#affordable recruitment for small business

[mostlysignssomeportents]

Sympathy for the spammer

Catch me in Miami! I'll be at Books and Books in Coral Gables on Jan 22 at 8PM.

In any scam, any con, any hustle, the big winners are the people who supply the scammers – not the scammers themselves. The kids selling dope on the corner are making less than minimum wage, while the respectable crime-bosses who own the labs clean up. Desperate "retail investors" who buy shitcoins from Superbowl ads get skinned, while the MBA bros who issue the coins make millions (in real dollars, not crypto).

It's ever been thus. The California gold rush was a con, and nearly everyone who went west went broke. Famously, the only reliable way to cash out on the gold rush was to sell "picks and shovels" to the credulous, doomed and desperate. That's how Leland Stanford made his fortune, which he funneled into eugenics programs (and founding a university):

https://www.hachettebookgroup.com/titles/malcolm-harris/palo-alto/9780316592031/

That means that the people who try to con you are almost always getting conned themselves. Think of Multi-Level Marketing (MLM) scams. My forthcoming novel The Bezzle opens with a baroque and improbable fast-food Ponzi in the town of Avalon on the island of Catalina, founded by the chicle monopolist William Wrigley Jr:

http://thebezzle.org

Wrigley found fast food declasse and banned it from the island, a rule that persists to this day. In The Bezzle, the forensic detective Martin Hench uncovers The Fry Guys, an MLM that flash-freezes contraband burgers and fries smuggled on-island from the mainland and sells them to islanders though an "affiliate marketing" scheme that is really about recruiting other affiliate markets to sell under you. As with every MLM, the value of the burgers and fries sold is dwarfed by the gigantic edifice of finance fraud built around it, with "points" being bought and sold for real cash, which is snaffled up and sucked out of the island by a greedy mainlander who is behind the scheme.

A "bezzle" is John Kenneth Galbraith's term for "the magic interval when a confidence trickster knows he has the money he has appropriated but the victim does not yet understand that he has lost it." In every scam, there's a period where everyone feels richer – but only the scammers are actually cleaning up. The wealth of the marks is illusory, but the longer the scammer can preserve the illusion, the more real money the marks will pump into the system.

MLMs are particularly ugly, because they target people who are shut out of economic opportunity – women, people of color, working people. These people necessarily rely on social ties for survival, looking after each others' kids, loaning each other money they can't afford, sharing what little they have when others have nothing.

It's this social cohesion that MLMs weaponize. Crypto "entrepreneurs" are encouraged to suck in their friends and family by telling them that they're "building Black wealth." Working women are exhorted to suck in their bffs by appealing to their sisterhood and the chance for "women to lift each other up."

The "sales people" trying to get you to buy crypto or leggings or supplements are engaged in predatory conduct that will make you financially and socially worse off, wrecking their communities' finances and shattering the mutual aid survival networks they rely on. But they're not getting rich on this – they're also being scammed:

https://papers.ssrn.com/sol3/papers.cfm?abstract_id=4686468

This really hit home for me in the mid-2000s, when I was still editing Boing Boing. We had a submission form where our readers could submit links for us to look at for inclusion on the blog, and it was overwhelmed by spam. We'd add all kinds of antispam to it, and still, we'd get floods of hundreds or even thousands of spam submissions to it.

One night, I was lying in my bed in London and watching these spams roll in. They were all for small businesses in the rustbelt, handyman services, lawn-care, odd jobs, that kind of thing. They were 10 million miles from the kind of thing we'd ever post about on Boing Boing. They were coming in so thickly that I literally couldn't finish downloading my email – the POP session was dropping before I could get all the mail in the spool. I had to ssh into my mail server and delete them by hand. It was maddening.

Frustrated and furious, I started calling the phone numbers associated with these small businesses, demanding an explanation. I assumed that they'd hired some kind of sleazy marketing service and I wanted to know who it was so I could give them a piece of my mind.

But what I discovered when I got through was much weirder. These people had all been laid off from factories that were shuttering due to globalization. As part of their termination packages, their bosses had offered them "retraining" via "courses" in founding their own businesses.

The "courses" were the precursors to the current era's rise-and-grind hustle-culture scams (again, the only people getting rich from that stuff are the people selling the courses – the "students" finish the course poorer). They promised these laid-off workers, who'd given their lives to their former employers before being discarded, that they just needed to pull themselves up by their own boostraps:

https://pluralistic.net/2023/04/10/declaration-of-interdependence/#solidarity-forever

After all, we had the internet now! There were so many new opportunities to be your own boss! The course came with a dreadful build-your-own-website service, complete with an overpriced domain sales portal, and a single form for submitting your new business to "thousands of search engines."

This was nearly 20 years ago, but even then, there was really only one search engine that mattered: Google. The "thousands of search engines" the scammers promised to submit these desperate peoples' websites to were just submission forms for directories, indexes, blogs, and mailing lists. The number of directories, indexes, blogs and mailing lists that would publish their submissions was either "zero" or "nearly zero." There was certainly no possibility that anyone at Boing Boing would ever press the wrong key and accidentally write a 500-word blog post about a leaf-raking service in a collapsing deindustrialized exurb in Kentucky or Ohio.

The people who were drowning me in spam weren't the scammers – they were the scammees.

But that's only half the story. Years later, I discovered how our submission form was getting included in this get-rich-quick's mass-submission system. It was a MLM! Coders in the former Soviet Union were getting work via darknet websites that promised them relative pittances for every submission form they reverse-engineered and submitted. The smart coders didn't crack the forms directly – they recruited other, less business-savvy coders to do that for them, and then often as not, ripped them off.

The scam economy runs on this kind of indirection, where scammees are turned into scammers, who flood useful and productive and nice spaces with useless dross that doesn't even make them any money. Take the submission queue at Clarkesworld, the great online science fiction magazine, which famously had to close after it was flooded with thousands of junk submission "written" by LLMs:

https://www.npr.org/2023/02/24/1159286436/ai-chatbot-chatgpt-magazine-clarkesworld-artificial-intelligence

There was a zero percent chance that Neil Clarke would accidentally accept one of these submissions. They were uniformly terrible. The people submitting these "stories" weren't frustrated sf writers who'd discovered a "life hack" that let them turn out more brilliant prose at scale.

They were scammers who'd been scammed into thinking that AIs were the key to a life of passive income, a 4-Hour Work-Week powered by an AI-based self-licking ice-cream cone:

https://pod.link/1651876897/episode/995c8a778ede17d2d7cff393e5203157

This is absolutely classic passive-income brainworms thinking. "I have a bot that can turn out plausible sentences. I will locate places where sentences can be exchanged for money, aim my bot at it, sit back, and count my winnings." It's MBA logic on meth: find a thing people pay for, then, without bothering to understand why they pay for that thing, find a way to generate something like it at scale and bombard them with it.

Con artists start by conning themselves, with the idea that "you can't con an honest man." But the factor that predicts whether someone is connable isn't their honesty – it's their desperation. The kid selling drugs on the corner, the mom desperately DMing her high-school friends to sell them leggings, the cousin who insists that you get in on their shitcoin – they're all doing it because the system is rigged against them, and getting worse every day.

These people reason – correctly – that all the people getting really rich are scamming. If Amazon can make $38b/year selling "ads" that push worse products that cost more to the top of their search results, why should the mere fact that an "opportunity" is obviously predatory and fraudulent disqualify it?

https://pluralistic.net/2023/11/29/aethelred-the-unready/#not-one-penny-for-tribute

The quest for passive income is really the quest for a "greater fool," the economist's term for the person who relieves you of the useless crap you just overpaid for. It rots the mind, atomizes communities, shatters solidarity and breeds cynicism:

https://pluralistic.net/2023/02/24/passive-income/#swiss-cheese-security

The rise and rise of botshit cannot be separated from this phenomenon. The botshit in our search-results, our social media feeds, and our in-boxes isn't making money for the enshittifiers who send it – rather, they are being hustled by someone who's selling them the "picks and shovels" for the AI gold rush:

https://www.theguardian.com/commentisfree/2024/jan/03/botshit-generative-ai-imminent-threat-democracy

That's the true cost of all the automation-driven unemployment criti-hype: while we're nowhere near a place where bots can steal your job, we're certainly at the point where your boss can be suckered into firing you and replacing you with a bot that fails at doing your job:

https://pluralistic.net/2024/01/11/robots-stole-my-jerb/#computer-says-no

The manic "entrepreneurs" who've been stampeded into panic by the (correct) perception that the economy is a game of musical chairs where the number of chairs is decreasing at breakneck speed are easy marks for the Leland Stanfords of AI, who are creating generational wealth for themselves by promising that their bots will automate away all the tedious work that goes into creating value. Expect a lot more Amazon Marketplace products called "I'm sorry, I cannot fulfil this request as it goes against OpenAI use policy":

https://www.theverge.com/2024/1/12/24036156/openai-policy-amazon-ai-listings

No one's going to buy these products, but the AI picks-and-shovels people will still reap a fortune from the attempt. And because history repeats itself, these newly minted billionaires are continuing Leland Stanford's love affair with eugenics:

https://www.truthdig.com/dig-series/eugenics/

The fact that AI spam doesn't pay is important to the fortunes of AI companies. Most high-value AI applications are very risk-intolerant (self-driving cars, radiology analysis, etc). An AI tool might help a human perform these tasks more accurately – by warning them of things that they've missed – but that's not how AI will turn a profit. There's no market for AI that makes your workers cost more but makes them better at their jobs:

https://locusmag.com/2023/12/commentary-cory-doctorow-what-kind-of-bubble-is-ai/

Plenty of people think that spam might be the elusive high-value, low-risk AI application. But that's just not true. The point of AI spam is to get clicks from people who are looking for better content. It's SEO. No one reads 2000 words of algorithm-pleasing LLM garbage over an omelette recipe and then subscribes to that site's feed.

And the omelette recipe generates pennies for the spammer that posted it. They are doing massive volume in order to make those pennies into dollars. You don't make money by posting one spam. If every spammer had to pay the actual recovery costs (energy, chillers, capital amortization, wages) for their query, every AI spam would lose (lots of) money.

Hustle culture and passive income are about turning other peoples' dollars into your dimes. It is a negative-sum activity, a net drain on society. Behind every seemingly successful "passive income" is a con artist who's getting rich by promising – but not delivering – that elusive passive income, and then blaming the victims for not hustling hard enough:

https://www.ftc.gov/business-guidance/blog/2023/12/blueprint-trouble

I'm Kickstarting the audiobook for The Bezzle, the sequel to Red Team Blues, narrated by @wilwheaton! You can pre-order the audiobook and ebook, DRM free, as well as the hardcover, signed or unsigned. There's also bundles with Red Team Blues in ebook, audio or paperback.

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

https://pluralistic.net/2024/01/15/passive-income-brainworms/#four-hour-work-week

Image: Cryteria (modified) https://commons.wikimedia.org/wiki/File:HAL9000.svg

CC BY 3.0 https://creativecommons.org/licenses/by/3.0/deed.en

[arjudy224]

The Billionaire Boys Club

Batfamily x PhD student reader

(This takes place around 6 years after the Intern. )

The Intern Collection

Prequel: Death of a Family

The Intern: Day one

The Intern: The Laughing Fish

The Intern: Busy Work

The Intern: Outreach Gala

The Intern: Visiting an old friend

The Intern: Chemical Valley

The Intern: Billionaire Boys Club

After interning in her hometown, Y/N was recruited to do her master's degree fully funded by Lexcorp. She had developed an attraction over the 3 years working with Lex Luthor, yet his controlling behavior led to Superman warning Y/N about the CEO's affections. Her master's thesis was on the environmental impacts of Kryptonite use and storage.

Gotham City's explosive tonight. The annual environmental gala has somehow brought fresh life into the sallow streets.

The gala's decorator deserves a raise. Lush vines descend from the high ceiling wrapping around the pillars. I narrow my eyes. Are those real carrier pigeons? Every flower from any climate you could possibly imagine flood the walls in a sweet cascade of fragrance. The sweet aroma tethers me to the present. Dick and Tim give me sly smiles from across the ballroom. Stumbling past the walls of plants, Bruce gives me a thumbs up.

"You clean up nice."

I give him a small smile before glancing down at my Wayne sponsored garb. The long satin dress hugs my hips in an almost risque manner. A respectable slit begins at my mid thigh showing off my red and black pumps. I grimace at the unknown cost.

"You know you didn't have to go all Pretty Woman on me Mr. Wayne." I joke smoothing out my silk gloves, "I do have a paycheck."

Bruce smiles. It takes me off guard. A real smile with squinted eyes and smile lines. As goofy as the most attractive man in the room can be. Compared to his work persona, it's nice to see.

"Ms. L/N, I would never ask you to spend your money to play dress up for a gala I invited you to."

I nod not knowing what else to say. An entire styling team showed up at my door this morning with rack of dresses to choose from... and the shoes... well let's just say it would have made Cinderella run back home and demand to know why she couldn't have gotten Bruce Wayne as her Godmother.

His eyes gravitate to the pendant draped across my neck. A sting of pain registers on his face. I shift uncomfortably once he starts to stare. At my discomfort, Mr. Wayne apologizes.

"I'm sorry Ms. L/N. I haven't seen that necklace in a very long time."

I raise an eyebrow. Mr. Wayne never divulges this much personal information.

"Old flame?" I joke wiggling my eyebrows.

He shakes his head with a pained smile.

"That was my Mother's necklace."

My eyes widen. Martha Wayne's necklace. Instinctively, I reach to take it off. I already couldn't afford a ruby necklace, but a Wayne family heirloom? Hell no.

"I can take it off if you-" I start reaching for the clasp.

Mr. Wayne stops me in my tracks.

"Don't worry about it. That was a long time ago. "

I still hesitate. I glance awkwardly around the ballroom.

"Are you sure?"

"Yes," Mr. Wayne weighs carefully, "Besides, it might make for an interesting headline."

I scowl.

"I'm not going to like this am I?"

A devilish grin appears in response to my dismay.

"Welcome back to Gotham Ms. L/N."

Bruce's sons materialize a few seconds later. If I wasn't used to them suddenly appearing in my office, I would have shrieked.

"Tim. Dick." I greet with a nod, "Always a pleasure."

The younger boy looks at me like I am a puzzle piece he can't quite figure out where to put yet. Dick is as charming as ever.

"Y/N, I can't believe Bruce roped you into being his date. Have you ever considered unionizing?" He teases with a grin.

"At least, I'm getting paid to be here. What's your excuse?" I tease lightly hitting his shoulder. "Don't you have a hot date tonight Bludhaven?"

A painfully familiar shadow interrupts the conversation.

"Mr. Luthor."

Turning around, my legs begin to shake. What a wonderful... surprise. Lex nods to the three men before setting his sights on me.

"Mr. Luthor,"

Saying his formal title feels wrong, yet calling him Lex wouldn't be right either. Not after everything that has happened. Timothy's analytical gaze burns my peripheral.

"Ms. L/N, would you join me for a dance?"

I hesitate eyeing the audience that is forming. Extending his hand, Lex continues, "For old times sake?"

Three people stopped talking to gawk. I don't have much of a choice. With the amount of gossip mongrels here tonight, if I say no my face will be plastered on every gossip column in Gotham... If I say yes, well at least it will only be in Metropolis Gossip columns. I don't have much of a choice.

"Of course... Mr. Luthor." I agree through gritted teeth letting him drag me onto the dance floor.

If I thought agreeing to a waltz would quell speculation, I was poorly mistaken. Dozens of eyes follow our every movement including my boss's.

"You are only feeding into their curiosity." Lex whispers in my ear, "Those vultures know when you are weak."

"Is that what I am?" I question finally looking into his green eyes, "No need for flattery Alexander."

"There isn't any other way to explain your disappearance."

"-That's not fair."

The fire in his eyes leaves me speechless. This was not how I planned to spend my Saturday evening. For a moment, I fantasize on how this night could have gone. I could have had an early night enjoying take out... exchanged my favorite book with the cute guy next door. Slept in. Instead, I am bickering with a man who could be my Uncle over the fact I didn't take a job offer...and potentially start a relationship with him.

"Okay, so I cut you off." I start, "I'm sorry I hurt you, but things couldn't keep progressing like that. My project ended. It was time for me to go."

...and Superman told me that you started tracking my whereabouts... along with bugging my apartment... Go to therapy.

Lex shakes his head.

1, 2, 3

1, 2, 3

1, 2, 3

"You were offered a complete stipend. A guaranteed job offer. Why would you turn that down?"

My lips press together into a fine line.

1, 2, 3

1, 2, 3

1, 2, 3

The orchestra roars into a crescendo. The dance speeds up.

"You know why...." I hiss trying to keep up with his increasing tempo.

I've never been good at multitasking.

1, 2, 3.

1, 2, 3.

1, 2, 3-

"-Say it," Lex demands gripping my fingers tighter, "Tell me."

The ring on his left hand gets caught on my gloves tearing the beautiful silk right down the center. The radiant green draws my attention. Kryptonite. After all this time, he still wears it. Rage causes my face to go hot. I stop dancing to grab his ring.

"This is why Lex," I snarl, "Because I am sick of watching you destroy yourself. You've read my research."

A smart ass grin stretches across his face. The onlookers exchange curious glances at our lack of dancing.

"I paid for it." He replies smugly.

"Then you should know how ludicrous this behavior is. You are going to die before you win."

His eyes get sharp. I must have hit a nerve. A vein in his forehead grows prominent. Another couple dances past us. Lex tears me out of the way before I get bulldozed. A few beats later, we are back in the dance. His hands grow tight around mine like he's afraid I might disappear again. My knuckles turn white from the pressure, but I won't give him what he wants. Pain laces up my palms.

"So, you would rather waste your career working for a halfwit like Bruce Wayne?"

I freeze for a second. This is what this is really about. Lex is jealous that I chose to work for Bruce. If it was anybody else, he could convince himself that I was downgrading, but I went to his direct competition. Thinking of the conversation I had with Bruce earlier, when nobody else is around Bruce has a strange intelligence in his mannerisms. In public, he had initially joked about not reading my research, yet once we were alone the intensity of his questions made me nervous. Considering his extracurricular activities, it's unsurprising that he would want to keep his persona lowkey. How did my job search end with watching the boys club battle it out?

"I will only say this once: My life is mine. What I choose to do is my decision. Say what you want about Mr. Wayne, but at least he respects my privacy." I growl ripping my hands out of his grasp. "Have a nice day Mr. Luthor."

Storming past the "Garden of Eden" display, I slam open the double doors. God.... Everyone there probably thinks I slept with him.

Tag List: @jjsmeowthie

[yuellii]

baby, we’re the new romantics !

𝐈𝐍 𝐖𝐇𝐈𝐂𝐇 some born-rich, noisy man falls for a completely normal ( maybe struggling ) woman

feat. childe, referred to as ajax

wc. 2.7k

note. gn reader, modern au, references a scene from I Love Yoo, this is a little birthday fic for one of my very best friends in the whole wide world : @vivinens !!

To put it bluntly, it sucked working at McDonald’s.

Other than the fast-paced environment and the tough remarks from rude customers, what arguably sucked the most was that he worked in the building just across the street. Literally just a few steps and you’d be at risk of seeing him.

It wasn’t that you hated Ajax ( okay, maybe you did a little ); he was a fun way to wind down in-between classes sometimes at university because of his loud personality. And, he was attractive to stand next to, you’ll give him that in addition to being a very understanding friend. But seeing him in the workplace is quite possibly the last thing you could ever want to ask for.

What made matters even worse was during your desperate job search last month, when you got a recruitment offer at the place he worked at. You thought it’d be some small thing like where generic college students worked, not some big multi-million firm in this massive building with workers walking around in suits and pencil skirts galore. And of course, when you met with the mean recruiting lady named Rosalyne for your interview, it was impossible not to spot Ajax at the corner of your eyes with a goofy smile on his face.

And when Ms. Rosalyne went back to scold him after your interview, it was more than obvious you were only here because he pushed your application.

How embarrassing.

“You can try again!” he said to you in good spirits in the university courtyard one week after. The two of you were sitting together as the sun was setting on campus, having both finished all your classes for the day. “They’re opening another clerical position soon since our current one is leaving, apply then!” And to you, he was acting all completely normal in his normal young-adult way, meanwhile you were trying to erase the image of him in a suit from your head.

You sighed, “I don’t think the high-class life of business is for me yet, Ajax.”

The roll of your eyes caused him to visibly deflate. Just how obsessed was he with the idea of you getting hired? “But I want you to work with you so baddd…!” he groaned, dramatically shoving his hands onto his face.Then he leaned back forward, slumping until his forehead came down to rest on your shoulder. Such an attention-grabbing act of depression—you almost came to entertain the idea, too.

“I don’t even have office clothes,” you scoffed, bumping him off your shoulder.

He yelped from the force of your push for a moment before he grabbed your arm, pulling it so harshly with such a force that had you clashing right onto his chest ( Yeah, friends, or something like that ). And even as you began to punch on his chest in protest, he just hugged you tight and whined, “I can buy you some! You’ll fit right in—and I get to see you every day at school and at work!”

Seeing him every day sounded like hell, you were so sure this man was insane.

“You are not buying me office clothes!” you denied, still trying to push yourself away.

“I can totally afford it, though!” he pouted. After he relaxed his grip around your body, you still found it too tough to escape his weird embrace. That’s your karma for being friends with the guy who goes to the gym in-between classes, you suppose. And after more struggling to set yourself free, you eventually gave up as the sunset reduced to silence.

That was when he squeezed you tight once more for a last makeshift hug, then planted an ambiguously-friendly kiss on your cheek as he said, “Let’s go get dinner now? I’ll drive.”

“Yeah, sure. Can we get chicken nuggets?”

He lifted both of your bodies up to your feet, watching as you collected your things off the seat before he led you by the hand to his car. “Pff, you always want nuggets,” he teased. “But yeah, I’m down—there’s a McDonald’s right next to my work, let’s go there while I try to convince you to apply at my job!”

And now you work at said McDonald’s.

You didn’t tell him, of course. Only that you “finally got a job,” so that he could finally stop trying to get you hired at his stuffy building space.

It was pretty busy in the morning when people in office attire would come in for a quick, cheap coffee. Lunch and dinner time was also busy as expected—it was one of the things that made you happy to be a cashier and not one of the cooks or drive-through people.

And the best part about this was that you never saw the uptight Ms. Recruiter Rosalyne here, nor Ajax himself. You knew for a fact that Ajax only went to McDonald’s when it was with you, as he preferred other fast foods, so even if his work was just right there, you really didn’t have to worry about accidentally seeing him. If you did… Well, that would probably be really embarrassing, wouldn’t it?

It was one o’clock in the afternoon, lunch rush.

People were rude, your coworkers were irritable, customers were in a rush—horrible, really, but also a normal day for you. Just smile and put on that customer service voice and it will soon be over. Plus, you got free chicken nuggets for your own lunch break before this.

It was not until you felt your phone vibrate in the pocket of your jeans. Well. It was not that common to get a text like that. Your family should know you’re at work; your friends, too. Just one peak—only one, just while the customer in front of you is still holding up the line while he decides what to order. Propping your phone up behind the register, you open it to check your lockscreen.

orange fuckwad: heyyy you want some mcds nuggets?!?!? ;)

Holy shit. Absolutely not.

“Can I order the uhhh…” Oh good lord you have to turn off your phone now. “Can I order the uhhh McLobster?”

“Sorry sir, the McLobster was discontinued five years ago.” You were about to blow your brains out.

“No I swear I just ordered it last week?”

Your eyes kept shifting to the door. And there, finally, in all his glory making your heart absolutely drop in fear, was Ajax coming through the door. And for you, too—to buy you a box of chicken nuggets. In any other case, you’d find it endearing ( and it still was! ) but in this instance you really wanted to die right now.

The customer suddenly raised an eyebrow at you when you shifted your body to the side, trying to use his body as a shield from the eyes of your friend. There was a second cashier next to you—hopefully Ajax will line up on their line instead of yours. And hopefully, you could use this crusty McDonald’s hat to hide your face.

“Hey!” your coworker suddenly called out to you. You looked towards their empty cashier line with a glimmer of hope for good news. “I’m going on my lunch!” Your face dropped. “I’ll see you in 30, yeah?”

No! Not yeah! But you couldn’t do anything but plead with your facial expression as they left to the backroom, leaving Ajax with no choice but to join your line. If you could blow up this whole building right now, God, you would.

Five customers until him, four customers until him, three, two, one—

“Woah!” The surprise on his face felt insulting. Actually, you still used the hat to hide your face as best as you could. It was failing at hiding your identity from him as expected, but at least it helped you obscure the view of his… physique. Him, with his… um, his black slacks and white collared shirt that was just a little too tight on him, and his grey blazer that was thrown over his shoulder. One button at the top unfastened, almost as if he loosened it just to breathe during his lunch break.

And his hair, if you didn’t want to meet his eyes then you were honestly staring there. Whose hair was usually messy and tousled, now slicked perfectly for once with gel, all in a proper yet still very Ajax-way. The sides were in place, meanwhile strands over his eyes and at the top of his hair remained loose in that messy way that still characterized him. God, you might just die from embarrassment and awkwardness right now.

“This is where you work?” he asked, incredulously.

“Good afternoon, sir. What can I get for you today?” you smiled. Please, please just go with it.

He looked surprised at your voice, especially since it was so fabricated and one he had not heard before. You just hoped he wouldn’t be a dumb prick to you today, just this once. “Oh, um…” Please, please. “One ten-piece chicken nugget, please.” Thank God.

“Would you like a drink with that?”

“Yes, one large soda, if that’s okay?”

“Will that be all?”

“Uh.” He looked confused. You just stared at him. “Yeah… Yeah, I think so.”

Then he swiped his card, you directed him to the side, and he left the line. With a lingering gaze, of course. He looked like a lost ( and maybe even a little hurt ) puppy after his order, and as much as this made you feel sad for him, you were just glad to get through with him as a customer without any complications. He’ll definitely be bothering you after this, anyways.

He pretty much watched you the entire time he waited for his food, eyeing you with a look of concern that did not belong on his usual expression. But you ignored him for your own betterment—you’d really just rather get through this rush hour of customers. And when his order number was finally called, he held the small bag with nuggets and his large soda with confusion. Oh, right. That food was probably bought for you.

You sent him a look and a head tilt that notioned ‘Just eat it’, and surprisingly, he got it. Ajax, with his pristine proper suit and blazer over his shoulder, sat down at a dirty barstool and ate his ten-piece chicken nuggets. He was still watching you, though; he glanced at you every few seconds while he was chewing. Minutes that felt so long passed, and you just hoped his lunch break would end soon so he could get back to his building.

“Hello again!” You almost jumped in place when you found him in front of you again, having finished his nuggets.

“Ajax,” you grumbled, trying to speak quietly. There was another customer coming to line up behind him. “I can’t talk during my shift.”

“Oh!” He looked at you in innocent surprise for a second, definitely not as depressed as earlier. “No, I was just gonna order.”

You wanted to die. “Didn’t you already…” Clearing your throat, you remembered there was another customer lined up behind him. Thank heavens the lunch rush was over already. Time to put on the customer service voice for him again. “What can I get for you?”

“A box of ten-piece chicken nuggets, please!” he smiled. “And a large soda!”

If you didn’t feel like killing him before, well you certainly did now. And guess what, he ate this order, too! Was he doing this out of spite now? Ordering nuggets and then eating them right in front of you? Because honestly, it was making you less hungry and more confused, if anything. This was definitely not what you expected—but then again, you fully anticipated he’d hold up the line just to talk to you. But no, suddenly he was a McDonald’s nugget fan?

The moment you get out of here, you’re going to twist his ear. Time passes again where you purposely avoid his gaze. So, so much time. Either his lunch break was just incredibly long, or time was just going so slow because he was here. You bet it was the latter.

And then, once again, you find him at the front of your line.

“Hello!” he smiled. He looks happy just to see you. “Can I get a ten-piece box of chicken nuggets?”

“And a large soda with that?” you asked, almost with a sigh.

He looks uneasy, standing to the tips of his toes for a moment. “No,” he drags out with hesitance. “Side of large fries, actually.”

Ooo, how different! It’s the most entertainment you could wish for in a day. And when you shoo him to the side this time, he has the biggest smile on his face. How unusual—in this situation, at least. Then when his order comes, he actually turns to leave this time. He walked to the glass doors with an innocent grin and a large McDonald’s bag in his hand, happily waving to you goodbye. Finally.

“You never told me you work at the McDonald’s right by me!”

He was there waiting for you when you walked out of your shift, packed up, ready to go home, and definitely smelling like grease. “Well aren’t you out early…” you sighed at him. “It’s only three in the afternoon.”

“I asked if I could leave so I could come see you sooner,” he frowned. Endearing, once again. And your heart may have skipped just a bit when he lifted up the last brown bag he bought. “I saved these for you. They’re not warm anymore but there’s fries, a soda, and fifteen nuggets… I, uh, couldn’t finish the second order.”

You nearly laughed out. “Why in the world did you order so much anyways?”

“So I could see you again,” he pouted.

He was still wearing his office attire, top button unfastened once again and blazer under his arm once you took the fast food bad again. You might’ve just had nuggets during your lunch break, and this food may be cold and soggy by now, but the thought of him buying it for you made it the best meal in the world. And, it was also the fact he left his own shift early just to see you. He could be nice at times; so nice, it almost comforted the fact he made you want to die earlier.

“You embarrassed me,” you tiredly sighed. The both of you were walking together to his car—how he knew you were dropped off here was beyond you.

“Sorry!” he sheepishly smiled. “I really didn’t think I’d see you there…” Which was understandable, sure, but did he really have to order that many McNuggets just to see you at the cashier stand? “But now that I know you work right next to me…”

“Ajax, no.”

“Oh come on!” He pouted with a considerably loud whine while the both of you crossed the street to his building. You figured he was likely parked behind it, wherever the employee parking was. It still felt a little weird to be in your McDonald’s uniform walking next to a big business building. “I get to see you every lunch break—doesn’t that sound so fun?”

“No not really.”

He groaned even louder again, slumping his shoulders as if he was not dressed like he was going to an office party right now. But then, in some sort of comforting silence, he aligned his arm over your shoulders. It was cute, honestly—how he would still do this despite the fact you smelled like pure grease right now ( and the fact you were trying to ignore the feeling of his arm muscles that were practically bursting through his sleeves ).

He eyed you a few times during this silent walk, watching as you stuffed your face with nuggets and fries. Holy God this tasted so good for some reason…?! You totally deserved this after your shift of rude customers and embarrassing moments—then your good friend Ajax brings you nuggets and fries right after. How romantic.

And speaking of your ‘friend’, he pulled you closer against him, arm practically swallowing your entire being over your shoulders. Not that you were complaining, though; you found his weird obsession with being near you all the time just a little bit cute. And besides, he drove you places, and he bought you chicken nuggets.

Who could not love a man that buys you chicken nuggets?

[cocteaucherry]

yuuji recruiting megumi and nobara for a silly adventure

a/n- sorry for the absence I've been vry busy, I have a few things in my drafts I'll be posting until I feel good enough to write pt2 of t&t <3

“Whaddya guys think?” Yuji held up a blue dress holding it flush against his body, “On you, gross on Y/N I don't think even she can save it.” Nobara quickly retorted sitting on the bench inside the clothing store

Yuji placed the dress back in the rack groaning, “Where's Megumi? He said he had an idea for a gift.” fushiguro had been gone for fifteen minutes mumbling something about finding a gift

“Maybe he ditched and for good reason,” Nobara whined rubbing her eyes, “It's YOUR girlfriend’s birthday and anniversary, what would we know?”

“Maybe because you're also friends with my girlfriend,”

“Yeah yeah, we've been through seven stores and found nothing..” nobara held up her own bags with a grin, “well for her of course.”

“Hey, can we get going now?” an irritated voice interrupted Yuj’s train of thought causing him to help, “Where did you come from?!”

“The opening.” he said plainly before holding up an expensive looking white bag, “Found a gift can we go?”

Nobara’s eyes widened at the sight of the bag immediately recognizing it, “WOAH WOAH WOAHH- Where'd you get the money for something from this store?” she exclaimed looking at the bag in awe.

“Don't worry about it, shopping’s done.”

Yuji took the bag grabbing the medium-sized box that resided inside, he popped the top off revealing a silver charm bracelet adorned with multiple charms. The one that caught his attention was a light pink one with the letter Y in the center.

The whole sight made Yuji feel fuzzy and warm, estattic he brought Megumi along. “I-Its perfect!” he grinned bringing the black haired boy into a hug to which he tensed in, “Hey! Can we get going! I'm starved!” Nobara complained standing up.

“Alright! Let's go eat!” Yuji said enthusiastically, pulling away from Megumi as they all began to walk towards the door.

Yuji grinned holding the white bag in his hand, “So Megumi are you gonna tell us how you afforded this?”

The raven-haired boy smirked before saying softly, “I have my ways.”

Bonus

Gojo smiled happily as he enjoyed his third serving of cake as he shoved another spoonful into his mouth. Nanami looked on in horror.

“Can you not have a little etiquette?” Nanami rolled his eyes, continuing his crossword puzzle.

“No need when I'm me.” the white-haired male hummed as a notification came through on his phone, he placed his small plate down to check and his jaw went slack.

“Did I get hacked?!” he exclaimed pulling his phone out to show Nanami, he squinted reading the large sum that was taken from his account.

Satoru immediately pulled out his wallet scanning for his credit card. It wasn't there.

“Nanami! Come on! We have a crime to report!” he whined out as Nanami grumbled taking his crossword puzzles, “have fun.” he sighed walking away.

The next day his card appeared on his dresser.

[mariacallous]

Picture this, if you will: hundreds of grey-haired grannies ganging up to face down a group of neo-Nazi skinheads. Some of the skinheads have beer bottles in their hands. The grannies are armed with nothing more than umbrellas and hand-knitted woolly hats. It sounds like a corny sketch for a TV comedy show. But no. It’s election time in Germany’s eastern Länder (federal regions), and the grannies are out on the streets.

There’s no Granny Party. The movement, called in German Omas gegen Rechts (Grannies against the right), has grown into a national and international force since it was founded in 2017 by an Austrian psychotherapist and evangelical priest, Monika Salzer.

It is widely assumed here that apathy and low voter turnout will result in a far-right victory. But election posters showing a cartoon granny with a rainbow flag carry a simple message: “Granny says – go out and vote!” Apart from the rainbow, a symbol of tolerance, sexual liberation and diversity, there is no instruction on how to vote.

In between elections, the Grannies are busy knitting and babysitting. But they also raise funds, for example by baking and selling cakes, to finance the poster campaign and a set of beer mats that make up a pub quiz.

In Leipzig, my new home town, the Grannies have raised enough money to install three new Stumblestones (Stolpersteine). These are little brass plaques inscribed with the names of people whom the Nazis deported and murdered in the 1930s and 40s. The new plaques commemorate the Wesly family – Hermann, a Jewish publisher of music and books, his wife, Berta, and their daughter, Margot. Berta and Hermann were taken to Auschwitz and murdered in the gas chambers. Margot escaped to England – but the British authorities put her in a concentration camp too, as an enemy alien.

A violin and an accordion were played during the installation of the little plaques where the Weslys’ house once stood. The stonemason’s hammer punctuated the music with a slow beat. Then Granny Gisela read out a short account of how the family was persecuted and how we must never forget. Many spectators were in tears. The memorial is on the doorstep of the new building that now stands on the site – a kindergarten. Its head teacher joined the ceremony and promised to find a way of explaining the story to the kids “without scaring them too much”. I remarked that it was a very special moment. Granny Sylvia put me right.

“Sadly, it’s not so special. This brings the number of Stolpersteine in Leipzig to almost 800. There is one on almost every street,” she said, before inviting us all to join her for coffee and cake.

Later she shared a link to the Stolpersteine app in the Google Play store (also on Apple). It’s true – there are hundreds of Stumblestones. Many are not for Jewish victims, but for brave souls like William Zipperer who tried to stop the Nazis and save their neighbours. He was executed in January 1945 for plotting against the state. 

As a mark of respect, the Grannies regularly go out to polish the small memorials set into the pavements, to light candles and lay flowers.

There is another side to the movement. They are part of the Antifa, Germany’s radical ultra-left. Not quite as radical as Lina Engel, the antifascist activist who is serving jail time in Dresden for plotting physical attacks on neo-Nazi pubs and meetings. Nor have any Grannies been caught setting fire to building sites where executive homes are replacing the old affordable blocks of flats – a typical Antifa action. 

They upload videos to TikTok. And they are taking their campaign out of the city and into villages and suburbs where right wing parties recruit people who feel neglected or “left behind” by the Berlin government.

“Solidarity without borders instead of right wing propaganda,” says the Radical Grannies’ poster, urging supporters to join them in a mass demonstration. These are Grannies who don’t knit. 

[ofstarsandvibranium]

To Have & To Hold: Part 4

Fandom: Marvel - Moon Knight (Mafia AU)

Pairing: Marc Spector x F!Reader, Steven Grant x F!Reader, Jake Lockley x F!Reader

Summary: To ensure you’re always safe even after his passing, your father, a mob boss, makes you marry his right hand, Marc Spector. You don’t necessarily hate Marc, but you don’t get along either. Therefore, this marriage of convenience may be a bit difficult for you.

Series Masterlist

Marc is leaning against the passenger door of his car and typing on his phone when you come out. When he hears you approaching, he looks up. He immediately pockets his phone and opens the door for you.

"Thanks," you give him a small smile before sliding in. He gives you a nod before he shuts the door. He swiftly moves to the driver side, getting in, and starting the car.

"You're okay with me coming to your charity meeting?"

You shrug, "Do I have a choice?" you look at your lap, fiddling with your shirt.

"I don't have to go with you. Your dad won't know. I can go fuck off somewhere and you let me know when you're done. I'll pick you up and you give me a brief summary of what you discussed in the meeting."

You shook your head, "It's fine. We need to be seen with each other more often so.."

"Right," Marc mumbles and starts the drive to where your meeting is being held.

_________________________

"You're building a facility?" Marc asks in shock as you and he exit his car.

"Well, technically the building was already here, we're just doing some refurb on it. Make it more modern."

The building was an old recreation center. It was falling apart and, due o budget cuts, the city couldn't afford to fix it up. Then you appeared, wanting to help and provide a fun, new places for the local kids to hang out in.

"So you said at dinner that your organization provides classes and clubs for low-income youth?"

"Yup, that's right!"

"How come you wanna help so bad?" he looks at you so inquisitively as he follows you into the building.

You stop in front of a conference room, "I want to give the kids options. Let them find their passions so they don't end up in the streets getting involved with bad people, bad things."

Marc lets out a snort, "And ironically, you're the daughter of a man who recruits kids like that."

"Exactly why I want to prevent it. Growing up, I've seen the kids who get roped into his shit. It's not good. I love my dad, but I know he's not a good man. He's in too deep that the only way he could get out is dying. Me? I was raised around it all, but I refused to get involved. Me working on this organization and this facility is me trying to at least payback for my father's sins."

Marc reaches out and rests a hand on your arm, "We're not our parents. Despite the environment you grew up in, seeing how you turned out, it's clear you're not your father. You have a lot more heart and compassion. You really live up to your nickname, Sunshine."

You playfully roll your eyes at him, "Thanks, Marc." You proceed to open the door to reveal a small group of people, "Alrighty, let's get this show on the road!"

________________

Your meeting was very productive. More and more people from the community wanted to get involved in your organization and it was so exciting!

You watch as the small group of board members exit the building, waving at all of them. Then there were too.

"Well that was very...informative."

You turn back to Marc, whom was leaning against the threshold of the conference room. You smirk at him, "Don't think I didn't see you yawn a few times in that corner of yours."

He gives you a sheepish grin, "Too be fair, I didn't get much sleep."

"My dad have you do some stuff for him?"

"Yeah," is all that he says, but you were curious.

"What kind of stuff?" you tilt your head in curiosity.

He shrugs, "The usual."

"Like...?"

"For someone who doesn't want to get involved in this stuff, you sure do wanna know a lot," he gives you a playful look and you roll your eyes at him.

"Please, I know a lot about this business, I just choose not to get myself involved. But, I suppose it's inevitable. I'm marrying you and you'll be taking my dad's place. Luck of the draw, I guess," you give a shrug, heading back into the room to grab your things.

"Do you wanna grab brunch? I didn't get to eat anything before my dad called me to the estate."

Marc looks at you with concern, "You couldn't told me you didn't eat. I could've stopped at a place on the way over here or ordered something for deliv-"

You placed your hand on Marc's cheek, "Relax. It's no big deal." You give his cheek a pat and walk past him, "Close the door for me, please."

Walking towards the exit of the building, you don't see Marc softly smiling to himself.

"Oooohh I see that smile," Steven teases Marc.

"Shut up," Marc mumbles to himself.

______________________

"What do you have for me?" the man sits at his desk, the lights in his office dim. He doesn't look up from the files he's reading over.

His follower stood in front of his desk, slightly nervous, "His daughter is set to marry his right hand. They're starting to be seen a lot together."

The man in the chair darkly chuckles, "Well that'd just amazing news," he clasps his hands together, "We'll have to send her flowers. Go pick out a bouquet for her. Something that's an explosion of color."

[sophrosynesworld]

Illusions (Pt. 1)

The train rumbles beneath me, its steady hum a low vibration that echoes through the metal floor, pushing and pulling the crowd with each turn. I focus on the scuff of my shoes, squeezing my eyes shut in a desperate attempt to stop the whispers. After a moment, they begin to settle, allowing my thoughts to clear.

A pair of teenage boys in crisp, new school uniforms catch my eye as I look up. They’re huddled together, nudging each other with sharp elbows and darting glances in my direction. It’s like I’m a zoo exhibit, something to be gawked at.

“Hey, isn’t that Fable?” one of them mutters, his voice loud enough to reach me. His eyes widen with excitement, fingers pointing in my direction.

“Yeah, it is! Tidus is going to be so pissed.” His friend’s voice is tinged with awe.

“She’s so hot,” the first boy adds, his tone turning smug. “What is she doing here?"

The casual objectification makes my skin crawl, and my fingers tighten around the strap of my bag until my knuckles ache. The train begins to slow, the station approaching with a soft hiss of brakes. I can already see the platform rushing up to meet us. I suck in a deep breath, forcing myself to steady the trembling in my hands. I can’t afford to fall apart now. Not here, not in front of all these people. I need to stay calm, hold it together. The last thing I want is to be an embarrassment—a failure.

“Excuse me?” Someone speaks up with hesitant voice, teetering between nervous and hopeful. I freeze, glancing in the other direction. A girl, about my age, stands there, her eyes wide with excitement and a nervous smile tugging at her lips. “Would you… would you sign my phone case?”

The request catches me completely off guard. For a moment, I just stare at her, trying to wrap my head around the fact that someone actually wants my autograph.

“Uh, sure,” I manage, forcing a smile. It feels like my words are tangled in my throat, and I wonder if she can tell how stiff I sound.

I reach out and take the phone and marker she’s holding, my fingers brushing against hers for just a split second. The case is simple, a clear cover decorated with stickers of heroes—Cow Lady, Mirko, and… oh. There’s a tiny sticker of me—Fable—tucked in the corner. A strange mix of pride and disbelief swirls in my chest as I trace it with my finger.

I uncap the marker, trying to steady my hand. I scrawl my name across the back of the clear case, looping the letters as neatly as I can.

“Here you go,” I say, handing it back to her. Her hazel eyes meet mine, practically glowing with pride.

“Thank you so much!” she gushes, holding the phone like it’s suddenly become the most valuable thing in her world. “I can’t believe I actually met you! You’re amazing, you know that? The way you handled those villains... I saw you fight last year; I would be so dead if it wasn't for you.”

I force a smile. “I’m just doing my job,” I reply, shifting uneasily as the train doors slide open with a familiar swoosh. People begin jostling past us, rushing towards the exit, but she doesn’t seem to notice.

“I’ve always wanted to be a hero like you,” she continues, her voice filled with awe. “You make it look so easy.”

I blink at her, momentarily caught off guard. “Do I?” I focus on her face, searching for a hint of doubt, but all I see is pure admiration. “Well, I’ve never seen myself fight, so I’ll have to take your word for it,” I add with a small, self-deprecating smile, taking a cautious step back. The attention is starting to feel suffocating.

She nods vigorously, her expression turning serious. “I promise. You're so badass.” Her gaze shifts to the plushy keychain dnagling from the side of my bag, and her smile widens. “Of course, U.A. would recruit you! You’re one of my top five heroes, for sure!”

“I’m sorry, I have to go,” I blurt out, not knowing how to end this conversation. Without waiting for her response, I turn and step out of the train car, entering the busy station, pushing through the crowd.

The whispers follow me as more students stare, some whispering behind their hands, others openly gawking. My heart races, but I keep my eyes trained forward, hoping that if I pretend not to notice, they’ll lose interest.

The walk to campus isn’t exactly thrilling, but it’s a far cry from the quiet countryside life I’m used to. The city hums with energy—honking cars, people weaving through crowds, and vendors serving hot breakfast. I push through the sea of people, moving with the current like a fish in a school. Eventually, I glance around and realize with a sinking feeling that I have no idea where I am.

I force myself to break away from the crowd and pause near a bench. With a sigh, I shrug off my backpack and drop it beside me before pulling out a crumpled map of the city. My eyes narrow in confusion as I frown down at it, trying to make sense of the labyrinth streets. I scan the area, squinting to find a street sign, but everything looks like an unfamiliar blur.

"You're Rina Miyamoto."

The voice startles me out of my thoughts. I roll my eyes instinctively, preparing to throw on my usual fake smile, but when I turn around, my heart skips a beat. Standing right in front of me is Izuku Midoriya. My jaw practically hits the pavement. This can’t be real. The Izuku Midoriya, number one hero, is casually talking to me?

Midoriya chuckles awkwardly, rubbing the back of his head. “You’re… you’re Izuku Midoriya,” I reply, still struggling to process what’s happening.

“Yeah,” he says, giving me a friendly smile that makes his scars crinkle. “You know who I am?”

“Pretty sure everyone does,” I laugh, my voice shaking slightly as I try to act cool. But let’s be honest, I’m internally freaking out.

Midoriya's smile widens, and there’s a warmth in his eyes that makes it hard not to relax. “I saw you looking at that map,” he says, glancing at the crumpled paper in my hands. “Are you lost?”

The truth stings a little, but I nod sheepishly. “Kind of… I’m trying to find my way to U.A.’s main campus.”

Midoriya’s eyes light up. “I can show you the way! It’s not far from here.” He pulls out a well-worn notebook from his bag—the kind with notes crammed into every margin. “Actually, if it’s not too much trouble, do you think I could ask you a few questions about your quirk? I’ve heard some rumors, and I’d love to learn more!”

My eyes widen, and I’m pretty sure my face is burning. He wants to ask me about my quirk? “Uh, sure… if you don’t mind walking me to the main office?” I manage to reply, my voice softer than I intended.

Midoriya’s smile somehow grows even larger, and he flips open his notebook. Muttering something under his breath, falling into step beside me as we start walking.

“Your quirk is incredible. How exactly do you control it? Is it based on proximity, or do you have to see your target?”

I glance at him, slightly caught off guard by how quickly he dives into the questions. “It’s mostly based on sight,” I explain, trying to keep my voice steady. “As long as I can see my target, I can influence their senses. But the more people I try to control at once, the harder it is to maintain the illusions.”

Midoriya nods, scribbling down notes as he processes my words. “During the war, you took down all your opponents without physically touching them. What are the drawbacks to it?”

I swallow hard, memories flashing through my mind. “I'd rather not talk about it,” I admit, feeling a bit vulnerable. A familiar whisper in my ear as I focus my breathing. “But, I have to stay calm, or the illusions start to break down.”

He looks up from his notes, his expression serious. “I'm so sorry, I didn't mean to-”

“It's okay,” I reply, choosing my words carefully. “Are you... how are you feeling?”

Midoriya glances up at me. “I'm doing okay. Kacchan says I can't focus on the past, so I'm focusing on the exciting school year ahead of us. Why are you heading to U.A?”

The question catches me off guard, and I feel a pang in my chest. “I'm transferring,” I reply quietly. “I just found out last week."

He nods solemnly, understanding the weight of my words. “Leaving your friends can be hard. But I promise you'll find a good group here.”

We walk in silence for a few moments until the campus entrance comes into view, guiding us towards the bustling courtyard. As we step onto the campus grounds, the intense stares from passersby begin to fade. It’s almost like we blend into the crowd, becoming just another part of the everyday scene.

Before I realize it, we’ve reached the main office. “Thanks again for answering my questions,” Midoriya says earnestly, closing his notebook with a satisfied smile. “And welcome to U.A. I’m sure you’ll do great here.”

With a final wave, he turns and heads off, leaving me standing alone at the entrance to the main office. I take a deep breath, steadying myself, before pushing open the door.

Author's Note: Hey everyone! I hope you enjoy this story set with Class 2-A! While it won't follow the canon storyline exactly, you'll find it includes some familiar themes and elements.

[kitkatyes]

Thinking about some headcanons of the differences between the Agency and Zoraxis

Sticking a linebreak in here because I have no impulse control and wrote like, 700 words

The Agency:

In my eyes, they are severely underfunded. Their facilities are practically ancient. You know how your school always has that one part that hasn't been refurbished in decades? Yeah, that's pretty much their entire base of operations, no matter which location you look at.

I'd like to imagine the sense of community is either really strong or really strained. If you're working in, say, HR, I feel like you'd have a really nice bond with your coworkers. However, on the other hand, there's the EOD. I feel that they, would have a tense atmosphere. I mean, if your coworkers were dying every other day, I wouldn't really want to get attached. Even still, there are always a few EOD agents that have grown close to each other and they never deal well with the loss of their coworkers.

The Agency, however, has a very good training programme for their prospective field agents. I envision it as something like past (surviving) field agents or handlers teaching the new recruits all their tips and tricks. (and how to disarm a bomb effectively)

Everyone has absolutely horrible pay. Sure, you might be in the EOD, risking your life on a daily basis, but you'd only just be able to afford a small apartment. The higher-ups consider it almost pointless: they'd just die anyway so why waste all that precious money?

I feel that all Handlers who are ex-field agents would be best friends. They'd all joke about their numerous near-death experiences on the daily. Sort of like the fond retellings we hear Phoenix's Handler talk about over the course of the games. I think they have a shared break room of sorts near their offices.

Zoraxis:

I'd think that they have top-notch facilities- state-of-the-art shit. (they are a very successful business, after all) I'm talking fancy architecture and everything. I feel like they'd be the kind of place where they have those Dyson hand dryers and very nice-smelling soap.

Unlike the Agency, I think the Zoraxis employees/operatives would be relatively nice to each other. Their relationships wouldn't be based on their departments cause I feel like being assigned to a life-threatening mission only happens once (they almost always due to lack of experience)

However, Zoraxis has terrible training programmes. They want to save money so they just stick their new recruits into a single building and hire the cheapest self-defence teachers they can put onto a salary.

Zoraxis employees have a pretty good paycheck, all things considered. They pay a decent amount over minimum wage so most people are able to live somewhat comfortably. I feel like one of the selling points of getting a job is their ability to provide accommodation if needed. They'd have enough money to buy a few apartment blocks for their new hires.

Similarities:

Okay, be so real, they'd both suck at doing background checks. The Agency because they can't really be picky for their field agents and Zoraxis because they don't give a shit. You could be a murderer and they'd just let you walk in with no trouble. Hell, you could probably fake your documents and no one would bat an eye.

The director and Zor rarely show their faces around the building. I feel like all the employees would spread the most out-there rumours about them.

They both have some employee of the month system. Zoraxis gives them out when they remember they have it. The lucky employee gets a little certificate and a small bonus on their next paycheck. At the Agency, Phoenix just has, like, so many. It's like, twenty picture frames in a row and yes, there is absolutely no variation in selected images, just the Agency-mandated ID photo everyone takes on their first day. They get nothing for it, just the gift of staring at their mug every time they are forced to wait for their Handler outside his office.

[margindoodles2407]

Of Hands and Heartbreak- First Draft Completed

Why have I come back to this after like. A month? To finish it. Here you go. Come get y'all's juice.

Hey @whyoneartheven you might enjoy this

It’s late. Or it’s early. The man in the dusty, bloodstained armor can’t tell. It’s dark, that’s what matters, and he can’t sleep. It’s too hot for that. 

Doesn’t stop his comrades, though. He’s glad; they’re all strewn about the camp, collapsing into the shoulders of their brothers or passed out where they were sitting for the feeble excuse of a meal the Grand Army affords to give them, half-eaten rations still resting in their limp grips. Good. War’s an exhausting business, and rest is a luxury few soldiers can afford, and these boys are too young to have to worry about things like that. Newest recruits are barely nine-eighteen.

(Not that he should be talking. He’s not much older.)

The General sleeps a few feet away; he fell asleep talking to the crimson-haired general of the other battalion and is currently using his shoulder as a pillow. Looks a little absurd, considering he stands a full head and shoulders above his brother-in-arms. The man smiles, a faint, fond smile. Absurd, he may be, but the plain and simple fact is his General’s a good man.

And he’s trained a good apprentice. A little girl, curled up next to the armored Captain, tucked under his arm and squishing herself into his side. All of fourteen standard years, wide-eyed, quick to flash a toothy smile and quicker to double over in bubbly, fanged giggles. For now, though, she’s sound asleep and snoring softly, which makes him chuckle, just a little bit. She’d be mortified if she knew.

But the chuckles subside, as they always do, and after a moment (a few seconds? an hour? but what is time to a soldier) he catches himself staring into the fire again. He isn’t a man much given to introspection; he never has been, and not many of his brothers are either. Wasn’t something their minders seemed to consider important enough to teach them.(Probably cause they weren’t meant to think for themselves, not really. Of course, that never had stopped any of them.) But he sometimes catches himself thinking about things probably more suited to Jedi philosophy than a Captain’s insomniac musings. 

Tonight? Well, it’s what people’s features can tell a person about them.

Hands, for instance.

His hands have seen too much war. Large, calloused, rough and chapped. Littered with scars and blisters, nails uncut and ragged and grimy, dirt in his pores and always, always, haunted with the ghostly sensation of being drenched in blood that will never wash off. Not the blood of the enemy- thank Force he fights droids, lifeless beings of wire and durasteel, and not other living beings… usually. No. The blood of the brothers he couldn’t save, of the fresh-faced boys straight outta Tipoca City, bright-eyed and full of the naive bravado of “I’m Gonna Be A Hero”- boys that might not even necessarily be dead, but who shed their blood on the battlefield nonetheless, and with it, their innocence.

He’s jolted out of his thoughts by a particularly loud snore, and it brings his mind to the hands of the little girl. Hers are the opposite of his in every way imaginable; small, soft, and gentle. The hands of a healer, not a soldier.

Jedi were not made for warfare. Their hands were made to help, not to harm; if they hold weapons at all, they fight to defend and not to kill. Hers are no different, and though they wield her twin sabers with ferocious dexterity, he’s always been of the mind that they’re far better at complicated secret handshakes with the General, at playing cards with his brothers, at helping Kix give meds to the injured. 

At holding the war-hardened hands of the dying. 

But it’s too late (or is it too early?) to think about that kind of thing. In fact, he’s finally starting to nod off (thank Force). Not very comfortable to sleep sitting up, though, so he shifts, just a little bit, as carefully as possible so as to not wake her up. He mostly succeeds.

But she stirs, just a little, and she mumbles something he can’t really make out, and as his eyelids finally flutter shut, she moves just barely as well.

And the two of them- the Captain and the little girl- fall asleep, hand in hand.

[master-john-uk]

Most small farms can not afford to hire enough reliable, and trustworthy staff. The owner (or tenant) is not confident enough to leave his, and his family's livelihood in the hands of others while he takes a well deserved break. Over the last three years, increased costs of fuel, fertilizer, energy and animal feed has added to this burden.

In 2007, against the advice of my business and financial advisors I bought a mainly arable farm in Dorset, which was in desperate need of renovation... for all the wrong reasons.

I did not have the knowledge (nor the time) to run the farm myself. I was very lucky to find Farmer Frank, who has now been managing the farm for me 21 years. Shortly afterwards we recruited two hard working, and hard drinking men who came from the Czech Republic. The three of them did an amazing job at running the farm for the next ten years, with occasional extra help.

In 2018 I made another bad business decision! I purchased the neighbouring dairy farm... again, against advice and for all the wrong reasons. Renovating the dairy cost me a fortune. When I bought the dairy farm it had 67 (mainly elderly) milk producing cows. (Today we have just over 400.)

But on the plus side, the dairy had a very large amount of unused land. This has enabled us to increase our other farming activity.

Where do we get our farm staff from now?

Our two loyal and hard working Czech men decided to return home in 2019.

General Manager Farmer Frank is still running both of our farm operations But, he is a year older than me and wants to take more time off. And he is!

My former Houseboy Tomas went to the farm in early March 2020... simply because he kept bleating that he wanted to help with lambing. He was then trapped on the farm when COVID travel restrictions were implemented. He did return to my Kent home for a short time when restrictions were lifted, but soon after he returned to the farm. (He enjoyed farm life.) "Operations Manager" Tomas now deputises for Farmer Frank, allowing Frank to have more time off. Houseboy Ops. Manager Tomas was a very nervous young man when I first met him... but now, he even uses rude words when he is talking to me! (I might have to cuff him around the ear!)

We also work closely with several universities, agricultural, and veterinary colleges. They supply us with a number of work experience, and gap-year students between October and June... but not during the busy harvest period (July to October.)

This year 2 of our three University trainees offered to help on the farm through the harvest season... so that could earn some extra money before returning to their studies. (Thank you to John and Caz, your help was appreciated.)

[destroyingangelneveragod]

SORRY IVE BEEN GONE THE LAST TWO DAYS HAVE BEEN BUSY FOR ANY REASONS LIST OF UPDATES

-Me and my friends made buttons for Palestine and are doing a fundraiser hopefully for our local Palestinian org which is what I spent last night doing. I spent another couple hours on making more button designs and assets for Palestinian liberation zines and posts/posters/etc. will be posting on here

-the place we were looking into lied on their website about accepting guarantuers so we decided against it

-a friend messaged earlier this week by chance to ask if I was looking for an apartment so when it fell through I messaged them BC turns out they want queer disabled roommates guess what me and mason are. i have lived with her before in a high stress environment (working and staying at summer camp much of summer) so someone who I know is a good fit.

-the place is 759 a month!!! It's a small room but between mason and I it's affordable

-we toured today and sent out first month's rent and are moving in this week

-i find out Wednesday night my friend has an accidental litter of cats and they want them to go to someone they trust!!! And want to give us her for free BC they really trust us and mason already has all the supplies we need because he has a cat already.

-mason and I are officially uhauling despite not being lesbians in the traditional sense. we've known each other for five months and have been dating three but he's been staying at my now old place half of the week ish

-i got into a market to vend this month before rent is due again and a second event with a zine table

-an early childhood education job i applied for has me in the final two candidates and the other one just followed up saying they want references to move on to the next recruitment stage. Both are flexible enough I could still do school part time and could also take both BC one is a supply position that's choose your own schedule based on calls and is a daytime one, and the other is before and after school so morning and evening. no clue if i will get any of them

-my boss who i had basically threatened to quit if he didn't change my role and then borderline ghosts off and on and doesn't pay reliably HAS been starting to offer more shifts but some are too short notice.

[danniswrites]

Library Petition! on change.org Libraries need funding! Is your library listed on worldcat.org? If it isn't, maybe your library system can't afford to be a member of OCLC, the nations database of catalogued books and documents. OCLC saves a librarian's time, which is sparse, and saves your taxpayer money!

For those of us who can't afford to buy books, or as many as we want, the local library is a godsend. With a free library card, we can access many books in electronic form from Galileo.org or other online sources. Ebooks on every subject you can name, electronic versions of your favorite magazines, all of this is free for every person with a library card.

Government funding has always been low for libraries, and pay low for their workers. When I worked in libraries, I was a government employee and had great benefits, though pay was a lot lower than I would have made at a similar job for a private company. Now, government employees might suddenly have to take a day or a week off WITHOUT PAY because of government furloughs. Back in the 90's, most library workers I knew had to have roommates because their full-time jobs didn't pay enough for them to live by themselves. It's worse, now. Please sign this petition. Libraries and the people who work in them are important. Your taxes pay their salaries and buy the books and databases in them. If you enjoy libraries, please let your government representatives know you think they are important!

Things you can learn in your local library:

Value of antiques you might have in your attic Manuals to repair your car Enjoy reading a popular magazine Newly-released bestsellers Classics If the library you visit doesn't have the physical book you want, you might be able to order it via Interlibrary Loan for a small fee. Local files of interest, including resources for family history researchers that aren't on the Internet yet!

Did you know there are many interesting things that aren't scanned and therefore, aren't on the Internet?

Many of these resources for researchers and family history researchers are crumbling to dust. Literally. Library workers are the ones to save this material for our posterity! The average library worker is very busy, so things like scanning materials in the archives aren't a high priority.

If research is important to you, please sign this petition! Write to your local senator and representative, and tell them how vital your research is and how it benefits people. https://www.change.org/p/require-federal-funding-for-libraries-oclc-subscriptions-and-basic-needs?recruiter=1340264102&recruited_by_id=5086dc10-21d9-11ef-bc0c-4fdea37820d7&utm_source=share_petition&utm_campaign=petition_dashboard_share_modal&utm_medium=facebook Video was made with Canva and Clipchamp #libraries, #government employees, #archives, #history, #databases, #OCLC, #cataloging, #basic library needs, #government, #funding, #petition

[sugarmapl]

bet on it (cytham)

reposting this on here for anyone who wants to read it while ao3 is down :3

Summary:

Some new recruits within the matra have come up with an interesting wager. Whoever is the first to bed the intimidating and fearsome General Mahamatra wins. Little do they know that they lost the bet before it had even begun…

{fluff and humor - rated M}

—

After the old sages were overthrown, the Akademiya itself needed a good thorough cleansing. Many of their old spies and loyal devotees needed to be weeded out in order to move forward. Cyno and Alhaitham worked closely together on that very task. Within the first few weeks of the new regime, much of the Akademiya staff had been replaced.

That included the matra, which Cyno was in charge of. He was a bit disappointed with how many of his subordinates were secretly loyal to Azar and the other old sages. It was a painstaking task sorting through them all, but eventually, he managed to rummage up a good number of new recruits to replace them. Cyno left his most trusted subordinate, Nayab, to train the newbies.

Although many of the newcomers joined the matra out of a sense of duty and justice, there were still a few that joined simply because they weren’t cut out for the rigorous academic life. The Akademiya could be extremely mentally draining, and becoming a matra was a nice way of still becoming employed by the Akademiya while enjoying greatly reduced mental strain. That being said, some of the recruits who fell under that category were not the most… properly motivated.

Unfortunately, Cyno and the other, more experienced matra couldn’t afford to be picky at the moment. They were in desperate need of the numbers since taking significant losses in the recent power struggle, so most new recruits with a fairly spotless record were accepted. Cyno figured he would just have Nayab whip them into shape and get their priorities straight.

How could he have predicted the depths of their degeneracy? The General Mahamatra was an extremely busy man, especially with the rebuilding of Sumeru’s political landscape. He hardly had time to interact with the new recruits at all. As a result, they only saw him sparingly here and there, and his reputation as a cold and intimidating senior returned in full force.

With the previous matra, and the ones who had been there a long time still knew this, Cyno had taken great pains to shed his intimidating aura by telling jokes or talking at length about Genius Invocation TCG. He had put in a lot of effort to break that ice and make the other matra feel more comfortable around him. But since there were so many newcomers, and he hardly had the time to try out these ice-breaking methods with them, Cyno felt like he was back to square one.

He complained about this very subject one day to Alhaitham as the two were meeting in the scribe’s office. “I heard all the new recruits find me difficult to approach. I wish I had more time to bond with them so that they weren’t afraid to ask questions or report back to me.”

“As long as they do their jobs, what does it matter what they think of you?” Alhaitham replied, not even pausing as he scanned over a document in his hands.

His work as Acting Grand Sage had also been tiring him out and leaving him little time to get to know the new Akademiya employees. Unlike Cyno, however, Alhaitham preferred it that way. He saw no point in forming personal connections at work. He was only concerned with clocking in, getting his work done, and clocking out. And maybe coming up with excuses to see the General Mahamatra in his office a little more frequently during the day, but nobody had to know about the last part.

“I want to be someone they can look up to. A role model of justice,” Cyno explained. “But it’s difficult to do that if you’re not well-liked.”

Alhaitham finally stopped what he was doing to glance up at the other. Cyno was perched on the edge of the scribe’s desk, seeming especially small as he swung his legs back and forth absentmindedly. Cyno was holding a document of his own, though he wasn’t even pretending to read over it anymore, turning to meet Alhaitham’s eyes.

“You put too much merit into other people’s opinions,” the scribe told him flatly.

Cyno rolled his eyes. “I forgot who I was talking to.”

Alhaitham stood up, circling the desk until he was in front of Cyno. “Besides,” he said, cupping the smaller’s cheek, “I already like you plenty enough.” With that, he leaned in and placed a soft kiss on the General’s lips, which Cyno reciprocated gratefully.

“That was smooth,” Cyno said after pulling away. “But I still would prefer the matras’ opinions of me to be a little bit better.”

“Fair enough,” the scribe relented. “Maybe you can spend more time with them when you get back.”

The General Mahamatra hopped off the edge of the desk, taking slow steps towards the exit. “I should get going for the desert mission now. I will probably return tomorrow or the day after, at the latest.”

“I look forward to it,” Alhaitham replied with a wink, and then Cyno was gone.

Meanwhile, Nayab was busy with the new recruits. They were having an orientation of sorts where he handed out the manuals and uniforms, and was just going over some of the matra duties when someone raised their hand.

“Yes? Question?”

“What’s the General Mahamatra like?” the recruit asked.

Some of the matra who had clearly been tuning out earlier suddenly sat up with renewed interest at the mention of the General Mahamatra. Many of them had yet to see or meet Cyno. Nayab had almost expected this, though he really wished they’d saved their questions for the end. Still, he saw no harm in answering it now.

Cyno was already somewhat of an infamous figure in Sumeru, but after rescuing the Dendro Archon and overthrowing the previous Akademiya hierarchy, he had become even more so, his renown soaring to unbelievable heights. Many saw him as a hero, but tales of his strength were often accompanied by over-exaggerated descriptions of his appearance or demeanor.

“Lord Cyno is a fantastic leader. He is the very pinnacle of justice, and he is what all of us matra strive to be like,” Nayab told them honestly.

“But what is he like? How’s his personality?” the recruit asked again, not satisfied.

“Yeah, is he really as scary and intimidating as people say?” someone else chimed in.

“Of course not,” Nayab rushed to explain. He hated when people misunderstood Cyno’s character. “He is extremely kind. Though he may seem a little tough on the outside, he has a generous heart and cares deeply for each of his subordinates.”

The crowd of young matra seemed fascinated by that response, eager to know more. They continued pressing Nayab for information, much to his dismay.

“What about his appearance?”

“I heard he was six feet tall and super jacked.”

“Can he really lift a sumpter beast with one hand?”

“Is it true he walks around half-naked?”

Nayab struggled to keep up with their questioning, tackling their curiosity one at a time.

“He is actually rather on the small side… Uhhh he is very strong, but I wouldn’t say jacked, more like lean… I wouldn’t be surprised if he could really do that…. The General Mahamatra does have an unusual choice of clothing, so he may seem a bit underdressed at times…”

Finally having enough, Nayab dismissed the recruits to continue their training tomorrow. He seriously needed a break. He appreciated the display of trust, but why did Lord Cyno leave him of all people in charge!?

That night, some of the new matra gathered at a tavern to blow off steam. They huddled around a small table, leaning in close as they discussed in hushed voices what they had learned that day.

“Do you think it’s really true? The General Mahamatra is actually tiny?” one of them asked his friends in disbelief.

“All the older matra said the same thing, so it must be,” another one answered.

“I also heard from one of my upperclassmen that he’s, like, super pretty.”

“What? No way!”

“Seriously! And some other senior scholars said the same thing!”

“Hmmm interesting,” the one at the head of the table hummed before breaking out into a smirk. “Fellas, I have an idea.”

They all turned to him with their full attention. He must have been the leader of the little pack.

“The training has been super boring so far, so whaddya say we spice things up with a little wager?”

“A wager? What kind?” the one who originally spoke first asked, though it was clear his interest was peaked.

In all honesty, the first few days of matra training always revolved around rules and regulations. While it wasn’t the most exciting of topics to discuss, it was very important in assuring the matra conducted themselves professionally and within Akademiya guidelines. Still, for recruits who were too dumb to become Akademiya scholars, they felt nothing but pent up frustration towards long lectures and required readings.

“How about we bet our first months’ salaries?” the leader proposed.

“On what?”

“Whoever bangs the General Mahamatra first wins,” he said with a sleazy grin.

“You’re crazy!” the others laughed. “Are you that desperate to get laid?”

The leader laughed along with them, but didn’t drop the idea. “And you’re not? Besides, think about the bragging rights you would have if you actually pulled it off. The hero of the Akademiya, the brave and fearless General Mahamatra, pillar of Sumeru, spreading his legs for you.”

That actually shut the others at the table up, some even clearing their throats and sitting up a little straighter.

“You’re serious?” one asked.

“Absolutely.”

“Then… count me in.”

“Me too.”

“Me too!”

One by one, the new recruits agreed to the obscene wager. They hadn’t even seen the General Mahamatra’s face with their own eyes yet, but it was enough to stoke their competitive spirits and stave off boredom for the meantime. They laughed over the topic over a few more rounds of drinks, discussing all the ways they were going to lure Cyno to their beds. All the while, they were completely oblivious to the man at the bar who was eavesdropping on their every word.

Alhaitham sighed. He only wanted to enjoy a nice post-work glass of wine, but now he also had to listen to those idiots talk about all the ways they planned to fuck his boyfriend. Of course, he knew it was never going to happen. Cyno would never go for such a thing, and he would certainly never cheat on Alhaitham.

The scribe’s only worry was that Cyno could be a bit… obtuse at times. He would often mistake flirting as friendly banter, and the scribe didn’t want Cyno’s inherent gentle nature taken advantage of or going to those matras’ heads. He would just have to keep an extra close eye on him once he got back.

The next day, Cyno returned late afternoon as promised. He looked exhausted as he trudged through the Akademiya, no doubt having spent the better part of the past day battling Eremites in the desert. His body was slightly battered and bruised, and he had the faintest of bags under his eyes. The tiredness actually softened his usually stern features, only making him appear all the more vulnerable. That was when the first of the matra decided to strike.

“Lord Cyno!” they called as they jogged up to him. The young recruit had pale blonde hair and freckled skin. He was not bad to look at at all and he knew it, which gave him an unnecessary ego boost.

He had to admit, when he saw Cyno enter the Akademiya, the General Mahamatra surpassed his expectations. Of course, he’d heard the rumors that the other was small, but he would never have guessed just how cute Cyno really was. He had beautiful long white hair and stunning red-tinted eyes. Even beat up, he couldn’t help but think the other was extremely pretty. Seeing the General in person only served to increase the young matra’s motivation to win the bet.

“Welcome back!” he continued, tone friendly. “Are you alright?”

Cyno looked at him confused for a moment before seeming to realize who he was. “You’re one of the new recruits, correct? I’m quite fine. I’m sorry to meet you in such a state,” Cyno apologized, extending his hand to shake.

The young matra excitedly took it, shaking it with enthusiasm. It seemed that Nayab was right. Cyno’s true nature was rather polite and pleasant. In that case, the bet would be a piece of cake.

“Believe me, you still look incredible,” he said with a flirty smile.

The General Mahamatra paused awkwardly, retreating his hand from the uncomfortably long handshake. There was no way the kid meant it like that, right? Cyno was probably just misunderstanding him. The other was being friendly, and it gave Cyno a chance to get closer to his new subordinates. Still, all he could muster up in response was, “Oh, uh, thanks.”

“Are you sure you’re okay, though? Do you need help with anything? I can assist you!”

Cyno felt bad. The kid seemed so eager to please, he probably just looked up to Cyno and wanted to become a good matra. Cyno didn’t have the heart to tell him that he was just going to report back to (and possibly make out with) the Acting Grand Sage. He was about to make up something for the other to help him with so that they could bond when said Acting Grand Sage seemed to pop up out of nowhere.

“I-”

“General Mahamatra, you’re back,” Alhaitham said calmly. He strode up confidently, addressing Cyno while also completely ignoring the other matra that was standing there.

“Acting Grand Sage. Yes, I just got back,” Cyno replied, seeming to brighten up a bit.

“Excellent. I am eagerly awaiting your report. Let’s head back to my office together, shall we?” the scribe asked. Before waiting for a response, he gently circled his arm around Cyno’s shoulders and guided him away toward the elevator.

The young matra recruit stood there frozen in momentary shock. Did he just get cockblocked by the Acting Grand Sage?

The next morning, Cyno was in the library doing some research into a case he was working on. One of the new matra happened to be in there studying his manual, delighted at the appearance of the General Mahamatra. Cyno stopped in front of a particular bookshelf and began scanning the titles in search of something. The matra took the opportunity to spring into action.

“General Mahamatra, I hope I’m not bothering you,” he said as he approached.

The matra recruit was confident in his looks, much like his friend. Though, while his peer had more of the boy-next-door vibe, he was more of a tall, dark, and handsome type. He was also much taller than Cyno, and so he was sure that he had the bet in the bag.

“I’m one of the recently recruited matra, so I just wanted to introduce myself.” As he spoke, he gave a slight bow. Cyno seemed surprised at the action before waving it off.

“No need to be so formal. I’ve been meaning to get to know all the recruits better anyway,” the Mahamatra assured him with a smile.

The young recruit felt his heart skip a beat. “Great! If that’s the case, would you like to join me for some coffee?”

Cyno looked slightly apologetic. “Unfortunately, I am a bit too busy at the moment. Perhaps in the near future?” he suggested instead.

“Absolutely!”

The entire time they spoke, Cyno had never paused in his scanning of the bookcase. Finally, it seemed he found what he was looking for, but he frowned with his neck craned up. The book he needed just so happened to be on the top shelf. He reached for it half-heartedly, knowing he wasn’t going to be able to get it with his height.

The young matra was elated. It was like fate had given him the ultimate chance to make a move on the General Mahamatra. He would be his knight in shining armor, pressing close to reach the book and make Cyno’s heart flutter. Then, it was only a matter of time. Smiling to himself, the matra moved to carry out his plan, extending his arm and-

A blur of black and green suddenly appeared in a flash. A tall, handsome, silver-haired man crowded in close to Cyno and retrieved the desired book before stepping back and handing it to the tiny general. Cyno looked slightly flustered by the action, and the young matra quietly cursed the man in his head.

“Alhaitham? What are you doing here?” Cyno asked.

“I came to see what was taking you so long. We have a morning meeting, remember?” the scribe reminded him.

Wait a minute, Alhaitham!? The matra stared in awe at the man in front of him who was, allegedly, the Acting Grand Sage. He could be upset at anyone else interrupting him, but if it was Alhaitham, then it was probably for something important. But… why the hell was the guy totally ignoring him altogether!? He acted like the matra wasn’t even there! In the blink of an eye, the Acting Grand Sage had whisked the General Mahamatra away.

That same day, another incident occurred. The leader of the young recruits had come up with a plan. He heard from the other matra and older scholars that the General Mahamatra was absolutely obsessed with Genius Invocation TCG. And so, the matra had spent all of the night before putting together an impressive deck in order to challenge Cyno to a duel.

Using a shared interest, he would grow close to the General Mahamatra before eventually taking him to bed. Maybe he could even speed up the process by betting with the General on a round of the card game. The rumor was that Cyno couldn’t say no to Genius Invocation TCG, after all. And if the matra happened to cheat by hiding a few cards up his sleeve, no one would have to know.

He was all ready to set the plan into motion. He would bump into Cyno in the hallway at the Akademiya, thus spilling his TCG cards ‘by accident’. Then, after peaking Cyno’s interest, he would challenge him to a duel during which the matra would seduce the unsuspecting General. It was the perfect plan, and he expected to have the General spreading his legs by nightfall.

The matra had studied Cyno’s schedule, and knew that the other usually had a meeting with the Acting Grand Sage at that time. Then, Cyno would exit down the same hallway on the way back to his own office. The matra hid around the corner in said hallway, waiting for the tell-tale sound of Cyno’s footsteps. They were easy to identify since the General Mahamatra was almost always barefoot.

He steeled himself, then flung around the corner, only to smack into what felt like a brick wall. He hit the ground hard, spilling his TCG cards all over the marble floors. Oh well, not exactly to plan, but he could still make it work. He glanced up and saw the muscled figure of the Acting Grand Sage looming over him, looking down with an unphased expression.

The General Mahamatra was at his side, at least having the decency to look slightly concerned. “Are you alright?” Cyno asked.

No, he was definitely not alright. Why was the Acting Grand Sage built like a freight train!? He felt like he just got run over, but he had to play it off in order for the plan to work.

“Yes, yes, I’m alright. Sorry, I wasn’t watching where I was going,” the young matra said, trying to sound guilty.

Cyno smiled at him. “It’s okay, just be careful next time,” he said gently.

Alhaitham looked unamused. “Yes, rushing around the Akademiya halls recklessly is unbecoming of a matra. If I were anyone else, they might have gotten hurt.”

What a fucking asshole! If anyone was hurt here, it was the matra he just bowled over! But the young recruit plastered on a fake smile, moving to scrape up his scattered cards off the floor. “Of course! I’m so sorry, Acting Grand Sage,” he apologized again through gritted teeth.

“Do you need help?” Cyno asked, beginning to bend down. “If you value your cards, you should keep them in a protective case. I can recommend you some-”

However, before Cyno could actually scoop up a card, Alhaitham stuck out an arm to stop him. “Let him clean up his own mess. This is a learning experience for him,” the scribe said coldly. “Let’s go.”

And then, just like that, the Acting Grand Sage and the General Mahamatra were gone. The young matra cursed Alhaitham a thousand times in his head as he picked up the last of his deck and stomped off. His fool-proof plan had been ruined.

That night, the group of matra recruits reconvened at the tavern. After talking about their various experiences, they all came to the same conclusion: they had all been cockblocked by Alhaitham. While frustrated, the leader was determined to not give up on the bet, and his passionate enthusiasm soon inspired the others. They all planned to double down on their efforts starting the following day.

A week passed by that way. Each day, the young matra recruits would do their best at attempting to seduce the General Mahamatra. But each time, their efforts were thwarted by the Acting Grand Sage. Even when the blasted scribe was busy, Cyno seemed to be assigned to some mission or another where no one would be able to see or find him. Cyno himself seemed completely oblivious to every pass at him whatsoever.

It was growing increasingly frustrating, but the matra were stubbornly determined. They were convinced that they just needed to get the General alone and he would break. Finally, on Friday, it seemed that the bet was over. Cyno came into work wearing much more clothes than usual, a black cloak covering much of his visible skin. All of the matras’ attention immediately honed in on the General Mahamatra’s neck, where the traces of a love bite could be seen just barely peeking out of his choker. Cyno was also walking with a slight limp.

Immediately, they knew the bet was over. Someone had won, now they just needed to find out who. They crowded into a secluded corner in the House of Daena, away from prying eyes and ears. Once they all had gathered, the leader clapped once to draw their attention.

“All right, fess up. Who did it?”

Silence. The matra recruits looked around at each other with accusatory glances.

“C’mon it’s obvious that somebody won the bet. He clearly got fucked last night. Don’t you wanna claim your prize?” he prodded the group.

Still, no one confessed.

“It wasn’t me.”

“Wasn’t me either.”

“Nope.”

Everyone’s analytical gazes turned into ones of confusion. Why would the winner not want to own up to such a feat? Unless… it was none of them.

A sudden, slow clapping startled them as someone rounded the large pillar they were standing next to. None other than the Acting Grand Sage emerged, looking faintly amused for the first time. The matra all stood there in shock and slight fear, not knowing what to say. How would they even begin to explain themselves? Before anyone could speak up, he beat them to it.

“So, I believe you all owe me your first month’s wages, correct?”

[eloquencejazz]

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

I don't know what to do anymore.

I guess, just wait...