#A Boss in a Billion 4 | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

riansdiary · 6 months ago

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MY NEW SUCCESS STORIES! 💌

Hello everyone! This is a copy of my success story post on SUA (Subliminal Amino) and I decided to post it here as well for some inspiration! 🌈

Highlight Codes:

Red - don't do this! ⚠️

Blue - this is what you need to do 👍

I have a manifesting success story to inspire you! The only techniques I did was simply just:

1. Thought of what I want 🤔💡🍗

I was craving my mom's the best fried chicken in the world. Yes, I stand by this! Anyone who eats it including people outside of the family always always always praises my mom because she literally cooks the best fried chicken! Specifically fried chicken breast or thigh sometimes. I never told them that I wanted some.

2. Affirmed a few times whenever I thought of it. 💬

I just affirmed naturally and casually "We're gonna have fried chicken because I said so and because I decided so." We are all the boss of our reality so I just affirmed/decided that we're gonna have it, that Mom is gonna cook that for us.

3. I commanded my subconscious. 👑

This always works for me and it's my favorite thing to do to manifest. I just commanded my subconscious like a boss and told it what I want. Actually, it's smart and it already knows that but I did that for extra assurance. You just tell it what you want and it'll get it for you no matter what. You need to trust your subconscious mind that it will get that for you. Think as if you ordered something and well you know it's gonna be delivered right? Yeah, like that. You just sit pretty, affirm if you think of it to persist no matter what you see and trust that it's gonna get that for you. Do this only if it feels right to you. I mean it's literally you! Your higher self. Your subconscious wants the best for you and will get it for you as soon as you tell it what you want, the subconscious mind already manifests that in the 4d meaning it's yours it already happened in your imagination. The subconscious mind naturally will materialize that in the 3d as well but that's really just the cherry on top. 🍒

3. PERSIST. 🙂‍↕️😠🥳

Meaning stand firm in your decision and think as if it's already done. Be in the state of the wish fulfilled meaning you sit pretty, affirm when you need to assure yourself and in the mean time, do what makes you happy. Distract yourself.

4. The 3d is neutral. It has no meaning. It doesn't mean you don't have your desire. You give meaning to it. 🧐

It's literally a past newspaper like in Harry Potter, the newspaper that moves. It's in the past and it's the result of our thoughts before. It's not you follow the 3d and react to what it shows you. It follows you so leave it alone and know it is done in the 4d. If you wanna check, check and visualize that desire. For non-visualizers or people who have aphantasia, imagination is not equal to visualization. It can be thoughts and feelings as well. I don't visualize but sometimes when I'm in the mood I do but you could check your mind.

For example:

You're want to be rich. You see the 3d and wanna check your bank account or wallet. It's okay if you see there's nothing. Why? Because you're changing your reality to one where you have money. Check your mind instead.

Do this: You saw the 3d and seeing what the past newspaper (3d) is showing you. "Let me check my mind. Okay, I checked my mind and the 4d. I literally have 10 billion in my bank account. I just need to keep up with knowing it's done and not follow the 3d because it's supposed to be following me and the 4d. The 3d just puts out whatever I'm thinking and the 4d so in the 4d I have my desires. I can calm down now. If I check the 3d, I'm letting it stick. Whatever I focus on grows so let's focus and pay attention to good stuff and that I have my desires." You can cry or feel the feelings. Release them and let it go. Then come back to deciding or affirming whatever technique works for you to persist on what you want instead. Reacting is okay. It's okay to let out your feelings, you're human. The thing is after that, if you keep paying attention to circumstances and accepting the 3d as true then you will be stuck in a loop. It literally just copies and follows the 4d and your thoughts. So if you accept that circumstance as a fact, the 3d will have to follow you and copy that. Meaning, again, getting stuck in that loop until you decide to persist because technically it is already done.

Another example:

You're manifesting a thing that you really want like a shirt or a top. Could be food.

Let's go with fries. "Okay my mom will come home and she bought fries for me. I'm deciding that Mom's got me some fries. Okay, done."

Then your mom comes home but she didn't give you anything. This is crucial. Do not give up immediately. You could still get the fries the next day. For this example, let's say you specifically said now or today. The 3d is neutral. You give the meaning to it. This is an example. Let's say you wanted that and your sister wanted that too.

Your mom comes home. Your sister is looking at what your mom brought home but wasn't told anything about the fries. She is frustrated and gave up. She felt like it didn't work so never mind. Like why isn't it here? Ugh! She then goes to her room. She gave the 3d meaning and she thought it meant that it failed.

Now you. You didn't give up. You kept affirming naturally and deciding that you're gonna have it no matter what. You said: "Nope. That brown paper bag is mine. It has my fries. The fries are there. She's gonna give them to me." Your mom ends up not giving you the bag but you didn't give up. "Nope. I'm not taking no for an answer. She just forgot about it. She forgot to hand it to me but it's there. It's mine." You just chilled and calmed down, continuing to do what you do and never gave up. Your mom then sat next to you and told you that she forgot to give you the fries! 🍟

You both gave different meanings to the situation or circumstance. Your sister gave up and saw it as fact that she didn't get the fries but you didn't stop, didn't give up and just accepted it as a fact that you do in fact have the fries.

Now let me tell you how it happened. How I manifested eating my mom's fried chicken. Reminder, I didn't tell them what I wanted at all but if it feels like inspired action you could get your manifestation that way as well. Your mom or dad could ask you what you wanted and that's basically considered success and inspired action to tell them what you want.

I don't wanna repeat the circumstance for me but who cares! It's the past and I'm a billionaire now! Basically, dad didn't have a job before and we had a strict budget. We were only able to eat fried eggs or hotdogs at this time so you can tell that we couldn't afford other dishes at that moment but I didn't give up. I just ranted about the fear I'm feeling about the circumstance once and released any feelings. After that, I didn't pay attention and forgot about that circumstance. Why, you may ask? Because whatever you focus on grows. Attention is our superpower. You will keep having whatever you're focusing on or paying attention to.

First day. As I said. I firmly decided and affirmed that we're gonna eat fried chicken. I also commanded my subconscious as a bonus. I embodied the energy of Blair Waldorf and Hong Haein from Queen of Tears and decided that and commanded my subconscious like a boss. I am gonna write up a post about this soon! Manifesting with boss or queen energy because we are the bosses and queens of our reality. You are the boss of your subconscious but again it's you. It wants you to have everything you want and it will give you that. Our lunch was different but it's another one of my favorites. It was a delicious soup with chicken and vegetables in it. It's good and we eat that with rice! It was delicious but did I give up? No. This is when I decided to give the 3d a positive meaning. I said "Well, there's chicken breast in that soup. Usually, when we have that dish, we still have some extra chicken in the freezer. If there's this then I'm pretty sure we have extra chicken left in the freezer for mom to cook fried chicken."

I just continued being firm in my decision and accepting my desire as a fact. (I'm literally writing this while Dad's making fries! Another one of my manifestations! Not the exact one. I love the McDonald's one but I haven't given up. It is as good as that though! I consider this as a sign! I was craving that so I decided to give it a go and manifest that.)

Next day. We had this sticky rice chicken broth soup. You probably know what this is if you're Filipino haha! Is it fried chicken? Nope but I still accepted my desire as fact. Affirmed when I felt like it but naturally.

Now today! (Literally eating fries now! I'm such a master in manifesting! 🍟)

Heard Mom talking about needing frying oil and decided to give that a positive meaning. That mom's gonna cook fried chicken. Mom cooks something, I didn't look because I know what it is of course. It smelt different like another food but did I give up? Again, no. Stood firm in my decision again. Affirmed it like a boss like it's gonna happen no matter what. "Nope, that's literally fried chicken breast. Yup, it is. We're having that for lunch and dinner."

I saw Mom put it on the table and it looked and smelled so good! I was so proud of myself. I have been reading and watching law of assumption videos and over consumed. I was so happy because I know what works for me now! You should do what feels right or what works for you no matter what other people are saying in the law of assumption community. Heck, just follow the persisting and assigning positive meaning from mine and do which technique works for you! You can do it! I've had problems manifesting too before but I'm manifesting so easily and effortlessly now. I believe in you. Dare to think that your desires are facts. Also, do what makes you happy in the middle of manifesting! What would we feel when we have manifested what we want? HAPPINESS. Doing what makes you happy (have common sense please) and knowing it's done will do wonders for you! You're basically shifting to your desired reality where your manifestation is a fact and is true! Ask yourself moment to moment when you're free. "What feels the happiest for me to do right now?" For me, it could be watching BTS funny moments or performances or watching Ghibli and Disney movies! I'm currently binge watching what I missed or what I haven't watched! I'm planning to watch all Ghibli movies! I totally recommend them! They give you such feel good vibes! Whatever is available to you that you can do right now like making yourself a nice cup of your favorite coffee and watching your favorite comfort show or movie. It could be playing games or as simple as playing with your pet. Those that you liked to do as a child. Whatever makes you happy, just have common sense. That is why I gave you a lot of examples! Anyway, that is all!

I wanna thank my beautiful sister @babygothprincess (she's not my sister. She's just so helpful and sweet and she always felt like an older sister to me so I gave her that nickname ☺️) for being patient with me and literally becoming my manifesting teacher or mentor here! I wouldn't be able to be the manifesting queen/boss that I am now without her constant help and encouragement! Thank you sis as always!!! You deserve to live your best life because you help all of us here so much! I'm eternally grateful! (High five if you guys know which movie this line is from! 🤚) I can't thank you enough! I learned so much from you!

- XOXO Rian 💋

Btw, who likes roleplaying and Gossip Girl please DM me! I am a co-admin of a Gossip Girl Rp group so tell me if you're interested! It's set in the present so Blair and the others are now married and are adults but there are characters from other shows too. There's a whole new generation. It's the Gossip Girl reboot characters plus original characters a.k.a OC's/the characters we created. Message me if you wanna join in the fun! Bye!

Note: I also manifested being featured in SUA (subliminal amino) and I got it literally just a few minutes after deciding and knowing it's done!

I just literally thought: "Oh my God! I got featured! Thank you so much! That's so sweet." I did it once or twice and whenever I thought about it and it was done!!! 🌈

#manifesting #law of assumption #manifestation #lawofassumption #subliminals #amino apps #success story #how to manifest #blair waldorf #hong hae in #manifest #loassumption

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mostlysignssomeportents · 9 months ago

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Antitrust is a labor issue

I'm touring my new, nationally bestselling novel The Bezzle! Catch me SATURDAY (Apr 27) in MARIN COUNTY, then Winnipeg (May 2), Calgary (May 3), Vancouver (May 4), and beyond!

This is huge: yesterday, the FTC finalized a rule banning noncompete agreements for every American worker. That means that the person working the register at a Wendy's can switch to the fry-trap at McD's for an extra $0.25/hour, without their boss suing them:

https://www.ftc.gov/news-events/news/press-releases/2024/04/ftc-announces-rule-banning-noncompetes

The median worker laboring under a noncompete is a fast-food worker making close to minimum wage. You know who doesn't have to worry about noncompetes? High tech workers in Silicon Valley, because California already banned noncompetes, as did Colorado, Illinois, Maine, Maryland, New Hampshire, North Dakota, Oklahoma, Oregon, Rhode Island, Virginia and Washington.

The fact that the country's largest economies, encompassing the most "knowledge-intensive" industries, could operate without shitty bosses being able to shackle their best workers to their stupid workplaces for years after those workers told them to shove it shows you what a goddamned lie noncompetes are based on. The idea that companies can't raise capital or thrive if their know-how can walk out the door, secreted away in the skulls of their ungrateful workers, is bullshit:

https://pluralistic.net/2022/02/02/its-the-economy-stupid/#neofeudal

Remember when OpenAI's board briefly fired founder Sam Altman and Microsoft offered to hire him and 700 of his techies? If "noncompetes block investments" was true, you'd think they'd have a hard time raising money, but no, they're still pulling in billions in investor capital (primarily from Microsoft itself!). This is likewise true of Anthropic, the company's major rival, which was founded by (wait for it), two former OpenAI employees.

Indeed, Silicon Valley couldn't have come into existence without California's ban on noncompetes – the first silicon company, Shockley Semiconductors, was founded by a malignant, delusional eugenicist who also couldn't manage a lemonade stand. His eight most senior employees (the "Traitorous Eight") quit his shitty company to found Fairchild Semiconductor, a rather successful chip shop – but not nearly so successful as the company that two of Fairchild's top employees founded after they quit: Intel:

https://pluralistic.net/2021/10/24/the-traitorous-eight-and-the-battle-of-germanium-valley/

Likewise a lie: the tale that noncompetes raise wages. This theory – beloved of people whose skulls are so filled with Efficient Market Hypothesis Brain-Worms that they've got worms dangling out of their nostrils and eye-sockets – holds that the right to sign a noncompete is an asset that workers can trade to their employers in exchange for better pay. This is absolutely true, provided you ignore reality.

Remember: the median noncompete-bound worker is a fast food employee making near minimum wage. The major application of noncompetes is preventing that worker from getting a raise from a rival fast-food franchisee. Those workers are losing wages due to noncompetes. Meanwhile, the highest paid workers in the country are all clustered in a a couple of cities in northern California, pulling down sky-high salaries in a state where noncompetes have been illegal since the gold rush.

If a capitalist wants to retain their workers, they can compete. Offer your workers get better treatment and better wages. That's how capitalism's alchemy is supposed to work: competition transmogrifies the base metal of a capitalist's greed into the noble gold of public benefit by making success contingent on offering better products to your customers than your rivals – and better jobs to your workers than those rivals are willing to pay. However, capitalists hate capitalism:

https://pluralistic.net/2024/04/18/in-extremis-veritas/#the-winnah

Capitalists hate capitalism so much that they're suing the FTC, in MAGA's beloved Fifth Circuit, before a Trump-appointed judge. The case was brought by Trump's financial advisors, Ryan LLC, who are using it to drum up business from corporations that hate Biden's new taxes on the wealthy and stepped up IRS enforcement on rich tax-cheats.

Will they win? It's hard to say. Despite what you may have heard, the case against the FTC order is very weak, as Matt Stoller explains here:

https://www.thebignewsletter.com/p/ftc-enrages-corporate-america-by

The FTC's statutory authority to block noncompetes comes from Section 5 of the FTC Act, which bans "unfair methods of competition" (hard to imagine a less fair method than indenturing your workers). Section 6(g) of the Act lets the FTC make rules to enforce Section 5's ban on unfairness. Both are good law – 6(g) has been used many times (26 times in the five years from 1968-73 alone!).

The DC Circuit court upheld the FTC's right to "promulgate rules defining the meaning of the statutory standards of the illegality the Commission is empowered to prevent" in 1973, and in 1974, Congress changed the FTC Act, but left this rulemaking power intact.

The lawyer suing the FTC – Anton Scalia's larvum, a pismire named Eugene Scalia – has some wild theories as to why none of this matters. He says that because the law hasn't been enforced since the ancient days of the (checks notes) 1970s, it no longer applies. He says that the mountain of precedent supporting the FTC's authority "hasn't aged well." He says that other antitrust statutes don't work the same as the FTC Act. Finally, he says that this rule is a big economic move and that it should be up to Congress to make it.

Stoller makes short work of these arguments. The thing that tells you whether a law is good is its text and precedent, "not whether a lawyer thinks a precedent is old and bad." Likewise, the fact that other antitrust laws is irrelevant "because, well, they are other antitrust laws, not this antitrust law." And as to whether this is Congress's job because it's economically significant, "so what?" Congress gave the FTC this power.

Now, none of this matters if the Supreme Court strikes down the rule, and what's more, if they do, they might also neuter the FTC's rulemaking power in the bargain. But again: so what? How is it better for the FTC to do nothing, and preserve a power that it never uses, than it is for the Commission to free the 35-40 million American workers whose bosses get to use the US court system to force them to do a job they hate?

The FTC's rule doesn't just ban noncompetes – it also bans TRAPs ("training repayment agreement provisions"), which require employees to pay their bosses thousands of dollars if they quit, get laid off, or are fired:

https://pluralistic.net/2022/08/04/its-a-trap/#a-little-on-the-nose

The FTC's job is to protect Americans from businesses that cheat. This is them, doing their job. If the Supreme Court strikes this down, it further delegitimizes the court, and spells out exactly who the GOP works for.

This is part of the long history of antitrust and labor. From its earliest days, antitrust law was "aimed at dollars, not men" – in other words, antitrust law was always designed to smash corporate power in order to protect workers. But over and over again, the courts refused to believe that Congress truly wanted American workers to get legal protection from the wealthy predators who had fastened their mouth-parts on those workers' throats. So over and over – and over and over – Congress passed new antitrust laws that clarified the purpose of antitrust, using words so small that even federal judges could understand them:

https://pluralistic.net/2023/04/14/aiming-at-dollars/#not-men

After decades of comatose inaction, Biden's FTC has restored its role as a protector of labor, explicitly tackling competition through a worker protection lens. This week, the Commission blocked the merger of Capri Holdings and Tapestry Inc, a pair of giant conglomerates that have, between them, bought up nearly every "affordable luxury" brand (Versace, Jimmy Choo, Michael Kors, Kate Spade, Coach, Stuart Weitzman, etc).

You may not care about "affordable luxury" handbags, but you should care about the basis on which the FTC blocked this merger. As David Dayen explains for The American Prospect: 33,000 workers employed by these two companies would lose the wage-competition that drives them to pay skilled sales-clerks more to cross the mall floor and switch stores:

https://prospect.org/economy/2024-04-24-challenge-fashion-merger-new-antitrust-philosophy/

In other words, the FTC is blocking a $8.5b merger that would turn an oligopoly into a monopoly explicitly to protect workers from the power of bosses to suppress their wages. What's more, the vote was unanimous, include the Commission's freshly appointed (and frankly, pretty terrible) Republican commissioners:

https://www.ftc.gov/news-events/news/press-releases/2024/04/ftc-moves-block-tapestrys-acquisition-capri

A lot of people are (understandably) worried that if Biden doesn't survive the coming election that the raft of excellent rules enacted by his agencies will die along with his presidency. Here we have evidence that the Biden administration's anti-corporate agenda has become institutionalized, acquiring a bipartisan durability.

And while there hasn't been a lot of press about that anti-corporate agenda, it's pretty goddamned huge. Back in 2021, Tim Wu (then working in the White wrote an executive order on competition that identified 72 actions the agencies could take to blunt the power of corporations to harm everyday Americans:

https://www.eff.org/deeplinks/2021/08/party-its-1979-og-antitrust-back-baby

Biden's agency heads took that plan and ran with it, demonstrating the revolutionary power of technical administrative competence and proving that being good at your job is praxis:

https://pluralistic.net/2022/10/18/administrative-competence/#i-know-stuff

In just the past week, there's been a storm of astoundingly good new rules finalized by the agencies:

A minimum staffing ratio for nursing homes;

The founding of the American Climate Corps;

A guarantee of overtime benefits;

A ban on financial advisors cheating retirement savers;

Medical privacy rules that protect out-of-state abortions;

A ban on junk fees in mortgage servicing;

Conservation for 13m Arctic acres in Alaska;

Classifying "forever chemicals" as hazardous substances;

A requirement for federal agencies to buy sustainable products;

Closing the gun-show loophole.

That's just a partial list, and it's only Thursday.

Why the rush? As Gerard Edic writes for The American Prospect, finalizing these rules now protects them from the Congressional Review Act, a gimmick created by Newt Gingrich in 1996 that lets the next Senate wipe out administrative rules created in the months before a federal election:

https://prospect.org/politics/2024-04-23-biden-administration-regulations-congressional-review-act/

In other words, this is more dazzling administrative competence from the technically brilliant agencies that have labored quietly and effectively since 2020. Even laggards like Pete Buttigieg have gotten in on the act, despite a very poor showing in the early years of the Biden administration:

https://pluralistic.net/2023/02/11/dinah-wont-you-blow/#ecp

Despite those unpromising beginnings, the DOT has gotten onboard the trains it regulates, and passed a great rule that forces airlines to refund your money if they charge you for services they don't deliver:

https://www.whitehouse.gov/briefing-room/statements-releases/2024/04/24/fact-sheet-biden-harris-administration-announces-rules-to-deliver-automatic-refunds-and-protect-consumers-from-surprise-junk-fees-in-air-travel/

The rule also bans junk fees and forces airlines to compensate you for late flights, finally giving American travelers the same rights their European cousins have enjoyed for two decades.

It's the latest in a string of muscular actions taken by the DOT, a period that coincides with the transfer of Jen Howard from her role as chief of staff to FTC chair Lina Khan to a new gig as the DOT's chief of competition enforcement:

https://prospect.org/infrastructure/transportation/2024-04-25-transportation-departments-new-path/

Under Howard's stewardship, the DOT blocked the merger of Spirit and Jetblue, and presided over the lowest flight cancellation rate in more than decade:

https://www.transportation.gov/briefing-room/2023-numbers-more-flights-fewer-cancellations-more-consumer-protections

All that, along with a suite of protections for fliers, mark a huge turning point in the US aviation industry's long and worsening abusive relationship with the American public. There's more in the offing, too including a ban on charging families extra for adjacent seats, rules to make flying with wheelchairs easier, and a ban on airlines selling passenger's private information to data brokers.

There's plenty going on in the world – and in the Biden administration – that you have every right to be furious and/or depressed about. But these expert agencies, staffed by experts, have brought on a tsunami of rules that will make every working American better off in a myriad of ways. Those material improvements in our lives will, in turn, free us up to fight the bigger, existential fights for a livable planet, free from genocide.

It may not be a good time to be alive, but it's a much better time than it was just last week.

And it's only Thursday.

If you'd like an essay-formatted version of this post to read or share, here's a link to it on pluralistic.net, my surveillance-free, ad-free, tracker-free blog:

https://pluralistic.net/2024/04/25/capri-v-tapestry/#aiming-at-dollars-not-men

#pluralistic #labor #antitrust #trustbusting #noncompetes #indenture #ftc #matt stoller #david dayen #tapestry #luxury fashion #capri

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queensunshinee · 3 months ago

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His favorite toy- Part 4 || Art Donaldson x reader

Rating: Explicit (18+)

Warnings: SMUT (p in v sex), our favorite toxic relationship is back.

Word Count: 6.1k

(Part 1) (Part 2) (Part 3)

This one can stand on its own, but I recommend reading the rest :)

His favorite toy- Part 4:

"What are you doing here?" I tried to sound composed. My heart couldn't stop racing at a speed I never wanted it to beat again. A speed reserved for one person only. And no matter how many years passed or how out of place he would seem in my world, Art Donaldson entered my life like he was the boss. Like he was paying my salary. With exaggerated confidence and an aura that made me blush. A smile that made my lips tremble.

I was painfully aware that my mascara was smudged after a too-long day, and that I had taken my shirt out of my skirt after lunch. Painfully aware that I had taken off my shoes an hour ago because pacing around the room in heels made it hard to think. Painfully aware that he was seeing me in all my flaws now. Years after the last time we met, and he was just as smug.

"I was in the area, and Patrick mentioned something about you working around here..." he said, as if everything in that sentence made sense. As if the fact that I stayed in touch with Patrick made sense. I nodded, trying to somehow control this ridiculous situation. I'm not supposed to react this chaotically to Art Donaldson. I'm 28. I'm not a 19-year-old girl. I do morning meditations. I drink green smoothies and ginger shots. I'm a fucking queen. But I don't feel particularly royal when I remember the coffee stain on my shirt, or the half-eaten avocado sandwich I bought from the café downstairs. It was awful. Both the sandwich and the café. I’m pretty sure the regular barista hates me because once I corrected one of my orders. Ever since, he's been out to get me. It’s a nightmare. I've considered changing jobs more times than I'd like to admit because of it.

"That sounds... completely normal," I mumbled, and he chuckled in response. One of his legs found its natural place over the other, and his fingers played with one of his billion rings in a disturbingly nonchalant way. "Is a tennis player supposed to have that many rings?" I blurted out the first thing that came to mind, knowing how stupid it sounded. Hating myself a little for how stupid it sounded. "I don’t play with them, and they’re beautiful," he shrugged. "They’re ridiculous," I rolled my eyes, trying to recover from this topic of conversation. "Yours is ridiculous," he shot back playfully, looking directly at my ring. At the small diamond (Art probably thinks it’s too small- well, fuck him).

"Oh, this?" I asked, and now we were both looking at it. I liked it until about three seconds ago. Until he walked into the room and stared at it like it was filled with snake venom. It felt like it weighed as much as my entire body. It felt like it was burning my hand from the inside. My blood boiled beneath it, reminding me that all my plans just went to hell. A reminder that I was crazy to even try making plans. "It’s pretty, delicate," I could hear the mockery in his tone. No matter how many years passed, I would always recognize every nuance in his voice. Every rise and fall in octaves. Every unnecessary affectation. He smiled the way he did when he tried to get under my skin—five minutes hadn’t passed, and he’d already succeeded. How embarrassing. What a failure as a person. A failure as a woman. A failure to feminism. Sitting in my office with a coffee stain on my shirt, while my ex from college critiques my choices like some kind of fraudulent fortune-teller. Like God sent him to help me make some life-changing decision.

"Why are you here?" I asked again, trying to maintain control and not snap at him. After all, we hadn’t spoken in nearly a decade. What good would it do to lash out at him? What would it accomplish to tell him about the therapy sessions, about the years I didn’t believe anything good was coming my way at all? About the fact that because of him, I didn’t believe I could ever be anyone’s first choice. "Why did you stay in touch with Patrick?" he asked, and for a moment, it sounded like his tough mask cracked. Like his defenses crumbled and his heart was laid bare. Like we were 20 again, and he was holding my face, explaining how scared he was to let me go.

"He insisted," I shrugged. The day after that party, Tashi's accident happened. Some would call it karma, but I’d say it was just bad luck. Because even though she hurt me without even knowing my name, I never wanted her career to end before it even began. And everyone was sad that day—Patrick, because he felt guilty, Tashi, because her knee twisted in the air, and Art, because he lost a friend and the girl who forgave him for all his bullshit. Aka me. But he won what really mattered. He got Tashi. Patrick found me that day in the library, refusing to wallow in my own misery, and somehow, he managed to entwine his miserable life with mine. He managed to secure a spot on my couch from time to time. He managed to impress me with lame jokes about his pathetic life, or maybe about mine.

And life didn’t turn out the way I planned. I didn’t discover a cure for cancer or make it to space by age 25. My apartment was crappy. So fucking crappy. But there were funny moments, and I only occasionally followed Art’s career. I only followed his love life when his face and Tashi’s were plastered on billboards. That could never have been me. It would never have worked. It wasn’t meant to be, I’d tell myself every time I was filled with self-pity. Every time I worked a temporary job selling skincare products or transcribing lectures for students. Every time I felt lost. I knew he wouldn’t have settled for someone like me in the long run.

He and Patrick made up two years ago, which was ironic. Because what’s the point of maintaining my friendship with Patrick if not to have at least one person in my life who understands the pain of knowing Art Donaldson? Of knowing that once, he was a part of your life, and it felt amazing. Almost unreal. Almost spiritual. But they made up, and Patrick promised me he wouldn’t talk about me with the smug bastard sitting in front of me right now. He promised and didn’t keep it. Well, here’s someone who’s never eating pasta at the restaurant near my place on my dime ever again.

"He insisted?" Art looked amused, and I just shrugged again in response. I knew he wanted more details, but I wanted him to take a headfirst dive into a volcano. Desires are ridiculous. "He insisted," I repeated, and this time he laughed. Actually laughed. "It's like you two have a contract not to tell me anything. How am I supposed to work with that?" He spoke as if we’d been friends for years. As if there hadn’t been a rupture, a break, and devastation. As if I didn’t have the image of him leaving me at that party seared into my brain. As if my heart hadn’t shattered into pieces because of him more times than I could count.

"I want you to handle my money," he suddenly said. "Excuse me?" I raised an eyebrow, looking at him as if he'd lost a lobe of his brain. "You're a financial advisor, right? Be my financial advisor," he said it like it was the most obvious thing in the world, all while glancing at the pathetic office I was sitting in. "You don’t want me to be your financial advisor, Art," I almost snorted in disbelief. "You haven’t spoken to me in ten years, and now you know what I want?" he asked, allowing himself to raise an eyebrow in return. "This is a big firm; I can recommend someone who’d be happy to take you on," I tried to fake a smile. "I'll go to your boss and tell him I’m willing to let only you handle my account, and that you’re refusing. I’m sure he’d be thrilled. I Googled him—Albert looks like a guy who’d love to lose a wealthy client," and I saw that spark in his eyes. Challenging. Almost childish. The kind that said, 'Let’s see what you do. You’ll lose.'

"That’s a terrible idea," I declared. "Keeping in touch with Patrick and not me is a terrible idea. Managing my investments will give you some good money," he said, gesturing with his hands, and for the first time, I realized how big his hands were. "Are you bored with your life, Donaldson?" I asked, trying to figure out what I was dealing with here. "Come on, Peaches, you have to admit you missed me, at least a little." And for a change, his smile was genuine. He looked like every word I said could hurt him. "Like I miss my appendix," I rolled my eyes, and he laughed. "I’m looking forward to working with you." He suddenly stood up and extended his hand for a handshake, as if that wasn’t utterly ridiculous. "I’m looking forward to it like a deer looks forward to being eaten by a lion. It’s on my wish list," I said, and he just laughed again. A laugh that was too real. The kind that made tears gather in his eyes.

An hour after he left my dingy office, my heart was still racing at an unreasonable pace. The kind that made me wonder if there was a defibrillator in the building. I tried to remember if I shook his hand at the end of the meeting. I couldn’t. . . . As he left your office, Art felt like he does after a long tennis match. One that he won. A thought detached from reality, but he allowed himself those kinds of thoughts now. He was a new person. He believed in victories before they even happened. And seeing you after so many years in real life, not in blurry Facebook pictures, felt like a victory. You hadn’t changed much. The years had even given you a more sophisticated look—subtle yet full of curves. Your eyes still looked at him with that same spark. With a glimmer of something he could never quite put his finger on. But he wanted to conquer it. He wanted to win.

When Patrick and he reconnected, it was alongside the problems that only began in his relationship with Tashi. Alongside Lily’s birth, alongside the intrusive thoughts that had plagued him all his life, he wondered if it was a mistake. But Patrick was Patrick, and when he insisted on something, he got his way. And for Patrick, he and Art had to reconnect. So they did. Slowly, gradually. He wasn’t his best friend anymore, of course. But sometimes Art thought he was his only friend. Which was strange, because he was always surrounded by people. Tashi was supposed to be his best friend, but she never was. She made it clear more than once that it was a ridiculous notion.

One night, as he and Patrick were having beers at some sketchy bar, Patrick casually mentioned that you and he were good friends. Art looked at him as if he’d fallen from the moon. He wanted to punch him. He hadn’t expected that. It felt like someone had punched him in the chest and knocked all the air out of his lungs. Patrick got over Tashi and settled for you? You weren’t supposed to be a compromise. Art wouldn’t allow that. He’d go to war if he had to. He had no grounds for such a war, but you were too good to settle for Patrick. You were too good to settle for anyone, really.

He quickly realized that things between you and Patrick were platonic. Or at least that’s what the guy sitting across from him kept repeating, but Art wasn’t fully convinced. Everything was too mysterious. Patrick kept too much information to himself. He didn’t share anything with Art about your life, and the more Patrick kept things hidden, the more obsessed Art became.

And it wasn’t weird that he checked if you’d posted a new status on Facebook almost as often as he checked if his infant daughter needed anything. It wasn’t weird that he searched for you on Instagram. It wasn’t weird that he looked through the profiles of all 67 people you followed and hated most of them. Because you didn’t follow him, and millions of people did. You could have followed, and he wouldn’t have even noticed—allegedly.

"She got engaged," Patrick said one day, throwing it into the air as if he were talking about his grocery list. Art stared at him, blinking, trying to process the information. Who’s the person responsible for this? Who’s the person who took you away, and why do you think he deserves forever with you? What kind of thought is that—that someone else deserves forever with you? That someone gets to have a picnic in the park with you. To pick you up for dates. To share a house with you. There’s someone who’s going to be the father of your kids. Who picked out a ring for you. Who’s going to make sure your dreams come true. Art doesn’t know what your dreams are. But he doesn’t want to think about it.

"Is he a good guy?" Art knew that was what he was supposed to ask. That’s what social norms demanded. "I’ve sat with them a few times when they were together. He’s kind and funny, and I think he loves her," Patrick shrugged, as if that’s all it takes to be with you. "Well, I’m happy for her," Art took a gulp of whiskey, too big, letting the drink burn its way down his throat. Patrick looked at him like he didn’t believe him. His problem, Art thought. Let him believe whatever he wants.

That night, Art opened your Instagram while Tashi was asleep. There wasn’t a picture of a ring or a tag of some guy. Tashi got annoyed because of the phone light. Art apologized.

That was almost six months ago. Since then, his life had changed because he and Tashi decided to keep their relationship strictly professional. It was for both of their benefit, though he wasn’t entirely sure how much it benefited him. He was still learning how to function without her. He was still learning how to communicate effectively. He was still trying to bridge the dissonance that came with going home to an empty house, yet navigating press conferences as if he were happily married.

In two weeks, even that charade would end. And he wasn’t sure what he was even fighting for. Because they weren’t truly happy. And you were in his thoughts enough for it to count as emotional cheating if he were married. So he let Tashi go. He was much less broken than he had imagined he would be without her.

'I’m looking forward to working with you.' -Art- He couldn’t resist sending the message. Maybe ten at night was too late. Maybe you were already asleep. Maybe your fiancé was with you, trying to love you. Maybe Art was intruding.

He didn’t particularly care if he was. . . . "I’m going to kill you," I said into the phone, hearing Patrick's rolling laughter. "You're exaggerating—" he began, trying to save his ass. "We had one rule! Just one, Patrick!" I found myself pacing the bedroom while Alec worked in the living room. This was the day after the meeting with Art Donaldson. "He lives in New York and he’s divorced. I felt like a jerk not telling him where you work when he asked so nicely," Patrick’s voice sounded genuine. "He's not divorced," I rolled my eyes. I would know if Art were divorced. His and Tashi's faces are plastered all over this stinking city.

"They’re finalizing things in about a week and a half. There will be a press conference and everything. It’s going to be a big deal," he said, as if it were common knowledge. As if I should already know this. "Sorry I didn’t give you a heads-up. That wasn’t cool," he added, and I could hear him biting into something, probably an apple. "We’re supposed to be a team. You can’t prioritize Art Donaldson’s interests over mine. I fed you when you were half-homeless," I declared. "I still prioritize your interests, drama queen," he continued speaking lightly, as if I had no reason to feel like my world was crumbling. "How is this prioritizing my interests? I’m going to manage his money. I’m going to handle his investments, Patrick. I’m going to see his stupid face every time he wants, as part of my job. Because of you! This is your fault!" I found myself stopping for a moment in the room, almost stomping my foot in frustration. Years of self-work going down the drain.

"Everything okay, Bunny?" I heard Alec's voice from the living room. "Yeah, I’m just talking to Patrick," I replied, steadying my voice into something more composed and responsible. So he’d keep thinking I had my life together. "Tell him 'hi,'" Alec said, and I could only guess he’d put his headphones back on. "Well, hi," I rolled my eyes, returning to the conversation with the chief idiot. "I’m sorry," Patrick mumbled after a few seconds of silence, and I hung up, sprawling on the bed like a starfish. He didn’t sound sorry.

I sat down next to Alec on the couch, wearing just my bra and panties with an open button-down shirt over it. Sexy enough for any stranger peeking through the window. A teenage boy's wet dream. I’m on fire. He kept staring at his screen, ignoring my existence. I started placing small kisses along his neck, trying to set the mood. Trying to seal the deal. Trying not to think about the one-who-shall-not-be-named. Trying to be a good woman. Trying to conquer feminism with mediocre sex, just like Alec and I know how to deliver. "I really have to finish this, Bunny," he mumbled, shifting uncomfortably, making me sigh, lean back, and roll my eyes. "How long will it take?" I asked. "You’ll probably be asleep by then. Watch an episode of your favorite show instead," he said without looking at me. "Can we talk about the wedding?" I tried another angle. "If I don’t have time to make love to you, I definitely don’t have time to plan the wedding," he said, slipping those hideous—massive—headphones back on, ending the conversation. I kind of hated that he never said "fuck" or "have sex" or even used the word "sex" in general. He always treated it like I was Princess Diana. I am clearly not Princess Diana. Sometimes I wonder if he even wants to marry me at all. It’s been over six months since he proposed, and he’s been dodging setting a date since practically the same day. It’s very frustrating. I need to meditate.

"Bunny," he suddenly said, and I looked at him expectantly while he removed his headphones after I’d already started heading to the bedroom, "you have a stain on your shirt." He quickly put his headphones back on, eyes glued to the screen. At least the soup I had for lunch managed to fuck me today. . . . "You can't just show up here," I said as I tried to finish chewing the terrible sandwich I’d chosen today. I think it had mold. "If you had answered my messages, we could’ve scheduled something without me showing up at your office." Art looked good. So fucking good. It was frustrating. Today was the day I decided to skip the contacts and wear glasses. God hates me. But on the other hand, God was trying to help me—making sure Art Donaldson never gets attracted to me. God is on my side. I knew she was a feminist.

"What do you want?" I mumbled in surrender, knowing he wouldn’t leave until he said whatever he came to say so we could all move on with our lives. "To talk business," he smiled from ear to ear. "I'm eating right now, come back in half an hour," I replied, "or better yet, schedule a meeting like a rational human being." I continued pressing my point. "Better idea, let's go grab lunch and talk business over food." He looked at me like a dad who just told his little girl what her next hour is going to look like. "Sorry, I can't—" "Art Donaldson! When I got your email, I couldn't believe it," Albert burst into my office excitedly. Sure, let’s invite everyone. Apparently, there’s free cookies being handed out. All are welcome.

Art kept wearing his unbearable poster smile while Albert went on and on about tennis and how much he loved Rafael Nadal. Albert is clearly a man with vast general knowledge. "She treating you right?" Albert asked Art as if they were best friends, and now they both stared at me while all I wanted was to finish my food-poisoning sandwich in peace. "She just agreed to join me for lunch to talk about my money," Art said, and if looks could kill, Art Donaldson would’ve had a stroke right there and disappeared from our lives as suddenly as he appeared. But no, looks don’t kill, and feminist God apparently isn’t on my side anymore because now I’m sitting across from this asshole at a diner. I ordered a burger because I knew he’d never allow himself to eat one and would whine for hours about how he wants to eat a burger every day but can’t.

"I hope that's okay," I smiled one of the fakest smiles I could muster, blinking as I took a bite of the slab of meat in front of me. "Mmm, it's amazing," I sighed, watching for a moment as he stared at me, mouth half-open, eyes sparkling. "You're cruel," he stated after shaking his head, as if shaking off urges. He looked different with short hair. I always told him he needed to cut it because it kept falling into his eyes, but his curls had a youthful playfulness that was clearly missing now. He looked defeated.

"So, what did you want to talk about? What are you looking to invest in?" I tried to focus on the reason behind this ridiculous meal while Art stole a fry from my plate and picked at the sad grilled chicken he had ordered. Maybe I should stop making those satisfied sounds when I eat. "You," he said, biting his lip like a kid who let a curse word slip in front of his mom. Testing boundaries. Watching as I rolled my eyes. "I'm not going to let you waste my time, Donaldson," and we both knew I wasn’t just talking about business. Because honestly? Fuck business. Art didn’t seem like someone who was planning to disappear from my life anytime soon. He had shown up too determined for that to happen. "I have no intention of wasting your time, Peaches," he smiled, leaning back, relaxing a little after we established this basic ground rule. He continued stealing my food.

"So, tell me about him," he suddenly said after insisting I order an enormous ice cream that was supposed to be just for me. Every time his spoon got closer, mine heroically fought it off. "Who?" I asked, taking a spoonful of ice cream and leaving it in my mouth for a few seconds. His gaze immediately locked on my ring. "We're not that kind of friends, Donaldson," I said, watching as he inched his spoon toward my ice cream, and I quickly blocked him. No chance. "So what kind of friends are we?" he asked, smiling, looking half at me and half at our spoons, still battling each other. "I don't know," I sighed a little, finally lowering my spoon in defeat. There’s no point in fighting. It’s truly a lost cause.

The more Art Donaldson entered my life, the more Alec distanced himself from it. Art did it in a quiet way, almost eerily so. It started with deep conversations about financial investments he wanted to make. About charity events he wanted to be part of. A foundation he wanted to establish. He talked about his money as if it made sense to be this rich at his age. As if he and I were on the same level in terms of lifestyle. He never once acted condescending about it, even though I expected him to. Even though I had prepared arguments in advance. He never once asked why I didn’t continue in academia or why I gave up on medicine. He didn’t poke at that wound. Even though he could have. Even though it would’ve been easy.

It continued with stupid messages in the middle of the day about how he was hungry, tired, or wanted to go home. Messages about seeing a guy dressed as a bear in the middle of the street. Fucking New York. He’d ask questions about my day. Ask what I ate. If I ate. If I was drinking enough water. Never anything too deep. Never out of nosy curiosity. If I forgot who he was, I might’ve thought he cared about me. I know, it’s unbelievable.

One time, he called me at seven in the evening, talking such nonsense that I wondered if he was drunk. I wondered out loud, of course, because I’m not 19, and I’m not afraid to tell Art Donaldson what I think. He wasn’t drunk. He made dinner and decided to call. He said it like it was the most natural thing in the world. Said it, and then went on about his day. About Lily. About how she was adjusting to splitting her time between his place and Tashi’s. He talked about Patrick and told me what he was cooking. It was domestic. Like I was a part of his life. Weird.

Alec and I were in the middle of a fight that made me wonder if I was mentally strong enough not to throw the vase that was sitting on the dresser. Not at him. I’m not violent. On the floor, to make a point. “Do you even want to marry me?” I suddenly asked. Because at that point, I no longer knew what was happening. I don’t like not knowing what’s happening. “Of course I wa-” “To who the hell is it obvious? Do you know how embarrassing it is when people ask me about a wedding date almost a year later, and I change the subject?!” I cut him off. “Every time I try to bring it up, you’d rather talk about light fixtures or that time we randomly had an hour-long conversation about types of doors.” I reminded him of some of the truly bizarre moments we’ve had recently. “We do need to replace the door.” I shot him a look that should’ve made it clear that if he kept going with that sentence, I was breaking the vase on the floor.

“Why don’t you want to fuck me anymore?” I suddenly asked. Almost defeated after too much yelling. “What? Bunny-” he blushed. The question was too brutal for him. Too raw for his delicate soul, which couldn’t handle talking about sex. “I can count on one hand how many times we’ve fucked since you proposed,” I said it as bluntly as I could, enjoying his discomfort. “We don’t have to make love every day,” he mumbled. Last time I checked, to make love, there has to be love. I threw the vase. Alec left the house. . . . ‘You’re not at work.’ – A –

‘How is it that we’re back to you not answering me?’ – A –

‘Did you secretly get married over the weekend?’ – A –

‘Seriously, get back to me. It’s about the charity event.’ – A –

The bitter truth was that I was busy wallowing in the current failure of my life- Alec. I binge-watched all the seasons of The O.C. in three days and ate more ice cream than should be legal. But I didn’t feel the pain in my bones the way you’re supposed to when ending what was supposed to be the relationship. I’d once hurt more over losing someone who loved me less.

‘Are you okay? You’ve got our mutual friend worried.’ – P – He talked about Art like he was a spy. ‘Hey, could you stop being an idiot for a second and just answer to say you’re alive?’ – P –

‘I’m calling the fire department to check your apartment.’ – P –

‘This is concerning.’ – P –

‘I’ll call your mom. She’d love to hear from me after that time I burped in her face.’ – P –

‘I broke up with Alec.’ – (Y/N)–

‘You’re not going to die alone.’ – P –

‘I know you think you will, but you won’t.’ – P –

‘You can’t know that.’ – (Y/N) –

‘You’re an idiot.’ – P –

‘Are you okay?’ – P –

‘I mean, obviously you’re not okay, but... are you okay?’ – P –

‘I’m okay.’ –(Y/N)–

When I walked into the hall where Art Donaldson’s charity event for kids with muscular dystrophy, was being held, eyes didn’t turn toward me like they do in the movies. Everyone was too busy with their conversations and stroking each other’s egos. From the side, it almost looked homoerotic—the gentle touches on shoulders and the occasional pats. Almost sexy. Maybe I was seeing sex in things that weren’t sexy because my ex refused to touch me with more resolve than an ant carrying food that weighed more than its body. “You made it,” Art’s voice came from behind me. “You’re sharp,” I shot back as I turned to him, taking one of the champagne glasses he offered. “Is Patrick here too?” I asked. “No, he couldn’t come. He signed up for a Challenger in Malibu,” he replied, his eyes unapologetically scanning me. I felt completely exposed under his penetrating gaze. “So random,” I mumbled. Art’s hand gently pulled me by the waist, bringing me close to him while keeping his hand exactly where it was. I almost let confusion show on my face, but he introduced me to the man who had come over to talk to him, never taking his eyes—or his hand—off me. Not during the next conversation, or the next one, either. He presented us as a strange package deal. If someone wanted to talk to him, they had to talk to me too. Maybe he hoped it would drive people away. It didn’t. "Want to step outside for some air?" he whispered in my ear. After spending most of the evening standing so close to each other, it felt strange to pull away now that no one else was around. "Sure, why not." I shrugged, acting like it wasn’t a big deal. Before stepping out, we each grabbed a glass of wine. "You raised a lot of money," I remarked, trying to break the ice. "You disappeared on me," he shot back, not bothering with small talk. "I’ve been busy." I shrugged again. "Where’s your ring?" he asked. "You’re obsessed with my hands, Donaldson," I said, unsure how to respond to this level of bluntness after being in a relationship with someone who was too scared to talk to me for years. "It’s not relevant anymore," I added, as his gaze didn’t allow me to dodge the question. "Good, it was ugly," he stated, stopping in his tracks, making me stop too and turn to look at him, raising an eyebrow. His expression was challenging again, with that playful spark, inviting a debate. "It wasn’t ugly," I rolled my eyes. "It was pathetic, Peaches. You know you deserve better," he declared, leaving no room for argument.

And somehow, he was so close. Close enough that his breath, smelling of mint gum and wine, blended with mine. "I’m not looking for a rebound," I murmured. "Neither am I," his usual smug smile was gone. There was no trace of it. He looked hazy. Almost captive. "What are you looking for?" I dared to ask. "You," he replied. It was a good answer.

After an excruciatingly long hour and twenty minutes, during which I had two more glasses of wine, and Art spoke into the microphone—stopping me from downing a third—we arrived at his house. It looked a bit like a modern palace. "How is it that you live here?" I mused aloud, and his mouth found my neck as he chuckled. "What, this old thing?" he mumbled, his kisses as sharp as his words. "Don’t leave marks, Donaldson. We’re adults," I managed to say as I kicked off my heels, and he unzipped my dress.

"I want to do this from the moment you walked into the room today. Fuck, you’re so hot," he growled. It was throaty and masculine, almost animalistic. His eyes scanned me like a smoke detector picking up a cigarette. Within seconds, I found myself on the most comfortable couch I had ever been on. His lips traveled over me as if he was painting a map, as if he remembered all the sensitive points on my body. "I missed her," he said, giving a small bite to my right nipple, glancing at my face as I let out a moan. "her too," he added, moving to the left one. "Art, I need you." I tried to make it clear to him that I couldn't handle the teasing right now. That he should save it for another time. For someone else. For something else. I need him inside me.

"Peaches, have some patien—" he started, continuing to place deadly kisses on various areas of my body. "Art, just fuck me. Okay?" I almost pleaded, my voice lower than usual, filled with an inexplicable need. He looked at me for half a minute and nodded. "Okay baby, I got you," he said. And within seconds, his boxers were on the floor, and my panties disappeared too. He was inside me as if this was his home, as if he belonged there. "Fuck. Art. Thank you, there," I felt stupid, but I couldn't control it. I needed him so badly. I needed someone to fill the empty space. That Art Donaldson would fill the empty space.

He moved at a chaotic pace, almost as if he was trying to prove he could give me exactly what I wanted. What I needed. And he was right. I came after a few minutes, during which his cock filled me perfectly, and his lips found mine and refused to let go. He wrapped me from every direction and came right after I did.

"It's like we're teenagers," I muttered, and he laughed. "I usually last longer," he stated, not getting up, his body weight feeling almost comfortable on top of me. It was almost nice to breathe heavily. "So do I," I retorted. His hand drew little shapes on my shoulder. "Let's go to sleep," he decided, standing up slowly, reaching out his hand and pulling me toward him. Not forgetting to give me another kiss on the lips, a small one. As if it had happened a million times before. As if it were a routine.

"Your bed should be illegal, Donaldson," I said after he tossed a soft T-shirt he had in his closet over me. He lay down beside me, laughing. "I can't believe you're here. I was afraid it wouldn't happen," he said, with a seriousness that felt profound. "How long have you been thinking about this?" I tried to sound amused. "Since the moment I stepped into your office," his honesty was both terrifying and comforting. No one had talked to me so openly in a while. "probably before that" he added. "You can't waste my time, Art," I replied, looking up to catch his gaze. . . . Art took a moment to nod. He already had a ring for you. Even before you broke up with that idiot, he had bought the ring. He didn't know where life would lead you. He just knew he was going to spend every free moment proving to you that he loved you enough not to waste your time. Not when you were his favorite person.

How are we doing guys?!?!?!?! Can't wait to hear from you. That's my chance to remind y'all that English is not my first language and I might have some grammar issues. love you all, hope it was a good addition to the story <3

taglist: @lalalandofive @wild-rose-35 @theynothem @angelism13

#challengers fic #art donaldson #patrick zweig #art donaldson x reader #patrick zweig x reader #challengers #art donaldson smut #his favorite toy

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nudityandnerdery · 1 year ago

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[Image Description: A series of sixteen tweets by John Rogers @jonrog1 that say:

1) A moment at the Teamsters/UPS rally this morning clarified our current struggle with the studio CEO's (among other bosses). Teamsters got a lot of wins, but one of the main sticking points is the pay for the 65% of local UPS workers who are part-time …

2) If you read the SAG-AFTRA demands, a truly STUNNING amount of their points involve protecting background actors, and trying to improve conditions for the 87% of their union who makes less than $26,000 a year.

3) As WGA members know, this is not a strike for the showrunners. We're trying to fix the fact the the current younger generation of writers can't even afford housing and their pathway to advancement has been cut off.

4) Like … folks, I'm fine. There are maybe two proposals in there that affect me. I'm walking in 90% weather and losing over 50% of my income for the year because I want the younger writers to get what I got at this stage of their careers.

5) Our unions and the CEO's and various negotiators have a fundamental cognitive disconnect. Because CEO's types only succeed by FUCKING THEIR PEERS.

6) Zaslav, Iger , those types of execs, etc have never gone without so a fellow exec or a junior exec could thrive. A fellow exec failing is the moment to use your own leverage to advance past them, if not destroy them.

7) Part of it is the money but part of this, I think, is a genuine inability to grasp even the concepts of any labor action. Because it is always other-directed.

8) So many people treat capitalism as part of nature red in tooth and claw, but it's not. It's a human construct. There are different rules you can play by -- but not if you want to win.

9) The greatest gift capitalism ever granted was the ability to validate selfish behavior as a virtue because that's "just what's necessary, I don't make the rules!" (Look ma, it's reification!)

10) This is where I usually point out that Adam Smith wrote that you have to overpay workers to keep your labor force up, and you need to take into account the psychic damage of capitalism to the workers, and that admiring the rich is the greatest source of moral corruption …

11) But I'll stave off that diversion to just land with … this is a discontinuity of attitudes which I think was once breached by the fact that management USED to come from people who loved building their company or their trade, even if they eventually did management shit.

12) Now, even that thin thread of SYMPATHY (Adam Smith joke, get it? People?) is gone. The CEO's are working off a different scorecard, practically and morally. We're not just playing by wildly divergent rules, our lives and careers are DEFINED by those wildly divergent rules.

13) To them, we are IN FACT being "unreasonable", as our behavior does not make sense in their moral framework. They don't think they're being evil, they think they're playing by the actual rules, and we're nuts.

14) There's not great conclusion to this, other than to note that the bit about making writers homeless was described as "cruel but necessary" because they genuinely don't understand the meaning of cruel, because they are always on the other side of the power dynamic.

15) And if they're ever NOT on the top of the power dynamic, they're not suffering, they're dead. They are un-people in their own eyes.

16) These men are not irrational, but they are deranged. This isn't about money, it's about identity. And in a fight about identity … they will set billions on fire.

Because they can always get more money. But they'll never shed the stink of losing to their lessers."

end of image description]

#strike #sag aftra #wga strike #ups strike #john rogers #sag strike

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bebebelll · 1 year ago

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does anyone know her dad? daniel ricciardo smau (part 1)

pairing: daniel ricciardo x toto's secret child!reader / daniel ricciardo x schumacher and wolff!reader warnings: cursing and some general fandom hate wags get note: first time doing this i dont know if this right but lets go! part 2, part 3 and part 4

mickschumacher happy birthday to @ynquads !! sorry for crashing into the cake! mama said she'll make you another

liked by maxverstappen1, landonorris and 122 498 others

gina_schumacher thanks for almost cropping me out of the picture

mickschumacher it's about yn!! ynquads i though i was you favourite cousin gigi :( why u being so mean to me :( i'll go tell my parents micschumacher ill tell mama you're being mean to yn username123 always love seeing mick and yn be annoying little siblings

maxverstappen1 congrats! is it enough to say it here or do i have to make my own post? ive given you a present

ynquads bring me cowboy boots from austin and you dont have to

username cute cute cute cute cute cute

username honestly schumacher genes dont even feel real anymore

username right!?!?! i want yn to win the figure skating grand prix but then i remember that video where she went karting with max username like a billion drivers and a skater and the good looks in ONE family? god really does have favourites

lewishamilton happy birthday! it's been great seeing you grow up

username excuse me sir? what do you mean grow up?

ynquads visited japan for a wedding and now i'm all ready for skate america!! let's gooo cricket club!!

liked by maxverstappen1, landonorris, susie_wolff and 112 666 others

username YOU GOT INVITED TO YUZURU'S WEDDING

ynquads i even got to bring daniel🤭

danielricciardo it was a lovely wedding❤️❤️(ours is gonna be better)

username excuse what the fuck lewishamilton actually you're not allowed to marry her without our permission danielricciardo whose permission would i even ask? lewishamilton every german speaking driver and like three team bosses good luck

username ARIANA (our queen & god susie wolff) WHAT ARE YOU DOING HERE

maxverstappen1 daniel's being gross make him stop

danielricciardo am not! ynquads lmao throw bread at him danielricciardo all the love ive given you and this is how you repay me? ynquads ooh i'll repay you 😏 maxverstappen1 dont be weird under my comment

username oh she has time to fly to japan but not go to a single race ever

username babes danny has not been in the since zandvoort. theres been no race to go see him username they've been together for like three years and she's only been to less than ten races username like seriously cant she ever be supportive username you people do realize she's an athlete too?

ynquads we got silver!!!💪🥈🥈🥈congrats to kaori sakamoto 🥇 and isabeau levito🥉 (also thanks uncle lewis for dinner)

tagged: lewishamilton

liked by maxverstappen1 and 237 274 others

nicorosberg he gave you alcohol?

ynquads i have never actually drank alcohol at all in my entire life (also dad was there i was not even allowed to get food that had rum in the sauce) maxverstappen1 oh yeah we did not at all just get drunk ynquads shut up before nico goes to talk to my DAD

username are we all just gonna ignore that she calls lewis "uncle" like seriously how disrespectful is that

username calm the fuck down she calls him and all the older grid (especially sebastian) uncle so it is not new

danielricciardo why you holding your head like that? is it heavy from all the pretty? i can hold it for you

nicorosberg this is who you choose @ynquads danielricciardo why are you bullying me too??? ynquads hes funny onkel nico (uncle) username how is nico rosberg here dragging danny ric? you dont even follow him?

username EVERYBODY CALM DOWN THIS IS NOT A DRILL WE HAVE A CHANCE TO HAVE YN WIN THIS YEAR'S GRAND PRIX PLEASE BE ON EVERY PODIUM

susie_wolff congrats honey! we're really proud!

username i still think it's so damn weird she just hangs out with the older grid. how does she even know then to go on dinners

username okay but when the hell did this even happen? i follow yn and she trains in toronto and during summer is in germany or england. she doesnt attend the races? how the fuck is she and DANIEL RICCIARDO together babes

username i bet my life that max introduced them i can feel it in my bones that he planned this username "oh sorry i won by 30 secs and you have a shitbox to drive, wanna meet my friend she's great gf material? you have no chance without help" ynquads i mean.... username OH MY GOD

username she's such a shit girlfriend honestly. she dates daniel for publicity and then drags lewis down too

username what the fuck are you smoking??

username how the FUCK did daniel ricciardo bag the talented pretty QUAD QUEEN MISS YN SCHUMACHER!!! thats my wife actually! what about our kids and three lambs??

f1wagsupdates paparazzi has released a video of mercedes team boss toto wolff exiting a restaurant and driving off with a young woman. even though she tried to cover herself, the woman was quicky identified as yn schumacher. she is a figure skater and 20+ years younger. in an interview from home yn can be seen walking around the wolff kitchen in little clothing. is this the ending to toto's perfect looking marriage with fellow motorsport boss susie wolff?

liked by 10 385

username if i dont read it, it doesnt exist. no one's cheating ever

username toto and susie's kid is like 5 how could he throw that away??

username its always the goddamn family men fucking over their wives and kids

username this is such bullshit. toto and susie have been together since like 2011 this is so horrible

username little clothing? she's wearing like pajamas

#formula 1 #formula 1 x reader #daniel ricciardo x reader #daniel ricciardo insta au #formula 1 social media au #daniel ricciardo #toto wolff

688 notes · View notes

goodlucktai · 30 days ago

Text

raised on little light (4/4)

rise of the tmnt word count: 7k this will be the last part of this story, but there's a oneshot collection up on ao3 where additional gioverse fics will live ! thank you as always to @soldrawss for the incredible art, and to her, @mykimouser and @remedyturtles for making this au a billion times more than what it would have been without them title borrowed from northern attitude by noah kahan read on ao3

???

Gio has never belonged anywhere. He’s never had a home that he was more than a guest in, or a family that was his to keep.

He was told as a child, by the perpetually displeased matron who managed the orphanage he lived in, that he was difficult, unruly, uncooperative. Largely because he was almost completely nonverbal up until the age of about five.

Around then, Gio was placed with a strict family who denied him meals until he asked nicely for them, even if that meant sending him to bed on an empty stomach for the third night in a row. He didn’t remember much of that time, but he still carried the food insecurity with him. He was still deeply afraid when someone bigger than him asked a question he didn’t know how to answer, no matter how deeply he buried that fear down and stubbornly lifted his chin.

The matron called it progress when that placement came to an end and Gio came back with better manners, more willing to say please and thank you as soon as he was prompted. She said, “It’s not that hard to be polite, is it?”

He struck out on his own the second the opportunity presented itself. He was thirteen when he climbed out a window and disappeared into the dull grey of early dawn, everything he owned in a bag that weighed practically nothing. No one was going to look for him. He didn’t mean anything to anyone, it didn’t matter if he lived or died, if he went hungry or cold. Whatever he didn’t scrape together for himself out of nothing he just had to go without.

It was a stroke of luck that he was hardy and difficult to squash, like a bug, with the disproportionate strength to match. He had been on the street for a handful of days before he was mugged for the first time, and he managed to fight the older yokai off despite being half his size.

The would-be mugger was some combination of reluctantly impressed by his own broken nose and mildly pitying regarding Gios’ empty pockets. He swiped the blood off his chin and said, “If you’re looking for work, I know a guy.”

The guy in question was a kingpin named Ryu who was willing to give Gio work but seemed to be under the impression that the kid would flake or wash out or get himself killed. When he kept not flaking or washing out or getting killed, Ryu kept giving him work.

Which is how Gio fell into the business that he did—mostly running. Some smuggling. Stealing when he had to. At the end of that first week, he had a tidy sum. At the end of that first month, he was renting a room of his own above a bar, where sometimes the owner let him wash dishes in exchange for a free meal.

A road opened up. A life he could have appeared in front of him. Not an easy road, or a comfortable life. But one that was his.

The kindest thing anyone ever did for him was when Ryu sussed out his sharp eye and potential with a long-range weapon, and he did that for his own benefit. Making Gio better at his job made Ryu more money.

Gio ended up forfeiting a good chunk of his pay for two weeks in exchange for the compound crossbow his boss tossed into his lap, and then forfeited an additional three days’ worth for as many lessons in care and maintenance. He’d had to go hungry for a bit, but it was worth it. Clients stopped dismissing him at a glance when he started carrying the bow. They started taking him seriously when he proved he knew how to use it.

He felt safer with its weight on his back. By the time he was seventeen, there was talk of a war in the human world. The former head of Hidden City security had gone rogue, had built weapons and taken them topside to eradicate humanity in the name of keeping yokai kind and their society safe.

“It’s a bad time to be a turtle,” the owner of the bar Gio had lived above for years said one evening, a hard look on his face. He jerked his chin toward a field jacket hanging from a hook on the wall, and Gio understood without being told more than once.

From then on, he kept his shell covered, a combination of the jacket and a baggy scarf. He kept everything he owned in a duffel and the pockets of his work pants. If it mattered, Gio carried it on him. He had his built-in armor and the armor he crafted himself ever since he was a nonverbal toddler in the foster system:

Never give anyone an inch. Never let anyone close enough to hurt you. Gio couldn’t remember the last time he let cruel words land hard enough to sting.

It didn’t last, because of course it wouldn’t. Ryu had lost a lot of business due to the war, and one day he’d reached his breaking point. More and more partners and clients were turning to Big Mama’s budding empire, the safety of her hotel and the riches she offered like candy. Gio had been standing in the wrong place at the wrong time when a deal Ryu couldn’t afford to lose fell through and he needed an immediate target to place blame on.

Gio had barely had time to snatch his bow and bag off the table before bolting out the door. He couldn’t return to the bar because Ryu’s people would know to find him there. There weren’t a lot of unaffiliated places that would take in a turtle, no matter how much money that turtle offered in exchange for room and board. In seconds, his life was thrown into total upheaval.

It wasn’t the first time he’d had to disappear, and it wasn’t hard to leave, but the thought of starting over was enough to make him want to sink to the ground and let it swallow him.

He was barely eighteen and he didn’t belong anywhere. No one cared if he lived or died. Some days even Gio nearly fell into that pit of not caring.

Then he turned a corner and saw the yellow door, glowing like sunlight on water in an otherwise dim, dirty sidestreet. It felt warm. It felt like open hands reaching out for him and only him, no one else.

Maybe it was wishful thinking, but it felt like the way home.

—

2031

Before he was Giorgio Hamato, he was Clem. The tag attached to his shell had said clemmys guttata, and the people who found him had assumed that was his name. He didn’t talk much then, couldn’t explain where he’d come from. He didn’t even know.

The world had been very small and safe when he was born—a cool, dark enclosure, with food to eat and water to swim in, and other tiny little bodies to tuck in next to under a brilliant warm light—when suddenly the world became huge and he himself had been changed, and he went from that small dark safe place to somewhere bright and noisy and unfamiliar, and those other little bodies were gone.

He didn’t know how to explain any of that when he was a child. He missed someone but he didn’t know who. All he had was a tag on his shell to indicate he had ever belonged to anyone, and he didn’t even have the tag anymore.

Mikey’s face had done a funny spasm when Gio had given his full name, a little like the spasm that always preceded a very angry phone call or argument behind closed doors that Gio politely pretended he couldn’t hear. It seemed to take Mikey a minute to decide what he wanted to say, and finally he smiled with all his teeth and said, “Clem’s a nice name! It’s short for Clement, or—oh, Clementine! An orange, just like me! Citrus duo!”

Just that seemed to cheer Mikey up, his fanged grin warming into the real thing. Gio felt himself smiling back automatically, strung along by his older brother’s buoyancy and enthusiasm. Some days he felt more like a moth than a turtle, bumbling through the dark to follow the light. Some days he was certain he would walk through hell if he knew Mikey was on the other side.

“Okay, I’ve turned the corner on Clem, but you could still have another one!” Mikey barrelled on. “Nicknames are pretty big around here, I have like a hundred of them. And there’s our running theme, you know, with the Renaissance artists. We could pick out a matching name for you if you want!”

Of course Gio wanted that. He wanted a name and a home and a family of brothers who smiled at him the way Mikey did, who carved out a place for him at the table like it wouldn’t make sense for him to sit anywhere else.

But he should have gotten here sooner if he wanted to be a part of that. He missed the boat.

Splinter was consulted, because it only felt right, Mikey said in the tone that was becoming familiar to Gio as his I-will-force-of-nature-my-way-through-this-and-god-help-anyone-who-tries-to-stop-me tone, to include Splinter in the decision.

Gio mostly stayed tucked behind Mikey while doing his best to make it look like he wasn’t hiding. He didn’t know how to be around this quiet, absent-minded old man who mostly stayed in his bedroom—who, in another life, might have been Gio’s father.

The rat seemed agreeable, if a little disinterested. He patted Mikey’s cheek absently and hobbled over to a dusty shelf standing against the far wall. Mikey reached back for Gio’s hand when he realized he had taken a few steps without him and pulled him forward from where he was rooted uncertainly in the doorway and the two of them watched Splinter haul an old book off a shelf, brushing fuzzy film off the embossed title with his thumb.

“I picked all of your names from here,” Splinter said. “I had one picked out for you, of course, Grey. But—I don’t quite remember—”

Mikey’s hand tightened around Gio’s. Gio understood, abruptly, why none of the turtles came in here.

Leonardo’s absence in this house was as obvious and noisy as someone standing on the corner of Times Square with a megaphone. The pictures that crowded the memorial in the hallway were full of strangers—a Donatello who smiled and made silly poses for the camera and draped himself over his siblings instead of snapping his teeth at anyone who got too close—a Raphael who scooped his little brothers up in his arms, never flinching or cringing away like he feared he’d hurt them by accident just by standing there—an April who sprawled on the sofa or sat on the counter whisking eggs like she as good as lived here, even though Gio could count on both hands the number of times she’d visited since he moved in.

Gio studied those photos over and over again, trying to make the people in them look familiar. The only one he recognized was Michelangelo, but it made his stomach squirm uncomfortably to recognize him, because it made it obvious how tired and dull his Mikey had become in comparison. Still the brightest thing in Gio’s whole life, but somehow, impossibly, not as bright as he would have been in a kinder world.

And Splinter was a ghost of his old self, too. He had never fully recovered from losing one of his children, and now that the rest of them were grown, he had begun to allow himself to drift away.

Leonardo, Gio thought sometimes, what did you save them from that could be worse than this?

“That’s okay,” Mikey said with forceful good cheer. “We can go through it together, maybe jog your memory.”

But Splinter’s energy wore off quickly, before they’d made it through more than a dozen pages. Mikey didn’t know how to apologize for that, and Gio didn’t know how to make him understand that he didn’t need to.

He’d never known anyone stronger than Mikey, who flipped past a photo of Da Vinci’s La Scapigliata as easily as if the name in the header didn’t dig a knife right into his stomach.

He’d never known anyone more deserving of a miracle.

—

“Time travel is tricky,” Renet explained, kicking her feet idly, as at home on the edge of the rooftop as she seemed to be anywhere else.

She had insisted they get iced coffees, her treat, but Gio couldn’t enjoy his drink. He was letting it melt into watery tastelessness without so much as taking an obligatory sip.

“True time travel,” she added, not for the first time—really stressing the difference. “Mikey’s dimension-hopping is amazing, but it’s something else entirely. We’re talking about the real deal, here.”

The reason why Mikey and his brothers couldn’t go back, despite all their begging and bartering and, in one case, threatening over the years was simply because they were already there. They existed in the fabric of that time already. Things became unstable when they were overloaded and it was already such a delicate balance to maintain.

“Like a coral reef,” she said, which was a less helpful explanation than she probably realized.

Before, when Renet had said Gio didn’t belong here, she didn’t say it to be cruel. Gio’s knee-jerk reaction was hurt, and then an instant smothering of the hurt, and then an attempt to look unbothered so Mikey wouldn’t bare his toothed smile at Renet like a weapon. Some time after that, he let himself sit with her statement, and he realized that any friend of Mikey’s must have meant it some other way.

Now she was explaining that Gio didn’t belong here because he actually belonged back there. In the past that Mikey had begged her a dozen times to send him back to. In the past where Leonardo was still alive. Gio should have been there all along, but he wasn’t.

“You know, if we engage in a bit of healthy rules lawyering and obey the letter more than the spirit of Null Time’s foundational principles,” Renet said brightly, “we’re really, like, righting a wrong, if you think about it. Please don’t think too hard about it.”

“And when I’m done, you’ll bring me back?” Gio clarified.

“You’ll end up exactly where you belong,” she told him. “Hey, you remember your yellow door?”

Gio, surprised she knew about that, nodded.

Renet told him that she had been sent to investigate an explosion of mystic energy that opened windows throughout all of time and space. It was a spectacle that had led her right to the turtles. Right to Mikey.

“That was him,” she explained, smiling at Gio. “He didn’t mean to, but he gave you a way home. Next time you’re lost, keep an eye out, and he might surprise you again. He really is amazing, huh?”

When Gio returned to the lair, Mikey seemed restless and unhappy. He looked like he was seconds away from grounding Gio from leaving ever again and pulling the plug on his scheming with Renet once and for all. He looked like he wanted to protect Gio from every bad thing that dared to darken their door.

Gio really loved him. He really did. He hadn’t known what that felt like until he met his big brother, and then he knew it felt like carrying a sun around inside you. Impossible to contain, spilling light from every side.

He wished for the thousandth time that he’d been here all along. But maybe it’s for the best that it worked out the way it did.

It’s because he got lost back then that he could save Leonardo now. He was the only one who could.

—

“You’re leaving,” Donatello said.

Gio, who had lived there for almost a full year and could count the number of times Donatello had addressed him directly on one hand, froze mid-step. Being approached by the imposing turtle in the metal shell was a lot like staring down a shark in a swimming pool.

He had no idea how this conversation was going to go, and had truthfully not even planned on having it in the first place.

Saying goodbye to Raphael and Donatello was really for Gio’s own benefit, not theirs. They didn’t like him, and wouldn’t miss him, but Gio had never stopped wanting to be their brother. He hoped that if he did this right he’d get another chance to be.

Yesterday, Gio went into the dojo after dinner and took his usual spot along the side of the room. Raphael didn’t always acknowledge his presence there, but he never kicked him out, allowing Gio to observe his training without censure.

The snapping turtle was a powerhouse, enough force in each strike to level buildings—that probably would have rattled the entire underground if it weren’t seamlessly absorbed by the Genius Built equipment—but he was also incredibly precise. It was a marvel to watch someone so big do exacting, meticulous katas with a cool smoothness that belonged to water.

Gio could see why he used to be the family’s foundation, why his siblings used to trust him to carry them everywhere. His siblings still did. Raphael was the one who lost that faith.

Gio tucked his knees to his chest, made himself extra small and extra out-of-the-way, and rested his chin on his folded arms. He didn’t move for most of an hour, and Raphael sent him a few wondering, sidelong glances, clearly confused but unwilling to break their companionable silence.

Bye, Raphael, Gio thought, a secret farewell to his biggest brother that he’d never hear. I hope you’ll be happier.

Now he was standing in a hallway feeling half his height under Donatello’s unflinching stare. It was one thing to throw the term ‘genius’ around in conversation, and another thing entirely to be confronted by someone much smarter than everyone else to a degree that was laughable, feeling like a deer blinded by headlights on a highway.

“Why bother?” Donatello asked.

Gio tilted his head, not understanding the question. Feeling that instant gut-punch of fear that followed not knowing how to answer a question, that had followed him since he was five years old.

“This has nothing to do with you,” Donatello said, each word blunt and precise, a knife punching through paper. “You didn’t even know Leo,” he went on. He spoke the name differently than he said every other word, placing it down instead of dropping it wherever. “Why do all of this for him?”

Nothing to do with me, Gio thought, letting the hit land where Donatello wanted it to. Since he didn’t know Leonardo, he wasn’t really family. He was missing something intrinsic and fundamental that every other Hamato had in spades. He knew that already. It still hurt. He still let it hurt.

And now he did understand how to answer Donatello, but it wouldn’t endear him to the older turtle in the slightest. It might make Donatello angry enough to snap at him.

The truth was that Gio wasn’t doing this for Leonardo. He wasn’t even really doing it for Donatello or Raphael or Splinter or April.

“For Mikey,” he corrected, quiet in the cavernous hallway.

The following silence was big and hungry enough to swallow up the whole city. Gio was braced for a lot of things to happen. He didn’t expect Donatello to draw back as if he’d been slapped in the face, staring at Gio with an actual emotion peeking out of his eyes—surprise, clear as day, where Gio was used to seeing weaponized nothing.

Then Donatello turned in the direction of his lab and walked away as abruptly as he’d shown up in the first place. Gio stood still for an extra second or two, just in case the shark circled back.

When Renet returned to the lair and announced everything was ready for their not-technically-illegal extracurriculars, Donatello appeared in the room moments later. He would stop a forest fire in its tracks, Gio thought, as all activity ground to an immediate halt with his arrival.

Donatello didn’t so much as glance at Renet, radiating a frosty disinterest in her direction that even she knew better than to attempt to bubble her way through. He was holding something very purple in his hand, and Gio didn’t have time to do more than glance at it before the older turtle was walking right up to him and putting the purple thing in his jacket pocket.

“This is for the Krang,” Donatello said flatly. On Gio’s other side, Mikey was watching in stunned disbelief. “Don’t handle it too much, it’s temperamental. Shoot it from your bow. And give that monster a message from me.”

Message delivered, Donatello straightened Gio’s lapel idly, and then walked out of the room. Renet said, “Wow, he sure is a force of nature!” which was putting it lightly, since both she and Gio had been careful not to even breathe too loudly while the softshell was talking. “Anyway, you ready?” she asked Gio.

He was ready. The sooner he left, the sooner he could come back. Mikey on the other hand looked so pale and miserable that Gio couldn’t help but tell him, “If you really don’t want me to go, I’ll stay.”

A tiny, secret corner of his heart betrayed him by wishing Mikey would ask him to stay. But his big brother—who worried about him constantly when he stayed out too late, but never imposed a curfew, who fussed when he came home with scrapes or bruises from odd jobs in the Hidden City, but never forbade him from going back out—would never keep him here if he thought Gio wanted to go.

His smile said as much. Warm, and not as bright as it should have been, and a little sad.

“Then I’ll see you when it’s over,” Gio said firmly.

Mikey’s smile faded, a crease forming in his brow. His eyes darted over to Renet and whatever he saw on her face surprised him. He glanced back at Gio with that surprise painted all over his expression. Then the sadness got bigger. Then the warmth won.

He poked a spot on Gio’s forehead playfully, and pressed a kiss to the same place. Gio’s heart shuddered, unsure what to make of the flood of affection over its parched earth.

“You are not alone,” Mikey said firmly. “Promise you’ll remember.”

“Promise,” Gio whispered.

The actual act of time travel was over before Gio had a chance to open his eyes.

—

2020

From all the stories Gio had heard about him, it would have made a certain kind of sense if Leonardo turned out to be ten feet tall.

Gio had seen pictures. He’d even seen videos; windows into another life. He knew of Leonardo, the boy who had lived for his family with all the same earnestness and conviction that he had died for them with. The boy who tore a hole out of the world when he left it, a wound that closed up but didn’t heal right. The one whose absence was a scar slapped across the earth where no flowers could grow.

He’s so small, was all Gio could think the first time he saw him. He’s so small.

Nothing could have prepared him for Leonardo looking up at him and making a joke, as if he wasn’t broken and bleeding and farther away from home than he’d ever been. He was frightened and trying not to be, his smile fearless and his eyes glassy and traumatized. He was clinging to a bloody photo like it was the only thing left for him to hold.

Gio had only just met him, and he already couldn’t imagine letting anything hurt him. He had already begun to realize, a light clicking on in his head, exactly why no one had really survived losing this kid.

There was a light in Leonardo that felt familiar—cooler than Mikey’s warmth but gentle in the same way, like a breeze on a hot day—and Gio bumbled toward it the same way, too. Stupid moth dressed up in a turtle shell.

You don’t belong in the dark, Gio didn’t say.

“We’re going home,” Gio told him instead.

The slider pressed his cheek against Gio’s shoulder and curled up tired and trusting in his arms, a little turtle familiar with the art of being carried someplace safe by someone bigger.

Gio swallowed a painful lump in his throat and held his brother as securely as he knew how.

He had never carried anyone before, had never been carried as far back as he could remember. He wanted to get it right.

The Krang’s howls of pain had gone tellingly quiet when the yellow door glimmered into existence. Gio waited an extra moment to be sure, but he couldn’t imagine the revenge that Donatello had had almost eleven years to dream up would have left big enough pieces behind to be a problem even if one did manage to trickle through after them.

It was the first time Gio had ever killed anything, but that knowledge wasn’t heavier than the kid who was bleeding all over his jacket, who wanted to go home so badly he was willing to trust a complete stranger to take him there.

Compared to him, it wasn’t heavy at all.

The walk to the lair was long, but with Leonardo’s tech thoroughly fried and his own phone full of numbers that had become extremely long-distance, Gio had no way of contacting the Hamatos for a pickup. He also wouldn’t have known how to start that conversation even if he had the means to.

The lair itself was a step to the left of familiar. The walls and layout were exactly the same as Gio remembered them, but somehow it managed to look like an entirely different home. It was not the quiet museum he had lived in.

There were blankets everywhere, cups stacked haphazardly in an odd formation, a half-built computer taking up most of the coffee table. Comics and sweaters and sneakers and skateboards were strewn in all directions like someone’s closet had exploded.

It couldn’t have been more obvious at a glance that a big family lived here. It wouldn’t have been unreasonable to guess, after one look around, that they were always sharing space, constantly getting under each other’s feet, comfortable in their closeness.

Gio felt oddly seasick standing there, absorbing what this opposite shore had looked like before a devastating hurricane barreled through and rearranged the landscape. But he only had a moment to take it in.

When Mikey started shouting, Gio started running, a knee-jerk reflex.

Bursting into the garage was interrupting the opening act of a tragedy—entering stage left and changing the direction the play was going to go.

He had never seen Donatello wear emotions so plain on his face, eyes glassy with tears that went sliding down his cheeks the second Leonardo started to speak. He was across the room before anyone else had finished processing the prodigal son’s return, lifting his twin out of Gio’s arms and sinking to the floor with him, crushing Leonardo to his chest. He was rattled by the close call—crying mostly silently, but shaking like a leaf—and clinging with a desperation that Gio understood perhaps even better than Donatello did.

He knew exactly what the nightmare scenario looked like in high definition. And he knew exactly what Donatello looked like after surviving it.

Gio wouldn’t wish that on anyone, but certainly not this kid. Donatello had never warmed up to Gio, never even came close, but Gio was quickly realizing that he would do anything—anything—to protect this bright, quick-to-cry little likeness of him.

Raphael was weeping openly, huge, wracking sobs, lifting them all into his arms with a deftness and certainty that Gio had never witnessed before. His Raphael always hesitated before touching anyone, second-guessing his strength at every turn. The first time he had touched Gio’s shoulder, he had visibly worked up the courage to do so in a way that just hadn’t made sense.

It made sense now. This big protector, the biggest brother, the shield who let a knife get through. The guardian who almost failed.

Gio couldn’t look at Mikey for longer than a second at a time without feeling his chest start to constrict painfully. He wanted to go home. He kept waiting for a yellow door to appear.

But Leonardo’s eyes flew wide with panic when he realized Gio wasn’t in step with him to the infirmary. Gio understood why the world fell to pieces without him because he had only known Leonardo for the better part of three hours and already his built-in response was to do anything to take that fear away.

He took Leonardo’s reaching hands the way no one took Gio’s when he was sixteen and held them. He promised not to leave yet.

“Thank you,” Raphael said suddenly. “God, no one said that yet. Thank you, Gio, for—”

“You don’t have to thank me,” Gio replied, staring at Leo’s hand squeezed around his, because it was the only safe place in the room.

“Uh, we really do,” Raphael said. He was sitting patiently still while Casey cleaned his eye, gazing earnestly at Gio without moving his head. “I know some people have a thing about that, like, ‘there’s no place for thank yours or apologies between family,’ but we don’t subscribe to that policy.”

“Sometimes it’s just nice to hear it,” little Mikey piped up from where he had finally eeled his way onto Leonardo’s cot despite everyone else telling him not to.

He snuggled right in, sure of his welcome, his shell a perfect fit beneath Leonardo’s arm. There was no way Donatello hadn’t noticed immediately, glued as he was to the other side of the bed, but he didn’t do more than roll his eyes. When the rest of the family clued in they let out aggravated sighs, but no one made any attempt to remove the smaller turtle. April only straightened out Leonardo’s blanket so it covered them both.

“I wanted to say it, too,” Mikey mumbled, word salad lost in the hollow of Leo’s neck and shoulder where he tucked his face to hide. “Thank you, Gio. And sorry, Leo. I couldn’t get you out. I tried and I couldn’t. If you died it would have been all my fault. I didn’t save you. Sorry, Leo,” he said again, voice thick and choked and giving himself away.

Six people start talking at once, all of them vehemently opposed to the idea Mikey was presenting. Gio couldn’t stand the idea of even a sliver of his Mikey’s self-blame and self-hate existing here, too, when it never should have existed at all.

“You did save him,” he said, unintentionally cutting through the noise as perfunctorily as an arrow piercing through a straw target. Mikey peeked out at him, red eyes miserable and swimming with tears, and Gio forced himself to meet those eyes head-on. “You sent me,” he said.

“Oh,” Casey said, a look of slow-dawning understanding on his face. “You’re from the future, too.”

April said, “That would have been so much harder to believe yesterday.”

Mikey’s eyes were round as he lifted his face most of the way out of hiding. Gio’s heart fucking broke letting himself remember for one second the life-altering grief that this fifteen-year-old had to live through the first time around. The bleakness that drained his whole world of idealism and wonder like rain washing colorful sidewalk chalk away.

It didn’t happen, he thought, willing someone who wasn’t present to hear it somehow. It won’t ever happen now.

“Did I really?” Mikey ventured in a tiny voice.

“Really,” Gio said firmly. “You couldn’t reach him inside the prison dimension because he wasn’t there anymore. He was already gone.”

“Because you got him out,” Donatello interjected, piecing it together laughably quickly. “Mikey’s portal on Staten Island didn’t work because his portal from the future beat him to it. Leo wasn’t there because he was with Georgie out here.”

The nickname from him of all people rattled something in Gio’s heart that he was careful to step on and keep still.

“How come it had to happen that way?” Mikey whined nasally, drying his face on the blanket even though it made Donatello hiss at him. “That really scared me!”

Casey was staring from across the room with a look on his face that was becoming more stricken and haunted by the second. Gio caught his eye and held it, the only confirmation he was willing to give that whatever conclusion the other time traveler had come to was probably the correct one—and also, hopefully, enough of a hint that Casey should keep it to himself.

“Isn’t that a paradox?” Raphael was venturing nervously. “Like in the movies? Aren’t those—not good?”

“Not according to Novikov’s consistency principle,” Donnie said in a very loud, rapid-fire voice, phone appearing in his hand, “which I am happy to explain to you all if you’ll give me a brief moment to reorganize my PowerPoint slides. S.H.E.L.L.D.O.N., bring me the laser pointer.”

“No PowerPoints,” Splinter cut over him. “And no paradoxes! It is time for little turtles—and honorary turtles—to go to bed!”

“Okay, well, we can not do the slideshow, but the paradox thing is kind of out of our hands?” April replied.

She was kicking her shoes off as she said it, though, and climbing up next to Raphael on the other cot. The big snapping turtle patted the free side of the bed until Casey minced over to join them.

“We will discuss it in the morning, like civilized mutants,” Splinter said decisively, distributing forehead kisses and blankets throughout the room in the same no-nonsense tone. It was businesslike to a degree that almost felt silly and performative—that was meant to be silly and performative, Gio realized, because it was causing Splinter’s children to scrunch their faces up and fight laughter.

He blinked at the polka-dotted blanket that appeared in front of him.

“Take that jacket off and I’ll get it cleaned for you,” Splinter said, tone gentling just slightly, just for him. “I know my turtles tend to run cold, so wrap up in this in the meantime.”

Gio was not a child who needed to be coddled or tucked in. He had outgrown any real need for a parent years ago. He had, within days of meeting Splinter in the future, smothered the little hope that his actual parent might want him.

But he still shrugged out of his jacket, letting go of Leonardo’s hand only briefly to do it. He folded the jacket inside-out to hide the blood from anyone who hadn’t noticed it yet and traded it for the blanket that Splinter wrapped around his shoulders.

He held the front edges together in his free hand so it didn’t slip down his shell. He couldn’t help rubbing the fabric between his thumb and the side of his forefinger, memorizing the softness.

“You heard all that, right, Miguelito?” Leonardo mumbled, slowly losing his battle to stay conscious as he poked one of the sunny spots on Mikey’s cheek. “More proof that you’re the best little brother a guy could ask for. Maybe I’ll retire and leave all the portaling to you from now on, how ‘bout it?”

“That’s illegal,” Mikey replied promptly. He was unselfconcious about the tacky tear residue on his face and seemed to feel better now that he was done crying. “You’re stuck with us forever. Donnie, get up here already.”

“Yeah, Donnie, get up here already,” Leonardo parroted unhelpfully.

“You have so many broken bones, Nardo,” Donatello grumbled, sounding halfway convinced despite himself.

“So don’t break anymore of them and we’re golden, Tello.”

Leonardo finally fell asleep with his hand curled around Gio’s and his younger brother and older twin squeezed into the bed on either side of him. Everyone else dropped off one by one, unwilling to leave the room to find a more comfortable place to sleep, clustered together like it went against their very nature to be apart.

When Gio gave in and rested his head in the pillow of his folded arm, he had only had his eyes closed for a number of minutes before a furry hand touched his forehead. He feigned sleep, a riot of tenderness and confusion taking over his chest, as a thumb brushed gently over his brow in a way that reminded Gio immediately of his big brother.

His big brother who, Gio was only just realizing, was a patchwork of everyone who had ever loved him. Pieces that made up a greater whole, inherited and passed on. Love that traded so many hands before it made its way into Gio’s.

Splinter was humming a song Gio didn’t recognize, low and soft, over and over. Gio shouldn’t have felt safe enough to sleep, but he did. And he was.

—

Someone else was humming now, the same song in a different register.

“Rise and shine, Clementine,” that voice says, warm and sweet and on the edge of crumbling, like a coffee cake crusted in cinnamon sugar, fresh out of the oven and falling apart in eager hands.

Gio wonders for a second if he’s home. Then he realizes that he must be dreaming. He’s still in the infirmary but it’s darker now and absolutely silent, not even the machines at the bedside beeping or blinking. No one moves when he lifts his head or stands up to look around. And Mikey is here.

Long dark hair in a messy plait, shoulders broad and burdened with things that weren’t just his to carry, twenty-six going on a hundred. Gio’s Mikey.

Some jangling, dislocated thing in his chest is soothed by the presence of his big brother and Gio smiles automatically.

Home came to him. That’s never happened before.

“You’re amazing, you know that?” Mikey says, beaming back at him. “You did exactly what you said you would. You got him out. My big brother, my Leo—Gogo, thank you. Thank you.”

The praise and gratitude fills him with a golden warmth that would put the sky in July to absolute shame. It isn’t hard to hear it from Mikey the way it was almost impossible to endure hearing it from little Raphael, because Gio keeps everything Mikey gives him, even the things he doesn’t deserve.

“I can come back now,” he says, not quite a question. He can’t think of why else Mikey would be here.

Something passes in front of Mikey’s joy like a cloud moving in front of the sun. A cold, hard kernel of dread lodges itself in Gio’s stomach, doubling in size by the second. It must show on his face, because Mikey crosses the few steps between them urgently.

“If I could, I would,” he says. “I’d bring you anywhere you wanted to go. But I can’t.”

Mikey wouldn’t hurt him—had never hurt him, had never given Gio any reason to believe he would ever hurt him—so when he holds out his hands, Gio takes them. It seems to give the older turtle a little strength, or maybe courage, some cluster of tension in his shoulders leveling out.

They stand there together instead of apart as Mikey says, “You belong right here.”

Gio has to fight his first and second impulse to flinch away from that. Maybe Mikey can tell, because he squeezes their joined hands, expression pleading.

“Why?” Gio asks, barely enough strength behind the question to constitute a whisper.

I wouldn’t have left if I knew I couldn’t come back, he doesn’t say, because it would be selfish and unkind, and maybe even untrue. He can’t imagine abandoning Leo to that dark place he found him in for any reason. It’s hard to even really think about leaving him after he pleaded with Gio not to go. The first person who had ever asked Gio not to go.

“Why can't I go back?” he says, feeling half his age, that stupid child who still wanted to be wanted, who hadn’t figured out yet that it would never happen.

“Georgie baby, the future hasn’t happened yet. There’s nothing there to go back to.”

He struggles to wrap his mind around that, not quite understanding yet. “You’re there.”

“No,” Mikey admits, “not even me. All that’s left of me is this part, the part that went with you.”

Horror creeps in like a late autumn chill through a window someone didn’t shut right. Gio’s world is upending, a disaster that’s about to happen, the split-second before a car crash.

Mikey goes on, “I asked Renet to let me tag along. This much of me, anyway. Sorry, shortcake,” he adds ruefully, a younger brother who lived long enough to become the overbearing older one. “I know you wanted to go, and I couldn’t force you to stay. But I hated the thought of you out there by yourself.”

“I thought I’d get to come home,” Gio says. He feels crushed, eyes stinging, a hopeless aching thing yawning open inside him. He feels stupid. He should have known better. He thinks of Mikey’s face when Gio left, just another person who left. He thinks of never seeing Mikey’s face again, and the pain pours out of him because it’s too big and too full of sharp broken edges to hold.

“I’m sorry,” he tries to say, but it comes out punchy and strangled, mostly a sob, “I’m sorry.”

“Hey,” Mikey says, all fast, swooping right in. His hands come to rest on Gio’s shoulders, a familiar comfort. “Sweet kid, you didn’t do anything wrong.”

Gio’s big brother, the one who taught him everything that matters. How to cook soft scrambled eggs. How to make a friendship bracelet. All the words to Ribs by Lorde, learned while dancing together in the kitchen in the middle of the night. Gio had never held hands with anyone just to dance. He had never laughed so loud in his life.

That kitchen was the safest place in the entire world. The heart of an almost-empty home, where a little light above the stove always stayed on. Gio could find his way to that room in total darkness. He could find his way there from the other side of the universe.

“You meant the world to me,” Mikey says. “That doesn’t just disappear.”

The tears don’t stop, betraying him one after another. A dam broke somewhere inside him, the last levee standing underwater. He’s pulled into a hug, tucked under his brother’s chin for what could be the last time. Gio clings to him the way he never allowed himself to before, some desperate and frightened and homesick corner of his heart convinced that he can hold on tight enough to never let go.

Mikey presses his cheek to the top of Gio’s head, swaying them back and forth. Effortlessly kind, even now, even when Gio doesn’t have to be his problem anymore.

“Will I see you again?” Gio asks, not sure he wants to know the answer.

“Who knows?” Mikey tells him warmly. “Maybe you should wake up and find out.”

—

Someone is gently shaking him awake. He doesn’t flinch away because the hands on his arm are familiar. They’re smaller than he remembers but he’d know Michelangelo anywhere. He’d never mistake him for anyone else.

When Gio opens his eyes, a round, bright face is beaming at him. There is nothing broken or worn out or drowning about this kid. He’s summer sunshine, he’s spoiled and loved and has never gone a single day without being scooped up and smothered in affection. He wouldn’t know the first thing about living without all of that.

And he looks at Gio the way Gio’s big brother used to, like there was no one he would rather share all his light with than him.

“Rise and shine, Georgie!” Mikey chirps. “You were promised breakfast empanadas and I aim to deliver. Wanna help me out? I need someone on bell pepper duty before Raphie eats them all!”

Some things change and some things stay exactly the same. Gio smiles before he realizes he’s going to, helpless to do anything else.

Maybe this is where he’ll be allowed to stay.

#rottmnt #rise of the tmnt #the archer au #hamato michelangelo #hamato donatello #my writing #i dont even know how to tag this im kind of sad this is over

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goblincow · 2 years ago

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The first ever AMAZON STRIKE in the UK is one week away - and they need your support!

Respectfully asking if I can get a bunch of notes on this so I can show my phone when I go to the rally and let them see how much support they have! ✊

And here are the Amazon strike fund details to donate if you're able:

Name - GMB Midland & East Coast

Bank - Unity Trust

Sort Code - 60-83-01

A/c No - 33010410

Ref - Amazon

I'm pretty sure I know how this works:

Like to charge, reblog to cast!

Update:

Thanks everyone who has responded to show your support, here's a link to an interview with one of the GMB union officials earlier this morning after Amazon workers walked out at 00:00.

I will update again later today when I visit the picket, but as this is doing numbers here's a link to the official donation page: stick it to Amazon and show your support for the workers! Solidarity ✊

Update 2:

Some great fighting talk from union speakers willing to take on Amazon.

Strikers told me that amazon managers and bosses have been intimidating staff & taking advantage of the fact that many workers are on zero hour contracts & many are immigrants and they speak a lot of different languages, so they've been lining the hallways to watch them as they leave shifts and lying about the union by saying the union is threatening people and beating them up, all to pressure them to stay silent and be too afraid to communicate so they don't go on strike with their colleagues. But they wont win - the strike was national news, from Philip Schofield talking about Jeff Bezos only offering a 50p raise from his billions on This Morning to major news coverage throughout the day. At one point we were live on Channel 4!

I told workers and union officials that over a thousand people from tumblr who are mostly queer/trans/nonbinary/otherwise lgbtq+ wanted them to know that they support the Amazon strikers.

One striker seemed surprised by this and I got to talk to him about how lgbtq+ people are working class too, how lgbtq+ rights are working class rights, how none of us are free from exploitation until we all are, so no wonder the gay website supports you, and he seemed to really take that on board.

All the workers were grateful for everyone who showed up and thank you all for your support - this is just the start.

Fuck Jeff Bezos

#amazon strikes #amazon uk #amazon #strike solidarity #amazon union #gmb union #amazon labor union #labor unions #support the strikes #fuck jeff bezos

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luminousbeings-crudematter · 1 year ago

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PAIRING: Office! Ghost/Co-Worker! Ghost x F! Reader

WARNINGS: that particular kind of tacit sexual tension you find in corporate Britain || sexy eye contact from across the bullpen || filthy language || 18+ only || smut in later parts so MDNI

Part 1 || Part 2 of 4 || Part 3 || Part 4

***

Things start to get complicated when your supervisor asks to speak to you privately. Of course, he doesn’t provide any context, but by the late morning, you’re twitching in discomfort and anticipation. You look up at Simon to see him—what else?—looking at you already. He has an eyebrow raised in question, and when you shake your head slightly, he goes back to his…whatever he does. Paperwork. Whatever.

A million, billion years would not have been enough for you to guess what your boss wants to talk to you about—Simon.

Thank you for making him feel welcome, he says. Lt Riley’s not really an office kind of guy.

You try your best to keep a straight face when you ask him why Simon’s really being punished and get both a chuckle and a get back to work.

And the surprise conversation makes you think about the other things you've been avoiding thinking about. For one, you’ve always found yourself daydreaming about Ghost during the work day…but things are different now.

He’s always in the back of your mind, you’re always having to jolt yourself out of your daydreams, but you’ve slowly come to realise just how completely out of your league Ghost really is—he has a reputation on base as a loner and a weirdo, and if that wasn’t enough, you’d even heard through the grapevine that he was 141. You, on the other hand, were a pervy data analyst punching above your weight, with a pipe dream of…well. Ghost’s pipe.

But recently, Simon’s been on your mind too. Not quite a summit you could climb yet, but at least one your brain (and other parts of you) could imagine scaling someday.

And most annoyingly, it’s not just his physical appearance you find yourself attracted to—lately, it’s his prickly demeanour that you’ve been finding particularly endearing. It’s strange but you feel a bit weird about no one even attempting to talk to him at work.

And it’s irrational for you to feel that way, you know that. He keeps to himself and never voluntarily tries to start a conversation with anyone. Unfortunately, Simon is…horrendously Simon about the whole thing. Says constantly that he doesn’t care and that he can’t stand conversation and that he doesn’t need more than one pain in his arse. But he’s never once pushed you away when you tried, so you don’t understand why the others won’t. It irks you that they don’t include him, while also making you feel warmer inside for having been the chosen one that gets to spend time with him.

What has become worrisome to you is that he’s…scarily in tune with your interest in him.

And you find that you don’t mind.

He looks at you—god, you’re convinced that he looks into you—with those dark, wet, almost black eyes that have you convinced that you wear all your secrets on your face for the world to see.

So you know for a fact that your jaw is going to need reeling back in when, on one of your smoke breaks and during your Ghost-related speculation rants, Simon exasperatedly agrees to introduce you.

***

Taglist: @devcica || @kneelingshadowsalome || @tiredmetalenthusiast || @xintothewoodswegox|| @miyabilicious || @almightywdm

#guys I know its short dont come at me im re-learning to write #corporate girlie anon are you still here?#please come back ily ily ily #simon “ghost” riley x reader #simon ghost riley #simon riley #ghost mw2 #cod mw2 #simon riley x reader #ghost #simon riley smut #simon riley x you #Coworker! Ghost #lumi writes

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theboytatu · 12 days ago

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I think Baekhyun unfortunately bit more than he could chew and over estimated the blind support from fans when it comes to breaking contracts with sm.

People on korean forums were actually on his side initially before sm revealed mc mong's involvement and it got worse bcs cbx denied MC mong's involvement only to get under his main company this year, proving the point that cbx lied last year 😭 Baekhyun was the most successful soloist of sm so I'm still very confused why he didn't negotiate with SM better like I'm sure SM also wasn't delighted knowing they are losing the company's biggest soloist. The only conclusion I can think of is that he wanted to jump the sinking ship before Hybe's takeover of SM bcs hybe was really close to acquiring it.

no literally LITERALLYYYYYY like it's all so fascinating to me when you think about the timeline of things: baekhyun and cx only put forward the initial lawsuit once they had confirmation that lee sooman was leaving SM. and it was all a mess re: hybe and kakao trying to take over the majority stockholders but like. i can easily picture baekhyun saying "the big boss has left. there's blood in the water if there was ever a time to strike it's NOW!!!" when suho was like hey um. what the fuck man when they first got wind of the contract dispute. this was in february of 2023.

fast forward to april and like. exo had a group gig they were contractually obligated to meet which was the fanmeeting (first activity with all members in 5 years) and then recording for their album. and baekhyun was probably like lol it's fine. they HAVE to meet our demands we are literally about to drop an album - cue the rest of exo sans kyungsoo shooting daggers at him from across the room.

and THEN as we all know now lee sooman left the company and hybe were like literally digging in their claws getting ready for the kill and baekhyun was probably already in contact with mc mong and his family's business contacts which we now have confirmation loaned him close to 4 billion won in order to set up his own company. which i mean i can get it if my own family was like actively pushing me to do this and assure me it's no big deal since i can have pretty good terms on a business loan i'd maybe do it too?

and then it's january 2024 and cbx were RUSHING to get out of that contract like ik they were scrambling to put everything in place and probably didn't even read the fine print 😭 or they simply assumed they could shoulder the debt from breaching their contract - operating under the assumption that either SM would have to pay up their royalties and other exo gigs they had lined up OR being bought into mc mong's company could bring in some liquidity.... and then the first bills came in from SM demanding their contractual fees and interest rates which probably (definitely) ate into baekhyun/cx's margins and they were like oh shit. so they had no choice but to sue SM again to renegotiate the fees they had signed off on (which, as well all are well aware - SM probably asked for the standard 10% originally) and when baekhyun realized he had made a bad business deal with his own company and he had effectively fucked himself and cx over he had to ask for 5% 😭

anyway... this is obviously all not confirmed but I have followed this case closely from the very beginning and it looks like a classic case of eduardo saverin/kendall roy-esque bad business instincts and not being enough of a killer - all because baekhyun assumed SM would crumble without lee sooman and the hybe/kakao acquisitions put the spot on every business deal SM had going on, forcing his hand to go ahead with a bad deal that only got him probably half of what he intended. and now he's dancing in streams for money or whatever

#asks #exo #baekhyun #sm #inb100

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ghostwnby · 9 months ago

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Crashing Tides

Authors note: So remember about 3 or 4 ish months ago I said I was working on a surfer shop worker!Daniel + moody rich 19 year old!Max age gap romance fic? Well, surprise! After a billion years the first part of it is finally here. I'm not 100% happy with it but I decided to finally just say fuck it and bite the bullet with it. I am hoping to write more in the future about this au but in the meantime if you have any suggestions or ideas about this au please feel free to share them with me :) my asks are always open <3 otherwise, I hope you enjoy!!

Warnings: language

Word count: 2,029 (2k)

----

The warmth of the Australian sun beats down harshly on Daniel’s skin as he tries his best to dodge and weave through the crowded boardwalk, not wanting to run anyone over with his bike. He wipes the layer of sweat that had gathered on his forehead off on the back of his hand, cringing slightly at the sheer amount of it.

He silently regrets not taking a shower before leaving the house, but at this rate, with the amount of people blocking his way, he was going to be late.

Damn tourists.

He can hear his boss, Mark, now: "Look, who finally decided to show up! I’m glad you think this company runs on your schedule.” He rolls his eyes at the mental image of the older Australian man passive-aggressively scolding him. You would think a person who owns a beachside surf shop would be more laid-back, but no. Ever since his wife left him last summer, his boss has been nothing but a crotchety old man. And trust me, Daniel has tried many times to invite him out to bars to be his wingman for the night, but every time he offers, he gets immediately shut down and scolded for even offering.

Sorry, he was just trying to be a good co-worker and get his boss some stress relief in the form of a one-night stand with a beautiful lady.

Pulling up to the shop, Daniel rushes off his bike, hastily reaching into his bag to grab his bike lock and securing it to the pole near the side of the building. Once secure, he practically bolts into the front entrance of the shop, accidentally slamming the door open a bit too hard for his liking, causing a few customers and his coworker, Lando, to perk their heads up and look in his direction.

“I know. I know. But technically, I’m early. I still have a minute until I’m supposed to be here.” Daniel says matter-of-factly, shining a bright smile at the younger man as he walks up to the front counter that his co-worker is lounging lazily against.

“You're cutting it close, mate.” Lando comments as he glances up at the shark-themed clock on the wall. (What? His boss might be an ass, but at least he’s an ass with good taste.)

10:59 am

Lando shakes his head. “I don’t know if you want to push your luck too much. Mark is in a pissy mood today.” He explains.

Daniel rolls his eyes. “When is he not?”

Lando glances over his shoulder, making sure the door to the manager’s office is shut before whispering, “I don't know, mate; he seems grouchier than normal. Like something’s really ticked him off.”

Daniel raises an eyebrow at the younger man. He opens his mouth to respond, but before he can, the door of the manager’s office slams open, revealing his boss on the other side.

“Speak of the devil.” Lando whispers as both of the men straighten back up as their boss steps out of his office.

"Daniel, I'm so glad you finally decided to join us for your shift that you were scheduled for.” Mark greets, scowling at him.

“Good morning to you too, Mark.” Daniel says, not bothering to hide the sarcasm that coats his words. The older man scoffs at him, rolling his eyes in a way Daniel can only describe as Oscar-worthy with how dramatic it was.

“Whatever. It’s not like I have been waiting for you all morning to get your lazy ass here.” Mark hisses, motioning his hand to the shark clock on the wall. 11:00 am. Daniel has to repress the urge to roll his eyes. He’s been there for less than 2 minutes, and he’s already having to deal with Mark’s bullshit. That has to be a new record.

"Sorry, I wasn’t here earlier. Emily decided to have a breakdown this morning about having to stay with my parents for the day.” Daniel explains half-heartedly, knowing no matter what explanation or excuse he gives the older man, he’s not going to be pleased either way.

“Well, maybe you should invest in some parenting classes then since you aren’t doing a great job at controlling your kid.” Mark sneers, “You know what? Never mind, I don’t care at this point.”

Daniel can feel his frustration growing by the second. Honestly can’t he just back off? He’s here, isn’t he? It’s not like he’s one of the only workers there, besides Lando, who does his job. If it wasn’t for the fact that the pay was nice, Daniel would have been out of there the second Mark started acting this way last summer. Plus he’s been working at the surf shop for almost 5 years now and what has he gotten for it? Nothing except for the temporary title of shift lead whenever Mark isn’t there.

As if he can sense the tension in the air between the two older men, Lando decides to speak up.

“Oh uh..by the way, Mark, this dude called earlier. I think he said his name was Jos? He said his son would be here around 11:30.”

Lando and Daniel both watch as Mark inhales deeply as if Lando’s words were the most aggravating thing he has ever heard.

“That brings me to my next point. A friend of my old man asked me to hire his son for the summer while they are vacationing here.” Mark explains. Daniel and Lando share a confused look. Mark continues, “The reason why? I have no clue. Something about how he wants his son to learn what the real world is like even though his pocket money is more than what we all make in a year combined.”

Daniel raises an eyebrow at him, “And you just agreed? Just like that? Who’s going to train him?”

Mark smirks devilishly, “Well that’s where you come in Daniel.”

“What do you mean ‘that’s where I come in’?”

“Well, you are always complaining that you’ve been here the longest and still haven’t gotten any type of raise or promotion. Well here you go, I’m promoting you to training associate. You are in charge of training the kid and also keeping an eye on him and making sure he doesn’t get into any trouble.”

Daniel can’t help but feel the heat of anger from earlier rise beneath his skin. “So you expect me to not only train this kid I’ve never even met but also babysit the little brat as well? What the hell do you think I am? A damn babysitter?!” He snaps, crossing his arms and scowling at the older man.

“I’m nineteen. I don’t need a babysitter.”

All three of the men snap their heads back towards the front door, only to see, who Daniel presumes is the kid Mark was mentioning, standing in the entryway. Daniel blinks as he tries to take in the teen’s appearance. He doesn’t look like any nineteen-year-old Daniel has ever seen. Sure, he has semi-smooth skin, with a blemish here and there, and an overall youthful glow about him but for some reason, something’s off about him. Maybe it’s the way his shoulders are a bit broader than his own or how his jaw is a bit too sharp for Daniel’s liking. Either way, he doesn’t like it.

“Max! I didn’t expect you to be here so soon! Is it 11:30 already?”

Daniel glances at the clock on the wall. 11:09 am.

The teen trudges over to the front counter where the others are standing and crosses his arms. “My dad said I should show up early just in case you guys were busy or something. But, by the looks of it, you aren’t and are instead talking bad about me behind my back.” Max explains, not bothering to hide the annoyance in his voice.

Daniel looks over at the teen, studying his face more intently now that he is standing next to him instead of a few feet away at the door. His brow is furrowed. His pale skin is tinted with a shade of pink from the harsh Australian sun. There is a collection of freckles that are scattered across his jawline and up to the middle of his cheek, with a single one lying on his upper lip. He notices now that the teen is just a bit taller than him. Not by much but enough to make Daniel even more wary than he was before.

Mark shakes his head, “Please forgive my employee, Daniel, here Max. He has had a bit of a rough morning so his mood isn’t the best right now.”

‘The only reason why I have had a rough morning is because of you jackass.’ Daniel thinks to himself as he shoots a glare at his boss.

Max rolls his eyes, “Whatever.”

Daniel and Lando exchange glances once again, as if to telepathically ask each other if this is what they are really going to have to deal with for the next two and half months.

The sound of Mark clearing his throat makes the two of them look up towards their boss.

“Anyway, as I was saying. My employee, Daniel here, will be in charge of training you and just overall making sure you're settling in here nicely.” Mark explains, clearly trying to skip over the part where Daniel called Max a brat that he has to babysit.

Daniel shifts his eyes over to the teen next to him. Max doesn’t look impressed. He still has his arms crossed and his lips have formed a tight line of annoyance. Honestly, Daniel can’t blame him. If he was in his shoes, aka if he was a rich kid who probably hasn’t worked a day in his life and his parents suddenly made him get a job at a dingy old surf shop while they were on a summer vacation, he would be pissed too.

There is a beat of awkward silence that fills the air between the four.

“I’m guessing this is the part where I introduce myself?” Lando chuckles awkwardly, drawing the other’s attention to himself. Max stares at him silently, as if he is waiting for the other to say something else that will ultimately aggravate him even more.

“I’m Lando. I started working here about a year and a half ago. I go to the university just up the street. I usually work in the mornings because I have night classes.” He explains. Max doesn’t say anything, instead, he sighs, uninterested.

Lando scratches the back of his neck awkwardly, “Uh..When I’m not working or in class you can usually find me in my dorm playing video games.” The mention of video games makes the teen’s ears perk up with interest.

“You play video games?” Max asks in a slightly less annoyed voice than before.

“Yeah! I play all sorts of games like GTA, God of War, and F123. I actually stream my gameplay on Twitch with my friends from time to time. You should join sometime. I bet it would be really fun.”

Daniel doesn’t know if it’s the heat getting to him or what but he swears he sees the faintest hint of a smile on Max’s face when Lando mentions him joining him in a gaming session.

“I’ll think about it.”

Seemingly pleased with the exchange, Mark claps his hands together like a coach trying to round up his team for a debriefing after a game. “Alright, now that introductions are out of the way, Max, how would you like to follow Daniel around for today to get a feel of the environment and how things work around here?”

Daniel can feel the teen’s eyes on him before he even turns his head. His stare is as cold as ice and Daniel worries that if the teen doesn’t look away, he might burn a hole through his head.

The universe must have been on his side because just as Daniel thought he would never look away, Max shifts his eyes toward Mark. The stare he gives Mark is just as cold.

“Whatever.”

“Perfect. Now let’s get started.”

#f1 fic #max verstappen #daniel ricciardo #maxiel #formula 1 #red bull f1 #mclaren #lando norris

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