#Hospitality Recruiter Job Interview

[d37us10n]

—Out of Luck—

Chapter I

████████████████████████ . Raccoon City Police Department.

The clacking of boots in the crowded police precinct, the laughs, the loud mutterings and talking. Party decorations for the new recruit on the Police Department’s Special Tactics And Rescue Services unit, or S.T.A.R.S team was exciting.

This was something else. It was revealed a week ago by Chief Brian Irons that the police department needed a new ‘special force’, one that could do special investigations. Stop powerful people. And now here we were welcoming the leader of the team. If he had decided to stop working on his desk, maybe I would have caught a glimpse of the guy.

Rounds of alcohol littered the desks, documents forgotten as the RPD celebrated it more as a break than as a new recruitment. Myra was at home, she would have stayed at the party if the daycare wasn’t closed today, so I had promised her to finish that investigation of the murders in the mental hospital, get home sober, and if I’m lucky, tuck in Lily before she goes to bed.

What else was he supposed to write? The sudden presence of the S.T.A.R.S unit was out of the blue for the police department, yet it was introduced like everyone planned this for months. Not to mention that they already had a leader? It made no sense, it made his gut twist into a knot. Brian talked about the team like it was a line of justice no one else could join. What was the difference between the police and the agents? What kind of missions did they do that was so important?

He couldn't make sense of it, he’d just stay quiet like always, Sebastian didn't want to put the job he worked so hard on in jeopardy, he refused to get his wife in the line of fire as well. Begrudgingly, he forced the thought to the back of his mind. Closing the journal he kept with him since his first day of becoming a detective.

Detective Sebastian Castellanos, he had proudly marked the journal with his new title.

He’d look around the office he worked hard for, the desk covered in an organized mess. Myra would complain but never push him on cleaning, it was how Sebastian worked. The corkboard was displayed against the wall next to the door. It had his scheduled meetings and interviews with victims and witnesses, but most importantly, there was a drawing Lily had made.

The corners of Sebastian’s lips quirked slightly, before looking back at his desk. Two folders settled on his desk, he needed to finish the one he was assigned. The other folder was more of a… personal project, having snuck the documents from the investigations office.

The file Irons gave him was leaving him frustrated, a vast amount of reported ‘missing persons’ without any evidence or clues to even account for a suspect. It pissed him off every time he thought about it, his hands combing through his already slicked-back hair.

He couldn’t stress about it right now, he would go and enjoy the party for the new S.T.A.R.S member. Maybe a drink could wash down the responsibilities of having most crap stacked on his desk. He stood up from the shitty, old, leather desk chair that was here before he became a detective and popped his back. His feet dragged along the floor to finally leave the suffocating room.

The main room was filled with the smell of beers, cans thrown around the room like someone who had taken out the trash with the bag ripped at the bottom. The welcome poster on the floor with two corners barely hanging to the podium holding it up. The name of the new leader’s name ripped off. So much for knowing his name. The officers who were still around were talking in slurred gibberish, some waiting by the front door for their ride.

Chief Irons was laughing loudly, his cheeks flushed from the amount of alcohol he drank, both hands holding beer cans. The rest of the officers laughed at his terrible jokes to probably get on his good side. When the Chief finally took notice of the stumbling detective, his face turned hard as he tripped to reach him as well.

“Castellanos,” Irons burped out, the disgusting sound of his throat trying to form a string of words without throwing up. “The new recruit is asking for you.” Taken aback by the request, Sebastian cleared his throat. “Sir, I was actually going to tell you I was about to head home-” He wanted to see the guy, but just bumping into him sounds better than actually meeting him head-on.

“You can make it home to your wife and kid, just talk to him.” Irons shook his head disapprovingly, his hands shakingly pointing to an empty part of the precinct. “Think he's working-” He let out a choked grunt, the sound of something caught in his throat sent shivers down the detective’s back as he hurriedly made his way to avoid what the chief ate for dinner.

The hallway was a quieter, calmer part of the police station that still smelt of fresh paint and wax. As he opened the door to the new office, the atmosphere became more tense and heavy. The RPD had just finished this area, but the way the wax overpowered his senses made him almost gasp for air. The clicking of computer keys caught his attention.

“Nice to meet you, chief said that you needed to see me?” Sebastian asked with the best, welcoming smile he could muster. The room was dark, the only light source was the blue screen of what the new guy was working on. “I’m Seb-”

“Detective Sebastian Castellanos.” The man finished, looking up at Sebastian, he wore formal attire, his eyes were a sharp pale blue, and his blonde hair was slicked back. Sebastian’s lips pursed together. How smoothly he spoke freaked him out, his tone held an attitude of ‘I’m better than you in every way.’ His smile was fake, if he could call moving the corner of your lip slightly a smile.

Sebastian hated the atmosphere surrounding the man, he didn’t like knowing what he didn’t know.

“Yeah, you hit the nail.” Sebastian's brows furrowed, cautiously trying to figure the guy out. “And you are?”

The recruit stood up, his hand extended for a proper greeting. “I’ve heard of your work from Chief Irons, I wanted to ask if you were interested in joining the S.T.A.R.S. alpha team. A good detective is what I want to train future agents in the unit.”

“The name is Albert Wesker.”

OH MY GOD THIS TOOK SO LONG. I was able to do anything else because this chapter was in the back of my mind. It sounds boring now, but I promise it gets more interesting, this is just to test the waters in how I’m gonna write this…

[joanofexys]

gimme the Jude lore

okay okay Jude Reyes lore incoming

little breakdown first:

26 years old

he/him, pansexual, cis

played for the Trojans for 5 years

graduated with a degree in sports journalism

has adhd and depression (in the rambling bit tw right now for mentions of self harm and suicidal thoughts tying into this)

only child and still upset about it

does the most out of all my ocs to work with college players, spends a lot of his free time flying out to different colleges to work with coaches and teams cause he likes and he enjoys it (gets a lot of teasing about becoming a coach in the future)

knows english and spanish

and oh yeah he's a dealer who will play as an extra backliner if needed

blonde, 6'3, big brown eyes

got his ears pierced cause Mara said he'd chicken out

So yeah Jude graduated from USC at the age of 23 and he was recruited for olympic court when he was 25. He considers the Trojan's his family and still keeps in touch with all the upper classmen who he used to play with. He's very much taken the Trojan attitude into his professional career. He's known as a team player on the court and also a huge activist off the court. He's now involved in presenting the Day Spirit Award every year and he's incredibly proud to have been apart of the team consistently winning it. While Ilya falls into the Just Some Guy category, Jude really takes it up like 10 levels into Golden Child territory. He's the favored one for press duty and is most involved with his teams social media. He's usually the one to sit down for the little games or the ask me anything's or the interviews everyone else deems pointless.

tw for self harm and suicide mentions, you can skip to the next bolded line if you need to

Jude was diagnosed with depression when he was 19 after he came to Rhemann confessing that he had been self harming for a few months after the workload with his class got more difficult for him to manage and he started thinking about committing suicide. He was diagnosed with adhd a few years later when he was 22 and now he now manages both with a mixture of therapy and medication. He's not perfect and obviously that didn't get rid of his depression but he has always had a safe space to talk about it and to get the help he needs. He advocates a lot for mental health in general but especially where athletes where it tends to get ignored with all the pressure put on them and he brings that into all of his relationships with his teammates trying to create a safe space for them. He is a huge factor in actually getting Em, Mara, and Florian to see therapists and he's who Florian calls after his 5th attempt and takes him to the hospital.

okay heavy bit over

I need y'all to know that Jude popped into my head literally today. He was named like 3 hours ago. So this is all just kind of developing as I yap about him. He's big on team inclusion. Doesn't want anyone to feel left out. At first Ilya really butted heads with Mara and Florian cause they were Raven's and Jude was basically the one to get sick of that and tell them they needed to shut the fuck up and put on their get along t-shirt

He's generally pretty outgoing and he loves a good party. And by party he means hosting his team and having some food and drinks and visiting with every one. Though he does go a little crazy after a win and he will probably not get home till like 6 in the morning and then will sleep for a full 24 hours

He comes off as very loud and flirtatious to most people, most people will think he is flirting even when he isn't and he has accidentally agreed to multiple dates before realizing they were dates and having to awkwardly let people down. He doesn't really date much, not seriously, largely because of how involved he is with the media portion of his job. If he does end up dating (and I don't have anyone set up for him yet) it'd most likely be another exy player who is also super involved with the media and interacting with the press

and yeah that's a little bit about Jude

[fuzzyclink]

Rules and Regulations

A self indulgent one-shot Ceo!Au fic to celebrate the launch of Keir and Cirrus's second chapters tomorrow!

Tags: Cirrus/Reader, degradation, unethical office relationship, abuse of power, power dynamics, spanking, glove kink, pain and bruising, bad BDSM etiquette, gender neutral reader, reader body not described.

Link to AO3 version

You had been so desperate to find a job in your new city that you hadn’t been especially picky. You’d moved here as a last option, relocating because of the world-renowned hospitals in this area. There was an experimental study opening soon that focused on your life-threatening condition, and you knew that it might be your only option. Certainly, the bemused expression of the so-called “experts” in your hometown had discouraged you from staying. Your condition didn't even have a WebMD page. So it hadn’t mattered to you much at the time that all your funds went into renting a moving truck, paying the deposit on an apartment, and boxing up all your belongings. You had arrived, penniless, and sought jobs as quickly as possible - applying to everything and anything that you could convince a recruiter you’d be good at. You just needed some income while you waited to hear back about whether you were eligible for the medical trial.

Applying to Crescent Consulting had been surprisingly easy. You’d uploaded your resume online, answered a few questions that MAYBE were some kind of personality test (the question “What does the full moon mean to you?” had definitely seemed a little strange at the time), and were offered an interview a few days later. 

You pressed down your nerves as you approached the company. You were dressed in your least-wrinkled interview clothes, pulled out of a cardboard box the night before. There hadn’t been time to unpack everything. The exterior of the building was grand. Silvery glass extended high above you, the blue sky reflecting mirror-like off of the eighty floors of windows. The interior matched the prestigious exterior. All around you were gleaming stone floors, elevators that smelled like new carpet, well-groomed and refined staff, and chandeliers that likely cost as much as your apartment. 

Crescent Consulting was on the third and fourth floors of the building. You speak to a receptionist near the entrance and she ushers you into a small, private office to the left of the door. You smile politely as the hiring manager seated inside looks over your resume, asking about your experience, your career goals, and previous successes and difficulties. Pretty standard stuff. The pay and benefits seem good too. You try to recall the information you’d read about the company, peering down at the job description you’d printed out and brought with you. 

“From what you’ve said, I think this company would be a good fit for me,” you say, trying to infuse your words with an air of confidence you didn’t really feel. “. . . but the job listing was a little sparse on details. Would you mind going over exactly what this position would entail?”

The routine atmosphere of the interview dissipates. The interviewer grows far more serious, fixing you with a stern look over the rim of their tortoiseshell glasses. 

“This position is essential to the success of our company. Crescent Consulting is directed by Mr. Cirrus. As our CEO, he leads us, guides us, and makes decisions that keep us at the forefront of consulting in this city. He’s an exceptionally talented man.” She regards you with her steely gaze as if you would dare challenge her statement. You nod at her meekly. 

She shifts in her seat. “But he’s also exceptionally busy. Too much of his time right now is taken up by scheduling things, answering emails, filing documents…we’ve all tried to help where we can, but eventually, it became clear that it was time we hired someone to do it full-time. So, that’s where you come in. The job position is to work as his assistant. He has exacting tastes, and expects the finest work.” 

You can practically see the job opening slipping away right before your eyes. The words spring from your lips.

“I assure you, I am someone who is deliberate, detailed, and focused. Crescent Consulting is my top choice and it would be an honour to assist Mr. Cirrus as he continues to lead such amazing work.”

She nods at that, relenting a little. “We’ll hire you for a probationary period. Let’s see how you do after a week on the job. If your work is satisfactory - and Cirrus takes a liking to you, we’ll offer you a full contract.”

After that, the first week goes by in a blur. You’d seen Cirrus’s emails and calendar plenty of times, but hadn’t even met him face to face. They gave you a cubicle in the corner of one of the floors and you toil away diligently, working your way down a seemingly endless list of tasks. The hiring manager was right - there was plenty to do. You spent your time reading the employee handbook, completing new employee training, learning about the different clients, trying to remember which employee names and titles, and archiving documents that hadn’t been looked at in years. You’ve just started working on a summary of consulting projects completed in 2017 when you feel a presence just over your shoulder. 

You jump in your chair as you spin around looking up to see a man looming over you. He’s tall and lanky, even taller from your current position. Long white hair slinks down over his shoulders, stopping near the waist of his suit. His accessories stand out against his dark clothes - a gold metal snake that encircles his finger, two chain bracelets that glimmer from beneath the cuffs of his sleeves, and thin hanging earrings. A tailored waistcoat highlights the way his broad torso narrows at the waist. The man’s arm rests casually against the wall of your cubicle, a thin pen between his fingers. He's undoubtedly handsome, imposingly so. You finish taking him in and meet his gaze, an amused smirk playing at the corners of his lips. 

Hurriedly, you introduce yourself. “I'm very sorry, I didn't notice you there! I’m a new hire, I’ve only been working here for week, I don't believe we've met?” 

Surely, you'd be able to remember someone who looks like THAT. 

“I thought it was about time I came to meet you,” he says politely, watching you through nearly translucent lashes. “You've already begun to prove yourself useful to me.” 

“Oh, are you… Cirrus? I'm really thankful for this opportunity, sir, the company seems great and everyone has gone out of their way to be helpful…” flustered, you’re immediately thrown off your game. So this is the man you work for. You had to admit, you'd assumed that Cirrus was some older, stodgy executive- someone thoroughly unattractive. It was shocking to be confronted unexpectedly with someone so… well, different!

“I'm glad to hear it. It's important that Crescent Consulting cultivates a welcoming environment towards newcomers.”  He spins the pen between his fingers a little, playing with the clip on it. “How are you finding the work so far?”

“It's been easy enough,. It seems like it's just a matter of checking over everything carefully and making sure that -”

His pen falls from his hand with a clink, sharp and startling against the waxed tile floor.

You bend in your chair, leaning to pick it up without a delay. You hand it to him, reaching up. It's hard to miss the way that his eyes flick from the pen in your hand to your face, but he takes it without comment. 

“Please, reach out if you have any questions. And ask the hiring manager you met with earlier for the full employment contract. You're a good fit. I look forward to our work together.”

And just like that, you're officially hired.  ------

The next Monday, you're at your desk for only a few moments before his shadow darkens your screen. Cirrus, the same outfit as you saw before - dark and stately in the fluorescent-lit office. His placid smile is at odds with the weight of his presence, a heavy, frozen thing that spills out through the weight of his shoulders and the cant of his head. It urges you to bow to him. Or grovel, your mind unhelpfully supplies. You end up half jumping out of your chair before settling back into it and dipping your head in acknowledgement. Embarrassing.

"I emailed you a list of tasks on Sunday for you to begin this week. We're entering into our busiest quarter of the year, so I'll be depending on your work. As always, please reach out to me if you have any questions." 

"I've already skimmed through it to familiarise myself with the tasks before I arrived today." You smile up at him a little. There's no need for him to worry about your accountability. You want to do well. Especially for him.

…But only because he’s your boss, of course.

He responds with a gentle nod towards you. "Good. Eager to get started, hmm?"

“I'll send you an update on what I've accomplished by the end of the day. Let me know if there's anything else I can do to meet your needs, sir." 

His hand falls onto your shoulder for only a moment, fixing you into your chair. His golden eyes dart towards yours, serious. “Let’s start with the list for now. Don’t want to exhaust you before the end of the second week.”

With that, he leaves, returning to his office. The firm press of his hand lingers on your shoulder. You raise your own hand to it, fingers ghosting over the sensation. Would meeting his needs really be exhausting? You’re determined to dispel any doubt he may hold about your capabilities.

As you adapt to your job, your list of duties starts to expand. The hiring manager wasn't kidding. Cirrus seems to be particular about everything. He cares about the scent of the soap in his bathroom (lavender), the way he takes his tea (no sugar, one and a half creamers), and the height of the window blinds in his office before he comes in each morning (lowered to the height of your knees, raised to shoulder level after lunch). Rather than resenting the numerous rules, you find joy in the structure they give your day. 

And he certainly is gracious. He’s kind to you, thanking you for the tasks you complete. Polite, yet reserved. Always controlled  and professional. His occasional praise makes you glow a little. It's proof that he notices and cares about the effort you put into your work. It's a little addictive. It drives you to be increasingly exacting, hoping to impress him. You find yourself wondering whether there’s something hidden behind that polished facade of his. He reminds you of a Greek statue. Beautiful, unyielding, and with a smile that never quite reaches his eyes. 

You find yourself staying late at the office recently, struggling to get everything done during the day. Eight hours doesn’t seem like a lot of time when it’s stretched over so many tasks. But Cirrus stays late too. Your coworkers file out of the office one by one until it’s just you and him in the building. The light shining through the frosted glass of his office door there to keep you company. You remember the first time you stayed late. You had sat in your mesh desk chair, bones stiff and weary from their long hours of inactivity. The sound of his office door opening had been a welcomed interruption. Cirrus wore his coat, warm wool fitted closely to his body, and was in the process of pulling on leather gloves. He hesitated on his path out the door, clearly surprised to see you.  

“I hadn’t realised you were still here,” he had said, coming around to your desk. 

“Oh, I’ll be heading home soon, sir. Just finished summarising the documents I received this afternoon so you can look them over tomorrow before your morning meetings.”

“Such a devoted employee.”

His smooth, rich voice sent shivers down your spine. You laughed it off.

“It’s no trouble to me, sir, I like to be kept busy.”

“You’re not keeping anyone waiting at home…?” Sharp eyes had betrayed his interest in your response.

“I’ve just moved to the city, so no - living on my own for now. I can stay as late as I need to. Haven’t really had the time to try and meet anyone.”

“That’s a shame. We’ll just need to make the work here worth your while then, hmm?”

You nodded at him, and he had left, sliding the gloves the rest of the way on his hands.

His questions made you wonder if he cared about your dating life. That was the first personal question he’d asked of you. You’d certainly wondered about his - but no wedding band was seen on his hand, and no family pictures in his office. You kept your ears and eyes open for information after that night. You would ask a coworker but given the speed of the office rumour mill, you were sure he’d learn about your prying questions. After days pass without clues, you doubt it. After all, he spends the most time with you out of anyone. With the long hours he keeps, he’d struggle to find the time to meet a partner, just as you have. You can practically imagine his response. I’m married to my work, he’d say. That is, if he wasn’t offended by your impudence. 

As the month goes on, you shadow Cirrus more and more during his daily tasks. He started by requesting that you take the minutes for his meetings with clients. It's simple enough and you enjoy getting a better idea of the actual objectives of the company. Plus, during quiet moments, when he or the client refer to documents about their work together, you get the chance to really look at him. The slender line of his neck. The way his muscled back can be seen beneath the expensive fabric of his shirt, shifting as he leans over the table to read. The soft pink of his lips, through which you can see pointed canines flash as he speaks. You see why everyone at Crescent Consulting has such a reverence for him. It’s electrifying to be swept up in the energy and admiration that surrounds him. He's impeccably focused on his tasks and clients are thrilled with the work he does for them. Good thing that you’re kept busy. Spending so much time near him is becoming increasingly distracting. 

You're just coming out of one of these meetings, a little breathless. The client had spoken exceptionally quickly, stuttering and prone to long tangents that left your head spinning. You’d done your best to take notes, but you’d definitely have to edit them later on in the afternoon. At times you'd just slumped over the table, desperately listening and typing as best you could as the conversation ricocheted between the two of them.

“My office, please,” Cirrus requests, as controlled and peaceful as ever. Immediately, your pulse jumps, anxiety spreading through your body. Cirrus hardly ever asks to speak with you privately - he’d email you, or casually drop by your desk to discuss business. Even confidential matters about his work were discussed between the two of you during your meeting together every morning, not off the cuff. 

You step inside after him, pulling the door shut. His office is a place you’ve grown familiar with, though never comfortable in. It was always too quiet. The decor is utilitarian and minimal. One side is entirely windows, partially covered with blinds. A coat rack near his door has a few discarded wire hangers from dry cleaning. There are etched glass awards on his mostly barren bookshelves. A whiteboard is fixed to the wall with a scribbled timeline on it. Cirrus’s desk in the middle of the room, empty except for a few folders and a chair across from it. You choose to hover awkwardly in the doorway. It feels safer, like you could escape if you needed to.

He takes a seat behind his desk, the expansive piece of dark wood now separating the two of you. 

Cirrus regards you coolly as you start to pick at your fingers. 

“I've been quite happy with your work up to this point, don't be mistaken. However, as my assistant, your conduct and decorum reflect directly upon me.” He steeples his fingers in front of him. “Clients notice if you have poor posture. Clients notice if you wander ahead of me in the hallway or speak out of turn. Clients notice-” his gaze falls to your fingers, picking nervously at the edge of a nail, “-when you fidget”. Your hands still immediately. 

You knew that he was aware of you. But you hadn't realised that he paid such close attention to the behaviours you displayed. Had you really acted so unreasonably? Had maybe a client confided in him, or expressed their displeasure with you? Your heart beats wildly in your chest. 

“I'm sorry sir, I haven't been on my best behaviour as of late. I'll work on improving my posture and habits in the office. I hope it hasn't negatively impacted your work…” 

A smile streaks across his face. Sharp, furtive, misplaced, and gone as you peer at him nervously.

“Please see to it that you do,” he replies. There's a lightness to him, an excitement that pulls at the edges of his expression. Something dangerous. “That’ll be all.” 

Your hands, sweaty with nerves, pull open his door and you exit quickly. It's the first time you've really been reprimanded by him. How could you have let yourself grow  complacent? Still, it seemed unfair. You drop down at your desk and pout a little, staring unseeingly at the backdrop of dolphins on your computer monitor. You already do so much for him and follow all his silly little rules, and now he’s getting on your case about fidgeting? What is this, finishing school? Your thoughts swirl as the day goes by. It was embarrassing to be called out on your behaviour. But moreover, it was embarrassing that you had become increasingly reliant on him and his praise. You hadn't fully realised it up until he withdrew it this afternoon. You'd become dependent on him too quickly. He’s just your boss. Nothing more beyond that. And why did his expressions in that conversation seem so… odd? It was unsettling. 

After that conversation between the two of you, Cirrus’s expectations skyrocket. Every day there are new rules.  New subcategories that emails need to be sorted into, preferences on the alert sound for his calendar notifications, the type of lightbulb for his desk lamp, the way you structure your notes for him. It feels endless. And at times, when he gives you feedback - always in that same controlled and polite tone - you catch a glimpse of that same fleeting expression you had seen earlier. You're diligent, dutifully noting down each preference as they come. You walk two paces behind him in the halls. You mind your tone, your facial expressions. You sit at meetings rigidly, still and quiet unless addressed. Your frustrations at his restrictions, once something small and easily cast aside, grows by the day. The amount of care that you direct towards your work is immense. Cirrus is polite to you. Often kind. But the structure from the rules that once felt supportive now feels like a tangled net, restricting your every move. You feel taken for granted. The majority of his requirements are silly preferences that you're sure have no influence on his (or the company’s) success. 

When he interacts with others in the office, however,  things seem easy between them. They fawn adoringly at whatever he says, and he replies to them - always calm and kind. You find yourself a little disgusted with their eagerness. And it's quite simple for them, isn't it? They do their basic job responsibilities and he praises them, values them. That same response from him requires such an extreme amount of effort from you. You scoff to yourself. They might not admire him as much if they ALSO had just gotten an email that read: “In the future, please only order Oleander Co.’s organic fair trade oat milk creamer in low fat. I prefer it over the brand you currently purchase.”

You are capable of the work he asks you to do. But your sense of justice rankles at it. It's not fair that he asks such an astronomically higher level of work from you. At times you wonder if he delights in messing with you. It seems inevitable that one day you’ll forget one of his many rules. You're not sure exactly what makes you decide to do it. The last sliver of your pride, perhaps. 

You order a different type of soap for his bathroom. Your courage wavers a little when you go to order, so you decide on lilac as a replacement. Suitably similar to lavender if you need to defend yourself. It's silly how nerve-wracking it is. You've never directly gone against anything he’s asked you to do. And it’s just soap, after all. You doubt he’ll even notice. 

—---

You place the soap in his bathroom that next Monday after it's been delivered. You look at it, where you’ve set the bottle neatly by the sink, evenly spaced from the wall. You spin the label to face away from you before you leave. Cirrus and you have your morning meeting, as usual. He’s just the same as ever and you find yourself both relieved and disappointed. You’d expected some kind of reaction from him… some reprimand maybe, or a reminder. Something to show you again that he sees you and your work. Something to break the pattern that you’re in with him. But the meeting ends quickly and everything remains as it did before. 

You’re seated at your desk, about to head to lunch, when Cirrus stops by. 

“A word, please. Now. Follow me.” 

He’s very still. Nothing about his face was kind or gentle.. A coworker at the neighbouring desk glances up at you, startled, before they catch themselves and pretend to be engrossed in their salad.

You stand abruptly, silently, fingers fumbling with the notepad on your desk for a moment before you decide to leave it. 

You follow him to his office. Two steps behind him, of course, posture, impeccable. Your hands, forbidden from fidgeting, are held stiffly at your sides. 

He shuts the door firmly behind you. The click of the lock is grimly final. The bottle of soap is on his desk. You exhale, shakily. 

Cirrus leans back against his desk, the bottle next to him. His arms are crossed. You’re not truly afraid until you see his expression. His eyes hold a wildness to them, intense and sharp. The mouth, normally in a polite smile, is stretched wider, sardonic. Your unease grows when you see there's even a light flush across his cheeks. His finger taps rhythmically where it rests along the edge of the desk. His entire appearance has an electricity to it that arcs off of him in waves. 

“Explain this to me.”

Your fear is tempered by the frustration at your mistreatment. “My apologies, sir, I seem to have made a mistake. There’s a lot of work I’m doing currently, I must have simply selected the wrong one.” Your voice is deliberately polite but you’re unable to hide your irritation.

His wicked smile grows. “You’ve never ordered the wrong one before.”

“Yes, well, I know others make mistakes here, too. I don’t see any of them called into your office over something like this, I mean, it’s, it’s - I do my best, sir, I apologise if it’s just not enough for you.” Your cheeks are hot from the defiance burning within you. 

The tapping of his finger ceases. 

“I'm quite certain it wasn't a mistake. No. Not from you, my star employee. Always obedient. Always careful. Attuned to my preferences, my rules for you. When I restricted your decorum in meetings, I wondered if I had gone too far. If maybe - you’d recoil. Hmm.. instead, you grew more pliable, eager to please. Desperate for my praise. Willing to be moulded by me. You question me, why I ask more of you than the other staff here. Well, my star. It’s because you enjoy it. And,” he draws closer to you, less than an arm’s length away, “because I can.”

All the blood in your body seems to leave you and you sag, leaning against the wall. Suddenly, everything becomes clear to you. The constant increasing requests. The minute details he requires you to remember. His attention to your posture, your every mannerism. Each of them feed into his power over you. And the part that makes your heart pound and ears ring is that he's completely correct. You crave it.

He takes in your shocked expression with something akin to glee.

"So eager for me. And now, acting out. Silly little ploy to try and catch my interest. You've already had it. Had it from the moment I met you, when you leaned down and handed me that pen. I wanted to see if you would. If you'd bend for me, right from the start. Don't I give you enough of my attention? Or would you like something more concrete - a reminder you're mine?"

It feels almost impossible to speak but you try, urging your breath back into your struggling lungs.

"Please, sir, I - I…" A reminder that you're his. You are his. The way you speak, the way you walk, every hour of every day, all in service to him. Intoxicating to learn that he's orchestrated it this way. Cirrus has seen you to your very core and it is paralysing.

He raises his hand to your throat, fingers soft, and pins you against the wall. "Don't worry, my star. I'll give you what you desire. Even if words have failed you."

His touch is nothing more than gentle pressure at the base of your neck, but the sensation makes you release a choked gasp.

"Something to remind you, hmm? I'll give you a gift then. Pretty bruises that you can take home. "

Cirrus's hand is tighter around your neck now. Your pulse hammers against his grip. All you can do is nod, the edge of his thumb sharp against your jaw. He releases you, taking a step backwards. His cunning eyes scan the room.

"Place your hands here."

He gestures to the whiteboard and you stumble after him, legs trembling. You place your hands flat on the surface, just below shoulder height, glancing at him questioningly. He traces around your fingers with a marker, outlining each hand in red. It reminded you a little of grade school art projects, and the absurdity of the situation makes your face flush. What if this was all some kind of cruel joke, just to see how much you'd agree to?

His voice breathes low in your ear. "It's in your best interest if you don't smudge any of those lines. Do so and you'll leave with more than just bruises."

Immediately, the levity drains out of you. "I'll try my best, sir."

His hand smooths down the plane of your back. "You always do."

Behind you, you hear him walk over to the coat rack by the door. You twist, your hands fixed in place, and watch as he pulls on his fine black gloves. The leather shines softly in the light of his office.

"Please attempt to be quiet. You know how much the office ladies love to gossip."

You grit your teeth and turn, facing the board once again. Watching him was too much. You close your eyes and exhale a long, shuddering breath.

He brings his hand down swiftly, your clothes and the gloves muffling the sound where he strikes your behind. It's ferociously hard. The force of the impact rocks you forward on your toes and your eyes fly open, checking the lines around your fingers anxiously. A dull ache answers the sting that spreads through you. Your desire spreads too, burning. You'd known he was strong, assumed it from the way he fills out his impeccably tailored dress shirts, but the power behind the slap surprises you. Your breath hisses through your teeth.

A second strike comes, placed right where your butt meets your thigh. It's harder than the last. It forces a gasping yelp out of you, barely stifled through your gritted teeth. Your hands curl just the slightest bit on the board. Your breath comes faster now, panicked. Legs twist where they stand, shying away from him, unable to fully move with your hands pinned.

"Excellent. You're doing well."

He has said that to you so many times before. When you’ve finished your work early, when you've taken minutes for meetings, when you've reminded him of some small important detail. You'll never hear it the same again.

Cirrus waits to deliver the third strike and you try to anticipate it, flinching at every small sound he makes from behind you. He laughs at that, watching you closely.

"Patience."

When he hits you, it spreads across your skin, burning where it lands. You bow forwards, leaning away desperately. The sensation after the strike is just as bad - a second wave of pain that makes sweat prickle at your forehead and brings tears springing to your eyes.

"In my haste, I forgot myself," he muses, stilling behind you. "How can I see when I've fulfilled my promise?"

He slides your clothes off your waist, the air of his office cool on your skin. They bunch tightly around your thighs. You hunch forwards between your arms, humiliated. You're sure that your behind is just as flushed as your face. One gloved hand traces over the reddened skin, the leather like a soothing balm.

The next strike is more targeted, hitting right where your skin is the reddest. The sweat on your hands causes them to slip just the slightest bit on the board and you rock back towards him, trying to lift the weight off your unreliable arms. The outlines remain complete for now. You throb, each heartbeat bringing with it another crashing wave of pain.

"Fuck."

"You know better than to curse around me. Haven't I made my expectations for your etiquette clear?"

He smooths one hand over you, just below the small of your back. Your skin sings at his touch. You feel the weight of him follow, the hard plane of his body pressed up against you. His hands grip your hips. One slides up the front of your chest, pausing for a moment at your throat. It continues, gloved fingers finding their way into your mouth. The bitter taste of leather follows. His other hand grips your hip tightly. He presses down on your tongue, making you gag. Your saliva slicks the material. Cirrus's breath is hot against your ear.

"I'll help you behave yourself."

He withdraws his fingers from your mouth, smearing the wetness across your face. When he moves to the side, you catch the first glimpse of him since you placed your hands on the board. His flushed cheeks are the only sign of his exertion. Not a hair is out of place. You watch through teary eyes as he bites the tip of his gloved hand, pulling the leather from his skin. The glint of his sharp teeth shine from between pink lips. Glove off, he presses his fingers cruelly into your cheeks, prying your lips open once again. His removed glove is pressed between your teeth, silencing you. The material is thick, forces your jaw to spread.

He hits you again before you're really ready, ungloved hand anchored on your hip. The force of the blow shoves you forwards while Cirrus's nails dig into your hip bone, leaving deep grooves. A muffled sob breaks free. Your hand slides down the board, erasing the lines surrounding it. You stumble forward, gasping. His hand creeps under your bent waist, supporting your weight.

Cirrus lays into you without any reservations. He spanks you, hand crashing down again and again. You thrash, hands clutching desperately at his supporting arm where it lays steel-like against your stomach. Twisting, flailing, as he brings you back in line. Drool spills down out of your mouth from around the fingers of the glove. He kicks your legs apart when they clench together before beginning again. The blow blend together. You are ablaze. Writhing in his arms. Needy with desire and aching all over. Your eyes are a mess of tears and you gasp desperately around the glove, nose running. Both of you breathing hard, he takes a moment to examine you before pulling the glove out of your mouth.

"I think you'll be pleased, my star. Once you've come back to yourself. Proof of my ownership pressed into your skin. You won't be able to sit without remembering whom you belong to."

Every part of you throbs. Pain, pleasure, and obedience all searing through your veins in equal measure. You're limp, resting nearly your full weight against him.. You cry softly, stuffy and worn out.

"Come here," he tells you, as he hefts you towards the chair behind his desk. As if you'd have the strength to deny him. He sits and reclines the chair fully, laying back. He holds you against his chest. A moment for you to calm down. You press your damp face into the safety of his shirt while his arms rest softly around your shoulders.

"You shine in your obedience to me." 

His voice is quiet against your hair. You lay there, boneless, listening to the gentle thump of his heart. Feeling the solid ridge of the button of his vest imprint itself on your cheek. Gradually, you come back to yourself. Breathing in his scent as he continues to hold you. You test your limbs, achingly shifting them. Wipe your eyes softly against the back of your hand. A sharp cry springs from your mouth as your raw skin scrapes against the material of his pants. If the way you feel is any indication, you’re probably covered in speckled bruises, soon to shift into blooms of blue and purple. You flinch as you feel a scarlet bead of blood inch down your inner thigh. He shushes you, hand coming up to card through your hair. 

“Does this mean things have changed between us?” Your plaintive question hangs in the air. 

Cirrus’s hand stills. “It doesn’t have to. Continue to serve me. I won't mark you where others will see.”

You nod at that, accepting it without complaint. He was to remain your boss. At least for now, you find yourself thinking. You long for something more. And you suspect he might feel the same, though he’s reluctant to admit it. His rules, so many designed to constrain and rankle. The attention he pays to you. His satisfaction from putting you in your place. Those fleeting moments of tenderness. Nothing about it was casual. Perhaps, with time - and enough tactical disobedience - his commitment to professionalism will crumble. It’s a challenge. Rules and regulations then. A path to something more.

[fairyhaos]

seventeen and firefighters

requested by anon: "Hiii, can you do svt as firefighters, I was watching chicago fire and wondering what would svt be like in the au"

notes: okay i know absolutely nothing about firefighters so i found a bunch of firefighter duties online and just gave them to whichever member i thought they fit best. probably a mix of american + british firefighter policies.

masterlist

seungcheol:

has been the captain during at least 2 different major fire events in the city during his time as a firefighter. definitely that heroic guy in movies who runs back into a burning building bc there's still this one child who didn't make it out. visits the child in hospital, accidentally becomes a part-time parent to several other children in the ward. the one who teaches the new recruits how to slide down the fireman's pole bc the other guys would definitely teach it wrong to see them get blisters on their fingers just for funsies

jeonghan:

is somehow always on duty when the old ladies call for fire safety checks in their houses. spends half the time gossiping with them about their daily lives + what they were like n who had the most drama back in the day. probably has the email addresses of like 6 different lovely old ladies bc they loved talking to him so much, gets treated like he's their angelic little son by all of them. weak asf, no one knows how he actually managed to become a firefighter

joshua:

accompanied seungcheol on both of those major fire accidents, and despite not being the captain he was the man interviewed by the news reporters cz he was the only one who was (somehow) relatively clean of soot. claims it's bc he's so pure and nice so the dirt can't touch him, was almost punched by seungcheol on live tv. goes round to schools and gives talks on fire safety and stuff. laughs at jeonghan when the guy comes back from a house visit with yet another email address to add to his book

junhui:

probably mostly just does responses to medical calls and non-fire emergencies, bc i don't think i'd trust this guy to put out a fire without accidentally making it worse. one time, he had to go to some corporate building bc someone was stuck in the elevator, and as soon as he's saved the woman she'd handed him a business card and asked if he was interested in working as a model for their company

hoshi:

gets the most excited when they have a fire emergency call. is super pumped bc this is why he became a firefighter in the first place, bc he wants to fight fires n not just write papers on how to fight fires. is the only one that's not extremely exhausted at the end of it, ends up being the one to reassure the civilians that everything is okay now bc the other members are just way too tired to deal with the public

wonwoo:

tbh he's not really sure how he ended up in the firefighting business. does police assist duties more often, setting up traffic cones and handing out shock blankets and sometimes towing vehicles. drags hoshi away from the civilians to prevent him from beaming ridiculously wide whilst he tells them that people were seriously injured in the fire they just helped out at

woozi:

the one called to do rescue service jobs the most often. has saved cats from trees, dogs from trees, squirrels from houses, bats from barns, bees from backyards, practically everything you can think of. is one of the most capable during fire response tho bc he can actually hold up the rlly heavy water hose while the others are doing other firefighter stuff

minghao:

does most of the paperwork after incidents have occurred bc none of the other members can be bothered to do them. gives the worst and best pep talks at the same time. tells them that this is their duty n they've sworn to protect the people and they are going to do well, but in the same breath tells them there's always a likelihood that they're gonna die early bc of their job. they still don't know why he's the one always assigned to give pep talks

mingyu:

the Big Guy. gets trusted w most of the heavy lifting bc he's so tall and everything, and does the most active fire fighting bc he's actually capable of holding up the fire hose for extended periods of time. has also 100% hit his head on the doorway of the fire truck before in his haste to get into the vehicle after they've gotten a call, was laughed at for the entire journey to the site

dokyeom:

gets scared during the drive to a fire that they've been called to put out bc "what if we end up dying there????" even though he went through all the training and he's actually going to be fine. doesn't like using the fireman's pole, generally tries to stay on the ground floor so he'll never have to slide down it if they're called to an emergency. has once paused in putting out a fire to rescue a cat from a tree across the street

seungkwan:

idk probably yells for civilians to move out of the way while he n the rest of the firefighters are getting from the truck to the building that's on fire. was once one of the fighters to help with this one incident with chlorine gas malfunction in a swimming pool centre, tells the story to every person he ever meets. gets rlly honoured if he's walking down the streets n someone recognises him from rescue that he's done before

vernon:

somehow always loses rock paper scissors and has to be the one to lead the equipment check in the trucks while they're not on duty. has probably run into burning buildings before bc he thought the others were telling him to when in fact they were telling seungcheol not to run into the burning building. still thinks it's rlly fascinating and rlly terrifying when he sees a roof collapse in on itself while all up in flames

chan:

watches firefighter movies n shows just to point out all the inaccuracies, but now unintentionally has gotten himself hooked on just about all of them. if someone is injured during a fire site that he's worked on, he Will take time out of his day to visit them in the hospital they've been sent to, bc he wants them to know that firefighters really do care about the lives that are endangered that they've helped save

request guidelines

[lady-pug]

in the morning (when the day is new)

Chapter II of Wouldn't It Be Nice

Summary: You sustain a head injury while on a mission but Whiskey isn’t fast enough to administer the alpha gel, so your memories of your time at Statesman don’t come back. Instead, you only remember up until the day before you were recruited and your memory ends up being reset every night. Jack makes it his mission to make you fall in love with him everyday (50 First Dates AU)

Pairing: Jack Daniels | Agent Whiskey x Reader

Word count: 3,5k

Warnings: memory loss

Notes: Yay, chapter two is up! And I’m already working on chapter three (I’ll try to have it out as quickly as I can)! I hope you, my dear reader, enjoy this chapter; I had a lot of fun writing it!

Next part | Previous part | Masterlist | Read on AO3

He stuttered, his breath hitching.

“What?”

He couldn’t seem to remember how to breathe, something as simple as inhaling was too complex of a task at that moment.

“Jack…”

He finally acknowledged Ginger, who was looking at him with something akin to pity in her eyes.

“What happened?”

She grabbed his elbow and practically had to drag him away into a corner.

“What happened, Liz?” he started rambling “Ain’t she supposed to remember by now? Haven’t you shown her that picture of her parents? Why ain’t she-”

“Jack, hey, listen” she interrupted “I don’t know what happened. She woke up, with no recollection of me, like usual. But when I showed her the picture… nothing. She only said she missed them, that’s all. She doesn’t remember you nor me!” she was frustrated, Jack could tell. It was understandable, you were her best friend after all.

“Uhm, excuse me?” you called, still sitting confusedly on the bed “Am I clear to go? Or is there anything else you’d like to do? Any other exams?"

They both turned to you, hesitantly.

“It’s just that I have a job interview today.” you explained, a hesitant although excited smile taking over your features.

“A job interview?” Ginger took a step forward “Where?”

“It’s a-” you hesitated, your smile faltering for only a split second before you recovered “a distillery. Statesman.”

Jack and Liz shared a look. 

“It’s the day we met.” Jack mumbled “Her memories were reset to the day we met.”

“What are you talking about, Whiskey?”

“At the bar out front.” he started rambling, explaining his thought process to Ginger “She, uh, she was upset, thought the interview and trials were no good to actually get her the job. I-I offered to buy her a drink ‘for luck’. But I already knew she was in.”

Ginger smiled at the fond, if not a little desperate, way Jack talked about the memory.

“Please, Elizabeth, I’m begging you” he grabbed her hands, fighting the stinging ache in his eyes “help her remember. She has to remember-” he paused for a brief second, not wanting to disclose too much of his feelings, the ones he was still coming to terms with himself “-us. Help her remember us.”

Ginger smiled sadly at him.

“I’ll do my very best to help her remember you, Jack.”

Jack was taken aback for a moment, but he should have known she could read him like an open book. Ginger was a smart woman.

“Thank you.” he smiled back.

She turned back to you.

“Do you remember anything that happened?”

You shook your head.

“I went to sleep last night, and then… I woke up here.” you looked around “Where am I exactly?”

“A hospital. You were in a car accident.” Ginger creatively came up with that as she went.

“Oh god, did anyone get hurt?” Jack couldn’t help but smile, the way you cared for others more than you did for yourself shining through even if you had lost part of your memories.

“You did, dear.” Ginger continued carefully “You hit your head pretty hard. I want to run a few more exams just to make sure you’re okay. It’s best if you stay the night.”

“But my interview-” you started to protest.

“I have a friend who works at Statesman.” not being able to stand the sight of you in distress, Jack intervened “I’ll give him a call, explain the situation and ask ‘em to reschedule.”

Your radiant smile warmed his heart.

“You’d do that for me?”

“Of course, sweetheart.”

Ginger walked back towards Jack.

“She seems to be suffering from a strange case of anterograde amnesia: she can remember things before her time at the agency, but not after. I’ll monitor her and see if she gets any better.”

“Okay.” he nodded, absentmindedly.

Walking out of the lab, Ginger stopped him before he could get too far.

“You should try and get some rest. I don’t know how long it’s going to take for her to regain her memories.”

“Of course.” he nodded, a bit disorientated when thinking about what he should do now “Let me know if anything changes, will you?”

She nodded and he started walking away, his mind clouded and his heart heavy. 

The moonlight was shining down on your skin. He barely registered the uncomfortable feeling of sand seeping in between his sprawled fingers, all he could focus on was the steady rise and fall of your chest laying next to him.

“I can feel you staring, cowboy.”

Jumping in surprise, he looked at how your now open eyes were staring at him from under hooded eyelids, a small smile playing on your lips.

“What are you thinking about?”

He shrugged.

“Just can’t wrap my head ‘round how dazzling you look, sweetheart.”

You snorted, dissolving into a fit of giggles.

“You’re so corny, Jack.”

“What? S’true!”

Your laughter was radiant enough to light up an entire room, he thought. Maybe he was corny afterall.

Still laying on the sand, you squirmed on your back and wormed your way next to him, perpendicular to his legs, and settled with your head on his lap. He admired your face, eyes closed again, a peaceful look taking over your features.

“What would you be doing if you weren’t an agent?”

The question startled him slightly. What would he be doing if he wasn’t an agent? He took a moment to ponder. Remembering the life he could have had if only those addicts hadn’t decided to rob the very same store his wife was at was too painful. You were one of the few people he felt comfortable enough to talk about her and his baby boy nowadays. He wished you two could have met, he had a feeling you’d have been great friends.

“I think I’d like to be a teacher.”

Your eyes snapped open, a mischievous smile.

“Mr. Daniels, huh?” you smirked “What subject would you teach?”

“Math.” you giggled in disbelief “I mean it! I can solve some killer algebra equations.” you laughed even more, some tears visibly gathering in the corner of your eyes “But if I’m being honest, I’d rather it be kindergarten.”

Your face softened. Smiling at him you nodded your chin for him to continue.

“I love kids. Especially that age, when they’re discovering the world. The faces they make when they find something new and exciting. I’d love to be able to help in that process.”

The look on your face, the pure adoration he could see in your eyes, was enough to bring heat to his face.

“What about you?” he changed the subject “Got any ideas?”

You smiled shyly, averting your eyes.

“With the answer you just gave, mine is going to sound very lame.”

“S’not. I promise.”

Looking back at him, you grin turned mischievous once again.

“When I was a kid I wanted to be a vet, or a biologist, just so I could work at an aquarium.”

“An aquarium?” he asked in amusement.

“Yeah. I really wanted to work with walrus and otters. They are really cute!”

Jack laughed, amused with your thought process as a kid.

“Walrus? Cute?”

“Have you ever seen a walrus?”

“I have” he answered “and all they remind me of is Champ.”

You burst out laughing, nodding your head in agreement. He laughed so hard at your own laughter he almost cried. Once you calmed down, you sat up and turned to look at him, a new glint in your eyes.

“Do you ever think about getting back out there?”

“Out there?” he was confused.

“To dating.”

Thinking about it for a moment, he contemplated his answer.

“Maybe. If the right woman comes along.”

The look in your eyes held something mysterious, something he couldn’t quite place his finger on.

Just as he was about to ask you the same thing, something stopped him. A beeping of some kind.

“What’s that?” 

“What’s what?” you replied, but your voice sounded very far away.

“That!” he turned back to you, but you weren’t there “Sweetheart?”

He jolted awake, abruptly pulled from the depths of his consciousness. Sighing, he gripped the bridge of his nose, fighting off the tears that were slowly welling up in his eyes, their stinging a painful reminder of what was going on in his life at the moment. What wouldn’t he give to go back to sleep, back to that dream? It was a nice dream, most of it a fond memory he kept close to his heart. It was late at night after a rough mission in Hawaii a few months back, none of you were in condition to jump on a plane and go back to Kentucky, so Champ extended your stay in the hotel by the beach for one more night. Restless from the adrenaline that was still pumping in your veins, you both decided to take a midnight dive in the ocean, which led to a quiet moment watching the stars and talking about life. He wished he could go back to then, when things were easier.

A beeping noise startled him, almost making him jump out of his skin. It was the same sound he heard at the end of his dream. Stumbling around his room, he finally found his phone, which had a bunch of messages from Ginger. Dialing her number, he suppressed a yawn, jumping into professional mode.

“Whiskey.”

“Jack, you might want to come down here, as soon as possible.” Ginger’s voice sounded slightly strained. 

“What happened?” he was dressed and out the door in the blink of an eye.

“Just… get down here.” and with that she hung up.

Almost bumping into several other agents minding their business, Jack quickly got down to Ginger’s lab. The woman in question was waiting for him outside the door.

“Ginger, what happened?”

“I think it’s better if you see it for yourself.”

She led him inside, where he found you, still sitting on the same bed, now wearing a hospital gown.

“Hey!” you greeted them. You eyed him, a confused look crossing your face before you addressed Ginger “Who is this?”

Jack turned to Ginger, confused, but she was already looking at him with a sad smile.

“We met yesterday, remember?”

Shaking your head, you squinted your eyes as if making an effort to try and remember.

“Hmm, no. I think I’d remember meeting you.” 

“What do you remember from yesterday?” Ginger spoke up.

“I went to bed last night and then… then I woke up here” you looked around and Jack felt like he was having a deja vu “Where am I exactly?”

“She woke up and she didn’t remember me, nor where she was.” Ginger turned to him, speaking under her breath.

“Can I go now? I have a job interview today!” you spoke, excitedly.

“Her memories were reset overnight?” Jack spoke, his stomach churning with worry.

“Seems like it.”

“But how?”

The woman before him sighed, and for a brief moment she looked like she had aged ten years in just a day. Walking out of your earshot, outside of the lab, she started explaining.

“Whatever happened seems to have affected her brain’s ability to turn short term memories into long term ones. Sleep seems to be the trigger for the reseting.”

“Is there anything you can do?”

“I can keep her here for a few more days, run a few more tests.”

“Yeah, more tests sound good.” he nodded, slightly disoriented by all the new information Ginger had just dumped on him.

“But Jack.” he hummed in acknowledgment “I don’t think you should keep coming to see her.”

His head snapped back towards her, eyes wide and furious.

“Why not?!” he asked, probably more harshly than he intended.

“I can see this is taking a toll on you. Seeing her like this I mean.”

“But I can’t not see her! That ain’t right! She- Liz, I-I can’t not know, I-” he stumbled over his words, worry and anger at the whole situation threatening to overflow him “She’s one of my best friends. I need to know she’s okay.”

Ginger sighed heavily, having noticed the redness and the glossy shine that had overtaken the man’s eyes.

“You love her, don’t you?” she spoke softly, almost whispering.

His rambling came to a halt, eyes widening as if she had slapped him in the face. He looked away for a moment and gulped, like even thinking about those words physically hurt him.

“Yeah,” he looked back at Ginger “I do love her.” 

“Then let me do my job.”

“I just-” he choked on a sob he was trying to supress “I can’t lose her. Not like this. Not again.”

“You won’t.”

“How can you know that?!” he snapped, practically shouting at her.

Her eyes hardened.

“Because I’m the one looking after her. And I’m really good at what I do.”

He deflated.

“I-I’m sorry, Liz. I’m sorry.”

She placed a gentle hand on his shoulder, her eyes softening.

“It’s alright, Jack. I know how much she means to you.” she said “That’s why you should stay away for a while. I’ll keep you updated.”

“You can’t just expect me to sit around and do nothing, Ging.”

“I don’t. Can you go to her quarters, bring me anything you think might be useful in bringing her memories back?” she asked. “Trinkets, clothes, pictures, anything.”

“Yeah, I can do that.”

“Do you ever think about getting back out there?”

“Out there?” he was confused.

“To dating.”

Thinking about it for a moment, he contemplated his answer.

“Maybe. If the right woman comes along.”

The look in your eyes held something mysterious, something he couldn’t quite place his finger on.

“And has she?”

“Has who what?”

There was something cheeky, almost bold in your smile.

“The right woman.” your smile only grew, as if it was the most obvious thing in the world “Has she come along?”

His eyes widened, almost the size of dinner plates. You were trying to kill him, he was sure. How could he answer that, without making things awkward for the both of you? He could always lie to save face, but he knew you could read him like an open book and would see right through his lies. Clearing his throat, he thought for a minute or so, before deciding to be honest.

“I guess she might have.”

Your grin turned into a soft smile. Placing a hand on his knee, you turned your body fully in his direction.

“Yeah?”

The glimmer in your eyes cast by the moon did something to him. He couldn’t hold himself back any longer. With a crooked index finger under your chin, he tilted your head up, your faces only millimeters from each other. 

“I think she is closer than I imagine.”

And then he was kissing you. Closing the gap, he placed his chapped lips on your soft ones in a sweet, almost chaste kiss. It felt a lot better than he ever expected, it even felt kinda… magical. As you pulled back he realized you were smiling at him, your hand running down his cheek and cupping his jaw.

“I certainly hope so.” you said with a dreamy expression before climbing into his lap, knees on either side of his hips. You dived in for another kiss, your hands sliding from his jaw to the base of his neck, gripping his hair. The kiss was a lot more passionate this time. His own hands moved accordingly, the one gripping your chin sliding up to cup your jaw and the other resting on your hip.

“I just want to stay here and kiss you.” you whispered against his lips, barely pulling away “Again. And again, and again” between each sentence you pressed a peck to his lips “And again. And again, until you’ve decided you’ve had enough of me.”

“Not gonna happen, sweetheart.” he said, before kissing you again.

There was a soft beam of sunlight streaming through the drapes as his eyes opened against his will. That bit of the dream was new, nowhere near part of his memories. He should have kissed you, like in the dream, he now knows he should have. Instead he had cracked some half-assed joke and walked back to his hotel room. Retreating like a coward, he scolded himself for hours later as he laid awake in his bed. A part of him longed to go back to that night and make things right.

A glance at his phone let him know Champ was requesting an all-agents meeting first thing that morning, which made him sigh. It was going to be a long day.

The past three days had been torture for Jack. Ginger ran all the tests she could think of and yet you didn’t seem to be making any improvement. Everynight your memories were reset back to the day you met. He was getting more frustrated by the hour but there was nothing he could do.

Dragging his feet into the conference room, he noticed all other agents were already there, Champ at the head of the table, Ginger standing silently next to him.

“Good. Now that everyone’s here we can start.” Champagne said “Ginger, if you will.”

Ginger took a step forward.

“As you may know, Agent Cider has been compromised in action.” Jack swallowed harshly, still not totally rid of the guilt “After taking too long to administer the alpha gel, her memories of her time as a Statesman agent haven’t returned. What’s worse, since then her brain has suffered some kind of extensive damage to the point where her memories are reset every night. Meaning she believes she’s always going through the same day.”

A hand quickly shot up in the air.

“Like ‘Groundhog Day’?” asked Lemonade, a junior agent who usually compensated for lack of knowledge and experience with enthusiasm.

“Something like that, yes. Except she isn’t aware she has already gone through that day.” Ginger resumed her explanation “The day her memories are stuck on is the day of her Statesman interview and trials.”

“Why are you telling us all of this?” Vermouth asked in that arrogant tone both you and Jack both detested.

“We are going to send her back home.”

Jack stood up so fast his chair almost scraped against the carpet.

“What? Why?” he almost yelled, barely managing to contain his fury and confusion “You can’t just give up on her!”

“Sit down, Agent Whiskey.” Champ’s stern voice left no room for argument, so Jack complied.

“We aren’t giving up on her. According to her, and to the records we managed to recover, she is supposed to come here in the afternoon to be interviewed. Instead of the physical trials soon-to-be agents are usually put through I’ll run exams to see her daily improvement. I’ll also send word to our sister branch in England and see if they can help us.”

“Where do we come in?” Tequila intervened.

“Whatever agent that is on base is to conduct Cider’s interview, everyday until she gets better.” Champ's booming voice explained “Y’all went through that interview already, you should know which questions to ask. Then you are to take her to Ginger’s lab so she can do her sciency shit. And by whoever’s on base I mean whoever’s here” he emphasized, looking sharply at Vermouth, who was rolling his eyes “except for Whiskey.”

Jack’s eyes widened.

“Why?”

“Because Ginger and I believe you’re already too involved and it’s not good for you. Take a step back and rest for a while, son.”

Whiskey went to protest, but Champ’s hardened yet kind eyes stopped him.

“Cider’s first interview is today.” the boss said after a moment “Y’all are dismissed.”

Sighing, Jack opened the door that led to the bar that was kept in the grounds of the distillery. He sat down at the bar signaling the bartender, an old friend of his.

“Whiskey, neat.”

The bartender narrowed her eyes.

“Are you sure, chief? It’s barely dusk.”

“Just keep ‘em coming.” 

She only shrugged, it wasn’t her problem really, so long as he didn’t start a ruckus or something.

With a long, defeated sigh, Jack laid his head on his arms on top of the counter, hiding his face from the world. His day had been shitty to say the least. First he got the news that Ginger was going to let you go, your memories having yet to return. Then he was notified he wouldn’t be able to see you anymore, that literally every other agent was going to interact with you and help except for your own partner. Except for him. He felt useless. Useless and helpless.

Once the bartender placed his glass in front of him with a soft thud, he raised his head, ready to down the entire drink in one gulp in order to drown his sorrows when something caught his eye across the bar. Nursing a drink and looking just as defeated as he felt, but at the same time just as beautiful as that first time (if not more) was someone he was beginning to lose hope in seeing anytime soon.

You.

[lakesbian]

“I just don’t get why you want me,” I said, “I control bugs. That’s not going to stop Alexandria, Glory Girl or Aegis.”

I know I said I wasn't going to go for the low-hanging fruit when it comes to knowing turns to the camera. But this is really juicy low hanging fruit.

“Honey,” Lisa said, “Entire teams of capes have gone up against Lung and got their asses handed to them. That you managed as well as you did is fantastic. The fact that the asshole is lying in a hospital bed because of you is the icing on the cake.”

first time she calls her Honey is fucking. 2.6. in response to taylor's insecurity. [staring off into the distance] the thing about pity is that it's condescending by default

god. 2.6 is really good i forgot how much i loved seeing these little guys interacting w each toher. i think the point of lisa's longwinded explanation of how badly taylor fucked lung up probably is supposed to serve the two purposes of 1. talking her up to herself and 2. while doing so, hammering in how violent she was and setting those first seeds of doubt about her inability to continue hacking it as a hero. if that Was what lisa was trying to do, she did so very successfully, bc taylor does think:

I closed my eyes. I could see my reputation going down the tubes.

“You’d better hope he doesn’t escape,” Alec said, his voice still quiet but bemused, “Because if someone made my man bits fall off, I’d be out for blood.” Brian pinched the bridge of his nose, “Thank you for that, Alec.  Way you two are going, our potential recruit is going to run off to have a panic attack before the idea of becoming an Undersider even crosses her mind.” “How do you know this?” I asked, within a heartbeat of the thought crossing my mind.  When Brian turned my way with an expression like he thought he had said something to offend me, I clarified, “Tattletale, or Lisa, or whatever I’m supposed to call you.  How do you know this stuff about Lung… or about the fact that I was at the Library, or that the cape was on his way, last night?”

leans over whispers to the crowd. alec isn't necessarily specifically attached to having a dick vs having a pussy but he would say this nonetheless. i love brian here i love how he is literally A Teenage Criminal but he still can't refrain from treating this like an actual job interview and becoming so exasperated when anyone is candid about the level of danger involved in being A Teenage Criminal. or even when they you know. act like a teenager. immediately worried he had done something to offend taylor! breaking out the brianisms when feels the need to help the team succeed (because the team succeeding = him being able to care for aisha). i like him. worlds first 40yo 17yo.

[spades0face]

someone let me know if superpower daycare has already been done. something like this:

Most people with power-nulling abilities get immediately recruited superhero and supervillain teams. Some even go into law enforcement, but all eventually get recruited.

Except for you.

It's not like you didn't try. However, it was hard to explain to interviewers how polymorphing would be an asset on the battlefield.

"We have heroes that are ten times stronger than any gorilla, lion, or crocodile. We have heroes that are twenty times faster than any peregrine or cheetah. We're looking for something new AND better, not new but worse."

On your way home from one of your countless interviews, you walked by a fight between two low-level villains beating up a young hero you had never seen before, which probably meant she was a vigilante, or looking for fight experience for hero interviews. It looked like she had bitten off more than she could chew though, her invisibility powers flickering on and off as she barely dodged a blast of fire.

You could relate; your last trip to the hospital had been courtesy of a villain who could turn his skin to steel. But 1) it was late, 2) you were hungry, 3) you were tired, not just physically but of this whole system that seemed against you. So when the girl came flying at you after being punched, you polymorphed her into a frog and caught her. The little green amphibian blinked up at you, likely surprised and confused, but not as much as the two villains were.

"You! Where did she go?" The one with fire stalked toward you, flames sputtering out from his fist. The one behind him cracked her knuckles menacingly.

You turned them both into fleas and held the frog up to them. Nature took its course, and you were on your way. She wouldn't be a frog forever, maybe just for the next few minutes. You hoped she enjoyed the brief vacation from the unforgiving pursuit of heroism.

The next day, the girl was standing in the doorway, in between you and yet another interview. You smile and shake your head, unwilling to accept whatever gift she prepared you for saving her life.

But she stayed put, and firmly demanded, "Let me stay with you. I want to be your apprentice."

You kindly explain you cannot take apprentices because you do not have a hero or villain contract. Her eyes seem to bulge out of her head at this news.

"But you're so strong! And I...I have nowhere else to go," she admits, hiding her arms behind her back.

You glance behind you, preparing an excuse until you noticed how dark your house is. How the shadows creep long across the rugless wooden floorboards, how the cold finds itself in every corner of every room, how empty it is.

She can stay.

Her name was Amy, and she was the first of many. Orphans and unloved children were drawn to you like magnets, betrayed by a system that promised to give everyone a fair chance. You weren't sure how to handle them all in the beginning, until you broke up a fight by turning everyone into sloths. By the time your powers wore off, the kids were too sleepy to continue.

Some of the stronger kids suggested you help them with their powers, saying you could stop them if they went too far. You obliged, having stopped going to interviews a long time ago and finding yourself with a lot of free time.

When the food ran out, you gave yourself insomnia worrying about how you were going to provide for everyone without a job. In the morning, the shelves were stocked full of fresh foods and a suspicious amount of candy and cookies. The small group of kids raised by villains swiftly admitted what they had done, clearly fearing what your response would be. They tensed up as you stepped closer, but melted into your hug. You didn't care about the outside world anymore. Only if your children were safe.

A year after your little operation began, there was a knock at your door, strong and sharp. Probably an older kid, you thought as you stepped over a couple little boys creating rock figurines with their powers. However, when you answered the door, it was a parent with twins, slapping at each other with blue sparks coming from their fingertips.

"Is this the daycare for super-powered children?" He yawned. You blink. Is that what people think you're doing?

"You know what, I'm just going to leave them here for five, no, six hours. They have some kind of electric shock power, so, and I can't stress this enough, do NOT let them near your power sockets. Good luck." He rubbed his eyes while tossing you a stack of bills. The door closed neatly with a click. The twins briefly stopped their fight to peer curiously at you.

Your hands shake as you count the bills. Just a little over two hundred dollars.

Noticing your increasingly ragged breaths, Amy became visible from the kitchen table she was sitting on and said, "You can do this. You already know how."

She was right. In fact, there might not be anyone more qualified than you. You turn to the twins, who had resumed slapping each other, and polymorphed them into minnows, a common enough transformation that you already had a fish tank prepared to slip them into. You left them in there for ten seconds, then took them out and turned them back. They understood the first rule: you were in charge.

When they got upset at someone for not letting them play with their toy, all three of them were turned into butterflies. The second rule took some getting used to: there would be no fighting, only civilized discussion.

You didn't need to teach them the third rule. They saw it for themselves when the children of heroes and villains alike sat down side by side at the same table to enjoy the same lunch: in this house, there are no sides.

When their well-rested father came to pick them up, they were waiting patiently by the door with their hands to themselves. The look of shock on his face, followed by a tip of another hundred dollars, was a glimpse into the rest of your life. It blinded you with its light.

[dausy]

I got a job.

Which is kind of nifty I guess. I feel like it removes some of my stress although I knew I wouldn't have an issue finding a job, its just that the unknown makes us feel like we are continuously poor and homeless when that isn't the case.

An old classmate of mine from nursing school had messaged me some odd days ago saying she was leaving her job because her commute was really long and she wanted to know if I wanted it. She said she loved her job otherwise. I was actually going to wait until we moved to start applying for jobs because a lot of places want you to start ASAP and I don't want to apply too early. But she had already recommended me to her manager and he contacted me with a referral link to fill out. Did a virtual interview and he told me he knew he was already going to offer me the job.

HR already sent me an acceptance package and stated they wanted to pay me a relocation fee. Just an FYI this is for an Interventional Radiology nurse position, which I suppose I do have a bit of experience in with my previous position. IR is considered a cush or "soft" nursing job, but this is with a lvl1 trauma center and I'm not that familiar with the type of high acuity cases that they do. The last time I worked in a lvl1 trauma center it was primarily preop/PhaseII and a smidgeon of pacu. I wasn't in the thick of super acute/sick patients. So I don't really know what to expect in IR. It SOUNDS like they just want somebody who is familiar with and knows how to push meds for conscious sedation. They have techs who scrub in with the doctor. That was primarily what I was nervous about was trying to learn how to scrub for so many different types of procedures (cause they said they do about 40 different types) and I was like "oh lord thats a lot to learn and prove myself on, in a short orientation". But they told me that I would just be doing the conscious sedation and thats it. Which takes a lot of stress off. I don't know how to scrub..so..

anyway, coincidentally at the same time I accepted the position, somebody posted on the nursing reddit saying something like "those of you who want to work in IR because its a soft nursing job, WE DONT WANT YOU" I mean, I work hard and I split myself into 1400 pieces to try and help everybody so I'm not coming in to just sit and play on my phone.

The downsides to this job is that there is on-call and then I'd be making less money than what I was getting paid 5 years ago and rent prices have skyrocketted. Which is really sad. It has pretty much doubled. So less pay and more expensive CoL. We are already expecting to have to pay around 2000-2200/mo on rent alone for nothing super special. Not including pet rent and then utilities.

Me and my spouse were jokingly talking about me joining the service for the benefits. While its been brought up to me before in the past, I didn't think I had it in me to join the military. Now I'm actually kind of taking it seriously. I already talked to a recruiter but they aren't making it easy to get in contact with them which makes me think they're going to tell me they werent interested. But hypothetically, if I joined the military nurse corps, I'd go in as an officer, get officer pay, get BAH, get a retirement, continue the lifestyle of which I've become accustomed and if they have my specialty available, I would just continue doing the job I've become accustomed to. It was actually kind of enlightening.

If I have to work my booty off being full time, on call, making less than my mom as a secretary and I have to continue being a nurse....I mean, I dunno..people say that the military can't compete with civilian hospitals, but I kind of beg to differ. To me, it seems like they're offering a lot more.

But if military says "no, we don't need your specialty", I do have a job waiting for me for when we move.

[upaeeks]

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[flashprotectionsquad]

I don't post a lot of my life here but things are a bit stressful right now, and so I thought I could try to get it off my chest over here

So I live in france, as I (almost) always have since birth lmao. But, yeah, I'm moving to Japan next month for a long time (for ever, even, i hope)

We already signed for our apartment, we have the plane tickets, I'm almost done packing everything, our cats have passed the health and vaccines check-up and requirement for Japan... Not much could go wrong now in term of moving

I'm still so scared and anxious lol

oh and I have a promise of employment from a Japanese company as a customer support in an export japanese company

I am absolutely terrified

The big part of the job is in english, I'm part of the customer support english team, but still, japanese is used a lot in the company, one of the recruiter even commented on it during my interview. I couldn't speak properly during the interview (in japanese) and like, I think they think it was due to stress????? it WASN'T, I don't know how to speak japanese lol

like, I understand most of the things I hear and read in japanese, it's quite ok, but I cannot, for the love of god, SPEAK IT???? I don't know why, the words don't come, my grammar is bad, it's a nightmare????? I'm still waiting for the result of my JLPT N2, but honestly I think I didn't pass, so yeah, fuck me.

I'm supposed to start next month (9/18), it's going to be my first office job also (I only worked in customer service before) so it's really a lot

I lived in Japan for a year(2022-2023) for my studies, but I was in a pretty small/mid city, and now I'm moving to Tokyo??? And I have an office job??? It's really not the same. Uni in japan was a bit chill (except the exams, some where hell-ish) but office jobs? I am so scared I can't even put words on it lmao

It's really like a dream coming true. I worked my ass off for 4 years to get the best grades, I got selected by the Japanese ministry of education to got to my Japanese Uni with a scholarship. Only 6 french students got that scholarship that year and I was one of them. I felt so much pride, and recognition, but my japanese level didn't really move? Even tho all my classes were in japanese, and almost no one in my city spoke english, I went to the hospital, the dentist, the doctors, the movies, everything in japanese, and I still can't align 3 sentences without hesitation about grammar, and not finding the right words??? I sound like a kid when I speak japanese, that's not appropriate in an office....

The anxiety and stress is killing it for me, i'm really sad and don't feel too good. My husband is trying to be supportive, but he doesn't know japanese, so he will rely on me in the beginning for administrations and shit, and he still hasn't really begun job hunting, so I still feel so much responsabilities on my shoulders.

He have money on the side (I don't) so he's telling that I don't need to stress too much, that if the job doesn't work out we still have some months to get back on our feet, but I don't want us to be in that situation? It's bad enough one of them will be unemployed for some time, we can't really afford to take our time? like-

I can't afford to lose this job, and I honestly doesn't want to. I want to do this job. I'm just scared i'm going to be bad at it, or not as good as my employer thought I'd be.

I don't want them to regret hiring me. It's scary.

But yeah. Tokyo. Here I come. In 24 days.

[stvphenwrites]

Chapter three I'm working on

(Blazing Fires)

I'm planning to post all chapters at once on Tuesday the 20th because I'm close to getting done with the story, that's why I haven't updated it in a while.

Two weeks had passed. Two boring and repetitive weeks. Those two weeks included: -A bunch of new recruits. -A few small fires. -A bunch of pranks. And, of course, Strange doing his damn job

Currently, he was sitting in the break rooms. His head pressed against the table and his eyes closed. He hadn’t slept in two days. His body was begging him on his knees to just go to bed.

Suddenly, the door to the break room burst open and Clea stuck her head in.

“Strange, you need to see this." she hissed, her voice a whisper, but loud enough for him to raise his head

“This better be good.” He mumbled, sitting up in his seat and rolling his eyes.

Clea threw a magazine at Stephen, the cover was of Stephen helping Tony down from the ledge of the building, the models arms wrapped tightly around Stephen’s neck.

The cover had bold writing written on it, ’TONY STARK SAVED BY HERO FIREFIGHTER.’

Strange’s eyes widened as he saw the cover. Of course the media and news already got wind of this. He would’ve been surprised if they didn’t.

Stephen grabbed the magazine and scanned it over, looking at the pictures of Tony and him when they were on the roof. He closed the magazine and placed it back on the table, groaning quietly.

“Fantastic…” he mumbled sarcastically, leaning back into the chair, his tongue swiped across his lower lip.

“Flip to page 2,” Clea spoke. And did Strange did, having much more information on page 2.

As he opened the pamphlet, the first thing that caught Strange’s attention was a few more pictures and a video. It was of Tony being led into the ambulance and then of him being taken into the hospital. As Strange was reading it, he caught a few words:

’FASTEST FIREFIGHTER SAVES FAMOUS SUPER MODEL TONY STARK FROM JUMPING’

’HERO FIREFIGHTER’

’HOTTEST FIREFIGHTER NEW YORK HAS BEEN HIDING’

Strange grimaced as he read the first two titles, he knew the media would make a huge deal out of this, but he didn’t think it would be like this. As he kept reading, it only got worse and worse.

'HERO FIREFIGHTER SAVING FAMOUS MODEL. HERO FIREFIGHTER AND TONY STARK DATING?!’

He groaned again, closing the magazine and tossing it onto the table, running a hand over his face.

“Please tell me this is the end of it—“ Strange grumbled, he stopped his grumbling as he turned to the last page of the pamphlet, and what he saw, well that just annoyed him even more.

“You’ve got to be kidding me…” he mumbled, taking the magazine and showing the page to Clea.

The page was a small interview of Tony, and to no one’s surprise, the model had said something. Something that really pissed Strange off. And of course, Tony was arrogant as ever toward Stephen.

His eyes couldn’t help but read the model’s words over and over again. As he did, Clea read the words quietly over his shoulder.

"The firefighter? The one who saved me? He’s hot, I’ll give him that.. tall, dark and brooding. Definitely the hot, grumpy type. And I’m certainly his type. After all, I’m a handsome model.”

Strange let out a scoff, he clenched his jaw as the muscles in his body tensed. This just irritated him.

"We used to date back in high school, up to our senior year, but he broke up with me after some out of the blue reason.”

Strange felt the irritation in his entire body. His jaw was clenched so hard that it ached, and his hands were curled into fists on his thighs.

“What the— is this serious?” He spoke through gritted teeth, his voice filling with anger. He never broke up with Tony for no reason.

He never, in the time they spent together, even thought about breaking up. It was Tony, with every damn word and action, who broke up with him. Sorry, no, cheated on him. Yeah that sounds better.

He closed the magazine and tossed it back at Clea, letting out a scoff and shaking his head.

“Can’t believe he’s still saying that bullshit…” he mumbled out, crossing his arms over his chest and leaning back into the chair.

“Typical Tony Stark…” Strange added, rolling his eyes as he let out a deep sigh and brought his hand up to pinch his nose bridge. His headache was just getting worse.

“You and him have quite the history don’t you?” Clea’s voice broke him out of his thoughts. Strange turned to her, raising a brow and nodding at her question.

“To put it simply, yes, yes we do have history…” he said bluntly, leaning forwards in the chair and running a hand over his face

“Mmm, why did you guys date in the first place?” Clea asked, grabbing a chair and sitting in front of Stephen.

Stephen stayed quiet as he crossed his arms over his chest, the memory of back in high school was all flooding back.

“We were young and dumb.” He began with, his voice quiet as he looked at Clea. There was a long pause, a pause filled with silence.

“High school, both of us… It was just stupid… we had a dumb young love, just two naive teens in a shitty town.” The firefighter said, his tone of voice had a hint of bitterness to it.

There was another pause. A brief one, this time, the silence didn’t last as long. Strange let out another sigh and continued with his words.

“We dated, we were boyfriends for two years before he decided to cheat on me with the chief.” Stephen could feel that familiar anger and resentment fill his chest as he spoke the words. No matter, the old memories still pissed him off.

“Wait— Stark cheated on you?— With Steve? Our damn chief? Your kidding,” Clea spoke with parted lips.

“I do wish I was kidding.” Strange grumbled out, running a hand over his face again. He could feel the headache getting worse.

“But I’m not. They did. They had been fooling around for a few months before I found out, of course,” Strange leaned back into the chair, closing his eyes and sighing quietly.

[eloquencejazz]

I feel so stuck at this point in my life right now.

I've been unemployed since April 2023. I've applied to hundreds of jobs and have only gotten maybe less than 10 interviews since then. And tons of rejection emails.

I am currently waiting to hear back from two potential jobs but it's taking longer than expected.

One is for a local big hospital working in their business office and I've already had two interviews with them - one with HR and one with the hiring manager. I was told I'd hear back after Memorial Day but that was last week. This week, I've sent the HR recruiter an email AND a text, each a day apart, but I haven't gotten a response. No "I'm sorry, the process is taking a bit longer" or whatever reason they have for it. Just silence.

The other job is for the county and I've already passed the two assessments required for the job and completed the interview last week. This is my highly desired job, but here's the kicker... they say it would take up to 6 months to hear a response. 6 MONTHS?! Now, I get government jobs take a while to process their job applications. I mean, it's the government. They take so fucking long to do anything, to get anything done. But 6 months is way too long to hear back for someone who's been unemployed for over a year.

It's like, what am I supposed to do?

I can't even get any more unemployment insurance. It doesn't even last that long. Only 6 months is allotted for everyone and in order to reapply, you have to wait another 6 months for your claim to expire and even then, you need to have earned enough wages in the previous 18 months. But if you didn't earn enough wages, then you're SOL.

I'm not going to apply for fast food, retail, or service jobs. I am in my thirties and while I have done those types of jobs in the past, I don't have the physicality or the mental space to handle them anymore. I also would prefer to have a work-life balance at this point in my life.

I have some small business ideas I would love to work on since I have this free time, but what do you need in order to start a small business? Money. You need money to fund a small business and in order to get a business loan, you need proof of income. But how can I get that if I can't get a job? You also need the space in order to start a small business, but I don't have any free space. I live in a studio apartment with my partner and we don't have enough space for everything.

I'm just frustrated and feel like I keep running in circles.

And it's like, I don't really have anyone else to vent to other than my partner, who is also going through unemployment with me.

I know I can talk to my family and some of my friends, but I'm at a point where I feel like I've been putting in most of the effort to maintain the relationships and not receiving much back. I get that everyone is busy and has their own lives. I do get that. But they also can't rely on the unemployed person to put in more effort just because I have a lot of free time. It's not fair. It shows me that they don't really care about our relationship.

This is why I really need therapy. To be able to work through the issues that I have and start my healing journey. But it's hard when you don't have a job to be able to afford it.

I don't know what to do anymore.

I guess, just wait...

[shwoo]

Grumpus Headcanons (1/3)

Part 1 Part 2 Part 3

I finished my big list of headcanons about the Bugsnax characters and their pre-game relationships, and it turned out super long! So instead of using a readmore like normal people, I'm going to post it in three parts over three days.

These aren't, like, analytical headcanons; they're mostly just me making stuff up that I think is plausible. I meant to do this a year ago, and even already expanded a little in a fanfic on the headcanon about Chandlo being a small kid (here). But I got it done eventually! The idea is one headcanon for one character or relationship.

Character Headcanons (Eggabell Batternugget - Gramble Gigglefunny)

Eggabell Batternugget I think she actively studied Bugsnax with Floofty, as well as volunteering as a test subject, but I also think that has some backing in the game, so it's not the headcanon I'm talking about here. The headcanon is what she was studying: the nutritional value of Bugsnax. This is how she's able to be so confident that they're a perfectly balanced source of nutrition in her DLC interview. She also tried to figure out what exactly made them feel so good to eat. Being an endocrinologist, she guessed that it was some hormone, and made some progress in figuring out whether that was true, but then the earthquake happened.

Clumby Clumbernut She wasn't interested in joining the Snackolytes, and said no once Jamfoot was done talking about recruitment bonuses, though she knew he was telling her, not asking. But she was the last survivor of her expedition, and Jamfoot told her that she probably wouldn't last long all alone. Based on what she'd seen so far, Clumby agreed, so she joined up with the intention of going back on it once they were back on the mainland. But the Snakolytes were a lot bigger and more influential than she'd thought. They're also the reason she's continuing to do a job she hates.

Cromdo Face Hiding his singing is a habit left over from childhood, when he'd get in trouble if he did something fun when there was still work to be done. He also didn't have a lot of privacy, making it hard to find a time and place to sing that didn't annoy anyone. When he got married later, his singing also annoyed his husband. The idea that crime was the best shortcut to living comfortably was his own, though.

Filbo Fiddlepie I've made up my mind. He grew up with Lizbert; he's Grumpus American-Australian. His family moved to… I'm going to say Grumpus Sydney when his dad was a preteen, and his dad returned to New Grump City after finishing year twelve, then moved back to a smaller town when Filbo was a toddler. Filbo speaks American English to please his family, particularly his dad. Also he definitely did not get his pen licence in primary school. I've seen his handwriting in-game. I came up with a lot of extra stuff about Filbo's dad, for a story that's still in editing, but I'd sum up his attitude as "I love my cringe fail son".

Floofty Fizzlebean They've always been interested in biology and experimentation, but their parents impressed the importance of consent on them early. As a result, they've been experimenting on themself since before they were in their teens. They accidentally poisoned themself when they were sixteen. Snorpy found them, and they spent a week in the hospital. Also, their hair used to be a more vivid purple, for reasons unrelated to ageing.

Snorpy Fizzlebean First, psychotic Snorpy. That's an obvious one. But not all the stuff he believes is a delusion. I don't know enough about psychosis to go into detail, but he is aware of it, and so is Chandlo, and they have strategies. Less so for the conspiracy stuff, since Snorpy is unwilling to talk to Chandlo about that. And being on Snaktooth definitely made things worse. But, he really is being monitored by the "Grumpinati" (actually the Snakolytes), even if he's wrong about some of the details. They were involved in the artificial limbs project, as well as some other things that Snorpy noticed but blamed on the Grumpinati. They could disappear him, but he's off the mark about so much, and they think nobody would believe him anyway, so they don't bother.

Chandlo Funkbun If he didn't work out all the time, he'd be skinny as well as short. His body doesn't build muscle mass easily. He got beaten up a lot as a kid, because his school had a bullying problem, and he kept trying to intervene, while also being tiny. He started strength training as soon as he could, and got stronger pretty fast, but he stayed skinny until after puberty.

Gramble Gigglefunny He grew up in a very rural area, and concluded that if he wanted to find a family, he needed to be around more people. So he moved to New Grump City, and waited for a family to come to him. Instead, he learned the ways you can also be lonely in a big city. His preference for animals over people didn't help. Lizbert's expedition was his third attempt at finding a new family, as he thought he might get along better with the kind of people who'd go on this kind of expedition than with the people in his home town.

[foster-the-world]

Other parents of young children clean and clean and there is still cleaning to do constantly, right? Is it just me? Am I missing something? Its nonstop.

The caseworker was here yesterday she mentioned adoption could be by the end of the month. I don't buy that but am hopeful for the end of November. We decided on a middle name as it needs to be submitted today. We went with the name his Mom wanted to name him. He has his Dad's first name - which we love. That way he has something from each of them. We are leaving out the name his Dad wanted to name him. I actively dislike the name and think that I am allowed to like the name my kid has. Although I know some would say I'm taking away something from him. We will tell him the name and if he wants to change we fully support it.

His Dad friended me on Facebook last week. He hasn't seen him since he was a newborn. He's in a court ordered rehab and asked us to bring him. We are happy to do so. Baby boy is young enough that it won't bring up big feelings. I'm thankful its in a safe location. Hopefully we will get some good pictures for him to have later. I'll ask for family medical history. I know he has asthma - which baby boy unfortunately inherited. We are going this week. I'm slightly concerned it will bring up feelings for Bee but we will work through those with her. Her Mom is actually being moved to a closer prison - so there is some chance she will meet her. We will leave the girls at home to keep things simple. The rehab only allows one hour visits - which I'm thankful for. That seems like enough for the first visit. Baby boys also not going to sit quietly in any room for more than an hour.

Job interview went well. Very easy. No Medical questions. Job sounds amazing. They moved me to the next and final interview (its appears to be too easy to be hired as a nurse, frankly) Just what I'd want to do and working with kids. However, it requires four weekend days a month. I had already let the recruiter know I could not do weekends. That's why I'm not going to work in a hospital. The recruiter thought they may take me on as a contractor because I don't need the the health insurance. Waiting to hear.

The news is all so, so sad.. My husband is Jewish but the Palestinian free state type not the Zionist state type. Obviously the anti-Hamas type. So many horrible men leading innocent people to horrible deaths, again and again and again. It feels so never-ending.

I was planning to take the girls and my Mom/Aunt to Egypt for next years April break. A jewish tourist family and their tour guide was just murdered so we will postpone for at least another year.

[bukkarooo]

Man, stuff sucks recently.

I still don't have a new job after losing mine in February (new CEO moved it overseas)

And now for the past month or so, my dad has been in the hospital on life support (hematoma in intestines led to perforation in his esophagus)

Things at least are trending somewhat towards positive with his recovery, but it's still a long long road to go

And, while I'm actually able to talk to recruiters again, I STILL don't have a job and prospects are still frustratingly low (I've barely gotten to any proper interviews in the past 3 months)

I don't want to have to do part-time at the grocery store, largely because that will barely pay enough to help with the living situation, but I may need to regardless...

[hospitalityjobplacementkhaansama]

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