, what the fuck happened?”

╰➤ “We were stuck in that stupid contraption.” Shane butts in. “We could have died and they only care about giving us PTO and a stupid link to telehealth.”

╰➤ It's the first time you've heard him talk since stepping off of the elevator. 

╰➤ “I missed my damn appointment and the fee I’ll get charged is ridiculous,” He slams his hand on the table, fingers spreading out against the surface and jaw grinding. “I’m gonna sue these motherfuckers.”

╰➤ Surrounding medics have been slowly packing up their equipment, but they momentarily freeze at the sound of Shane's threat. The one closest to Sevika lifts an eyebrow, expression bemused as she pockets her phone. 

╰➤ “I’m not sure if you can do that, Shane.” Kai quirks. Their eyes dance with humor as they swallow a chuckle.

╰➤ “I’m 62. I can do whatever the hell I want!”

╰➤ Kai nods, slightly taken aback. “Touché.”

╰➤ Shane grumbles under his breath, standing to his feet with the help of a nearby medic. He’s slightly hunched over, gripping the lower part of his back while he hobbles to the entrance door.

╰➤ “Bye Shane!” You call.

╰➤ He waves you off irritably, not bothering to turn around and give you a proper farewell.

╰➤ “And they said you fainted when the rescue team came,” Kai turns to you, expression morphing into something kinder. You think you see their eyes travel to Sevika for a split second, but you conclude that it’s just your overactive imagination. “How are you feeling now?”

╰➤ You laugh incredulously, “Do people just live to gossip here? That was barely an hour ago.”

 ╰➤ “It's not like there's much else to do around these parts,” Kai grins wickedly. “Besides the scandalous office romances that people chat about. But that's old news. This is the most exciting thing we’ve had since Christmas!”

╰➤ You laugh harder, hands coming up to rest against your cheeks as you work through your shock. “That's one way to put it.”

╰➤ The three of you are alone now since the last two medics managed to slip out of the room inconspicuously. And now it's harder to escape the overwhelming fatigue that looms in the air. Secretly, you thank Cam for giving you the rest of the day off.

╰➤ “I have to get back soon. I’m supposed to be meeting the Amazon delivery driver in t minus one minute.” 

╰➤ “Oh my god,” Sevika rumbles, shoving her friend out of their seat. “Go do your job.”

╰➤ “Yes ma’am.” Kai wipes their hands on their jeans, leaning down and kissing Sevika on the cheek before ruffling her hair. “I’m glad you didn't like, die or anything, loser.”

╰➤ Sevika merely grunts.

╰➤ Kai winks at you, “Bye lovebirds!”

╰➤ And then there were two. 

╰➤ You carefully pivot to face the herculean woman a few feet away from you. The crease between her brows, even though heavily prevalent when Kai was here many seconds ago, are now gone. She stares at you for a beat, lower lip caught between her teeth and hands drumming against the muscles of her thighs. 

╰➤ “Sorry about Kai. They're a bit childish sometimes.” Sevika mutters. But despite her words, you can tell she thinks fondly of Kai. 

╰➤ “I like them.” You find yourself admitting. “They’re funny.”

╰➤ “They’re annoying.”

╰➤ Her lips twitch into the smallest hint of a grin. Your own smile grows and subsequently, her eyelids flutter. In the midst of today's chaos and fading professionalism, the heart of something tender passes between the both of you. The air cracks and sparks fly. It's fleeting—but it's there.

╰➤ Her throat jostles as she swallows, “How are you feeling?” 

╰➤ There's an unmistakable burn within you that her question creates. “I’m better than before.” 

╰➤ Her eyes trail down your body, then back up to your face. You assume that it's a mistake. But then her gaze wanders again, and this time it's for longer. This time, it has more intent.  Your stomach flips.

╰➤ Her lips barely move when she responds, “Good.”

╰➤ You sense the moment slipping away, and a tiny part of your brain nudges you to leave the room and go home. God-forbid Cam stumbles back in and sees that you're still here. But for some reason, you hover.

╰➤ “Thanks for earlier, by the way,” Your tongue feels heavy in your mouth and your hands are growing clammy. “For helping me and stuff.”

╰➤ And stuff.

╰➤ You're not sure if thanking her for the other stuff is appropriate, considering you were practically straddling her and holding onto her in ways that's crossed many, many lines. But that seems to be the ongoing trend between you and Sevika; you cross too many lines with her.

╰➤ “No need to be thanking me.” 

╰➤ You shrug, “...Was still kind of you.”

╰➤ Her lips rub together and that's when you realize how soft they look. A small hum escapes her and you watch inquisitively as she opens her mouth. 

╰➤ But then nothing comes out, leaving her with a slack jaw and gaping mouth. Your brows start to furrow, chest tightening while several more beats pass and Sevika remains dazed. 

╰➤ A whooshing sound fills the air due to the AC turning on. Dust particles begin to circulate around you, and your ankles are tickled by the new draft blowing from the vents.

╰➤ “Is everything okay?” You try to keep the worry out of your voice, but the shift in her is abrupt.

╰➤ Her eyes cloud over with something indescribable, a sense of apprehension rolling off of her in thick waves. 

╰➤ “Um,” Her words drag and her eyes dart away from you. They settle on an empty space between you and the nearby wall. Her body is completely rigid, as if the floor will give out at any moment. “Would you ever want to hang out?”

╰➤ Your heart crawls up the walls of your esophagus, beating with all of it’s might.

╰➤ You shift your feet, then tug at your fingers.

╰➤ “Like, outside of work?” She clarifies. She dodges your eyes, settling on the other details of you instead; like your restless feet and your fidgeting hands.

╰➤ “You’d want to do that?”

╰➤ “Well,” She gives you a sidelong glance. “I wouldn't be asking you if I didn't.”

╰➤ Your internal debate resolves and your smile stretches wide—so wide that you think your cheeks are becoming sore.

 ╰➤ “Oh,” Your voice is barely above a whisper, so you have to clear your throat. “Okay. Well, I want to also.”

╰➤ She mirrors you and breaks into a silly grin, gap visible and nose wrinkling. 

╰➤ “Just let me know when,” You add. “And I’ll be down.” 

╰➤ “How about Saturday?”

╰➤ “Um—wow. I didn't know you meant so soon. Will Kai be okay with you choosing the day on their behalf?”

╰➤ Her eyebrows shoot up. “Kai?” 

╰➤ “Yeah, have you even asked if…” Oh.

╰➤ Oh.

╰➤ Your gut ignites at the revelation.

╰➤ The greys in her irises darken an alluring shade. 

╰➤ “Okay,” You nod, understanding completely now. She doesn't need to say anything more for you to realize the full weight of her offer.

╰➤ God.

╰➤ Oh God.

╰➤ You've dreamt about this moment for months but you never thought it’d actually come true.

╰➤ “Okay,” She parrots. “It's a date, then?”

╰➤ Your toes curl inside your shoes. Nodding enthusiastically, you confirm, “Definitely.”

╰➤  You never are the type to enjoy the action of driving cars.

╰➤ It’s mostly to do with the fact that your life could very well be in someone else’s hands. The likelihood of surviving another day without being in a car accident feels like sheer luck sometimes. 

╰➤ But your road anxiety is heightened even more as you brave the heavy city traffic, trying not to pee your pants at the idea of being near Sevika in less than an hour.

╰➤ You exhale, drumming your fingers against the steering wheel restlessly. Why is this taking so long?

╰➤ After ages of waiting, you’re finally able to get to the other side of town. It’s quieter here and far less busy. Sevika texted you the suggestion this morning and you immediately agreed–the quieter, the better.

╰➤ But your heart stops when you find yourself parked in front of a towering brownstone building, with multi-story terraces and sleek black protective gates. The streets are nearly empty and the distant chirp of birds fill the air.

╰➤ Your lips are pulling into a frown when you look at your phone screen, reading, You have arrived at your destination for the nth time.

╰➤ Swiping away from the GPS app, you allow your thumbs to click on Sevika’s contact number. 

╰➤ Two rings sound before she answers, “Hello?”

╰➤ “Hi–” You crane your neck to look out of your window. “I think I‘m here? I’m not sure where your place exactly is though...”

╰➤ You hear shuffling on the other line along with the soft hum of music. Then you see movement from a window on the second floor. Curtains are pushed aside and a familiar figure comes into view. The sliding glass of the terrace door is pushed open, and she’s sticking her head out, scanning the row of cars lined up along the street. 

╰➤ “Oh,” You breathe, heart stuttering. “Nevermind. I see you.”

╰➤ You remain seated in your car, like an idiot, while her eyes lock with yours.

╰➤ Then she grins, which is a heartbreakingly beautiful thing to witness. 

╰➤ “Sorry for being late,” You rasp into the receiver, eyes never leaving hers. “I got stuck in traffic.”

╰➤ “You’re two minutes late, sweetheart.” Her voice is thick with amusement. “That’s hardly anything to fuss about.”

╰➤ The following stretch of nothing is almost too painful to bear. Something is holding you back from stepping out of the car. Whether it be fear or nerves, you can’t really tell. All you know is that this feels like uncharted territory. 

╰➤ “I’ll come down and get you,” She says. You nod. She disappears into her apartment and the line goes dead.

╰➤ The air of Sevika’s apartment smells overwhelmingly like her: woodsy with a hint of apple cinnamon. Your shoes click against the floorboard when she guides you through the doorway, knuckles brushing against your forearm and leaving a fire in its wake. 

╰➤ “This is me.” Her voice is soft around the lock of the deadbolt and chain guard. There’s a lowly dimmed lamp hanging from the ceiling, a coat rack placed in the corner and a sitting bench to your left.  She looks over slowly–hesitantly; as if she’s trying to gauge your reaction.

╰➤ You find yourself swallowing thickly as you’re smacked with another smell of her. 

╰➤ When you don’t respond, she toes out of her shoes, movements quiet and swift. Silently, you follow her lead. She gathers your boots with hers and positions them underneath the sitting bench. 

╰➤ “This way,” She mumbles. You allow her to side-step, walking down the hall and toward a connecting room, where you faintly see a burgundy living room set. The walk down the corridor almost feels too quick, since you keep getting distracted by the countless art and picture frames lined up on her wall. You realize that the walls appear to be so decorated that you don’t see much of the paint. 

╰➤ Her living room appears to be similar, littered with different pieces of art and photographs that you could stare at for hours if given the chance. The atmosphere is tranquil but the furniture and color scheme is deliberate and poised. The ceiling is much higher than yours and the windows are fairly large. Much of the interior is splashed with dark velvety hues of red and purple. 

╰➤ Two brimming bookshelves stretch to the ceiling, lined with countless collections of CDs and novels. The brick fireplace is already lit and emmenates a warm glow around the room. Sevika’s gaze is clear and level when you peer at her. And her eyebrows lift inquisitively. 

╰➤ “It’s…” Your voice cracks, causing you to clear your throat. “This is really nice.” 

╰➤ Her head is tilted, eyes squinting ever-so-slightly with a nature that is purely meditative; as if she’s trying to pick out any signs of dishonesty. The burning sensation of her dissection is potent. Your mouth pools with saliva as the seconds tick by.

╰➤ A low whistle escapes you as you try to compensate for the tension. “Why so quiet?” Your legs shuffle.

╰➤ She licks her lips and hums. “Just trying to make sure this is okay.”

╰➤ “What?” Your eyebrows are furrowing.

╰➤ She gestures at your surroundings, “This. My home—at least, that you’re comfortable being here. If you prefer to spend time in a more public place, then…”

╰➤ “Oh.” Your features relax. She’s trying to be polite. “No. This is fine, Sev. I’m always comfortable around you.” You wipe your sweaty palms against the material of your pants. 

╰➤ Her eyes follow the movement of your hands, before they linger on the lower half of your body for the tenth of a second while her jaw flexes. You gaze at her with growing anticipation due to the dead silence. She takes a long inhale through her nose, refocusing her attention back to your eyes with what seems like a great deal of concentration. 

╰➤ A shaky smile spreads across your lips. You travel over to one of the nearby bookshelves, which holds a CD player that’s currently playing a smooth jazz solo. You have to find something to do—anything—other than stand there and grow lustful under her pressing gaze. 

╰➤ “You have quite a collection,” You begin.

╰➤ Your back is turned to her as you look through the cases that are neatly stacked together. Despite being covered with clothing, the skin of your back grows hot, as if her gaze is seeping straight through the material of your shirt.

╰➤ “A lot of them were my parents. They loved collecting music.”

╰➤ You don't have the heart or gall to mention the past-tense reference of her parents. Instead, you nod. 

╰➤ You feel like you're hypervigilant to everything about her in that moment. The sound of her weight traveling across the carpet becomes heightened, and the hairs on the back of your neck stand when you see her shadow appearing out of the corner of your eye. When you look towards your left, you struggle to contain the zoo that rips through your stomach. She's close. Very close.

╰➤ Her shoulders brush against yours while she reaches across you to turn down the stereo. "You can pick something else if you want," Her voice dips into something low and syrupy. "I don't know what type of music you like." Then she's walking away. Your eyes follow her as she disappears into another room. "Are you thirsty?"

╰➤ "I'll listen to practically anything as long as it's not country." You shuffle through the CD's, stopping when a particular one catches your eye. A classic. "What do you have?"

╰➤ Once you've replaced the CD with one of your choice, you mosey into the other room to join her. It's a kitchen, fairly minimalist compared to the living room, and painted with nearly all black decor. The sight of Sevika standing there is unfamiliar. Her hair is tied up in a half up half down, small tendrils escaping and brushing against the sides of her face. Her nose is wrinkled, eyes squinted and lip rolled inwards.

╰➤ She leans most of her weight onto her hands, which are resting on the surface of the kitchen island. Her sleeves are rolled up to her elbows, and attention is focused acutely on a book that's sitting on the counter. Something savory wafts in the air and you spy a stove behind her that seems to be emanating an exceptional amount of warmth.

╰➤ "Um," you mumble. "Is everything okay?"

╰➤ Her eyes flicker up to meet yours, at first holding something distant, before they cloud over with an undeniable light. Her hands tighten into fists, pressing against the marble countertop before she relaxes them. Then she's standing upright, one arm falling to her side while the other rubs against her forehead. "I'm..." Her words trail off as she glances at the watch on her wrist. "Fuck."

╰➤ Then she's whipping around, opening the oven door. A small cloud of smoke appears.

╰➤ "What are you cooking?" You close the distance between the two of you, swiping through the smoke before peering into the oven.

╰➤ "Nothing anymore." She sighs. "It was supposed to be—"

╰➤ "Lasagna."

╰➤ You reach for the oven mitts sitting on the nearby countertop, slipping them on before grabbing the deep-dish pan.

╰➤ "I noticed you have it a lot." She continues. "I just thought—since you seem to like it..."

╰➤ You set it on the hot pads, inspecting the top layer of the pasta dish.

╰➤ "Actually, it doesn't look too bad." You say. "It'll have to go back in, and we'll need to turn the heat down to 375, so that it cooks all the way through the layers without scorchi—"

╰➤ That's when it hits you.

╰➤ "Wait," You abruptly right yourself, snapping your head towards her. She's already watching you, drinking in everything you were saying. Her eyebrows raise at your outburst. Hands still covered in mittens, you're stepping around her, doing a double take at the book that's still open on the kitchen island. "Is that a cookbook?"

╰➤ She doesn't immediately respond.

╰➤ When you crane you neck to get a better look, you're barely registering the words Classic Homemade Lasagna Recipe before her large hand abruptly lands on the book with a loud smack! Her fingers are outstretched, keeping you from being able to see majority of what's written. But it's too late, your assumption has already been proven right.

╰➤ The book is shut before you can say anything else. She opens an overhead cupboard, sliding it in there with one quick motion.

╰➤ "Oh my god," You fight off a wave of giggles, lips stretching into a wide grin. "That was definitely a cookbook."

╰➤ She brushes a few loose hairs out of her face and chooses to avoid your gaze.

╰➤ The stillness that follows is nearly unbearable. In the distance, you hear the current song from the CD player fading out. A car is honking from the street outside and the buzz of the AC comes on. You're still turned towards her, hands covered by her oven mitts and cheeks aching from the smile on your face. She continues to dodge you; resolute.

╰➤ You can't contain your laughter anymore. It's bellows out of you like a songbird breaking free from its cage. That seems to finally draw her attention, and wills her to glance at you. Upon locking eyes, slowly, she smiles an equally warm grin.

╰➤ And just like that, the elastic band of tension that existed all evening snaps.

╰➤ Her laughter quickly follows yours, deeper and soothing and just as beautiful as the last time you heard it. Her rigid stance melts away and her fingers relax.

╰➤ "Sev, why—" You wet your lips. "You didn't have to go out of your way to a get recipe and make this. I would have been fine with take-out."

╰➤ "Kai sent me the link to the cookbook yesterday and I figured why not. It was only $20," She rolls her eyes. "Plus it has better reviews than the lasagna recipes I was looking at online."

╰➤ The cookbook was only $20.

╰➤ Adrenaline courses through your veins from such an implication. Sevika bought a cookbook just to make one of your favorite foods. No one's ever done something like that for you before.

╰➤ No one's ever paid close enough attention to even notice your love for lasagna.

╰➤ The way Sevika always manages to nonchalantly flatter you will forever be something you struggle to fathom.

╰➤ You're biting the inside of your cheek, trying your best to contain your buzzing excitement as you place the pan back into the oven. Your back remains turned to her, stomach flipping and fingers nimble.

╰➤ "This is very kind of you to do," You find yourself muttering.

╰➤ "I mean," The sound of her body weight shifting is subtle. "It's our first date. It's the least I could do."

╰➤ "Still kind."

╰➤ You don't allow yourself to brush over one of her many kind gestures. You don't allow yourself to take any of this for granted. Sevika has been very good to you, especially in a world where people haven't been in the past. Often times, she's been more than just your friendly coworker.

╰➤ Whether she wants to admit it or not, she's the one who's actually a sweetheart.

╰➤ "Why don't you like to accept my compliments?" You inquire. You take off her oven mitts, setting them on a nearby counter-space before turning around. Droplets of perspiration trickle down your forehead and the back of your neck. You wipe them away with the palm of your hand, stepping away from the searing hot oven and towards her.

╰➤ Sevika is resting against the kitchen island, arms crossed over her chest and eyes solely fixed on you. You don't miss the way her jaw flexes as you come closer. But you choose to ignore it, positioning yourself to where your right hip is pressed against the island cupboards, just off of Sevika's left shoulder.

╰➤ "Because most of the time, I'm not doing anything extraordinary." She wrinkles her nose. "It's the bare minimum, actually."

╰➤ "Well," You almost come to a standstill as you rack your brain for an appropriate response. "I still appreciate it."

╰➤ That's when you send her a smile. Similar to an innate feeling, you expect her to return the gesture, since there's never really been a time that Sevika hasn't.

╰➤ But the seconds continue to stretch and her smile never appears.

╰➤ Her lips part and her throat bobs as she swallows thickly. You don't think you've seen her eyes look so lucid before.

╰➤ A part of you wants to be consumed by her. You want her to have you; in whatever way that would mean for her. You'd be happy with any scenario. But another part also wants you to remain present in this moment; to fully cling onto every moment that passes with you in her presence. It's a heartbreakingly beautiful conundrum to be in.

╰➤ "The bare minimum barely checks off the list. You know that, right?" Her voice is firm during this wake of silence. Assertive. Strong. But her words manage to undue something within you; something you didn't even know was tightly wound to begin with. "You deserve to receive so much more than the bare minimum from someone. And you deserve to not have to thank them for that."

╰➤ She says it with such conviction that you almost believe that she's been thinking about this for a while.

╰➤Hearing those words nearly break you.

╰➤ They're arguably obvious. But despite how much the general public likes to make instagram captions and TedTalks about it, you've never really been told this before. Not directly. Not with such certainty.

╰➤ "And," She wets her lips, eyes darting away from you for the first time. "Of course I don't want to be too full on this soon. I'd like to think cooking you one of your favorite foods would give me a good start. But there's—" She's shaking her head with creases forming in between her brows. "...a lot more that I want to offer to you other than shitty lasagna."

╰➤ You don't respond for a beat as you feel a new unspoken surge of energy igniting between you two. It's takes form as an invisible current, growing with each ticking second.

╰➤ Her attention doesn't waver, remaining clear and steady and safe. You find it hard to breathe with the careful way that she's studying you. Air pacts into your lungs at an alarming rate and your heart beats a mile a minute while your throat locks.

╰➤ Your lips part. Then, "What else are you wanting to offer?"

╰➤ You watch as she cards her fingers through her hair. There's a bounce to her silky locks that leads you to believe it's been very recently washed. If you step forward more, all you have to do is reach up to touch it. She's so close.

╰➤ Incredibly close.

╰➤ You don't know how it's happened but somewhere deep inside of you, where the abandoned and empty house of your life resided, a bright light has been ignited. Somehow, that house is no longer empty. It's no longer cold. Sevika has managed to cast an exceptional amount of life into you.

╰➤ Everything becomes watery at the revelation; her black marble countertops, her crème colored button-up, the swirling grey of her irises. It's all blurry. You struggle to blink away your welling tears.

╰➤ How typical of you to get emotional during a time like this...

╰➤ Sevika doesn't reply. She just peers at you with an expression that makes her look as if she's short circuiting. The air is warm, with the oven being heated to a scorching 375 degrees just a few feet away. It's warm and Sevika doesn't falter in managing to unravel you from her regard. It's warm, and your hands are reaching out. It's warm because it's her. She's the warmth.

╰➤ Your hands stop mid-reach, hovering in the air as she fleetingly glances at them. Your pulse thumps against the side of your neck; eyelids fluttering. "What else?" You press. A gentle nudge. A plead.

╰➤ You need to hear her say it; for the sake of confirming that everything is requited.

╰➤ She closes the rest of the distance by grabbing your hands with hers. They're larger and wrap around yours without any extra effort. The gesture is small. But it somehow still causes your legs to nearly give out. She tugs you, urging you closer. You stumble as you give into her magnetic pull. But you're too caught up in all that she is to truly feel embarrassed by it.

╰➤ "I want to offer you everything good." Sevika states it firmly; earnestly. "I don't feel that with people very often. But you," She squeezes your hands, puffing out a heavy exhale. Her breath brushes over your face, minty and enticing. "...I'd do anything to bring goodness into your life."

╰➤ "You already have." The lump in your throat explodes, almost blowing it out completely. Your voice is hoarse—thick with emotion.

╰➤ Her breathing becomes shaky and her mouth falls open. You watch as shock transforms itself onto her features.

╰➤ "Seeing you everyday in that stuffy break room...getting to know you and being able to talk to you," You continue, head bowing as you try to gather your thoughts in a way that won't overwhelm her. "Those days rest with me right here." You bring both your hands and hers to rest against your chest. "I already hold a deep tenderness for you. And it's something that's only for you. Do you know that?"

╰➤ She keenly follows your lips as you speak, leaning so closely now that her forehead grazes against yours. The movement is painstakingly subtle but it still makes your surroundings blacken. The feeling that takes over is close to a rebirth; like being pushed into the ocean by yourself and somehow resurfacing with Sevika fundamentally built into you.

╰➤ And when she kisses you, you know, down to the marrow of your bones, that this is something holy. Teeth clatter and hunger intensifies. Her hands have found solace by clinging onto the rolls of your hips, digging into you, hooking you to her. Ink becomes imprinted onto your heart, screaming—scrawling—Sevikasevikasevikasevika endlessly.

╰➤ She trembles slightly when you press against her; your hands resting against the firmness of her biceps. You reach for her further, never fully satiated, while your toes pull you upwards. Your neck cranes and your chest constricts from the way you desperately lean against her. You're chasing her—her mouth, her smell, her lips, her taste—and she welcomes you with just as much desperation.

╰➤ She's whispering, "...okay, okay," her voice a gentle echo. Her fingers curl into you, positively leaving marks. "I definitely know now."

╰➤ Sevika transforms from warmth to burning heat at that moment. You cherish the feeling.

╰➤ Somewhere, not too far away, a celestial body explodes.

╰➤ When she's lifting your shirt off of you, the burgundy color of her duvet being lit by a bright moon shining through her window, that same feeling of your world revitalizing returns.

╰➤ A mix of soft sighs and oh sweetheart and countless cresting follows. Your legs quiver and symphonies sound in your ears while she devours you as if you're her last meal.

╰➤ "Don't stop," you continuously plead, drunk off of the beautiful disaster that such a person could cause.

╰➤ She whispers into your skin, mouthing—kissing—and nipping, with a broken voice, "I won't. I promise."

╰➤ I promise.

╰➤ I promise.

╰➤ I promise.

╰➤ The headboard cracks. There's laughter, and snack breaks and savory kisses.

╰➤ And when you're lapping into her with unadulterated vehemence, giving her everything that she wants to take, you promise too.

╰➤ You'll promise everyday if she asks you to.

╰➤ You'll promise until your life expires—until the world ends. Until she decides that she doesn't want you anymore.

╰➤ Long gone are the moments of uncertainty; of hesitancy.

╰➤ After the both of you have recovered from chasing such a high, her arm remains draped over your waist, tugging you into her. She mumbles, "Stay," with a vulnerability that has you shaking your head before a beat of silence can pass.

╰➤ "Always."

╰➤ Another explosion emerges; this time larger. A supernova.

╰➤ Your lips press against her throat. She shivers. Her grip tightens. The moon shines brighter.

╰➤ Always.

[somnambulants]

i love your writing!! could you maybe do something with exes to lovers with nat?

word count: 3.9K notes: thanks for the request! i’m glad you like my writing! i also may...have started thinking about writing a second part because im super attached to this fic. let me know if thats something you guys would be interested in!

“Barton, you’re such a –“

Your world stops turning at the sound of that voice, everything else becoming static. It doesn’t matter that you’re standing in a room full of people that you’re supposed to be impressing.

It’s been over ten years since you’d last heard that voice.

Vaguely, you know that Captain America is speaking to you but the only thing you can pay attention to is her.

You turn slowly, and the second you lay eyes on her you know for sure.

It’s definitely her.

You see it the second she spots you too.

In all the time you’d known her, she’d always been so much more proficient at hiding things than you but you still see the way her eyes widen as she takes you in and the way her face shifts into something that resembles shock before she manages to mask it.

“Nat!”

You startle a little, having now somehow completely forgotten that Captain America was next to you and that you were in the middle of a tour of your new workplace the second you’d landed eyes on her.

Oh god.Your new workplace.

Your new workplace that was also clearly her workplace.

As she approaches, you futilely look for every possible way you can escape. “This is Y/N. Fury’s informant while Agent Emery is on reconnaissance. Y/N this is Natasha Romanoff.”

Natasha? Romanoff? Absurdly, you have the sudden urge to laugh.

She really couldn’t have come up with a better name after fleeing the country all those years ago? It’s a surprise to you that you hadn’t heard about her sooner with that alias.

Pushing that thought away and hoping that your face shows the professionalism you’re trying to convey, you straighten your spine and clear your throat. “Nice to meet you.”

Captain America’s eyes flick between the both of you. Maybe you’re not doing as good a job as you’d thought.

Natalia-Natasha takes the hand you extend to her and shakes it. “Likewise,” she says, and you hate the way your body still reacts to her voice all these years later; hate the way her touch still makes you feel.

Even more so, you hate that you don’t know what it is you’re feeling more of as you look into her eyes: fury or heartbreak.

She makes a flimsy –well flimsy to you – excuse and leaves the conversation after that. You watch her walk away, clenching the hand she’d touched into a fist as you resist the urge to put it through the wall next to you.

Somehow you think you’d have a hard time explaining it to the man still standing next to you, who is now watching you with a thoughtfully puzzled but not suspicious expression.

Not yet, anyway.

--

Your dreams that night are fitful and full of her. The first time you’d met, you’d been nothing more than children.

There are no children in red room though. Only fighters and a fighter, she definitely was.

You? Not so much. You’d never been designed to last more than a day in that place and you wouldn’t have, if not for her.

Natalia throws you back against the mat, again and then again and again. Each time you stand up with more difficulty until eventually, she throws you down so hard your vision blurs for a second.

You never had a chance against her, something you knew before you even stepped foot into the room and you know they must have known that too when they set you up against the most experienced fighter here.

It’s abundantly clear you’ve been set up to fail.

The next time she hits you, your legs give out beneath you and you can’t bring yourself to get up this time, even though you know what’s going to happen to you if you don’t.

You know how this works.

Bracing yourself for impact, you close your eyes and wait. It’s pathetic. You know.

The final blow never comes. When you finally crack open an eye, you find Natalia, arms crossed, just gazing down at you.

It might have been your imagination but her eyes don’t seem quite as hard as they had been before.

She extends a hand after a second of her just watching you and you watching her. A little part of you is convinced it’s a trick; that the second you take her hand, you’re going to fail whatever test this is.

Still, against your better judgement you take her hand and, rather than the macabre images playing out in your mind, instead she actually helps you stand, surprisingly gentle as she does so.

She gives you a second to reorient yourself and then her whole demeanour changes, turning cold and stiff as she crouches down back into a fighting position.

“Try again.”

Just as abruptly, you’re thrown into another and another. Quick flashes of the past that still haunt you.

Natalia taking you on your first mission.

Natalia holding your hand as you cried over the body of the first man you’d killed.

Natalia lying beside you on your mattress, running her hands through your hair gently when your nightmares became so bad you’d go days without sleeping.

Years and years of training. Years of bruises and broken bones. Mission after mission. Somehow, it’s all maybe not-quite worth it but it almost is – almost – because of her.

When you kiss her for the first time, you think that might be the first time either of you has had any control over what you do with your bodies. 

You can't remember a time where you'd had something you'd ever wanted and you wanted her so badly.

You can’t get enough of it. Or her.

And then, one day, you wake up and she’s just... gone. 

--

The next morning, feeling irritable and exhausted from your disturbed sleep, you walk into the avengers training room and find the one person you’d been hoping wouldn’t be there.

Of course, your mind spitefully whispers because of course it wasn’t enough for the universe to thrust her back into your life but it had to throw her in your face too.

When you enter, she has her back to you but you know she knows you’re there by the way her back stiffens slightly.

You watch as she stands up straighter at the words you throw at her back, unable to help yourself: “What is this? Babysitting duty? I think we’re passed that, aren’t we?”

She turns to you. “I usually come here early,” is all she says. She doesn’t respond to the bite in your voice.

You make a non-committal sound and then just decide to ignore her, stomping past her to make your way to the far corner of the room. You work by yourself in peace for about ten minutes before you hear the sound of footsteps and all of a sudden she’s in front of you.

“I need a partner,” she says. 

You have the urge to laugh in her face, before it strikes you how cathartic it would be to punch her right now, no matter how childish it might be, so you stand, letting the weight you’d been holding drop back to the floor with a loud thud, and follow her across the room.

You both crouch down in anticipation and you take a second to really look at her.

Her expression is unreadable. The pang you feel when you realise that surprises you.

There had been a time when you’d known her like the back of your hand and now she's nothing more than a stranger standing in front of you.

It hurts a lot more than you’d thought it would.

--

This continues for weeks. You don’t know why you let it happen but you do. You get up early; you go to the gym; you spar with her and then you fulfil the duties you’d been hired to do.

It’s almost easy to slip back into that headspace of your whole life revolving around her. Because it does. All you do is think about her when you’re not around her.

Over those weeks, you still barely speak a word to her because at least if you don’t speak, you have some kind of power.

To your surprise, she lets you ignore her, lets you pretend you don’t hear her whenever she speaks and you resent her a little more for that. You’d rather she hated you as much as you want to hate her.

It would make it all so much easier.

--

Eventually, though, you break.

You’re not strong enough to ignore your desire to know everything; to know how she’d ended up here. And why she’d clearly cared enough to stick around and try and save the entire world when you, a single person, hadn’t even been worth enough for her to stay.

“Why,” you pant, mid spar one morning. She’s kicking your ass, as usual. “Why here? Why the avengers?”

You’d sworn to yourself you’d never ask her this question but the yearning to know has been burning inside you since you’d walked into this building over a month ago now.

Equally as breathless, Natasha drops the careful façade she’d had up and looks at you with those eyes; the ones that could have made you do anything at one point in time. You’re not convinced they still couldn’t. “I wanted to do better… be better than what we were…. Isn’t that why you’re here, too?”

That answer hurts you more than any of the hits she’s landed on you this morning. And there’s been a lot. She’s still the superior fighter, even if she had left so long before you.

God, those words hurt to hear. Especially to have you lumped in with the clearly bad part of her life, whether it was her intention or not.

Maybe that’s why you say what you say next. Maybe there’s a little part of you wishes this whole situation would hurt her as much as it hurts you.

“How… uncharacteristic of you,” you ignore the last part of her sentence because honestly: you don’t know why you’re here. You feel like you’ve been lost and drifting your whole life and the only thing that had ever made sense to you was her.

You know your bitterness has bled into your voice with your words but you don’t make any effort to mask it. And if you can hear it, she definitely can too.

In the blink of an eye, she stops sparring with you, straightening up quicker than even you can catch. You let out a breathless huff of air as she grabs the front of your shirt pulling it so you’re forced forward until you’re almost nose to nose with her.

You hate that for a split second, before you can control yourself, you lean in slightly. As much as your mind can’t stand her, your body has no such feelings and it still wants her. You know you have no hope of hiding it from her so you don’t even bother.

“You don’t know me,” she says. The words come out of her mouth fiercely but the look in her eyes is soft, beseeching, like she wants you to hear her. “I'm not that person anymore.”

Like it matters.

It’s like you’re suspended in time for a second, and all you can think of as you look into her eyes is of the woman you knew.

You hate that you still miss her.

There’s a flicker of something in her eyes that you want to believe mirrors the torrent of emotions currently taking over you – the sadness, the anger, the grief – but you know better than to have hope when it comes to her.

You know all too well how it ends. And you’ve had enough of false hope.

Typically, in a fight, you know Natasha would come out on top – has every time -- but she’s never had your anger directed at her the way it is now and she isn’t expecting the way you’re practically vibrating with it as you shove her away, so hard that she stumbles backwards, only just managing to stay on her feet.

“Clearly,” you spit at her as you straighten up, and start walking towards the exit.

You know she’s still just standing there in the same spot. You can feel her eyes on you.“Yeah, run away,” she mutters under her breath.

It’s the first time she’s shown you the attitude you’d been giving her for weeks and her reaction is justified, you can admit it, but you don’t care.

You spin around, fury overtaking you as you advance on her until you’re pinning her against the wall behind her. “Sorry,” you hiss, glaring into her eyes. “I forgot you’re the only one who can do that.”

“That was different.”

You laugh. It’s not a nice one. It sounds like an injured animal trying to claw it’s way out of your throat. 

“Why? Because it was you doing it? Excuse me for not being —“

All of a sudden, she’s kissing you. Or you’re kissing her.

Either way, you’re kissing and you don’t know how exactly it happened but you know that you can’t get enough of her; can’t get her close enough even though there’s no longer even an inch of space between you.

She flips your positions, tugging you closer, and you’re abruptly bathed in cool air as she rips your shirt off you, shoving you against the wall.

Your heart picks up rapidly as she kneels in front of you, easing the rest of your clothes off in one fluid moment.

“I hate you. So much,” you tell her as you step out of your pants and it’s not convincing even to you. Still, you repeat it again and again as she kisses down your body – so tenderly and gently that your voice starts to wobble.

You hate it. You hate her.

She looks up at you from in between your legs, now on her knees. It’s such a vulnerable position that you find you can’t look at her and you have to close your eyes. Natasha digs her nails into your thighs as she forces them apart.

“Look at me,” she demands. Her grip tightens until you obey; you know you’re going have crescent shaped bruises tomorrow. Her gaze is soft and tender and just all consuming. You know there’s no coming back from it. You’d never had a chance, even back when you didn’t mind not having one. “Don’t look away.”

You don’t, not even when she finally, finally, touches you and your head falls back against the wall. 

You hold her gaze the entire time knowing how incredibly stupid this is and not caring at all about how much you’ll regret it later when you’re thinking straight.

--

And regret it, you do.

You stop working out early. You walk the other way in the halls if you see her. You know people are catching on that something is going on between the both of you; have caught multiple avengers giving you quizzical looks whenever you’re in the same room and it makes you feel even worse than before.

You channel all that regret into something more meaningful and commit to doing a damn good job at what you were actually here for. And you do. You can admit you do a fantastic job.

Every time you hand a report in or come back from a mission, you swear see a glimmer of approval in Fury’s eyes. Something you’d heard was notoriously hard to come by.

You must have done something really shitty in a past life though because after weeks of throwing yourself into your temporary duties, you walk into your temporarily office and are immediately flagged down by Fury, who debriefs you on the details of a mission he’s sending you on.

You’re thrilled for about three seconds until you see the name of the person you’re going with.

Agent Natasha Romanoff.

Fury is looking at you with a scrutinising expression when you look up from the file. Every time he looks at you it’s like he can see inside your soul. “Is that a problem?”

You grit your teeth and force yourself to smile. “Of course not, sir.”

--

It is a problem. A big problem, in fact.

You don’t speak to her on the flight there. Even though it’s only the two of you confined in the aircraft. You don’t even so much let yourself look at her. You can feel her looking at you multiple times, though, even though she’s piloting and should only be looking at the course in front of you.

There are no words exchanged between you all day beyond the times you absolutely have to speak. 

At least not until you reach the tiny hotel room you’d been given.

The second the door closes behind you both, she turns to you and opens her mouth and maybe it’s cowardly but you cut her off before she even start speaking.

“I’m going to have a shower,” you say and flee the room with your entire carry-on, worried that if you pause to sift through your things, she’ll keep talking.

Still in the same spot, the look on Natasha’s face when you emerge from the bathroom is full of clear exhaustion. You hate the way it makes you feel. Empty. Sad. It’s exhausting for you trying to convince yourself you hate her.

“I’m sorry I left,” she says and you freeze. “I wanted to come back. Find you. I just didn’t know - i didn’t know if you even wanted me to.”

You’ve wanted to hear those words for so long. Now you have you don’t know what to do. “Why did you leave?”

She hesitates. The look in her eyes tells you you’re not going to get a full answer. That as open as she’s trying to be, you still don’t get to know why she abandoned you. “It’s a long story.”

The evasion stings. “An apology means nothing if you won’t tell me why.”

It’s an unfair thing to say. You know that but you don’t really feel like being fair right now.

You chance a look up when she doesn’t respond and find her looking down at the floor. It makes you wonder what — or who — she must still be protecting by not telling you. 

It becomes apparent that she’s not going to say anything else after the silence between you drags on long enough that the tension in the air becomes almost unbearable.

You don’t want to give her the satisfaction of seeing the tears in your eyes so you flick the light off and turn the lamp on your shared nightstand off, throwing the both of you into immediate darkness. It’s definitely too early to be sleeping but you don’t care.

Eventually, after laying there rigidly for what feels like hours and listening to the sounds of Natasha tossing and turning in the other bed, you finally fall asleep and are immediately thrown into dream after dream that quickly turn into fitful nightmares.

Nightmares that may be more aptly called memories. After one particularly bad one that thrusts you back into consciousness, you bolt upwards, still half asleep. 

You only narrowly manage to avoid bumping straight into Natasha, who’s hovering above you, because of her hand on your shoulder holding you in place.

You flinch away from her instinctively and she backs up to give you a little space.

The only sound in the room is your heavy and desperate gasping for air. Natasha, now perched on the very edge of the bed, bites her lip, looking at you as if she knows exactly what you’d been dreaming about.

She probably does. It doesn’t take a genius to guess.

“Are you –"

“I’m fine,” you say flatly. You stare up at the ceiling, absently counting the tiles as you try to slow your breathing.

You’re hyperventilating, you know it, you just can’t get yourself to stop. You’re also sweating, it’s disgusting. You can feel how all of your clothes are stuck to you. Your hair flattened to your neck.

If you hadn’t been dealing with this for so long, you’re pretty sure that you’d think you were having a heart attack instead of a panic attack.

But you have. Been dealing with it. It’s just something you’ve come to expect now. You just never thought she’d be here to witness it.

All of a sudden, as you’re still trying to calm your breathing, the bed dips below you.

Your eyes fly open in shock to find Natasha sliding onto the mattress beside you, still on top of the covers.

Gingerly, she rests her head on the pillow next to your head and fixes her gaze on the ceiling.

It’s slight but her hand brushes against your own a few minutes later.

You suck in a breath between your teeth, but despite yourself, you let her move closer, until she’s so close you’re almost touching, and you can hear her quiet breathing.

Against your better judgement, you let your eyes slip closed again. Seeming to understand you’re not going to push her away, Natasha shifts closer, until you’re both shoulder to shoulder, the way she used to lay next to you when you had bad dreams when you were kids.

She grabs your hand, and slowly, hesitantly, she moves it to her chest where you can feel her heart thrumming rapidly under your fingertips. Surprisingly, it still works; you breathe in and out, in out in out, in time with her heartbeat.

You must at some point fall asleep because all of a sudden you can hear birds chirping outside the window and the sounds of people outside in the street.

When you open your eyes, you expect to find the spot next to you empty and the covers unruffled, as if she’d never been there at all but to your shock she’s still there beside you, awake and on top of the covers.

The circles under her eyes make you think she must not have slept at all.

You slide out of the bed and head towards the bathroom without saying a word, where you turn the shower on and just sit under the spray for what must be at least an hour, letting the water run over you and trying not to think.

This time when you return, she’s gone.

--

The rest of the mission goes smoothly. If nothing else, you both work well together as a team. You can still read her movements like a book, and she knows to anticipate what you’re doing before you even know yourself.

The days go fine. The nights not so much. You don’t speak about it but every night you’re woken up by the same dreams and every night you wake up to find her kneeling beside you.

If you were stronger willed, you would’ve shoved her away the first time, but you can’t bring yourself to. Maybe it’s a little selfish but you can’t find it in yourself to care. 

The last night of the mission is when you finally break, though. Something shifts in the air when you wake yourself up gasping and meet her eyes. The same eyes that had been blank and lifeless in your dream. 

You know she feels the shift as well by the way she’s looking at you, cautiously hopeful.

You don’t say anything though and neither does she. You just lay there, side by side, and watch each other carefully for what could be seconds, or it could be hours.

Her eyes are begging wordlessly: Truce?

Despite yourself, as you gaze back at her, you find yourself giving in. For tonight at least.

Truce.

[cheeriecherry]

Birds Of A Feather [2/7]

Hawks x Fem!Reader

Warnings: like, one swear

Part 2/7

It’s been a week since you started your new position at Hawks’ hero agency. It’s a nice workplace, very accommodating for the staff, and the sidekicks and interns you work with are friendly and sociable. But there’s still a little piece of you that’s bitter.

You appreciated the job, especially when you discovered what your monthly paycheck would be, but the whole place was just so damn...busy. If you’d known that you’d maintain your hectic lifestyle after moving to Japan, you never would’ve come in the first place.

On top of that, despite your presence being requested by the man himself, you’d yet to actually meet your new boss. Not a conversation, a text, a simple hello, or even a red feather. At this point, you were wondering if the guy even existed.

You decide to mull it over some more on your afternoon lunch hour. You find your usual seat in the staff lounge, and pull out a container of chicken curry.

“Hey Y/N! Hawks says he wants to see you in his office!”

You pause with a forkful of food halfway to your mouth, glancing over at the young sidekick who’d just bounced in. “Can it wait until after lunch?” you ask, hoping to at least finish your meal before dealing with whatever you were wanted for.

The sidekick looks sympathetic. “Sorry,” she says, “but I don’t think so. He asked me to tell you to bring your food…”

You sigh deeply, but thank her for passing the information on. Don’t shoot the messenger, and all that. You begrudgingly pack your things back up and bid farewell to the few people in the room, all of which are ominously quiet.

That didn’t bode well.

----

A few minutes later finds you outside Hawks’ office, balancing your lunch container in one hand while you knock on his doorframe with the other.

His door is wide open, and you can see him sitting at his desk, facing the window and the view of the city. He probably knew you were there before you knocked, but there was no harm in being polite… though he might appreciate the humour of you walking in like you owned the place.

“You wanted to see me, Boss?”

He spins around in his chair, a charming smile gracing his features. You wonder idly if he’d planned that little spiel, and if so, how long he’d been sitting like that for.

“That I did, chickadee! Pull up a chair, make yourself comfortable, eat with me.”

You do as you’re asked.

“Sorry for not seeing to you sooner. It’s been such a busy week, villains and disasters all over the place. I swear, I’ve been to every end of the country.”

You sit tidily on the chair, legs crossed and wings tucked up neatly behind you.

“I understand,” you tell him, “you’re number two, after all. You’re in high demand.”

Hawks smiles wider, but you get the feeling it’s lacking some genuity. You don’t call him out on it, though.

“That’s a relief,” he sighs, slouching back a little. “I looked into you a bit before I hired you, y’know? Gotta make sure you had a good track record, blah blah, PR crap, blah, anyways. The reports said you were a pretty easygoing person. I’m glad they were right!”

You pray he doesn’t notice the slight ruffle of your feathers. Easygoing? Is that what people thought of you? You supposed there were worse things to be known for, but you? Easygoing? Maybe you’d become an actress if the whole hero gig didn’t work out for you, if you’d fooled that many people.

Easygoing. Yeah right. Burnt out, exhausted, apathetic, those were all accurate descriptors. But fucking easygoing?! Hah.

“Hey, you alright, kid?”

You’re about to ask him what he means, to tell him you’re fine and completely unbothered, but your stomach has other plans. Right when you open your mouth to speak, a loud growl interrupts you, aggressively sounding in the quiet of the room.

His grin softens a bit, a touch more kindness apparent on his face. He’s concerned.

“I didn’t mean to take your lunch hour away,” he apologizes, “I had actually wanted to catch you earlier today, but you were on patrol. I figured it wouldn’t be very cool of me to approach you and get swarmed by fans. Not productive for conversation, that.”

You shrug. “I haven’t taken it personally.” In fact, you hadn’t taken it at all. He could have never spoken to you ever, and it wouldn’t have made much of a difference. You were here to do your job, and anything else was an unguaranteed bonus.

“Anyways,” he pulls out a paper bucket of what looks like KFC, and pops the lid off, “eat up. Don’t need my favourite employee dropping out of the sky from exhaustion.”

He digs into his own food, and you take yours out.

“If exhaustion could do me in, I would have fallen out of the sky a long time ago,” you mumble, immediately afterwards spooning food into your face.

Hawks bites off a small piece of chicken. “Whadya mean?” And you curse yourself for forgetting he’s sensitive to sound.

You chew your food pensively, making sure to swallow before you speak (unlike him…). “It’s like. Okay. Wing quirks are pretty rare where I’m from, yeah? In my old job, I was the only airborne hero for five hundred kilometers. I got called all over the place, back and forth, never in one place for very long, almost never at home in my own bed. I was sort of...uh…”

“Spread thing?” he supplies.

You nod. “Spread thin. It wasn’t healthy for me. Anywhere that makes you grow to hate your own quirk can’t possibly be good for you.”

“Now hold up, chickadee,” he interrupts, leaning forward in his seat to rest his elbows on the desk. His eyes are wide and surprised, like he’s unable to fathom your words. “How could you possibly hate your own quirk?”

You think for a moment. “Hate is maybe a strong word,” you admit, “but there’s definitely some contempt there. Flying used to be my favourite passtime, y’know? The views, the wind, the sun, the silence. And then one day I woke up and thought ‘god, I hope they don’t make me fly today’.”

Hawks picks a little at his lunch, but is far to engrossed in your tale to pay much attention to it.

“Yikes,” he says.

“Yeah.”

You’re both quiet for a moment before you start speaking again.

“Two weeks after that happened, I moved here. Figured a change might be nice, good for my head, or whatever.”

“And how’s that working out?”

“I still hate flying.”

The conversation ebbs and flows after that, with Hawks not supplying much personal insight on the matter, despite you just spilling your guts to him. You don’t mind, though, and he doesn’t strike you as the kind of person to open up very easily. You probably would have been more disgruntled if he’d offered you some kind of similar story.

The two of you talk a little about work, what your old agency was like, where you went to school, and the questions centered around your life, and none prying into his. You make note of that, and file it away for later.

By the end of the hour, you’re sufficiently full of chicken curry, and your boss looks like he’s fairing the same (you’re not sure how he managed to pack away an entire bucket for fried chicken by himself).

“Thanks for lunch, Boss,” you tell him with a smile, an unspoken ‘it was kind of weird’ in your tone. If he picks up on it, he doesn’t say anything.

He does, however, stop you at the door, tugging you back into the room by your collar with a single red feather.

“Say, chickadee,” his voice is coy, “how’s about we make the afternoon more fun?”

You raise an eyebrow.

“Come patrolling with me,” he clarifies.

“Why?”

“Flying’s more fun when you’re not alone!” he says, as though it’s the most obvious thing in the world. You doubt him, thinking back to all the times you’d ever flown with someone else (re: none). You relent, deciding to entertain his plan.

“Fine. But don’t fall behind, okay? I take my patrols seriously.”

The strange smile returns to his face.

----

After packing up your dishes and throwing away your trash, you follow Hawks to the stairwell. He said it was best to take off from the roof, if you didn’t want to get bombarded by fans.

“Ah, but I’m sure your fans would love to see you!” you tease, marching carefully up the steps. “It wouldn’t take too long, surely?”

He glances over his shoulder at you, pausing so suddenly that you almost get a faceful of his feathers.

“Well sure, if they were just my fans. Most people have seen me before, though, flying around, fighting crime. But you? You’re new. Your fans in Japan haven’t gotten to meet you yet.”

You tilt your head. “I...don’t have fans, boss.”

“You’re kidding, right?” He swivels around on the step, wings brushing quietly against the cramped cement walls. His expression is one of exasperation, and a hint of disbelief. Once he sees your genuine confusion, however, he sighs. “You really have no idea, do you?”

You shake your head. “I’ve only been here like two weeks. How could I have any significant following?”

He looks at you with a fondness reserved for naive children, or puppies. It’s a little patronizing, in your opinion.

“International heroes are pretty big here, you know?” he explains, “and you, little chickadee, were voted number four on the overseas popularity poll this year. Your fanbase here is rivaled only by a handful of heroes, most of which are in Japan’s top ten.”

You’re shocked, to say the least, and Hawks takes your silence as cue to continue walking.

You dodge his wings again, and resume following him.

“How could I be popular and not know it?” you ask. “Surely someone would have approached me by now-”

“Chickadee, when was the last time you were on the ground-”

“This morning-”

“-in the daytime?”

“Oh.”

You think back a little. You’ve patrolled in the skies since you started working at the agency, and your shifts started before sunrise. Plus, you usually flew home, well after sunset. It was just easier than trying to fit into a car and deal with traffic.

“I guess...not since the day I arrived.”

“Exactly! No one knew you were here, then. But now?” He pushes hard against the heavy metal door to the roof, taking a deep breath when it opens and a breeze blows through. “Now, all of Japan knows we work together!”

You saunter out into the sunlight, basking for a few seconds in the warmth. But the thought of your fans quickly overtakes your mind again, and the relaxation is lost.

“Are you sure it’s not fame by affiliation,” you wonder, “because seriously, I didn’t have fans back home. I’ve never been stopped for an autograph, or asked for a photo. I’m cool with that. I just don’t want people to like me because I’m near you sometimes.”

Hawks steps up on the lip of the roof, wings spread wide and overlooking the city.

He stays like that for a few seconds, and you note the deep tiredness in his posture, behind his eyes. You’ve seen it in your mirror too many times.

He’s just as exhausted as you are.

“Thus is the way of the world,” he mumbles, and you’re not sure you’re meant to hear it.

But then he perks up, as quickly as a light switch. He turns on his heel to face you, mischief and playfulness glinting in his smile. “I’ll race you to the bank tower? If I win, you gotta go on patrol with me tomorrow, too.”

You shrug, and take off into the sky. It’s not much of a fight, though. He has agility and familiarity on his side, and he’s waiting for you by the time you finally arrive at your destination.

You don’t mind.

[theculturedmarxist]

The Fight for $15 movement started in 2012, when hundreds of fast-food employees went on strike in New York City for higher wages and a union. Since then, the movement has brought the concept of a $15 minimum wage firmly into the mainstream and won (eventual) hikes to $15 per hour—less than a true living wage in most places, yet double the federal minimum wage of $7.25—in cities, counties, blue states, and red states alike.

But fast-food workers all over the country are still working under dire circumstances, with the COVID-19 pandemic surfacing long-festering problems about wages and safety. And so the workers are still rising up. Today, McDonald’s workers in 15 cities across the country are striking. The actions are timed to the company’s annual shareholder meeting on Thursday and come hot off the heels of McDonald’s attempting to fix a “labor shortage” by offering workers at company-owned stores an entry-level wage of between $11 and $17 over the next several months.  

Precious Cole is one of those striking workers. Cole has been working in fast-food joints since she was 15 years old; she’s now 34. During the pandemic, she has worked at three different restaurants in Durham, North Carolina: Freddy’s Frozen Custard and Steakburgers, Wendy’s, and since last month, a McDonald’s franchise, after she got recruited out of the Wendy’s drive-thru window.

McDonald’s announced they’re raising the average pay in their corporate-owned stores to $15 by 2024, but that’s only 5% of US locations. Workers are striking May 19 because we know that @McDonalds can and should pay $15 to every worker NOW!https://t.co/MpOFIRso97 #FightFor15 pic.twitter.com/igIjZCK2w7

Cole has been involved in various labor actions at her workplaces over the course of the pandemic, mostly over safety protocols, and on Wednesday she’s going back out on strike for a $15 minimum wage and a union. Cole talked to Discourse Blog earlier this week about the strike, her experience working through the pandemic, what she believes are the real reason behind the labor shortage.

This conversation has been edited for length and clarity.

Discourse Blog: How long have you been working at McDonald’s?  

Precious Cole: Honestly, only a month. I got recruited out of the Wendy’s drive-thru to work at McDonald’s.

Discourse Blog: How long have you been working at fast food restaurants including Wendy’s and McDonald’s?

Precious Cole: Since I was 15 years old. My first job was Burger King…I just turned 34 at the beginning of this month.

Discourse Blog: There’s a lot of talk about a labor shortage right now, and McDonald’s put out that statement saying they were going to raise their minimum wage to $11 per hour. Is your store having trouble finding people?

Precious Cole: From my experience, yes. Since I’ve been working, I’ve literally been working 12-hour shifts, because people don’t want to come to work and we don’t have enough people. We even did a hiring event last Thursday, I believe.

I just believe it’s these companies not paying enough, paying poverty wages, and people are just sick and tired of getting paid so little. Especially with the cost of living going up, with this coronavirus that’s going on, people lost their jobs. And it’s crazy that they lost these jobs and they don’t want to even try to get another job because these companies don’t care about their workers.

Discourse Blog: What’s your experience been like at work with health and safety? Have your workplaces been following regulations and everything?

Precious Cole: I had two jobs at once at one point. And one job followed regulations, the other job was very iffy on their regulations. And that led to a movement and us making sure that everybody in that company is safe now.

The [iffy] company was Freddy’s. One of our coworkers went to the hospital because she couldn’t taste her food…she came back to work the next day. And the day after, we got a call saying her hospital record came back and she has coronavirus, and you have to either take a two-week quarantine or go get the swab stuck up your nose. [Cole and her coworkers went on strike in September and then again in October; after the second, the owners of the Freddy’s franchise agreed to pay for COVID-19 testing as well as 10 days of paid sick leave for employees who test positive.)

Discourse Blog: What has dealing with customers been like during the pandemic?

Precious Cole: So in my experience, it has been a lot harder. Like I said, I’ve been in fast food half my life, so I’ve seen and dealt with everything imaginable. But now, you know, they just seem so angry. You get one or two that say, “Thank you for being here, for helping us out, for working during COVID.”  But then you have the other customers where—it’s store policy that you have to wear a mask. “Well, it’s my right not to wear a mask.” And I’m like, “I can’t serve you.” They get ignorant and rude and throw stuff on us.

It’s a whole lot worse now, because I believe people are angered. Half of these people don’t have jobs, or they do have jobs that are paying them little to nothing. People try to feed their families and have gas in their cars, they’re trying to make it to work. There are some people like me who haven’t even gotten stimulus money yet, still waiting on the government.

Discourse Blog: Oh, wow.

Precious Cole: I’m literally living paycheck to paycheck until the government decides, “Hey, let’s give Precious her money that she’s owed and deserves.” I just think they’re angry.

Discourse Blog: Are there any examples that stick out to you from the past year?

Precious Cole: When I was a manager at Wendy’s, I was doing my manager things, making sure my coworkers were OK. No offense, but I care more about my employees than I do the customers. Without the employees, there are no customers, there’s no store. So I have to keep my coworkers safe.

So one day, I come around the corner and I hear one of my coworkers arguing with the customer and I see a large drink in his hand, and I got the intuition. I said, “Oh God,” because it wasn’t the first time anything’s ever been thrown on me. And as I’m walking up to try to defuse the situation,  a whole large cup of lemonade comes through the window. They hit my coworker square in the face, broke her glasses. And in the after-effect of somebody chucking something, it hit three of us. We were dressed, from head to toe, in sticky lemonade. And we still had to work the rest of the night because it was no going home.

Everybody’s going through something. You don’t know what these people are going through and I understand that, but it’s like, you don’t have to throw stuff on us. People belittle us because we work in fast food, but it’s like, OK, you’re here. So if we weren’t here, you wouldn’t be here.

Discourse Blog: How many hours a week do you have to work to be able to pay your bills?

Precious Cole: I would have to say probably a little bit more than 40, maybe between 40 and 50. To pay rent, I have a car note, I’ve got to eat…I live with my elderly mother and that is a big concern for me. She’s vaccinated but about two weeks ago, she was in the hospital. And not trying to think morbidly, but my mom wants me to be OK when she’s gone, and as of right now I wouldn’t be OK. I wouldn’t be able to pay the rent, and the car note, and feed myself, and other necessities like gas in the car.

Discourse Blog: So how did you get involved in the Fight for $15 in the first place?

Precious Cole: The Freddy’s thing. One of my coworkers started talking about this movement she was in and I got interested, and then the coronavirus thing happened [at Freddy’s] and I shoved in full force.

Discourse Blog: What are you hoping to get out of the strike on Wednesday?

Precious Cole: Just that they finally listen to their workers. Not even just McDonald’s, workers all over the world, that we stand in solidarity with each other. We try to get this $15 minimum, and we know $15 is not a lot but I always say that it’s a start. Not the end, but it’s a start.

I just want to see people staying together and McDonald’s listening to their workers and not their shareholders. Something I always say is that I want to see the shareholders walk a day in our life. Pay them what they pay us and see if they can survive.

Discourse Blog: Have you seen more enthusiasm for this strike than other efforts?

Precious Cole: I honestly don’t know because the strike hasn’t happened yet. But I feel like for me, it’s gonna hold a lot of weight because I’m an actual McDonald’s worker. Before, I stood in solidarity with everybody, but now that I’m an actual McDonald’s fast food worker I can speak to some of the things that are going on. One of our Fight for $15 people told me he only makes $8 an hour and my whole mouth dropped. I was making $8 an hour at 18, 19 years old, but nowadays that’s a drop in the bucket.

Discourse Blog: Because of the pandemic and everything you told me, have you and your coworkers talked about eventually forming a union and what that might eventually look like?

Precious Cole: I started at Wendy’s trying to organize people because of what we’ve gone through over there. I tried to get them involved in Fight for 15, so some of them are still involved.

I know they have a lot to say because they say it to me when we’re at work. So I’m just like, hey, like, I have an outlet for you to express all of this stuff…I get that the majority of them are scared to lose their job and I’m trying to tell them, you’re not gonna lose a job because you’re protected; you have the right to organize. And then I’m also trying to tell them that if we form a union, you’ll definitely be protected.

[popatochisssp]

Make You Mark, 6/10

Series: Undertale, Underfell Relationship(s): UF!Papyrus/Reader Chapter Warnings: Extreme Thirst

AO3 Link

In a world where soulmates exist, monsters and humans have one thing in common: the first time two soulmates touch, a mark randomly appears somewhere–anywhere– on their bodies to represent their match.

It still doesn’t make relationships easier…but maybe it does make them a little more interesting!

When that nasty, nitpicky ladder-climing bitch, Gertrude had gotten you fired, you had been incensed.

It wasn’t a great job, you weren’t heartbroken to be let go, and most of your coworkers you wouldn’t even miss—save one.

BP had been there when you were gathering up your things, not really helping but with a look on his face that so resonated with your innermost feelings of impotent, nihilist disgust at management that it felt like he was helpful, anyway.

“This sucks,” he’d muttered in solidarity, watching you angrily cram a sweater into your bag. “Probably gonna make me do your job instead of hiring somebody else…”

“Sounds right,” you’d agreed. “Such bullshit, I can’t believe they’d fire me over…!”

Feeling the burn of injustice threatening to erupt from your mouth in a stream of very loud cusswords or maybe from your eyes in actual tears, you’d forced yourself to laugh instead and even attempted a joke.

“Ha, I should sue for this… Know any good lawyers?”

You hadn’t expected BP to actually look like he was considering it, or to say at length, “…Well…actually…?”

As it turned out…he did.

Tail twitching, ears flicking nervously, BP told you in a hushed and hurried tone that he knew a real good lawyer—a monster one, of course, but if that wasn’t a problem for you, he might even be able to hook you up.

“He works pretty cheap,” BP said, “all things considered. Likes the tough cases mostly, stacked odds and hard wins… I think he’s into the challenge more than the money—he’s probably bored otherwise, y’know he used to captain the Royal Guard, Underground? When we still had one, anyway. Point is, he’s one scary prick, he’d knock something like this out of the park for you.”

You felt you could hardly be blamed for being a little incredulous.

You eyed the visibly jumpy cat beside you, whispering while pretending to walk you out and looking like he’d jump a foot in the air if he heard a manager speaking too close.

“You can get somebody like that for me?”

BP’s ears flattened, in either offense or embarrassment.

“I…! Listen, I…! His brother owes me a favor, I can…make something happen for you…pr…probably…” He shook his head. “Just…keep an eye on your email, okay? You actually did your job instead of dumping it on me like… I…owe you, or whatever.”

You hadn’t been expecting much at the time.

It was a sweet sentiment by monster standards that he was even willing to try to do something like that for you, and you appreciated it for what it was.

The look on your face was probably hilarious when you actually received an official-looking email asking if you were the human seeking a wrongful termination suit— and asking after your availability to meet in the coming week.

-

Obviously, being newly unemployed, your availability was fantastic, which is how you ended up here, nicely dressed and sat outside at a nice little sidewalk bistro, waiting for your pro bono consultation regarding your legal recourse per your recent termination.

…Or at least, that was what Captain Papyrus’ email had said.

Since you have so much time to kill these days, it’s no surprise that you’re early. The past fifteen minutes have been spent fiddling with hems and tracing idle circles around the rim of your complimentary glass of water.

Normally, you’d fool around on your phone but you’re waiting for an Important Meeting with a monster you’ve never met and the last thing you want is to get too absorbed in a game and end up making an embarrassing first impression, or miss the guy entirely.

It’s not until ten minutes to the time you’d set that you realize how silly a thought that was.

You don’t see how you could’ve missed a monster like Papyrus.

The skeleton that strides into the bistro is tall and smartly dressed, exuding such a powerful aura of confidence that you swear for a second you can actually, tangibly feel it. His cheekbones are sharp and his fangs are sharper and when the roving red lights in his eye-sockets land squarely on you, you have to hold back an instinctive shiver.

You have to admit, you’re a little mad at BP, right now.

He never told you Papyrus was hot.

You don’t have time to dwell on it, though, because he’s coming over to you and you have to seem like a normal, respectable human—instead of a thirsty one.

You stand to greet him, smiling pleasantly. “Hi! Captain Papyrus, I presume?”

“YOU PRESUME CORRECTLY.”

He asks your name, his voice surprisingly deep and more than a little sexy raspy and you nod. You absently note that he’s not wearing gloves and hasn’t extended his hand to shake, so you don’t offer yours, either.

“THANK YOU FOR BEING PUNCTUAL,” he says curtly. “I HATE HAVING TO WAIT ON PEOPLE. MY SCHEDULE IS TIGHT ENOUGH AS IT IS.”

“I understand,” you agree, wordlessly encouraging him to sit as you do the same. “You’re doing me a big favor, I really appreciate this.”

Is it your imagination, or did Papyrus’ chest puff out a little just there?

“OF COURSE YOU DO,” he says, the hint of a smile playing along his jaw. “NOW, LET’S NOT WASTE TOO MUCH TIME, WE MAY AS WELL GET RIGHT INTO IT. YOU’RE CERTAIN YOU DON’T MIND DISCUSSING HERE?”

You shake your head ‘no.’ It’s a public place, but relatively deserted at this time of day and you’re not concerned that any really sensitive information will be discussed.

“RIGHT THEN.”

Papyrus pulls a hefty stack of papers from his briefcase, carefully carding through them as if to refresh his memory.

“I’VE REVIEWED YOUR CASE,” he tells you, “AND IT’S SOLID. YOU ARE ABSOLUTELY WITHIN YOUR RIGHTS TO PURSUE WRONGFUL TERMINATION AGAINST YOUR FORMER EMPLOYER.”

Your eyebrows shoot up. “I…really? I am?”

“YES. ARE YOU SURPRISED?”

“I…a little bit, yes,” you admit. “I didn’t…really think I’d be on the right side of this… ”

You’d been angry, certainly. Indignant, absolutely. Utterly railroaded by months of Gertrude’s petty hair-splitting, definitely.

But you had been in violation of the employee dress code, however technically.

You glance down at your hand, the small bit of commemorative ink you’d gotten there staring up at you.

“My tattoo really isn’t a problem…?”

Papyrus scoffs.

“IT MIGHT HAVE BEEN,” he says, “HAD YOU NOT HAD THE TATTOO FOR MORE THAN A YEAR PRIOR TO YOUR EMPLOYMENT AND WORKED WITHOUT INCIDENT UNTIL…VERY RECENTLY.”

He starts flicking through the papers again, pulling out one you recognize—an email chain you’d sent to him, displaying one of several unpleasant exchanges you’d had with Gertrude.

“YOU DID WELL TO DOCUMENT THESE COMMUNICATIONS,” Papyrus tells you. “I USUALLY TAKE ACCUSATIONS OF WORKPLACE SABOTAGE WITH A GRAIN OF SALT, BUT THESE… IT SEEMS CLEAR TO ME THAT THIS…GERTRUDE…REALLY WAS OUT TO GET YOU. AND WITH YOUR TERMINATION, SHE STOOD TO TAKE YOUR PLACE FOR PROMOTION, IF I RECALL CORRECTLY?”

Petty as it was, you’d…kept track of her on social media. You can confidently answer, “Oh, she got it, alright.”

Papyrus nods in satisfaction. “THEN THAT’S ALL THE MORE INCRIMINATING. IF YOUR EMPLOYER KNOWS WHAT’S GOOD FOR THEM, THEY’RE GOING TO WANT TO SETTLE THIS MATTER OUT OF COURT, IT’S BLATANTLY DISCRIMINATORY CONDUCT.”

Out of court? Really?!

“My case is that good?” you ask, still unable to fully process it.

“WELL, WITH CLEAR PRECEDENT ON YOUR SIDE…”

“There’s been a case like this before? That a tattooed employee actually won?”

It sounds unrealistic to you. You’d been so immersed in the rhetoric of tattoos as ‘unprofessional,’ unsuitable to be shown around customers and clients for any reason, no matter what or where they were, that the concept feels foreign to you.

“TECHNICALLY,” Papyrus says, “IT WAS A SOULMARK, NOT A TATTOO. A YOUNG LADY HAPPENED TO MEET HER MATE AND HER MARK FORMED ON HER NECK QUITE VISIBLY. SHE WAS FIRED FOR HER ‘UNPROFESSIONAL’ APPEARANCE, IN SPITE OF HER WORKPLACE’S DRESS CODE FORBIDDING THE KINDS OF COLLARS AND CHOKERS THAT MIGHT’VE CONCEALED IT. SHE SUED AND WON.”

That makes you frown a little.

“Mine isn’t… It’s just a normal tattoo,” you insist. “I got it on purpose and everything, with boring old ink and needles.”

Papyrus doesn’t seem concerned.

“A MINOR DISTINCTION,” he assures with a dismissive flap of his hand. “A MARK IS A MARK REGARDLESS OF HOW IT GOT THERE. ANY LAWYER WORTH THEIR SALT COULD ARGUE THAT YOU COULD GET A SOULMARK ACROSS THE BRIDGE OF YOUR NOSE TOMORROW AND YOUR EMPLOYER WOULD’VE BEEN WRONG TO FIRE YOU FOR IT, SO WHY WOULD SUCH A MODEST LITTLE THING LIKE THAT BE SO OBJECTIONABLE?”

You spare another glance to your ink when he gestures to it, and when you look back up, the skeleton’s expression is nothing short of boastful.

“AS A MATTER OF FACT, I COULD WIN YOUR SUIT FOR YOU IN MY SLEEP!”

A bolt of excitement strikes through your soul.

Hesitantly, hopefully, you ask, “Are…are you offering to represent me?”

Even if on a purely professional basis only, you can’t deny that you’d…really like an excuse to see Papyrus again sometime.

Not only because he’s a very handsome guy with the kind of voice that could make the dictionary sound riveting.

But as you watch, his eye-sockets go wide, his cheekbones reddening at the look on your face.

“I………NO. NO! THIS WAS—IS! JUST A CONSULTATION!” he denies. “I’M ONLY REPAYING A FAVOR INCURRED BY MY SCOUNDREL OF A BROTHER, I’M…! I’M TOO BUSY BY FAR TO TAKE ON YOUR CASE, EVEN AS OPEN AND SHUT AS IT OUGHT TO BE!!!”

……

You thought he was hot strutting over to you before with his chiseled face and his sleek suit and his squared shoulders.

…And now, you think he’s unbearably cute with his impossible blush and flustered expression.

Maybe it’s a good thing he’s not going to be your lawyer, because if he’s not going to be working for you…

You think you kinda want to ask him out.

“Alright,” you decide aloud, “I guess I’ll…start looking for another lawyer, if I decide to…pursue this. Um…in the meantime, though, maybe…maybe……… Oh, no.”

Buzzkill in the extreme, you spot the absolute last person you want to see right now walking down the street—and she’s noticed you, too.

Even worse, a smirk comes across her face and she swaggers on over to your table with a ‘delighted’ cry of your name.

“Hello, Gertrude,” you manage to grit out.

You watch as Papyrus flinches at the laugh that comes out of the woman’s mouth, feeling validated.

You always hated it, too.

“Oh, sweetie, please, I keep telling you, you can call me Gertie! Especially now that we don’t work together, haha!”

As if she wasn’t directly responsible for that.

“Right,” you say flatly. “Look, I’m…really sorry, but I’m… I’m kinda busy right now, so I—”

“Really?” The fake incredulousness of her tone makes you bristle. “I thought you’d have so much time now! You know, since you’re…ahem…job-hunting, at the moment.”

“…Yeah. L—”

“I’m actually kind of jealous,” Gertrude has the nerve to giggle. “I’m so busy since you left, with the assistant manager thing and all. I wish you were still around to help out, but…” She clucks her tongue. “I know you just weren’t a good fit there, what with your ‘lifestyle.’”

Stars above.

You’re out of patience.

“It’s one tattoo, not a ‘lifestyle,’” you snap, “and I’m in the middle of something right now, so can you please just…go?”

This was…sadly, very familiar to you.

Good ol’ Gertie was just too good at the passive-aggressive game: she was a bitch with a beaming smile and she knew just how to work people up until they got mad and then she was the victim who was only making conversation…

And you were the bad guy.

You feel your cheeks heating with instant regret, even as Gertrude gasps and puts on her ‘innocent pearl-clutcher’ act.

“So rude!” she exclaims, scowling at you. “I was just checking up on an old friend from work and you tell me to ‘get lost’?!”

You try not to squirm in your seat. “That’s not what I—”

You’re cut off, like you always are.

“You know, it’s exactly that horrible attitude that got you let go,” she says in a decidedly lecture-like tone. “You’re never a team player, you neveraccept any criticism, it’s like you don’t even care about your work! You obviously don’t care about your appearance, just look at what you did to yourself!”

Your eyes widen as Gertrude actually reaches out to you, making to grab at your tattooed hand. Shocked, you start to stand—to shove her back or scurry out of her reach, you have no idea—but you never make it up.

In one fluid movement, Papyrus is out of his chair, pressing you down with surprisingly gentle claws and moving to stand directly between you and the bane of your existence.

“MA’AM,” he says to her, and the stony chill of his voice makes any words you had die on your tongue. “I WOULDN’T.”

Suddenly, you remember what BP told you about Papyrus—that he was a soldier before he was a lawyer—and that seems abundantly clear now. His entire bearing is obviously military, ready for combat and poised to defend you from even the minor threat that was a judgmental, self-righteous jerk.

Your companion’s demeanor certainly seems to have spooked Gertrude.

She takes a step back, blinking up at Papyrus in shock.

“I… Who are you?” she demands to know.

Your hero doesn’t even flinch.

“I AM THEIR LAWYER,” he declares. “AND I WOULD SERIOUSLY ADVISE AGAINST ANY ACTION ON YOUR PART EVEN RESEMBLING HARASSMENT OF A FORMER EMPLOYEE CURRENTLY PURSUING LITIGATION. THAT WOULD LOOK CONSIDERABLY UNFAVORABLE FOR YOU AND YOUR EMPLOYER SHOULD THIS MATTER GO TO COURT, ESPECIALLY WITH MYSELF AS A WITNESS TO YOUR BEHAVIOR.”

That was a lot of big, loaded words for Gertrude to take in and for the first time in your life, you get to have the pleasure of seeing your nemesis look afraid.

Faced with the potential of actual consequences for her pettiness, all she has to say for herself is, “I…! I’m leaving!” before scurrying off down the sidewalk, tail between her legs.

And you have never been so attracted to anyone in your life as this fucking skeleton.

God damn…

Papyrus watches her retreating form until she’s out of sight and slowly retakes his seat.

“……EIGHT MONTHS?” he asks you after a moment.

The amount of time you’d had the joy of that woman as your coworker.

“Yeah,” you confirm.

“YOU’RE A SAINT.”

The deadpan delivery makes you laugh despite yourself, and the sharp grin Papyrus gives you in return makes your heart beat a little faster in your chest.

“I, uh… I couldn’t help but notice,” you slowly say, “that you…might’ve told her you were my lawyer. Did… do you mean that, or…?”

He didn’t.

It’s pretty obvious to you, especially with the way that cute blush comes back across his face—just something he said in the heat of the moment to make getting rid of Gertrude easier—but you can’t resist pushing your luck.

“I…HONOR MY COMMITMENTS,” Papyrus says, even as it looks like it’s killing him. “YES, FINE, I’LL TAKE YOUR CASE. LET’S EXCHANGE NUMBERS SO I CAN CONTACT YOU TO DISCUSS THE DETAILS.”

You have to admit, it’s not really the way you’d been hoping to get Papyrus’ number…but you’ll take it.

Maybe when everything’s said and done, you’ll have worked up the courage to ask him out for real!

…Naturally, that resolve is only strengthened when you get home and take off your nice blazer to find something that definitely didn’t get to be on your skin with ink and needles…

-

You’re half-expecting it when your phone rings later that afternoon.

What you don’t expect is to answer it to Papyrus’ bold, authoritative voice practically barking at you without a shred of the professionalism he’d spoken with earlier.

“WHAT KIND OF SOULMATE ARE YOU?!” he demands, sounding beyond indignant. “TO LEAVE SUCH A, A…MARK ON ME!!! I CANNOT BELIEVE…! I AM A RESPECTABLE SKELETON, AND NOW I CAN’T SO MUCH AS TAKE OFF MY SHIRT IN POLITE COMPANY AGAIN BECAUSE OF YOU, I HOPE YOU REALIZE THAT!”

He sounds so mad, so…unlike the controlled impression he’d given you before, and it feels strangely…

Natural.

You smile a little to think that you might actually be talking to Papyrus this time instead of just The Professional.

It was a very good mask—you wonder how many he has, and if you’ll get the chance to meet any more of them—but your focus is admittedly elsewhere.

Excited, you ask, “You got a mark, too, then? What is it? Can I see?”

“OH, OF COURSE, YOU WOULD WANT TO SEE YOUR HANDIWORK, YOU DEVIL! FINE!”

There’s the sound of shuffling and then your phone buzzes with an incoming photo. You switch Papyrus to speaker so you can properly ogle it.

The breath comes out of you in a whoosh when you get your first good look. Your skeleton soulmate just sent you the type of picture guys usually sent unsolicited, with a towel hanging low on his pelvis—obviously fresh out of a shower—and a view of his scarred spine and ribcage that could only be described as 'gratuitous'.

Not excepting, of course, the cherry on top: the colorful little heart-shape stamped right in the middle of his sternum.

“Ohhh,” you coo, “that’s so cute!”

“CUTE?!” Papyrus practically shrieks over the phone. “IT IS NOT CUTE! IT’S…IT’S LEWD! A SOUL, RIGHT THERE FOR EVERYONE TO SEE! YOU, YOU LECHEROUS HUMAN, YOU, MAKING ME LOOK LIKE I’M…SOME KIND OF DEVIANT PERVERT! HOW DARE…”

You tune him out a little, letting him keep right on ranting. You need to make sure you have the right angle and lighting for the picture you’re about to send back to him.

You know instantly when he gets it because his words trail off and there’s a noise that sounds suspiciously like his jaw clacking shut.

“What do you think?” you ask after a long moment of silence.

Personally, you’re very fond of the ruby-red rose that’s announced itself on your arm, its thorny stem curling gracefully around your bicep.

You hope he likes it, too, and you can easily imagine that he’s blushing again like he did before…maybe even darker this time.

Eventually, Papyrus speaks.

“………I…I CAN’T BE YOUR LAWYER. I’M…IT WOULD BE HIGHLY INAPPROPRIATE AT…THIS… ” He pauses to clear his throat…or the skeleton equivalent. “AT THIS POINT IN TIME. IN LIGHT OF RECENT DEVELOPMENTS.”

Ah, his composure is coming back. You wonder if you can’t fix that.

“Maybe you can recommend one to me,” you coyly suggest. “Over coffee, maybe. At my place…?”

“………S-SEND ME THE ADDRESS!” he snaps, and then he rudely hangs up on you.

You just laugh and hope you’ll be able to wipe the grin off your face before Papyrus shows up.

So, you lost your lawyer…

But you’ve snagged yourself a date with your soulmate and that feels like a damn good trade-off!

UT!Sans | UT!Papyrus | US!Sans | US!Papyrus | UF!Sans | SF!Sans | SF!Papyrus | HT!Sans | HT!Papyrus

[thatsillyfucknvegan]

why do you eat food produced by migrant laborers who are overworked and paid less than minimum wage? if you’re really anti cruelty just stop eating

Abuses Against Workers Taint U.S. Meat and Poultry

January 24, 2005 7:00PM EST

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Workers in the U.S. meat and poultry industry endure unnecessarily hazardous work conditions, and the companies employing them often use illegal tactics to crush union organizing efforts, Human Rights Watch said in a new report released today.

In meat and poultry plants across the United States, Human Rights Watch found that many workers face a real danger of losing a limb, or even their lives, in unsafe work conditions. It also found that companies frequently deny workers’ compensation to employees injured on the job, intimidate and fire workers who try to organize, and exploit workers’ immigrant status in order to keep them quiet about abuses.

Field research for the report examined beef packing in Nebraska, hog slaughtering in North Carolina, and poultry processing in Arkansas. The report looks closely at companies such as Tyson Foods Inc., Smithfield Foods Inc., and Nebraska Beef Ltd.

“Meatpacking is the most dangerous factory job in America,” said Lance Compa, the report’s author and a labor rights researcher for Human Rights Watch. “Dangerous conditions are cheaper for companies—and the government does next to nothing.”

The 175-page report, “Blood, Sweat, and Fear: Workers’ Rights in U.S. Meat and Poultry Plants,” shows how the increasing volume and speed of production coupled with close quarters, poor training and insufficient safeguards have made meat and poultry work so hazardous. On each work shift, workers make up to 30,000 hard-cutting motions with sharp knives, causing massive repetitive motion injuries and frequent lacerations. Workers often do not receive compensation for workplace injuries because companies fail to report injuries, delay and deny claims, and take reprisals against workers who file them.

“A century after Upton Sinclair wrote ‘The Jungle,’ workers in the meatpacking industry still face serious injuries,” said Jamie Fellner, director of the U.S. Program at Human Rights Watch. “Public agencies try to protect consumers from tainted meat, but do little to protect workers from unsafe conditions.”

Human Rights Watch also documented aggressive and unlawful company efforts to derail workers’ organizing efforts.

“When workers try to defend themselves by forming unions, employers use fear and intimidation to stop them,” Compa said. “U.S. law does little to protect workers who try to organize. Enforcement efforts drag on for years, and even decisions that favor workers are usually too little, too late.”

An example of unlawful tactics are those Smithfield Foods has taken in response to organizing efforts at its massive pork-processing plant in Tar Heel, North Carolina, where 5,000 workers slaughter, cut and package more than 25,000 hogs a day. In a 1997 union election, Smithfield’s management fired union supporters, threatened plant closure, stationed police at plant gates to intimidate workers, and orchestrated an assault on union activists. On December 16, the National Labor Relations Board ordered a new election, which Smithfield immediately appealed.

In 2000, Smithfield created an internal company security force with “special police agency” status under North Carolina law that enables company security officers to exercise public police powers. In 2003, the company police used trumped-up charges to arrest workers who were active union supporters.

“The company has armed police walking around the plant to intimidate us,” a Smithfield worker who came to the United States from El Salvador told Human Rights Watch. “It’s especially frightening for those of us from Central America. Where we come from, the police shoot trade unionists.”

Increasingly, the meatpacking industry’s workforce is composed of immigrant workers. Human Rights Watch found that some employers threaten to call immigration authorities if workers seek to organize or make claims for labor law protection. Under a 2002 U.S. Supreme Court ruling, undocumented workers who are illegally fired for union organizing are not entitled to back pay for lost wages.

“The meatpacking companies hire immigrant workers because they are often the only ones who will work under such terrible conditions,” said Fellner. “And they exploit the illegal status of undocumented workers to keep them quiet.”

Human Rights Watch includes detailed recommendations in the report. In broad terms, the organization makes the following recommendations:

New federal and state laws should reduce line speed in meat and poultry plants and establish new ergonomics standards to reduce repetitive stress injuries. Health and safety authorities should apply stronger enforcement measures. States should develop stronger worker compensation laws and enforcement mechanisms.

Employers should not engage in aggressive, intimidating anti-organizing campaigns that take advantage of loopholes and weaknesses in the U.S. labor law system. Congress should enact legislation bringing U.S. labor law into compliance with international standards (e.g. to prohibit the permanent replacement of striking workers) and should also create stronger remedies for violations of workers’ rights.

New laws and policies should ensure respect for the human rights of immigrant workers, whatever their legal status. Immigrants should have the same workplace protections as non-immigrants, including coverage under fair labor standards and other labor laws, and the same remedies when their rights are violated.

“Blood, Sweat, and Fear” follows Human Rights Watch’s groundbreaking 2000 report, “Unfair Advantage,” also written by Lance Compa, which documented employer efforts to frustrate worker organizing across various sectors of the U.S. economy.

Quotes from workers:

“The line is so fast there is no time to sharpen the knife. The knife gets dull and you have to cut harder. That’s when you cut yourself.” —hog worker, North Carolina (p. 35)

“People can’t take it, always harder, harder, harder! (mas duro, mas duro, mas duro!)” —poultry worker, Arkansas (p. 36)

“I hung the live birds on the line. Grab, reach, lift, jerk. Without stopping for hours every day … after a time, you see what happens. Your arms stick out and your hands are frozen. Look at me now. I’m twenty-two years old, and I feel like an old man.” —poultry worker, Arkansas (p. 36)

“There was no training. They told us, ‘Do what the person next to you is doing.’” —beef worker, Nebraska (p. 109)

“They love you if you’re healthy and work like a dog, but if you get hurt you are trash. … They will look for a way to get rid of you before they report it. They will find a reason to fire you, or put you on a worse job … or change your shift so you quit. So a lot of people don’t report their injuries. They just work with the pain.” —beef worker, Nebraska (p. 53)

“I just couldn’t take the pain anymore. Three times I slipped and fell on the greasy floor. The first time I went to the clinic, and they told me I just hurt my pride and to go back to work. The last time I fell, the clinic sent me back to work again.” [A few days later, a hospital diagnosed this worker with herniated disc.] —hog worker, North Carolina (p. 65)

“My supervisor said if we sign a union card the company will find out and fire us.” —hog worker, North Carolina (p. 93)

“We went on strike because management fired the supervisors who backed us up. One manager threatened to call Immigration if we didn’t go back right away.” —hog worker, North Carolina (p. 97)

“They have us under threat all the time. They know most of us are undocumented—probably two-thirds. All they care about is getting bodies into the plant. My supervisor said they say they’ll call the INS if we make trouble.” —poultry worker, Arkansas (p. 111)

[letters-and-lemons-blog]

New Year, Old Us

Summary: there’s nothing like being in the same room as your ex on new years but kissing another when the clock strikes midnight.

2.5k

Warnings: mentions of attempted rape

The thing about being in the same industry as your significant other is that if--or when--the breakup happens, you're seeking comfort from the same circle of friends. The news will travel faster than your mouths can speak, concerned messages assaulting your phones in endless streams of so I heard what happened…want to talk about it?  In the months that follow, your friends will do everything in their power to make sure the two of you don't cross paths. Someone's got a birthday? Might as well throw two parties instead of one, where things could quickly go south if the ex-lovers make a scene. You used to work in concept design for his group? You’re now swamped with the upcoming trainees’ debut.

But a lot of things can't be avoided. Company gatherings, for one, are an attend-at-all-costs type of thing. This year, the event is taking place on the rooftop, a throwback to older days when the company only consisted of a small, close-knit group. Nowadays, just the makeup and hair department gets its own floor. But despite the distance, everyone knows one another, staff meetings often times ending with trips to the restaurants and bars nearby.

An hour into the party and drinks are flowing smoothly, projects and deadlines pushed aside as everyone rejoices on the past year, accomplishments and awards brought up in conversation with wide smiles and encouragements for an even better year to come. You're feeling the buzz yourself after being roped into downing some liquor when your coworkers started taking shots at the bar.

Not a dancer most of the time, you can't find it in yourself to refuse tonight when your coworkers are dragging you to the makeshift dance floor. In this time of night, it's hard to make out who's who. The only thing you're sure of is that you're going to get blisters from the way your heels are rubbing against the back of your feet, and you chastise yourself for wearing the shoes you purchased last weekend. Who were you trying to impress, anyway?

And maybe the answer comes in a tap to your shoulder.

It's the new hire, Kim Sungmin, accepted on the spot with a masters in marketing and a charming personality. He's got an eye on you, so you've been told, and with the way the night was structured, you figured you'd be talking to him tonight.

"Noona," he begins. "How's it going?"

"Pretty good," you reply, quickly noting that your coworkers have suddenly disappeared from your side.

"Can I get you a drink?" Sungmin tilts his head toward the bar.

You pretend to look surprised and say, "Are you finally repaying me for all the times I helped you out?"

He plays along. "And to pay it forward, because I'll need your help in the future, I’m sure."

"Well then," you say. "You better hurry along. The drinks aren't going to walk here themselves."

Sungmin flashes you a smile before heading to the bar, and you scan the crowd for any sign of your coworkers. The search proves futile, but before you can be disappointed, Sungmin returns and hands you a glass.

"Just beer tonight?" you ask after taking the drink from his hands.

He shakes his head. "S'got whiskey."

"Hm," you hum. "My favourite. How'd you know?"

He hides a smug grin behind his glass. "You looked like someone who'd enjoy a good drink."

You smile, and bring your glass to his. "Here's to a wonderful year."

"A wonderful year," he echoes.

As the night drags on, you find yourself dancing with Sungmin for most of the songs. He's been telling you stories about his previous workplace, where he was in charge of creating ads for toothbrushes that doubled as hair combs.

"At one point, I was sure that if the company didn't go under, I was going to sabotage the sales myself," he confesses. "I mean, how was that supposed to sell? If someone wanted to brush their teeth, the toothpaste ran down to the comb, and if someone did their hair, there'd be hair in the toothbrush!"

You're having a hard time standing upright with how hard you're laughing. It's been a while since you've laughed so hard, and just when you're about to tell him that, the DJ stops the music.

"Alright, alright, everybody. Don't worry, we'll be back real soon. But it's 11:59pm and we've got 20 seconds until the new year. Who's ready?"

The crowd cheers. Sungmin wraps an arm around your shoulders.

You take a moment to look around, seeing the excited looks on everyone's faces. Correction: everyone's faces except one. You recognize his eyes almost immediately, dark orbs behind hooded lids.

10…9…8…

With five drinks in your system as you stand in the arms of another man, there's nothing like seeing your ex at a New Year's party.

7…6…5…

The clock will soon strike twelve and all the couples in the room will be sucking each other's faces.

4…3…2…

And it's like he knows exactly what you're thinking because the look he sends you then is the devil himself, criminal and finding its way straight to your loins.

1…

You turn to face Sungmin, and when the cheering begins, you're tugging him to your lips.

The sky is still dark outside, but it must be morning given the traffic you can already hear down below. You reach for your phone, but stop when your hands come up empty. There's no nightstand there. A wave of panic washes over you right before you hear the duvet crinkle behind you.

"Mornin'."

You let out the breath you've been holding. Memories of last night, of Sungmin, come back to you and you turn around to find him still under the covers, tips of his hair peeking out. Reaching over, you card your fingers through his hair, and he hums in response. The blond strands bend stiffly under your touch, brittle fibers bearing the mark of bleach and chemicals.

Wait. You swear Sungmin's hair was brown last night.

"Don't stop," he protests, and this time, you hear the drawl in his voice that points you to a certain someone. Just to confirm, you lift your head and sure enough, you're met with the designs of a familiar curtain.

"…Yoongi?"

A hand shoots out from under the covers and pulls your wrist back to his scalp. "I said don't stop," he grumbled.

"Yoon--what the fu--" you jerk your hand away from him, using the other to prop yourself up.

"We'll talk later, just come lay down for now."

"What? No, no we're not talking about this. I can't bel--this can't be happe--fuck." You rub your temples, your hangover catching up to you.

"There's Advil and water on the floor beside you."

You mutter a thanks, grateful for anything that will relieve the pounding in your head.

"Lie down, Y/N," Yoongi pats the bed where you were before. "Come on, I've seen you naked before. I've got nothing to gain from this."

You send him a skeptical look (which he probably can't see anyway) but relent nonetheless.

Five minutes go by in silence.

"Yoongi?" You begin, knowing he was too quiet to be asleep. "Can we talk?"

He sighs. "Thought you weren't talking about it."

"…Please."

He brings the duvet down from his face and rubs his eyes, a small yawn leaving his lips and you unconsciously study his features. When he opens his eyes, he begins. "We didn't fuck."

"Yoongi!"

"Hey, I know you'd want to know that so don't pretend like you don't."

You purse your lips, unhappy that he still knows you so well. "Well then, why am I here? All I remember is that I was with Sungmin the whole night."

It's his turn to look displeased. "Why don't you ask him then? I'm sure that boy toy of yours has got plenty to say for himself."

The dark tone of his words take you by surprise. "Wait, Yoongi. I didn't mean that, sorry. But … what happened last night?"

He pinches the bridge of his nose and sighs again. "Promise me, Y/N, that you'll listen to what I say, and only that. Just listen, don't start thinking about other things, don't go blaming yourself. Okay?"

Warily, you nod.

"He tried to drug you," Yoongi pauses when he hears you gasp, and grabs your hand, running his thumb over your knuckles. He waits until you give him the go-ahead to continue. "It was around 1 A.M. and getting pretty loud. I was about to leave because we had a busy day and I was tired, so I went around to say bye to some people. As I made my way around, I noticed you two weren't dancing anymore, and it looked like you guys were getting ready to head out too."

You nod along, flashbacks of last night returning with what Yoongi was telling you.

"But for some reason he left you and was walking to the bar by himself. I found it weird so I stayed behind in case he was up to something. I couldn't see clearly but he got two glasses of something with vodka, and came back to give it to you. I would have just left if it ended there, but I guess you gave him a look or something because all of a sudden he was telling you that it was water, and that was when I knew he was up to no good."

You let out a shaky breath, and Yoongi squeezes your hand. It's not until you see the drops on the duvet that you notice you're crying. He takes his hand out of yours and reaches around to pull you towards him.

"I'm sorry, Y/N." Yoongi gently kisses the side of your head.

When he snatched the drink out of your hand last night, you were furious with him. Even though you were already drunk at that point, words slurring together meaninglessly, he had to put up with you knocking your fist against him as he dragged you out of the party. In the car, it had been a test of a lifetime to drive safely while you were screaming in the passenger seat. Your apartment was on the other side of the city and he didn't trust you to yourself, so Yoongi decided that one night with him wouldn't kill either of you.

By the time he reached his apartment, you had fallen asleep, looking so cute and peaceful that Yoongi couldn't help but smile. Hauling you up to his unit was by no means a piece of cake, but with the way you pouted and grabbed at him, Yoongi wondered not for the first time if things had truly been bad enough to warrant the breakup. It was only when he laid you down onto his bed that he noticed your tear-stained cheeks, and if Yoongi was mad at himself whenever he used to make you cry, his fury was multiplied hundredfold last night. Gritting his teeth, he sent very stern, carefully-worded emails to the company, repeating over and over again that it had not been your fault and that you were not to suffer from the consequences.

"Yoongi?" your sniffling interrupts his train of thought.

"Hm?"

"Thank you."

He says nothing, but pulls you closer. With your back flush against his chest, you let out a deep breath, letting everything sink in.

"You know, we never spent a New Year's together," you point out.

He winces. It's true. This year was the first year they'd been given a day off on this day, whereas usually they'd be rehearsing for some show tonight.

"Do you have a New Year's resolution?" you ask.

He knows what you're doing: distracting yourself so it doesn't hurt so much, and he goes along with it. "Yeah. I'm going to grow taller." The chuckle it brings you is worth the kick he receives. "How 'bout you?"

"I wanted to be more daring, to try new things and," he sees your lips quiver. "And…to meet new people."

"Hm," Yoongi pretends to ponder. "Statistically speaking, you should have better luck with the next few."

You laugh at this, but Yoongi notices the light tone in your voice slowly leaves and the laugh transitions into something else. You're crying, he realizes.

Yoongi had never been good at comforting people, and even when the two of you were dating he was still unsure of what to do when he was faced with your tears. So imagine his surprise when you pause to say, “Just … stay like this, Yoongs." He quietly lets you know that he's heard you, voice choked in his throat and he's not sure if it's because that you still know him so well, or that the old nickname just slipped past your lips and it's been so long since you’ve called him that.

It's still dark when you wake for the second time. This time, however, you're not surprised when you find an arm wrapped around you, soft snores landing on the back of your neck. It's comforting, actually, and note that you haven't slept this well in a long time.

Yoongi wakes to the sound of the door closing, and he’s out of the bedroom in a flash. To his relief, it was only the delivery guy, and you were carrying the bags to the kitchen when arms came behind you and Yoongi, in the quietest of voices, whispered stay the night, too, okay?

You object at first, telling him that you've got nothing to wear and it's going to be weird to wear his clothing, but he stops you when he pulls out a drawer full of your belongings.

You raise a brow, and Yoongi scratches the back of his head. "I never threw these out."

The implication behind his words makes you blush, too, but you agree.

It’s not the last time you spend the night at his place, either. The two of you find yourselves settling into familiar routine, the comfort of each other’s company drawing you closer and it’s not long before you find yourselves spending almost every night together. Of course, eventually that leads to an awkward conversation about what exactly is going on. The question that hangs in the air is a walk on the tightrope between forgiveness and second chances. The answer, thankfully, tips the scale.

"So," Namjoon begins as the maknaes finally sit down at the table. "Are you and Yoongi hyung back together?"

"Hyung!" Jungkook exclaims. Jin knocks Namjoon on the head.

"It's an important question," the leader defends himself, rubbing the side of his head.

"Show some tact, will you?" Jin scolds. "But he's right, Yoongi. Are you and Y/N…"

The entire table turns to look at you both.

"Well if not, why the fuck would she be here?"

The room erupts in cheer, with hugs given all around.

"About time, actually. Hyung was terrible to be around when he was moping." Jungkook offered helpfully, only to be met with his hyung's middle finger.

Yoongi tries to keep up an indifferent expression for the rest of the night, but fails miserably when the rest of them don’t let up their teasing, and he ends up hiding his red-tinted cheeks behind you.

[orbemnews]

Prabal Gurung: Anti-Asian sentiment runs deeper than you think Written by Prabal GurungNew York Prabal Gurung is a Nepali American fashion designer based in New York. All opinions expressed in this article belong to the author. The feature is part of CNN Style’s new series Hyphenated, which explores the complex issue of identity among minorities in the United States. My 75-year-old Nepali mother, who lives in New York, goes for a walk every morning and every evening. I send her out in disguise: I bought her a blonde wig, and I tell her to wear it under a hat, glasses and mask. “Maybe then, they’ll leave her alone,” I think. I know it sounds crazy, but it’s my survival instinct kicking in. “I understand your concern and worry,” my mami, as I like to call her, told me the other day. “But I would rather get a walking stick or a cane, just in case something happens. I can fight back,” she assured me, adjusting her wig and hat. That’s just how she is: resilient, unafraid and a picture of grace under pressure. I admire her strength but continue to worry for her safety. I check in constantly so I know where she is at any given time. This is what it’s come to. A fear so constant that it’s crippling. “By using terms like “China Virus” and “Kung Flu,” Trump gave the coronavirus a face, an Asian face, and for that, we have all suffered.” Prabal Gurung Here’s where we’re at: A torrent of anti-Asian hate crimes have been committed, including the brutal assault of elderly Asian men and women in broad daylight. Among them is 65-year-old Vilma Kari, who just last week in New York, was told “F**k you, you don’t belong here, you Asian,” according to the criminal complaint, before being pushed to the ground and kicked repeatedly by her attacker. The shootings at three Atlanta-area spas have left six Asian women dead. Nearly 3,800 hate incidents have so far been reported to Stop AAPI Hate over the course of a year. It feels as if there’s an open season for violence against Asians. By using terms like “China Virus” and “Kung Flu,” former US President Donald Trump gave the coronavirus a face, an Asian face, and for that, we have all suffered. While his damaging rhetoric has no doubt fueled these hate crimes, their roots are buried deep in underlying racist currents that have long impacted our communities in the United States. They can be found in every industry. For instance, when it comes to my world — fashion — the consequences of systemic racism play out daily. And not just in the form of microaggressions. As someone who has a platform, who has clout, I have always believed it’s my responsibility to speak out. ‘Who gets to be American?’ Fashion at its purest, simplest form, is a reflection of the world we live in. It doesn’t operate in a vacuum but instead influences — and is influenced by — music, culture, social movements and politics. Whatever your views are, everyone engages with fashion at some level. For most of us, it’s one of the first decisions we make each morning. I believe in its greater purpose — as a tool of empowerment. But as much as fashion projects its power outwards, behind the scenes, it can be a very different story. I was born in Singapore, grew up in Nepal and lived in India, and in these countries, you’re faced with issues such as colorism, caste discrimination and hierarchal social structures. When I started my brand 12 years ago, I wanted it to show marginalized people that they are seen, and that they matter. But until recently, it’s been an uphill battle. “I was advised to limit the diversity of my runways because clients wouldn’t be as receptive to non White models: “‘two Black women, two Asian women — OK that’s enough.'” Prabal Gurung The question of who dictates style, or what we consider tasteful or chic, is still viewed through a colonial lens, shaped by centuries-old Eurocentric ideals. Unrealistic beauty standards are often elitist, discriminatory and ultimately, constructed to maintain a proximity to Whiteness that allows those in power to feel important and secure. Decision-makers are, predominantly, White. This plays out in a number of ways. Fashion inspired by minority cultures, or rooted in the heritage of a minority designer’s heritage, may be tokenized as “exotic” or “ethnic,” or disparaged in hushed tones as “tacky and garish.” Tone-deaf campaigns and racist garments are often created because there are no people of color in the room that feel empowered enough to stop them from going ahead. Early in my own career, I was advised to limit the diversity of my runways because clients wouldn’t be as receptive to non White models: “two Black women, two Asian women — OK that’s enough.” I also recall wanting to open a collection with Korean model Ji Hye Park, and it sparked such a big discussion with the brand’s other stakeholders. “Should we? Shouldn’t we? Is it cool? Does it make sense? Is this idea… luxury?” These kinds of conversations were initially shocking. But I became used to witnessing microaggressions or blatant discrimination against the few Asian people who, like myself and other people of color, were able to break into this industry. Yes, fashion continues to make strides in the right direction, but we still have miles to go. Today, I still see Black, Latinx, Asian, Native American and LGBTQ peers being tokenized by the industry, called upon to perform inclusivity. Models walk the Prabal Gurung runway during New York Fashion Week on September 8, 2019. Credit: Mike Coppola/Getty Images I’ve often been challenged about my “American-ness.” During a planning meeting for my label’s 10th anniversary collection in 2018, an investor asked me to express what I felt my brand stood for. I began explaining that American style had always been seen through a White lens. But as a first-generation Asian immigrant, as a minority, as a queer person of color, I wanted to redefine the country’s style because our experiences have been underrepresented. The way I look at this country is an amalgamation of different cultures, races, ethnicities, religions and sizes, and that should be celebrated. He, in turn, asked, “Well you don’t look American, how can you define American style?” It was clear to me what he meant by his statement: I wasn’t White, therefore I had no authority to shape the American ideal. And this despite being an American citizen who owns a business in this country — one who employs Americans and immigrants, embraces a “Made in America” production ethos and pays taxes. For some people it’s just never enough. I ended up turning that collection into a celebration of American identity and belonging, sending a diverse cast of models down the runway in denim, white short-sleeved shirts, rose prints and, during the finale, sashes bearing the question: “Who gets to be American?” While the show had a lot of positive feedback, and started a healthy dialogue about identity, there were some who felt it was too on the nose. This is how privilege works. It was a luxury to be in the position to say that it was “too much” or “too direct.” However, when it comes to fighting for basic human rights, it is never too much. It is never too loud. We need to tell our stories It’s clear that the road to a more equitable fashion industry is long. Until brands genuinely diversify their decision-makers and boards — not just with token hires, but with people actually willing to strike up difficult, uncomfortable conversations that challenge biases — it won’t change. And, let’s be honest, brands’ efforts to embrace Asian culture have been motivated by the spending power of countries like China, India and South Korea, not some moral awakening. But, cynicism aside, just like conversations brought about by the Black Lives Matter protests, the Stop Asian Hate movement is inviting renewed scrutiny of fashion’s role in perpetuating racism and discrimination — from runways and collections to workplace culture. “We need to be in every corner and exist in every space.” Prabal Gurung Asian Americans in the industry should recognize that we have an important role to play. As a whole, more than 60% of the global population lives in Asia, according to the United Nations. Asians are the world’s biggest consumers of clothing, and we manufacture most of it too. Yet, told that our voices don’t matter, we’ve mostly played supporting roles, quietly and submissively catering to the needs of businesses. It’s not enough. It’s time to speak out and step up. Take this time to donate, build your skills by participating in harassment intervention training, and support existing social justice organizations and initiatives such as Stop AAPI Hate and Asian Americans Advancing Justice (AAJC). Familiarize yourself with non-profit organizations like Gold House and Define American who are shaping culture, forming solidarity through intersectionality and creating impactful, sustainable long-term solutions for challenges facing our communities. The solidarity protests over the past few weeks have been extremely heartwarming. I have demonstrated alongside my peers, activists, community leaders and regular New Yorkers, telling our truths and, between other minorities and marginalized groups, finding support and common ground. The “End Violence Against Asians” march in the Chelsea neighborhood of New York City on February 20, 2021. Credit: Robert Hamada We need to be in every corner and exist in every space. The more that our stories are told, the more that our faces, our experiences and our humanity will not only be normalized but embraced. We must claim our rightful seats at the table, and then use those positions to empower other marginalized groups. Visibility is key, and we must craft our own narratives and tell our own stories. Top image caption: Prabal Gurung captured at the “Black and Asian Solidarity” march at Union Square in New York City on March 21, 2021 by photographer Robert Hamada. Source link Orbem News #antiAsian #deeper #fashion #Gurung #Prabal #PrabalGurung:Anti-Asiansentimentrunsdeeperthanyouthink-CNN #runs #sentiment

[dipulb3]

Prabal Gurung: Anti-Asian sentiment runs deeper than you think

New Post has been published on https://appradab.com/prabal-gurung-anti-asian-sentiment-runs-deeper-than-you-think/

Prabal Gurung: Anti-Asian sentiment runs deeper than you think

Written by Prabal GurungNew York

Prabal Gurung is a Nepali American fashion designer based in New York. All opinions expressed in this article belong to the author. The feature is part of Appradab Style’s new series Hyphenated, which explores the complex issue of identity among minorities in the United States.

My 75-year-old Nepali mother, who lives in New York, goes for a walk every morning and every evening. I send her out in disguise: I bought her a blonde wig, and I tell her to wear it under a hat, glasses and mask. “Maybe then, they’ll leave her alone,” I think. I know it sounds crazy, but it’s my survival instinct kicking in.

“I understand your concern and worry,” my mami, as I like to call her, told me the other day.

“But I would rather get a walking stick or a cane, just in case something happens. I can fight back,” she assured me, adjusting her wig and hat.

That’s just how she is: resilient, unafraid and a picture of grace under pressure. I admire her strength but continue to worry for her safety. I check in constantly so I know where she is at any given time.

This is what it’s come to. A fear so constant that it’s crippling.

“By using terms like “China Virus” and “Kung Flu,” Trump gave the coronavirus a face, an Asian face, and for that, we have all suffered.”

Prabal Gurung

Here’s where we’re at:

A torrent of anti-Asian hate crimes have been committed, including the brutal assault of elderly Asian men and women in broad daylight. Among them is 65-year-old Vilma Kari, who just last week in New York, was told “F**k you, you don’t belong here, you Asian,” according to the criminal complaint, before being pushed to the ground and kicked repeatedly by her attacker. The shootings at three Atlanta-area spas have left six Asian women dead. Nearly 3,800 hate incidents have so far been reported to Stop AAPI Hate over the course of a year. It feels as if there’s an open season for violence against Asians.

By using terms like “China Virus” and “Kung Flu,” former US President Donald Trump gave the coronavirus a face, an Asian face, and for that, we have all suffered. While his damaging rhetoric has no doubt fueled these hate crimes, their roots are buried deep in underlying racist currents that have long impacted our communities in the United States.

They can be found in every industry. For instance, when it comes to my world — fashion — the consequences of systemic racism play out daily. And not just in the form of microaggressions.

As someone who has a platform, who has clout, I have always believed it’s my responsibility to speak out.

‘Who gets to be American?’

Fashion at its purest, simplest form, is a reflection of the world we live in. It doesn’t operate in a vacuum but instead influences — and is influenced by — music, culture, social movements and politics.

Whatever your views are, everyone engages with fashion at some level. For most of us, it’s one of the first decisions we make each morning. I believe in its greater purpose — as a tool of empowerment. But as much as fashion projects its power outwards, behind the scenes, it can be a very different story.

I was born in Singapore, grew up in Nepal and lived in India, and in these countries, you’re faced with issues such as colorism, caste discrimination and hierarchal social structures. When I started my brand 12 years ago, I wanted it to show marginalized people that they are seen, and that they matter. But until recently, it’s been an uphill battle.

“I was advised to limit the diversity of my runways because clients wouldn’t be as receptive to non White models: “‘two Black women, two Asian women — OK that’s enough.'”

Prabal Gurung

The question of who dictates style, or what we consider tasteful or chic, is still viewed through a colonial lens, shaped by centuries-old Eurocentric ideals. Unrealistic beauty standards are often elitist, discriminatory and ultimately, constructed to maintain a proximity to Whiteness that allows those in power to feel important and secure. Decision-makers are, predominantly, White.

This plays out in a number of ways.

Fashion inspired by minority cultures, or rooted in the heritage of a minority designer’s heritage, may be tokenized as “exotic” or “ethnic,” or disparaged in hushed tones as “tacky and garish.” Tone-deaf campaigns and racist garments are often created because there are no people of color in the room that feel empowered enough to stop them from going ahead.

Early in my own career, I was advised to limit the diversity of my runways because clients wouldn’t be as receptive to non White models: “two Black women, two Asian women — OK that’s enough.”

I also recall wanting to open a collection with Korean model Ji Hye Park, and it sparked such a big discussion with the brand’s other stakeholders. “Should we? Shouldn’t we? Is it cool? Does it make sense? Is this idea… luxury?”

These kinds of conversations were initially shocking. But I became used to witnessing microaggressions or blatant discrimination against the few Asian people who, like myself and other people of color, were able to break into this industry. Yes, fashion continues to make strides in the right direction, but we still have miles to go. Today, I still see Black, Latinx, Asian, Native American and LGBTQ peers being tokenized by the industry, called upon to perform inclusivity.

Models walk the Prabal Gurung runway during New York Fashion Week on September 8, 2019. Credit: Mike Coppola/Getty Images

I’ve often been challenged about my “American-ness.” During a planning meeting for my label’s 10th anniversary collection in 2018, an investor asked me to express what I felt my brand stood for.

I began explaining that American style had always been seen through a White lens. But as a first-generation Asian immigrant, as a minority, as a queer person of color, I wanted to redefine the country’s style because our experiences have been underrepresented. The way I look at this country is an amalgamation of different cultures, races, ethnicities, religions and sizes, and that should be celebrated.

He, in turn, asked, “Well you don’t look American, how can you define American style?”

It was clear to me what he meant by his statement: I wasn’t White, therefore I had no authority to shape the American ideal. And this despite being an American citizen who owns a business in this country — one who employs Americans and immigrants, embraces a “Made in America” production ethos and pays taxes. For some people it’s just never enough.

I ended up turning that collection into a celebration of American identity and belonging, sending a diverse cast of models down the runway in denim, white short-sleeved shirts, rose prints and, during the finale, sashes bearing the question: “Who gets to be American?”

While the show had a lot of positive feedback, and started a healthy dialogue about identity, there were some who felt it was too on the nose. This is how privilege works. It was a luxury to be in the position to say that it was “too much” or “too direct.” However, when it comes to fighting for basic human rights, it is never too much. It is never too loud.

We need to tell our stories

It’s clear that the road to a more equitable fashion industry is long. Until brands genuinely diversify their decision-makers and boards — not just with token hires, but with people actually willing to strike up difficult, uncomfortable conversations that challenge biases — it won’t change. And, let’s be honest, brands’ efforts to embrace Asian culture have been motivated by the spending power of countries like China, India and South Korea, not some moral awakening.

But, cynicism aside, just like conversations brought about by the Black Lives Matter protests, the Stop Asian Hate movement is inviting renewed scrutiny of fashion’s role in perpetuating racism and discrimination — from runways and collections to workplace culture.

“We need to be in every corner and exist in every space.”

Prabal Gurung

Asian Americans in the industry should recognize that we have an important role to play. As a whole, more than 60% of the global population lives in Asia, according to the United Nations. Asians are the world’s biggest consumers of clothing, and we manufacture most of it too. Yet, told that our voices don’t matter, we’ve mostly played supporting roles, quietly and submissively catering to the needs of businesses.

It’s not enough. It’s time to speak out and step up.

Take this time to donate, build your skills by participating in harassment intervention training, and support existing social justice organizations and initiatives such as Stop AAPI Hate and Asian Americans Advancing Justice (AAJC). Familiarize yourself with non-profit organizations like Gold House and Define American who are shaping culture, forming solidarity through intersectionality and creating impactful, sustainable long-term solutions for challenges facing our communities.

The solidarity protests over the past few weeks have been extremely heartwarming. I have demonstrated alongside my peers, activists, community leaders and regular New Yorkers, telling our truths and, between other minorities and marginalized groups, finding support and common ground.

The “End Violence Against Asians” march in the Chelsea neighborhood of New York City on February 20, 2021. Credit: Robert Hamada

We need to be in every corner and exist in every space. The more that our stories are told, the more that our faces, our experiences and our humanity will not only be normalized but embraced.

We must claim our rightful seats at the table, and then use those positions to empower other marginalized groups. Visibility is key, and we must craft our own narratives and tell our own stories.

Top image caption: Prabal Gurung captured at the “Black and Asian Solidarity” march at Union Square in New York City on March 21, 2021 by photographer Robert Hamada.

[vmfx]

#1 ANSWER.

It was my first week into my new job that I meet Barney. It didn’t take long for me to realize how much of a low-art asshole he was. One thing they didn’t tell me about being hired to work in this place was to not be myself or have dissenting views.

Only a couple of weeks went by and I started to see how bullish and intrusive Barney was. Ordinary conversations became interrogations. Barney became easily fascinated when he asked me about myself, my point of view, or what my stance was on certain people or subjects. So fascinated that it got annoying real quick. For instance, my co-workers were talking about this since long-forgotten reality show The Jersey Shore. As usual, I could care less about pointless things. I was minding my own business doing my job until I was caught in his crossfire.

“So, tell me. What do you think about Snooki?”

“No thanks.”

“What?You’re kidding me. Tell me you wouldn’t want a piece of Snooki.”

“No.”

“What?! You’re serious!”

“No. I don’t care for her.”

“C’mon! You’re serious, right? Everyone thinks Snooki is hot! You don’t think Snooki is hot?”

“I don’t.”

“So…you’re saying that you don’t find Snooki hot.”

“No.”

“C’mon. What are you? A homo?”

Let’s take the time and run through this. Barney asked me a question and I gave him an answer. Simple as that. He wasn’t happy with my answer because he expected me to say what he wanted to hear. I shattered his expectations. Instead of letting it be, he kept on persisting me for re-assurance because his small implosive mind couldn’t take it. He also assumed to speak for everyone that some non-factor was hot, confusing opinion with fact. When I ultimately refused to give in, he insults me. As the old saying goes, ‘the television is always right’.

Because of this, Barney the One-Trick Pony™ constantly (and falsely) accused me of being gay. He went as far as trying to set me up with one of his lady friends. He even went further in lecturing me on why I needed to be married and why I should carry on the family name.

That was my mistake. I should’ve kept my mouth shut. I leave myself open to this and Barney turns into this Long Island ‘muthuh’ who endlessly criticizes others because they don’t live up to their standards. But he was no normal muthuh, he was a six-foot-three 350-pound 45-year old has-been who lived alone, had no girlfriend, and was very much into queer jokes, six-packs of beer, and phone sex which he openly disclosed to me while I was having lunch.

Perhaps if I criticized Barney on wearing an old, faded, crackling football jersey because they’re pathetic legendary losers who consistently fail to make the playoffs, he would be greatly offended. But I don’t do that to people. Unlike him, I have some sort of respect for others. I also can’t imagine if I called him out on his low-brow world of 1-900 numbers, bathroom stall writing, and online porn; because no one should ever put another person’s manhood in question of someone who watches sports, guns down a twelve pack, and relies on cheap obvious women. God forbid.

**********

Another Sunday, another weekend to disrupt my life and throw away beautiful blue skies, green grass, and white clouds to go to work; to deal with the curious public and an even more curious group of co-workers. When I mean curious, I mean ‘violating my privacy to the point it’s disgusting’ curious.

As usual, anything and everything about everyone working behind the counter is mined, revealed, sensationalized, and talked about for weeks if not months at a time. Whereas cameras are everywhere where I work; their plastic domes, tinted lenses sophistication, and inability to talk have absolutely no effect. But human nature is so cunning and so complex that my co-workers are an even bigger threat. They do everything they can to make other certain co-workers uneasy and destroy whatever sense of boundaries, privacy, space, or etiquette they were supposed to have all for a laugh or two. Our. God. Given. Right.

Elvis, who is best friends with Barney, is one of the most insipid, obnoxious, and mentally bankrupt individuals I have ever met. He always seems to strike up random conversations with me at the worst possible moment, which is usually when I’m working. If it’s not about something I’ve gotten over or experienced days, weeks, or months ago, it’s always the same stale repetitive boring questions. “So, how’s your dad? Is he still staying home? Still watching Maury? Does he go out? What does he eat? Do you guys go out? Where do you go? Do you have fun with your dad?”

Sometimes as I’m having lunch alone in the break room in complete silence, he would sit down with me, uninvited of course, and start asking me those rapid-fire series of pointless questions that are below me because I moved on from that game decades ago. “So what’s in today’s paper? What happened? Anything good? What’s this headline say? Hey, would you fuck Amana Bynes? You wouldn’t? Why not? Are you OK? Why are you feeling annoyed?”

This is pretty much the level of stupidity I endure every day working with Elvis. As if I don’t get enough unwanted unsolicited dumbstruck comments and unneeded questions from customers, I end up having Elvis’s display of genius come to me. It’s very hard to avoid. We’re only a few feet from each other at all times but somehow dumb is so generous where I live that there’s always more to go around and share. It wasn’t until very recently that a red card was pulled right in front of my face that made me dismiss him and write him off totally.

One Friday morning before work, I took Cath- to a salon to go get her cut for her sister Cheree’s graduation in Pennsylvania. My assistant manager Alphonso gave me a very rare Saturday off. It would have been ideal for both Cath- and I to get together for Saturday but it wasn’t possible because that was Cheree’s graduation day. Take one in the loss column. The following busy Sunday at work, Elvis once again pitches for conversation towards me.

“So, uh, how was work yesterday?”

“I didn’t work yesterday. I was off.”

“Oh, really? Off on a Saturday?! How did you end up getting off on a Saturday?”

“I don’t know. Alfonso just scheduled me off for Saturday, I guess?”

“Really?”

“…yeah.”

“So what did you do on your Saturday off?”

“Well, nothing really. I just went to the gym then stayed home for the rest of the day to relax.

“Wow, you went to the gym and that’s it?”

“Yeah, it was miserable out. Then again, all that didn’t matter as my friend was in PA for a graduation.”

“Was your friend a guy or a girl?”

“…it didn’t matter. Nothing really happened that day.”

“Was your friend a guy or a girl?”

“Why are you asking me this again? Why does it matter who I hang out with?”

“Was your friend a guy or a girl?”

I shook my head at Elvis, exhaled, and walked away from him. Next week we will play this game again, but for now I just saved myself from another round on endless embarrassment and unwanted humiliation.

That is why I can no longer talk to people anymore. It mattered so much to this fucking stumble. Elvis was looking to once again take something personal of mine and turn it into a front-page headline for the entire department to throw around, make fun of, and blow up as the workplace news story of the week. Because we’re so needy for excitement and self-gratification that we have to know every little thing that goes on in other people’s personal lives, in this case for my co-workers to use it against me.

This seriously took off on me. Our own mini-NSA-in-training Elvis was really that fascinated as to what gender my friend was. That meant so much to him. He really wanted to get off on the fact that I spent time with a female since the only things that take up real estate in his mind are getting plastered on weekends and “hot girls”, according to him. OK, so what else does he want to know? Did I sleep with her last night? What was she wearing? Was she a Ginger or an Asian? What positions did we do? How long did it last? What exact words did she scream out? Was it good? And did I kiss her goodnight, make her breakfast, or just get dressed and run out of her house? Do I get $100 for every correct answer?

How would Elvis like it if I would stop his world every five minutes to ask about his everyday mundane life of nothing? Would he appreciate it if I would distract him endlessly with pointless questions and ‘yes’ and ‘no’ answers? Would it annoy him to no end if I intruded into his personal life only to ridicule it along with all of the other co-workers around? Should I ask him about the photos his friends took when they drew cocks on his head while he was plastered drunk at a party? Or when was the last time he touched a girl or when had any female gave him eye contact? I wouldn’t think so, either.

**********

Questions. I gave up on them. I no longer have the time, care, or patience to tend or answer them anymore. I don’t deserve to stand in one place with my life being put under a microscope as undeserving people around me are dying to know a lot of things about me that will never pertain or affect them.

I mind my own business doing what I need to do for the day. I only focus on the bigger, more important things at stake. They stand there and start asking me questions about my personal life as it is so special or urgent. It’s not, really. It’s just a little different than others. What could I tell them? They feel unusual enough to stop at every answer and act like they’re so surprised. Really, what is such a big deal about the mundane things in my life that catch them off-guard? Obviously they’re un-accepting and shallow-minded, the blinders they wear have not been widened.

I had gotten tiresome of their interview sessions. I stay away and I do, but only for a while. I have been told to ignore them, to not answer them. I do take the advice but these downturns push harder. They ask and ask and ask and persist to no end until I give up and hopelessly answer because I know they will never stop if I don’t. Somehow my answers complicate things even more for them so the hits just keep on going. It’s a lose-lose situation.

The difference between me and them is that I understand and they don’t. I respect people for who they are because I understand. I have it all figured out so I don’t need to ask any further. Barney and Elvis’s child-like fascination with my life want me to “get with the program” because they don’t get it the first time. Conversations aren’t worth having with certain masturbatory people when they clutch and pull themselves over the answers they are given.

I’m not a celebrity and I never asked to be one. I never asked for them to make me special. I never asked for a circus surrounding my life and I never asked to be put on the hot seat. I don’t need them questioning every move I make in my life when there are better things during the day I need to focus on. I don’t have to answer to anyone if I don’t want to. I don’t need to pay attention to the feeble-minded and uneducated to constantly disrupt my day and waste my time. I have way more important things to worry about other than to satisfy simple minds who can’t figure it out and worry about things that have nothing to do with them. They truly don’t deserve the attention, therefore they will be forgotten about.

[austinpanda]

Dad Letter 030721

7 March, 2021

Dear Dad--

Today has gotten off to an auspicious start! Zach had a bad dream, which woke him up at 5:00 a.m., and when he tried to go back to sleep, Horta came into the room and started chirping for attention. It’s interesting that about two thirds of the time, it’s adorable when she does that. But the other third of the time, it makes him want to put her into a catapult and launch her into the sun. And since he was already cranky, he opted for the metaphorical catapult. Then he had to go to the grocery store, because it’s his turn, and he hates that, because if there’s any place where he’s going to catch Covid, it’s going to be the only public place he goes to any more, which is the grocery store. Then the store declined his debit card, even though he had sufficient funds, because this grocery store just does that sometimes. He had to put groceries on a different card, which fucks up another purchase he was going to use that card for.

Meanwhile, I’m just fine. Oh, I’m permanently stressed out over money, and I will be until I start getting paychecks again, but I don’t happen to be in mid-crisis right this minute. I spent the morning being a good spouse, cleaning the kitchen and making the bed, so Zach wouldn’t have to do it, thus (hopefully) providing the space needed to kick his foul mood, and it seems to be working. Now that he’s done catching Covid at the store, and we have more food in the house, the mood around here is considerably brighter.

Last weekend I vowed to do something over the next week that I could write about in this letter. In that endeavor, I failed utterly! Oh, several minor things happened, and the week wasn’t totally devoid of activity, but if I’d imagined taking a road trip to some scenic place and snapping a few awesome pictures...yeah, I did not do that. About the biggest event of this past week was getting turned down for emergency rent and utility assistance. That was a right proper kick in the happy sack.

What happened was this: I figured, since my retirement savings is about exhausted, and I haven’t found full-time online work yet, and I’m looking for online work because I haven’t been vaccinated yet, that the rental assistance program our landlords told us about might come in handy. I should get vaccinated in the next month or two, and this would help keep the bills paid until then. The problem was that we did not qualify, because we don’t count as people who have lost income due to Covid. We’ve only failed to gain income due to Covid, but no one got fired because of it. They also seem to assume that my retirement savings is large, if I was able to live off it for a year, and don’t seem interested in how small it may be now.

So...fair enough, ya buttholes. I shall accept it and move on. I’m applying for more jobs now. I have a phone interview on Tuesday for a job auditing at the local casino. That sounds like it might be fun! It’s not a job that involves customer interaction at all; it’s just a paperwork job, so I may be able to do it with a reasonable degree of safety, even if I have to start the job before I get vaccinated. It would be a place with TONS of workplace scrutiny involved; as with the customers, I assume everything I’ll ever do while working for a casino will be under surveillance video. Again, fair enough. Just make note where the video camera is that points at my desk, and learn which direction I have to turn, in order to scratch my nuts with discretion.

I’m not sure how a place like Bangor can even have a full-blown casino, given the size of the city, and the fact that Covid has been such a wrecking ball through the gaming and hospitality industries, but we do! It’s called Hollywood Casino Hotel & Raceway Bangor. Apparently the “raceway” part refers to a harness racing track it’s supposed to have, although I wasn’t aware that downtown Bangor had a casino AND a harness racing track, whatever the hell that is. (They get a bunch of harnesses and race them! I assume they put the harness on a horse.) I’ve already had one hilariously awkward conversation with the recruiter at the casino. I had applied for the position before I reached the point of actually wishing to get the job, so when the recruiter called me, I was earning money off Amazon MTurk doing timed jobs, I was right in the middle of one, and I was not prepared to make any decisions.

So he called to set up an interview, I didn’t know I wanted the job yet, and I was doing six things at once, and both cats picked that moment to assault me, and Zach came into the room. I believe I may have gotten my own name right, but little else. I figured the best option in that moment was to buy myself some time, so I asked if I could email him and let him know what I’d like to do. It felt very unimpressive. In theory, I suppose I’m supposed to respond by saying, “Yes, I want the job very much! Yes, I’d like to schedule an interview at your earliest convenience! Yes, I’m grateful for this opportunity to blah blah blah blah!”

So when I composed the email to the casino recruiter, whose name is Richard, I figured I already had one strike against me, and the chances of giving a good first impression had, by this point, shrunk to zero. I don’t mind being in that position, because it promotes honesty. I explained that, when he’d called, I was doing six things at once, including a series of timed jobs for Amazon, and so I wasn’t exactly prepared for the call. But I’m still interested in the position, and I’d be happy to set up an interview! I told him I didn’t have much experience auditing casino activity, but that I’m super fast with the computer, good with math, and I enjoy busywork. As it turns out, he wasn’t ready for me to answer the phone, either! When he wrote me back, after receiving my email, he said that he’d expected to leave me a voicemail and therefore was completely unprepared to actually speak to me. (Hooray! The call was a clusterfuck for both of us!) He suggested a few dates and times when we might interview over the phone, and we set it up.

If I get the job, I imagine what will happen is: I’ll drive to the casino every morning, walk past lots of desperate, sweaty gamblers, but I’ll feel great, because I know I’m going to leave the casino with more money than I came in with. I’ll go to a back office somewhere, under video surveillance, and I’ll work on Title 31 shit all day. Title 31 regulations are the ones for casinos that require them to track any transactions (money in or money out) greater than $10,000, for purposes of detecting and thwarting the use of casinos for money laundering. I looked it up.

So, wish me luck. In the meantime, I’m doing more timed jobs for Amazon. It is a very, very strange way to make money. The jobs I’ve been doing the most are for MIT in Cambridge. You are given four photos, and then the same four photos that have been altered in the same way. (Like...they’re all darker, or have more contrast, or less color saturation.) Your job is to describe that common change, including its emotional impact, in a sentence or two. “The scene has more contrast, with deeper reds and purples, and appears more dramatic,” e.g. That takes about 30 seconds, and you get 6 cents for doing it. Then you have it auto-load the next set of pics, and repeat. Like I said, it’s a weird--and slow--way to earn money, but it’s easy to sit down and bang out 100 of them, and earn $6.00. Other jobs are similar, but pay ten cents apiece, so you earn a bit more. Do it a few times a day, and it’s enough to keep the groceries paid for. Zach and I are both spending hours on it every day.

At least by next week I’ll be able to say how the casino interview went. I have no idea what it would actually be like to do this job, and to work in a casino, but I’m eager to find out. I can only assume their business is going to pick up as more people get vaccinated and places open for more customers. And if they don’t hire me, then I’ll just go poop on their harness track.

More excitement soon! All my love to you both.

[prorevenge]

Call me a terrorist and threaten my pay? Enjoy your nuked careers, yuh heathens.

warning: very long story. tl;dr is at the end.

I used to work in hospitality in a metro known for it's obscenely huge tourist population, you know, the city built around the Mouse. I was a manager for the recreational division of the hotel. So one day, my boss (who we'll call Mary for the purpose of the story) comes into the shared managers office and starts rummaging around for something, and strikes up a small conversation about work related minutiae with me. It's important to note she is actually 2 tiers above me, but was acting as head of the department while searching to replace my previous boss who recently quit (great guy by the way, huge loss to the company).

As we're talking, she abruptly stops and says "By the way, you need to shave your beard, you look like a terrorist and I don't employ terrorists". Haha, funny joke between colleagues, right? Nope. I am half Indian and I do look middle-eastern, and have been taking this kind of shit since middle school. Plus, we're not close, at all. So I reply as calmly as I can muster, "Hey, I get you're trying to be funny, but on my end it comes off as pretty ignorant, so I'd appreciate it if you chilled out with the terrorist stuff" to which Mary retorts "Oh, I'm ignorant? We'll see how ignorant I am during your annual review", and proceeds to walk out of the room in a huff. My jaw dropped so low I could taste the floor.

You would think it was an easy fix, right? Go to HR and all. She's made rude comments like this before. I've refrained from contacting HR because I didn't want to be petty, but now she threatened my pay, and that's no bueno. So I go to HR like a good boy and tell the HR director, who we'll call Boyd. I explicitly ask him not to mention it to anyone, just to log it away in case someone else reports something similar and he can establish a pattern of behavior. Well, Boyd decided that he simply must talk to Mary about it. I stress again that I am not comfortable with it, since she strikes me as the vindictive type. No good. He promises there will be no retaliation and tells me he'll contact me later for a statement (which I thought was weird, why not make a statement now?) and that was that.

About a week goes by and I follow up with Boyd because I've been getting some less-than-pleasant vibes from Mary. Nothing substantial, but odd. When I ask what happened, he tells me "Well it appears that Mary was just joking, but she has agreed to never say anything like that again. Your annual review is not in jeopardy"... ooooooook. At that point, I decide to just let it go. Fast forward a month, a new Director for our department is hired and surprise, surprise, it's her roommate and former front desk supervisor, "Joe". Ok, cool. I'm used to the nepotism because the entire hotel basically operates that way, whatever. Never had an issue with him, didn't know him too well but I'm happy our little hive has a leader again. Man, how fucking naive I was.

From the get go he is unpleasant. Snide comments left and right, changing my schedule at the last minute every week or scheduling me on my established days off, giving away opportunities to my peers that I'm never considered for, making me take "improvement classes" none of my peers have to take. All strange but up to that point nothing "earth-shattering", until one day I get written up out of the blue (first ever write up btw), for "refusing to inform a superior of leaving the premises", referring to me leaving the day prior without literally saying the words "Hey Joe, I'm leaving for the day".

1) This is not an established policy written or otherwise. When I say I'm leaving, it's a courtesy. 2) I know for a FACT my peers don't always say when they leave (personal observation), and was corroborated by them after asking around. 3) Knowing that my peers aren't held to the same bogus standard AND having never been written up for it, I know this is a direct shot at me. My review is fucked. Best part? Joe let it slip that MARY asked for me after I left and when it was found that I was indeed gone, she REQUESTED the write-up. That was fuck up #2, lady. #3 came when Boyd decided to cover his own ass when I approached him with all the evidence pointing to retaliation and discrimination in the workplace. I learned he never properly documented his discussion with me or Mary, and that he's been basically playing the whole fucking thing by ear. I decided to write my long past due statement then and there, turn it in, and e-mail a picture copy to the corporate office. I tell Boyd that I am sorely disappointed about how he handled the issue, and he responds by accusing me of "dramatizing" the whole ordeal. He was very flippant about the whole thing, rolling his eyes and everything. K, buddy. I see you now.

So finally, we've reached

THE REVENGE

After some time, I scrounge up all the evidence I can. My write-up, my co-workers write-up records (with their permission), company policy manuals, my schedules for the past month (including the bogus classes only I was made to attend), my co-workers schedules, witness statements (from peers when Mary has said other demeaning things), and a few others items. Next step, I tell off Joe, because fuck him. I make sure he is VERY angry when I leave. You'll see why later. After crossing my T's and dotting my I's, I resigned with a two week notice.

That night, I type up a letter to the EEOC and attach all my evidence. I mention Mary, Boyd, and Joe by first and last name. I hint that I am pondering a lawsuit. A few weeks later, I have my girlfriend call my old job pretending to be a potential employer asking for a reference. I give her the extension to Joe's desk. As I predicted, he slanders the ever-loving shit out of me (straight up lies, even got my resignation date wrong along with my attendance record, all verifiable, helping my case). I tried the same trick with Boyd, but he was smart enough to point my GF in the direction of a third party reference dialer the company is supposed to use for these kinds of calls. I proceed to send my old employer (corporate included) a Cease and Desist letter with a transcript of the call, hinting I may sue for slander.

THE RESULT

Some time passes, and the other day I'm at the bank with my GF, I get a call from an old co-worker. I miss the call, but I resign to call him back later. Less than an hour later I get 5-6 calls and texts informing me that Mary, Joe, and Boyd were all fired the same day and walked out of the building. Mary cried. Apparently, the corporate office was contacted by the EEOC and launched their own internal investigation, matching their records with my evidence. The EEOC sent me a return letter with the companies statement, which was fallacious as fuck (due to their interviews with the 3 stooges), but nonetheless I suppose they decided it was easier to nip it in the bud and sack their asses to be safe.

Karma may be a bitch, but in this case, she had nothing to fuckin' do with it.

TL;DR: Boss A makes racist joke and threatens my annual pay raise, two other stooges get themselves involved and a few months later I get all three of their asses fired the same day.

(source) (story by dragongrl)

[engineclose3]

Home Repair Services In South Manchester.

A Basic Guide To Planning A Successful Office Refurbishment.

Content

Just How The Property Remodelling And Also Refurbishment Services In London Job.

Rj Refurbishment Solutions.

Start Your Task.

Little Orangery Conservatories And Glass Conservatories.

Newly Built Houses.

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Our full style and also develop solution is a worry-free choice due to the fact that we care for whatever for you-- task managing the work from perception to conclusion. If your London residence was built in a certain age like Tudor, Georgia or Victorian as an example, after that you need to try to restore maintaining the original personality. Particularly in visit their website as well as throughout London you will discover these design residential or commercial properties. Have a read of a few of our post that reveal you just how to carry out remodellings on a home for its period.

What should you not say to a contractor?

https://trusted-builders.co.uk/cellar-conversions/ Should Never Say to a Contractor'I'm not in a hurry' 'I know a great roofer/electrician/cabinet installer!' 'We had no idea this would be so expensive' 'Why can't you work during the thunderstorm/snow/heat wave?' 'I'll buy my own materials' 'I can't pay you today. 'I'll pay upfront' 'I'm old school.

We were very lucky to have actually selected her and we won't do an additional repair if she's not readily available. From your ceilings to your floor, from your furnishings to your designs; all element of your home will fade as well as degrade over time due to a range of variables. Sunshine can create your designs to discolor and also routine footfall will certainly put on down your flooring material. At C W Refurbishments Ltd, we can finish any kind of repairs in your house, store or workplace; leaving you with a modern style and layout.

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How do I find local builders?

How to find a reliable builder 1. Ask around for builder recommendations. 2. Look at boards at building sites. 3. Search online for highly-rated builders. 4. Choose a reliable builder from trading associations. 5. And one final big no-no to remember when choosing a reliable builder 6. Once you've found your builder.

Tiny Orangery Conservatories And Glass Conservatories.

Whilst much improvement work will certainly not call for preparation permission, big expansions and also job to provided buildings or those in designated locations may-- if in any kind of question check with your neighborhood planning division. Whilst not important, it is wise to get a warranty on your renovation. A guarantee is a plan which will certainly cover your residence against defects in its style, products or construct quality, in addition to any kind of issues that take place as a result of these problems. Common expenses range from ₤ 500-1,500 relying on the project.

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If we identify the demand, we can carry out a problem study on the residential or commercial property before the works are even prepared as well as certainly began, this will certainly help identify the range of the job required for the restoration. Jeffery and also Wilkes are experts in residence improvements across London and also West London suburban areas.

There were numerous points that we had to send them record important to get back at a conditional authorization.

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I then asked our salesman if she would certainly call as well as allow us recognize when the house was going on the marketplace as we had figured out another method to still buy the house.

The house didn't also have a "Up for sale" join it because we understand a person that lives in that community as well as they told us so.

The house got on the marketplace less than 24 hr and had a deposit on it and also entering into contract the really next day.

I assumed the salesperson was absolutely authentic and also wanted us to have your home however she failed to call us and also we saw our desire decrease the drain.

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Decrease, underpinning, or stacking job to the existing foundations can be a particular issue. If side spread has actually happened in the wall surfaces and roof covering, steel connections could be needed. In exceptionally unpredictable home remodellings, the insertion of steel props, beam of lights or scaffold will stop additional collapse. It truly does pay to spend a couple of months living in or at the minimum hanging out in, your home prior to generating a layout. This will certainly allow you to see where as well as when all-natural light gets in your home, which format arrangements job and also which don't and also enables you to accumulate a suggestion of exactly how the house might best benefit your way of life.

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The top 10 residential construction companies for 2020 1. D.R. Horton. 2019 revenue: $17.4 billion. 2. Lennar Corp. 2019 revenue: $20.6 billion. 3. PulteGroup. 2019 revenue: $9.9 billion. 4. NVR. 2019 revenue: $7.2 billion. 5. KB Home. 2019 revenue: $4.5 billion. 6. Taylor Morrison. 2019 revenue: $4.6 billion. 7. Meritage Homes Corp. 2019 revenue: $3.6 billion. 8. Toll Brothers. 2019 revenue: $7.2 billion. More items•

We're committed to providing our consumers with a reliable as well as exact service; we intend to be one of the most trusted repair company in London. That's why we always aim to finish your task on schedule and also within your spending plan.

[thatonelucky]

Twist of Fate - Chapter 5

Chapter 5 is here! Sorry that it took so long! In case you forgot the previous few parts here’s the link to my A03 format of this and the very first one on here!

A03 

Part 1

               Jughead still couldn’t quite grasp the idea of conducting the interview normally. He usually scrutinizes his possible employees to see how well they crack under pressure. He didn’t want to do this with Betty, he already knew she was an amazing writer from all of the old Riverdale articles written about her. He did do his research before letting her live in his home, only a fool wouldn’t.

               “So, Miss Cooper, what made you interested in applying for this job?” Jughead read the first question, clearing his throat slightly and leaning back into his chair with ease. Betty’s warm smile remained etched across her features. Opening the seemingly full binder she had brought in with her, she started to speak.

               “I’ve had a passion for writing and journalism since I could remember. My parents own their own newspaper back in my home town. It was called The Register. Most summers I would intern there, learning the craft some might say. In between that I worked at a local diner and kept my grades up. Speaking of grades, here’s my GPA, grade sheet and certificates to prove that I didn’t just print off a random sheet.” Betty spoke fluidly and confidently, shocking Jughead in the process at how professional she really could be. “I also have some of my previous journalistic work in case that was needed.” I guess that explains why her binder is so full.

               “Miss Cooper, I have to say I’m quite impressed. Speaking from a professional viewpoint, it looks like you have incredible potential. A few more questions and then I’ll be out of your hair. May we proceed?” Jughead swiftly grabbed the pile of papers Betty had slid across the desk, flicking through them promptly. “What would you say are the best features you can apply to a workplace?”

               The interview continued like that for another 10 minutes before both roommates stood up and shook hands firmly. Betty had thought the interview had gone well, considering it was her roommate who was living a secret double life as a multimillionaire. Jughead too, thought it had gone well. He really wanted to hire Betty as one of his editors. It was a big job role that she hadn’t signed up for; she came to work as a basic journalist.

               “Miss Cooper, I don’t want to step out of line here. But we have another job role available and I personally think it would fit your abilities a lot better.” Jughead paused briefly to examine Betty’s face. She looked happy but something in her features grimaced. “It’s not because you’re my roommate either. I would just like you to apply for the editor in chief position instead of just a reporter. You still get to write your own pieces.” Jughead rushed out. Betty instantly lit up.

               “Of course sir, I’ll look forward to that call back.” Betty gathered the rest of his things and walked towards the door. Just as she opened the door she span around. “By the way, as Betty, what did you want for dinner tonight? I was thinking spaghetti Bolognese but I didn’t know if you liked it?” She said hopefully. Jughead smiled as he sat back in his seat.

               “I like Bolognese a lot, Betty. I get off work at half 4, we can talk more then. I’m sure there’s a lot you’re confused about.” He spoke slowly, making sure to keep eye contact with her the entire time. Betty’s cheeks were flaming, it’s not every day your hot roommate/possible boss/best friend’s brother stares into your eyes for more than 3 seconds. Betty swiftly nodded and made her way out of the door.

               “See you later Holden Caulfield.” Betty teased, shutting the door before he could respond. Little to her knowledge, those words made Jughead sit back in his chair and smile like an idiot. This mere interaction threw his mind off of schedule for the rest of the day. He reached over and pressed the microphone button to contact his assistant.

               “Hey Lydia, yeah, could you cancel all of the editor interview please? I think we’ve found our girl.” He smiled yet again, dreaming that the next few hours would pass by in a blur. He doesn’t know why, but being with Betty is so easy. Even if he’s known her for less than a week, he feels like he’s known her forever. He practically has, Veronica blabbed nonstop about her ‘internet bestie’ being the walking example of perfection. Jughead couldn’t agree more.

               Later on, sat at the table over steaming plates of Bolognese and mugs of hot tea, the pair sat in a comfortable silence. Jughead wanted to explain everything to Betty. The least she deserved was a bit of intel, but his mouth couldn’t form the right words. This is the first time he’s wanted to pour his heart out to someone. The damaged loner strikes back. Betty seemed to sense exactly what he was thinking.

               “My parents were overbearing. My mother only cared to make me perfect and my father was a liar. My sister got knocked up and ran off with her ginger devil of a boyfriend when she was 17. After she left she never bothered to get a hold of me whilst my parents worked harder to ‘fix’ me. The only friend I had was Kevin, my gay best friend. My whole high school life I was bullied for being Polly’s sister and for being Elizabeth Cooper in general.” Betty said in one breath, not looking phased at all as she chewed on another bite of her dinner. Jughead’s eyes were wide with disbelief at her outburst. “We all have secrets we want to hide Juggie, but the sooner you say them out loud the sooner they’ll stop weighing you down.” Betty spoke, taking a long sip of her tea afterwards.

               “My dad was an alcoholic and my mother was a selfish bitch. My baby sister was the only sweet thing in my world. My entire childhood consists of me holding my sister close whilst my parents fought nonstop. We both got put into the social system and separated. 6 years later I ran away from my 3rd foster home and went back to Greendale. There I saw my parents with my little sister looking happier than ever and my dad was sober. Hiram Lodge saved my life; he took me in when I had nothing. I was a malnourished kid freezing in the streets and he took me in like I was his own son. They cared for me. So, I got a name change and became a Lodge. Ronnie and I hit it off instantly. She might as well be my blood.” Jughead scrambled for a while, trying to find the right words to portray his story correctly. He avoided Betty’s gaze, scared senseless at how she would react.

               “Juggie.” Betty cracked out, her voice wracked with emotion. He looked up shamefully to meet her warm and welcoming eyes. They were filled with tears, some escaping down the porcelain skin of her face. Her hands reached out to cup his face, bringing his head higher up. “You are so brave. You have nothing to be ashamed of.” Betty sternly spoke, the emotion still clear in her voice. Jughead wanted to believe her, but he was nothing. Before he could respond Betty got up from her seat and walked to him, wrapping her arms around him. She pulled him into a tight hug, rubbing his back reassuringly. Only then did Jughead start sobbing. He’s not a usual crier but when he does have the odd occasion, it’s a sob.

               They stayed like that for a while, finding comfort in holding each other close. They could’ve stayed in that moment forever if not for the front door bursting wide open. The culprit was, of course, Veronica Lodge. This time, sporting a plaid red mini skirt, a regular black top, her pearls and cute heels that were probably worth more than a month’s rent.

               “Hola, tis I, V Lodge.” She strutted into the kitchen, wavering slightly as she noticed Jughead and Betty’s teared up expressions. Archie followed her in suit, sporting a regular red shirt and black skinny jeans. “Wait what happened? Are you okay?” Ronnie rushed over, pulling her brother and her best friend into a bone crushing hug. Betty chuckled slightly, pulling back so she could speak to the raven haired girl in question.

               “I told her everything.” Jughead mumbled. Veronica nodded lightly, pulling him in a little harder. She knew nothing more needed to be said tonight. As chairman of the fun committee, she deemed herself responsible for making sure tonight would be the funniest night of their boring lives.

               It started off by getting into their comfiest pajamas and playing Just Dance on the Xbox. That, obviously, ended with Jughead falling gracefully onto the floor and Betty beating him by almost 2000 points. Veronica was the champion by the end, Jughead coming last. Betty wasn’t too caught up over being 2nd, she knew she would be Sing Star. Which she did, followed by Jughead coming last, yet again. His excuse was one he couldn’t say aloud, but he was so blown away by her angelic voice. He was entranced. Veronica noticed this and added it to the list of things she needed to ambush him about.

               “Aha! Something I’m finally in the lead for. Have fun in the clutter zone you low budget Lewis Hamilton.” Jughead boasted, clearly winning at Mario Cart. The only talent he’s shown to possess so far is button smashing. Even if he had failed miserably at everything, he had an amazing night. Betty being there made it 100x better than any of the other game nights the 3 had before. She made everything better. At around 10pm Archie and Veronica had left for their apartment whilst Betty and Jughead cleared up the remaining dishes and stray pillows.

               “Tonight was really fun Juggie. I’m glad I met you guys.” Betty spoke warmly to Jughead, leaning against the sink and watching him put the leftover food in the fridge. He turned around and smiled a genuine smile at her. The raven haired boy closed the fridge door and walked over to Betty, pulling her into a soft hug. Betty accepted with open arms, resting her head in the nape of his neck. Something about this felt right, they both felt it. The spark igniting in their hearts. Neither of them acted on it that night. Instead, they went to their respective beds and laid their heads. Both were dreaming of the endless possibilities in their future together, not knowing how true those thoughts would become.

[rachywritessomething]

My “brick and mortar” MLM horror story

So, I figure a lot of my subs and mutuals are younger folks who will be looking for a solid source of income this summer and if you are looking for a marketing position, you could be sucked into something you really don’t want to do.

In San Diego, there are A LOT of these multi level marketing type companies that prey (yes, prey) upon young, energetic people. I have been sucked into one and the resulting stress of working 60+ hours a week of that utter bs made me so sick that I was going into the urgent care clinic before work every other week. Ulcers, UTIs, ear infections... just a lot of shit that I’ve not dealt with on such a substantial level since I was very young.

I’ll tell you the story of how I got sucked in.

tl;dr I was so caught up in this MLM that I didn’t get to see my grandpa before he died.

The summer after my JR year of college, I was late in finding an internship because I had been studying abroad and a lot of places ignored my requests for phone interviews. It was not a huge deal because I had already planned on taking the fall semester off to work anyway. The week before I flew out to Cali, I got a call requesting an interview. The receptionist who called me (a sweet gal who left the company shortly after I did) told me that my resume looked solid and that they would love to interview me. I informed her I would be in Cali by the end of the week to which she responded:

“We’ll get you in for an interview as soon as possible. Our hiring window is closing and we only have a limited number of spaces.”

This is a sales tactic I would soon learn. It’s called “fear of loss” and by making something seem limited, you create a sense of urgency in the person you’re trying to sell to.

Now, this job was advertised as “sports marketing” which seemed kind of jocky to me, but I had marketing experience and I was in excellent shape so I figured it would be easy to step into a workplace dominated by men.

I was so wrong.

So, the first thing I discovered when I went into my first interview is that this marketing company took up one small office. Most of it consisted of a lobby like section with a TV and a pool table. They were also playing up-beat electronic music. It wasn’t quite what I expected from a professional work setting, but I didn’t mind.

My first “interview” was a five minute conversation with the boss, a man I would grow to resent. He asked me about what I liked, he asked me if I played sports, he asked me about a “team mentality” and I told him what he wanted to hear because I really wanted a paid job. When he talked about the job itself, he skirted around the details and focused mostly on compensation.

They won’t tell you exactly what you’re going to be doing right off the bat. They want to make you feel like it’s an exclusive opportunity.

I was invited back for a second interview which got into more detail about the sales. We were told we only needed to sell to one lead a day to be able to make the big bucks which “sounds easy, right?” Right.

The one thing they mentioned that struck me as a red flag was that we would be working 11:00-8:00 6 days a week. But I brushed it off because it’s all about the grind, right?

Wrong. This job was not some cushy office job even though we were required to show up to work wearing suits. It was direct marketing, which is door to door sales. From 11:00-20:00, we were at the office in out business professional clothing for the morning meeting, during which we were indoctrinated.

Yes. Indoctrinated. 

These meetings were about how this job would make you the most money out of any job. My boss would sometimes have us throw out our “greatest desires” which always translated to something flashy from my coworkers. On one occasion, I was nearly driven to tears because my boss kept telling me to list what I wanted. Now, I’m not going to say I’m not material, but I honestly want to just live comfortably, not buy a mansion and a boat. I wanted contentment with my living situation but that was NOT an answer.

The main ideas that these meetings pushed were that you had to grind and suffer now so that in ten years you could live in the lap of luxury. You could make hella money without raising a finger. Anyone who worked in anything else didn’t know how to live because they would not be able to retire at 30. It was all about hustling and having a good attitude.

From 12:00-1:00, we had an hour off which was actually spent driving to some fast food place for lunch, changing into our field clothes, and then driving to the field itself. 

We were in the field from 1:00 - 8:00 with no individual vehicle. We had no means of leaving and in many cases we were in very residential areas which means there was no place to use the restroom. We were supposed to ask when we made a sale.

Now, what I’d like to impress is that I was the only sales woman in the office for a while and when we went to the field, we were alone in the field. So the first thing I realized was that even in uniform, men whistled, watched, and followed me. The first few weeks were not so bad because it was summer and it was light out until 8:00 p.m. which was when I was picked up from my neighborhood, but that did not last. Being alone in the dark was NOT something I was comfortable with, and requesting that I get picked up earlier was out of the question.

It’s about the grind after all.

 There was one instance in particular when I told one of my managers that I had been followed for several blocks and was forced out of my area so I could try to shake this guy. He laughed like it was just a funny thing to happen at work.

I didn’t even bother to try to point out that being without access to a restroom for 7+ hours a day was not practical for me. I took to wearing black pants when I was on my period and walking to gas stations or stores if I was so lucky to be within a mile of them. Thankfully I was never caught walking out of my territory because that’s a big no-no.

As were taking breaks.

We could sit down when we made a sale.

Now, I want you to picture someone coming up to your door, knocking, and striking up a conversation with you. They want to sell you AT&T. Yes. Fucking AT&T. You’re obviously going to slam the door in their face and honestly, I don’t blame you.

I would get a sale about every other day. I actually wasn’t too bad at it. But I was starting to get sick from all this. Like, can’t sleep kind of sick. So my attitude isn’t as great, I’m lethargic, I’m wandering onto hiking paths because I’m in enough pain or I’m nauseous enough that I can’t open my mouth. Then the sales stop.

It’s 100% commission so I’m not making any money. I am, however, losing $60/week in gas to drive 30 minutes to and from this place. Oh, and remember what I said about this job running from 11:00-8:00? Yea, that’s a lie. We often wouldn’t get back from the field until 9:00, and then we had to do daily breakdowns which never lasted less than a half hour. Thursday nights were team bonding nights because why the fuck not. We played sports, video games, and we even went to Dave&Busters a few times. I liked the “away” team nights because I could cry in my car for a little bit before going.

Skipping team night was a big no-no too. 

Here I was, getting sicker and sicker, worrying over my ability to make any money at all, and trying to justify taking time off work because I wanted to fly back to Indiana to see my grandpa one last time.

Did I mention he was dying? 

Yes, I kept putting off this trip because I felt this irrational desire to get back on the horse and make something for myself first. It wasn’t even a matter of buying tickets because my mom said she would buy them for me. She knew I wasn’t making any money. She knew I was getting sick. 

My whole family wanted me to stop. I was working six days a week and on the one day I had off, I couldn’t bring myself to do anything because I was so socially exhausted. No going to the beach, no hiking, no nothing. I just sat in my parents’ apartment and tried to will myself to go to the pool.

My last day of work was my final straw. My boss was getting angry because I wasn’t making any sales and I had a bad attitude. My homework for the weekend then was to send in proof that I had been “networking” in with my weekly goals (because we actually had to submit weekly goals every Sunday anyway) I went home, I did nothing that Sunday.

Monday rolled around and I was up early and dressed to go to work, but I was writing because it was November and it was the only thing I could enjoy. My older sister worked not too far from my parents’ place and she came over for breakfast. 

She told me she would pay me $500 to paint her boyfriend’s rental. 

“You like painting, you’re good at it, and you’ll actually make money.”

I called my boss then to tell him I was quitting, but he didn’t pick up the phone and he didn’t have an empty mailbox. I called the receptionist to tell her and she begged me to come in to tell them in person. 

I didn’t. I wasn’t about to relive the shame of begging my boss for a day off after I had already driven to the office because I was so sick. No. That’s just a waste of gas.

I put on sweats, I hopped in my car, and I drove to the rental to paint. It was the happiest I had been in months. For a week, I worked on my own time, almost completely isolated from other people. For lunch, my sister and her boyfriend would take me out to eat, or they’d bring me food, and there was no rush to finish. 

In that week, I did more than paint because I was able to get so much done in a day. I sanded, stained, and finished the railings. I cleaned the entire house top to bottom. I scrubbed grout and filled in every single ding and dent in the walls. 

And I made more that week than I had in two months of misery.

My mom bought the tickets to Indiana because we had no conflict. I finished my NaNo novel. My sister, my brother, and I went out to the bars and actually hung out. I went to the beach with my dogs which I am so grateful for because my sweet Ellie ended up dying a few months later after I had returned to school.

My grandpa died the day before we flew to Indiana. Before I moved to Cali, he told me that of his 20 grandkids, he saw me the most. I could have been there sooner if I would have had the courage to push back against the shame and indoctrination that this company had thrown on me. That is the thing I regret the most.

So please, if you find yourself in one of these companies, GET OUT. Whether they’re online or d2d, your mental health, physical health, and your social well-being are not worth these ridiculous, materialistic ideas they throw on you.