#Sears Holdings Corporation Jobs

[goldenstring6123]

Sylus: Seething Red

Warning: 3.9K words. Angst. Little comfort. Cursing! Lots of it. Suggestive ending, for 16+ only, Plot heavy. Emotional & Dramatic. If you can't stomach arguments and fighting, I don't suggest reading this. Reader is not the MC but works as a hunter.

Author's note: This was a bit delayed because I had to re-write this three times :> warning, I proofread this once but I was lacking sleep soooo...

You burned with rage.

Seething, searing the skin of your entire being.

You revved your motorcycle faster, traversing through the pitch-black rainy night in the N109 zone. The fog was severe compared to the city, enough to obstruct the view of the street. Nonetheless, you continued driving, gritting your teeth at the thought of your lover, Sylus.

The towering building of Sylus' base remained void of any form of life, shrouded in a hazy mist of smoke and fog. Not even crows lingered about the premises.

You slammed the door open and met the twins, Luke and Kieran, one reading a book and the other looking at his phone. There was no time to spare them each a hello; you trudged through the godforsaken hallway and threw open Sylus' door.

There, the aforementioned man sat on his couch, staring at the flickering flame of his fireplace, his phone in your hand. "I recall telling you not to leave." The distaste was on his tongue, especially at the photograph of you in the airport with your teammates.

Your nails dug into the ball of your palm, almost threatening it to bleed. Any ounce of reasonable patience in you was slowly evaporating. The urge to talk in a calm manner had long been gone. You gritted your teeth while you took another step closer. "And who are you to make that decision?!"

Jenna gave you an opportunity to showcase your leadership because she knows you wanted a promotion. She offered you three projects to lead alongside her, and you chose a clean-up operation on Almus Island, an island infested with mutant Wanderers.

There was a lot of effort put into this, and you couldn't afford any mishap. You trained hard for this, coordinating with the data team and your own to create plans and backups in case anything went haywire.

It was one of the most dangerous tasks you had to do in your entire career—One that deserved the promotion you most certainly craved. Everything was leading up to that moment you boarded the jet.

That was three hours ago. The security guards stopped you and prevented you from leaving, stating that there was something wrong with your pass. You had no clue what they were talking about, but whatever it was, it prevented you from boarding the jet.

The team was under pressure. Jenna didn't know what to do as well. No matter what you did, no matter what papers you showed, they just didn't let you through. Time-bound, Jenna had no choice but to order you to go back to the headquarters and supervise from there.

That was a complete blow to your ego. After all that preparation, training, and debriefing, you wound up stuck inside the office instead of out there doing your job, which accompanied your title.

The recent promotion you got was an opportunity to ascend the corporate ladder, but with Sylus' actions, you looked nothing more like a fool. You had no idea why Jenna advised you to just head back to the office after security denied your access to the jet, but the sight of Mephisto perched on the flight display helped you put two and two together.

The shame, embarrassment, and look of pity from your peers choked you out of your logical thinking. They whispered against one another, asking why you were holding up the mission.

For once, you thought so little of yourself. Their stares were like fire ants on your skin, stinging you to your very being.

"I talked to you about this before, sweetie. I explicitly warned you about leaving the project for your own safety," Sylus said. The tone in his voice was that of when he was calm and collected, unbothered by the fiery rage that was drowning your mind. "Almus Island is dangerous because it was previously my turf, and I'm not joking when I say that place is a hellhole—it was abandoned for a reason."

"That's not an excuse for you to meddle in my affairs! I was already at the airport, I was with my team ready to leave, and then I found out I can't leave the country because of some shit you pulled?!"

"I warned you to heed my words," he said matter-of-factly. Every word that comes out of his mouth is like a landmine to trigger your emotions. You had the urge to cry, but you fought the pinpricks in your eyes. "I told you to drop off that project and do something else." His words came out smooth, almost matter-of-factly, and you hated it.

Sylus was the type of man to not give in on his actions, and tonight was the time when you had to painfully realize that.

"Listen to me, you piece of fuck—" You hissed through your teeth and strode angrily to him. "—What I do for work doesn't concern you unless Onychinus is involved. I deliberately chose to lead this project instead of the other offered to me because I don't want to be after your neck—God forbid I don't stand a chance against your organization."

Sylus threw his phone onto the couch, visibly irked at your words. "And I did what I did because I don't want you to end up dead," Sylus retorted.

"Are you too much of an idiot to not comprehend that?!" His red eyes glowed, fury flickering behind them. "I requested for you to not leave because I know for a fact you're going to end up injured when you come back, worse, you'd end up as a corpse."

Stupid. His reasoning is pure and utter stupid. Sylus? Scared of losing you? Bullshit. That flawed and shallow reason did nothing to soothe the fire in your heart. You didn't know what was powering your anger.

Was it the shame that you were so eager to leave but couldn't?

Was it the fact that Sylus thinks you're weak?

That he has an overwhelming amount of power against you?

Was it the fact that Jenna had high expectations, but you had made a fool of yourself in front of your peers?

It was all of it.

"That's a part of the job! What I did before you and I met is the same, I fight, and I get injured—Why are you speaking like I'm some sort of newbie in the field? You've seen me in action multiple times, I even saved your ass once!"

"I did what I did because I need to, and I'll do it all over again no matter how many times you berate me. You are staying in this city—you can take whatever project you want, you can go after the organization for all I care, and I'd be more than willing to let you shoot me, but you are not going to that island."

"Fuck! Why are you so insistent?! Did you think that just because you're powerful and shit, you get to toss me around like your fucking lackey?

Do you think so little of me? When I chose you, I did not fucking sign up to be dragged around by your whims—I don't give two fucks why and how you did it, but you don't get to meddle in my affairs," you yelled at him. You didn't care who heard you. You didn't even care about anything anymore.

"You don't get to have a choice."

A loud, ear-piercing crash reverberated in his room.

Before he could say anything else, you picked up the nearest object beside you, a small statuette, and lunged it at him. The once solid form is now nothing more than debris of glass. It crashed against the wall behind his head, the shards flying to cut his cheek.

"Well fuck me, since when did I ever have one with you? The last choice I made was choosing you, and it went to shit from there. I follow every one of your fucking whims, but when I requested for you to not do shit, you turn a deaf ear." You didn't know what you were saying. The words were flowing out of your mouth uncontrollably, previous thoughts and buried resentment now at the forefront of your thoughts.

Silence befalls the room, and you can only hear the harsh thumps of your heartbeat. Beneath the silver-haired man's facade was a clear look of disbelief. Sylus laughed dryly at your words. He looked away and squeezed his eyes shut, no longer able to hide his displeasure. "So you're turning this about me?"

"Sweetie," he flicked his hand, and the black and crimson mist wrapped around you, thwarting you closer to him.

"I prevented you from leaving the country because I don't want your death on my hands. I don't wish for you to get injured, but I tolerated seeing you hospital-bound every other month. You are my partner, and I want what's best for you. I don't want you dying on some godforsaken island just because it's your job."

His EVOL released you, but his long and hard fingers grabbed ahold of your face too roughly. "I did it because I adore you. Because you're my lover," he hissed. Sylus pressed your face closer together, "I did it to protect you."

His nails dug into your cheek, and you winced, clawing it off. "I don't want your protection. I never needed it in the first place," you said through clenched teeth.

"Get this through your fucking head. No matter how powerful you are and no matter what you are to me, whether I do dangerous jobs is not up to you," you dug a finger into his chest. "My life is not in your hands. It never will be."

You pulled away from him and stepped back. "I'm following after them. You better not pull that shit again."

Sylus let out a gruff sigh, drowning in debilitation. His long and slender legs made their way to where you were, and to your dismay, he wrapped a hand around your dainty wrist before dragging you faster out of his room.

A flash of thunder momentarily illuminated the hall, and as you landed on the ground, Sylus said one thing:

"You're not going anywhere."

The door slammed shut right in front of your face.

---

You couldn't do anything. You were helpless against Sylus' orders, and he kept his word: You weren't allowed to leave the country.

As much as you wanted to wallow in self-pity and anger, you had a job to do.

The office was quiet, especially in your division, with you and another co-worker coordinating the mission through the telecommunication room. The soles of your feet were chafed from all the walking, and your throat was dry from distributing orders to all of your team members.

You could only observe the condition of the island through the lenses in their suit. It was pure chaos, and more than half of the team were injured. Thankfully, there were no deaths.

Two weeks had gone by in a blur, and you were navigating through the exhaustion and disappointment. The team, comprising the best of the best, had not made nearly half of the progress expected—they were tasked to retreat for the time being.

Nights were spent in the company's living quarters, and you thrived off canteen food to the point where it tasted bland. You even caught a fever, but you brushed it off with cold medicine.

What was ironic was despite the hectic schedule, every little time in between your duties, you glanced at your phone.

Ever since that night, there has not been a single text message from Sylus. You didn't have the strength to barge into his room, and there was no point either; there was no one left in the base.

The team got back, and there was chaos once more, distracting you for the next week. Most were in and out of the hospital, asking for leaves and days off to recuperate. The damages to your teammates were bigger than what you anticipated, so much so that the daily workforce dwindled by a lot.

Adding to the office workload was the patrol duty and killing off wanderers.

Needless to say, by the time you arrived home, there was almost no time to think. Your head hit the pillow, temples aching to the rhythm of your sore back; yet even then, you could only think of Sylus. The harshness of your words was slowly eating you alive, and what was worse was that you couldn't even remember what he had said.

Your phone lit up to notify you of your schedule tomorrow. Instead, you opened the messaging app and clicked on Sylus' profile.

He had seen the message but did not respond.

Again, he had seen the message.

You bit your lip, typing the letters carefully and weighing your own words. You closed your eyes and pressed send before closing your phone. You were too tired to think about what you said, and with a heavy heart, you drifted off to sleep.

----

The presence of the man behind you was too overwhelming. It was overwhelming to the point where it was enough to stir you in your sleep—the only temporary escape you could have.

It didn't sink in at first. The fact that you weren't in your room. It was too dark and somber for it to be your apartment bedroom; the comfort of the tiny plushies on your desk was gone. Instead, it was the sight of an unused fireplace and the velvet and gold couch.

The satins were rough to your liking and had a scent of sandalwood and citrus. Definitely different from the rose scent you were accustomed to.

Sylus's bedroom. That's where you were. Anxiety pitted at the bottom of your stomach upon this realization; he was nowhere near your line of sight, but the chill on your back was enough of a guide. You turned behind you, eyes adjusting to the blaring city lights displayed outside of his massive windows.

His figure was recognizable, but as bright as the city lights were, you couldn't see any of his facial features.

You opened your lips to speak, yet no words came out of your mouth, and not a coherent thread of thought manifested in your head. There was no point in asking why he brought you back to his base. And as much as you wanted to speak to him, you didn't. The urge subsided quickly, and a second later, the urge to leave took its place.

You took off from the bed, adjusting the sleeve of your nightwear. Your legs were light and quiet as they attempted to make their way to the other half of the room where the exit was. You had no clue how you were going to go home in your state, but it was a lesser feeling than the urge to leave Sylus again.

"The message you sent," he spoke, his hands nudging in your way. "I'm assuming you're going to take it back?" It was as if the floor had become soil: stems of his black and crimson smoke emerged like vines, entangling your feet into their current position.

You kept your mouth shut.

His figure turned into smoke, which accumulated in front of you. "Sweetie," like a month ago, he grabbed a hold of your jaw. "I asked you a question."

"I'm sorry for getting mad at you."

"Whether you're forgiven or not doesn't matter. The last message you sent—do you mean it?"

You didn't, no. That was sent out of impulse, yet with Sylus ghosting you for almost a month, it was almost like he was just waiting for you to say it. What were you supposed to think? He could've thrown you away and found someone else by then.

"I don't know," you whispered.

"You don't know?" he repeated, raising his eyebrow.

"I don't know. You didn't talk to me for a month, and you left the headquarters—I had no way to contact you. What else would I think?" You couldn't look him in the eye, but if you could've seen it, his eyes flickered to softness.

Sylus sighed and set your foot free. The harsh grasp on your face softened until he eventually had to let go.

"I was on Almus Island, and so were the twins."

"Did you—"

"Hurt your teammates? No." He walked over to his couch and ignited a matchstick. He threw it onto the fireplace, and the image of the room became brighter. Only then did you realize your lover's state.

You scurried over to him, fixated on the bandage that wrapped around his ribs and the dried patches of blood on his biceps.

"What did you do?"

"I personally helped with the clean-up." He leaned back on the couch, a scowl on his face when an ache came from his wounds. His back carefully pressed against the velvet cushion, and relief overcame him. "I destroyed the protofield which was left open."

A protofield? You thought. What protofield? There was never a portal indicated in the debriefing. Sure, there was an underground abandoned base, which most likely belonged to Onychinus. Still, they were all bunkers and storage rooms filled with lousy protocores.

"There are a lot of questions in your head right now, but what's important is I've lessened your workload. Order your team to head back to the island next month and do another clean-up. It won't take more than a week and a half to kill the remaining monsters; as compensation, I'll give you access to the armory—I'm sure the higher-ups would marvel at what's left in there."

You processed his words carefully. It doesn't answer your question about the portal, but if there is one, then when the team heads back, you should add several flux stabilizers with you to avoid risking opening another protofield.

"Now, is that sufficient enough?" Sylus asked.

His words snapped you out of your brief work mode, and you stared at his face, wondering what he meant. "Enough for what?"

"As an apology."

You were speechless. Confusion filled your mind with his words. This man was unpredictable, but you were certainly sure he'd rather say sorry and move on than go through all that trouble and get injured in the process. You weren't sure if you were supposed to act all caring about his wounds or act bravely and accept his apology and go back to bed.

"Am I allowed to leave the country?" Sylus' eyes met yours at this question, but you didn't blink.

He raised his eyebrow again. "Yes, you are. I won't do that again."

"Good, you're forgiven." You eased your shoulders and turned on your heel to his closet. You entered the door and took off some jacket and some loose sweatpants of his. "Get yourself patched up by a doctor; I'm going home."

The thudding of his footsteps reverberated behind you, and before you could open the door, his big hand blocked the way. You turned back and spotted him clutching his side with a frown on his face. "Where are you going?"

"Back home," you replied matter-of-factly.

"And you're not going to address your text?"

Ah, for a moment, you forgot about that. Your break-up text. He apologized for the flight incident but never for abandoning you for a month; maybe you can take advantage of this for a little while longer.

Your fingers tapped on his hand and pushed the door closed. Your gesture was enough for him to let go and step back in the hope that you'd do something. You twisted the doorknob and pulled it open, one last peek at him.

"Get some rest."

You shut the door and ran down the hallway—instead of your home, like you said, you took one of Sylus' motorcycles and drove to the headquarters.

---

Three days had passed since then, and you really weren't that concerned with Sylus. Luke and Kieran say he's doing fine despite constantly being on edge almost every day. You, on the other hand, were busy planning for the next clean-up—hopefully, a more successful one thanks to Sylus' help.

You hopped out of the shower, but a sense of dread greeted your neck. You stopped before taking another step. Your eyes searched for the source; it wasn't from the locked door or the laptop on the kitchen desk. Your bedroom door, on the other hand…

From behind the vase near the entrance, you pulled out a small gun, but before you could even unlock it, the tall, familiar figure popped out of the bedroom, in his grasp a bouquet of roses. You froze, and so did he.

You stared at each other before he looked at your hand in disappointment.

"You really have to fix that habit of yours." The habit pertains to you constantly pointing a gun at him.

"First, you tamper with my passport, and you kidnap me while I'm asleep, and now you're breaking and entering?" You released the lock on the gun and placed it where it was, finally placing a hand on your hip. Beads of water dripped from your hair onto your bare shoulders, rolling down to your chest and finally to the towel.

"I wouldn't need to do this if you answered my question from the very beginning."

You don't want to deal with him right now. Not when I'm half-naked.

"Wait for me in the living room."

My movements weaved around him, and he just quietly followed my figure. His footsteps were quiet, but he was following me into the room—you had to stop him before he became an audience to you in the nude, but you didn't even get the chance to turn around.

Sylus picked you up, and you yelped from the sudden movement. You held on to the tuck of your towel as he threw you onto your own bed like he would before.

"You—I told you to wait!"

"I am not a patient man, sweetie."

The ends of the towel parted from each other, exposing a bit of your lower abdomen. His eyes landed on that specific place as well. You lifted your foot slightly and stretched it so that it could reach his chest, preventing him from taking a step further.

"Sylus. Wait."

Sylus backed off at your words like a dog. You fixed yourself back up and crossed your legs.

"No. I didn't mean that text. Not anymore, at least." To that, it was a sign for him to come closer. You watched him approach your body, looking down at you with a finger stroking the side of your face. "Just… don't ghost me like that. You made me think that you replaced me."

"Replaced you?" he questioned. "Is that how you think of me?" He almost looked offended.

"I wouldn't put it past you, considering the things I said."

He hummed and tilted your head upward so he could get a good look at your face. "I may be a shady person, but I'm certainly not a womanizer, sweetie. I thought you had more faith in me."

"Sorry," you replied.

Sylus got down on his knees and kissed your own, his calloused fingers savoring the soft touch of your calves. The sweet musk of vanilla wafted under his nose, almost reeling him in. You gazed at him intently, knowing where this was about to go.

Author footnotes: Yay I finally get to post this. I had a hard time writing this because I wanted it to be dynamic but at the same time I didn't want to write a full blown fic with an over complex back story. I had to re-write the entire thing until i felt somewhat satisfied.

Layout by me, using canva premium | Do not repost | Dividers by me!

[echologname]

Magic Man

Magic Man may have been a lowly store associate in the corporate hierarchy to everyone else but to us kids, he was a kind and powerful wizard!

When I was a kid, my Mom did home day care, so she would often have a train of kids following her around for her errands and one of our favorite places to go was Sears. We didn't care about anything or anyone there except for one special young adult. We called him, "Magic Man" because he could do this trick with the plastic bags to make it look like there's a ball at the bottom but there really isn't and he'd throw the invisible ball around and the only way we could "see" it was the indentations in the bag. I recall him simply holding the bag with one hand and moving his fingers to shape it but it was ALWAYS mind blowing! We all got such a thrill from visiting him and talking to him. My mom was so appreciative of his politeness and how he joyfully entertained her brood, she wrote a nice review for him on the website.

We were sad when he eventually didn't work there anymore and now the store itself is long abandoned. But he inspired me to bring joy to everyone no matter what job I have. It could be the worst minimum wage gig but if it gives me the opportunity to spread love and positivity and bring a little "magic" to someone's day, then it's worth it! 😁

May God bless you, Magic Man! ❤️ You've left more of an impact than you know.

[ereardon]

A Place Like This [Ch. 5][Rhett Abbott x OC]

Summary: Rhett Abbott has never met a girl like you. You’re a corporate city girl in Wabang on borrowed company time — he thinks there’s no way you would waste it on him. So when you fall for the local bull rider, you’re both a little surprised. What will it take to get Rhett to realize he can give you everything you’re looking for? And will Rhett be able to reconcile the fact that your job is literally to dismantle Wabang and break apart the only place his family has ever known?

Pairing: Rhett Abbott x OC [Julia Han]

WC: 4.5K

Warning: Cursing, angst

Series masterlist here

You occupied every corner of Rhett’s mind and even though he now knew what it felt like to hold you in his arms and look into your eyes as you fell apart around him he still couldn’t believe that someone like you would ever let herself fall for a guy like him. 

Which was why he blocked out the part from the night before where you had whispered in his ear. 

You’re going to be so easy to fall in love with. 

Rhett shook the words right out of his memory. No way had you meant it. No way you had even said it. It was just his mind playing tricks on him. 

That’s why when the sun slid softly over the horizon, Rhett eased himself gently out of bed. Your dark hair was spread like a fan around your face on the pillow, and he admired your sleeping form. You were calm. Gentle. The sleeping version of you was much more docile than the awake version. He wanted to sear the image into his brain. 

He wasn’t sure how long he’d have to make these kinds of memories. You seemed like the kind of girl who would slip between his fingers the tighter he tried to grab on. 

Rhett got dressed and took one last look at you before he left. He wanted to burn the picture of your naked body into his memory. He wanted one last chance to see your sleeping smile. One more minute to feel like he had found someone who truly cared about him. 

And then he left, slipping out the door without leaving a note. You were better off that way, he told himself. It had been a mistake. A fluke. A one-time thing. You would wake up and regret it. All of it. And he didn’t want to be there to see the aftermath of that realization. 

***

You woke up to an empty bed. This time, there was no note from Rhett. The kitchen was spotless, like he had never been there. 

But he had. The memories of his touch on your skin made you blush. 

You’d never been with someone like Rhett before. Someone who set your body on fire. Someone who made you feel like the only person in the room when he looked at you. 

Someone you were pretty sure needed you more than he was willing to admit. 

You thought nothing of Rhett’s absence as you got ready for the day, pulling on a tight shift dress and a pair of heels, a pair of Chloe sunglasses, walking out into the bright light on the main strip of Wabang. 

You didn’t realize that as you approached City Hall, Rhett was already back on the Abbott ranch, splitting wood so the only thing in his ears were his own ragged breaths. That he was trying so desperately to push you out of his mind. 

Rhett had never let himself want. 

He’d never let himself fantasize about getting out of Wabang. About finding someone to spend his life with. About being truly, unequivocally happy. He had known from the tender age of four what his life would look like. 

He knew better than to let himself get swept off his feet. 

***

“Jerome.” 

You didn’t bother to knock on the door. Simply swung it open once you got to the top of the stairs. The mayor looked up at you with a mixture of shock and disdain. “Ms. Han.” 

“Julia,” you corrected, settling into the chair across from his desk. “Did you have time to read our proposal?” 

He laid his large hands on the desk and sighed. “Julia, you know I can’t accept what’s in this folder.” His warm eyes landed on yours. “Tell me you understand.” 

You leaned back and crossed your legs. This was the hard part about the job. You had to detach. Mentally. Physically, almost. You couldn’t be nice and do what you did. It didn’t matter if you had kids at home or a wife or a boyfriend or a very needy dog. It didn’t matter if you volunteered at a soup kitchen on the weekends or if you sewed baby onesies for the local hospital. You could be the sweetest person on earth outside of the office. But once you were behind those four walls, in front of a client or a prospect, it was a different story. 

You were a shark and they were the bait. 

“I understand, Mr. Mayor,” you said softly, but your voice wasn’t warm. It was ice cold. You saw it immediately. The way he froze when he heard your tone. Jerome Thompson thought he was getting a young girl who would roll over at the first instance of conflict. 

He had no idea what he was in for. 

“Jerome,” you said quietly. “I’m going to need those financials. And if I don’t get them, I will find a way to go around you. That’s easy. Please don’t make this more difficult than it needs to be. I said it before and I always keep a promise: if you play your cards right, there will be a job here for you after all is said and done. We can’t have a Mayor if we don’t have a town, but I’m sure for someone smart like you we can find a compromise.” You stood up. “Now can you point me in the direction of your records room? Or are we going to do this the hard way?” 

Jerome looked at you, fingers trembling. Finally, he opened his mouth, the first few words shaky. “Downstairs, third door on the left. Ask for Marge.” 

You smiled. “Thank you. We’ll chat soon, I’m sure.” 

You stepped outside his office, shutting the door behind you and closed your eyes, sucking in a deep breath. This is why you were here. What other reason would you ever have to be in Wabang? 

Rhett. 

He was the reason you were hesitating. The reason why you trailed down the stairs, headed for the third door on the left and stopped. Normally you would push right in, smile on your face. But there was a voice deep inside your head this time. It told you to be careful. This wasn’t the town to burn to the ground. Usually you didn’t care what kind of terror you left in your wake. That was someone else’s job to clean up. You were the deal maker, not the one who swept things up from the ashes to rebuild. 

But this time, if you started the fire, you knew exactly who would get burned. 

***

You spent the rest of the day and the whole next day pouring over the papers you took from Marge’s office. After dinner, a sad microwavable meal that made your mouth water for the pasta Rhett had made the night before, you called the Chicago office to speak with Dan. 

“Julia! How’s it going in no man’s land?” 

You grimaced and took a sip of wine, your bare feet propped up on the couch cushion. “Dan,” you replied back. “All good, thanks. You?” 

“Still divorced,” he said, “so can’t complain. Alright, give me the overview.” 

“Just like we thought. It’s a money pit. Annual city revenue is barely clearing, and their growth projections for the next ten are negligible. Even if we buy out the leases and land deeds for everywhere within city limits, we’d still be at a profit if the pipeline gets the go-ahead from the EPA and the state.” 

What you hadn’t told Rhett or the Mayor or anyone else in town was that your firm wasn’t the buyer. You were simply the middle man for a much larger buyer. 

Milliplex Sun. One of the largest crude pipeline distributors in the US. They had more money than God and their sights set on Wyoming. 

“What’s the catch?” he asked. Dan knew you well. He heard the reservation in your voice. 

“It’s the ranches,” you said quietly. “Not technically part of city limits, well not all of them. But they’d have to get absorbed in the buy out. And I don’t think they’ll go down without a fight. I still need to get the environmental reports on everything, but my guess is they’re going to be the last hold up on the deal.” 

“You’ll manage,” Dan said and you could hear him chewing through the phone. “Alright, give me a call in a few days, hopefully you’ll have those reports. And go visit the ranch owners. Do it in person. Bring a gift, make them feel welcome. See what the land really means to them.” He paused. “And then lowball them.” 

You sighed. “Got it.” 

You flung the phone into the crack of the couch and tipped your head back, eyes glued to the ceiling. Visit the ranches in person. That meant the Tillersons. 

And the Abbotts. 

You weren’t sure which was worse. 

***

Rhett was up before the sun, out all day in the pastures, working silent. Diligent. Anyone with a pulse could see there was something bothering him. 

It was Amy who was the one that brought it up. 

“Uncle Rhett?” 

Rhett paused on the upstairs landing. He was tired after a full day of driving cattle and mending the barn’s shitty siding. All he wanted to do was take a shower, lie on his bed, do everything he could to forget about you. Even the promise of a beer at the bar did nothing because he wasn’t sure if he could ever go there again and not be confronted with your ghost. 

Rhett turned. 

“Yeah, honey?” 

Amy stood in the doorway of her room. “Are you OK?” 

He gave her a slow, soft smile. “What makes you think I’m not OK?” 

She shrugged. “You look sad.” 

Rhett nodded, walking over and opening the door to his room. Amy trailed in on his heels as he sat down on the bed with a heavy sigh. She sat down next to him, legs swinging above the rug-clad floor. “Well thanks for checking on me, Ames,” he said quietly. “But I’m OK, I promise.” 

Amy was quiet for a moment. She turned to Rhett. “Are you going to leave?” 

He frowned. “What are you talking about?” 

“Are you going to leave me and daddy, and grandma and grandpa?” she whispered. 

“Amy,” Rhett murmured, reaching out an arm and pulling her into his side, his fingers stroking her upper arm gently. “I’m not going anywhere, alright? 

Amy nodded in his arms and Rhett slowly pulled away, sliding down to the ground until he was kneeling in front of where she sat on the bed. He took her small hands into his large ones. 

“Honey,” he said, low voice barely above a gruff whisper. “Look at me.” Amy looked up at him and he smiled. “I know it’s been hard with your Ma gone. But you know that we all love you. So much. Don’t you worry about me leaving, OK? I’m gonna die here when you are old and gray and have kids and grandkids of your own and you’ll be beggin’ me to leave.” Amy laughed and Rhett chuckled. He stood up, planting a kiss on her head. “Now go to bed, alright? It’s late.” 

She stood up and walked to the door, turning around in the open door frame. “Uncle Rhett?” 

He turned to look at her. 

Amy smiled. “I love you.” 

Rhett softened. His heart felt heavy in his chest. Looking at Amy, he saw what he had wanted to be able to forget. How much this town, this life, meant to him. 

What it would be like to lose it all. 

“I love you too, peanut,” he said softly. “Now go to sleep.” 

She grinned and disappeared down the hallway to her room. 

Rhett stood up and closed the door before flopping back onto the bed in exhaustion. His room was the same as it had been since he was a teenager. A part of him felt silly, immature, for still living at home with his parents and his brother and his niece. 

He pulled his phone out of his pocket and hovered over your contact. You had texted him two days before, after he had snuck out of the apartment, and again yesterday. 

Last night was fun. What are you up to tonight? The first text read. Rhett had opened it immediately, and then slammed his phone down on the passenger seat of his truck. 

The next text read, Everything OK? Would love to meet up. Maybe this time I can cook you dinner :) 

He hated himself for ignoring the texts. His large thumbs hovered across the screen. He started typing. 

Drinks tonight? 

He sighed and erased it. 

I like you, Julia, but I don’t think this is going to work out. 

Rhett quickly erased that, too. He let out a low groan and tossed his phone onto the bed. 

He didn’t know what to say to you. He knew what he wanted to say. That you were fucking beautiful. That he missed the taste of you on his lips and that his hands ached to hold you and that you were the most intelligent and terrifying woman he had ever met and that if you asked him right now to leave this place and everything he had ever known he would consider it because you were his one shot. 

But he couldn’t say those things because the truth was, he would never leave. This place was a part of him. A limb. A lifeline. He wouldn’t even know how to act in a place like Chicago or New York. The two of you couldn’t be more different. And leaving Wabang would only show you just how little he could give you. It would make you reconsider him in the first place. 

You deserve someone who could give you the world. Someone who wasn’t afraid. Someone who matched. 

You deserved better and he knew it. Rhett fell asleep, the image of you sleeping in bed with sunlight streaming in on your face the last thing on his mind as he drifted off. 

***

In the end, you decided going to the Abbott ranch first was the lesser of two evils. 

You climbed in your rental car and looked at your phone, embarrassed at the two text messages just sitting there on read. It had been four days since your night with Rhett, and you hadn’t heard from him. Showing up at his house out of the blue would seem desperate if it wasn’t also part of your job description. 

Larry the mail carrier gave you directions to the Abbott ranch with a smirk on his face. 

“Gone pay Rhett a visit?” he asked. 

You shook your head. “Looking for the ranch owner, Royal Abbott.” 

“Ah, Royal,” Larry said, breathing out in a snort. “Odd fella that man. He should be around, otherwise ask for his wife Cece.” 

“Noted,” you said, stepping back toward your car. “Thanks very much.” 

“You take care, sweetheart,” Larry called out. “Girl like you lookin’ like that? ‘Bout to break some hearts.” 

You laughed and climbed into the car, speeding off on the route that Larry had mapped out for you. 

The ranch wasn’t too far out of town, only a ten minute drive. You came to a fork in the road and spotted the competing signs on the split. One was for the Tillerson’s. The other for the Abbott’s. You sighed and turned left. 

Pumps had been the wrong shoe choice. You regretted it as soon as you stepped out of the car onto the gravel driveway. Dusting your dress off, you lifted a hand and knocked on the door. 

“Come in!” 

You weren’t sure what to do with that. You hesitated for a beat too long, apparently, because before you could reach down for the handle the door swung open to reveal a young dark blonde girl with a small gap in her teeth. “Hi!” she squeaked out, taking in your expensive shoes and tailored dress. 

You pushed your sunglasses up to the top of your head. “Hi there, I’m Julia. Are your parents around?” 

She nodded and stepped aside, letting you in. “Daddy!” 

A moment later, a man in his mid-thirties turned the corner, wiping his hands on a kitchen towel. He did a double take when he saw you. “Hi there,” he said. “How can I help you?”

“Are you Royal Abbott?” 

He shook his head. “I’m his son. Perry.” He stepped closer. “Perry Abbott,” he said, reaching out a hand and you shook it. 

“Julia Han, I’m with KRPM. Wanted to see if I could chat with Royal if he’s around.” 

Perry narrowed his eyes. “What’s this about?” 

“I’m just here to speak with Royal,” you said with a smile. 

“If this is about the ranch, you can speak to me,” he said after a beat. 

You smiled. “OK then.” 

Perry nodded and cocked his head to the side. “Take a seat at the table over there. I’ll go see if I can find him but if not I’ll be right back.” 

You stepped further into the house, settling down on one of the wooden chairs, pulling out a notebook and pen. You had almost forgotten the little girl who opened the door until she appeared in the doorway. 

“Hi,” you said softly. “I’m Julia.” 

“I’m Amy,” she replied and it dawned on you. This was Amy, Rhett’s niece. Which meant Perry was his brother.

“Well it’s nice to meet you, Amy.” 

“I like your shoes,” she said in a low whisper. You looked down at the gray suede pumps and laughed. 

“Not the most practical choice,” you said and she smiled. “But I paid a lot of money for them so I have to put them to good use.” “Where are you from?” She took a seat next to you, hands on the table. 

“Chicago. The windy city. Have you ever been?” 

She shook her head. “I’ve never been anywhere.” 

“Well you should visit one day,” you said. “There’s a really big ferris wheel on the pier so you sit on top and look right out over the lake. It’s such a big lake you can’t even see the edges, it’s like the ocean.” Amy’s eyes widened. “Wow.” 

You nodded. “And we have one of the biggest aquariums in the US. Do you like fish?” 

“Sharks scare me,” she admitted. 

“Me too.” 

Both of your heads turned as the door swung open. Perry returned with an older man with a silver, bushy goatee and a dusty hat. He nodded your way and you stood up, holding out a hand. “Julia Han.” 

He shook your hand, his large one swallowing yours. “Royal Abbott.” 

“Amy, honey, why don’t you go finish your homework upstairs?” Perry looked at his daughter with a curt nod and she sighed. 

“Nice to meet you, Amy,” you said softly. She smiled over her shoulder. 

“You, too!” You could hear her footsteps overhead as she climbed the stairs to the second floor. Royal and Perry took seats across from you. 

“How can I help you?” Royal asked. There was a gruffness about him, but he was polite. 

You smiled. “I’m going to be straight with you, Mr. Abbott.” 

“Royal.”

“Royal,” you repeated. “My client is interested in purchasing the legal rights to Wabang. What would it take to get you to sell your ranch? Dollar figure.” 

He leaned back in his chair. Perry looked over at his father, worry streaking across his face. “It’s not for sale.” 

“I understand it isn’t currently for sale,” you said. “But what would it take?” 

He shook his head with a small smile. “Ain’t for sale, that’s it.” 

You leaned onto your elbows on the table. “Royal, I know this ranch has a long history with your family and I won’t even start to try to understand that. But I’m just going to tell you the truth. My client, they want this. And they usually get what they want. My job is to make them happy. That doesn’t mean I have to burn bridges with you, too.” 

You stood up. 

“I know it’s a lot to think about. But the sooner you come back to me, the better deal I can get you. If they think they’re getting dicked around, excuse my language, they’re going to lowball you. This land, it’s beautiful. You have roots here. But the amount of money they’re willing to offer you? That can buy you anything you can dream of. I’ll make sure of it.” 

You grabbed your bag, pulling out your wallet and sliding a business card down at the end of the table where Royal and Perry sat. 

“Call me when you want to talk. If you do this, if you say yes, I promise I’ll go to bat for you.” 

“Why would you do that?” Perry asked, his voice low. His beady eyes clawed at you. 

“I hate being the bad guy,” you admitted, lingering by the door. “I know what you see when you look at me. Big city girl coming in and stomping all over things. Making a mess. Leaving before it needs to be cleaned up. Someone who doesn’t respect you or your values or your traditions. Couldn’t be further from the truth. But it’s my job, and I am damn good at my job. I’m not going to go out of my way to fuck you over. But I will go out of my way to close this deal and that means making you happy in the process.” 

You stepped out the door, one hand on the handle. 

“Nice meeting you both.” 

And then you shut it gently, taking a deep breath. Your heart was pounding. You weren’t sure why. This was familiar territory. Convincing people to do the last thing they wanted to do was part of your specialty. 

So why did it feel so terrible this time around? 

You had never offered to help someone before. Never offered to make sure the receiving end was happy with a deal that you brokered. That wasn’t part of your standard protocol. Nothing about Wabang was turning out to be standard. 

Perhaps that’s why you barely flinched when you approached your car and heard a familiar voice. 

“Julia?” 

You turned. Rhett stood ten feet away, wearing a baseball cap and a confused look on his face. You unlocked the car and put your purse inside, shutting it and turning back to him. 

“What are you doing here?” he asked. 

Your heart was slamming itself against your ribs. You felt queasy. The look on his face, his tone, his lack of response to your messages. It told you everything you needed to know. You were starting to regret giving Royal and Perry the nice girl act inside. He wanted out of this, whatever it was the two of you were doing. That much was clear. And you wanted out of Wabang if having Rhett was no longer an option. “Came to talk to your dad,” you said, folding your arms over your chest. 

“About what?” Rhett stepped closer and your pulse picked up. He looked so good just standing there in a pair of jeans and a t-shirt, some dirt on his bare arms. You couldn’t forget what they felt like wrapped around your body. 

You sighed. “About selling the ranch.” 

Rhett’s face fell. “Our ranch?” 

You nodded. “It’s not technically part of Wabang city limits, but we’d need it as part of the deal.” Rhett was stoic. “I told him to come back to me with a price tag and we’d find a way to do it.” 

“He won’t.” 

“It’s a good deal, Rhett,” you whispered. “Tell him to take it. I’ll protect you guys, I promise.” 

Rhett let out a laugh so harsh you actually took a step back. “Protect us? You being here is the reason everything is going to shit.” 

Your mouth hung open. 

“He’s not gonna sell, I can tell you that.”

“It’s your only option, Rhett,” you murmured. 

He looked at you with hard eyes. “Was that what this was?” he whispered. “You fucked me to butter me up, get me on your side. You thought I might be able to persuade him to say yes to whatever deal your firm is cooking up. Is that it?” 

Tears sprung to your eyes. You hadn’t expected this. Not this terrible version of Rhett standing before you. His mouth was drawn in a tight line. Such a contrast to how soft and loving they had felt on your skin just days prior. 

You shook your head. 

“I don’t have to stand here and take this,” you said but your throat was dry and the words cracked as they met the air. “I’m doing you a favor, Rhett. This is bigger than me. It’s bigger than you, that’s for sure. Why won’t you just let me help you?” 

“Help me?” His voice was raised. “All you’re doing is fucking up something that’s been around for hundreds of years. This place, my family? They’re all I got, Julia! They’re all I’m ever gonna have. And you’re just walkin’ in here and telling me that it’s as good as gone, and you’re doin’ me a favor. That’s bullshit.” 

“What do you want me to do, Rhett?” You threw your hands up in exasperation. “Fucking quit? Somebody else is just gonna come in here and do the same fucking thing. And guess what? They’re not going to be as nice as I am. They’re going to be worse. They’re going to fucking destroy you. You don’t want to hear it, but I am your best option in this mess. There’s no going back. They want this land and they’re going to get it. The only question is, what are you getting in return?” 

Rhett stared at you and you stared back at him. You wanted to step forward, close the gap between the two of you, slap him across his beautiful face. You wanted to scream. You wanted to get in your car and speed away and fly back to Chicago and hand in your notice. You wanted to go back inside and beg Royal on your hands and knees to fucking take the deal. 

You wanted Rhett to say he was sorry. 

Instead, he simply looked at you. And you didn’t care as you let a tear slip out and slid down your cheek as you shook your head at him. 

“I tried, Rhett,” you whispered. “I really did.” 

And then you turned and walked away, climbed into your car and sped off. 

In the rearview mirror you watched as Rhett spun around and punched a hole deep into the side of the barn, his arm splintering the weathered wood. But you couldn’t hear anything above the sob rising in your throat, spilling into the cab of the car, filling your lungs, threatening to break you into pieces. 

A/N: Promise we will get some Rhett redemption aka him begging for Julia's forgiveness in the next chapter!

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[loressa]

Burgertime

----

Salt, fat, sizzle, sear - the components are basic and mandatory. The burger is the star and never let anyone tell you otherwise...even if that someone is a stupid bullshit Goodwill microwave because *someone* (Brenda in HR) is too fucking cheapass to upgrade.

I dont have time for this - Timmons needs a submit by noon for a merge by five because Perkins is absolutely horrible at his job - but fuck Perkins. I want a burger, specifically MY deliciously seared burger from last night, so it's time to settle in and wait. Triple beep on that idiot machine (fuck you, Brenda) and the microwave power's at 50% for that slow, deep reheat.

Some TV while we wait - Pedro seems to be really doing it dirty to Janessa Maria. Would NOT be surprised if he ends up stabbed with all those side chicas he's had going for weeks.

Annoyingly, the lunchroom TV cuts from daytime telenovelas to grainy cellphone zooms of movie monsters spilling out of weird machines. I check on my burger - ten minutes left and still rotating nicely, despite all expectations - and then focus back on the news again.

Invasion. Aliens. Doom. This channel sucks. Flip through a few, but it's all the same broadcast - burger doing great - and that's when I realized what's happening.

This bullshit castoff Oliver of a microwave is all please-maam-may-I-have-moreing my burger into a dry, shitty crumble. Fuck you, Brenda. Power down even lower, might help, has to help. I still hate Brenda.

Back to ten minutes and what is this bullshit on the TV. Timmons' task floats into my head and I kick myself - I didn't drop those completed components into code review. By the time I get back from that, we're at eight minutes, the burger is lightly sizzling and I've realized the entire office is empty.

Fucking corporate yoga. I can even hear them upstairs - graceful, my ass, they sound like elephants tap dancing. Seven minutes to heaven, though, so who gives a shit. I think I'll add some BBQ sauce, just to be heathenous.

I hear a crash from the area near Perkins' desk, but who cares. The guy is a mess. Six minutes. Looking juicy. Another crash. Did they have a lunch out? Perkins *likes* to drink, why do you think he's useless after lunchtime?

Flip channels for a bit, but it's all the same stupid YouTube alien movie promo crap - five minutes, die in a fire, Brenda - so I browse Reddit looking at food pics. Another crash and now it's starting to seem a bit weird. I glance at the microwave, mouth almost aching - four minutes - and sigh. Gotta help Perkins.

Aaaand, nope, that's an alien. That's totally, completely, absolutely, how the fuck is that an alien. He's... she's? It's tall, scaly, oozy, slimy, totally not human, pure nightmare factory, and appears to be baffled by a stapler. Why does Perkins even have a stapler?

You how know under pressure our brains turn into trapped rats trying to find the easiest way out and we think and do amazing shit? So yeah, three minutes left and burger is looking good.

I thank my Brenda-esque brain for absolutely nothing and dart back into the lunchroom, which has apparently become my safe house against an alien invasion. Yay, I always wanted to fight for my life surrounded by old egg salad and leftover pasta.

Right about now is when I realize my problem. See, the microwave has been going with an ambient hum since Sumeria was the shit, so any changes are going to be instantly noticed...and we're at two minutes left. Also the burger is looking amazi-

Right, yeah, pull it together girl. Fuck you, Brenda. With a REAL microwave, I would have been out of here alr-

Well, hold on now. I creep back to the door. The alien's apparently given up on staplers and is kinda scanning the room. Like, literally, scanning. There's old 90s style movie graphics sprouting out of his/her/its eyes.

One minute left - hi burger, you're beautiful - and I'm fumbling with my phone. This whole situation is stupid enough, might as well try....

And there we are. WiFi scanner is picking up something absolutely weird and confusing, clearly some sort of network we can't identify. The alien's got some tech - or biology? - emitting a signal.

I groan. I know the answer. I hate the answer. I sigh. I curse fucking Brenda. 10 seconds left. I back away and close my eyes. Everyone sacrifices in trying times.

3, 2, 1 - the rotation stops and the stupid little defunct microwave gives a happy chirp of a ding. Done! Aren't you proud of me? Never, Brenda-spawn.

A claw appears around the door. Oh fuuuuck, yep, this is happening. I duck down behind a table and reach up to fumble at the microwave door. Hopefully aliens aren't vegan. I manage to jab it open and suddenly the delicious, intoxicating smell of the perfect burger floods the lunchroom, rich and redolent.

Apparently demons like burgers, but I was counting on this. Everyone likes burgers unless they are useless bitches named Brenda. S/he/it leaps for the microwave and I slide sideways - this is a horrible idea - putting myself closer to her as my arms fumble at the countertop. Oh, god, it stinks like childhood trauma and ozone. Too late now and here we go - the creature realizes I'm here far too late, flailing and turning with way too many arms writhing about. His head is at the same level of the counter top, body coiled to strike.

My lunging fall nearly fails, apparently my aim is terrible, but I trip on a chair and surge upwards again, hands finally wrapping around the microwave.

"You like to transmit shit about Earth?????!" I want to scream but instead I just kinda squeak as I grab the horrible microwave with its beautiful payload and slide the entire thing over the creature's head.

"Farrady cage?" I whisper hopefully, quickly backing away, because that - and my burger - was really all I had. For a second, the alien is still, simply standing there with his/her/its head crammed in a microwave, before its head gives a sudden, anticlimactic plop and sinks to the ground, ooze puddling out on his/her/its shoulders.

As the creature falls, his/her/it's body gives a shake, some final death throe, and, with a rattle, a little brown disc comes soaring out of the microwave. It's a beautiful, heartwarming moment. The alien's dead, Berlin is playing take my breath away and I've been reunited with my hamburger.

The rest of earth can wait a few more minutes for me to save it. This shit is finally hot and ready and it's lunchtime for momma.

[biscuits-of-bagend]

DnDoc, Artificial Intelligence #5 - The Doctor Is Here

Part 1 Part 4

Previous stories: DnDoc, Coming Home DnDoc, Space Band DnDoc, A Man's a Man DnDoc, The God of Rock 'n' Roll DnDoc, The Loch o' the Lowes DnDoc, The Mushroom Planet DnDoc, The Flowers We'll Remember

CW: Mild injury description. This was actually a lot more grisly before I was reminded the TARDIS can do magic 😂

---

When Rogue got up to the sickbay, he found Ruby on one of those futons she and the Doctor had led him to that first day he'd got back from the barren dimension. On the table in between the two futons was the blank screen from the Cybermen's lair and the three cubic units attached via wires. The Doctor was perched on Ruby's futon, his hands fluttering around the bottom of her jeans, where a nasty burn had seared right through to her skin.

   "Shit," murmured Rogue, sitting down on the other futon.

   "Ruby, I'm gonna need you to sit so still," said the Doctor, reaching to his left to stroke her hair. "The TARDIS can deal with this, but her job will be so much easier if she doesn't have to recalibrate your position. Do you think you can do that for me?"

   Ruby nodded and grabbed his hand, squeezing his sleeve tight in her balled up fists.

   "Do you want the jumper to hold? I can give it to you," said the Doctor. "It might help you hold still."

   "Okay," said Ruby, tears falling down the sides of her face. It was as if by squeezing so tight she was wringing them out of herself, because she'd definitely been trying to hold them in.

   The Doctor pulled off the jumper and tucked it into her arms. As she wrapped herself around it, she screwed her eyes tight shut. Rogue had been in pain like this before, knew the screaming that was raging in her head. All she could do was try to drown it out with the effort of holding tight.

   "What do we do, Doctor?" asked Rogue.

   The Doctor handed him a really quite enormous pair of scissors. "We are going to cut at the jeans so that most of the material around the burn is gone and there's just the bit that's stuck left. Then, the TARDIS is going to lock onto that matter and transport it to somewhere else within the interior - this room, the console room, the lounge, who knows. Then we're going to cool the burn and wash it out, then wrap it. Okay?"

   Rogue nodded, imprinting each step of the plan onto his memory.

   Once they had cut most of the denim away, there was only a tiny strip still stuck there, maybe ten centimetres by three (at the widest) but it was more than enough to strike down poor Ruby. Rogue quickly glanced at her face before getting out the way of the TARDIS's matter locator.

   At first, Rogue thought he'd just gotten a headrush as he'd stood up, but then he realised that the silvery particles in the air were the matter locator, and their settling on the piece of denim was probably a good sign. They covered it completely, turning the battered blue fabric into a dazzling flick of a painter's glittery brush. As Rogue watched it started to get less corporeal, in fact even more like it was simply an artist's impression. Then he blinked, and it was gone.

   The Doctor stepped forward immediately with a damp cloth. "Ruby, I love you. This is going to hurt."

   "Do it," Ruby said, muffled by the jumper. Rogue glanced at her and saw that she'd buried her face in the knitwear, blocking out all the light.

   The Doctor carefully applied the cloth, wiping out any remaining dirt. Then he wrapped it in what looked like ordinary cling film but which shone with just a little yellow healing energy of some sort. Rogue stepped up to the head of the futon to see how Ruby was doing, and found her biting her lip behind the loose shield of the jumper.

   "Hey, you can rest now, if you like," said Rogue. "Should be okay for you to toss and turn at this point. Right, Doctor?"

   "Yeah," said the Doctor, joining Rogue at the head end. He stood on the other side, wiping Ruby's hair out of her face. "Cybermen are probably just set to waiting since they can't get any closer to us right now, so in a way, we're not in a rush."

   Ruby nodded slightly and let her eyes close more gently, drifting off, away from the nightmare they'd all found themselves in.

🖥🖥🖥

   Needing a rest themselves, the Doctor and Rogue had squeezed themselves onto the other futon, taking it in turns to sleep and keep watch. After a while, when they'd both got enough shut-eye, they lay in the low light of the sickbay and talked through the problem.

   "I don’t even know what to feel," Rogue murmured, stroking his hand up and down the Doctor's side.

   "Fear…?" suggested the Doctor.

   "But that's the thing." Rogue leaned up on one elbow and looked down into the Doctor's eyes. "Of course I'm scared. We saw what those things did to Ruby's leg and that was just a graze. But that's kind of lower down the list for me."

   "What's at the top?"

   Rogue stared into the dimness for a moment, not sure he even wanted to share this. But then he looked back down into those warm brown eyes and said, "Joy. I felt a sick joy at being able to talk to 'Art.'"

   The Doctor sat up a little too and held Rogue's arm, just below the shoulder. "Hey, who says it's sick?"

   "Well, it wasn't really Art, was it? It was an imposter," said Rogue. "Feeling joy about that makes no sense."

   "Mortals make no sense," said the Doctor, using the hand on Rogue's arm to pull himself closer. They were close enough that their breath made one invisible cloud around them both.

   "Hey, Time Lords can be pretty confusing too," said Rogue, though a smile flickered slightly on his lips. His gaze danced around the Doctor's face.

   "I know," said the Doctor. "We'd both drive the Cybermen mad with our responses to the world. All of humanity does. That's why they convert them. And then yeah, there's me. I've been a mess of emotions ever since the bi-generation. I don't know what to do with them half the time, and sometimes they directly contradict each other. Like you, with your fear and your joy." The Doctor nuzzled his nose against Rogue's. "Despair and hope."

   Rogue opened his mouth and locked his lips against the Doctor's. He tasted the salt of tears, but he didn't flinch.

   Before they could get too far, Ruby cleared her throat.

   The Doctor grinned and pulled away from Rogue, his dazzling white teeth catching what little light there was.

   "So you're awake are you, babes?" said the Doctor.

   Ruby's voice was low, and a little scratchy, but they were all close enough together to hear it clearly. "I am. And I just want to add that I feel angry. I've never hated anything more than the Cybermen."

   "Well, we try not to encourage hate in this TARDIS, but that's maybe fair if you've just been shot in the leg," said the Doctor.

   "They're just such hypocrites," Ruby said, her voice starting to strain. "That day in New Milan, everything was perfect. The outfits, the theatre, the snacks, everything was exactly as it should be, then they came in and ruined everything. And now they talk about optimisation. There's no optimisation in the destruction of joy!"

   "Wow, that's quite the speech for someone who just got shot," said the Doctor. "I'd have been proud of that one."

   Ruby paused. "I might have been crafting it for a couple of minutes."

   A sudden pinprick of embarrassment added itself to Rogue's list of emotions. "You uh, you heard all that?"

   "I'm really sorry," said Ruby. "I didn’t mean to eavesdrop on important emotional stuff. I just wasn't ready to talk yet."

   Rogue shook his head. "Oh, overhearing the emotions is fine. I mean hey, at this point I'm ready to be best friends if you are. No, I meant all the kissing noises."

   Ruby laughed, which caused her to instinctively shift her posture. She winced in pain as her injured leg bumped against her other leg.

   Once she'd indicated she was okay, Rogue sighed and said something he'd been thinking since they'd got back into the TARDIS. "Hey, I'm just stating the obvious here but… They will let you two go if they get me. If they're striving for efficiency, they're not going to waste time on people not on their Agents list."

   The Doctor cuffed him over the ear. "Absolutely not."

---

Part 6

@off-traveling-in-the-stars @casavanse @monster-donut @randomwholocker (let me know at any point if you no longer wish to be tagged in each post)

[occupyhades]

Operation Deimos

Operation Deimos keeps track of the Agents of Behemoth: The Backstabbing Parasites of Corporate Personhood.

I have seen a grievous evil under the sun: wealth hoarded to the harm of its owners. Ecclesiastes 5:13 (NIV)

The fourth angel poured out his bowl on the sun, and the sun was allowed to scorch people with fire. Apocalypse 16:8 (NIV)

They were seared by the intense heat and they cursed the name of God, who had control over these plagues, but they refused to repent and glorify him. Apocalypse 16:9 (NIV)

Wake up! Strengthen what remains and is about to die, for I have found your deeds unfinished in the sight of my God. Remember, therefore, what you have received and heard; hold it fast, and repent. But if you do not wake up, I will come like a thief, and you will not know at what time I will come to you. Apocalypse 3:2-3 (NIV)

They have the power to shut the sky, that no rain may fall during the days of their prophesying, and they have power over the waters to turn them into blood and to strike the earth with every kind of plague, as often as they desire. Apocalypse 11:6 (ESV)

Wealth is treacherous, and the arrogant are never at rest. They open their mouths as wide as the grave, and like death, they are never satisfied. In their greed they have gathered up many nations and swallowed many peoples. Habakkuk 2:5 (NLT)

Behemoth is the first of God's conquests. Its maker approaches it with his sword. Job 40:19 (GWT)

[rudrjobdesk]

Sears Holdings Corporation | Fresher / Trainee | Pune | jobs

Sears Holdings Corporation | Fresher / Trainee | Pune | jobs

2013 Freshers Jobs in India, 2012 Freshers Jobs in India, 2011 Freshers Jobs in India, Latest IT Jobs in India, Latest Walkins, Banking Sector, Government Jobs in India, Govt, BPO Jobs in India , Call Center Jobs, HR, Online Jobs, Medical, Health Care, Software Jobs in India, Sales, Customer Service, Administrative , Accounting , Human Resources, Nurse, Retail , Warehouse , Part time Jobs in…

[writefightandflightclub]

I really enjoyed your Nathan fluff 🥺 we love this angry peach fuzz king 👑💖 would you ever write him being comforted after having a nightmare? 💕

First of all, LOL @ “angry peach fuzz king” 🤣🤣🤣

Second of all, here you go! 🧡 I will warn you - I think I forgot the fluff a little bit though. It became more hurt / comfort? More angst than expected? It ends nicely though and comfort is given to Nathan - but only after I’ve subjected him to rattling around in his own head and house for a bit.

Through the looking glass (Nathan Bateman x GN!reader)

Summary: Nathan has nightmares after The Incident. After so long alone, he doesn’t realise how badly he needs a little comfort - and maybe he doesn’t believe that he deserves it.

Author’s note: hopefully this isn’t too similar to All Better. I know they both take place post-stabbing, but I tried to give this a different focus. I know I could have made the nightmares based off of anything given the ask, but this timeline / focus seemed most sensible to explore the character.

Warnings: nightmares following traumatic incident (a stabbing); mentions of blood and injury - not graphic. Self-harm (punching the bag until injury); Body horror if you squint (some gruesome descriptions occurring in-dream, but fairly abstract); swearing; implied alcoholism recovery if you squint; mentions of therapy; Nathan mildly injured in fic; reader offering comfort.

Rating: MATURE for themes mentioned above.

GIF: by @santiagogarcia (this whole gifset is magic- check it out + reblog!)

Nathan wakes up breathless, plastered to the covers by a sheen of sweat - and not in a good way. On instinct, or out of habit by now, or maybe somewhere between the two, his palm slides over his body to the site of the wound.

He is so slick that he half-believes he is soaked with dank, deep blood again, until his fingers trace over nothing more than a half-concave, half-ridged scar. The lack of searing pain is the next point of evidence leading him towards an alternative conclusion. He’s not dying (again).

It’s just another gruesome nightmare.

Although… there is nothing “just” about it.

The nightmares are pretty brutal. Brutal enough for him to wake with ragged breaths and a hammering heart, his sheets dampened and coiled up around him. Enough that it takes effort to sift through the layers of terror and distinguish reality.

With what can only be described as a whimper, Nathan swings his legs over the edge of the bed, bringing himself into a seated position and bracing his head in his hands until his racing heart levels.

In his mind, he’s telling himself to be logical about this. That Ava hasn’t truly arrived to finish the job she started; but logic is not the safe haven it used to be.

She could come back.

She’s still out there, somewhere, and Nathan distinctly got the impression, last time, that she was vehemently not a fan of him.

His hand trembling, Nathan reaches for the glass of water by his bedside, glugging it down so eagerly it spills into his bushy beard.

Since the… accident? Malfunction? Functioning just fine, actually? Failed experiment? Greatest achievement known to man? Attempted murder? (Truth be told, Nathan isn’t quite sure what to call it, so he simply calls it The Incident.)

Since The Incident, Ava has begun to regularly visit him in his sleep.

The visitations are not waning with time. In fact, they are happening more often, not less. They are happening more since you moved into the house.

It’s a bad fucking time to have quit drinking.

You’d been sent by the board. Something about Nathan taking “tortured genius” a slice too literally. Something about him being in isolation too long and needing another human around in the compound.

Well, that’s not technically true, is it? The shit all started when he opted to get social, after all.

Fucking Caleb.

Before that, he was doing just fine.

Nathan doesn’t like it at all - having you here. Being watched. Observed. Having someone monitoring his actions. Waiting for him to either fuck up or prove himself.

Ironic really, considering where he kept Ava. The experiments he ran on her.

She’d probably find it poetic, if she could truly understand such a concept.

At the thought of her, Nathan physically shudders, and reaches for an old vest to haphazardly mop the excess sweat from his skin. Then, he balls up a change of clothes and tracks nude to his wet room, feeling relief as the luke warm water sluices over his skin.

He watches himself in the mirror as he stands there naked. It’s not a vanity thing - at least not any longer. These days, he examines the way his form has changed since it happened. He lost some of his muscle and bulk during recovery, whilst unable to exercise, his arms slightly smaller and his abs softer. His stomach a little more rounded.

There’s also the puckered scar, of course - that permanent reminder of where he was skewered through the chest like a piece of kebab meat.

His gaze travels up over his body, until his eyes settle on his still haunted face. He doesn’t have his glasses on, and somewhere between the blurred vision, misted mirror, clouding steam and sluicing water, his reflected face distorts. It transforms - for the briefest of moments - into her.

Still amped with adrenalin from his harsh awakening, this briefest flash sends a surge of panic zipping through Nathan’s chest, his heartbeat racing so hard he can feel the pounding of blood in his ears.

Fuck, he curses, reaching his arms out to brace himself against the shower wall above him, his body trembling and his head dipping down between the cradle of his broad shoulders as his legs threaten to buckle.

He turns the water cold, until it is practically glacial and thundering on to the back of his neck, subduing this spiking heat.

She really did a fucking number on me, didn’t she?

It’s true though.

Ava is haunting him. When he sleeps - and at other times too.

Nathan didn’t know robots could do that. Didn’t know they could spawn ghosts.

Nathan doesn’t believe in ghosts, of course… but he does believe in trauma and its effect on the brain. He at least concedes that it is natural to continue to feel afraid; but this?

Being dogged by the spectre of her taps into Nathan’s deepest insecurities.

After all, there is nothing a genius fears more than doubting his own mind.

Nothing a God fears more than his own mortality.

And the man? Turns out, there is nothing he fears more now, than dying alone.

With a ragged breath, Nathan towels off and pulls on his grey sweatpants, tugging on his black zip-up hoody over his bare chest. And then, keen not to return to his damp, tangled sheets, he tracks towards the kitchen - mainly for want of any more favourable option.

Of course, he had returned to the compound after The Incident. Something about that many fibre optic cables being a bitch to lay down. Sunk cost fallacy and all that - too much already invested.

But it possibly wasn’t the best choice for his recovery.

Nathan has certainly gotten more used to walking down that hallway since he returned from the hospital, and yet he still finds himself holding his breath until he is free of it. Still finds his pace is just a little faster as he passes through. His gaze deliberately averted from that spot.

Once, you’d found him lying in it.

Lying in that exact spot, his body arranged like a crime scene photo, his eyes closed.

Hey, it’s hardly his least healthy coping mechanism, is it?

What in the fuck are you doing, Nathan?

Re-enacting my death, obviously.

Uh-Kay…. A beat. A devious smile. Shall I get some popcorn?

Absurd as it was, he had laughed. Laughed for the first time since it happened, and, with an extended hand, you had helped him up off the floor.

Still, now that he’s alone, he does not dwell in the corridor, colder and darker as it is without your light in it, and he tries not to think about your face or hers as he pads to the kitchen.

When he arrives though, he bypasses it entirely - heading out on to the decking, the crisp night air soothing his hot skin.

He wants to be outside.

There are too many ghosts in his house now.

He has tried to shake it. Tried to desensitise himself to Ava’s face. Spent longer than strictly necessary poring over footage of her.

He built her. Shouldn’t that take the fear out of things? Not to mention the fact Ava’s face was simply a composite of some manipulable nerd’s wank bank browsing history.

Fucking Caleb.

Still, once Nathan had looked her in the eyes and seen a rage that was all too human, things seemed a hell of a lot different.

Nathan crosses to the punchbag on the deck -lit by creeping dawn- on instinct, or out of habit, or maybe some combination of the two, his unease riling him enough to sock some punches at its midsection. Right at the equivalent site of his corporeal puncture.

He punches so hard that the skin on his knuckle splits, but Nathan doesn’t stop. He throws punch after punch until his hands are scathed and bloodied, and a trail of spit hanging from the corner of his mouth. Until he hugs the bag - the closest thing he has to a warm body to hold - and slides down it, coming limply to his knees, wiping his face on his sleeve.

He stays there, dead eyed and still for some time, the pain in his hands raw and singing. Unpleasant, but better. Better than what he was feeling, and worse all at once.

He considers his tired, cumbersome body, and contemplates remaking the world one more time. Uploading his mind into a machine or some shit, so that he doesn’t have to contend with the fragility and failings of his own existence.

He stays there, until some motion in the interior of the compound causes the light and shadows to dance differently over him, and he looks up to see your figure there, cast in a soft halo of yellowed light.

He tips his head up slightly, opening his mouth as though he might cry out to you for help, but no sound comes out - only a thin, dry croak.

So, instead, Nathan watches you for a moment, moving seamlessly around his kitchen as though it is your own. Maybe it is - more yours than his now.

Observing you like this, through the tall, cinematic windows, it is as though he peers in on another world entirely. Something less resembling a nightmare.

Lighter than that. Something more like a good dream, albeit a good dream that Nathan cannot be part of. One he can only ever watch, from the outside looking in, always fated as he is to be on the other side of the glass.

Truth be told, you haunt him too. You represent everything he could have and yet doesn’t deserve.

You appear in his nightmares and his dreams, in various terrifying and beautiful incarnations. Many variations of which his therapist would have a field day with, he’s sure - or, she would, if he’d ever fucking call her.

When you first arrived here, he was plagued by grotesque visions of you. Grotesque visions of the skin being peeled back from your body. Sometimes, circuitry beneath, and other times, muscle and bone. Sometimes, Ava’s face was buried beneath the chilling slip of your fleshy mask.

Sometimes it is a better dream. Sometimes you save him. Sometimes he saves you.

Sometimes it is a good dream. Ava isn’t there at all. But the good dreams never seem to last for long. 

Sometimes you kill him, and sometimes...

The glass door slides open.

“Reenacting your own death again, are you?” you tease, though not unkindly, interrupting the spiral of Nathan’s incessant thoughts.

A lump forming instantly in his throat, Nathan swallows thickly, and looks up at you helplessly with a thin, joyless smile. He snorts as though it’s funny, but it really isn’t. “Over and fucking over.” 

You nod once, and, without hesitation, you extend your hand towards him. Your gaze cuts through him as you search his face and he feels suddenly see-through, as if he’s about to be hit with some Shyamalan-esque twist. Was he the ghost all along? Did he die here after all?

If so, is this purgatory because Ava is here too, or heaven, because you are?

Christ. So fucking schmaltzy, Bateman.

After hesitating, Nathan takes your hand and you yank him to his feet, drawing him inside, through the looking glass.

The room seems warm on the other side. It feels… safe.

“What happened?” you ask, as you look down at your joined hands, your thumb painting a smear of red across his split knuckles. 

You mean now. What happened now, but Nathan’s mind harks back further than that. In his mind, everything is connected. Every thing threaded to another. This one smear of blood to that weeping flower of red.

The thought -the thoughts, all of them- halt him in place, his feet firmly planting on the ground. Nathan’s hand clenches tightly around yours as though it is a lifeline, as he is cast adrift on this familiar crimson tide, his face growing increasingly angular and stern.

“She...” He swallows, unable to complete that precise thought, his eyes dropping down to his feet.

You turn your body towards Nathan as he croaks, still not letting go.

Your eyes flitting around his face, attempting to search his eyes, you tentatively step closer, sliding your palms slowly over his tense shoulders, feeling them rise with an uneven, stuttered breath as you do so.

He’s so tired. He’s so very, very tired.

And it happens all at once on the exhale.

Suddenly, your arms are tugging him closer, and his face is contorting as a violent smattering of tears beads in his long lashes. You are encasing his body in your embrace and rubbing circles into his back as his buzzed head sags all too willingly toward the junction of your shoulder, your fingers splaying along the smooth flesh at the nape of his neck and pads dancing over the gentle prickle of his hair. You are shushing and soothing and reassuring and squeezing and smoothing and cradling and Nathan can feel it. Can feel his heart race in his chest and…

Finally.

Finally, his heart is not pounding because he is reliving his death.

It is pounding because he feels alive again.

When was the last time he cried, even? The last time someone really hugged him? He doesn’t remember the last time. The serendipitous combination of Nathan willing to be vulnerable, and another being willing to hold space for his pain is an all too rare thing.

There’s a reason -or several - he’s so emotionally constipated, after all.

Fuck. I’m taking a huge emotional shit right now.

Nathan remains in the welcome circumference of your arms longer than is strictly necessary - until the tear trails over the bridge of his nose begin to feel cloying. Until his breaths steady, and until his thoughts and ego creep back in. Until he notices the way his hands are clasped at your waist like claws, fingers sinking into your softness, and he thinks to release you.

Then, he leans away, a weight on his brow making his expression stern.

He waits for you to judge him, another swallow trailing thickly down his throat.

However, your eyes are kind and level, dancing with soft concern. Not with judgement or satisfaction or pity, or with anything he fears.

It is refreshing not to feel so afraid.

Finally.

“She…” Nathan begins again, finally finding courage. All at once his eyebrows shoot up towards his hairline. “She fucking stabbed me.”

You take his words in. You listen.

His “reveal” is simple. Plain and factual. A little indignant. Kinda salty. It’s not overly emotional, or articulate.

But it is enough.

Your eyes narrow, and you nod slowly, trying to understand the true meaning beneath his words.

You even reach up to cup Nathan’s face, his springy beard a cushion beneath your gentle palm as you hold him. “Yeah, genius,” you tease, with a tentative, lopsided smile, dropping your arm all too suddenly, perhaps as you catch yourself. “I got that from context.”

In response, Nathan chucks air from between his teeth, bringing his hand up to comb through his beard - perhaps to obscure his involuntary smile, or perhaps chasing your tender touch, the impression of it left warm on his cheek.

As he brings his hand up, your brows draw together, and you hook his bloodied paw delicately in yours, examining the wound, and leading him gingerly across to the couch as though his whole being might be hurting along with it.

It is.

You order him to stay put while you fetch the first aid kit, and then, in stages, Nathan watches you with fascination as you painstakingly clean and tend to his wounds, without ever being asked to.

He watches you carefully swipe the angry red away from his skin, and, to his overactive mind, it’s all connected. This red is one and the same with the flower of blooming red from The Incident.

Ava hurt him then, and she is hurting him now too.

And you…

“Going to tell the board about this?” Nathan asks, his voice weak and scuffed.

You search his eyes, holding your words back for a moment before answering. Then, you launch them on a big breath. “Fuck the board, Nathan. I told those assholes to stick it.”

Nathan blinks in confusion, shaking his head, his hand flourishing emphatically through the air. “Then… what the fuck are you still doing in my house?”

“Well. I’m… here for you,” you admit, sucking in air through your teeth, your voice shrinking. “If you want that.”

Well, that’s news to him.

Welcome news, perhaps?

You’re not watching him at all, are you? Not observing. Not asking him to evidence his humanity. Not waiting to see whether he fucks up or proves himself.

Instead, you’re seeing him. You’re seeing him and you’re not running.

Nathan had begun to think that maybe he was the nightmare. He’d begun to think he might always be haunted.

Always alone. That he might die that way; again.

And now, here you are.

Nathan thinks about that. He could so easily revert to his old ways, in this moment. Of pride and ego and stubborn independence.

But, perhaps those assholes from the board got a few things right - he’ll admit.

Maybe he had been in isolation too long. Maybe he didn’t need to take “tortured genius” quite so literally.

And so, Nathan almost protests. Almost rejects your presence and your comfort and pushes you away. But the truth is, he’s just so… tired. He’s had so many nightmares, and this time, he’d like to be on the other side of the glass. He’d like to step into that dream.

Nathan takes a deep breath, and releases on the exhale. Releases more than air.

He slowly, ever so slowly, shifts towards you on the couch, angling his body until he can safely dip his head towards your lap, his nose pointed in towards your abdomen and his knees curling around you.

“Th.. this okay?” he asks weakly.

You throw your splayed hands up into the air in surprise as the weight of Nathan settles there, but as he curls his arms around your middle and shuffles closer, you ease into it. You snake your fingers in intricate caresses over his head and neck and shoulders.

“Yeah, Nathan. This is okay,” you soothe gently, voice taut with emotion.

You comfort him.

And finally, Nathan does not need to peel your skin back to know what’s underneath.

He knows you’re not a robot, and that, as your kind touch finds him corporeal, that he is not a ghost.

He closes his eyes. And this time, when he next wakes, he knows that whether the dream is bad or better or good, it doesn’t matter. Because you will be there with him.

He wants you with him.

It’s not at all natural to him, to have you around. For the longest time, he didn’t like it. It didn’t come instinctually, and he has formed no familiar habits.

It isn’t easy - he doesn’t make it easy.

But he wants it to be.

And, in your arms, he can finally dream that it will all work out. What’s more; he can dream he deserves it, too.

[stxphxn-strange]

playing pretend

a/n: hello hello hello! i have a prompt fill for this Dark!Stephen AU from @ironstrangeprompts and im just gonna post it before i can start second guessing my writing lmao

tw: mentions of torture, injury, implied past abuse

Prompt: Dark!Stephen AU. The avengers never really notice Stephen’s pacifist to-a-fault superheroing style until one day a magical incident corrupts him/magical entity possesses him. They’re treated to a completely unhinged and lethal Stephen, the avengers realize just how much Stephen was holding back, what with his quick work dispatching all of them, resulting in very heavy injuries. However, he takes special interest with Tony Stark, whom he has been dating for a few months now. He has Tony all strung up in the middle of the battlefield in front of the other broken and beaten avengers, he taunts and tortures him. “Being a doctor and a sorcerer is so very useful, I can break you in very precise manners, put you back together and then do it again.” When he gets bored of Tony’s screams and decides to end him permanently, Stephen suddenly snaps back to normal. The real Stephen has been battling internally to gain back control, knowing that he’s about to kill the love of his life gives him the final push to break free. He portals them all to safety and to receive medical help. Cue heavy angst and Stephen trying to make it up to them but especially Tony, who insists that everything is fine and that he knows it wasn’t the real Stephen. However they both know that Tony is just putting up a brave front and is undoubtedly traumatized by the incident. Up to the author on if they want to end it in a bleak or hopeful tone.

It took Tony a few minutes to register his surroundings when he woke up. He wasn’t lying in a makeshift coffin of bent metal, broken bones, and the ruins of the building. The familiar baritone, the melody of his waking world, wasn’t hollow and cruelly taunting him. Stephen sounded like himself, soothing and loving and reassuring but worried and tired all the same. Tony heard guilt in his partner’s voice, delineating his dream, his memory, from the present. He wanted to follow that voice, the real Stephen’s voice, and leave the past behind them. Guilt was eating away at Stephen as he tried to calm Tony down and wake him up. He defaulted to the standard promises and phrases when Tony had nightmares, but this time was different. This time Stephen was the cause of the nightmare, and he knew it. No matter how much Tony said it wasn’t his fault, that everything was okay, Stephen knew he had to repair the pieces of Tony’s trust he’d obliterated.

Tony thrashed again in his sleep, feebly kicking the air in front of him just like he did on the battlefield. “Stop!”

“Sweetheart,” Stephen began, unsure of what to say. “Tony, wake up. You’re safe, no one will hurt you.”

“Stephen!” Tony groaned and thrashed again, his eyes still shut as he fought to wake up. “This isn’t you… don’t do this.”

Stephen barely held back tears as he spoke again. “It’s over Tony, I’m back. I’m me again. I won’t hurt you, I promise I’ll never hurt you as long as I live.”

Tony was shaking when he finally woke up, unsure if he was even breathing. He opened his eyes hastily, studying the look on Stephen’s face. Stephen looked concerned, even worried, but unsure of himself as he murmured soothing nonsense to Tony.

“Breathe, Tones,” Stephen said. “I’m sorry, I’m so sorry. It’ll be okay, I promise. Just breathe, we’re alright. I’ll leave you be once I’m sure you’re okay, and—”

Tony wrapped his arms around Stephen and hugged him tightly. “Don’t you dare. Don’t go… please don’t go Stephen.”

“I can’t risk scaring you again Tony. I’ve already hurt you enough, it’s not fair to keep putting you through this,” Stephen argued, fighting his urge to hug Tony back.

Tony only held on tighter, determined not to let Stephen leave.

Stephen still wanted to disappear, but he quickly understood that Tony wouldn’t let him go that easily. The mechanic was still shivering and trembling, slowly starting to calm down as Stephen hesitantly hugged him back.

++++

They both woke up at the same time, almost four days later. Stephen woke up slowly, feeling like he was underwater or in a fog, while Tony started awake across town.

It was pitch dark in the room, the heavy curtains drawn shut to keep out any intrusive light. It was the middle of the day, judging by the clock Stephen kept on his nightstand, but he couldn’t feel the sun on his face, or see any light from his window. He was bathing in pitch black. At first, he thought he was dead, doomed to an eternity in darkness, when something red bloomed and came to life beside him. Even now, his Cloak was always dramatic, comforting as it covered him like a blanket.

As his eyes adjusted, Stephen registered Wong and Christine on the other side of the room, just studying him.

Christine was the first to meet his stare, rushing to his bedside. “How do you feel?”

Stephen grimaced in pain as he shrugged. “Not great, thanks.” There was something else on his mind, but he was too afraid to ask. He was almost too scared to hear the answer.

Luckily, Wong spoke up before Stephen could ask. “You slept for three and a half days, Strange. How much do you remember?”

“Something attacked the Compound… I think it was me,” he mumbled.

“Not exactly,” Wong began, gentler than Stephen had ever heard him.

“Possessed or not, I still attacked!” Stephen sat up, paying the price as he rose quicker than his body could handle. “It doesn’t matter if I saved everyone, not if I almost killed them first.”

Neither Wong nor Christine spoke, and the cloak simply wrapped tighter around Stephen’s shoulders.

“You did save everyone,” Wong said finally. “And you banished whatever entity possessed you. We still haven’t figured out what it is, but…”

Wong’s voice trailed off as Stephen stopped listening. His head started to hurt as he remembered, in searing detail, more of what happened and what caused him to snap out of the state he was in.

Tony was near silent, his voice failing him after hours of tortured screams. Somewhere, somehow, Stephen knew that he was the one hurting him, the one causing Tony so much pain even though he promised never to hurt the hero. He wanted to stop, to end all of the carnage he’d brought to the Compound, to his friends who were starting to feel like family, to Tony… but he couldn’t. The hand controlling his impulsive strings was strong and steady, and it wouldn’t rest until Stephen finished its bidding.

His movements were mechanical as he strode, like the marionette he’d become, to stand in front of Tony.

And Tony just looked at him with a defeated, almost calm look on his face.

Stephen’s voice sounded distorted when he spoke, preening with a twisted smile as he bent to look upon the man of iron. “Accepted your fate?”

“You won’t be the first person I’ve loved who’s hurt me,” Tony said, between pained breaths. “There’s nothing to say.”

Stephen tried to back up, to keep himself still, but he couldn’t fight the influence of his controller and struck Tony again. “Arrogance is unbecoming.”

Tony inhaled again, deeper and more pained this time but somehow even calmer. “Go ahead and finish the job. I won’t hold it against you, Stephen.”

Stephen was hyperventilating when he heard Wong’s voice again, pressed against the headboard of his bed like he was backed into a corner.

Christine approached him tentatively, resting her hand on one of his shoulders.

Stephen recoiled away from the touch and curled up on himself like a turtle retreating in its shell. He ducked his head under a pillow, shaking in fear and pain from moving too quickly. “Did I… did I kill him? I remember everything until I was about to… please tell me I—”

“You didn’t.” Christine cut him off, hoping to keep her friend from spiraling further. “Wong said you saved everyone, and that includes Tony.”

Stephen sobbed just hearing his partner’s name. Guilt wracked his entire body as he cried harder and harder, his magic running through his veins. Was he not this exhausted, he’d probably set fire to something from his high levels of stress and fear, but all he could do was cry until he fell into painful sleep.

++++

He didn’t finish it.

He didn’t listen.

Tony remembered the horrified look he saw on Stephen’s face, the remorse in his eyes as he sent a vaguely corporeal figure of dark energy through a portal.

Tony remembered the way Stephen apologized again and again as his eyes started closing, overwhelmed by the pain seizing his mind and body. A part of him hoped that Stephen had listened, that maybe the last thing he’d see in this life would be the face he’d come to absolutely adore…

… But he’d woken up sometime later in the MedBay, wanting to see Stephen more than anything. In spite of everything that’d just happened, or maybe because of everything that’d just happened, all Tony really wanted was to go back to sleep, preferably in his partner’s embrace. That really didn’t seem like too much to ask for.

“How are you feeling, Mr. Stark?”

Tony almost didn’t notice Peter pacing around on the ceiling, in fact he didn’t know his pseudo son was even in the room until he suddenly landed a few feet away. “I feel great, Kid. Definitely not like I took a ton of bricks to the face.” He didn’t remember the gory details of the fight, so Tony couldn’t say whether or not he was being literal.

“Welcome back, Boss,” FRIDAY said, a hint of worry in her voice. “And good morning. It’s currently half nine on Tuesday. I’ve been asked to inform you that Col. Rhodes has returned from Washington and has volunteered to lead all reconstruction projects for the Compound. He’s also asked me to keep you updated and will be coming to see you this afternoon.”

Tony sighed. “Thank you. Wait… that means Rhodey came back early?”

“He did,” FRIDAY replied simply. Her voice sounded like what a nod looked like as she continued. “Would you like me to tell him that you asked about him?”

“Sure, but don’t bother him. He doesn’t have to rush to see me,” Tony replied, knowing that Rhodey would probably come anyway. He was maybe the one exception to what Tony had told Stephen earlier, before…

“Col. Rhodes will be here within the hour,” FRIDAY announced.

“Thanks Fri.”

Peter, who had started pacing on the ceiling again, asked what Tony had been wondering since he woke up. “Where’s the Doc?”

“I dunno, Pete. I’ve been wondering that myself,” Tony admitted. “Fri, you wouldn’t happen to know… would you?”

“As far as I can tell, Doctor Strange returned to the Sanctum following the… altercation… on Thursday,” the AI reported.

“What? Altercation? What happened?” Peter landed on the floor again, looking more worried than Tony thought he deserved to.

“There was just a small wizarding mishap, don’t worry about it,” Tony said. He shrugged, trying to reassure Peter as much as he could. “Not even an emergency, Underoos. We would’ve called for you if it was.”

Tony also didn’t want Peter to see what happened. Maybe he was sheltering the kid, but he didn’t want Peter to ever find out about the attack on the Compound. It was bad enough that the team, even in their varied states of consciousness, saw what they did. They saw the fear in Tony’s eyes, saw him slowly surrender to Stephen’s ruthless attacks until he just stopped trying to fight the sorcerer. Tony knew he couldn’t parry these magical attacks, couldn’t break the spelled restraints… but he didn’t want Peter to see how easily he’d given up.

If Peter had more to say, he simply chose not to ask about it. Instead he just shrugged. “Glad you’re okay, Mr. Stark. May heard from Pepper that you got hurt, so I wanted to swing by… no pun intended.”

“How many times do I have to tell you that calling me ‘Tony’ is fine?” Tony asked, rolling his eyes warmly. “I’m fine, Pete. Not up for working in the lab today, I’m afraid, but—”

“That’s okay! My suit isn’t going anywhere, we can upgrade anytime,” Peter replied. “I promised May I’d be home for movie night, but I just wanted to come see you.”

Tony smiled softly. “You’re a good kid, Son. Get home safe, and I’ll give you a call when I’m back in working condition.”

“Thanks IronDad!” Peter was gone in a second, leaving Tony in the quiet with his thoughts.

“Fri?” He asked after a few minutes.

“Still here, Boss.”

“Will you… will you tell Stephen I want to see him?” Tony asked.

Maybe he was the spoiled brat everyone believed, or maybe he was exhausted and touch starved and showing signs of an addictive personality. Tony didn’t know, he didn’t care, and he just wanted his sorcerer back.

“I’ll let him know,” FRIDAY replied, softer than normal.

++++

“Stephen, it’s been days. Days since the attack, days since you holed yourself up in my library like you’re going into hibernation—”

“Good morning to you too, Wong.”

Wong may have laughed at Stephen’s attitude if he didn’t feel so bad for him. Stephen was completely out of it, so much so that he didn’t even realize how late in the day it was. “It’s almost eight, Strange.”

Stephen just sighed. “Did you need something from me?”

“Stark is asking for you again. I think you should see him.”

“You said that yesterday,” Stephen muttered.

“I’m saying it again now. I know you, Stephen, I can read you like any book in here.” Wong began. “You’re trying to outrun your guilt but you know it’s not that easy. Ignoring Tony isn’t going to make things go away, and it’s not going to make either of you feel better. He misses you, and I know you miss him too.”

“I don’t know how I can even look at him after what I did… he trusted me,” Stephen whispered, looking down at his lap. “I broke his trust.”

“Not willingly, and he knows that,” Wong reminded him. “It wasn’t you, Stephen.”

Stephen ignored him, beginning to tremble as he thought back to what Tony had said to him. “He told me he wouldn’t hold it against me… that I wasn’t the first of his loved ones to hurt him. I don’t know what I could do or say to prove to him, let alone to the team, that I’d never hurt them again.”

“Hiding away in here isn’t helping to prove that,” Wong said.

“You just want your chair by the window back,” Stephen accused him.

“Of course I do! But I also care about you and your happiness. If you need anyone to vouch for you, I’ll be here,” Wong replied.

“That sounds like you’ve made up my mind for me.”

“I have. Go now, before it gets too late.”

Stephen opened a portal to the tower, just outside of the lab. “I doubt Tony would be asleep, he’s always awake.”

His suspicions were confirmed as he closed the portal. Tony was in his lab where Stephen thought he’d be, a mug in one hand and a pen in the other.

Stephen’s entire body trembled with nerves as he opened the door, the cloak knocking loudly and dramatically to make his presence known.

“FRIDAY, Quiet Place Protocol please,” Tony said. He looked up and smiled sadly at Stephen as the lab’s usual blaring music shut off. “Hi.”

“Hey.” Stephen suddenly didn’t know what to do with himself. He was too scared to get any closer to Tony, afraid to hurt him, but at the same time all he wanted was to hug him.

The cloak made the first move, flying off of his shoulders and resting on Tony’s.

“Aww, hi Levy.” Of course Tony had a nickname for the relic, he had nicknames for everything and everyone.

Stephen found it annoying in the most heartwarming way, and he couldn’t help but smile as Tony sat down at his workbench.

“You can come over, you know?” Tony asked, half teasingly. “I told you I don’t bite, Steph.”

Stephen felt like a marionette again as he walked towards his boyfriend, but his heart was in control this time. He wanted to protect, to cherish, and to spoil the man in front of him with nothing but love and attention. He was just afraid, still unsure of himself as he studied Tony’s face. “I’m sorry.”

“Hey… I know.” Tony opened his palms on his lap, silently asking to hold Stephen’s hands.

Stephen let him, trembling harder as Tony held him gently. “I don’t know what happened, Tony. Something took over me, and I couldn’t stop it. I’ve never been overpowered like that before, and I didn’t know what to do. But please listen when I say that I promise it’ll never happen again, I mean that’s a given if you leave me, but—”

“I’m not leaving you,” Tony said firmly. “I know you weren’t voluntarily doing all of those things.”

“I never, ever wanted to hurt you. I still don’t want to hurt you.”

“You didn’t.”

“Tony…” Stephen took a deep breath, trying to steady himself. “Tony I could’ve killed you. The entire time I was trying to break the curse, to get that thing out of my system, I almost killed you. And you almost let me do it.”

“I did.”

Stephen didn’t know what to say. Tony had that calm, accepting look on his face mixed with a kind, trusting expression. It was the same look he’d given Stephen in the ruins of the Compound, and it hurt. It didn’t feel like an apology would be enough to make things right, but what else was there to do now? “I’m sorry, Tony.”

Tony slid his arms around Stephen’s waist and pulled him into the hug they’d both been needing. “I’m fine baby, it’s okay. It’s over.”

Stephen knew it wasn’t just over, and he knew Tony knew it too. But in the moment he was too fatigued to fight about it and let Tony hold him closer. “Have you been sleeping?”

“Trying to,” Tony replied. “Not to be cheesy or whatnot, but I do sleep better with you next to me.”

“May I take you to bed?” Stephen asked, sounding even shyer than when he normally asked that. “Please? I know it’s early, but I wouldn’t object to a nap.”

Tony nodded, shifting to press a chaste kiss to Stephen’s lips. “That sounds nice. FRIDAY, save and shut everything off please.”

“Engaging ‘You Shall Not Pass’ protocol, Boss,” FRIDAY reported dutifully.

Tony scoffed. “Remind me to never let you and Peter give Fri name suggestions again.”

“You could just change it if it bothers you that much.” Stephen chose to remind Tony of that instead, even though they both knew Tony was secretly fond of the movie references hidden in his protocols. “Besides, that serves you right for calling me Gandalf all the time.”

“If the shoe fits, babe,” Tony said. He stood up, keeping an arm wrapped around Stephen’s waist as they left the lab and headed for the elevators.

Despite feeling safe and loved in Tony’s arms, more than he could have ever hoped to be and probably more than he deserved, Stephen was still anxious. He felt out of place in the Tower, never mind the fact that he usually spent half of his time there, and he felt even more out of place amongst the team.

“How are the others?” He asked quietly, afraid to hear the answer.

“They’re getting better.” Tony saw no point in sugarcoating the truth. Stephen would see right through it, and that wouldn’t help him process everything. “Carol and Thor are both bored of training with each other, but no one else wants to spar with either of them yet. Or with Natasha, for that matter.”

“Does anyone ever want to spar with them on a good day?” Stephen asked, trying to keep the mood light.

“You’re all a bunch of sore losers who can’t rise to a friendly challenge” Natasha quipped, suddenly materializing in front of the couple. “Tony, what’s going on?”

“What do you mean?”

“Why is he here?”

“Natasha, I—”

Natasha pointedly ignored Stephen. She never disliked the sorcerer, she was actually indifferent and had no issues telling Tony that, but Tony’s trustful, rather soft nature was a concern of hers. It worked in her favor, sure, but she was really trying to be a better friend to Tony and look out for him more. It was this concern that motivated her to look at Stephen with disgust. Natasha wasn’t scared of him, she took heavy damage in the attacks but it was more minimal compared to some of the things she’d put his friends and family through.

Tony was acting as if none of that happened, and that couldn’t stand.

Natasha frowned and glared at Stephen as she addressed Tony. “Tony what the hell are you doing?”

“I’m not—”

“Don’t play dumb and tell me you’re not following. What are you still doing with him? You barely sleep more than an hour without waking everyone up screaming from phantom pain and nightmares! Do you think we can’t hear you yelling and begging for Stephen to stop torturing you and just kill you? Because we all do!” Natasha took a deep breath, pinching the bridge of her nose. “And after all that, you’re holding him like nothing is wrong? I don’t understand how you can be so forgiving sometimes.”

She stormed off before Stephen could defend himself or before Tony could respond. Her words echoed in Stephen’s head as Tony continued to lead him down the hallway, into the elevator, and into the penthouse.

Stephen sat dejectedly on the bed as Tony shuffled around the room, grabbing a few blankets from the closet. He didn’t say anything as Tony made a little nest of pillows and blankets, the cloak joining the haphazard pile the minute Tony curled up under a throw. Eventually Stephen allowed himself to lay down, offering no protests as Tony hugged him again.

“I’m sorry,” he apologized again, mumbling into the soft fabric of Tony’s shirt.

“I know,” Tony said simply. “Relax sweetheart, it’s okay.”

He was still tense, curling up smaller in Tony’s arms. “Are you okay?” The sorcerer asked.

“I’m fine,” Tony reassured him. That was half true. He was fine, to a point, but there were things bothering him that he had no idea how to tell Stephen about.

Eventually they would have to face the music and talk about everything, and they both knew it. For now, Tony was somewhat okay with ignoring it, clinging to the hope that having his Stephen back would keep the memories at bay.

Tags: @stark-strange-love2 @salty-ironstrange-shipper @funkylittlebidiot @richieleeparker @chocopiggy @hatakehikari @taruyison 

[mostlysignssomeportents]

Understanding the aftermath of r/wallstreetbets

A couple days back, I wrote up my best understanding of what happened with /r/wallstreetbets and meme stocks like Gamestop, trying to show how all the different, seemingly contradictory takes on the underlying financial stuff could all be true.

https://pluralistic.net/2021/01/28/payment-for-order-flow/#wallstreetbets

In the days since, a new series of contradictory takes has emerged, these ones disputing the meaning of this bizarre financial spectacle, and likewise what response, if any is warranted as it unfurls.

I think that all of these takes can also be true, and as with the trading itself, reconciling them requires that we widen the frame.

Let's start with Jimmy Carter.

In 1978, Carter's IRS created the 401(k), a tax-sheltered account for people who wanted to gamble on stocks to fund their retirement.

That was a fringe proposition at best.

The normal retirement system was a "defined benefits" pension where your employer guaranteed you a certain monthly percentage of your salary from retirement to death.

The vast majority of Americans wisely prefered a guaranteed payout to a tax-advantaged gambling account.

Obviously, right? On the one hand, you have the guarantee of a pension (maybe even inflation-indexed); on the other, you have a bunch of bets, that, if they go wrong, leave you literally homeless and starving.

When gamblers remortgage the family home and cash in the kids' college funds to play the tables, we consider them to have a mental illness, a pathological condition that harms them and the people around them.

Giving up a defined benefits pension in favor of a 401k is just the same kind of bet - staking all the money that will support you when you exit the workforce on the movement of stocks and bonds.

Who would do that voluntarily?

Pretty much no one. But the transition from defined benefits to 401k was not voluntary. Finance ghouls like Ethan Lipsig wrote memos to major employers like Hughes Aircraft showing them how they could ditch their pension obligations by moving workers to 401ks.

In the 80s, Reagan created a bunch of legal tools that allowed employers to coerce their workforces into giving up the security of a pension and force them into gambling their salaries on the prayer of a win in the markets.

This was insanely, amazingly great for the finance sector, in three ways:

1. It made companies more profitable. Guaranteeing that the workers whose labor made your company viable wouldn't spend their dotage starving and homeless is expensive.

Helping fund wagers on shares is much cheaper. The finance sector represented the major shareholders of the companies that transitioned to 401ks. The savings were transferred to these shareholders and the finance sector got commissions.

What's more, this temporary inflation of share prices disguised what was going on with the pension switcheroo: workers' defined benefits pensions were liquidated and turned into stocks, just as stocks were going up because their pensions had been liquidated!

Their legs had been amputated out from under them, but so subtly that they didn't yet feel the pain - and now their bosses cooked their legs and snuck them into their dinner, and everyone marveled at how full they felt after that hearty, meaty meal.

2. 401ks brought a lot of suckers to the table. The market was - and is - dominated by "sophisticated investors," AKA predators, who knew all the ways to fleece the rubes who had no idea how any of this worked.

The predatory nature of finance only increased over time. Hedge funds, for example, exist to find unethical practices that are legal (thanks to loopholes in the rules) and exploit them until they are illegal.

3. 401ks created a political force outside the finance sector that would lobby on its behalf. Transforming America into a nation of stockholders meant that workers had to choose between supporting rules that protected their jobs and rules that protected their retirement.

For your pension account to grow, you had to support policies that permitted finance ghouls to offshore your job, or misclassify you as a contractor, or eliminate the safety rules that prevented you from being maimed, or take away your right to sue for compensation.

Every time there's a particularly ghastly bankruptcy driven by PE or hedge funds - Toys R Us, Sears, etc - it emerges that at least some of that money is coming out of a union pension fund.

That's marketization - turning the once obscure, boring business of market-based capital allocation into a matter of import to everyday people.

Marketization begat financialization.

While marketization is primarily about capital allocation (who gets what money), financialization is about bets. Sometimes those bets are about things - businesses, houses, coal and timber - but things are limited. Mostly the financial market consists of bets on other bets.

Bets are infinite. Every time you make a bet, you create inventory for a market in a bet on the outcome of your bet. And that's inventory for a new market: bets on the outcomes of bets on the outcomes of bets.

It's called Wall Street Bets for a reason.

Bets need referees, someone who decides who the winner is. In sports, it's a major scandal if a referee is caught wagering on one of the teams in a match. In the financial markets, it's the norm - referees that lay wagers on the outcome of the contest they're overseeing.

Let's take stock:

Workers are forced to play the casino, and if their bets fail, they spend their old ages homeless and starving;

The vast majority of casino games are wholly abstract - bets on bets on bets - and require layers of refs;

the refs are all crooked.

Every couple of years, we have a massive, systemic financial crisis, and every time that happens, the finance sector lobbies for a no-strings-attached bailout, abetted by suckers who hate the finance sector but fear starving in their old age.

We're about to be engulfed in the second-largest crisis of our lifetime - the reckoning from trillions in capital market gains propped up by the Trump administration's policy of buying all corporate debt as a covid stimulus.

https://pluralistic.net/2020/09/28/cyberwar-tactics/#aligned-incentives

(the largest crisis of our lifetimes is a few years off, as the climate emergency piles losses on losses, stranding tens of trillions in assets, from fossil fuels to obsolete gas-stations to literally underwater coastal real-estate to whole towns incinerated by wildfires)

That's where we're at: a crooked casino that we've trusted our futures too, a crisis on the horizon, and a bunch meme-stock "players" who have thrown the normal weirdness of the market into stark relief through a spectacular stunt.

A lot of people are angry at Robinhood, the stock-trading platform at the center of all this. Robinhood froze trading on meme stocks, and has only allowed it to come back in a useless, performative trickle that is seemingly calculated to prevent more meme-stock gamesmanship.

Is Robinhood just another crooked ref? Yes…and no. The meme stock run upset the stable cheaters' equilibrium whereby cheating never escalated to the point where the game just collapsed.

For example, the total short position on Gamestop exceeds its total stock issuance.

Translation: there were more Gamestop shares promised between bettors than exist. When the game stops, all those promises come due, and they literally can't be paid off because there aren't enough tokens in circulation to settle all the debts.

Robinhood halted trading in part because the big fish upstream of Robinhood also halted trading, because they have even more at risk than Robinhood does if the game collapses - they the refs for MANY players, all the same size as Robinhood or larger.

https://www.bloomberg.com/opinion/articles/2021-01-29/reddit-traders-on-robinhood-are-on-both-sides-of-gamestop

But remember, the refs are cheating. And they are both downstream and upstream from other games in which the refs are also cheating.

And the games, as a whole, encompass our economy, including the solvency of the "real economy" (the people who make masks, deliver groceries and drive ambulances), and whether you spend your old age homeless and starving.

So the people who say, "Don't blame Robinhood, they didn't halt trading to help billionaires, they halted trading to prevent the game from collapsing are right."

But they're not the only ones who are right.

Also, there's the people who say that meme stocks aren't making money for little guys at the expense of the big guys. They're right too.

First, because these stocks will all need to be converted to cash, and that means selling them.

https://arstechnica.com/tech-policy/2021/01/the-gamestop-bubble-is-going-to-hurt-a-lot-of-ordinary-investors/

When the selloff starts, the price will plunge, because even if the stock was undervalued before, it's certainly overvalued now. Every bubble produces wealth for its early bettors who sell out to later players who lose everything when they can't find a sucker later on.

From Beanie Babies to subprime, bubbles burst and leave suckers holding the bag. If you just heard about meme stocks last week, you're too late to make money off of them.

There's another version of the "this isn't little guys, it's big whales" that's *also* true: the main beneficiary of the meme stock runs is giant funds who magnified and the bets from r/wallstreetbets and got out smart and fast.

https://twitter.com/zatapatique/status/1354904995901136896

So given all this, what can we make of calls (from parties as varied as AOC and Ted Cruz) to investigate Robinhood and other retail brokerages to see whether they're honest refs, or in the tank for billionaires?

At Naked Capitalism, Yves Smith calls this a "fatuous uproar," saying that the Senate has more important things to do during the racing-out-of-control pandemic than to investigate a literal penny-ante grift.

https://www.nakedcapitalism.com/2021/01/the-fatuous-uproar-about-robinhood-and-gamestop.html

Do we really care who the winner is in "a beauty contest between Cinderella’s ugly sisters" ("clueless new gen day traders versus clumsy shorts")?

Smith is right too.

A speculator-v-speculator contest that falls apart when the crooked ref halts play to prevent collapse - who cares who "wins?"

But here's how they can all be right - the "who cares" and the "goliath v goliath" and the "bubble" and the "Robinhood is a plutes' honeypot."

*If* there's hearings, and *if* those hearings expose the absurdity and corruption of the system, *then* there is a chance to build the political will to make real, systemic changes when the crisis comes.

And there's a real crisis coming: two, in fact. The covid junk bond financial crisis, which is due very soon, and the climate crisis stranded asset emergencies, which will unroll with increased tempo and intensity for decades to come.

The half-century cycle of "addressing" finance crises by increasing financialization MUST stop.

If the meme stock spectacle gets us to pay attention to hearings that reveal the irredeemable rot of the system, then it's a unique chance to spread *real* "financial literacy."

And that literacy is the necessary (but insufficient) precursor to taking action when the time comes - and the time is certainly coming soon.

[sxfik]

darling, you're the one i want

chapter one | two | three ....

read on ao3 • main masterlist • law school masterlist

summary: Kang Sol A was never known for her luck, but she suspected it to be more like a curse when after almost 5 years, she bumps into her rival and the bane of her existence: Attorney Han Joon Hwi. What's worse? She has to work with him and she's sure that she'll either kill him or kiss him before this is all over

After Kang Sol B was freed from the clutched of her mother, her new found freedom spurred her into a night in bed with the mysterious Ji Ho. Yet, when he walks into her office the next day, she is faced with the realization that she is now working with the same man she slept with. What's worse? He's insufferable and she just might have to kiss him to shut him up.

a/n: hello hello! it's been almost a month since i've written a fic and probably even more time since i've truly been active on here. this fic is a product of me, @akinosakiya, @am-bi-vert and @thenerdywriter creating 20 different threads on twitter about an idea (which eventually got turned into a whole group chat just for hc and fic ideas). truly this fic is dedicated to all of them, the hanguk law school gc on tumblr and twitter. this fic is multi-chapter and written from 6 povs (basically it will be pretty long). as always, enjoy!

KANG SOL A was not known for her luck. Maybe it was a curse, or maybe just her destiny to be unlucky in life. She was irrevocably late this morning, despite setting 6 alarms and taking extra care the night before to ensure everything was in order before she left. But of course, in classic Sol A fashion, she was late despite every effort.

She was greeted with the shining sun and chirping birds as she speed walked towards her office building, her hair slightly disheveled in the breeze. Her hand clutched her briefcase as she speed walked towards the office, her lanyard swaying as she moved with purpose.

It had been almost 2 years since she started working for Kang's Toy Co. and 3 years since she graduated from Hanguk Law school. Life had been a rollercoaster since then, an endless ride of ups and downs as she tried to stabilize herself into her new life. She had clawed her way up from the struggle of her 1L year, getting to be an expert on late nights and sleep deprivation. Nonetheless, she graduated with an offer set up at Attorney Park's office which kickstarted her career and her life.

She'd be lying if she said everything was smooth from then on; it was quite the opposite. Just like she predicted, she had to take clients that she disliked and didn't trust, but when you were trying to make rent and put food on the table, it didn't matter. Luckily, she never had to compromise her beliefs too much during those years, and she was able to build her reputation as a trustable and hardworking lawyer in the community.

Soon enough, she was taking on higher profile clients, and gifted with the ability of being picky about who she defended. All of a sudden she was going to events and mingling with the upper class of Seoul. What was a poor girl, raised by a single mother, doing in such a ornate hall, sipping champagne that was worth more than anything she'd ever owned. Yet, those very same events led her to her name twin, Kang Sol B.

Kang Sol B, clean cut and straightforward, was one of her closest friends and CEO of the company she worked for. They met by chance at an event, after a particularly successful case, and somehow, the two women who were so unlike each other, hit it off. They ran into each other by chance again and they met for drinks. Sol B's level-headed, confident attitude balanced her energetic, eager mind. Not to mention, she fit right in with Ye-Seul and her dynamic, the three being thick as thieves. Soon enough, Sol was offered a job at her company as a corporate lawyer and she jumped on the chance at working with her. The rest was, as they say, history.

Shaking off her thoughts, her legs propelled her forward, her vision almost hazy and her mind clouded with the need to rush, rush, rush. The morning was particularly busy, with so many employees rushing into work and walking in their own world. Still, today was especially important as the company is announcing a joint enterprise between two of the biggest toy companies in Seoul. She picked up her pace, nearing the entrance, when, in her frenzy, she crashed into the oncoming figure.

"I'm so—"

"Sorry!"

Her head shot up, her eyes widening at the familiar voice. And there he stood, in all his glory, Han Joon Hwi: Second Round Judicial Exam Passer, and the bane of her existence.

She had the unfortunate luck of meeting Joon Hwi during their 1L, during a particularly intense class where she was grilled to death by her professor. The actual ordeal was a haze, all she could remember was her throat tightening and instant panic flooding her mind and body. Joon hwi, thinking himself some kind of knight-in-shining armor, swooped in to save her, answering in her stead.

And then, he decided to rival her during one of their constitutional code classes, arguing in favor of a law that was, in her mind, despicable. "You have to look at it in perspective," he coolly replied to her smoldering anger when she questioned him on how he could support such a thing. It was set in stone, then, that Kang Sol A did not like Han Joon Hwi.

From the moment they met, it was like he was specifically designed to drive her crazy. The way he smirked, the way his whip smart comebacks would leave her stumped, the way his arms filled out that stupid white shirt, the way he'd look at her like he could see right through her. Just about everything about him made her want to scream.

Dislike was an understatement when it came to Joon Hwi. It was more like a never ending annoyance, his presence and every move frustrating her, making her lungs tight and her heart race with exasperation and irritation.

She was nicknamed Lady Justice, after a particular comment from Joon Hwi himself. If it was to shame her, it clearly didn't work as it only fueled her headstrong attitude. In fact, it spurred her into more arguments with the illustrious Joon Hwi, the temperature constantly rising as they would circle each other and argue until their lungs burned and they were breathing heavy. The whole school would gather to see them spar, the tension so thick that they wouldn't notice the crowd they would draw as soon as the two would even look at each other.

He was the genius of her school, that much she couldn't deny. Still, the what he said about her in their final year...

His hand gripped her wrist, startling her out of her thoughts in an attempt to support her, and his warm touch seared into her cold skin as he pulled her up slightly. Joon Hwi blinked back at her, his face shocked before settling into a familiar smirk that drove her up the wall.

"Long time no see, huh, Lady Justice?" his eyebrow quirked up slightly as he took her in, and the scowl settled into her face. Like this day could have gotten any worse, it was just her luck to meet him.

"Not quite long enough, Attorney Han," she quipped back, snapping her arm away from his grip. She blew out a soft breath, in an attempt to get her bangs out of her eyes to face him properly. He continued to look down at her, his eyes never leaving her face as he chuckled in response.

He didn't look any different than he did 3 years ago, except that his shoulders had grown broader, his chest a little firmer. He wore a black coat, and underneath, his signature black suit that he had worn during his internships during school. His hair was styled differently, now styled up rather than down in bangs that used to give him an innocent look back in their law school years. It suited him.

"So, you work for Kang now?" he asked her, rushing forward to catch up with her fast pace. Her hand gripped tighter on her bag as she picked up her pace, trying her best to not let his sudden presence taint her morning.

"No, I'm definitely just walking towards the building with the large sign that says KANG TOY CO. for absolutely no reason," she replied, her voice laced with impatience.

"You haven't changed one bit, Kang Sol," he laughed, tilting his head forward, blinking and looking at her as if he knew something she didn't.

She paused in her tracks, looking up to the man who scrambled to turn to face her. "Why are you here, Joon Hwi?" she asked him, suspicious of his sudden presence.

He raised an eyebrow in response, and she could feel the irritation build in her chest as she looked up at him, impossibly confused. They stayed in place, their feet glued to the pavement and she forgot all about her earlier mission to get to her office asap. His face hadn't changed too much from their school days, his expression overflowing with mirth and mischief. But his face did hold a tiredness that wasn't seen before, as if the time has taken a toll on him. What happened to you, Han Joon Hwi, for your face to hold exhaustion that was never seen before?

"You'll find out," he replied curtly, before spinning back and walking towards the building. Her office building. She rushed forward now, trying to catch up with him as she looked up curiously, but he avoided her looks as they walked into the office.

They marched on in, flashing her badge at the entrance of the office, and Joon hwi, somehow, managed to follow. Did he start working here and never let her know? Does he even work as a lawyer? How could she not know? She let out a deep breath, trying to calm her racing mind as she walked into the elevator, and he marched in right by her side.

People filed in one after the other into the elevator, everyone in their morning rush to get to their cubicles and start their days. The elevators was filled to the brim, yet Kang Sol was still aware of Joon Hwi's presence, almost like her mind was blaring an alarm that He wasn't supposed to be here.

She momentarily shut her brain off, a task that she trained herself on after her struggles in her 1L, choosing to focus on the people milling around the elevator. Her eyes would flit through every person, and then the ceiling, and most importantly, she refused to let her mind stray to Han Joon Hwi, despite the curiosity eating her from the inside out.

The elevator was next to empty when she reached her floor, and she picked up her pace as she marched out of the elevator before he could. Sol kept her gaze trained ahead, but her body was feeling for the presence of someone else marching behind her.

Somehow, he managed to get ahead, probably with those stupidly long legs of his. His hand jutted out to open the door to the meeting room, and he paused, turning slightly towards her.

"Ladies first," he said, his expression almost neutral. If it wasn't for the slight crinkle near his eyes as he smiled, she would have taken the gesture as genuine and not intended to mock her. The gesture morphed from chivalry to a taunt that he knew something she didn't.

"Thank you, Attorney Han," she shot him a tight smile, before marching her way towards her teammates.

Ye-seul, her best friend and fellow lawyer, caught Sol's gaze and patted to the seat next to her and finally, Sol sank down into her chair, letting out a final sigh of relief.

"You're only a couple minutes late, the director isn't here yet," she said, taking a sip from her hot coffee. Ye-seul narrowed her eyes at her, and then looked up at Joon Hwi, before looking back down at her.

"Oh thank god," Sol, opened up her briefcase, getting out one of her legal pads and a pen incase she needed to take notes, as she expertly avoided her best friend's questioning gaze. The silence between them stretched, as Sol tapped her pen against the paper impatiently and Ye-seul let her gaze bore into her.

"Why was Han Joon–"

"Good morning," the baritone voice of Director Yang boomed across the meeting room, his voice loud despite the lack of a microphone. "Let's go through this meeting smoothly, as it is a very important day for both Kang Toy Co and Seo Media. Today, we have gathered to announce a collaboration for a toy line between both companies."

Applause filled the room as the director paused, looking at each team assembled in the room. Oh. So that's why Han Joon Hwi is here.

"As such, we will be needing our talented lawyer teams from both companies to help draw the legal terms and details between the two companies, as well as negotiate the terms for the toy line itself. This is an exciting time for both companies and we hope that this partnership is fruitful for both parties. Now, I will be announcing the teams and their assignments for this coming quarter and in preparation for the toy line itself," he paused, flipping through the notes he held at the center of the room.

"I'm proud to announce that Attorney Kang Sol and Team One from Kang Toys will be working with Attorney Han Joon Hwi and Team One from Seo Media." Sol's eyes shot up to Joon hwi, both their eyes wide with surprise. "Your teams will be heading the terms of the collaboration as well as working closely with both CEOs for any legal issues that come up," Director Yang nodded to both parties, before continuing down his list.

Her eyes were still on his, her mouth close to gaping open before she quickly shut it and avoided his gaze. Out of all the people, it had to be her that was paired up with him.

Kang Sol A had bad luck, indeed, but she was starting to think it was more like a curse instead.

[prurientpuddlejumper]

You’re a Mean One, Mr. Kneef (Part 2)

<- Part 1 | Part 3 ->

For @thatesqcrush​’s Naughty or Nice Holiday Bingo! Filling the Fake Relationship When Visiting Family square. 

Bryan Kneef x Female Reader

Warnings: Language. Holiday fluff. Bryan being the worst... but also hot? Horrible pet names. Nothing nsfw happens this chapter except Bryan’s mouth. 

2,900 words

The bluish LED headlights of Bryan Kneef’s BMW blinded other drivers as they cut through the dark on the drive to his parents’ suburban house. You ascertained from the hands-free call he was making the family hadn’t started dinner yet. Christmas was close to the winter solstice, so it wasn’t as late as the sky suggested, although you’d heard a hungry child screaming impatiently about having to wait for Uncle Bry.

“Uncle Bry,” you teased as the call ended.

He chuckled. “That would be my brother’s kid, Finn. My brother’s name is Timothy. The CEO of LogicFinance. You will say you’ve ‘heard so much about them.’ Let’s review.”

“Jesus.”

Sitting next to Bryan while his attention wasn’t on you, you lost yourself noticing things. The clean smell of his cologne. How sexy he looked—in a rich douchey way—in his tailored suit and expensive car. His long fingers wrapped around the steering wheel. That beard that made you want to scream, “Daddy!”

You could almost forget he was the asshole who held every paralegal at STR Laurie hostage with busywork unless you pretended to be the woman who dumped him. 

Until he started barking at you to memorize facts about his life.

“First, what do I have to know about this woman I’m supposed to be?”

He stared straight ahead at the road. “Her name is Sydney. So you’re Syd from now on.”

“Oh joy. Being called your ex’s name all night won’t be weird or anything.”

“You were the one who wanted to get out of work.”

“Whatever. I bet you already forgot my real name, anyway.”

He didn’t contradict you. The engine roared to life as he changed lanes before signaling and cut off the SUV he’d been tailgating for the last mile.

Your arms crossed over your chest. “How much did you tell your family about Sydney? I hope you didn’t send them any pictures.”

“Not much, and obviously not. I’m not stupid.”

“Just pathetic.”

He scowled. Before he could think of a searing response to take back control of the conversation, you asked another question that knocked him off balance.

“What made this one so different? We’ve been working together for what, a year? And I’ve never seen you upset over a breakup.”

“The sex was fantastic,” he answered too loudly.

“Uh-huh.”

“Oh yeah. I’ve never had a woman who could keep up with me—”

“Because you finish too quickly?”

“Cute. Keep it up.” He stepped on the gas again and your stomach lurched as he pulled off another aggressive passing maneuver in the right lane. “No one walks away from my bed unsatisfied. You could find out. A little reward for helping me out tonight?”

“Not in a million years,” you clipped, shutting him down, even though your wild, lonely, horny side that noticed his beard and fingers was beating at the inside of your skull. “You are going to keep it decent and chaste. Ground rules: holding hands. Kisses on the cheek. Moderate cuddling as the situation calls for it. That should be plenty to sell that we’re involved.”

“You haven’t seen me around women I’m involved with,” he smirked with a suggestive glint in the side of his eye.

“And I’m sure your parents haven’t seen you with a partner who isn’t just some bimbo you’re screwing, either. Cop a feel, and I end the charade right there.”

That comment, which was more insightful than you knew, silenced him. His suggestive side-glance returned forward to focus on the road. That look was back on his face again—the look when he ran out of swaggering bullshit to spew. Sadness. Genuine human sadness.

“She wasn’t clingy,” he said, voice a soft rumble. “Didn’t expect me to be her fucking boyfriend—she was the one who told me no strings.”

“You loved her because she was distant?”

“No. I don’t know. She did nice things, too—like ask how my day was, and bring me coffee. She remembered the way I like it.”

“That’s just basic human kindness, Bryan.” You sighed. “That’s actually… really sad.”

“Fuck you.”

“I mean it. You call women clingy for wanting to be close to you, and now you’re so starved for connection you think remembering your coffee order is a huge deal. Your secretary knows your coffee order. Hell, I know your damned coffee order you’ve sent me out for it enough times, even though—as I often remind you—that’s not my job. I’m sorry. Really. But maybe this is a lesson? That you actually have a heart and might want to try opening it sometime?”

“How the fuck is that the lesson? I open my heart, I get hurt. From now on, I’m only dating broads who disgust me.” His eyes lingered on you for a dangerously long time until you got the point and gave an annoyed grunt. His eyes returned to the road, corners crinkled in satisfaction.

***

Dinner was already starting when Bryan’s BMW finally pulled into the driveway of a large house on a private cul-de-sac. The porch was glowing with tasteful white lights and a wreath on the door. Silhouettes were moving behind the decorative glass set into the front door, waiting for you to get out of the car. As soon as you approached, the door flew open and you were hit with the smell of roast turkey.

“Bry-Bry! We were worried you wouldn’t make it!” His silver-haired mother threw her arms around Bryan’s neck while he grumbled with reluctant affection, hugging her back.

A rich oaken voice of the man who must have been his father said, “And this must be the famous Sydney. We thought we’d never get to meet you.” He shook your hand warmly.

Both of them were wearing hideous red and green Christmas sweaters straight out of a Hallmark movie.

“I can’t believe this one hasn’t driven you away!” Bryan’s mom teased, pinching his pink cheek as she did so. “We’re so happy you put up with our little monster.” She hugged you.

“Come, come on in. Let me take your coat. We were just starting dinner—you’re right on time.” His dad helped you shrug your winter coat off and hung it up in the entryway closet for you.

This was… bizarre. How the hell did people this friendly churn out a Bryan?

More shocking still was when you felt warm, long fingers twine between yours, and you nearly tore your hand away before remembering you had a “boyfriend” tonight. Bryan smiled at you sweetly, eyes soft and affectionate.

Yep. You’d fallen into some kind of Bizarro World.

Martha, his mother, led you both through the spacious house toward the dining room. “What do you think of our humble home?” she asked, pausing in the living room. “I keep thinking I should move that chair to the other side of the fireplace. What do you think? Would it flow better?”

“Uh, I’m not really—”

“Mom! We’re hungry,” Bryan snapped.

“Oh, come on, honey, let me pick her brain! It’s not every day we have an interior designer in here.”

“Bryan told you I’m an interior designer?” Your mouth smiled pleasantly at Bryan while your eyes stabbed daggers into his stupid handsome face.

“Obviously I forgot I mentioned it,” he smiled back.

You batted your eyes. Now the daggers were on fire.

“Well, what do you think? Chair on the left, or the right?”

“Well,” you said, “the symmetry with the fireplace is… balanced with the rich tones in the leather”—Martha nodded along attentively—“You know, I’ve been working all day, maybe we can talk shop later?”

“Oh! Of course! I’m sorry—Bryan’s mean old mom ambushing you the minute you walk in the door!” She flexed her hand into vampire-claws and playfully attacked your shoulder. “Aw, are the stuffy old adults embarrassing you, peanut?”

Bryan’s cheeks turned the brightest pink you had ever seen them. And this was a man who didn’t blush when telling a roomful of attorneys to go fuck themselves. You let out the first genuine laugh you’d made in his presence. You squeezed his hand.

“Honey-bear, I love your parents!”

***

The table was crowded with Kneef siblings, cousins, and their children and spouses. Finn, you guessed, was the youngest boy. And that would make the silver fox next to him Timothy. His older brother had the same bluntness as Bryan, but none of the cruelty. In fact, his entire family was so… normal.

Bryan’s hard edges were hardly softened in their presence, but unlike in the office where his cranky moods inspired fear, here they were met with boos and hisses and his cousin throwing a bread roll at him. The youngest kids mimicked this exciting behavior, and soon it was raining whole-wheat on Bryan Kneef.

You smiled and patted his hand and called him “dear” and made sure your mouth was full of turkey the moment anyone asked you about yourself.

Over the evening, you learned that Mrs. Martha Kneef put herself through nursing school after having her first child to support the family while her husband piddled around with his low-paying hobby in computers. By the time Bryan was born, his father was programming for a growing company, working his way up the ranks—back in the days when one could do that. By the time Bryan was ten, dad was the Chief Information Officer of one of the largest corporations in the country.

And so Bryan, the youngest, grew up with a silver spoon in his mouth, handed all the things his parents had worked hard for in the hopes that he would have a better life.

“All the child-rearing books at the time said encouragement was important,” said Martha, who was a little drunk on red wine at this point. She let out an exasperated groan. “This is what happens when you encourage too much. We created a monster. Didn’t we?” Her voice went higher as she pinched Bryan’s cheek again.

“Martha and I are so happy to see him finally settling down with someone.”

“Yeah, how’d you manage to find a girl who’ll put up with you?” Tim teased, punching Bryan’s arm.

Bryan stared back. Locked eyes with his brother. He took a deep breath. “How’d you manage to—”

Bryan then asked something too obscene to be repeated, which set the entire table screaming, and parents’ hands clamping over children’s ears (though not before an adorable curly-haired niece asked, “mommy, what’s a prolapsed rectum?”).

You should have been offended, or embarrassed to be attached to the guy wrecking Christmas without even needing to be drunk. But oddly, as hot as your cheeks were, you found yourself laughing. You were dating the most interesting guy at the table. He was so overwhelmingly charismatic—not necessarily in a positive way, but in a way that made him the center of attention in any room he walked into. And he was charming enough for people to keep wanting him around, even when he said things that... were probably going to scar those children for life. Not to mention the adults.

Reaching over, you cupped the opposite side of his cheek and forced him to turn his head to you. “You’re so bad, Bry. How do I put up with you?” You began affectionately scratching his beard like it was something you’d done to him a hundred times. “He’s just so cute, I can’t resist. Settle down now, baby.”

His mom gave a loud, “Aww” and Bryan side-eyed his brother, who snorted.

You were getting into it, mussing up his perfect beard in a way that was sure to annoy him later—but it wasn’t annoying him that was on your mind. It was more the feeling of that coarse but soft hair under your fingertips, the shape of his jawline… the way he was staring back at you, eyelids drooping…

“It’s really the beard I’m dating—if he ever shaves, we’re breaking up,” you joked, suddenly needing to crush the romantic mood. It worked. His family laughed, and Bryan scowled, catching your wrist to make you stop.

***

Bryan wanted to leave right after dinner, but his mother wheedled him to stay.

“We’ve still got your bedroom set up if you want to sleep here. Think of it—we could have Christmas morning together just like when you and Timmy were babies!”

“Ma! I couldn’t impose on Syd. She… has a cat.”

Great. More backstory to remember. You surreptitiously elbowed him in the side.

Bryan got his dominating instincts from somewhere, though. The big ask to stay the night was a tactic to make him give in to the smaller ask of staying for hot cocoa and holiday movies.

Bryan had yet to recover from your crack about breaking up with him and forgot to play the part of the affectionate boyfriend. While her husband was explaining the intricacies of a particular wireless security device to whichever cousins would listen, Martha casually sidled up and whispered, “You don’t have to be shy about PDA in front of us old people. We’ve seen everything.”

“Oh! Uh...” Your mouth gaped, unsure how the fuck to respond to that.

Bryan overheard it and rolled his eyes with a groan. “Ma!”

He looked so grumpy and annoyed, something about it made you kiss him on the cheek. Just to put to rest his mother’s suspicions! That must have been it.

Then Bryan was all fire again, his eyes glittering above a wicked smirk. He grabbed your waist and pulled you roughly against his arousingly solid body, covering your neck with wet, open-mouthed kisses. Oh god, hot. He was definitely only doing this to make his mom uncomfortable, and if you knew Bryan, he wouldn’t stop until she regretted meddling or he was fucking you on the stack of presents under the tree. So why was your skin too hot? Why did it prickle everywhere his hand wandered? Palming your curves, sliding down to your hips, lowering over the swell of—

You leaned close until your lips brushed the shell of his ear. “Watch your hands, or HR is hearing all about this,” you warned, then pulled away smiling.

Bryan smiled back. “Of course, babycakes.”

“You lovebirds! Keep it PG.”

He warned you in the car that no one would buy him keeping things chaste, didn’t he? Well, you weren’t going to be the one to blow your cover.

When you filed into the living room where the kids were already watching A Christmas Story, there was only one spot left on the couch, and an empty armchair. Bryan flopped down on the recliner, and you sat on his lap. His chest vibrated as he gave an encouraging growl, cocking an eyebrow at you.

“You didn’t expect me to sit alone, did you, honey-bear?” you cooed.

His hand moved to support your hip, cradling you close to him. The other hand covered yours, which was resting on your knee. It was just a performance, but god, his hands were so big and warm, and the gesture so remarkably soft. You let yourself recline back against his chest, and turned your head to inspect his profile—the greying at his temple, a strong, square brow that shaded such lively green eyes.

A fire danced in the fireplace, stockings hung up neatly above it. A tree in the opposite corner filled the room with a piny balsam scent. The whole scene felt so domestic. Bryan’s beard scratched the side of your face, the soft cashmere of the sweater he’d thrown on over his dress shirt making him a comfortable cuddle partner. Suddenly you could imagine perfectly well why someone might put up with him.

“So, Sydney, how did you meet Bryan?” his father asked. A few other prying relatives leaned forward, and you began to sweat.

“Oh… I’m sure Bryan’s already told this story,” you deflected, glancing at him for assistance. Bryan frowned.

“It was through a case.” His evasive answer only made everyone more curious.

“What kind of case?”

“A divorce case.”

A bark of laughter leaped from your throat before you could hold it in, and you had to quickly disguise it as the kind of nostalgic laugh you get from an inside joke. “It’s true”—you stroked Bryan’s beard—“I think he only slept with me as part of the victory, you know? Took my ex’s money, took his wife. You know our Bryan,” you giggled. You would bet money that was exactly how it happened, too. “It’s a major rebound for me. But it’s been working out. Bryan has this whole other side to him that people don’t see.”

He looked at you. The clarity of his green eyes caught you off guard, and you felt a burning heat creeping up the side of your neck toward your ears.

“Well, we’re so happy to meet you!”

“You dog, Bry.”

“Want to see baby pictures?”

The last voice was Martha’s.

“No.” Bryan said. “She doesn’t.”

Of your asshole boss? Why yes. Yes, you did.

“He used to be such a sweet little peanut.” His mother always seemed eager to stir trouble for her brat of a son. “Just wait until you see how cute he was in diapers.”

“No!” Bryan groaned, but couldn’t stop you from following Martha to the family photo albums.

He had no power here.

• ● • ━━━━━─ ••●•• ─━━━━━ • ● •

Tagged: @beccabarba​ / @caked-crusader​ / @itsjustmyfantasyroom​ / @thatesqcrush​ / @dianilaws​ / @permanentlydizzy​ / @mrsrafaelbarba​ / @madamsnape921​ / @astrangegirlsmind​ / @neely1177​ / @onerestein​ / @welcometothemadxxhouse​ / @stardust-fray​ / @dreila03​ / @tropes-and-tales​ / @the-baby-bookworm​ / @ireadfanfictionontheweekends​ 

(I also just tagged everyone who commented/reblogged the last chapter even if u didn’t ask so uhhh >_> lmk if you hate that?)

[angryschnauzer]

Superior Specimen - Chapter 2

Summary: One night when you are following the Archaeology tag on instagram you stumbled across a fun looking dig… and an even more interesting Paleontologist who soon follows you back. Over the following weeks you start chatting and a friendship soon grows.

Relationship: AU Henry Cavill x Female Reader (No race or body shape mentioned)

Chapter 1, 

Warnings: Slow Burn, NSFW, 18+, Mutual Masturbation, Phone Sex

I do not operate a tag list, but please follow @angryschnauzerwrites​ and put that blog onto notifications, as you will then be notified whenever i post something new.

I don’t have a masterlist, but all my works are on AO3, link here. Usually i post oneshots to Tumblr and AO3, and multichapters exclusively to AO3, but as this is my first henry story and its going to be a short series, i’ll post to both places.

Superior Specimen – Chapter 2

 You were thankful you were on the late shift the next day, you’d taken matters into your own hands again whilst in bed the night before, using your fingers and toys to make yourself cum again and again, each time images of Henry clouding your mind. Your stomach muscles ached from the amount of times you’d abused them with powerful orgasms, but it gave you a pleasant reminder as you trotted up the steps to the staff entrance of the museum.

 With your personal belongings secured in your locker, your name badge and security pass clipped to the chest of your blouse, you made your way through the building until you reached the main atrium… and stopped.

 To your surprise the place was packed, not just with visitors, but with staff setting out velvet ropes and areas to control the crowds. Squeezing past a large group of excited school kids and their teachers you finally made it to the desk, raising an eyebrow at your co-worker;

 “What’s going on?”

 “It’s that presentation today… you know, the new dig that found the new species of Theropod. They’re announcing the plans for the new installation in a few weeks, got most of the archaeologists that were on the Russian expedition here today too”

 “Oh… I had forgotten that was today” you were surprised at yourself for forgetting, it had after all been on the staff agenda for a couple of weeks. Your co-worker handed you a printout of the days schedule, and glancing down it you saw a few points for the preparation that hadn’t yet been crossed off; “Do they still need the handouts in the presentation space?”

 “Oh yeah… someone’ll need to run them up in a few minutes”

 “I’ll take them”

 “Great” your co-worker turned and smiled at more visitors that were heading towards the desk whilst you bent down and checked through the boxes of various leaflets and handouts that were stored under the desk, only hearing her as she spoke to whoever had arrived;

 “Dr Cavill, so good to see you back again”

 “Oh, you know, it’s good to be back in these old hallways, feels like home”

 You froze, you recognised that voice. Your co-worker tapped you on your shoulder;

 “Hey, get up here, I need to introduce you!” she said excitedly.

 Taking a deep breath you stood and turned, straightening your blouse as you watched Henry look at you and the realisation hit of who you were, he however managed to hide it well, just a faint blush dusting across his face as he held out a large hand to you;

 “It’s a pleasure to meet you”

 Taking it you tried not to smirk - or giggle, laugh, or cry - as you shook his hand, unable to get over how huge it was and how it practically swamped your own average sized one;

 “It’s a pleasure to finally meet you Sir”

 Noticing how he seemed to suck one cheek in, as if biting it from the inside, he nodded to the box you had previously lifted onto the desk;

 “Everything sorted for the presentation?”

“Just need to get the handouts into the displays on the 3rd floor”

 “Here, let me carry that for you”

 As the pair of you walked up the main staircase beside each other, the crowds seem to part like a sea as Henry headed towards them, the heavy box of paper tucked under one arm as he carried it with ease. Once you reached the third floor he made straight for the presentation area, unclipping the velvet rope with his free hand and letting you pass, before hooking it back again behind the pair of you.

 In the quiet vestibule of the upper floor you could see where large screens hung from the ceiling, projectors in the roof rolling a series of slideshows of the dig and the finds, and plans for the new exhibition. He slid the box onto the table before turning, his hands on your hips as he pushed you against the wall, hidden from view. Without a word his lips were on yours and you were opening willingly as his tongue pushed against them, tasting you. His grip on your hips was gentle yet firm, and as he slid his hands up your torso his thumbs pressed against the underside of your breasts through your clothing, and yet the heat from them almost seared your skin. Your senses were bombarded by him, by his touch, by the feel of his hard body against you, by the rich warm tones of his aftershave.The arousal in you was already building, and as you involuntarily clenched your stomach muscles you let out a whimper causing Henry to pull away;

 “Are you ok? Was that too much too soon?”

 Resting a hand on the back of his neck you smiled at him;

 “No, not too much… but you’re turning me on and my stomach hurts from making myself come so many times last night thinking of you…”

 “Oh… well how about…”

 Suddenly he spun you 180º, his arms wrapping around your body before he splayed his huge hands out over your stomach, the heat of his palms soothing your aching muscles like a walking heat pad, holding you tight to his body as his lips brushed against your ear;

 “Can’t have you hurting Princess”

 “Hmmn, no we can’t”

 He pressed a series of light kisses to your earlobe and the side of your neck and you found yourself grinding your ass back against the growing bulge that was pressing against you. Clearing your throat your voice was quiet as you spoke;

 “You didn’t say you were attached to the Museum”

 “I’m sorry...” he slowly turned you until you were facing him; “I should have said from the start, I’m on the board of directors… it was wrong, but there you were, so damn beautiful, unbelievably smart… your comments on the digs feed helped with so many identifications, and then you get a job at the same museum…”

 “I guess it’s something we should probably talk about more, but I’m going to need to be getting back to my job soon, Sir”

 Henry let out a low growl at the use of 'Sir', pulling you flush with his body;

 “I’ll look forward to you calling me Sir outside of work soon”

 “Promises promises…”

 You grinned and kissed him again, before pulling away and glancing down, smirking when you saw the impressive swelling at the front of the khaki trousers;

 “You might need to calm down before the press sees you, Sir”

 He lightly swatted your ass, his handspan covering an entire buttcheek;

 “You get back to the desk, I’ll sort the handouts… call you later?”

 Nodding you grinned and turned the corner, ducking under the velvet rope and smiling to yourself as you returned to your duties.

 -

 The day had flown by and even on the late shift the Museum was busy right up to closing time, the front doors closed to stop any more visitors from entering, and you made an announcement over the public address system in multiple languages that any remaining visitors would need to leave within the following 30 minutes. Setting the handset back onto the cradle you sighed and sat down in the chair, your co-worker smiling at you;

 “A few of us are going for drinks after work, fancy coming?”

 With a smile you nodded;

 “Sounds good”

 At that moment you looked up and saw Henry descending the large staircase, surrounded by a group of VIP’s that had attended the presentation. They paused in the foyer under the Blue Whale skeleton that hung from the ceiling, whilst Henry approached your desk with a smile;

 “Afternoon Ladies, would you be able to arrange a cab for our group of VIP's? They have a booking for dinner”

 With a smile you nodded and dialled for the corporate booking line of Addison Lee, arranging for two 8-seater mini-buses to collect from the side street of the Museum. As you went through the details on the phone Henry made small talk with your colleague;

 “I hope the presentation didn’t make you lovely ladies too busy today?”

 “Not at all Dr Cavill, we had a huge number of people sign up for the newsletter release”

 He nodded;

 “We’ll arrange for a few of bottles of champers for your team today”

 She grinned and nodded to you;

 “Oh, we’re more Gin girl’s Dr Cavill, we’re hitting Soho tonight”

 He let out a low laugh as you hung up, sliding the requisition approval form across the desk;

 “If you could just sign the expense approval form, Sir”

 Signing the form, you watched as his hands moved slowly and surely, before handing the pen back to you;

 “Don’t get into too much trouble then Ladies”

 “Only a little bit…” you grinned.

 -

 Your evening had been fun. In the deep summer London heat the group of you had eaten outside a small street-food place before heading to a lively bar, and three double gin & tonic’s later you were standing on the patio as the sun started to set over the noisy city. Finishing your drink you announced you were heading home, one of your co-workers agreeing as you were both on shift tomorrow - although the late one - and said your goodbyes to everyone else.

 As you wove your way through the busy nightlife of Soho, you saw the taxi rank ahead and escorted your co-worker there, hailing her a cab as she giggled in her drunken state. Giving the driver her address as she crawled into the back seat, she insisted she would message you once home, and you were relieved you’d managed to snag a female cab driver for her. Turning and waving her off you smiled when you looked down the taxi rank and saw Henry surrounded by a group of somewhat inebriated VIP’s, trying to organise them but having little success. Seeing you he gave you puppy dog eyes and mouthed ‘help’, and you approached with a grin on your face;

 “Dr Cavill, was a lovely surprise Sir… you seem to be having a spot of trouble though…”

 The group surrounding him started to recognise you, having signed most of them in for their visit to the Museum earlier, and were greeted by a chorus of drunken hello’s. Henry called out over the top of the drunken rabble;

 “I’m trying to get them into cabs, but the cabs will only drop off at one place”

 “Leave it with me” you winked at him before whistling loudly with two fingers to get the crowd’s attention; “Where is everyone staying?”

 Through everyone talking at the same time you gathered that most were at The Dorchester, whilst some had opted for the Hilton at Marble Arch. You quickly started to herd the VIP’s into black cabs, speaking to the drivers and getting them to arrange with the valets at each hotel to have the fares billed to the VIP’s rooms.

 When the last cab pulled away Henry stood beside you, wrapping his arm around your shoulders;

 “That was amazing, you did in 5 minutes what I’d spent half an hour trying to do”

 Turning you realised you face was inches from his, and the kiss that followed was natural and tender, his hand straying to your hip where he pulled you flush with his body. 

 When you finally broke apart you both had huge grins plastered across your faces, his voice deep and rough;

 “Let me buy you a drink”

 “Just one… I’ve had a few already and actually have to work tomorrow”

 “Just the one” he promised, slipping his huge hand around yours, and you walked hand in hand to a nearby bar.

Chapter 3 >>>

[cheemingwan1234]

Kombatant Profile: Cure Yell (Mortal Kombat 11 x PreCure)

Here's the best mama of PreCure, Hana Nono/ Cure Yell of Hugtto! PreCure as a guest Kombatant in Mortal Kombat 11.

Hana Nono/ Cure Yell

Note, her facial model is based off an aged down version of Tricia Helfer, Mortal Kombat X's Sonya Blade's voice actress who would voice her English voice lines. Appearance wise, she would still be the same with the addition of a waist holster at the left side of her waist to hold her Melody Sword

Bio:

In her teen years, Hana Nono had a lot of adventures. Starting off with encountering Hariham Harry and Hugtan; survivors of a future frozen in time , she was thrust into the battles between the PreCures and Cirasu Corporation. Fighting as the Pretty Cure of High Spirts; Cure Yell, she led her team in the battles against Cirasu Corporation. In the battles that followed, she learnt about Hugtan's origin as Cure Tomorrow and her connection to both her and George Kurai ; the leader of Cirasu Corporation as her mother and his wife respectively . Eventually, they managed to restore the future that Hariham Harry and Hugtan came from and they returned to their normal lives.

It's been several years since the Hugtto! PreCures' battles and Hana Nono is living a normal life as an adult running a flower shop in Hagukumi City together with her husband; George Kurai and her daughter, Hagumi (aka Hugtan). All was well until one day, a mysterious woman appeared in her shop, identified herself as Kronika and kidnapped both her husband and her daughter and worse, turned her hometown into ruins . Hana was in despair until her Mirai Crystals and PreHeart shone brightly. Knowing that her daughter and husband were still alive, Hana inserted her transformation Mirai Crystal into her PreHeart and transformed into Cure Yell once more. Stowing away on a Special Forces expedition group, she travelled to Outworld to free her beloved from Kronika's grasp and restore her hometown.

Select Screen Animation: Cure Yell converts her cuffs into pom-poms then thrusts her arms into the air. She then converts them back into her cuffs and pulls out her Melody Sword from it's waist holster from the left side of her waist.

Gear: Melody Sword, Cuffs and Mirai Crystals.

Variations:

Hooray! Hooray! (Focuses on hand to hand combat and heart blasts)

High-Spirited (Melody Sword focused).

Criasu's Assets (Gains the ability to summon an Oshimada as an assist)

Johnny Cage Announcer Nicknames: "Yell", "Hooray! Hooray!", "Cheerleader" , "Cure Mom" , "Pink-haired Sonya" and "Mechokku!"

Skins: Default (based on her appearance in Hugtto! PreCure), Cheerful (Based on her Cheerful Style), Schoolgirl (based on her school uniform) , Ex (Mortal Kombat X Sonya themed skin)

Intros:

Cheering on Everyone: Cure Yell does her end of transformation pose.

Bitter Memories: Cure Yell looks at a photo of herself, George and Hagumi in happier times before putting it away.

Tact Inspection: Cure Yell inspects her Melody Sword before noticing the opponent.

Shopping List: Cure Yell inspects a long shopping list before noticing the opponent.

Outros:

Hooray! Yell!: Cure Yell does a cheerleading routine, spelling out H, P and C in semaphore flag signalling with her pom-poms.

Heart For You! Cure Heart pulls out her PreHeart, then uses it together with her pom-poms to fire a blast to the camera.

Selfie: Cure Yell takes a selfie with her PreHeart.

Happy Memories: Cure Yell pulls out a photo from her PreHeart pouch and looks at a photo of herself in her younger years together with her team in her hands.

Throws:

Hugyuu!: Cure Yell lifts and hugs the opponent in a bear hug powerful enough to break her opponent's spine. She then places the opponent back onto the ground, then punches them in the face to send the opponent sprawling onto the ground.

Yell In Your Face: Cure Yell grabs the opponent and performs Flower Shoot point blank in the opponent's face, knocking the opponent to the ground.

Fatal Blow: Pointy End Up.

Cure Yell fires off a blast using her Heart For You attack to stun the opponent, then executes a series of rapid fire punches on various parts of the opponent's body, bloodying and dazing them even further. She then removes her Melody Sword and places it on the ground such that the diamond tip is pointing up, then grabs and piledrives the opponent head-first onto her Melody Sword.

Fatalities:

Fatality 1: Heart Faced:

Cure Yell uses her Melody Sword to disembowel the opponent. As the opponent is trying to scoop his/her guts back in, Cure Yell gets behind the opponent and uses a point blank Heart For You! blast to blow off the opponent's face from the back of their head.

Fatality 2: Rip For You!:

Cure Yell uses Heart For You to fire off a blast right into the chest of the opponent, searing a heart shaped hole into the opponent's chest and exposing their spinal cord. She then grabs the opponent's spine and breaks it into two. She then hoists the opponent over her head. The opponent only has time to scream (usually word-lessely in horror, though Kollector would scream that he wants to hand in his resignation for his job), before Cure Yell uses the snapped-in-two spine as leverage to rip the opponent in half.

Brutalities:

1: The Klassic: Cure Yell uppercuts the opponent's head off.

2: Heart-ache!: Cure Yell fires off a blast from Heart For You that blows a heart shaped hole in the opponents's torso.

3: Mother's Fury!: Cure Yell kicks the opponent to the ground , jumps on their chest, then proceeds to beat the ever-living shit out of the opponent. She then delivers a overhead two handed punch that explodes the opponent's head.*

*Secret Brutality Variation: Against Cetrion, Kronika (if edited to allow Brutalities to be performed onto her) and Geras, Cure Yell actually yells out obscenities and insults against them while beating their faces in such as "You fucker!" , "You asshole!", "You'll die for kidnapping George and Hagumi!" and "I'll make sure this leaves a mark on you in every timeline!". Why? Because Cure Yell knows that Kronika and her servants were responsible for kidnapping her husband and daughter, so she has a massive bone to pick against them.

4: Literal Minded Cure Yell : Cure Yell clears her throat and proceeds to let out a scream that scares the muscles off the opponent and causes it to run away, leaving behind the skin of the opponent which collapses into a heap.

5: Should Have Kept The PreCure Sword: Cure Yell stabs the opponent in the abdomen with the Melody Sword, causing them to kneel. She then rips out the Melody Sword then projects an energy blade from the Melody Sword and uses it to behead the opponent.

6: Traum's Kompliments: Cure Yell pulls out a Oshimaida doll (yes, it's the same doll that Dr. Traum uses to summon a Oshimaida) and presses the button of the doll to cause an Oshimaida to drop in from offscreen and eat the opponent.

7: Flower Splatter: Cure Yell uses Flower Shoot to hit the opponent with a delayed reaction that causes the opponent's upper torso to explode and a bouquet of flowers to grow from the opponent's lower torso and legs.

8: Pom and Brainless: Cure Yell punches open a hole in the top of the opponent's head, removes one of her cuffs and inserts it into the newly created hole. She then wills the pom-pom to expand to it's full size, exploding the head of the opponent.

9: Flower Shoot!: Cure Yell fires off Flower Shoot from her Melody Sword to take off the opponent's legs. As the opponent tries to crawl towards Cure Yell, Cure Yell stomps on their head, crushing the opponent's head with the heel of her boot.

Brutality Taunts:

Give Me an F, Give Me a U! : Cure Yell turns her cuffs into pom-poms, then uses her pom-poms to semaphore signal the letters F and U*.

* Yes, Cure Yell is saying the internet abbreviation for 'Fuck You' with her arm motions.

List Check: Cure Yell pulls out a shopping list and uses her PreHeart to check off the list.

Brutality/ Round Win Lines:

"Hagumi, George, I will find you!"

"Mama will find you, Hagumi!"

"You will not harm my family!"

"You will not freeze our futures."

"Harm my family and friends and you will die!"

"Retribution is long due for what you and Kronika did to my family!" (Against Geras or Cetrion)

"You will not stand in my way of my search!"

"Harm my family, and you will pay!"

"Ever heard of the term, 'mama bear'?"

Friendship: Flower Bouquet:

Cure Yell uses Flower Shoot to create a field of flowers on the ground. She then presents a bouquet of roses to the camera after pulling them out from her PreHeart pouch.

Sample Interaction Lines (With Scorpion, Sonya Blade and Sindel )

"I've heard your loved ones were kidnapped."

"Indeed. I'm looking for them."

"That's comforting for you, my loved ones are dead!"

"So, you're a mother?"

"Yes, but you don't have to deal with your daughter being regressed into a baby."

"Indeed, I don't want that to happen to Cassie."

(If Sonya has the Cure Yell costume equipped)

"I did not know you are a fan of Pretty Cure!"

"Every mother has her secrets."

"And you have the same taste in costumes as well."

" Such a foolish mother."

"Sindel, you should have the same feelings as me towards your own daughter!"

"Kitana is not worthy of my care, Hana!"

Tower Ending:

"With Kronika defeated, Geras and Cetrion were horrified at the goals of Kronika when I enlightened them on what Kronika's aims actually were . They offered to feed themselves to the Hourglass to give it the capacity to run itself and atone for their crimes. But I stopped them and provided themselves a more productive alternative. In exchange for them releasing George and Hagumi and working with the Elder Gods to defend Earthrealm , I used one of my Mirai Crystals to grant the Hourglass the capacity to run itself, restoring my hometown and the Elder Gods that Kronika ordered executed in the process. Geras and Cetrion departed on good terms with me and I was reunited with my family.

"However, this restoration had a side effect. Initially unknown to me, Quan Chi has returned from the dead. One day, he kidnapped Hagumi right in front of me. I was furious and heard of Hanzo 'Scorpion' Hasashi , the leader of the Shirai Ryu ninja clan who has suffered most from the machinations of Quan Chi . I assembled my PreCure team and teamed up with the Shirai Ryu to hunt Quan Chi down with our combined resources . What does Quan Chi want by kidnapping my daughter? I do not know. But when we corner him, I will show him that the Netherrealm hath no fury than a mother scorned!"

[robertreich]

When Bosses Shared the Profits

After the bruising crises we’re now going through, it would be wonderful if we could somehow emerge a fairer nation. One possibility is to revive an old idea: sharing the profits.

The original idea for businesses to share profits with workers emerged from the tumultuous period when America shifted from farm to factory. In December 1916, the Bureau of Labor Statistics issued a report on profit-sharing, suggesting it as a way to reduce the “frequent and often violent disputes” between employers and workers, thereby “fostering the development of a larger spirit of harmony and cooperation, and resulting, incidentally, in greater efficiency and larger gains.”

That same year, Sears, Roebuck and Co., one of America’s largest corporations, with 30,000 to 40,000 employees, announced a major experiment in profit-sharing. The company would contribute 5 percent of net earnings, without deduction of dividends to shareholders, into a profit-sharing fund. (Eventually the company earmarked 10 percent of pretax earnings for the plan.) Employees who wished to participate would contribute 5 percent of their salaries. All would be invested in shares of Sears stock. The plan’s purpose, according to The New York Times, was to “to engender loyalty and harmony between employer and employee.” In reviewing its first three years, The Times noted that 92 percent of Sears’s employees had joined up and that “the participating employee not only found an ever-increasing sum of money to his credit, but eventually discovered he was a shareholder in the corporation, with a steadily growing amount of stock to his name.”

Sears’s plan was admirably egalitarian. Distributions of shares were based on years of service, not rank, and the longest-serving workers received nearly $3 for every dollar they contributed. By the 1950s, Sears workers owned a quarter of the company. By 1968, the typical Sears salesman could retire with a nest egg worth well over $1 million in today’s dollars. Other companies that joined the profit-sharing movement included Procter & Gamble, Pillsbury, Kodak, S.C. Johnson, Hallmark Cards and U.S. Steel — some because it seemed morally right, others because it seemed a means to higher productivity.

Profit-sharing did give workers an incentive to be more productive. It also reduced the need for layoffs during recessions, because payroll costs dropped as profits did. But it subjected workers to the risk that when profits were down, their paychecks would shrink. And if a company went bankrupt, they’d lose all their investments in it. (Sears phased out its profit-sharing plan in the 1970s and filed for bankruptcy protection in 2018.) The best profit-sharing plans came in the form of cash bonuses that employees could invest however they wished, on top of predictable base wages.

Profit-sharing fit perfectly with the evolution of the American corporation. By the 1950s, most employees of large companies had spent their entire working lives with the company. Companies and their employees were rooted in the same communities. C.E.O.s typically worked their way up, and once at the top rarely earned more than 20 times the average wage of their employees (now they’re often paid more than 300 times more). Over a third of private-sector workers were unionized. In 1958 the United Auto Workers demanded that the nation’s automakers share their profits with their workers.

Some remnants of profit-sharing remain today. Both Steelcase Inc., an office-furniture maker in Grand Rapids, Mich., and the Lincoln Electric Company, a Cleveland-based manufacturer of welding equipment, tie major portions of annual wages to profits. Publix Super Markets, which operates in the Southeast, and W.L. Gore, the maker of Gore-Tex, are owned by employee stock ownership plans. America still harbors small worker cooperatives owned and operated by their employees, such as the Cheese Board Collective in my hometown Berkeley, Calif.

But since the 1980s, profit-sharing has almost disappeared from large corporations. That’s largely because of a change in the American corporation that began with a wave of hostile takeovers and corporate restructurings in the 1980s. Raiders like Carl Icahn, Ivan Boesky and Michael Milken targeted companies they thought could deliver higher returns if their costs were cut. Since payrolls were the highest cost, raiders set about firing workers, cutting pay, automating as many jobs as possible, fighting unions, moving jobs to states with lower labor costs and outsourcing jobs abroad. To prevent being taken over, C.E.O.s began doing the same.

This marked the end of most profit-sharing with workers. Paradoxically, it was the beginning of profit-sharing with top executives and “talent.” Big Wall Street banks, hedge funds and private-equity funds began doling out bonuses, stock and stock options to lure and keep the people they wanted. They were soon followed by high-tech companies, movie studios and start-ups of all kinds.

Even before tens of millions of Americans lost their jobs and incomes in the current pandemic, the pay of the typical worker had barely risen since the mid-1970s, adjusted for inflation. Meanwhile, ever-greater wealth continues to concentrate at the very top.

Since 2000, the portion of total national income going to American workers has dropped farther than in other rich nations. A steadily larger portion has gone into corporate profits, which have been reflected in higher share prices. But a buoyant stock market doesn’t help most Americans. The richest 1 percent now own half the value of all shares of stock; the richest 10 percent, 92 percent.

Those higher share prices have come out of the pockets of workers. Daniel Greenwald at M.I.T.’s Sloan School of Management, Martin Lettau at the University of California’s Haas School of Business and Sydney Ludvigson at N.Y.U. found that from 1952 to 1988, economic growth accounted for all the rise in stock values, but from 1989 to 2017, growth accounted for just 24 percent. Most came from “reallocated rents to shareholders and away from labor compensation” — that is, from workers.

Jeff Bezos, who now owns 11.1 percent of Amazon’s shares of stock, is worth $165 billion overall. Other top Amazon executives hold hundreds of millions of dollars of Amazon shares. But most of Amazon’s employees, including warehouse workers, don’t share in the same bounty.

If Amazon’s 840,000 employees owned the same proportion of their employer’s stock as Sears workers did in the 1950s — a quarter of the company — each would now own shares worth an average of about $386,904.

There are many ways to encourage profit-sharing. During this pandemic, for example, Congress should prohibit the Treasury or the Federal Reserve from bailing out any corporation that doesn’t share its profits with its employees.

It’s impossible to predict what kind of America will emerge from the crises we’re now experiencing, but the four-decade trend toward higher profits and lower wages is unsustainable, economically and politically. Sharing the profits with all workers is a logical and necessary first step to making capitalism work for the many, not the few.

[narcoleptic-drag-queen]

may I please ask for 57, 65 & 32 for secret agent/assassin Branjie?

you said ‘jealous secret agents’ and i said ‘JESUS CHRIST YES’

also, this is set in the same universe as this

32 - “But do they fuck you like I did?”

57 - “You’re cute when you’re jealous.” 

65 - “Do you love me? Then act like it.”

O - Secret Agent/Assassin AU

-

“Do you love me?”

Brooke is going to murder someone. Whether it’s Vanjie, herself, or their coordinator is still up for debate. But someone is definitely getting killed, tonight. “Of course,” she grits out, and Vanessa raises an eyebrow.

“Do you trust me?”

“Of course,” Brooke says, rolling her eyes, and Vanjie scowls.

“Then act like it,” she says, and Brooke clenches her jaw, taking in a deep breath through her nose. They’re already in the ballroom, tucked into the corner with their flutes of champagne, and they’ve already made themselves known to the target. It’s probably a little too late to say ‘no’.

“I’m trying,” she says, eventually, and Vanjie snorts.

“Sure, baby. Just don’t talk to Michaels, and we’ll be fine,” she says, her anger seemingly gone in a puff of smoke. 

The ball of frustration in Brooke’s chest is making it very hard to cooperate. “What else am I supposed to do, then?” she snaps. “She’s the only target!”

“Just--” Vanessa pinches her nose, and shoves Brooke towards one of the stone pillars. “Let me loosen her up a bit. We’re old friends, remember? The entire reason why we was told to come here? Just wait here, and wait for my signal.”

Brooke lets Vanjie lead her to the pillar, but the ball of frustration is still there. She feels like she could burst. “I don’t think--”

“Do you want to tell Michelle why Kameron Michaels won’t talk to me anymore? Do you want to explain to her why I couldn’t get her to tell me where to pick her up from work tomorrow for lunch?”

“You used to date her,” Brooke says, defensive. “Can you blame me?”

Vanjie rolls her eyes, but there’s a tiny smile curling at the corners of her lips that she can’t quite keep down. “Key word: used to.” She flicks Brooke’s forehead lightly, and Brooke slaps her hand away. 

“That’s two words.”

“I keep forgetting that you stopped maturin’ after sixth grade,” Vanjie observes, unimpressed, and Brooke lets out an incredulous huff.

“Hey!”

“Stay here,” Vanjie says, pointing at the ground like Brooke is a dog she’s training. “I’m gonna go to my job, this time, hopefully without someone’s snippy comments ruinin’ the mood.”

She turns, flicking her hair over her shoulder as she does, and walks off towards Michaels, who’s watching them with a curious brow lifted. Brooke glares at her, resisting the urge to stick her tongue out at her. Willam’s voice crackles through her earpiece, wry with amusement.

“Is it okay to laugh, now? Is that appropriate?”

Brooke takes a stubborn sip of champagne, watching as Vanessa catches up to Michaels, laughing and waving her hand at Brooke as if to say ‘don’t worry about her, I took care of it’. Brooke thinks that Michaels should be very worried, considering she’s about to tip the first domino leading to the fall of her corporation.

“You’re only supposed to talk to me when it’s pertinent to the mission,” Brooke mutters out of the corner of her mouth, eyes never leaving Vanessa and Michaels. Vanessa subtly sticks her leg out of the slit in her red velvet gown, the gold of her shoe complimenting her warm skin attractively. She gets what she wants: Michaels’s eyes travel up her thigh lustfully, her cheeks flushing a little. Brooke imagines slamming her face into her knee.

“I’d say this is pertinent,” Willam says, pronouncing the word with a sort of bounce. “It did almost screw everything up.”

“Shut up,” Brooke tells her, and she can practically hear Willam shrug, her stupid face practically branded into Brooke’s brain after all of the tech briefings she’s had to give them over the years. 

“Well, if you can do it, so can I,” Willam says, and Brooke can’t wait until they figure out how to kill people over the phone. To her credit, though, Willam does fall silent, so Brooke focuses back on Vanjie, her jealousy once again coming to a boil as she notices that Michaels has wrapped her fingers around Vanessa’s wrist to hold her steady as she laughs.

Vanjie and Michaels start making their way towards her, giggling and far too close, Vanessa wearing her most flirtatious smile. 

Yes, these were their instructions. Yes, they need this information to continue with the mission. Yes, Brooke understands that it isn’t real. 

Brooke has decided that she will kill Michaels tonight.

They come within earshot, Kameron giggling a little drunkenly as Vanjie finishes her sentence, laughter in her voice as well. “...and her quesadillas are even whiter than yours!”

Brooke feels heat creep up her neck at a rapid pace, glaring at the two of them. The fact that Vanessa has the nerve to compare her to Michaels is…. Maybe Brooke will kill Vanjie, as well. A nice two for one.

Kameron chuckles, leaning in close to Vanjie’s ear, but her voice is anything but a whisper when she asks, “But does she fuck you like I did?”

Brooke’s glass explodes.

She jumps a little in shock, flicking her hand to get the champagne and pieces of glass off of her fingers. Vanjie and Michaels’s heads jerk towards her, their eyes wide, and Willam whispers “Oh my god,” into the earpiece, her tone the definition of complete and utter joy.

“Um,” Brooke says intelligently, blushing so hard it feels like her face is on fire. 

Vanjie finally closes her mouth from where it had been open with shock, visibly gathering herself. “Why don’t you go meet me in the car, Brooke?” she says, her voice barely restraining her anger, and Brooke grimaces. She doesn’t want to, especially with the way Michaels’s hand is still curled around Vanjie’s wrist, but she’s less than eager to make Vanessa angrier than she is now.

“Alright,” she says shortly, and she steps around the mess of her shattered champagne flute and starts towards the entrance, her face still flaming.

“How does it feel to be a professional spy?” Willam asks, once Brooke hops into the tech van. She turns to face Brooke with an infuriating smirk on her face, her microphone tilted away from her mouth to keep Vanessa from hearing.

“I hate you,” Brooke tells her, kicking off a heel in frustration. Her feet fucking hurt. “I hate you so, so much.”

“I love you too,” Willam says, and Brooke kicks her other heel at her. It misses by a few inches, and Willam sticks her tongue out at her. Brooke’s anger snaps inside her chest, and she sneers at the other woman, the stress from the ballroom making her all too willing to be needlessly mean.

“Do you know that you’re the most--”

The van doors bang open, and Vanessa climbs in, pulling them shut behind her and turning to the two of them. The sight of her has Brooke’s heart racing, and she lifts an eyebrow, a smart remark on the tip of her tongue.

“What, was Michaels too--”

Vanessa pounces on her, pulling her into a searing kiss, deepening it violently and biting Brooke’s lip a little. Brooke moans and immediately kisses back, pulling Vanjie onto her lap and running her hands all over her soft, velvety dress, feeling her toned muscles shift underneath. She tastes like champagne and Brooke can feel her lipstick smearing across her face, but it only makes her need to kiss harder, to make her mark on her girlfriend. Hers.

“Jesus fucking Christ!” Willam says loudly from the tech chair. “I’m in here too, you sluts!”

They break apart reluctantly, Vanessa shooting Willam a shy apology and Brooke’s eyes never leaving Vanjie’s face, a little surprised and very turned on.

“What was that?” she breathes out, and Vanessa giggles, leaning her forehead against Brooke’s, taking advantage of being taller by straddling Brooke. 

“You’re cute when you’re jealous,” she says, and Brooke lets out an incredulous laugh.

“Oh, yeah?”

“Yeah.” Vanessa gives her a dirty grin. “But I think we should talk about it more at the hotel.”

“Yes,” Willam says, throwing her stress ball at them. It bounces off of Vanjie’s shoulder. “Go be nasty in the privacy of your own room. I have to work in here.”

Vanjie’s smirk only gets filthier. Brooke shifts, squeezing her thighs together.

Sounds like she’ll be too busy tonight to kill anyone.