#Instead of what you said which was you were considering reporting this to HR because it was 'out of hand'?

[thornsent]

oh well apparently they have me blocked so I guess they'll be fine if they go on my blog and make the decision to look and see this lol <3

I lost my best fucking friend this year like a week before my birthday because they decided to cheat on their fiancee who they had been with for 12 years with at least 3 of their coworkers at the job their fiancee got them. their fiancee was at this job for a loooong time and considered their coworkers like family. not only that but my former best friend lied to everyone and manipulated the fuck out of the situation. at first when people confronted them they seemed to relent and just accept they fucked up, but when I confronted them and really went in on just how fucked up this is to me specifically (I had an ex that did this to me LMAO and they know about how bad it fucked me up) they then promptly began to gaslight me, say that I knew I was cheating on their fiancee and ENABLED it, etc.

it was unimaginably cruel and completely unlike them and I am quite literally traumatized and only just coming out of shock from it because that person is not my best friend and I genuinely do not understand what happened to them. I told them over n over when they vented about the issues they were having to just talk about it like adults but they never did, they just ghosted their FIANCEE and tried to avoid them and literally told me they "hoped they'd just get the hint" (again. 12 years total they were together. they were engaged. I was so stoked for them and so excited to go to the wedding. their ex had been saving for a house and everything and it was just so reminiscent of what my last ex did to me that it makes everything a thousand times worse)

Our last conversation I barely remember bc I was shaking and crying so hard I could not see the screen (they broke up w their partner over text too. so like. yeah.) but I basically was just like I don't understand why you did this when you know how bad it hurt me why would you do it to someone you loved for 12 years, why would you lie to me, why would you lie to everyone else, I love you but this is so cruel and horrible it changes how I view you forever and I can't move past that, etc (in addition to screaming at them for cheating on their partner with a wook with heinous vibes and the wit of a styrofoam block) and eventually their responses got so fucking horrendously manipulative I muted them with the intent to come back to the conversation, but then other shit kept piling onto me and quite literally this shit was so bad whenever I would begin to try and unpack it I would have a mental breakdown

anyway I've been having a rough fucking october because in addition to it being the 10 year anniversary of my worst abuser's death (mom, died on halloween when I was 16) normally this time of year I'd be spending a ton of time with the now-ex best friend because we tried to throw halloween parties every year and we always made a big production of it. this year, because I'm so far away I don't get to see any of my friends or do anything. We don't have the money for gas. I haven't made friends here because when I haven't been busy I've been too exhausted to even take care of myself, and I can't find any sort of event for adults for halloween locally. I can watch spooky movies with my girlfriend but fuck dude. It's about the tradition.

moreover it's about the sense of family. That's going to fuck me up this entire holiday season and I won't forgive them for it--- My ex bestie's family was so inclusive of me, I'd get invited over for thanksgiving and christmas and it made me look forward to those holidays because I wouldn't be rotting alone in my room, I'd be with friends. With family. I've never fucking had that and then I finally did and then they fucking took it from me and I don't think I will ever forgive them for it. I didn't block them here or anywhere else because I really truly in my stupid fucking heart thought they'd realize how bad they fucked up, but also realize they didn't have to lose me too. but they fucking chose to, at the end of the day. it felt like they wanted to get rid of everyone from their boring old life and go fuck this stupid fucking russian boy.

I'd been trying not to post about this because I know for a fact some of you guys know who I am talking about and are also mutuals with them and idk I guess I wanted to preserve some sense of their dignity? but something about this, about realizing they fucking blocked me, just gets to me. I left the light on for them and they just smashed it. There's literally no sense or purpose to their actions aside from selfishness. they ruined their own life and I think ultimately they only cried so much because they were found out, not because they actually felt guilt or remorse for what they did. and if that's the case then I guess I just never knew this person at all and it is heartbreaking and so isolating.

if they ever read this I do genuinely hope it haunts you, I hope the consequences follow you until you learn your fucking lesson, I have shed far too many tears over this and I know my Mother is watching you. I hope you are publicly strangled by your own shame until you fix whatever it is in yourself that makes you do these things to other people and their feelings and lives because it isn't cute, it isn't funny, it is a disease that spreads to everything you love until you find the source and stop it. and if you don't then brother I just hope you die before you do it to someone else. You don't get to shimmy out of this.

[mistyresolve]

| Recovery (Hostage Epilogue) - Simon”Ghost” Riley x Reader

Word count - 1.9K 

Summary - It’s been a month since the incident, and both y/n and Simon are helping each other through it the best they can. After some encouragement, Simons decided to talk with Price about how he’s been feeling and Price says something that changes his perspective.  

Warnings/Tags - Slight depictions of PTSD/Depersonalization, Mentions of a hostage situation   

A/N - Ask and you shall receive 

Hostage 

Masterlist  ❤︎  Tag List Form

Price wasn’t harsh on Simon during their meeting, he had been understanding and empathetic. He understood the relationship between the two of you, understood that Simon didn’t just care for you, he lived for you. And you live for him. It was a symbiotic relationship in the way you too supported each other. Against Price's own beliefs, he still needed to uphold the rules and regulations and was forced by HR to give Simon a suspension. Price was able to pull strings and shorten it from two months to just one. Simon didn’t argue or try for an appeal because both of them were mindful that he needed the time off.  If only so he could spend time with you. Time he could also spend to reflect, and he himself could recover. He was far from cavalier about what he’d done, he knew and internalized it all. 

All that he could remember, and all he couldn’t remember but read from the reports that followed. 

In the past month, little bits and pieces of that night came back to him. Sometimes it was something mundane, like when he was in the kitchen and saw the glint of a knife while you cooked. Other times they came back to him while he was in the shower and he let his mind wander. Some nights he was laying awake beside you and when you’d begin to thrash and scream from your own trauma, he’d involuntarily imagine what you must have gone through before he got to the warehouse. 

He asked once, just once, what happened. You down right refused to tell him. You also didn’t tell him it was mostly to protect him. Work had given you a 6-month leave, with compensation and provided resources. You were receiving weekly counselling so it wasn’t like you were trying to deal with it all on your own. You just didn’t want to put any more pressure and guilt on him. Which he would feel. Even if he wasn’t deserving of it. 

There was something so heartbreaking in the way Simon held the weight of the world on his shoulders. It was part of why he’d become rather recluse in the last month. Not physically, he never wanted to leave your side, but it was like he was always someplace else in his head. He’d seemed to fold in on himself; it was like he was a blackhole sucking everything in. The good and the bad. 

You confided in him, let him know if it was a good day or a bad day. You let him hold you and comfort you. It was therapeutic for the both of you. He said it allowed him to “make up for his fuck-up”. It didn’t matter how many times you told him he played no part in the capture. In the torture. And the sleepless nights that followed. You tried reminding him that he saved you. None of that mattered though. He was still…troubled.  

You’d asked him to try and find someone to talk to once you realized you weren’t the right person for it. It wasn’t that he didn’t trust you with his crisis or that you didn’t want to, it was that you couldn’t be the subject and the listener in this situation. He’d confided in you for everything else. Just not this. Not yet anyway. 

He’d agreed but said he wasn’t going to any therapist. Instead, he’d turned to John Soap and his captain. He was thankful you pushed him to talk to someone, anyone, because it helped to air out some of his worries and stresses. 

Price had been a good listener, an excellent one. Simon had always found Price’s demeanour calming, and might even consider him an older brother. He’d allowed Simon to say everything without fear of backlash or recoil. He offered him solutions and assuage.        

“Simon,” Price leaned back in his chair, “We get our hands dirty to help keep this world a safe place. And they are your world. It would only make that you’d do the same for them.” 

The men he’d killed weren’t innocent, he knew that, but it still bothered him. It bothered him that he could do something like that. Lose himself like that. Turn animalistic like that. He didn’t regret it because he’d do it again, but it frightened him. It was almost as if he wasn’t sure if he could come back from this one. A part of him wasn’t even sure if it was him, like he couldn’t recognize the recollections.    

And again the guilt of letting it happen. He felt that being in a relationship with you encouraged them to go after you. He wasn’t even sure if they even knew that you were together. It was highly unlikely they did. He kept it all under tight wraps. Even the 141 wasn’t aware, they had their speculations and all but they were never too sure. Price knew but never mentioned it to anyone. 

It was irrelevant now. They knew now. 

“I’d be more concerned if you weren’t upset,” Price continued, his eyes blazing with nothing but honesty, “You’re not a machine. And you’re not a ghost.”

Simon flinched back at that. Price was right, he wasn’t some boogeyman or monster. It was something he’d forgotten. He’d been living his legend for so long that he’d neglected the reality that he was still human. He was capable of feelings and mistakes. 

Something had changed when he met and got involved with you. You brought him back to humanity without either of you realizing it. Before he was dead set on pushing everything down, bottling it all up for later dates that were never to come. 

When he returned home after his visit with Price he was especially observant of you. The way your hair smells after a shower, and how the familiar scent calmed him. The way your voice seemed to enrapture him. The way your body melted against him, and you hummed into his warmth. 

It was as if he was relearning you. 

“You’re awfully quiet today,” you smiled up at him from your spot on his chest. The two of you were cuddled up on the couch watching a movie, a now empty bowl of popcorn in front of you. 

“Just…” he searched for the right words, “Just processing.”

You shifted so you faced him, the movie forgotten, “Was it a good talk with Price today?” 

“Yeah, he made some good points,” he tucked a piece of hair behind your ear so he could see the entirety of your face, traced a finger across a brow, “Said some things that needed hearing.” 

The knot that had been growing in your stomach for months loosened. He’d been so gentle with you. So patient. So attentive. He dedicated all his time and energy to you wanting to make sure you had everything you needed. He learned to make his presence known before making an appearance. He was naturally a silent walker, so he discovered knocking on walls and doorframes was effective. Sometimes he’d whistle or hum a tune in the hallway before appearing around a corner. 

He had also taken to sitting on the floor of the bathroom while you shower so he was close by when your psyche inevitably betrayed you and confused reality for memories. The water seemed to suffocate your lungs even if it was just rolling down your back. He’d usually be able to catch you before you hit the tiles, but other times he was picking you off the floor. He would shut off the shower, and dry you with a towel while you calmed. He’d switch out of his soaking clothes and then patch up any cuts and scrapes from the tiles. 

You tried bathing once, but when you settled into the water and it sloshed against the sides and against your skin, you lost it. He’d very very quickly hauled you out and drained the water. 

But during all this, he never really allowed himself grace. Never allowed himself to grieve, and it was beginning to show in the shadows of his face. He looked starved. Not of food or drink but of happiness, of laughter. It was starting to worry you, but hearing this admission from him was like the sun was rising after a month-long night. 

“I’m glad.” You reached up and picked a stray fallen eyelash from his cheek and held it out in front of him, “Make a wish.” 

He thought for a second before settling on one and blowing the lash from your finger. 

“What did you wish for?”

“I can’t ya,” he gave you an offended look, “Or else it won’t come true.” 

You scoffed, shoving at his shoulder, “You guys and your superstitions.” 

You settled your head into his lap, grabbing at one of his hands to trace the ink of his tattoos. 

He was entirely silent, and when you look back at him, shocked tears burned in your eyes at the sight of him.

He was completely unravelled before you. 

Stripped of any facade.  

“I’m sorry,” he whispered, eyebrows furrowing. It wasn’t an apology because of what happened, or of his own tear that rolled down his cheek. He was sorry he was just figuring it out now. That it took him this long to realize that he needs you just as much as you need him. 

“Oh,” you sat up, cupping his face in your hands and kissing the salty tear away, “I know. I know.” 

“I’m trying—” his voice caught. His brown eyes lined with silver squeezed shut. 

“I know,” you pressed a soft kiss to his lips. Then his cheek. The line at his brows.   

He wrapped his arms around your center and pulled you until you were in his lap, your knees braced beside his hips. He shoved his face into your neck, inhaling your scent. You rubbed soft slow circles into his back, outlining his muscle with a nail. He basically liquefied at your touch, and it was like a little bit of the weight he was carrying dissolved in reply. 

You stayed like that and held onto him until the credits of the movie you were watching started rolling.  

“Simon?” you asked, as gently as you could, unsure if he’d fallen asleep or not. 

“Mmm?” he didn’t move. 

“Want to come get a soft serve with me?” you ran a hand through his hair and goosebumps arose up and down his arms. 

“What flavour?” he pulled back and looked up at you.

You rolled your eyes, “Blue goo. When have I gotten any other flavour?”

“Cherry’s better.”

“No,” you got up from his lap, holding out your hands for him.

“Why can’t we ever agree on anything?” he took your hands in his, got up and pulled you towards the door. 

“Cause everything you like is weird and vile,” you toed on your shoes, passing him the car keys hanging on the wall after he put his own shoes on. 

“You’re weird and vile,” he threw on a ballcap since it wasn't socially acceptable to wear a mask with a skull sewn into it, but still found comfort in the small sense of privacy. 

He opened the door for you, and you stepped out, but turned back to give him a kiss, “I love you.”

He smiled into the kiss, “I love you.”    

Masterlist  ❤︎  Tag List Form

A/N - he wished for your peace 

Tag List  -  @thychuvaluswife ❤︎ @beakami

[hanjisungs-bigtittyg0thgf]

Boss

This isn’t a one-off.

ceo!jisung x overworked admin!minho

Trigger Warnings: N/A (pls let me know if i’m missing something though!)

Content Warnings: names (slut, whore, bitch, good boy, sir), degradation, hair pulling, biting (kinda?), anal, light spanking (literally twice lmao), brat!jisung, dom!minho, they fuck in the handicap stall after hours

Summary: minho puts his bratty boss jisung in his place

Word Count: 5350

A/N: i tried to make it short, i really did, but i couldn’t help myself. anyways, god bless you for requesting this. i still have one slot left for the 2022 pride event! give me a follow here or on my main (and consider turning on those post notifications!) and check out my ko-fi, where i take commissions! as always, hard thoughts are open, anons welcome! also y’all, after discussing this with one of my beta readers, i’m considering making this one a series cause i have several thoughts lmao anyways enjoyyyyyy

Tags: @hyuckilstan @mork-ly @spiderlilyfics

Next->

Smut below the cut

Han Jisung, quite possibly one of the youngest CEOs to ever grace the covers of the most popular entrepreneurial magazines, was untouchable. He’d become an overnight sensation in the technology and events industries. He had a monopoly on the technical needs for events country-wide, everyone flocking to his ever-growing company to meet their AV and tech needs.

Because of his soaring popularity, he was always on the lookout for fresh talent to hire in. Despite his workload being much heavier than when he started his company, he still handled the hiring process himself, with only minimal input from the various department heads and Human Resources. He fully believed in getting to know his employees and conducting interviews himself felt more…intimate, for lack of a better word.

He was surprised when a gorgeous young man gently tapped at the frosted glass of his office door and peeked inside. Who was he? Jisung didn’t recall interviewing such a beauty.

“Can I help you?” His tone was far more gruff than he intended as he hung the phone back on the receiver.

“Hello, Mr. Han.” The man greeted with a forced smile. “Mr. Lee in HR sent me.”

“Right, the new administrative assistant?” The man nodded as Jisung sat up straighter in his chair. “What’s your name?”

“Lee Minho, sir.” Something about the way the newcomer - Minho, as he now knew him - addressed him lit a spark in his belly. “Mr. Lee said I ought to report to you instead of the front desk. May I ask why, sir?”

Jisung took a moment to appreciate the way Minho’s suit hugged all the right places before narrowing his gaze as he recalled the name he was given. “We filled all admin roles last week but your resume was too impressive to pass up. Given your skill, I couldn't let you slip by. You’re with me until the original role is open.”

Minho bristled and forced another smile. “Ah, I see. Well, sir, I look forward to working with you.” He offered his hand, which Jisung gripped tightly and shook. His touch lingered for a moment too long and Minho quickly recoiled, bringing his hand back to the folder he held against his chest.

“The feeling is mutual.” Jisung murmured after a few beats of silence, leaning back in his seat and crossing his left leg over his right as he continued to openly admire Minho’s physique. Finally, he let out a soft sigh and made a shooing motion. “Your desk is the vacant one just outside my office. Get set up and complete your onboarding. I’ll give you more tasks once you’re done with that.”

————————————

Minho was far from thrilled. It had been almost eight months of blatant ogling and menial tasks from his boss and he’d grown to resent him. This wasn’t the job he applied for and he wasn’t some piece of meat to be drooled over. He wasn’t blind, Jisung was definitely attractive, but he was extremely unprofessional and stomping every boundary Minho tried to set.

His frustrations were beginning to appear in the workplace and Jisung was beginning to notice. The irritation on his face every time Jisung called him to his office didn’t go unnoticed and it was beginning to annoy the younger. It was a vicious cycle, the two of them acting as sounding boards for the negative energy that bounced between them until one day it reached a crescendo.

“Lee, with me, now.” Jisung barked down the line, not waiting for a response before hanging up the phone. It was the end of the week and he had Minho putting in overtime every Friday so he could work comfortably during the peak season.

Minho let out a sigh and fought the urge to slam the handset onto the receiver. Instead, he took a deep breath and clenched his jaw as he gingerly hung up the phone. He stood from his desk and made his way to Jisung’s office, tapping lightly on the glass. “Come in.” He pushed the door open and walked to the front of Jisung’s desk, standing before him with his hands folded neatly in front of him.

“Yes, sir? How can I help you?” He offered up that same fake smile and Jisung wanted to wipe it right off his pretty face.

“I have a dinner to attend tonight.” O…kay? How does that concern me? “You’re my plus one.” Shit.

“But, sir, I have-”

“I don’t care. You’re coming with me.” Minho gritted his teeth but nodded. “Count it as overtime. We leave in twenty so wrap up what you’re doing and get ready to go.”

He couldn’t get out of the room fast enough. He rushed to the bathroom and slammed his hands down by the sink in frustration as he let out a curse. “Does he think being pretty excuses that shitty attitude? Obnoxious bastard. Who the fuck does he think he is anyways?” He spat, turning the water on. This was the first time in a month he was supposed to see his mother.

“I beg your pardon?” His head snapped up to reveal Jisung standing in the doorway. He felt a burst of courage though and he suddenly didn’t care if he lost this job.

“You heard me loud and clear from the look on your face.” He rolled his eyes as he shook his hands mostly dry and turned off the water. “Do you think you can dictate what I do on the weekend?” He turned to face Jisung as he grabbed a paper towel.

“I think I dictate when your workday ends,” Jisung crossed his arms over his chest - an annoyingly distracting gesture as his muscles flexed under his white button down. “And you’re not off the clock until the dinner is over.”

“How often do you see your mother, Mr. Han?” Minho sighed. He still won’t call him by name. He was angry but he didn’t have a death wish - which he feared Jisung would fulfill if he gave any more perceived disrespect. He’d seen the man go on a tirade. He may no longer care about this job but he still cared about keeping his head on his shoulders. He dropped the paper towel into the trash as he walked towards the door. “You seem like a good little mama’s boy. I’m sure you see her at least twice a week.” He paused but continued when Jisung didn't respond despite the vein in his forehead looking fit to burst. “Some of us don’t get that. And some of us are having to miss out on that again after a month of almost nonexistent contact because of a job that wears us down with how much shit we have to do and stupid dinners we have to attend as boss’s arm candy. Surely you can see my frustration now, sir.”

He pushed past the man blocking the door and frowned when he felt a hand on his arm. “It’s an opportunity for you to network, Minho.” His voice was somewhat more gentle despite his visible irritation.

“Let’s just go.” He sighed and pulled away, heading towards his desk to grab his keys and wallet.

Jisung was almost indignant over the way Minho had spoken to him but he managed to hold himself together as he did his business and went to get his things. It was all of five minutes before they were making their way towards the elevator. “Text my driver and tell him to bring the car around.”

Minho clenched his jaw and pulled out his phone, sending the text before messaging his mom an explanation and an apology. “Done.”

When they reached the lobby, Minho smiled brightly at the receptionist, Mr. Hwang, who was chatting with Mr. Lee. “Bye Hyunjin, bye Felix.” He winked and they both turned, smiling and waving, offering warm goodbyes. Cute. Both of them were honestly fucking adorable and he wouldn’t mind spending a testosterone-fueled night with one or both of them.

Minho held the door for Jisung as they stepped outside, his smile vanishing instantly. Jisung didn’t have time to ask any questions before his car pulled up. “Seo.” He greeted with a curt nod as he slid into the backseat. Minho went for the front but Jisung called for him to sit in the back and he slid in with a sigh.

“Evening, Bin.”

“Evening, Minho.” Changbin greeted, flashing a smile through the mirror before turning his attention to Jisung. “Where to, boss?”

Once en route, Changbin made several attempts to break the tension in the car but to no avail. After ten minutes of silence and stolen glares, he gave up and popped a piece of gum in his mouth. Five more minutes. You can ask Minho about it later, but hold on for the next five minutes.

————————————

Jisung had consumed just a little too much alcohol over the course of the meal and he was feeling bold. It was obvious to anyone with eyes that he had a thing for Minho. Minho, however, couldn’t stand him and it was driving him up the wall. At least that’s how Jisung saw it. Minho was the only one who wouldn’t bend to his will; the only one who told him no. He’d be lying if he said he hadn’t enjoyed their little spat in the bathroom earlier.

Minho didn’t actually hate Jisung, he just hated that Jisung couldn’t take any advice or criticism without getting pissy. And he hated that Jisung couldn’t seem to keep his wandering eyes (and hands) off of him at work. If Jisung could act less…gay?…obvious? at work, he wouldn’t have an issue with him.

Alas, that seemed to be too much to ask as Jisung leaned towards Minho, inching closer every few minutes until they were hip to hip and Jisung was about to lay his head on Minho’s shoulder. Just before he could, one of the men stood and announced his departure, leading to everyone following suit.

With Jisung tipsy, Minho took it upon himself to call for Changbin. Minho blindly slapped at Jisung's hand when it moved to his thigh under the table. He settled the bill and urged Jisung to stand, leading him out the door. He wasn’t touching him but he was nearby just in case Jisung ate shit on the pavement. He opened the back door and waited for Jisung to get in the car before sliding in beside him. “Can you take us back to the office? I need to get my car.”

“Sure thing, I can drop you off.” Changbin hummed and started towards the office. It took all of ten minutes since traffic had cleared during dinner and Minho gave Changbin a quiet ‘thanks’ as he exited the car. Jisung followed him without his knowledge, telling Changbin he needed something from his office and he’d hitch a ride with Minho.

Minho was gathering things from his desk when he heard the footsteps. He quickly ran for the bathroom, trying to avoid Jisung. The man had tried to get too familiar with him at dinner and he was about to unravel. He could not be alone with Jisung. Not if he wanted to keep his job - which he’d decided was worth keeping if for no other reason than to spruce up his résumé.

Jisung knew what Minho was doing and followed him, crossing his arms over his chest. “Lee.” He called, staring at Minho’s shoes peeking out from the handicap stall. He wasn’t anywhere near the toilet so he was clearly hiding.

“What, boss?” Minho sighed.

“Come out here.”

“I’m using the bathroom.”

“Unless you’ve mastered pissing from the other side of the stall, no you’re not. Now get out here.”

Minho let out an exasperated sigh as he opened the stall door, crossing his own arms like Jisung. “What do you want? Unless this is about work, I’m not interested in discussing anything.”

“Is there a problem here, Minho?” There he goes again, using his first name like he knows him personally. “Your attitude has sucked since the day you got here and it’s getting worse.”

“And you’re any better?” Shit. That slipped out before he could stop it.

“What the hell is that supposed to mean?” He was indignant again. Cute.

“Look, I understand that you’re used to getting everything you want, you’ve built an empire and all, but you really need to start acting normal in the office.” Now he just looked puzzled. “You’ve been fucking me with your eyes since the day I set foot in your office and it’s obvious to everyone that you want me. Make it less obvious.”

Indignance. It was a beautiful thing on Jisung. He looked flustered and angry and flattered and perplexed all at once as he sputtered out some sort of denial. “Lee Minho, don’t you fucking dare speak to me like that.” His voice was shrill as he marched up to Minho, standing toe to toe with him. His chest was heaving with his labored breaths as he began to completely lose his cool. “I’m the boss.”

“Are you?” Minho’s voice was like melted caramel; smooth, rich, and sweet - though that last part was fake. Jisung’s eyes widened at Minho’s sudden boldness and he took a step back, looking like he wanted to make a break for it the second Minho followed him. He couldn’t though. Minho’s arms were already around him, holding him in place. “Now you wanna run from me after you chased me down to argue? That’s not how this works, Ji.”

The nickname irritated him and Jisung narrowed his eyes as he swatted Minho’s chest. “You can’t call me that. I’m the boss.”

“No you’re not.” Minho offered up his signature smirk, feeling Jisung slump slightly in his arms in response. “You wanted me. Now you get me. Can you really handle me?”

“Of course I can.” Jisung blurted out before he could stop himself and compose a proper response. He couldn’t pass up a challenge.

“Oh really?”

“Of course.” No going back now.

“Last chance to back out, Ji.”

Something about Minho’s tone made the sentence feel ominous and Jisung wanted to tuck tail and run. But he couldn’t back down and he couldn’t let Minho do whatever he wanted. He couldn’t let Minho take control and call him a nickname, especially when he’d yet to hear his full name from his lips. “No.” He shook his head and locked eyes with Minho, who suddenly looked like a predator hunting its prey, waiting for his next move.

“No?”

“No.”

“No, what?”

“No, I'm not backing out.”

“You did this to yourself.” Minho shrugged before backing Jisung against the nearest hard surface, which just so happened to be the wall of the handicap stall Minho had just been hiding in. He held him there and everything went still as he stared into his eyes for a moment. That stillness shattered like glass as soon as his gaze flitted to Jisung’s lips.

He didn’t kiss him, opting to attack his neck instead. He decided Jisung made the prettiest sounds and he was determined to make him sob his name in that pretty, desperate voice. “M-Minho-” Jisung gasped while baring his neck to the other.

“You can’t call me that. I’m the boss.” He mocked, earning a huff from the younger. He hummed against Jisung’s skin in thought as his lips left slick spots on his neck before he finally spoke again. “Sir will do though.”

“S-SIR?” Jisung shrieked incredulously.

“Yes, baby?” Okay, that threw him for a loop. He couldn't stifle the sound he made in response and he felt Minho smirk against his skin. “Oh, you like that?” Did he?

He decided he did. But he couldn’t tell Minho that. “Ugh, no...” he mumbled, a blatant lie. Minho could tell Jisung was enjoying the power struggle here - though Jisung was the only one truly struggling with the power dynamic; Minho knew he was in control, it was Jisung who needed convincing.

“Oh? Well I guess if you don’t like it then we should stop here.” Minho shrugged and pulled back, feigning disinterest as Jisung balked. Not only was Jisung not prepared to give up his chance to actually feel Minho, he was panicking at the thought that Minho didn’t actually want him and was just playing with him.

He was playing with him, of course, but the disinterest was entirely fake. He had eyes. He knew a rare beauty when he saw one. He couldn’t pass up this opportunity. He just hoped Jisung would recognize that this would only work if he let Minho take over.

Minho made a move to step away but the second Jisung felt his warmth disappearing, he made another disgruntled sound as his expression jumped from shocked to frustrated. “No.” He grunted, his hands fisting in the front of Minho’s shirt and yanking him in, crashing their lips together.

Minho was surprised, albeit pleasantly, as Jisung nipped at his lips, fully displaying his desperation. He chuckled softly against his lips and wrapped his hands around Jisung’s wrists, pulling them out from between them as he pressed almost all his weight against Jisung. The younger man let out a whine but allowed his hands to drop to his sides, shivering when he realized his compliance earned him a soft bite to his bottom lip. Maybe he could let Minho have a little control.

Jisung’s delight didn’t last, however, and he let out a choked noise of distress as Minho backed away again. “Stop running!” He whined in protest, trying to chase Minho’s lips, which he’d decided he couldn’t live without, at least for tonight. They felt so good against his own and he couldn’t fathom going home and going to bed tonight without tasting more of him.

Minho couldn’t stifle his laughter as he wrapped a hand around Jisung’s neck and pushed him back against the wall, making all the other stall doors shake with the force of Jisung crashing back against it. “Stop chasing!” He mocked, watching in amusement as Jisung’s eyes widened in alarm.

Jisung’s hands wrapped around Minho’s forearm but he didn’t push him away or pull him closer. He simply held on. “M-Minho, stop playing…”

“That’s not my name, baby.” Minho raised a perfectly-groomed eyebrow in challenge and saw Jisung starting to cave. “Who am I?” Jisung didn’t answer but his resolve was rapidly crumbling and Minho could tell. He didn’t have to fully give way just yet, Minho knew he wouldn’t fully relinquish power until it served him, but he had to back down if he wanted anything else. “Tick tock, baby, I’m getting bored.” Lies. “Who am I?” Jisung clenched his jaw and refused to speak.

Until Minho started to back off again. “S-sir…” he mumbled, averting his gaze as Minho inched closer.

“What was that, baby? You’re too quiet.”

“Sir…” his voice was louder but still squeaky, meek in his delivery. That would do for now though.

“That’s right, baby.” His grip on Jisung’s throat loosened and he allowed his fingers to tease his jaw. He took in Jisung’s pretty flush, which covered his face and ears, even disappearing beneath his shirt collar. “And who’s in charge right now?”

“You are…” Jisung mumbled, tacking on a ‘sir’ for good measure. He needed Minho to stop playing and get him off.

“I think you’re finally starting to understand.” Minho mocked in a condescending tone, making Jisung’s irritation grow. He watched as the younger tried to control himself and cooed when he managed to keep his cool. “See? That’s not so bad, is it? Letting me take control, I mean. Not too bad?” His tone was more coaxing than anything else now. Jisung nodded slowly and watched as Minho softened a bit. “Good boy.”

Jisung couldn’t dream of stifling his whimper at the name, his knees going weak. He recovered quickly and slapped a hand over his mouth, eyes wide as saucers as he processed what had just happened. He didn’t mean to give himself away like that. That was supposed to be a secret, at least for now.

Minho decided to take pity on him and held his laughter, leaning closer and slipping his leg between Jisung’s. He released Jisung’s throat and took the younger’s hand away from his mouth before tilting his head up with one finger on his chin. “You’re too cute, baby.” He whispered, taking in the way Jisung crumbled at his touch when he pressed his thigh against his crotch. “Now, do you think you can cooperate for a little while so we can fix this?”

Jisung nodded almost instantly, not caring if he looked desperate anymore. Minho had already started breaking him down and he needed to be filled. “Please, Min- I mean sir… Please, sir.” He corrected himself quickly and Minho let out a hum of approval.

“Under normal circumstances, I’d ask what you want and how you want it, but since you couldn’t seem to behave, I think it’s time you learned your lesson.” Minho sneered as he untucked Jisung’s pristine white shirt and began undoing every last button. Jisung’s eyes shifted to watch Minho’s hands unbutton his shirt and he sucked a pouty lip between his teeth. Minho’s mouth watered as honey-colored skin came into view. Fuck this better become a regular thing. I’m not gonna be able to function around him after this without the promise of more.

“L-learned my lesson?” Jisung lifted his head, making eye contact with Minho for only a brief moment before looking somewhere, anywhere else.

“You got a big head and I’m going to humble you.” Minho hummed as he raked his nails down Jisung’s surprisingly-muscular torso, drawing out a pathetic whimper. He pulled back and Jisung looked panicked again but seemed to relax when Minho spun him to face the cubicle wall.

He instinctively arched his back, allowing his face and chest to press against the solid plastic partition. His hands braced him against the cool surface and he shuddered when he felt Minho close the short distance between them, hard-on nestled between his cheeks through the all-too-bothersome material of their slacks.

“That’s a good boy.” He praised, his voice a whisper right beside Jisung’s ear as his arms wrapped around the younger’s toned middle. He let one hand linger on the warm skin of Jisung’s belly while the other moved upwards, fingers pressing against Jisung’s pillowy lips. “Open.” Jisung’s mouth fell open instantly and he greedily took Minho’s fingers, swirling and flicking his tongue as he sucked on them.

Minho was unbearably hard and began to rut against Jisung’s ass, earning soft sighs and moans. His free hand slid down Jisung’s belly and began to fiddle with his belt, undoing it with minimal effort before popping the button of his slacks. Jisung pressed back against him before allowing his hips to surge forwards in an attempt to find some sort of relief from Minho’s hand at his zipper.

Minho immediately pressed down on Jisung’s tongue, his fingers reaching just far enough back that the pressure made him gag. “Patience.” Jisung responded with a muffled ‘uh uh’ and Minho slapped his thigh. “Watch yourself.” Jisung whined impatiently and Minho slapped his ass. “Keep it up and I’ll leave you right here, just like this, hard as a rock and frustrated beyond belief. Don’t push me.” His voice was menacing but Minho was anything but finished with him. There was no way in hell he was leaving without taming the brat in front of him.

Jisung deflated at the idea of not getting fucked and begrudgingly settled down, sucking harder on Minho’s fingers and biting down softly from time to time. He perked up at the groan Minho let slip in response to a particularly hard bite and grew more enthusiastic in his efforts as his pants were pushed down just enough to expose something that made Minho’s eyes roll back in his skull. Minho ducked his head against Jisung’s shoulder, inhaling deeply to take in his scent - Versace Dylan Blue - in an attempt to collect himself.

“What’s this, baby?” He groaned, snapping the waistband of Jisung’s black cotton thong against his hip and making him jump. He didn’t expect an answer, he didn’t really care what Jisung had to say; he was just trying to keep himself in check.

Jisung whined around the pretty fingers in his mouth and tried to force them out but Minho pressed on his tongue and made him gag again. Still, Jisung tried to speak. Minho sighed and lifted his head as he retracted his fingers from Jisung’s mouth, tracing his slick middle finger over the younger’s plump bottom lip. Jisung emitted a soft moan at the touch before smirking. “You asked what this is,” he started, wiggling his ass against Minho’s almost-painful erection. “It’s part of my plan.”

“Oh so you intended for me to plow you in the handicap stall after hours?” Minho deadpanned and Jisung shrugged.

“I dunno exactly how I wanted it to go down, but I was determined to fuck you tonight.”

“You? Fuck me?” Minho snorted and Jisung’s ears burned. “No, baby, I’m the one fucking you. Don’t get it twisted, sweetheart.” As if to punctuate his statement, he stepped back and pulled Jisung’s thong aside, pressing his thoroughly-soaked fingers against his hole.

He intended to massage his entrance to relax him before working him open but Jisung forced himself onto Minho’s fingers with what was possibly the sluttiest moan he’d ever heard. “F-fuck…” his whimper made Minho’s cock twitch in anticipation, his mind conjuring up images of Jisung moaning and begging on his dick. “Hurry up, Minho, I want you inside me sometime this century!” Jisung’s goading made Minho see red for a moment and he found himself grabbing a fistful of the younger’s hair as he began to finger fuck him. There was the brat from earlier.

“Impatient little whore.” He spat, pulling Jisung’s head back against his shoulder. “What did I fucking tell you?” Jisung moaned freely, not bothering to answer. “We play by my rules or we don’t play at all. Understood, bitch?” He felt Jisung’s hole flutter around him and scoffed. “You like it rough? Like being degraded?” Jisung nodded but Minho wouldn’t accept that response. “Words, slut.”

“Yes! Yes, I love being called names. Please just fucking rail me, sir, please!” He finally begged and Minho froze, pulling his fingers out.

“Manners? That’s new.” He tutted and Jisung continued.

“Please, sir, please just fuck me. I need it. I need it so bad…”

Something in Minho snapped and he went into a frenzy as he pushed Jisung’s thong down - he wouldn’t make him cum in his pants, not this time. He unbuckled his belt and popped the button on his own slacks before unzipping them and freeing his dick. The tip was angry red now and it was beginning to ache.

He held a hand below Jisung’s chin. “Spit.” He barely got the word out before his palm was covered in saliva. He immediately brought his hand to his dick and coated it in their makeshift lube before lining up. Jisung once again forced his way back and let out a high-pitched moan as soon as the tip was in. “Already sounding like a bitch in heat and you’ve barely taken anything…how do you plan to take the rest of me?” He mocked.

“I-I can take it, sir, please just give it to me…”

“Why should I? I don’t think you’ve earned more than the tip.” That set Jisung off. He was desperate and he couldn’t take anymore taunting.

“I’ll be a good boy, sir! I’ll do anything!” He wailed, fighting back tears.

“Then start by shutting your whore mouth.” His hips snapped forwards suddenly and Jisung’s jaw dropped in a silent scream.

But he refused to make any noise. He’d been told to shut up.

“Finally some peace and fucking quiet.” Minho jeered as he set a rough pace, the sound of skin slapping and the stalls shaking filling the bathroom. Jisung had locked his jaw and was breathing hard through his clenched teeth, creating a hissing sound, but he kept silent. Minho wanted to hear his sounds though. He didn’t want him to speak but he certainly wanted him to moan.

Instead of telling Jisung he could make noise, he reached around and began to jerk him off in tandem with his thrusts, twisting and tugging the way he himself liked. This broke Jisung’s silence and he let out a cry of desperation. If Minho could see his face right now, he’d see the stars dancing in his eyes. Jisung was barely coherent anymore as Minho abused his prostate with his impressive length. There was no way he’d last more than five minutes at best.

“Fuck you’re tight…” Minho groaned, his free hand landing a soft blow to Jisung’s ass. He released the younger’s cock and grabbed his hips with both hands to give himself more leverage as he slammed into him. “Touch yourself.” He commanded and Jisung nodded vigorously, bringing his hand down to tug at his leaking dick.

“A-ah! Please, ‘m so close, please can I cum?” He sobbed, tears actually falling now.

“Already?” Minho mocked, not that he was any better off. Jisung was squeezing him just right and he sounded so damn pretty. “Do you think you deserve to cum, Jisung?”

The younger felt his stomach do a backflip upon finally hearing his name from Minho's lips. Not a nickname, not a shortened version of his name. His name. And it sounded so fucking pretty. “N-no, sir…” He immediately shook his head, knowing he’d be in trouble if he said yes. Truth be told, he knew he hadn’t earned shit. He knew he was a brat and he knew he didn’t deserve even half of what he was being given. So he said as much. “I-I’ve been bad all night, the whole time you’ve been here even, I don’t deserve any of this.” He whimpered as tears streamed down his cheeks.

Minho had yet to let up with his thrusts and he hadn’t given Jisung permission to stop touching himself so it was clear he was fighting hard to keep his orgasm at bay. But all Minho wanted was to put Jisung in his place and he’d finally done that so he swatted Jisung’s hand away and took over, digging his thumb into the slit after a moment. “Cum.”

Jisung needed no further convincing, letting out a choked sob as ropes of sticky cum shot onto the cubicle wall and dribbled down on Minho’s hand. As he twitched and moaned, Minho pulled out and released Jisung’s cock in favor of grasping his own and finishing across his ass.

Everything went quiet save for Jisung’s sniffles as he calmed down.

Then Minho abruptly pulled away from Jisung and the younger let out a distressed whimper, worried he was being left. He was soothed by the gentle touch on his waist as Minho came back to him, his other hand wiping Jisung clean. “Fix your clothes. You’re coming home with me.” Minho declared as he tucked himself back in his pants. He was still unbelievably hard and he was far from done with Jisung.

“Huh?” Jisung pushed himself off the wall and spun as he tugged his thong back up.

“I said you’re coming home with me. I’m not done with you. This isn’t a one-off.”

With the promise of more, Jisung scrambled to fix his clothes and make himself presentable. Before he could finish, however, Minho was stealing a kiss. “Meet me in the parking deck when you’re ready to go.” And with that, he was off like a shot, leaving Jisung reeling.

Had…had he finally gotten his way? Was he really getting Minho all to himself? There was only one way to find out and he hurried to finish up. He needed this. It wasn’t just tonight that he couldn’t live without Minho's lips or his touch.

Next->

[snifflesthemouse]

Harry’s the Problem. His wife is the symptom. He is the real Diana 2.0 Wannabe...

         Since the Oprah interview aired, my whole perspective regarding the spare and his spouse has shifted. It would seem that I’m not alone in my thought process as more and more media outlets start reporting similar stances. Just recently, there was an article suggesting Harry didn’t change; but rather, he is only finally revealing his true self. The more I think about it all, the more I’ve come to the realization #6 is the real culprit behind everything.

         I’m not saying that his wife doesn’t have her own agenda or shares responsibility for her part in all this. Her hands are far from clean. What I am saying is it’s finally time for all of us to consider the cold, hard truth. Harry is his mother’s child. Harry is the bad egg, and his wife is only a side effect of the real problem here.

         Had it not been for the Oprah interview, I would have never put it all together. The problem with oversharing is too much information gets put out in the public. Most assume PR firms would worry about oversaturation in the press, but the real problem comes from personal interviews they cannot control in real-time. Puff pieces can be edited before publishing so facts and statements align; live interviews cannot. Over time, one of two patterns form from this oversaturation. Consistencies, repetitions, and similarities can be found in oversaturated truth-telling. Inconsistencies, changes, and huge differences result from those like Harry who prefer their trousers scorching hot from bursting into flames from deception. When you consistently lie, the only constant is the inconsistencies. 

         Now, those of us who have been following these two already know by now inconsistencies and changing stories should be expected. But the Oprah interview really highlighted some interesting things I had previously missed. The interview with Dax Shephard only solidifies my theories. Up until lately, those two have been together through most everything. Very seldom have we seen Harry alone in an interview or speech. There’s never a time where the missus isn’t popping up. James Corden proved that. Then we have the Oprah interview where she was supposed to be the star of the show. But, that was the moment it all changed. That interview was the moment she became the understudy. 

          Think about it. Who is the one being used in the media lately? Most people would suggest that the impending delivery of child number dos is why the missus is absent. One would then argue the Apple + special with Oprah started production well before the second child was a topic for discussion. The missus is being used less and less on camera or in the media. Everything is all about Harry. Forget about when Harry met Sally; Harry Met Hollywood! 

         Harry is the one doing the interviews, dropping projects, and talking with big Hollywood names. Even their announced Netflix projects are focused on one of Harry’s pre-married concepts. All the wife has going for her is a book that’s only number one in the “Books written by ex-Royals who couldn’t hack it” category. Seriously though, as of this posting the Bench is #2130 on the Amazon Books list, #12 in Children’s Black and African American Story Books, #73 in Children’s Emotions Books, and #167 in Children’s Family Life Books. Being pregnant isn’t a disqualifier for being interviewed. But, apparently being just the wife is.

         So, if it was his wife’s plan from the beginning to marry Harry, get him to abandon his family, move to California, and become a big star with a Prince for a husband, her plans have been ruined. And if you think about what she said in the interview with Oprah, you can actually see the moments she told us all exactly that. She clearly tells Oprah Harry was her direct link and source to the Royal Family and everything she needed to know. She didn’t misspeak or misunderstand a thing; she was telling us that Harry’s next to be markled. In every weird answer or revelation where she gave her versions for why their child(ren) were without title, saying they wed three days before the chapel, or having to cry out to HR since Harry failed to help her while she was so depressed she wanted to kill herself and her unborn child... all of it. It was all just the beginning. It may seem like she is attacking her husband’s family, but Harry’s the real target now.

          In just a couple sentences, she managed to reveal who Harry really was. Harry, of all people, should (and does) know how to navigate the press. Clearly, he failed to not only help her acclimate to Royal life, but it could also even be argued he set her up for failure for the get go. Let me give you an example. When my husband introduced me to his family for the first time, he told me little tidbits of information he found important for me to know. He essentially prepped me for the meeting so things went well. He wanted his family to like me because he loved me. I wanted them to like me because I loved him, too. So, I took to heart everything he told me. Yet, Harry’s wife shared with the world how little Harry cared about that. She credits Fergie with teaching her to curtsey, google for teaching her the National Anthem, and even said Her Majesty made her feel especially welcomed. So how did Harry not do more? If they started seeing one another in the early Summer of 2016, how is it Harry failed to teach or explain anything to her prior to meeting his grandmother, the Queen, when he had months and months of time to do so? How is it he failed his wife so miserably, she didn’t even understand basic UK custom, laws, or protocols? Why might you ask?

         Simply put, Harry is so much like his mother, all he knows is how to play the victim narrative while using the link to the Royal family as a nonstop ATM machine. Many people aren’t honest with themselves when it comes to Diana. She wasn’t the Mother Theresa everyone makes her out to be. Mother Theresa wasn’t a Mother Theresa either, though. Did Diana do some great things? Absolutely. Did she do them only because they were nice or great? Absolutely… not. Diana’s PR team would even have her switch up her charity causes whenever they felt it was getting to martyrdom level. They’d refer to her PR stunts as flavors. Does that sound like an innocent woman?

         Not to me. This whole time we all have seen his wife as the root of all issues, but she’s the side effect. It’s becoming more clear by the day that Harry searched out her. He wanted someone with the basic Hollywood connections that he could capitalize. Someone that seemed so controlling and ambitious it would be easy to believe they were controlling him, too. Of course he knew she would invite all the celebs she did. He probably inspired that guest list. Instead of guiding her in the press and in British society, he leads her to slaughter. He hides behind her repeated gaffes and wokeness to keep on his own mission.

         You see, Harry is obsessed with his brother eventually becoming king, being the “Second Son of Diana” and being the misfit. He is obsessed with his brother and father. They are all he talks about. When you obsess on something like that, it is more revealing than anything you say. Harry’s true motives aren’t protecting his wife and children. His real motive is making a name for himself like his mother did. If he can manage to get some revenge by making the Firm feel some backlash, hey that’s a bonus. 

         While his wife may think in her mind she will be the next Diana 2.0, the truth is we all missed who really will be. Harry is the one wanting to be Diana 2.0. If that’s the case, then that means the much older spouse for whom there are two children with, aka the wife, would be his Charles. Remember, Diana lost her HRH and titles. And we have Harry being very aggressive and pushy, to the point it seems he is trying to get ahead of a Palace announcement of them losing their titles. But it makes sense now.

         They aren’t trying to lose anything, but instead Harry keeps opening his mouth to create pressure in the media. He knows his wife does not want to give those titles back. But if he himself keeps saying outrageous things, then it would put everyone in ultimatum mode. Either Harry will push hard enough that Parliament and the Queen will have enough, or the press will get so critical of the two, Harry will push his wife to agree to returning the titles.

         Harry is following the Diana business model. While in the Royal Family, they both were seen as rock stars who had more star power the the Sovereign, which was an issue. Then, they couldn’t take all the abuse, coldness, and inhumanity, so they bolted for freedom. Instead of putting the past behind them, they use the past to monetize grief and trauma in such a way, they become their own brand. Right now, the trauma being monetized comes from the past, but the problem will soon come when that trauma is tapped out. He will need a source of new pain or victimhood. Enters the wife stage left.

          The wife is a tool. She of course has her own plans and thinks she is the one in control or the genius. She thinks she is the one everyone wants to work with. But it’s becoming clear to her that isn’t the case and she’s been played by her elite buddies. They all want him, not her. They all duped her for him. If I can see it, and I can see her already finger pointing that Harry is the failure here, then she can see it. And that means paradise will soon be lost in those Montecito hills. His wife won’t go down without a serious fight here. I wouldn’t even be surprised if she eventually causes him to lose his special visa. 

         Overall, Harry hides behind his wife like a beard or shield protecting him from the press’s glaring lens. He lets her do and say whatever she thinks is great so he can keep plotting his own plans. He allows her to take the fall, look stupid, pull stunts people can see through, etc. for a reason. He isn’t completely sure he can make it in his new California life. He knows he can’t if he keeps her for too long, but he also knows he needs an exit strategy in case it blows up. So, he pins the press to attack her as the true culprit. If they split and he has to, he can return home and play the victim of her. If they split and he is doing okay in Hollywood, she can be the reason he plays victim to big named people like Oprah and Gayle. 

         I can see it now. An Oprah Special with Harry tonight on Apple +. Something cheesy or corny that is almost plagiarism. Like Narcissus and the Prince or something. Watch. Mark my words. Oprah talking to Harry about surviving the marriage while trying to rescue two small kids, being in the spotlight as a Royal while being gaslit by a narcissistic wife… yes I can see the green screen set up now.

         I know this is difficult to digest, but I do ask you to try. While his wife is not innocent, she clearly is guilty for her own part indeed, his wife isn’t the true problem. The true problem here is a man who has a serious issue with living in the shadow of his future-King father and future-King brother, and his future-King nephew, that he has chosen to use the same exact attack model his own mother used to merch and marginally disrupt the institution that made her a star. Harry and his mother both wanted the entire spotlight, but both knew they could never have it the way they wanted it. So, they wrote their own victimhood narrative.

         And here we are now. Mark my words. Harry will keep pushing until those remaining titles are removed by them forcing the hands of Parliament and the Queen. Or, they’ll push and push in the press so much the outrage and hypocrisy will leave them no other option but to renounce and re-gift those titles and rights to the line of succession. That is what he wants, even if his missus doesn’t. Also make no mistake about it. Harry is the real Diana 2.0 wannabe, not his wife. Keep an eye out. I have this gnawing feeling that soon enough, there will be plenty leaks from the wife about the husband. She won’t go quietly into the Beverly Hills… but neither will he.

[headcans-oneshots-and-stuff]

Overworked

Fandom: DC Pairing: Batsis!reader x Batfamily Word count: 3k Summay: Your on your way to be the next C.E.O. of Wayne Enterprises, but the road is filled with challenges and a lack of self-care that your family can’t help but worry about (based on this) Warning: Slight angst and unconciousness, near death experience Requested by a pretty great Anon: Can you do a one shot of future ceo batsis overworking herself with long days and vigilante nights and she’s basically not sleeping or taking care of herself and batfams gotta step in and make her listen to reason.

The cup of coffee had already grown cold, the liquid inside it stale and surely undrinkable, when you reached for it. Hardly the first few drops of the liquid had ran down your throat when you realized the horrible transition it had gone through from the nectar of productivity to the lovechild of tar and sulfur, your face distorting into an expression of utmost disgust as you quickly put it back down and besides the other six paper-cups that were all half-filled at most. You sighed when you realized that it must have already been an hour since you had made - and after completely forgot about - the coffee. It really was a cursed circle that you had been going through for the last eight hours. You made a cup, brought it to your office, drank a bit, forgot about it and realized how horrible it now tasted half an hour or so later and then you took at least another twenty minutes before deciding to head for your next cup.  Was it already time for the next one? No, it could wait a bit longer. You turned your attention back to the screen in front of you - or rather the three screens - and let your eyes fly over all the data and graphs and numbers that you had to have in a presentable form by next morning for the monthly debriefing. This time would be your first time without Bruce on the sidelines and overlooking your work, a fact that made you feel proud at your accomplishment while simultaneously scaring you to the core. You knew that logically it wouldn’t be different than the last two - which you had also done basically solo with Bruce only sitting beside you silently observing - but there was still that internal voice that told you that without your father by your side the board would rip you apart until nothing was left over. You didn’t know what exactly caused it but suddenly you felt dizzy and the letters and numbers in front of you started swimming around, turning into absolute gibberish, the neon-lights of the screen hurting your eyes. No, not the screens themselves, it was the contrast between the brightly lit screens and the darkness that spread out behind them. It was only then that you let your gaze move behind the confines of your office and through the glass doors to the rest of the office space that was completely engulfed in darkness. Now you realized that it wasn’t only that, it was more, there was no soul wandering the floor and no sound beside the ever-so-steady growling of the computer fan and the clicking of your keyboard. “Fuck,” you couldn’t help but mutter when you looked at the clock beside you which already read half past nine. Which meant that you only had half an hour at most before your patrol started. Ignoring the pounding that built up in your head you tried to remember how it was possible for the time to surprise you like that. You had come to work at eight that morning and had spent two hours calling around, checking on contracts and meeting with potential clients, then you had your daily briefing with the department heads - which had extended into almost an hour because Brad from PR really couldn’t get his shit together - then you had to talk to HR about finding a possible replacement for Brad from PR and after you had started working on the numbers. And now you were standing in the elevator on your way to the car park. Did you have Lunch today? No, you had to skip Lunch break for Brad. What about Breakfast? No, wait, you forgot about that too. You rubbed your eyes and felt the need to curse rise again when you realized that you’d have to get right back to the numbers as soon as you had finished patrol which meant that you wouldn’t be able to sleep yet again. What was that? The fourth night in a row? Your only solace was the possibility that you’d maybe finish quickly and get a good one to two hours before you had to be back in the office, but deep inside you knew that it was unlikely. It hadn’t worked the last four nights either. But you’d pull through. There was a light at the end of the tunnel. After tomorrow’s meeting you’d go home at a normal time and indulge yourself in that full meal your stomach had been begging you for, sleep for a full eight hours and maybe even watch a movie if you felt especially crazy. Just for one night you’d really let yourself go. But for that to be possible you had to bite your teeth together and stay on your path.

The elevator arrived at the car park and you quickly rushed to your car and made your way to your apartment which - for maximum efficiency - was only a five minute drive away from the Wayne Ent. Tower, where you quickly rushed into the hidden side room to change into your gear. As you checked the time you realized that you still had a good five minutes before you had to check in with your father and you had to very quickly decide between your two options: quickly eat something or make and drink another coffee. You decided for the second one, but as you made your way to the kitchen counter where your coffee machine stood you caught a glimpse of the unopened stack of mail on the kitchen island and with a sigh decided to just get that over with, effectively ignoring both your previous options.  The letters were rather quickly sorted through and before you knew you were standing on a nearby ceiling and activated your comm. “Y/H/N reporting from area 7.4 in central Gotham.” “Good evening Y/H/N, it’s Oracle, I’ll be your voice in the background tonight,” Barbara’s voice echoed through your ears and after exchanging the usual greetings she quickly gave you the location of a robbery in progress. With quick, experienced movements you jumped over the roofs until you stood on the ceiling of a jewelry which was - luckily for you - made out of glass. There was only a single man in the darkness of the store below you, using a flashlight to clean out the display cases, and he wasn’t especially silent so you used the noise to your advantage as you opened one of the few ceiling windows that were openable and let yourself glide down with a hook. “I think you have to pay for that,” you interrupted the robber who quickly turned around, his face hidden by a black, knitted hat with badly cut out holes for the eyes. He was definitely no professional. The man - obviously panicked - got out a gun with shaky hands and pointed it at you, but before he could even think of shooting you had thrown a batarang and the piece of weaponry landed on the floor too far from him that he could reach it before you. Seemingly not seeing another option the man started charging at you and you just sighed and said: “I wouldn’t do that if I was you,” but by the end of the sentence his fist tried to make contact with your masked face, but you caught his hand expertly and used the momentum to twist it behind his back, grabbing the other one too and with quick movements you had used a pair of handcuffs that you had in your bat-belt™ to chain him to one of the displays before letting him go. “If you’ll excuse me for a second,” you mumbled before walking a few feet away where you told Barbara to contact the police and tell him they didn’t need to hurry. You had just finished the conversation and muted your mic again when the same dizziness as earlier in the office hit you but this time tenfold. It was like the ground was swaying below you and you had to take ahole of a countertop so that you didn’t fall. “Hey, are you okay, you look kinda sick,” the robber asked in an actual concerned voice, but you didn’t answer, instead you quickly used the hook you had attached earlier to let yourself swing out of the window again. “Y/H/N?” Barbara contacted you and you tried your best to swallow down the weakness in your muscles that suddenly seemed to grow over you. “Yeah?” “Bats asks you to meet him on the roof of the Jefferson building down in third.” “Tell him I’ll be there in a minute.” 

You gave yourself another few seconds to collect yourself before you did as you were told and made your way over to the roof of the builduing Babs’ had told you to go to, the dark silhouette of your father’s persona already expecting you there. Like you had done so often before, you started to run towards the edge of the building next to it - the one you were currently on - and made yourself ready to jump, only for your muscles to suddenly give up on you and the only thing you felt next was the rushing of air as you were falling and then the sudden stop and pain in your wrist as something caught you. Bruce quickly pulled you up and even with the cowl you could see the concern. “You okay?” he asked, his voice worried which definitely sounded uncanny in connection with what he was wearing. “Uhm yeah, my legs just kind of gave up on me there,” you tried to wave it off with a chuckle, not wanting him to see that you were frightened to your core. “Y/H/N?” he asked again in that voice he had always used when you tried to sneak out at night and lied when he had caught you. He hadn’t used that voice in so long. “I’m serious Batman, everything is okay, it’s no big deal,” you huffed - now defensive - and stood up with your arms crossed in front of your chest. “It is when you suddenly fall from a roof. What would have been if I hadn’t been there to catch you?” he asked, now slight anger edging through the worry, but you couldn’t blame him. “I’m sorry, okay, it won’t happen again,” you sighed and hoped he would just let it go, especially considering that the dizziness started to return. Along with it came the heaviness of your eyelids that you had gotten used to that somehow now seemed to actively pull you down. You raised your hand to rub your eyes - hoping it would put some more live back into you - but even that slight movement seemed to be too much as the world started swaying again and you felt gravity getting the best of you. Something black started moving in front of you and you weren’t quite sure if you were falling unconscious or if it was Bruce who came towards you to catch your falling form, but it turned out to be latter when you found yourself being lowered to the ground and propped against the end of one of the vantilator shafts of the building with Bruce kneeling beside you. “You’re definitely not okay,” he muttered as he held your face in his hands to get you to look at him. “I’m just a little bit tired is all,” you tried to argue, but your voice was weak and almost started lulling. “When was the last time you slept? Or ate?” You shut your eyes in concentration as you tried to remember. “Wait I know the answer to that one,” you muttered but almost fell asleep, only being kept away when your head started falling downwards, “What did you ask again?” “When was the last time you slept an entire night?” he tried again, this time more specific. “What day is it today?” “Friday.” “Then I think it was Monday,” you whispered since suddenly the loud noise of your voice seemed to pierce your skull apart. “You were on Patrol from nine to two a.m. on Monday,” Bruce disagreed and you almost chuckled. “Yes, and after I went to bed and got a full five hours. That’s pretty good isn’t it,” you couldn’t help but smile almost proudly, your mind starting to fog up with bubblegum coloured smoke that made it impossible to think straight. “And when did you last eat?” Bruce sighed, worry and recognition crossed his face. He himself must have known too well what you were going through. You averted your eyes and looked down at your lap where you played with your hands like an embarrassed child. “Also Monday,” you mumbled and Bruce immediately shook his head. “That’s not okay, you have to take care of yourself Y/H/N, you’re no good for anyone when you don’t.” You weren’t sure if it was only tired paranoia that made you see only disappointment on your fathers face - that ignored all the worry - but suddenly the prospect of having disappointed him, the one thing that you were trying to avoid ever since you could remember, made tears well up in your eyes and your lip quiver, “‘M sorry,” you could just press out before the tears started rolling. Bruce immediately regretted his tone of voice, but he knew nothing he would say now would be remembered by you so he just pulled you up from the roof and started carrying your already passing out form towards the batmobil. “We’ll talk about it tomorrow…”

The feeling of waking up rested was foreign to you, especially since it wasn’t one of your four separate alarms that woke you, and caused you to immediately sit up, only to be pulled back into the mattress. Your eyes flew open and explored your surroundings. The chandelier above you, with rainbow-coloured glass-pendants and the dark blue dealing with the painted stars immediately calmed you again. This room was your childhood bedroom which meant that you were in the manor, which in turn meant that you were safe. For a moment the calm was pretty nice, but then you remembered your case of immovability and looked down at where your wrists came out from under the cover. They were bound by silky bands and a move of your feet told you that the same was the case for them. While you were contemplating ways to get out of the unbelievably good, but still comfortable restraints, the door started to open and you turned as well as you could towards where you smallest (figuratively and literally) brother entered. “Your awake?” he asked in his usual stern voice, but you had known him for long enough to recognize the hidden worry. “Yeah, mind telling me why I’m strapped to my bed?” “Forced self-care,” he stated matter-of-factly and you couldn't help but narrow your eyes. “What?” “You fainted on Patrol, father says you haven’t eaten or slept since last Monday so we took measures to make sure you wouldn’t kill yourself with how careless you are.” You wanted to reply with something snarky, but you were well aware that what he said was probably right. “I’m sorry okay, I just had a lot on my plate, but you’re right and I feel a lot better now that I had some sleep, so you can let me go again,” you tried to smooth your way out of there, but you had the slight suspicion that it was hopeless. “I respect your try but you will not be let go until father is certain that you’re better.”

“But I am better!” you whined and tried yet again to wiggle yourself out of the restraints. Damian just raised his eyebrows unimpressed. He walked over to a chair that was standing beside your bed and as you followed him with your eyes you noticed the shutted curtains and the small gap of light between them. “What time is it anyways?” you sighed and felt surprise when you had to hold back a yawn. “It’s about 8 a.m.” Your eyes widened. That meant you had enough time to get to the office! “Please Dami, you gotta let me go, I have to get to the board meeting,” you begged, starting to wiggle more and more, but to no avail. “But Ukthi, you-” “No you don’t understand! This is my first time alone, I can’t let dad down, I have to be able to pull through with this if I ever want to make it as the next C.E.O. Dad wasn’t allowed a break either.” “Ukthi-” “Damian please, please, I promise I’ll come back right after and take care of myself, but I have to do this if I-” “Ukthi! The board meeting was yesterday. You slept for over 24 hours!” Damian shouted to get you to stop interrupting him and when you realized the weight of his words you sunk back down into the pillow. “What? But I was supposed to…” “Father just postponed it, he didn’t leave room to argue, he also gave you the week off from patrol and work.” If your hands weren’t bound you’d probably sunken your face into them in shame. You tried to hold tears back as you looked away from Damian. “Y/N?” he asked and came closer. “I’m sorry, It’s just- how am I supposed to handle being the C.E.O. of Wayne Enterprise if I can’t even handle little things like board meetings? How am I supposed to take after dad?” “Y/N, you keep on saying how father managed to lead the business on his own, and how you should be able too, but you’re not alone. You’re not supposed to be either. You have all of us by your side for a reason and we won’t leave you alone with this. We’re here for you and you shouldn’t be ashamed to ask for help. We’re family, we love you and we want to support you with all we can. “For now, how about you rest a little bit more and then I’ll let you out of bed to get a proper meal, Alfred made your favorite. After that I’m afraid Father will want to have a word with you.” “Oh shucks….”

[3liza]

hey im not gonna spread your weird social media-mediated brain infection on my blog, instead here are some cool studies to look at about how the "beautiful people have an easier life, every day, all the time" is a simplistic view, and is also patriarchal as fuck. more recent studies on "beauty privilege" are finding that the issue is complex, and that perceived beauty acts as a negative pressure in some/many social situations. i have always wondered why my experiences varied so much from the apparent wonderland the pop-science concept of "beauty privilege" paints, and more recent studies (often designed by women this time, imagine) are getting into the complexity there.

you personally may want to think about not reading my social media accounts if they are making you feel and act like this. i think i am not going to interact with you anymore if i can help it because i feel bad about what it is doing to you. anyway.

the short version is that beauty is beneficial in heterosexual social situations when dealing with the opposite sex, but detrimental when dealing with the same sex. this aspect of the research is usually ignored because who needs nuance in their pop psychology, right? not this guy (pointing 2 self)

very simply put, a beautiful woman can flirt her way out of a ticket from a heterosexual male cop. if she tries it on a person who doesnt consider her a potential romantic partner, there may be (and apparenly often are) negative consequences.

similarly in my own life i find that 99% of the apparent opportunities i'd been given for being young and fuckable were predicated on me actually fucking* the person who "offered" them, and most of them turned out to be fake/insincere opportunities anyway. tumblr refers to this as "grooming" when applied to child subjects (which i was, for much of it) but the behavior persists into the target's adulthood, middle age, and even old age if certain conditions are met. i can't find any studies on this because you can't put a Sleazy Guy in a lab setting and ask him "hey were you actually going to hire this woman on hte up-and-up, or were you going to 'hire' her and then spend 16 months making increasingly deranged sexual harassment attempts before reporting her to HR for made-up reasons and then finally firing her or hamstringing her career? just wondering".

i always think about that episode of Always Sunny where Mac goes nuts because every kid in his class was molested by the gym teacher and he imagines this to be some sort of privilege, even though charlie was one of the victims and is clearly devastated by it. thats what this conversation feels like every time it gets to the level of anons making fake tumblr accounts to KEEP pestering me about this stuff. remember that thing i said earlier about blood in the water, and how i dont post about bad shit that happened to me because it attracts the wrong kind of attention??? hehuehueheuheuhuehriuhgfidsrhru

actually thats a whole other realm of study: why victims of sexual assault and abuse are often re-victimized. until recently it was assumed that the victims were making bad decisions in who to trust, and this is sooorrrrtt of true, but doesn't tell the whole story. i read a study once that i am trying to find and will post later if i find it, that took video of adult women study subjects (who had agreed to be filmed) walking normally just down the street publically, and showed this video to male test subjects. if im remembering the study correctly, which i may not be, the male subjects who scored higher on psychopathy indices were better able to indentify the women in the test footage who had been sexually assaulted at some point in their former lives.

something to think about is a lot of "attractive" qualities (including proccupation with physical appearance leading to altering that appearance to be more beautiful), especially in the manic pixie archetype, are very strongly represented in trauma victims, especially sexual assault survivors (as is the opposite, intentionally trying to be "unattractive" to avoid further victimization). this includes "seductiveness", one of the adjectives used to diagnose child sexual abuse victims before the verbiage in the literature got cleaned up. obviouly a child cant be "seductive" and thats pretty offensive and fucked up to say. what they meant is that the childs behavior has been altered by trauma to become sexualized to appease attackers. this is part of the "fawn" sector of emergency responses in humans (along with fight, flight, and freeze).

so when we talk so cavalierly of "beauty" and "attractive people" vs "unattractive people" we are simplifying an issue that is so complex it is difficult even to think about. this complexity makes me go "hmm" every time theres a study on it, much less a popular belief. a lot of it sort of doesnt square with easily-observable phenomena: if physical beauty is so correlated to success, why are the 1% of wealthy people, politicians, actual power-holders, hell even the CEOs of normal companies, very very rarely what you would consider physically beautiful, even when they havent aged out of what the culture thinks is the maximum span of time someone can be "hot"? some of this is just personal preference, and it's real hard to study any of this because of how complex that issue becomes. but where are all these hot successful people i keep hearing about? are they all trophy spouses and retired from the public eye? you can definitely cherrypick examples of "influencers" etc but thats an extremely narrow line of work, and not representative.

anyway! lot of the "do beautiful people get more stuff" research is from quite a while ago, wasnt designed well, and was based on a work and social culture that was quite a bit different than it is now. but even older studies document this effect. ive spent like many minutes typing about this stupid bullshit so im bored and annoyed now and i dont want to type about it anymore

1. Effects of Self-Esteem Threat on Physical Attractiveness Stereotypes

2. Does being attractive always help? positive and negative effects of attractiveness on social decision making (cant find the sci-hub version, alas, but documents a negative effect we're actually seeing an anecdotal example of in my inbox rn)

3. Is beauty a gift or a curse? The influence of an offender’s physical attractiveness on forgiveness

* often it wasnt even just a sex thing. it's very very often a romance/relationship that is desired by the perpetrator. it's a misapprehension of the public that sexual harassment/grooming is "just about sex" or even less accurately "just about power", it isnt

[fantasia-monogram]

As the clock strikes midnight: epilogue

Part 1 / Part 2 / Part 3 / epilogue:

♥️ Taeyang x reader (nonbinary, female anatomy); mentions of other SF9 members

♥️ Suggestive (~1k words); mentions of sex and light BDSM, some boy x boy innuendos.

♥️ Aftermath of the happenings of the previous night. Did you really think I would leave you without a proper ending?

♥️ Disclaimer: this is just for fun! I’m not claiming that’s how they are in real life, it’s just my imagination doing whatever it wants. Read at your own discretion.

That morning, you needed some extra adjustments in order to get by at work. Like a huge cup of coffee with four shots of espresso. Or earbuds with your favorite upbeat playlist on to keep your head from falling onto the desk. Or a fluffy cushion that usually supported your lower back whenever you worked overtime, now propping your butt, because your parts were too sore for you to sit comfortably.

You hoped the day would go smoothly, without any unwanted surprises.

It's not like you regretted the way you spent last night, but maybe, just maybe you should have opted for regular snuggling instead of cockwarming after… how many, again…? Three. After three times Taeyang fucked you lovingly and thoroughly.

And that's not all: despite everything that happened barely hours ago, you two woke up horny enough to get each other off during the morning shower. You gave Taeyang a quick handjob, after which he obediently kneeled and gave you the best oral of your life that momentarily helped you forget just how sore you were.

Focus, focus. Something suspicious caught your eye.

Peeking through the glass wall separating your department’s space from the corridor, you saw Jaeyoon near the main floor entrance. Looking just as fine as if he got full eight hours of wholesome sleep, he was talking to none other than Quality Department leader Kim Inseong. Something was off, though - it’s fine that they were laughing, probably at some silly trivia from the party, but the leader seemed flustered, waving his hands and shaking his head vigorously through a fit of giggles. Jaeyoon was more collected, yet his head leaning to the side and flirtatious sway of his silhouette made you just slightly alert.

Wait a minute, Inseong just… did a goddamn spin? And landed his back on the wall, ending up lowkey caged by Jaeyoon? What was going on?

You didn’t get to know, because the door opened and Kim Seokwoo, your closest coworker from the Compliance Department - although closest here meant having your desks next to each other and the fact Seokwoo was basically your assistant at this point - walked in with a small package in his hand. Tall, gorgeous bastard had the luxury to start work at 10 - something he really didn't need, considering he left the party first. Jaeyoon and Inseong jumped away from each other, only to mirror Seokwoo’s polite bow. 

To your dismay, Seokwoo went straight to your desk instead of his own. You put on your best tired smile, taking off the earbuds. 

"Hope you're not sick after the party!" he exclaimed enthusiastically. The package he held landed on your desk. You curiously opened it, only to reveal a miniature cake from a fancy bakery nearby. 

"Oh, my, Seokwoo, you really didn't have to," you giggled, amazed by the mirror glaze in pastel shades imitating a holographic effect, with speckles of edible glitter sparkling on top. 

"Happy birthday, Supervisor!" Seokwoo patted your shoulder. "Anyway, I know everyone is pretty much dead after last night, but there are some reports they want us to go through before the HR meeting." 

"HR…?" you furrowed your eyebrows. That was unusual. 

"Oh, right. Internal recruitment thing in Customer Service. They need our opinion on candidates, since we work with them on our processes, too."

That didn't explain anything, so, still confused, you followed Seokwoo's instructions and opened a shared folder on your computer. A row of files titled after full names of the candidates appeared on screen.

Your eyes went wide at one of the files: Yoo Taeyang. 

As if you manifested him, the boy in question entered the open space of Compliance Department and directed his steps towards your desk. You felt like everything was happening in slow motion: you stared at him shamelessly, forgetting about Seokwoo's presence. How could you not stare, anyway? Taeyang looked absolutely perfect. Not a single hair out of place. Lean, model-like silhouette, elegant strides, graceful long fingers holding a manila folder. Black T-shirt deliciously spanning across his chest. Yes, your cheeks started burning out of sudden. Yes, you might have felt yourself getting wet all over again. 

Yes, you might have been a little obsessed. 

Taeyang, serious as usual, stopped a couple steps away.

"Mind if I borrow three minutes of your time?" he asked in a neutral tone, pointing towards the social room. 

You nodded absentmindedly without taking your eyes off him. Seokwoo could wait. You still had plenty of time to review these reports. 

Taeyang led you to a secluded spot in the kitchen area. There was no one else in the social room at this hour anyway, so you wondered why he needed so much privacy, knowing he would never go for displays of affection at the workplace anyway. 

"Listen… Listen, you're not gonna believe this," Taeyang started, exasperated.

He left the folder on a table next to you, only to put his hands on your shoulders. 

"Customer Service leader just resigned. I applied for the position." 

You gasped, genuinely shocked. 

"Oh my God, Taeyangie! That's great news!" You tried to express your joy with a hushed tone. 

Now everything made sense: the reports for HR and Taeyang's file. Leader's resignation would probably be officially announced later in the day, but the members of her department were informed first thing in the morning. Customer Service obviously couldn't stay too long without supervision, hence rushed recruitment. 

"Even if I don't get the position, I'm gonna get noticed and maybe even promoted, who knows," Taeyang said, excited about the whole situation. 

"You know I'm not gonna go easy on you when they ask me for opinion, right?" you made sure, looking into his eyes. 

He surprised you with a brief hug. 

"Please don't." He followed his words with a tender kiss to your cheek. "I'm qualified enough to do well on my own." 

You melted into the embrace. All of your earlier worries about this relationship, such as the age gap and possible interference with your careers, dissipated right there on the spot: he was mature and determined enough to be a perfect match for you.

Gliding your hands through the expanse of his back, you made him lean down a little. 

"Can't wait to call you leader while I keep you writhing under me, baby," you whispered into his ear. 

(the end)

[dilly-oh]

Laundry Day

    It had been building for weeks now. Piling up, bit by bit. Iruka ignored it for as long as he could, shoving it to the back of his mind and going about his daily business, teaching at the Academy and pulling shifts at the Mission Desk like nothing was wrong. But eventually, even he could deny it no longer. When he checked his closet and found that all he had to wear was a single ketchup-or-maybe-blood-stained crop-top, tight yoga shorts, and flip-flops, he knew it was finally time to stop putting it off. There was no other choice left. 

    He had to do laundry.

    “Oh my God, who did you kill?” Anko asked as he dragged the bulging laundry bag down the hallway of his apartment complex.

    “You, if you don't back off,” Iruka snapped at her. “There's just enough room in here for a body.”

    “I sincerely doubt that,” Anko said, cocking an eyebrow at the huge bag. “Seriously, what gives? That thing must be, like, a hundred pounds. Is this some kind of new training craze?”

    “It's laundry day,” Iruka stated. Anko blinked. “I haven't done laundry in two months,” he went on impatiently. “It's kind of hard to find the time between my job teaching, my job at the Mission Desk, and my other job keeping Naruto and Sasuke from killing or kissing each other in public, and since they all count as full-time jobs with none of the benefits, I literally have nothing else to wear.” 

    “Ah. That would explain the booty shorts.”

    “They're called yoga shorts, and they're comfortable.”

    “I don't care what they're called, your ass looks amazing in them.”

    “Stop ogling me!” Iruka barked, his cheeks flaming. Anko's eyes didn't move. “Am I gonna have to go have another talk with HR?” Anko paled.

    “Oh, God, please don't. Last time I had to watch a three-hour film on sexual harassment in the workplace. I had to take notes. There was a quiz after.” 

    “Then stop. STARING.” Iruka gave Anko one last glare, then continued on his way, dragging his laundry bag after him with all the dignity he could muster. Which wasn't alot, considering the bag was heavy as fuck and he'd kinda been neglecting his standard workout routine. Because, you know, three jobs or whatever. 

    There were quite a few laundromats scattered about Konoha, all stocked with specialized, heavy-duty cleaning supplies for shinobi needs (to aid in the removal of blood, guts, and other icky bits picked up from slaughtering enemies and whatnot). The one Iruka usually frequented was located about ten blocks away, which normally wasn't too bad, especially if Iruka went by rooftop. However, that was quite impossible at the moment, considering his giant bag of dirty clothes was hefty and ungainly enough that it would probably squirt right out of his arms and kill an unfortunate pedestrian below. Also, it was the middle of summer and the sun had decided to be an asshole that day, blazing down like some kind of fire Jutsu and scalding every living thing in sight. To make matters worse, the laundry bag seemed to grow heavier with every step until it was like dragging Hokage mountain down the street. So by the time Iruka finally managed to heave the bag halfway across Konoha and up a flight of stairs into the laundromat itself, he was a hot, sweaty mess, his ponytail half-undone and hanging in his face, damp clothing sticking to his skin. 

    Which was exactly why Hatake motherfucking Kakashi was in there, of fucking course. There was no way Iruka's silly little crush wouldn't be in the one place he'd hoped he wouldn't be. 

    Iruka wanted to crawl into the nearest drier and turn it on.

    Maybe he won't see me, he thought as he quietly slipped inside.

    “Hey, Iruka!” Kotetsu shouted from across the entire laundromat. “Nice shorts!” 

    Everyone immediately turned to look.

    Well I know who I'm going to kill now, Iruka thought to himself miserably as he was ogled by every shinobi in the room. He made a mental checklist and vowed to prank each one in retaliation. His body was a temple.

    “You know you could have just stuffed that in a scroll,” Genma said after peeling his gaze off Iruka's thighs, twitching his senbon at the bulging bag. 

    “I'll stuff you in a fucking scroll,” Iruka hissed at him, wiping a sweaty strand of hair out of his face.

    “Ooh, baby, talk dirty to me,” Genma cooed.

    “You're disgusting,” Iruka said flatly. He glanced around, looking for a table with any inch of free space, perfectly willing to fight someone for it. There, in the back, he spotted one last table...right next to Kakashi. Because, you know, this day couldn't get any worse. Iruka debated waiting an extra ten minutes or so to see if the laundromat emptied out a bit, saw Genma wiggle his eyebrows suggestively at him, and decided anything was better than this. Steeling himself with a deep breath, he dragged his bag over to the open table beside Kakashi and started dumping clothes out.

    Kakashi, thankfully, didn't respond to his sudden arrival except for a polite grunt and nod in greeting. Iruka nodded back, then focused for the next several minutes on organizing his dirty clothes, intent on ending this humiliation as quickly as possible. As he worked, he couldn't help but sneak glances at Kakashi while he sorted his lights and darks. The man was busy folding his own laundry, bent over the table, his movements precise and methodical, done with the utmost care. Iruka almost suspected he was using the Sharingan to achieve such perfect folds. He glanced down at the clothes themselves, expecting combat fatigues or maybe a pair of well-worn sweats. 

    Instead, he was surprised to discover Kakashi was folding almost two dozen miniature flak jackets with some kind of funny emblem on the back. 

    “Did...did you accidentally shrink that in the drier or something?” Iruka blurted out before he could stop himself. Kakashi looked over at him, blinking lazily, then chuckled, a husky sound that made Iruka's knees weak. 

    “Of course not,” he said, his voice warm with amusement. “This is my ninken's laundry.” 

    Iruka had to hold in a snort. The famed Copy-Nin of Konoha, scourge of all enemies, feared by missing-nin, doing his ninken's laundry? It was ridiculous! It was absurd! It was...

    Adorable, quite frankly. Iruka's heart melted a little at the sight of him carefully piling up their little vests, careful not to crease them.

    “It's a pain,” Kakashi went on. “They're so picky. I have to use unscented detergent and dryer sheets or they complain.”

    “Too bad they don't sell a fresh cat-shit scent,” Iruka chuckled awkwardly before biting his lip. 

    Kakashi, however, took no offense, throwing his head back and laughing aloud.

    “Ha! They'd like that! Maybe they have a three-day-old steak one, too.” He grinned at Iruka through his mask, one visible eye twinkling. Iruka flushed, and he quickly turned back to his laundry, realized he was holding a pair of underwear, and flung it away, his face flushing darker as he busied himself with sorting again. “You've got quite a load,” Kakashi went on after a moment, nodding at the mountainous pile in front of him.

    “Yeah, I've been putting it off for a while,” Iruka grumbled distractedly, searching for a stray sock's missing partner with no luck. “This is literally the last thing I have to wear, so I either do laundry today or go into work tomorrow naked.”

    “I knew I should have finished that mission report,” Kakashi said under his breath.

    “Very funny,” Iruka scoffed in annoyance, shoving his first few loads into the nearby washing machines.

    “Oh, I'm dead serious.”

    The annoyance turned to anger, and Iruka looked over at the other man to give him a piece of his mind, only to find him staring right back, his warm grin having grown into something much more inviting, bordering on flirtatious. Iruka's sharp comment died in his throat and he cleared it roughly, feeling hot all over. Awkwardly, he reached for change in his pockets, then froze. He looked down and swore. He didn't even fucking have pockets. Stupid booty- YOGA shorts. He'd forgotten the quarters, and he didn't dare leave his clothes unattended for fear someone like Genma would be a creep and steal a pair of underwear or something. Also, Izumo and Kotetsu had a habit of borrowing things and never returning them, and he could see them eyeing several of his favorite shirts from across the laundromat. He'd just have to pack everything up and return home. What a waste, the whole trip had been for nothing-

    The clink of coins snapped him out of his mental cursing, and he looked up in shock to see Kakashi paying for his loads. 

    “Oh no,” he sputtered, “please, Kakashi, you don't have to-”

    “It's fine. You can pay next time,” Kakashi said with a wave. 

    “But I...well...oh, alright, fine.” Iruka sighed, giving in. “Thank you.”

    “So it's a date then,” Kakashi said. “Which cycle do you prefer?” 

    “Cotton cycle, cold water, extra rinse, please,” Iruka said automatically, then blinked. “Wait, I'm sorry, did you say-” 

    “See you next week,” Kakashi was already halfway to the door, his ninken's clothes tucked under his arms and a pile of quarters left on Iruka's table for the rest of his loads. Iruka gaped after him in shock. 

    Had that...really just happened? Had he really exchanged pleasantries with one of the most infamous shinobi of Konoha while folding laundry? Or had it all been merely a dream, a figment of his imagination-

    “You washing those shorts, too?” Genma asked hopefully, leering like a hungry wolf.

    Nope, he was definitely awake. Iruka threw some Tide-pods at Genma to chase him away before turning back to his loads, shaking his head in wonder.

    He'd definitely be doing his laundry more often from now on.

(Written for @kakairu-fest KakaIru Month 2021, Day Ten Prompt: Laundry)

[heroprose]

aromatic;

a/n. forewarning for the usual vampiric shenanigans.

ship. hitoshi shinou x reader

summary. contemporary vampire au. (+ slight office au)

//

hitoshi shinsou despises you, you’re certain of this. 

what you’re not quite sure of is where all the animosity stemmed from, especially since he seemed to conduct himself well enough with everyone else. 

out of all your fellow colleagues, he treated you with the most transparent curtness, from promptly exiting whenever you entered the breakroom for a refreshment, to visibly retching the one time you tried to take an empty seat next to him during a conference (you’ll never forgive him for that slight).

it was really starting to grate on you. you were going to have to confront him about this yourself.

besides, you’ve no longer a choice in the matter: this unspoken tension had begun to affect the workplace, with people sometimes looking to and fro between you and him, confused to high hell why he always kept himself a good several meters away from you if he could-- not that you were complaining. social distancing can be quite mutually beneficial, after all.

and it wasn’t an issue you’d like to bring up with human resources either: that seemed a little too petty, even if he was literally gagging at your presence. 

you did try to ameliorate the work relationship-- really, you did. but there’s only so many times you can crack a joke and be left hanging in that awkward silence before you stop altogether. you once thought it’d been something you said in poor taste that made him abhor you so, but unless he had a seething hatred for mild puns, that didn’t seem right. 

and so what that you were a newer addition to the team-- you’d entertained the idea that maybe he had a thing against strangers, but hell, it’s been months and even interns get more conversation out of him than you.

although given his visceral reactions, you’re inclined to think it’s something about how you smell... but that’s just insane. you took your daily showers and used reasonable amounts of detergent in your laundry; and if you can take the pungency of axe body spray and the zestiness of dior’s sauvage on every man in the building, then he should be able to tolerate your own signature scent, which wasn’t even that bad... was it? 

no one else complained about it though. and you’ve even asked around too, so you know you’re not wearing absolute funk. it’s an unfathomable situation.

today, however, you forewent the perfume. if it really was the fragrance, then this should leave no opening. you’ve tucked the bottle in your workbag instead, in case you needed it like a piece of evidence for his rude behavior, ace attorney style.

you waited until lunch break, where most of the other colleagues would leave the building for nearby restaurants or go to the cafeteria, before approaching him. it was best this way, lest it got weird; at least only few people would witness it. 

hitoshi was currently invested in whatever it was on his computer, and if you were correct in his observations, he would pull out his own homemade meal shortly enough to eat at his desk. some days, he didn’t eat at all, which was surely unhealthy but you were hardly in the position to scold him considering your own bad habits. plus you didn’t want him to hate you even deeper. 

you got to observe this routine over a good number of weeks and it was truly no easy feat, with his desk set in the far corner of the workplace far from the wall-length windows and him being constantly out and about on his own assignments.

with your workbag in one hand, you walk up to him with as much nonchalance as you could muster. “hey! not going down to the cafe today?” it’s rhetorical: you knew he wasn’t.

he hardly responds, eyes flickering up at you briefly and giving a greeting nod before returning to his work. “mm.”

you round the corner of the desk so that you stand beside him. leaning down slightly to squint at the screen, you deliberately put yourself in his space. “oh wow, the deadline’s so far away but you’re already working on this part?”

he began to open his mouth, only to clap a hand over it with remarkable speed. and he coughs, goodness, with shoulders jumping.

“oh my god,” you can’t help but say as you withdraw. could he smell it even from your bag? you weren’t even sure if it was the perfume or just you anymore. “okay, i’ll cut to the chase. can we talk? alone?”

you’d think he would think it over, at the very least, to give a semblance of polite reflection. “no,” is his immediate reply, spoken forcefully, so forcefully that a lone passing colleague even gives you two a glance. 

“i was, uh, just leaving,” they say. “want anything?”

“i’m good, thanks,” you reply, bidding them farewell with a breezy smile before refocusing on hitoshi. he has already turned away from you, eyes blazing at the computer screen.

without another word, you reach over, placing a hand over his, and drag his mouse to click out of his report.

“what do you think you’re doing?” hitoshi demands, jerking away from your touch. and he’s angry now, genuinely irritated: you can see it in the way his jaw tightens. too bad you’ve been annoyed ever since you’ve been moved to this department.

“it was google docs, relax. your work is saved,” you soothe over. “now come with me. i just want to talk to you for five minutes, tops. please.”

he’s deeply conflicted for a heartbeat, but finally relents. “five minutes,” he echoes. you give him the space to stand up, clutching your workbag strap tightly in your fist. if he knew what this was about, he gave no mention as he walked openhanded behind you.

hastily, you lead him to the breakroom. with its doorless entrance, you assumed that the ventilation there would be moderately good, if it got too stuffy for him. then again, you wouldn’t of minded if he suffocated a bit either. admittedly, the entire floor was probably empty save for you two, so this dialogue could’ve been held out in the open but it didn’t hurt to have that extra layer of seclusion. 

“i already know,” you say into the quietude, leaning against the counter. behind you, the coffee machine beeped every so often. someone should get that fixed. you cross your arms and look at him carefully. the vents are tinny above you two, warm air rushing out noisily.

“you-- what?” his dark eyes widen ever so slightly, and for once, his expression isn’t quite so tense with you. “what do you know?” he must’ve not expected you to be so direct. he takes his hand out of his pocket.

“you know what i’m talking about. why you treat me like, i don’t know, the plague?”

“i don’t do that.”

“you nearly threw up when you saw me.”

hitoshi stays silent. ha, gotcha! “i only coughed,” he relents eventually.

“whatever. and i know it’s not me and that it’s really all you because guess what? no one else has this problem. and i’m thinking you don’t want me to air out your business to everyone else because that would be...” weird, for one, but you didn’t want to ruin your own case. “doesn’t matter; in any case, there’s no reason to be rude over this.”

“alright. so you know. i avoid you because of your scent.” his voice is dangerously calm. “what are you going to do about me, then?”

“about you?” you repeat with a scoff, “oh, so i should report you? what would i even say? HR would laugh at me.”

he smirks, chin jutting out. “right.”

“so now i only have one question. wait, make that two.”

“go on.”

“how should we fix this? because obviously i don’t want our little dance to start affecting our work ethic. you can’t wave me away forever. it’s how i smell, right? do you have a recommended detergent or deodorant, or something?” you ignore the fact that you’ve technically asked three questions.

“none of that covers it,” he mutters and your jaw drops. “masks don’t help either.”

“no way. i smell that b-- you know what... moving on. we’ve got to compromise somewhere though. but not my perfume.” your hands reflexively ball up. there’s no camera, so if you did something unsavory, there equally wouldn’t be any real witnesses...

“your perfume,” he repeats, seemingly dissatisfied. 

“yeah, no way. that’s my signature scent. go wear nose plugs or something, if it’s that bad. and i can’t believe you say scent and not body odor, like just call it what it is! damn.” 

the coffee machine lets out its intermittent beeps. hitoshi just stares at you, mystified. then, he breaks into a snort, like he’s the one who can’t believe he’s having this discussion. “i understand. in that case, i see no solution.” whilst bringing a hand to the back of his neck, he starts to move, intent on passing you to exit the room.

you let out a frustrated noise. “you leave me no choice, hitoshi.”

intending on presently the bottle to him proudly, perhaps even spritzing him once for good measure, you jam your hand into your workbag to fish your perfume out. you grab onto the rectangular shaped glass, and pull it out with great gusto.

and it goes terribly. 

to your horror, the bottle slips like butter between your fingers and sails, tumbling down to the floor right in front of you with a heartrending crash, glass splintering like ice. the beautiful blue lid goes spinning across the tiles, and like that, the whole room now blooms a gorgeous citrus, white floral scent. “oh nooooooo! shit!”

no longer minding him, you go to pick up the shards, bending down at the knees with a sigh. gingerly, you begin to clean up.

“hey, be careful. i’ll get a dustpan,” you hear him say and it’s one of the nicest things he’s ever said to you, but in your melancholy, you shake your head solemnly.

“no, no, i’ve got this. i’m just so-- OWW?” you wail without warning. you drop the wet shard you were grasping, still slick with liquid. “ugh, never mind. get the dustpan.” you bring yourself up on your feet again.

using your shoe, you kick the shards into a more cohesive, but wet pile. the clattering of the glass causes you some emotional pain. “terrific,” you mutter, watching blood bead up at across two of your fingertips. “well, at least i won’t be wearing that anymore. right, hitoshi?” you ask sarcastically. shaking your hand to rid it of perfume residue, you end up just flecking your blood droplets all over the floor. you glance up when you’re met with silence. “hitoshi?”

“nnngh...” a low, deep groan escapes his throat, and immediately he turns his cheek and takes several stumbling steps away. he grits his teeth, the vein in his neck growing more prominent like it’s physically paining him to pull apart from you. “you’ve got to be fucking kidding me...”

“you okay?” you close in on him. it felt almost backwards to ask such a query, seeing as you were the one bleeding. “maybe you should sit d--”

“get away from me,” he all but spits out, eyes squeezed shut. “you set this up, huh? figures.” stray hairs were falling into his face as he presses a hand against his temple and bit back another groan. “i was doing just fine before... so why... nngh.”

you purse your lips. “hey! what do you have against dolce & gabbana’s light blue eau de toilette? it’s a perfectly respectable, fresh, work-friendly fragrance! it was, at least!” you wanted to shout. but that didn’t happen, as your concern and confusion won over your sense of petulance. “set what up?” you ask, bewildered.

on closer inspection, he was not, in fact, okay at all. 

for a second, you thought he was having an allergic reaction. that would certainly explain his avoidance of your body, and perhaps why even a deep black had replaced the cool purple in his irises when his eyes snap open to glare. his pupils were blown out despite the bright tube lighting overhead, and his mouth parts wide.

yet an allergy did not explain everything. as opposed to weak, however, hitoshi suddenly looked frightening. 

because, instead, what came out of your mouth was a strangled, “uh, what the-- are those fangs?” 

and indeed they were, confirmed as they descended upon your skin before you  could even blink. at the very least, he had the decency to pant out a small but distinctively unapologetic “sorry” before his lips pressed around your bleeding fingers, tongue hot against the stinging cuts. 

you hope fervently your coworkers take their leisure at lunch.

[pawjamas]

hey..i’ve been back from my stay at the residential facility for several days now and A lot happened, which i’m putting under a a readmore bc it’s potentially triggering (warning for mentions of s*xual abuse/gasl*ghting/etc) my life is basically being uprooted, so much happened in the month of June and is currently still happening, which i’ll explain below

i was admitted to the residential facility on June 9th, it seemed super promising, there was an abundance of 4-5 star reviews from patients online. my friend who currently is working in the mental health field researched about the facility and also confirmed that it seemed a lot better than most places are. the first day was kind of rough and i knew getting adjusted would be difficult but could never have expected what happened the following several days to happen. i made friends pretty quickly, my roommate on the first day there was very kind to me, she told me if i ever needed someone to talk to that she’d be there for me, we also shared the fact we were both nonbinary/just a lot of things we had in common so it was comforting to know her on the first day there.

i spoke to my psychiatrist the next day who told me i could get off “close observations” which is why i was in the room i was, the label is basically something you get put on if you’re at risk for s*lf h*rm/etc and need a staff member w/ you at all times. so since i was taken off of that i was switched to a different room with a different roommate. she was a 60 yr old woman who was in the other program offered at the facility (mine was mental health related and hers was for substance abuse/addiction) i didn’t feel too comfortable around her the first night, she complained about every single thing, she never participated in the groups offered at the facility, she told me over and over again how much she hated being here. the next few days were a blur and are still very fuzzy, my mind is still keeping all the memories locked away which has happened to me many times before w/ trauma where everything’s vague and not fully there.

basically, over the course i was roommates w/ this woman she groomed me and manipulated me into doing anything she wanted me to do for her, she physically/s*xually assaulted me multiple times, and caused my mental health to plummet even further than i thought was possible. i eventually did get to switch rooms, and i only recalled (again, vaguely) what happened those nights about a week later and reported it to the staff where half of them treated it like a joke. i went to the hospital the night i reported everything to get examined and ended up calling my mom on my friend’s phone (she drove to the hospital and stayed w/ me the whole time) and my mom was probably the worse to take my trauma/situation out of anyone. she told me i should’ve spoken up sooner, asked why i didn’t defend myself from this woman, basically the whole phone call was her blaming me for not doing anything about my assault. when i hung up my friend even told me that what she said wasn’t okay, and was victim-blaming.

i left the hospital and got back to the facility around 1:00 am, and the following days i spent there i was continuously getting worse because being in the environment my trauma had happened was preventing me from healing, plus i literally had to be in the same rooms as the person who had assaulted me and seeing her was extremely triggering. she continuously would call me crazy and delusional and that i made the entire thing up, i had difficulty telling what was real and what was not because of how bad i was treated by her and the staff. i’m thankful i met some really kind patients there that became my friends, they helped me the most out of anyone there. at one point a nurse had pulled me into a room and told me how i should never have spoken up about my abuse, how i should consider how it makes my abuser feel, and stop talking to the friends i made about it. but i’m glad i had people who would actually listen.

i mentioned it once but again, my mom was probably the worst person to talk to when all this was happening, at one point one evening when phones were available i called her and told her i needed to leave, i wanted to come home because this all of this was affecting me so badly, and she screamed over and over that i can’t come home and i have to stay, that it’s too bad that happened but continuing to do the program was more important. at that point i broke down and cried, begging her to let me come home and she screamed repeatedly for me to shut up and then hung up on me.

after that evening i knew that i wouldn’t be taking any shit from her any longer, i called my friend who lived nearby about her the following day or so, asked if i could stay with her at her apartment, which didn’t end up happening because we both worried my mom being as spiteful as she is would take legal action if i did leave w/ my friend instead of my mom. i ended up talking to a couple of the friends i made there that i was having bad intrusive thoughts, and that evening i was baker acted (involuntarily hospitalized) and transferred to another facility, which could’ve been because of the staff or me being reported for the thoughts i was having, but regardless i was away from my abuser and didn’t have to see her again.

the hospital i stayed at was...a lot worse than the other place, i barely got to speak to the psychiatrist/therapist during my entire time there, people would joke about how little time you got w/ them. they ended up keeping me there longer than the required 72 hrs, which i asked multiple people why and never got an answer, at one point my mom wanted to make sure i was sent back to the residential facility of which i had to explain would be detrimental to me and my health, but as usual when she had her mind set on something she won’t listen to reason or anyone who explains other (more beneficial) options.

i ended up calling my friend that lived back in the town i live in, told her the whole story and what’s been going on, and ultimately asked if i could move in with her because her and her family had already offered to let me. she was more than happy to have me move in, so that’s what i ended up planning on doing when i got discharged, was have her pick me up instead of my mom. and i called my mom to tell her that i’d be moving out, all the reasons why it’d be beneficial to us both, she took it horribly and told me if my friend picks me up i can never ever come home again and that i’m kicked out. i told her that’s fine, even though it hurt so badly when she said it.

finally, the following monday i was discharged, my friend from back home picked me up along w/ her husband, and we made sure to get all my things from the residential facility (my clothes/shampoo/makeup/etc) before heading back to her house, which was about an hour and a half drive home.

so now i’m staying w/ her, i still feel out of place and disoriented and uncomfortable but her and her family have been very welcoming. i’m trying to get all my stuff from my mom’s but it’s been a huge struggle to get anything from her because she loves to overcomplicate anything and then make it seem as if it’s all your doing and she’s the biggest, kindest saint ever to grace your life. my friends and i all think she has undiagnosed/untreated bipolar, and i definitely think she at least needs therapy and meds too but she doesn’t believe in either for herself. i just want my stuff back, and i do miss my room a lot and jazzy but there’s no way i’m getting either back, i’m also worried how my mom is treating jazzy because she hates him and i’ve witnessed first-hand what she’s done to him before.

i might post my p*ypal / v*nmo (censoring bc i think tumblr is weird abt posts that have these keywords or smth) because i don’t have any income rn...thank you if you read all this lmao i still didn’t even cover half of the other stuff i went through at the place i was baker acted but essentially my life has been turned upside down and i’m having to figure out how to keep going despite it all

[the-swedes-knees]

Human Resources - The Swedes x Reader

Did I make a tumblr just to post a birthday present for @jossambird? Yes, yes I did.

Rating: Everyone 

Pairing: Reader/Swede(pick your favorite)

It had started like any other work day at the Temps Commission. The case management room was silent aside from the rapid clicking of typewriter keys and the rustling of papers as employees cross checked their historical references. You were just another cog in the machine, expected to work efficiently and follow every rule in the handbook down to the letter.

Which is why it was a surprise when your supervisor placed the summons to HR on your desk.

"Cheryl." You greeted the HR representative coldly as you entered the meeting room. She glared at you as you went to take a seat, not even bothering to say your name. There wasn't a clear reason why she had been gunning for you the past few months but you suspected that it had something to do with the last company Christmas party. Or rather the point in the Christmas party when she had become dangerously intoxicated and you had walked her back to her living quarters instead of letting her fulfill her desires of making thinly veiled sexual innuendos to coworkers.

One might assume that kind of story would lead to a friendship, or at least a funny story to laugh about together...  

"Do you know why you're here?" But apparently Cheryl didn't think so. When you crossed your arms and shook your head no she let out a catty hiss of disapproval. "Well this shouldn't be a shock, but I've opened up a sexual harassment investigation against you."

Your face hardened and your eyes shot to the folder that was placed in front of you, identical to the one infront of her and three more like it on the opposite side of the table.

"That can't be right... who - " The end of your question died on your lips as the three temporal assassins entered the room and sat down at the table across from you. Almost in perfect unison the three tall Swedish men regarded your presence before turning their attention to the woman at the head of the table.

Axel, Otto, and Oscar. More commonly referred to as simply The Swedes. You had handled a fair number of their cases in your career, and they were certainly some of the best the Commission had to offer. They were all handsome in their own right. Strong, stoic, and silent... but you had only admired them from afar, just sparing glances in passing through the massive building complex.

You weren't sure what drew you to them, like a moth to a flame. But just those sparing glances had ruined any other romantic prospects for you.

"Thank you for coming. I'm aware how busy the three of you are, but this matter simply demands to be addressed." She said smugly before turning back to you and opening the manila envelope that was placed perfectly perpendicular to her.

"In recent case number A-96353 you wrote an extra message to the Swedes that was not approved by your supervisor. Is this correct?" Cheryl asked your pointedly.

"Yes." You admitted, squaring your shoulders a little bit more as the reality of the current situation began to dawn on you.

"For the record, can you please recount what that message was?" She asked. You took a deep breath and kept your eyes focused on her. There was an evident threat of heat creeping up to your cheeks, but if this was some sort of weird power play, you didn't want to give her the satisfaction.

"I believe I wrote 'good luck boys' on the bottom of their assignment." You admitted in an even tone.

"Is that all?"

"I may have also drawn a small heart." You said through slightly gritted teeth. "I've already received infractions for that offense. It won't happen again."

You turned your body to face the three men, and bowed your head slightly in shame. Even though you had gone through getting slapped on the wrist and mandatory behavioral classes for not following protocol, it wasn't their fault that your attraction to them had led to your immature urge to flirt on the job. Even if the flirt was hardly a flirt, and it was sent via tube with a kill order.

"I apologize, for my unprofessionalism." You said sincerely, beginning to rise from your seat to leave this waste of everyone's time.

"Well there is also the case of these little locker room comments."

"I-I don't know what you're referring to." You froze as she sifted through her folder, placing her pen on the page as she began to read a section of notes verbatim.

"He could punch me in the face and I would thank him for it." She read with as much enthusiasm as a young fast food worker making minimum wage. Your heart throbbed in your chest wildly as you stared at Cheryl in disbelief. "Does that sound familiar?"

"Yes..." You croaked out softly, all moisture seeming to have left your mouth. Your eyes darted to look down at your lap, your fingernails suddenly much more interesting than the three assassins that were openly staring at your from across the table. The sound of rustling papers caught your ears as the men began to read through the reports for themselves, but suddenly you couldn't seen to move a muscle.

There was no telling who had overheard that particular comment from the water cooler, but it was just one comment... If you could shake off this terrible sense of dread and embarrassment you could chalk it up to a simple misunderstanding -

"Time and date 0923845753: I would pay him to crush my pelvis." She continued to read from the file in front of her in a monotone voice. In potentially the dumbest reaction possible your eyes darted across the table and made direct eye contact with Axel as the comment was read. His face was unreadable, but those blue eyes pierced into you so deeply you may has well have died right on the spot.

"Time and date 0202493192: God must be a woman to make men that fine." You decided that there was no God, if there was then he or she or whatever omnipotent being they were would have pity on your soul and allow your body to combust into flames instead of sitting there.

"Time and date 0221527010: He can break all two-hundred and seven of my bones." There was no blood left in your face, you were sure of it. It pulsed rapidly and loudly through your thudding heart and directly into your ears. Your brain couldn't pick between being embarrassed or downright mortified, a violent chill settling into your bones as the startling realization settled over you... this was the end... your life was over... just because you found the three men a few feet away from you devilishly handsome and you couldn't keep your damn horny mouth shut.

"Time and date 0940251637: I would let him step on my throat."

"Oh that one was actually-" You held up a finger to correct that that particular comment was made by your friend in payroll whom which you shared a similar horny braincell, but quickly decided against it. "You know what, I'll take responsibility for all of them... there's really no need to keep reading."

"For the case of this investigations, were all of these inappropriate comments directed at an individual or a collective?"

"It was, it was um... all. All of them."

"Any one of these comments could be classified as a serious offense, and you are in clear violation of several company policies." Her words barely registered in the haze that set in around you. This was it, your life was ruined... you were dead, and this was hell, it had to be... "And if they agree to follow through, I can have you fired by-"

The sound of metal screeching as Axel stood up from his seat silenced the HR representative. All three brothers shared a quick look before Otto and Oscar stood as well, tossing the files that had been placed before them back onto the table sloppily. Otto's eyes were glued to yours as Axel slightly shook his head at the woman at the end of the table.

"Byråkratisk skitsnack." He sneered before walking past you to leave the room. You had no idea what it meant, but from the offended gasping noise Cheryl made, you were sure she did. The other two men followed their brother shortly after, Oscar making teasing kissing faces at you as he exited through the door.

What just happened?

Both you and HR sat in a moment of stunned silence, obviously this meeting hadn't gone the way either of you expected. With the Swedes gone, you found the courage and sense of self determination to look at the woman again. You raised an eyebrow and looked behind you at the doorway, silently asking if this meant you could leave.

"One more slip up and I'll file for your termination, clear?" As much as you wanted to think of a snappy comeback to the woman who had just lost all the power she wrongly thought she had, your flight or fight response was still in full gear and you suddenly forgot all that was the English language. All you did was bite your bottom lip and nod before slowly rising from the chair and returning back to work.

Curious coworkers asked throughout the day if you were alright, the sense of dread still clawing at your heart at the utter humiliation that you had received... but there was no one to blame but yourself, you probably got what you deserved for making such comments in a professional environment. You briefly considered taking a vow of silence, never to speak again in penance for your sins.

The vow ended rather quickly after Dot offered you treats from her candy stash in an attempt to lighten your mood.

Everything will go back to normal, just don't think about them... ever again... You obsessively chanted to yourself while staring blankly at the copier and munching on your third candy bar. The mechanical machine whirred loudly as it spit out page after page of references that were needed for your current case. It was so loud, in fact, that you weren't aware that another person had entered the room until you felt a sharp pinch on your ass.

You suppressed the urge to scream as you jumped back, mind now alert as you whipped around to see the culprit.

Now standing a few feet away was one of the very same men with platinum blond hair that you were trying so actively to purge out of your mind. You had never admitted it to anyone else out loud, but secretly you did favor one brother more than the others... the slight mannerisms and the way that he held himself causing many obsessive dreams on lonely nights.

And here he was... alone... the closest he has ever been.

"Hi." You greeted dumbly, not even confident enough to say his name. Your eyes flickered from the ground back to his face before holding out your chocolate. "Kit-kat?"

His face remained neutral as he reached out and broke off a section from the bar, eyeing you up and down more properly than before.

"You know my name." He remarked before biting the chocolate wafer in half and slightly gestured his chin towards you. "Yours?"

You told him, a bit surprised that he didn't seem to know it after that disaster of a confrontation. Had he not read through the accusations? Or if you were such an unnoteworthy person to him, why was he here... talking to you?

He's going to kill you, you pervert.

"Do you eat?" Just as you were preparing to plea pathetically for your life, you were instead caught completely offguard. Confusion overtook you as your eyebrows furrowed as you tried to understand the question.

"Eat? You mean like... eat food?" You asked slowly, mind going completely blank as you watched him pop the rest of the wafer in his mouth and chew slowly. Even with something so small, your knees were going weak at the close proximity. You shook your head gently to refocus, dangerous thoughts like these were what got you into trouble in the first place. "Um, I guess? Yes?"

"Good. Six o'clock, pervers." He declared firmly with a stony expression before turning to walk away. Unintelligent noises of sputtering and half words left your mouth as you moved to walk with him, keeping a bit of a distance as you held your copies tightly against your chest.

"Six o'clock what?"

"You eat dinner, with me. Or I step on your neck, your choice." He said casually, eyes keeping straight ahead as he spoke... almost ignoring that you were even there.

"What? Where? Why?" Even though you were trying to whisper as you paced through the hall, your voice was rising in octaves as each question left your lips with little filter. He stopped his long stride abruptly, inadvertently causing you to flinch as he turned back to look at you. The slightest ghost of a smile toyed at his lips as he stared you down like a hunter with eyes on its game. You remained as still as humanly possible as he leaned down to speak in your ear.

"I will find you."

You watched him turn around once again and strut down the hallway like a man on a mission while you stood there, mouth gaping like a goldfish. He was coming for you, that much was certain... There was no where or time that you could possibly hide from the not-so-secret item of your affection.

Should you be horny or terrified?

Both. You decided. Both sounded good.

[pestopascal]

why are you defending cyberpunk so much? its a really buggy mess, it barely works on even some of the best pcs, they lied when they advertised it working on the ps5 but not ps4, and there were a ton of issues even before release happening with their social media team

my point is that people pick and choose when they wanna throw their arms up over the standard that is AAA gaming releases, and has been since prooooobably da2′s release (14 months to produce and release a game). maybe even earlier if you consider kotor2′s release (aka, given 11 months to make a game).

my point is that fallout 76 was an unplayable, game breaking, exploitative game riddled with many of the same issues. and i dont know anyone who continues to play it to this day but i know faaaaaar more people who refunded it or cancelled their orders just prior to launch because they didn’t want to brick their consoles.

my point is that one of the biggest blowbacks towards crunch was in regards to rockstar and red dead redemption 2′s release, a game which is now heralded as one of the best of all time, despite the way it treated everyone who worked on it. the moment it fixed everything, people forgot about just how hurt people working on that game were

my point is that skyrim is treated with this gentleness and fondness for dragons flying backwards and giants leaping into the sky and glitched quests (and how trophies, still to this day, sometimes will never work so you will have to put in another 100+ hour playthrough to be able to MAYBE get something). the irony in sony going after cp77 but STILL not forcing companies to fix broken quest lines

remember daa, with the silver mines? how if you happen to get that bug, that’s it. you basically have to restart. all ur items are gone, you can’t proceed. boom. bioware has never made an effort to fix it. they just released awakening as is, and proceeded onto their next project.

you also have to take into account that, okay sometimes they can’t pick up on all the glitches prior to testing like one or two are gonna slip through! but there’s a difference between that and a glitched out unplayable mess. cp77 honestly isnt unplayable, in fact it is one of the better games ive played at launch in a long time. do you know what gets these ppl notes and likes on the internet? blowing this shit out of proportion. in my 30+hrs of playing already, where im still just wandering around and picking up side missions and checking out clothes and whatever, sincerely have not seen half the shit ppl have said. not that it isnt true! the screenshots and vids are there! but people are piling it on, completely and totally, just for the sake of interest.

remember when mass effect andromeda dropped, and they had that beta test version that like journalists got to play, and how the models for cora and ryder had weird kind of motions and how sara ryder’s facial expressions are still a meme to this day? and how it kept getting piled on sooooooo much when it was like... not actually like that gameplay wise, and the story was quite nice, but who actually talks about that when you can talk about how bad the game looks ugh loading sequences ugh 360 head spins. fallout 4 had those weird smiles coming from npcs that are quite haunting, weren’t fixed.

you can actually tell that cdpr paid attention to writing a story that works, the endings are cathartic and not 2edgy2bedifferent like me3′s fucking starchild bullshit. also speaking of games who spent so long in production their story fucked up: persona 5 and final fantasy 15 are examples of spending too long being worked on with the story that despite how good it looks, it is a vapid excuse of a game that you HAVE to play either sequels or the dlc to get the full brunt of it. remember persona 5′s advertising? COMING SUMMER 2013. final fantasy 15 was ff versus for the lonnnngggeeesssstttt time too before square enix took it upon themselves to fuck it up and then GET MAD when ppl pointed out the story was kind of shallow (and also “why arent you releasing ff7r already”)

oh and then we also have things like kingdom hearts 3, which was quite frankly? awful and was FULL of corporations just getting their hands on it and doing whatever with it story wise (disney wanted frozen to feature so bad they intervened completely). borderlands 3 which keeps messing with the dlc and im amazed they even keep trying. bl3 was the sequel no one asked for, because it had no idea what it was doing. it was setting up to a story that i think very few ppl are now interested in.

yes cdpr lied. yes there are issues with their social media team. who do you actually blame though? the investors? corporations like sony and microsoft who no doubt wanted the game released as well? project managers, their bosses, the CEO? shareholders? fans who wanted the game now instead of putting up with another delay because lets be real: if a company needs to delay the game, they need to delay the game. its a demand and supply thing going on and the ppl who sit behind desks just see numbers they dont give a fuck about the people and we all know this. it fucking sucks.

this is not the first company, this is just the most public blowup because this game was teased in 2012 and people have held out for years and i get it! i do! ive been waiting for this game for years as well. and we can argue about how you shouldnt preorder games or not play stuff at launch or like how you should already have the latest console that has been sold out since it was announced and wont arrive in your country until march ! this can go back and forth and we can talk circles around cdpr but the point is: this isnt the first instance of it. it wont be the last.

if sony actually gave a fuck, they would review every single goddamn game that has been released to this day and has had bug reports. they dont. this is to clear up their public image. these companies truly dont give a fuck. bethesda admits to relying on fans to make their games playable with modding and to ALSO keep track of their story because it doesnt matter to them.

[afterspark-podcast]

G1 Episode 43: Transcript

[This can also be found on AO3!]

[Stinger]

O: This is not an exaggeration, everybody dies.

[Intro Music]

O: Hello, and welcome to the Afterspark Podcast, an episode by episode recap of the Generation 1 Transformers cartoon. I'm Owls!

S: And I'm Specs.

O: And today we're going to be talking about episode number 43: The Golden Lagoon. Let's talk about giant robots today, shall we?

S: Yep.

O: And today we open with the Autobots walking along a beach and Perceptor finding a rock.

S: And proceeding to nerd out about said rock and its unique properties.

O: The rock has both elements of gold and silver in it.

S: We've struck it rich!

O: [Laughter] 

S: Blitzwing orders Thrust and Ramjet to attack the group of Autobots looking at Perceptors rock, so, yeah, these guys have been lurking somewhere in the background.

O: I have to ask you- or- do they want the gold and silver? Because my good dudes, you just need to sell some, like, patents and shit and you'd be probably all set money-wise. 

S: Bragging rights, maybe? I mean, these guys seem like the sort of dudes that would just go and pick up a mini bot and, like, shake him upside down to get his lunch money.

O: Okay, but you just imagine they basically go back to base they're like, “We stole Perceptor's rock!” 

S: Well, possibly, “We stole Perceptor.”

O: Well, yes, I know but I'm just imagining him just stealing the rock. So, uh, Powerglide takes to the air to fight Thrust.

S: Meanwhile, Ramjet can't win in a fight against a hoverboat, as Seaspray both outmaneuvers him and drives him into the drink.

O: Then we get some tank-on-tank action as Blitzwing takes on Warpath.

S: Oh, Preceptor calls for Beachcomber's aid but apparently Beachcomber has bailed on this fight. I mean, the vibes were just getting him down, man.

O: Beachcomber exits some sort of cave that he apparently entered and then basically enters a lush, verdant hidden glade he calls a paradise.

S: I want to know why no one can see this from the air because this is very visible from the air- you can see the sky.

O: Yeah, like there- and I think what makes this even funnier is, like, at the start of this fight there were literally no less than four fucking planes in the air. 

S: Yep, so our robotic Dr. Dolittle, Beachcomber, speaks birb, fox, deer, bunny, and, somehow, armadillo. 

O: He's even able to pet the deer. I- do you know how skittish those fuckers are?

S: Super skittish. Beachcomber ignores his communicator and investigates a nearby small lake. A small, suspiciously colored lake. 

O: There's no good way to be delicate about this, guys. It's urine colored. 

S: Beachcomber, throwing caution and common sense to the wind, dips his entire hand into it. 

O: It turns gold and he exclaims that, “It's electrum!”

S: We'll get back to this later.

O: [Laughter] Moving right along.

S: Back in the fray, Ramjet gets his revenge coming out of the water underneath Seaspray.

O: The two tanks have to unbury themselves from the sand they have, apparently, inadvertently got buried in.

S: Yep, it looks like everyone's having a pretty bad beach day all around.

O: And then the ground around Beachcomber, in his said hidden glade, begins shaking and he transforms and heads back into the tunnel that he had entered the glade from.

S: Surprised that, uh, things didn't end badly for any of the critters, but I think he would have been very distraught.

O: Probably.

S: As if prophesized, Thrust spots the lake from the air and lands to examine it.

O: He decides he wants to be the shiniest and dives into the lake, turning him completely gold.

S: The Midas touch of robots and also how deep is this stupid thing?

O: Oh, yes, we get- we comment on that later. [Laughter] Beachcomber makes it back and Perceptor is understandably a little frustrated that he had bailed in the middle of a freaking fight.

S: Seaspray is able to shoot Ramjet down but Thrust arrives, seemingly invulnerable, with his fancy new gold coating.

O: None of which stops Perceptor from trying to shoot him with his handy-dandy hand missile.

S: The Autobots attempt different attacks against Thrust but eventually flee, leaving Perceptor and Seaspray behind. 

O: Thrust miraculously grows what we can only describe as claws and then scoops Perceptor up while in jet mode and flies off with him.

S: It's honestly pretty silly looking, if I remember right.

O: Yeah, it looked pretty silly. 

S: Yeah, Perceptor and Seaspray are brought to the Con base. Megatron gloats and Thrust is like, “Hey, guys, I found a ton of electrum.”

O: And then Starscream says he needs proof of Thrust’s claim but Megatron responds with, “I don't care what you need.” You know, it's been a while since I was- I feel like it's been a while since when you've seen these two idiots bicker like this.

S: Yeah, because they didn't really do it during the, um, shoot, the Constructicon brainwashing thing.

O: Yeah, like, you know, normally, I felt like that was a situation where they'd start bickering but instead Megatron was like, “No, no, no, sweetie, we've got an escape route.”

S: [Laughter] Yep, so, yeah, Megatron and Starscream bicker further as they arrive at the electrum fountain.

O: Megatron volunteers Starscream as the first test subject for the electrum.

S: Starscream seems, you know, quite hesitant, dipping one foot into the water until Megatron tells him to, “Go!” And then Starscream proceeds to jump in like a six-year-old: holding his nose and doing a weirdly adorable cannonball. 

O: It is very, very stupidly cute.

S: Mm-hmm.

O: And then Starscream exits and I'm pretty sure Megatron just wanted an excuse to shoot him in the face here.

S: Yeah, yeah I totally agree and, like Thrust, Starscream is invulnerable, even to fusion cannon blasts once he's got his shiny gold coat.

O: The other two Seekers and Megatron jump into the hole, too.

S: And once they're all back out they all proceed to shoot each other to test out their invulnerability.

O: In a shot that truly looks like a rave party.

S: It does- like, there's lots of lasers and glowy lights and everyone's just kind of flailing around like twits. 

O: And it really cracks me up because, I swear to god, the first thing that happens when Megatron gets out of the pool is Starscream shoots him in the face and laughs. 

S: The poor animals are cowering as all of these shots bounce off the Cons and bounce out into the glade itself doing, you know, lots of damage.

O: As you would expect from giant robot fucking lasers. Elsewhere, a group of Autobots prepare a rescue mission.

S: The group is comprised of Warpath, Powerglide, Smokescreen, Beachcomber, and Mirage. 

S: Beachcomber has not told anyone about the electrum spring and is hiding his gold hand. Then, of course, we cut back to the Cons who, we see, have all taken a dip in the electrum.

S: When giant robots go swimming does this count as skinny dipping? Are they now considered to be wearing something if it's a coating?

O: I just have one thing to say to you: GOLDMEMBER!!!

S: Oh god. So all of these, you know, spruced up Cons attack the rescue party.

O: Obviously the Decepticons continue to not take any fucking damage right now.

S: Yep, Mirage turns invisible and heads back for some reinforcements and then, uh, Smokescreen generates smoke and Megatron shows off his problem-solving skills.

O: With enough bullets you can solve anything! Or at least hit Smokescreen in his cloud of smoke.

S: Yep, and the entire group of Autobots is captured, save for Mirage who did make it back to base and rallied reinforcements.

O: The Autobot reinforcements don't seem to be too worried about the invulnerable Cons at all with Sunstreaker's response boiling down to, “Hit them harder!”

S: Yep, he's not thinking with his head there, is he? He's taken out almost immediately and ends up upside down in car mode.

O: So I'd say he didn't hit them very hard, wouldn't you?

S: Well, did more damage to him.

O: So, as their shots continue to bounce off the cons, Beachcomber says that, “They found the Golden Lagoon!”

S: That's not a lagoon. A lagoon really needs to be connected to an oc- to the ocean or some other body of water. I mean, that was a glorified puddle.

O: At best. 

S: Yeah.

O: At the Decepticon base, Starscream is mugging for the camera, singing the praises of electrum.

S: Seaspray and Perceptor, as entertainment, are made to fight each other.

O: Soundwave’s like, “Yo, this is not sanctioned by HR,” to Starscream. 

S: You did not do the paperwork or get the approval for this, Starscream, at all.

O: Nope. And Starscream just sort of waves him off and doesn't seem to care what Megatron's gonna think.

S: Soundwave leaves the room presumably to report Starscream’s aft for HR violations.

O: The few remaining Autobots then ask Omega Supreme for help while Beachcomber heads back to the lagoon.

S: Perceptor and Seaspray shoot out a wall and attempt to escape but are stopped at the elevator when Megatron exits with Blitzwing and Beachcomber.

O: Because if we didn't specify before, Beachcomber got captured when he returned to the lagoon.

S: Yeah.

O: Megatron gets pissy at Starscream for his insubordination and says that he gets the honor of getting chucked into battle against Omega Supreme first. 

S: Even Omega Supreme's blasts are unable to damage the Cons, unfortunately.

O: So, really wasn't much of a punishment. Megatron wants to finish Omega off personally and considering he and Starscream are bickering this episode it's Soundwave that gets the honor this time- go around.

S: Yep, one shot from Megatron's alt mode knocks Omega on his back. 

O: When we return from the commercial break Starscream is standing on top of Omega Supreme, like a big game hunter after a kill. 

S: Yeah, Starscream does not have much in the way of taste.

O: Taste, tact, subtlety... 

S: Yeah, back at the Autobot base, Teletraan I warns the Autobots about electrum and Optimus orders survey teams to be sent out to find it.

O: Powerglide drags his ass out of the water back onto the beach from the beginning of the episode and spots the Cons flying to the Golden Lagoon.

S: He reports back to Prime and then we cut to the Decepticon base.

O: Megatron tells Starscream he can do whatever he wants with the Autobot prisoners. 

S: Skywarp enters Beachcomber’s cell but Beachcomber gets the drop on him and incapacitates both him and Thundercracker... Beachcomber: stealth geologist. Because he was- he was, like, clinging to the ceiling?

O: Like, my boy, you got skills!

S: He does, he does.

O: He then releases Perceptor and Seaspray and they attempt another escape.

S: And at this point they have stolen, uh, some null rays or... the guns the Seekers wear on their arms.

O: Yeah. 

S: This time they succeed because Seaspray is very well suited to be in the water.

O: And the three arrive back at the golden puddle just in time for Longhaul to dump a bunch of empty barrels on Dirge and tell him to fill them up.

S: Everyone's pushing work on everyone else. Dirge is not happy about being left to guard the electrum by himself but he doesn't get very much time to explain or complain about anything as Seaspray pulls him into the bushes.

O: All the scientists are feral this episode and I, for one, love it. 

S: Yup. Perceptor and Seaspray steal both of his guns. 

O: Thankfully, Optimus and co arrive just afterwards. 

S: Then it's time for the ~Autobot pool party!~

O: As they, too, jump in and get all glammed up.

S: The Decepticons realize they've been duped when the Ark is empty and filled with dummies and not even the interesting moving, clothed dummies that, like, were at the beginning of the series.

O: And, no, not the Dinobots, either. 

S: Yep, I think they'd get along with, um, Beachcomber. though.

O: I would hope so, I don't know if we ever really see them interact though?

S: I don't, either, I just- I think they would get along- I think that would be a fun team up to watch.

O: Yeah. 

S: Ah, so the Decepticons turn around and head back for the Golden Lagoon only to arrive to find some glammed out Autobots, including a whole-ass Omega Supreme.

O: I don't even know how they managed that.

S: I guess the water must be really deep because he comes straight out of it.

O: I guess?

S: Or crouched in it?

O: It does not make any sense. Uh, predictably, a fight ensues. Of course, no one's shots are doing anything and further bouncing off of them.

S: And lighting the surviving enviro- the surrounding environment on fire, that wasn't already trashed.

O: The electrum on the Decepticons begins to wear off and the battle changes in favor of the Autobots.

S: Yep. Megatron, much like a toddler, decides that if the Cons can't have the lagoon then they're going to blow it the shit up on their way out. Ah, this reveals that the lagoon was pretty wide but honestly not that deep. Like it certainly wasn't deep enough for Omega Supreme to go sit in it or, frankly, I don't even think that, like, Starscream should have been able to like dive in there?

O: Yeah, I don't know what was going on with this, but the Cons retreat and we end with Beachcomber looking very sad in the destroyed glade.

S: And the music that's happening here really does not match the somber mood.

O: Yeah, because it sounds, like, hopeful and kind of happy. You know, normal end-of-the-episode music.

S: Yeah.

O: That's it for this episode so join us next time for Quest for Survival!  Where Autobots are in desperate need of a gardener and poor Cosmos is stuck in a very unfortunate situation.

S: Yep, some things need some trimming and poor Cosmos is a bit- a bit caught in the middle, yeah. So, today we have two fanfic recommendations. The first is “Favorable Contributions” by Tiamatschild, which is set in the G1 cartoon continuity. It's rated K, it's Gen (more or less) but pairing-wise: it's a Beachcomber and Perceptor, and our characters are Beachcomber and Perceptor. In summary, “Knowing Beachcomber is fraught with peril. Embarrassing peril.”

O: [Laughter]

S: So, yeah, uh, the theme here is it's Beachcomber in nature! Sometimes embarrassing. And it's a one shot. This was something that I read a while ago and it's- it's cute and it's fun and there may or may not be an alligator involved. Or possibly a crocodile? Giant robots getting treed by a big reptile, anyway.

O: Well, we know- do know giant reptiles are their biggest weakness if the dinosaur episode where the Decepticons were getting mowed down is any indication.

S: Yeah, very much so. And the second recommendation is “One Step At A Time” by one_starry_night. Continuity: it's a G1 cartoon continuity, it's rated K, Gen, there are no pairings and the characters are Beachcomber, Perceptor, Powerglide, Warpath, and Seaspray, though Seaspray doesn't really say anything, he's just hanging out. And this is specifically following the events of the Golden Lagoon. In summary, “Perceptor figures out a way to cheer Beachcomber up.” 

And I picked this one because it's an episode follow-up which- Beachcomber getting some closure would be nice.

O: Right!? Right!? Instead of him just being sad.

S: Yep. And this one is a one-shot, so let's go over to Owls.

O: All right! Our fanartist for today is Sarah Stone or Fayren, they do Prime the- the stuff I'm recommending, anyway, is mostly Prime fanart but they are actually an official artist from the IDW Windblade run which is very, very pretty if you have not seen it and I do recommend reading it. Um, Starscream is a bastard but hopefully you're used to that at this point.

S: Yeah.

O: Um, as I said we've only linked some Prime fan arts. Uh, we have a collection of Decepticons in glasses.

S: Nice.

O: And then we have a humanformer Soundwave which might be my favorite humanformer Soundwave design. It's his design from Prime and he kind of looks like a weird sci-fi mage-y thing. It looks neat. Uh, complete with a- with an actual bird Laserbeak. And then, uh, we have Ratchet and, uh, Knock Out in a fight. 

S: Knock down, drag out doctor fight.

O: Apparently.

S: Yeah, they just they both look like they're going to trash each other.

O: Oh yeah, she is a fayrenpickpocket on Deviantart and IInstagram. She is just fayren on Twitter and then on Tumblr- her Tumblr is monsterboysandrobots although, be warned, she has not updated there in over two years, so. I think she's still fairly active on Instagram and Twitter, if you do want to follow her, I would check there first. Any other links will be available on our Tumblr.

S: Yep, and just- I would like to note that her colors are gorgeous.

O: They are. I-I was trying to figure out because I couldn't remember if she did the colors for the Windblade run or if somebody else was the colorist. We can't remember but the colors are super gorgeous in the Windblade run. It's part of why it's so pretty.

S: Yes.

O: Um, so if she didn't do it, whoever the colorist was for that one did a fantastic job.

S: Yeah.

O: Also, you know, just side mention, the cutest Waspinator in existence is in that run, I just want you all to know this.

S: She does have a very cute Waspinator.

O: He's a fuzzy boy!

S: And that just about wraps it up for us today.  Remember to check us out on Tumblr or Pillowfort as Afterspark-Podcast for any additional information, show notes, or links we may have mentioned.  You can also find us on Facebook and Twitter at AftersparkPod (all one word) and various other locations by searching for Afterspark Podcast such as AO3, iTunes, Spotify, and Youtube, just to name a few.  And feel free to send us questions on Tumblr, Youtube, or AO3!  Till next time, I'm Specs.

O: I’m Owls.

S: Toodles.

[Outro Music]

[tcheschirewrites]

Hhhhhh and because I am In A Good Place right now, let’s have a little bonus short. You want to know what Justin and Jen have been up to, those two wiliest of snakes, while RC and Dick have been in Japane? Well, let’s find out!

(Considering the length - I accidentally 1.7k - and technically it’s plot-advancing, I guess we can consider this chapter 20.5? lol)

The dim lighting of so many of the gastropubs in the city gave him a headache. Like, sure. He understood the ambiance, along with the pulsing music at just a few decibels shy of a migraine, and yes, all right, he had spent his fair share of time in joints with far lower lighting and beats with far deeper bass, but in his regular day to day, the need to hobknob frustrated him.

Justin adjusted his tie, tugging it further away from his Adam’s apple.

From her seat across the table, texting Richard or checking her emails or scrolling Instagram or whatever it was she was doing when she was pretending she wasn’t paying attention, Jennifer scowled at him. She reached over to him, fussing lightly with his lapels, the creases of his shirt against his slouched posture.

“Stop doing that,” she chided, sliding the knot of the tie back to its position against his throat. “Can you seriously not keep still for two hours? You’re incredible.”

“This is what happens when I don’t have you to take care of me Jen,” he groused, discreetly loosening his tie just slightly when she looked away for half a moment.

“Can it,” she replied, sipping neatly from her water. “I think I see him coming.”

Out of reflex, Justin tightened his tie, running a hand over his hair. “You’re sure we’ve got everything we need this time?”

Jen glanced back at him over her shoulder, her eyes aglow in the low lighting of the restaurant, reminding him so very much of the Jennifer he had met during university, and his chest ached. “Oh yeah,” she said, and her tone was so self-assured he allowed himself a glimmer of a real smile.

His father strode up to the table, seating himself without waiting for a greeting. “I’ve spoken with Mr. Kaiba. His terms are outstanding. I hope you’ve decided as one that this acquisition is well within business interests?”

Justin was practiced at swallowing the dark bile of his father’s reptilian cruelty – Jen less so, though her tenure as a legal counselor had left her well equipped to don the proper mask for the situation. “You know, pops, we have. We’ve spoken with Dick Grant and our Chief Marketing Officer, and we all agreed that a total sale at these terms was an offer we couldn’t refuse.”

“Justin, you know I don’t abide movie references.”

Raising his hands in a gesture of surrender, mostly to field Jennifer leaping across the table to strangle his father, Justin allowed himself a chuckle. “I know, old man, but I think you’ll find it’s appropriate, considering the situation. We nailed that Japanese bastard hook, line, and sinker.”

“That’s wonderful news. I’ve read the proposal, and the extra numbers packet you provided me earlier. Third Star stands to make quite a bit of money from the sale of the market shares.”

“Fuck yeah, they do.” Justin’s lips curled into a grin at the furrow in his father’s brow. He knew exactly what was going through the scaly fucker’s mind – Justin had never been so crass in his presence before, never stooped so low as to be anything but formal in front of James. “As my C Suite are majority shareholders, I’m real happy for the decision they made. Gonna net them a shitload of a nest egg. And you know what? They earned it.”

There was an intense silence, obstructed only briefly by the server swinging by the table to gather a drink order from James only to be met with a brusque wave of his hand; he did not take his eyes off of his son’s face.

The silence lasted a beat longer, then; “You mean you earned it. Second-person plural. As CEO of the company, you’ve invested in the largest amount of shares – “

“Ahhh, yeah,” Justin cut him off smoothly, leaning back against the booth and threading his fingers to a basket behind his head. “About that.”

Jennifer stepped in here, digging into her bag for a brief moment before retrieving a manila folder. “I’m sorry to say, Mr. Carriger, sir, but Justin is actually no longer eligible to his rights as a shareholder in the event of a buyout.”

James did not take his eyes from Justin’s face. “You don’t say.”

“Mm.” She flicked open the folder expertly, spreading a couple of key documents over the table before situating herself back into her chair, taking another dainty sip of her water. “In the company bylaws, section thirteen article D, in the event of a buyout, any shareholder who has brought direct hard to an employee must forfeit the market value of those shares.”

The disgust in James’ eyes was palpable, and here he finally turned away from his son with a curl of his lip, rounding his attention to Jennifer. “I think you must be forgetting section sixteen, article B, that any executive who has lost their shares in the event of an accident will cede the market value of those shares to their next of kin.”

“Accident?” Jennifer batted her lashes at him, playing coy, playing dumb in a way that Justin knew she had learned in her years at law school and had only heard about second-hand. “Which accident are we talking about, sir?”

Verging on the edge of his patience, James replied, “The train accident – now, Justin is not directly responsible for the accident on the KaibaCorporation bullet train, but it can be acknowledged that his decisions as Chief Executive Officer are what led to your fiancé and that poor woman’s injuries. It’s my understanding they did not seek extraordinary compensation, and their dedication to the company is to be acknowledged, but – “

Jennifer let out a cooing laugh, grating and pretty and eminently false. “Oh, no, sir. To my understanding, neither party involved in the train accident in Domino were seeking punitive damages for their injuries. But that has absolutely no bearing on the sexual assault your son was involved in earlier this week with his subordinate, the Chief Marketing Officer of Third Star Gaming.”

Justin had to hand it to her: he had never seen his father so speechless, and even from his position as an observer, he had to crack a smile.

“He what.”

The smile plastered on Jennifer’s face widened, all glimmering teeth and threatening promise. “Oh yes, sir. It was reported to me only hours after it occurred, and I confirmed it with the victim shortly thereafter. Her statement is here, if you care to read it. I had it transcribed this afternoon for your convenience.”

From the mutinous look on James’ usually cool face, he did not care to read it. His cheeks began to spot with red, and Justin thought he saw his father’s pulse jump in his neck.

He retained his composure, though, turning back to his son, who raised his brows and shoulders in a gesture of feigned helplessness. “I find it difficult to believe that you would be so careless as to let your libido get the better of you, Justin. At such a critical juncture.”

The accusation was plain, and Justin said nothing, nodding briefly at Jen.

“Now, as you are aware, sir, pursuant to article 13 section D is the following addendum – “ She cleared her throat before continuing; “’If any executive person or persons from party A – that is, Third Star, as specified in line two of the company bylaws – bring egregious bodily harm or otherwise inflict considerable pain and suffering, then during the event of a complete corporate acquisition those shares would not transfer to next of kin (see: article ten, section K et al), but would instead be split amongst the remaining executives of party A.”

Jennifer smiled prettily at his father, and Justin had to admire the irony of the picture. “Now, I’m sure you’d agree that a confessed sexual assault falls into the category of both bodily harm and pain and suffering, but – “ She paused here to dig into her purse for another manila folder, this time much thicker, and slapped it onto the table in front of James with such force that the silverware rattled. “Even if you don’t agree, it’s all right, because we’ve checked with insurance and HR.”

James did not move, instead staring at the thick folder before him with such intensity that Justin thought it might catch fire. Finally, he raised his sharp blue eyes to his son’s face, and Justin had to wonder at the electricity in those eyes – eyes he had so long been spellbound by, locked into place by some wretched sense of duty.

“You son of a bitch.”

Under any other circumstances, Justin would have seized the other man by his collar, throttled him, laid him out with a cold cock to the nose – but considering the situation, he could only laugh. “Hey, now, I don’t think it’s right to speak that way about the dead. I dunno about Irish culture, but I know for sure mom’s people wouldn’t like you talking about her that way.”

“I’m not talking about her, you raving buffoon. I’m talking about you. You absolutely incompetent monkey. What on earth were you thinking?”

What was he thinking? He’d had a primer on the bylaws when his father had installed him as CEO of this venture, but after the train accident in the spring, Jennifer had sat him down and gone over them with him in depth, and he realized how stupid everything was. How so little was dictated by fate, and how if he wanted to have any say, he would have to seize control of what little he had. There was no evidence to support his deepest of thoughts, of course, the suspicions and conspiracies he’d concocted in the middle of the night when only his bottle of cheap tequila was there to keep him company.

But he’d had a gut feeling like this before.

And this time, he would not allow someone he loved to die for it.

“What can I say dad?” he finally said, spreading his hands wide into a shrug, his grin turning sharp. “I never was good with your money.”

[artificialqueens]

Stupid For You, Chapter 9 (Crygi, Jankie) - Metaluna

Chapter summary: After the day from Hell, Crystal and Gigi have an important conversation.

Being a happy person is something that Crystal prided herself in. No matter what, she always tried to have a positive outlook on life, even when Ryan was bad to her, or when her parents weren’t around. She could always look on the bright side of life.

That was until she and Gigi fought. She’d never felt such negativity in her eighteen years. Just when she thought it couldn’t get any worse, Brita’s party happened, which led to Vomitgate. Vomitgate was singlehandedly the worst thing that had ever happened to her social life. Now, she couldn’t go to work without someone whispering about her in the breakroom. Everywhere she went, someone was there to make her feel embarrassed, usually people she didn’t even know.

While she sat in the breakroom, she saw a girl that Gigi worked with, whose name she thought to be Dahlia, whispering to some girl Crystal didn’t recognize. The moment Crystal looked in their direction, the other girl shushed Dahlia and they both laughed.

Finally she had enough.

“What the hell is wrong with you?” Crystal demanded.

“Excuse me?” the girl asked coolly.

“I know you and everyone else in this fucking park is talking shit about me.”

Dahlia rolled her eyes. “We’ve got good reason to.”

“Are you kidding? You can’t tell me you haven’t been messy at some point. In fact, I’ve heard stories. I know you’re messy.”

Dahlia sat dumbfounded as Crystal turned her back.

“Hey, girl,” Heidi said as she sat across from Crystal.

Crystal grunted in acknowledgement.

“Don’t pay attention to them.”

“What’s wrong with them?” Crystal whined.

“I don’t know. I know for a fact Miss Dahlia over there definitely got sick at my party and completely missed the toilet,” Heidi said staring at Dahlia, making sure she’d heard every word.

As Crystal lay her head on the table, groaning dramatically, she felt her phone buzz.

Gigi.

Heidi saw the shock on Crystal’s face. “It’s not your boyfriend, is it?”

She shook her head. “Gigi.”

Raising an eyebrow, Heidi said, “Oh, shit. What’s it say?”

Crystal read the text aloud to Heidi.

Hey. I know youve been going through it, and that really sucks. Id like to talk things through if youre down

Crystal’s thumbs couldn’t move fast enough.

oh my god its so good to hear from you. yea things have been Awful… i definitely wanna talk when are you free??

“She wants to talk about things,” Crystal said to Heidi, as she feverishly tapped her fingers on the table anxiously awaiting Gigi’s response.

Okay awesome! Im soft closing tonight, so Im off at 8. Games is off at 8 at the latest right? Meet me at the ferris wheel.

“Wait, why does she want to meet at the Ferris wheel?” Crystal asked, looking up from her phone to Heidi.

“The grand tradition,” Heidi said dramatically. “Anytime there’s any grief with two people at the Isle, you take a ride on the Ferris wheel to talk it out. Mainly because the two of you are stuck together, so you either sit awkwardly or talk through your shit.”

“That’s… weird. Okay.”

Crystal quickly typed up a response..

ill be there!!!!

Crystal felt relieved. Things were finally turning around. Or so she’d hoped.

Later on, Crystal’s shift at the ring toss game was interrupted by a middle-aged mother’s tirade at not winning a single time. “Can’t I just buy the prize?”

Normally Crystal was sympathetic, but considering it was the third time that day and she was already having a terrible day, her responses were short, much like her temper. “No. You have to win the game.”

“You’re ruining my little Lucy’s day!” the woman motioned to her little devil spawn.

“Sorry,” Crystal mumbled.

“I know you probably don’t give a fuck and probably don’t even want to be here, but you’re literally ruining our vacation! We paid good money to be here and now I can’t even win this fucking game? Are you serious?”

Crystal shrugged as she accidentally let out the yawn she was holding in.

“Young lady, you are being extremely rude!”

“I can call my supervisor if you want,” Crystal offered, taking the radio off her belt.

“No. I’m going straight to guest relations.”

“It’s to your left as you leave the park.”

Just as the woman turned to leave, the woman turned around and spat in Crystal’s face. At first, Crystal was in such a state of shock she didn’t realize what happened. By the time she processed it, she let out a scream.

Thankfully, Widow stopped the woman from leaving as Ben called Brooke who came out to handle the situation almost instantly. Before long, there were two security guards who came to escort the angry woman and her child out of the park.

Just as on her first day, Brooke comforted Crystal. “Are you okay, honey?”

Hot tears ran down Crystal’s face as she shook her head. “No.”

“Let’s get you out of here.”

Brooke led Crystal back into the money room. As Brooke gave Crystal a bottle of water, the floodgates opened. Every single negative emotion Crystal had been feeling the past couple of months rose to the surface. She couldn’t remember the last time she’d cried this hard.

“Let it out, honey,” Brooke rubbed Crystal’s shoulders.

“I’m sorry,” Crystal apologized. “I’m sorry you’re stuck taking care of me again.”

Brooke smiled compassionately. “I like taking care of you all. It’s kind of why I do this.”

Crystal wiped her eyes. “Really?”

She nodded and hesitated before she continued. “I feel like there’s something else going on. Being spat on is disgusting, but I feel like just from what I’ve seen with you interacting with guests and just in general, you aren’t yourself right now, are you?”

This only made Crystal cry harder.

“Deep breaths. Talk to me.”

Once she caught her breath, Crystal told Brooke everything. Starting from her fight with Gigi, ending with Vomitgate, she put everything on the table.

“Vomit…gate?” Brooke questioned. “Okay. Well. That’s terrible. I’m sorry your peers are being so immature. I can try to say someth–”

“No!” Crystal shouted. “Sorry… I mean… that’s not necessary.”

“Don’t worry about it. Also, Crystal, every season I feel like there’s a new host who just has the worst luck with guests, and it’s always the gentlest souls, too. I’m sorry to say that it’s you this season.”

“Oh fucking great,” Crystal muttered. “Sorry.”

“I don’t fucking care if you swear,” Brooke said laughing. “But, because that woman did spit on you, which is considered as an act of violence. So, I’m going to need to take you to HR and you’re going to have to file a report.”

Brooke immediately saw the panic on Crystal’s face.

“You aren’t in trouble, not by any means, Crystal. It’s just to make sure that this is on record. Do you want to press charges?”

Immediately, Crystal shook her head. “No. That’s okay.”

“Are you sure?”

Crystal nodded.

Once Crystal managed to stop crying, Brooke grabbed a Kleenex to fix Crystal’s makeup, and led them to the HR building. Crystal hadn’t been to the HR building since orientation on her first day.

Brooke led her into the room where park orientation was held. Instead of there being rows of chairs, there was a table with two office chairs on either side. A woman who looked like she shopped exclusively in the clearance section of TJ Maxx with a tall stack of papers in front of her was sitting on one side.

“Do you want me to stay?” Brooke offered.

“Yes, please,” Crystal whispered as she sat across from the woman.

“You must be Crystal,” the woman began. “I’m Monique. Please, sit.”

Crystal pursed her lips and didn’t say anything. Brooke, who was sitting next to her rubbed her back in reassurance. “Yes.”

“Do you want to tell me what happened today?”

No. “Yes, ma’am.”

“Okay. Start from the beginning. I’m just going to write what you say, okay?”

Crystal nodded. “So… I was at the game–”

“Which game?” Monique interrupted. “Sorry. You have to be as thorough as possible.”

“It’s okay. I was at the ring toss game today at like 2:30. This woman and her kid come up to play, and they lose, and she gets pi–…. Mad at me and starts yelling at me like the guests normally do. Maybe I could have been a little bit warmer with my responses… Whatever. Anyway. I asked if she wanted to talk to Brooke, and she said no, she’s going to HR. I told them where it was, since it’s kind of hidden, you know? I think she thought I was being cocky or something. Next thing I know, she spits in my face.”

“What do you mean, could have been warmer in your responses?”

Crystal sighed. “I don’t know. I was nice to her like I always am. But usually I listen more? I don’t know.”

“Did you say anything with malicious intent?”

“ What? No! I just… kind of wasn’t super into my responses.”

“What do you mean ‘into’?”

“I just kinda was monotone with it, I guess? Which, like, I know isn’t good, but I had a bad day and–” Crystal cut herself off as she felt tears forming. Brooke noticed immediately as she slipped her a Kleenex.

“We strive for excellent guest service here.”

“I know,” Crystal whined. “I just…”

“I think that she’s given you more than enough details, Ms. Hart,” Brooke said.

“Okay, okay. Can I just have you write everything you just told me?” She slid Crystal the stack of papers.

The sheer amount of paperwork was massive. There were so many spots to initial and sign that by the time she got to writing her statement, she felt like she couldn’t write anymore.

Monique rose. “I’ll leave you two to it. Just leave the statement when you’re done.”

“Crystal, hey, you’re okay. It’s okay. It’s a lot, but just write everything that happened. You don’t have to say that you weren’t as nice as you could be. I’m sure you were kind like you always are. Just write it as detailed as you can, okay?”  Brooke’s tone comforted Crystal as she began to write.

By the time Crystal finished writing her statement, she’d filled nearly all the lines on the paper. After signing her name one last time, she dramatically threw the pen down and stretched.

“Can we go back yet?” Crystal asked.

“Not quite yet,” Brooke said as she led Crystal to the back of the HR building.

“Why not?” she whined.

Wordlessly, Brooke led Crystal into a room she had to scan her badge to enter. The lights flickered a few times before coming in to reveal a breakroom that looked like it hadn’t been renovated since the park opened back in the eighties.

“You, my dear, need some ice cream.” Brooke went to the freezer and pulled out one of the overpriced ice cream bars that were sold to guests, which Crystal gratefully took.

“You’re the best,” Crystal said as she took a bite.

When she made it back to her game booth, Crystal was convinced her day was going to be better. If nothing else, she got to take a break for an hour and eat ice cream. It was going to be a good rest of the day, or so she thought.

On her second break, Crystal went into the restroom. As she locked the stall door, she heard a group enter. It was at least three people judging by the voices she could hear.

“Anyway yeah,” one of the voices began. “Gigi’s gotta hate her by this point. Those were some nice ass shoes she was wearing.”

“I thought they already hated each other? They never are with each other anymore. They were together so much,” a second voice said.

A third voice spoke up. “Yeah it was weird as fuck they were together so much you’d think they were dating or something.”

“I don’t know,” the second voice continued. “Either way, I’m glad Gigi’s not friends with her anymore. She’s annoying as fuck.”

“Right? The bitch doesn’t stop crying ever.” the first voice agreed. “Plus what’s up with her makeup? Sweetheart, the circus isn’t in town until next month.”

The other two laughed.

Of course her day wasn’t going to improve. Why would it? She knew that she shouldn’t let people’s words get to her. Crystal was used to being picked on for being eccentric. But with the day she’d already had, Crystal had enough.

Crystal forcefully slammed the stall door open. She didn’t even know the three girls, but vaguely recognized them as being in Dahlia’s gang. They were all standing in front of the sink fixing their makeup and hair. Crystal body checked one of the girls to get to the sink.

“What do you think you’re doing?” the girl jeered.

“Really? You’re going to talk all that shit about me and not even get the fuck out of my way? Next time you’ve got some shit to say, say it to my face, you cowards.”

When she got back from her break, she was visibly shaken. When Brooke made her rounds to check on everyone, she noticed just how upset Crystal looked. “Are you okay?”

Crystal shook her head.

“Today’s just not your day, is it, honey?”

“Nope.”

“Well,” Brooke began. “We’re overstaffed right now. Do you want to go home?”

This was music to Crystal’s ears. “Absolutely.”

“Go clock out. I’ll take care of it.”

In Crystal’s relief of leaving the hellhole that was work, she forgot all about meeting Gigi.

Gigi checked the time on her phone. It was 8:10. Five more minutes. She’d wait five minutes to see if Crystal would show. Gigi decided to not text Crystal, and decided that if she wanted to show up, she’d be there.

Five more minutes passed. As Gigi looked around The Boardwalk, there was no bright red hair to be seen. Maybe she just got held up. Gigi decided to give it another ten minutes, before giving up and defeatedly walking back to her Jeep.

Fuck you, Crystal.

Later that night, Gigi laid on her bed staring up at the ceiling wondering how she could let Crystal play with her emotions so much.

Just as she was about to wallow in her self-pity some more, her phone buzzed, notifying her that Jan was calling on Facetime.

“Hey, gorg!” Jan greeted, as she was lying in bed with Jackie.

“Hey guys,” Gigi said glumly.

“How’d it go?” Jackie asked.

“It… didn’t.”

Jan’s eyes widened. “She didn’t show up?”

Gigi shook her head as she felt herself starting to cry. “I’m so stupid.”

“Listen here, Gigi,” Jan began. “You are not stupid.”

“Did you text her?” Jackie asked.

“No, because I figured that if she really wanted to see me, I shouldn’t have to remind her,” Gigi explained. “But why do you think she didn’t want to see me?”

“I don’t know, Gigi,” Jan said. “Who knows what’s going on in that weird little brain of hers.”

Gigi plopped face down on her pillow as she screeched. “Fuck her. If she doesn’t want to talk to me, then it’s her loss. I don’t even care anymore.”

“You have to do what’s best for you,” Jackie said.

An alert informed Gigi she got a text. From Crystal.

“Fuck. It’s her,” Gigi squeaked.

“What did you say about not caring anymore?” Jan teased.

oh my god gigi i am so sorry you have no idea holy shit i had the worst day of my life. someone spit on me and i had to file a report and then these girls were talking about me and literally everything was terrible today to the point that my supervisor let me go home early and i came home and i fell right asleep and i just woke up like ten minutes ago and i feel terrible and you probably don’t want ot talk to me but oh my god gigi please im so sorry please please please talk to me

Gigi went back to the call as she reread the text. “And the impressive part is there was not a single punctuation mark in that entire text, and only one typo.”

“Wow,” Jackie said. “What are you going to do?”

“What should I do?”

Jan shrugged. “What do you think feels right?”

“I really still lo… like her a lot.  As a friend,” Gigi managed ro recover smoothly. “I don’t really want to ruin that.”

“Then tell her that,” Jan suggested.

Gigi carefully composed her response.

Wow that sounds…. terrible. Im really sorry that happened to you :(( I’m definitely still down to talk. Same place and time tomorrow?

Crystal texted back immediately.

ill be there.

After Jan hung up, she rested her head on Jackie.

“We’re good friends,” she said confidently.

“We are,” Jackie said as she kissed Jan’s cheek.

“I feel bad for them though.”

“I do too,” Jackie agreed.

“This feel selfish to say,” Jan began, “but even though they’re having a bad time, this is probably one of the best summers I’ve had in a while.”

Jackie smiled. “Do I have anything to do with that?”

“Baby, you have everything to do with it.” Jan snuggled closer to Jackie.

“Hey, Jan?” Jackie began nervously.

“Yes, Jackie?”

“I have to talk to you about something.”

Immediately, tears began to well in Jan’s eyes. “Do you not want to do this anymore?”

“What? No!”

“Then what?” Jan was near hysterics.

“Jan… This has been the best summer I’ve had in a while, too. And you’re the reason for that. Every second we spend together is the happiest I’ve been in a very long time. I spent so much time in high school planning the next step, but when I’m with you I live in the moment. I stop worrying.”

Jan didn’t say anything, so Jackie continued. “I know that we had a rocky start, and every day I regret that. I just want you to know that I’m ready.”

Jan looked up at Jackie. “Ready for what?”

Jackie was fairly certain that Jan knew exactly what Jackie meant. “Jan. I’m asking you to be my girlfriend.”

Jan remained silent.

“Jan?”

“Shh…” Jan closed her eyes and raised her hand in front of Jackie’s face.

Jackie raised an eyebrow. “Did you just shush me?”

“I want to remember this.”

“Remember… what?”

“I want to remember the second I became your girlfriend,” Jan said smiling.

“God, you’re dramatic, honey,” Jackie said rolling her eyes.

“You love it,” Jan teased.

The next day at work, Gigi couldn’t focus on anything. She desperately wanted for her shift to be over so that things could be right again.

Luckily for her, the park was busy since it was a weekend, and it had rained all day, so guests were taking shelter in the store which kept her busy. Gigi couldn’t sell overpriced plastic ponchos fast enough. She was so focused on meeting Crystal that a woman yelling at her for how cheaply made the ponchos were didn’t even register.

When it was time for Gigi to clock out, she couldn’t run fast enough. Quickly, she changed into whatever t-shirt and shorts she had in her work bag before making her way to The Boardwalk.

Gigi was surprised that she beat Crystal there, considering Crystal worked right next to the Ferris wheel. She tried to not think about it too much as she took a seat on a nearby bench. To pass the time, she anxiously bounced her knee up and down as she scrolled through social media. After what seemed like hours, she finally saw Crystal approach her.

Since it had just stopped raining and the outdoor rides had just started running again, there was no wait. As they stepped on the platform, Crystal said, “After you, my love.”

Gigi took a deep breath as she sat on the damp cabin of the Ferris wheel. Before Gigi could even fully sit down, words poured out of Crystal’s mouth so quickly she barely understood what she was saying.

“Gigi, I am so sorry. I didn’t mean to ruin your shoes… I know they were your favorite. I’m so embarrassed.”

“They’re just a pair of shoes, Crystal. Don’t worry about it.”

“Really?”

“Yes. Also, I’m really sorry that people are giving you such a hard time about it. Don’t listen to Dahlia or her little clique. They think they’re hot shit but everyone in Sales hates them. Even Jan won’t talk to them.”

“Damn. They must be bad considering that Jan would talk to a wall… Anyway, thanks Gigi. I’ll try. I don’t know what their problem is.”

Gigi shrugged and repeated, “Like I said, they think they’re hot shit.”

The two girls sat in an awkward silence as Gigi tapped her fingers against her thigh. Gigi hoped to God that Crystal would speak up before she did.

“About National Roller Coaster Day…” Crystal began. “Me going with Widow and Heidi instead of you guys wasn’t because I wanted to hurt your guys’ feelings or didn’t want to hang out with you. I miss you guys a lot. Anyway, I legitimately had no plans of going because Ryan was being needy. But, Widow showed up on my doorstep sobbing since her boyfriend broke up with her. I asked if going to the after-hours thing would cheer her up and she said it would. I made up some dumb excuse to Ryan and went with Widow and met up with Heidi. I was thinking about texting Jan that but I felt like it’d be weird to text her that, and I figured we wouldn’t run into each other, anyway.”

“And then we did.”

“And then we did,” Crystal sighed. “Gigi, please know there was no malicious intent with that one. I miss spending time with you.”

Gigi also sighed. “I miss our car rides.”

“No one else I know will listen to me sing One Direction the way you do.”

“I miss your coffee-making abilities,” Gigi admitted.

“We had some great times earlier in the season. But I had to go and ruin it. All of it.” Gigi didn’t say anything and let Crystal continue. “I should have never used any of what you told me against you. I don’t know why I did it.”

“You were pissed and said whatever came into your mind.”

Crystal sighed. “It’s still no excuse. I said some awful shit.”

“You did. I probably shouldn’t have insulted your boyfriend,” Gigi admitted.

Crystal sighed as tears formed in her eyes. “It’s… complicated.”

“I can’t even imagine,” Gigi said sympathetically as she looked at Crystal’s arm that had a bruise identical to the one Gigi found. “I know that you didn’t mean it. We all say stupid shit when we’re upset about stuff. Crystal, you don’t have a mean bone in your body. I hate seeing you this sad.”

“I feel like I’m such a bad person,” Crystal said, wiping her eyes.

“My mom told me this a while ago and it stuck. Crystal, bad people don’t think they’re bad people, and they sure as hell don’t try to become better people.”

“Your mom’s a smart lady.”

“She’s been through hell and back, that’s for sure.”

As the conversation dipped into another lull, the Ferris wheel reached the top. Admiring the cotton candy sky, Gigi thought long and hard about what she wanted to say next. She decided if she and Crystal were going to make their friendship work, everything had to be on the table.

Well, maybe not everything. Crystal didn’t have to know she was in love with her. But, Gigi figured Crystal should at least know the part of her she was hiding.

Slowly, the Ferris wheel reached the platform, and before Gigi could speak up, Crystal stepped out and held out her hand to help Gigi get out.

Shit.

[xmxisxforxmaybe]

Decryption_Error: “Out of Reach”

Summary: Mr. Robot protects Elliot when Y/N pushes too hard; she’s left to wonder if she’ll ever see the man she fell in love with again.  

A/N: My tech lingo is gibberish—don’t @ me, tech peeps, unless you want to rewrite my dialogue because that would be super cool 🙃

Decryption_Error: All Chapters

Word Count: 4000

Tags: @sherlollydramoine​ @rami-malek-trash​​ @teamwolf2411 @limabein​ @txmel​​ @alottanothing​ @ouatlovr @backoftheroomandnotbelonging​ @moon-stars-soul​​ @free-rami​ @ramimedley​ @hopplessdreamer​ @sweet-charmie @polarcrystall​​ @hah0106​ @clumsybookworm18​

Warnings: ANGST, shouting, aggressive posturing and grabbing/hurting (let me know if I need to warn for anything else)

It was the second Monday of March which meant it was time for a monthly status report. This was one of the hundreds of meetings I attended in which I usually had a razor-sharp focus because this was the part of my job I missed. I missed having a direct role in operations, subverting attempts at data breaches, and working on scripts that would improve day to day operations.

I looked around the table and my eyes settled on the new Senior Manager, although I guess I couldn’t call him “new” anymore. Tim Millner-Brown had already weathered three anonymous hacks and managed to keep everything (and everyone) calm.

Since Dad retired in January and this was now considered a transitory time, it was all the more important operations ran without hiccups. I fixed my gaze on JaLeah, then switched to Ali as he began to speak about a new script to assess WiFi network vulnerabilities. As I listened, my mind flashed back to the meeting Colin and I had with Ali to reprimand him and a wave of disgust prickled through me. I swore to Elliot that his attackers would pay, but here was Ali, confident and happy, leading Elliot’s team.

Tim interrupted Ali, asking, “Why can’t a two-way handshake be enough? Less connections, less chance for an attack?”

Ali was quiet before he said, “Let’s get Alderson to explain. He��s leading the work on the new script.”

Jayne returned after a few moments, Elliot following her like he had been summoned into the principal’s office. He scanned the room, his eyes lingering on mine until I gave him a quick smile, reassuring him he was here to do what he did best.

Tim redirected his question to Elliot who thought for a moment before clarifying, “A three-way handshake is necessary to avoid half-connections. If one ISN changes their mind and doesn’t want to connect, the server doesn’t see the re-sent SYN so it thinks the ISN got its ACK and the connection was established, but it wasn’t—it won’t ever be closed. If we can cut the time it takes for the GTK to associate with a device, we can cut the time a hacker has to gain an access point.

“Without compromising data flow,” he added.

This was not the same Elliot who was ready to quit a year ago rather than give a presentation. I felt a swell of pride at how far he had come, the confidence he had gained. All he needed was someone to believe in him and to push him. And along with my swell of pride came a surge of anger as an image of Elliot, blacked out and bleeding in a broken server room, flashed through my mind.

“Tim, work with Elliot to determine how much time he needs, then work with Ali to find out how much that time will cost. I want a report by Wednesday. And if everything adds up, you can start on Friday—or should we make it Monday so as not to infringe on anyone’s weekend plans?”

My eyes never wavered from Ali’s face as I watched it pale, but from my peripheral vision, I could also see Elliot’s eyes widen. Then, Miles’ voice echoed through my mind on the day I was forced to appoint Ali as Colin’s replacement: You bet the house, and you lost.

But as long as I was in charge, Ali would know I’d never forget what he did. And in that moment, I wanted Elliot to know I hadn’t forgotten either. Never mind that the secret I was keeping from him was burning a hole in my stomach, pushing me to feel even more protective of Elliot than usual.

JaLeah smirked, but she played the placater better than anyone. She peppered Elliot with questions, then Tim dismissed everyone so he and I could go over his analytics.

“Thanks, Elliot,” I said, as he left the room, his lips turning up in a soft smile.

“The two of you are dating?” Tim asked as soon as the door shut.

I raised my eyebrow and turned to look at him.

“Yes?”

“So, it’s not against company policy to date someone you supervise?”

“Elliot and I were in a sort of unique circumstance. We signed a contract with HR, but I ended up being promoted almost immediately afterward, which eliminated the direct conflict.”

“Hmm,” Tim said as his fingers tapped on the folder in front of him.

“Why?”

“JaLeah is . . . well, she’s—”

“Say no more. Obviously I’m a proponent of shooting your shot in the workplace, but Elliot and I were sure to be super transparent about it. And that’s all the advice you’re getting from me. If you want to know if she’s interested, ask her.”

Tim smiled, and I felt like I saw him as a person for the first time instead of just as my replacement.

“And I would be happy to take over her evaluations in the event she is interested.”

Tim’s smile grew a bit wider and he thanked me, twice, before we dove into the data.

It was close to lunch time when Tim and I finished, so I sought out Elliot to see if he wanted to go out. As I walked toward his workstation, he was oblivious to the world, his eyes glued to the screen and his shoulders almost perfectly still despite the furious pace at which I knew his fingers were moving over the keyboard. A pang of guilt resurfaced for the thousandth time this month as I reminded myself I needed to make a decision about what I discovered.

Since I found the grand jury’s testimony, I had been conducting some “research” on my own. All 23 members of the jury, even the one who had voted not to indict, had been receiving the same amount of money for the past 13 years: 2,500 a month.

All 23 people claimed the money on their tax returns, but in 23 different ways—gas leases, oil leases, rental properties, gifts, renting their parking spot in the city, tips, bonuses, and on and on. It was clear someone had met with them and told them exactly how to keep this money under the radar. And if someone met with them to lay out the process for receiving money, then there had to be evidence of that meeting—or that person.

A part of me was dying to share this with Elliot, but another part of me was adamantly against it, afraid of what I would unleash within him if he was given the opportunity to pursue vengeance. My mind kept returning to who he was on the night of Dad’s party and wondering if I could trust that part of Elliot, that part who seemed ready to do something a lot more rash than scratch an itch or even just file a lawsuit. There was a part of Elliot, hell, there were still so many parts of him I didn’t know, didn’t understand.

What I did understand was that every time I looked at him, I felt guilty. And when Elliot’s eyes glanced up and noticed me, he stopped and smiled, a sweet, open grin and Miles’ words flickered through my mind again.

You bet the house, and you lost.

* * * * *

Time has a funny way of making decisions for you, especially if you’ve been riddled by indecision. Once enough time has passed, the control is going to be taken from you—the decision will be made for you, rather than by you.

By the end of March, something uncomfortable had settled between Elliot and me. He was growing distant, closed off, and I stopped working to maintain our open line of communication. The more guilty I felt about hiding the grand jury transcript, the less I wanted to see him. I knew I needed to tell him, but if I had found out about the juror payoffs, Elliot would be able to, and in half the time.

And everything could lead back to my father.

And something deep inside of me knew he knew—I didn’t know the how or the what, but I was certain he knew I was hiding something.

It was after 10:00 pm on a Thursday night when I got home from a dinner party, a business meeting disguised as a social gathering, something I never invited Elliot to anymore after his vitriolic rant.

I was more than surprised to find Elliot sitting on the floor near the balcony, the door open as a wet March wind blew in, smoking a cigarette as nearly half a pack of butts were already stubbed out in the ashtray I knew had been empty.

He was drinking a beer and he was clad entirely in black, topped off with his well-worn hoody, which was something I hadn’t seen on him in a long time.

His hood was up, probably to fight off the chill of the wind, but I wasn’t sure if the explanation was so simple tonight.

“Hey,” I said softly as I pushed the door shut behind me. “I told you I had a thing tonight, didn’t I?”

Elliot nodded yes, as his lips wrapped around the end of his cigarette.

“Is everything okay?” I asked, dread settling over me like a weighted blanket as I watched him take a long drag, the cherry flaring red in the dim light of my apartment.

I slid out of my coat and hung it up on the rack before reaching down to unzip my boots. As I kicked them off, I waited for Elliot to answer. I was tired and wanted nothing more than to change out of my clothes, maybe shower away the day, and go to bed.

Except the smarter part of me knew that wasn’t going to happen and filled me with a sudden desire to just  get this over with—just blow the lid off the box and let the scraps settle so we could get back to our normal.

But that would require fixing Elliot’s biggest flaw: his inability to move forward because he never really addressed the root of his problems.

I watched as he stubbed out his cigarette and tipped his beer back, finishing the last swallow.

I sighed in frustration.

“Either tell me what this,” I said as I gesticulated to and around him, “is all about or let me go to bed. It’s been a long day.”

“Where were you?”

I blinked, irritated because we just went over this.

“I told you where I was—at a dinner party. You know, those things I don’t invite you to anymore because you hate everyone?”

Elliot stood, reaching back to slide the balcony door shut. He didn’t take his hood down as he walked to the kitchen sink and rinsed out his bottle before setting it on the counter next to the others.

Chalk that up to something else out of character; Elliot never drank alone.

“You’re lying to me,” he said quietly, his back still turned.

“About the dinner?”

“No. Maybe? How am I supposed to know when you’re the one who’s always lying?”

“I can’t do this,” I said, running a shaky hand through my hair.

“You can’t do this?” Elliot said, his voice rising as he turned around. “You’re the one keeping things from me!” he shouted, his eyebrows raised, making his eyes look impossibly huge, and the cords on his neck standing out as he pointed his finger at me.

“How did you find out?” I asked quietly as I leaned on the counter, looking at the swirled pattern within the granite, unable to meet what was surely an intense gaze.

“I’ve been waiting, Y/N. Waiting for over a fucking month, wondering why you wanted to hide it from me. Wondering what else you decided not to tell me. Wondering if everything you have told me is just a way for you to manipulate me—”

My head shot up, my eyes finding his instantly as I asked, “Why would I want to manipulate you?”

Elliot didn’t answer; his eyes were dark, a stormy grey as they swirled with clouds of emotion. He felt betrayed, and I watched as his eyes settled on my tote that was sitting on the kitchen stool.

“You saw the transcript,” I said with a sad sigh. “You weren’t supposed to find out like that.”

I lowered my gaze back to the granite of the countertop, a strange relief pushing off that weighted blanket of dread. No more hiding. No more agonizing over whether to tell him.

The silence that followed my realization was dreadful, stretching out until my ears rang and my eyes blurred as I stared at the countertop.

“I can’t trust you anymore,” Elliot said, his voice cracking.

But that was the wrong thing to say. My nostrils flared as a thick, white-hot anger rose up in my throat like bile.

“You! You can’t trust me because I withheld something from you? Once! When have I ever done anything like this in our entire relationship?” I questioned, my voice bordering on shrill, so unlike my usual tone that it didn’t even sound like my own voice.

“You’ve broken promises.”

“When?”

“After the server room. You promised me ‘the fucking assholes’ would lose their jobs. And now one of them is my supervisor.”

I stared at Elliot dumbly until he dropped his gaze, leaning back onto the counter.

“We talked about that,” I said, my tone a few octaves closer to normal. “I offered to refuse to promote Ali. You told me things like that happen—it’s a part of the way to ‘enact change.’ You told me not to fight back against his promotion.”

“You promised,” Elliot mumbled, his knuckles growing white as his grip tightened on the countertop.

Once again, Elliot said the wrong thing. If this was all he could come up with, I was livid. Every thing he did that I had to work to let go of, to not make a big deal over, every hurt I had to swallow because I loved him, came rushing out.

“And how many promises have you broken to me? Fuck, Elliot! Not even promises. How many times have you bailed on me? Hacked me? Hurt me?

“No,” I scoffed, “You never meant to do it, but you fucking did do it. I have been so patient with you—”

“I’m not a child!” Elliot interrupted through clenched teeth.

“You’re pissed at me for something you told me to do!”

“I told you to withhold information about my dad’s death?”

“I needed time, Elliot. I needed to analyze the risk—”

“I’m not a piece of fucking data, Y/N! You can’t—” Elliot paused as he pushed off the counter and stepped toward the island. “You can’t analyze me. You can’t predict my next move or maybe that’s the problem? Maybe that’s what you’ve been doing all along? Manipulating me because you think you’re smarter than me.”

“That is not what I meant,” I said, my brows drawn and my mouth closing into a frown.

“You begged me to trust you and I knew—I fucking knew someone like you couldn’t be trusted!”

“Someone like me?” I shouted back, pushing away from the counter and marching around the island to stand in front of him. “Someone like ME? Surely you’re not going to throw Dad’s money in my face again. You’re starting to sound like a broken fucking record!

“You know what—no,” I said, shaking my head and turning away from him pacing to the balcony door before turning around and slowly walking back toward Elliot. “You don’t get to do this and get away with it this time. I can’t walk on eggshells while you get to be shitty to me whenever you have a bad time. Don’t you want to know why you’re like this? Don’t you want to know why you’re so paranoid, why you push away people who fucking love you? Don’t you want to know why you don’t trust anyone?”

I was a breath away from him as he began to withdrawal further and further into himself. And because I was watching his face, my eyes desperately pleading with him to see reason, I saw the change—Elliot looked away, seemingly in exasperation, and his eyelids fluttered so subtly that if I had blinked at that very moment, I would have missed it.  

When he looked back at me, Elliot Alderson was gone; now, I was met with the steel gaze of the same person who had demanded I leave Elliot alone as he sat on the floor of my closet during the Fourth of July.

I took a step back, my mouth dropping open as fear rushed through my body, my eyes filling with tears as I realized I was afraid of him—afraid of Elliot.

“You should be afraid, little girl,” he chuckled darkly, his voice low, the intonation different. “Now get the fuck out of here and leave him alone.”

“You’re—you’re in my apartment,” I stammered, still clinging to anger despite my fear.

He looked around, remembering, and he fixed a glare at me, his eyes unwelcoming as his jaw clenched, the muscles twitching before he moved toward the front door.

As I watched him walk away, my anger and fear turned to desperation. Darlene’s words rang through my mind, ‘If he bails on you, tries to push you away, it’s not really him.’”

It’s not really him.

“Stop—Elli—whoever you are! Please. Don’t go,” I pleaded. “Stay. Talk to me. Help me understand.”

He paused, his head turning to slightly look over his shoulder before he moved toward the front door again. I raced to it and wedged myself between him and the door, placing my hand over the knob.

“Stay,” I begged. “Don’t leave like this. After everything—please don’t leave us like this. I want to help you, Elliot—if you’re in there, come back to me.”

His hands flew up and slammed into the door on either side of my head.

I jumped, flinching as he leaned into me, his lips beside my ear as he growled, “I fucking warned you!”

“During the Fourth. I remember,” I whispered.

He pulled back and looked at me with those icy eyes.

“That was the first time you pushed too hard, came too close. I can’t allow you to do that, sweetheart. Elliot’s had enough time with you. It ends now,” he said as he grabbed my shoulders and pulled me away from the door.

I grabbed his arm and he shook me off, but I grabbed him again and pulled him back enough to allow me to wedge myself against the door again.

“I told you,” he yelled, his voice harsh and unrecognizable. “I can’t protect him if you keep forcing him to open up!”

I didn’t let my fear stop me as I pressed him.

“Protect him from what? Did someone hurt him? I read about what can cause—”

His hand flew against my mouth with enough force to knock my head against the door. He pressed hard and cut off my words.

Never did his eyes leave mine as Elliot’s would have, especially in a situation of such discomfort and intense emotion. Never once did he look away.

“Shut. The. Fuck. Up.”

I held his gaze, refusing to waver. He pressed harder, the pressure on the back of my head becoming a painful throbbing.

“Can you shut the fuck up?” he asked, his brows nearly reaching his hairline.

I watch his face transition to a look of smug satisfaction as I manage to slightly nod.

He released his grip, and I deflated, the fight leaving my body as I stepped away from the door. I leaned against the wall before slowly sinking to the floor.

I didn’t raise my eyes as I quietly asked, “Are you going to keep Elliot from seeing me again?”

He sighed, some of the fight leaving him, too.

“Elliot loves you—this wasn’t supposed to happen, Y/N.”

As he said my name, my head jerked up, the syllables so foreign on his tongue I knew, without a doubt, that whoever was standing in front of me was someone completely different than Elliot Alderson.

“You have to understand that it’s my job to keep him safe. Not yours, not Darlene’s. No one else’s. No one else can keep him safe.”

“What about a psychiatrist?”

“Don’t be fucking ridiculous. If they don’t fuck him up with 15 different kinds of meds, they’ll just throw him in an institution. Is that what you want? Elliot locked up like some kind of sick-o creep?”

“I would never let that happen.”

“Daddy’s money gonna buy Elliot a happy little place in the Adirondacks? Get him a nurse, someone nice to take care of him like his worthless mother never could?”

“Is that why you hate me? I have money? Or because I consider Elliot family?”

“My job is to protect him, and I’ve decided you’re not worth the risk, sweetheart.”

Without another glance, he opened the door and slammed it shut behind him.

I buried my head in my hands, the tears I had held back throughout the entire ordeal bursting out in a harsh sob. I crawled over to the door and locked it, pulling myself up by the knob in order to secure the deadbolt.

Not that it mattered since Elliot had a key.

Not that it mattered since Elliot was being held prisoner inside of his own body.

And no one, except himself, held that key.

* * * * *

Elliot didn’t come to work on the next day.

And then he didn’t come for another three days.

When I read the email from Ali questioning Elliot’s whereabouts, I wasn’t surprised. I called him up to my office and had the secretary shut the door after she let him in.

Ali had the good manners to look concerned, but I could detect the haughtiness underneath.

“I’ve noticed that Alderson’s been out for the past few days. Can you provide some insight? He was the lead on our new WiFi scripts, as I’m sure you remember.”

The lie came much easier than any other lie in my life had.

“He’s had a death in the family, Ali. I suggest postponing the project until he returns. Ask JaLeah for someone who can handle white hat duties if your team needs another hacker.”

Some of the haughtiness fell from Ali’s face.

“Oh. Well, my condolences to him when you see him.”

“Thank you. Will there be anything else?”

“Nope—you’ve always got the answers, boss.”

“Don’t call me that,” I said as I rolled my eyes and offered him a crooked smile in an attempt to subvert his attention from the abnormality of Elliot’s absences.

Ali grinned and shrugged his shoulders.

The partial smile fell from my face the instant the door shut behind Ali, and I felt sick as my mind worked over my lie. I didn’t live my life in the shadows. I lived with integrity.

And I had just told a boldfaced lie, one that would surely make its way around the office, and if Elliot never came back to work, everyone would know I lied for my boyfriend.

What a fucking mess.

I had to see him; I had to try to talk to my Elliot, the one I was in love with, and not this other who seemed to want nothing more than for me to fuck off for good.

I made a promise to Darlene not to let Elliot bail, and clearly, the Aldersons took promises made to them seriously.