#anyway this will not be a real problem for several months AT THE VERY LEAST

[fuck-customers]

This situation truly felt like the closest I've ever gotten to reenacting the L vs. Light from Death Note battle lmaoo I kept my cool and plausible deniability, but I was dying laughing internally.

(I think I've won the battle, btw. I'll have to wait and see. There's more to this war, though)

So, for background (and I've complained about this on this blog several times...sorry) my moron boss refuses to put price tags/signs on the products in the store, especially at the register. Considering I work in a retail store...this is obviously a problem. So I've made several attempts to get products priced, in varying degrees of extremity.

1. I made handmade signs/tags out of receipt paper/scratch paper and put them on the products around the register. (Candy, toys etc.) Braindead manager took them down.

2. All but 4 of the shopping carts at work are broken, but customers are stupid and still try to drag them halfway through the store and then abandon them or somehow blame me personally for them being broken. So I put signs on the broken ones and blocked them off. Dumbshit managers keep unblocking them and then customers try and fail to use them and abandon them throughout the store, rinse and repeat daily.

3. I then got the idea to go over my manager's head, but without having it fall back on me. Write to corporate. I originally started snatching receipts to leave negative reviews on the store survey, but that seemed to be a dead end, as the SM and DM are the ones who are supposed to read the surveys, but appear not to, as not a single thing was fixed in over 6 months of "customers" complaining weekly. (Usually at least 1 every 2-4 days)

4. I found a clearance price gun and tagged everything with it, even if it wasn't clearance. One way or another, it had a price on it, right? Of course the braindead moron took them off.

5. I then found actual price tags that were technically for different products, but had the same prices as our current candy, so I tagged the items with that. (For example, we'd have a tag for chocolate that we no longer carry that was $3.99 and we have some current chips on the shelf that are $3.99, so I'd just put the old tag for the current candy, since all customers need is the dollar amount and blacked out the old product description) These lasted longer than the previous attempts, but were ultimately taken down, but this is (hopefully) the turning point.

6. Just to really make sure something would change, a month or so after reusing old price tags, I (simultaneously, while also putting up old tags) made several fake emails posing as disgruntled customers and emailed corporate complaining about the lack of prices and the broken carts (among other things) at my specific location. (I did not name any specific employees or throw anyone under the bus. I just complained about the appearance of the store and any mention of employees was simply left at "the cashier" "the manager" etc. with no personally identifying info) I did this on the feedback section of the company website as well.

This all came to a head today when the braindead's mini-me (the ASM) pulled me aside before I clocked in today to basically call me out. She said that she knew that I was the one who put the handmade tags and also put "broken" signs on the broken carts and blocked them off. I, of course pretended not to know about it, because I'm not THAT stupid. But I'm not in trouble, because she has no real proof. (It was very much "I know that she knows and she knows that I know she knows lol) Anyway, she says (and we'll see about this) that new carts have been ordered and are on their way and also that she had to go around and undo all the tags (oh boohoo, she had to do her job, poor her) and will be putting real, correct tags on the products.

We'll see. In the meantime, "customers" are still going to leave bad reviews and contact corporate until changes are actually made for real. There are still other issues that need to be fixed, but are not as important as the lack of price tags and carts. (Such as the lack of price checkers, the shit radio music, the lack of employees, the dysfunctional inventory system, the bare shelves, the disorganized store, etc.)

Posted by admin Rodney

[genyasbf22]

Genya having a crush on a Male! Reader (rewrite)

Note: I changed the ending part at 4 am because I realised it was rushed…..enjoy your daily dose of doomed yaoi

Trope: angst

PS - Reader is a minor !! Please don’t be creepy thank you very much

You always knew what you were. You never really was attracted to women, and honestly, you didn’t really care. When someone asked you if you had a fiancé/girlfriend, you had no problem telling them you weren’t into girls. You were very much aware that being attracted to the same gender was only gonna cause you problems, not being able to marry, not being able to have kids, not being allowed to love your partner in public.

But who cares ? You were a demon slayer. Love didn’t matter. You were gonna die sooner or later, so finding love wasn’t your priority. You had friends anyways, very good friends. One in particular.

On the other hand, Genya Shinazugawa had no idea of what sexuality was. He was always taught that men falls in love with women. I mean, its normal right ? Never in his life he has imagined that maybe, men who loved other men and women who loved other women existed. When he grew a little older, he vaguely heard of homosexuality. And don’t take it to heart, but it grossed him out at first. Boys who likes boys ? That’s so weird…why on earth would someone refuse to love a girl and date a man instead ?

-

You two met a long time ago, before you officially entered the demon slayer corps.

It was the final selection. You were about 14 years old. You had to stay in those dark, hostile mountains for 7 days, trying your best to survive against demons. You saw multiple people your age getting killed, and to be fully honest, you struggled keeping your calm (which was understandable).

While you were trying to figure out if a demon was following you, you saw a tall, black haired boy from afar. He looked around your age, and you wanted to team up with somebody to feel safer. So you came up to him. It caught him off guard that you talked to him at first, He was probably expecting to work alone.

He refused to team up with you at first, assuming that you were ”too weak” and that ”you’ll slow him down”. How rude, why would he assume things about you when you two didn’t even know each other ?

For some reason, he ended up accepting anyways.

Nothing special happened during those 7 days. You two barely spoke to eachother. Just slaying demons and trying your best to survive.

Sometimes though, you could notice him staring at you for a little too long. But you didn’t pay much attention to it.

After the final selection, You said goodbye to Genya, telling him to be careful out there, and to take care of himself. He simply ignored you. What was his problem ?

Month later, you saw Genya again during a mission. What a coincidence you thought, maybe it was a sign for you two to become friends ?

You tried your best to be as patient, as nice to Genya as possible. He ended up ”tolerating you” enough to stop him from yelling at you all the time (which was a great start !) After achieving several missions together, you two slowly grew closer. Your personality matched his surprisingly well. You learned a lot about him, and he learned a lot about you. Genya started to open up to you about his brother and his struggles, asking you for advices. You were always very patient and made sure to tell him that you’ll always be there for him, which he was grateful for. He never told you, but you were his first real friend and his best friend, ever.

But things started getting weird. Well, i wouldn’t say weird, but complicated at least.

It was the first time in a long time Genya hadn’t met someone who showed so much interest with him. You were always carefully listening to whatever he was saying, the spark in your eyes never leaving. It flattered him a lot. He admired you so much, the way you fight, the way you spoke, the way you act with people. There was a desire in him that wanted to become closer to you. The more he hung out with you, the more he wanted you to spend time with him.

He didn’t know what that feeling was at first, obviously. He thought it was nothing but pure platonic appreciation. For him, being jealous whenever someone gets a little too close to you was completely normal. For him, his heart thundering in his chest whenever you complimented him was nothing but ordinary. For him, feeling his cheeks burning when your face was too close to his was a common thing. It’s normal right ? Boys don’t like boys. People like that are absurd. He’s not one of them. He’ll never be one of them.

One day, Genya had a big fight with his older brother, the wind Hashira. You hated that man. You hated the way he treated your dear friend. You had warned Genya about Sanemi a lot, telling him to never say anything about him eating demons. You knew damn well what he could do, and you wanted to do anything to prevent that from happening.

But Genya just didn’t listen. You knew he was stubborn, so when you saw him bleeding from his cheek after returning from the wind Pillar’s domain, you weren’t surprised.

You were anxious, you were tired, but you couldn’t be mad. Not at him. Genya was devastated from what just happened, he needed your presence and your support. You knew his relationship with his brother was putting him into a lot of pressure, the only thing you had to do was to find a way to cheer him up a little.

You didn’t have much time to do something for him. It was evening, shops were closed, so you couldn’t buy him any watermelon, like you usually did. It didn’t really matter anyway, Genya needed your reassurance, nothing else. So you helped him clean his wound and stayed with him for the rest of the day.

The sun was set, the night was slowly rising. You had to go home soon. You looked at your friend one last time. He looked back at you.

He loves you, you love him. It was pretty obvious, but ignoring that feeling was easier. You knew Muzan was going to attack the corps sooner or later anyway, you’ll probably die soon, but why does it matter ? So many thoughts running in your mind, oh how you wished life was easier.

You stare into Genya’s eyes. How perfect this man is. And suddenly your hand feels empty, aching to hold his. Suddenly you want to grab his face and kiss him, feel his lips against yours, fully love him the way you always wanted to.

But you can’t do this, you can’t do this to him, you can’t ruin you two’s friendship you knew he cherished. So you stay quiet, suddenly avoiding his gaze, looking down at the floor. You say goodbye, you tell him to take care of himself, to stay safe. He smiles slightly, waving at you.

And you’ll never know, you’ll never know how much he wished you could’ve done it, you’ll never know how much he craved your affection. You’ll never know how much he adored you, how much he needed you.

- - -

Author’s note: I’m sorry 😭

[spookyspecterino]

Back to You Again

Tangerine x Fem!Reader

Warnings: Injury, mention of blood, mention of death/fear of death, arguing/bickering, swearing. Serious idiots in love who have a little trouble expressing their feelings and choose the wrong time to do it.

You've been gone a little while. A few months to be specific. Why? Tangerine can only guess, but he's not happy about it.

Requested by @nocturnest. I'm so sorry this took so long. I started it thinking it was going to be short and then 7K words flew out. 😬Anyway, thanks for your request. It's been a long time since I wrote anything seriously and this was really good for me. Hope you enjoy!

“Laser cutter. Three auto-rifles. Two handguns. Three boxes of ammo each.��

Check.

The binoculars are heavy duty, and the metal texture grates your fingers as you pull them up to peer through the lenses into the next building over. A high-rise that had at least 30 floors. All windowed at least, which made this a little easier on you.

“In through the fifth-floor service area. Through the employee hallway to the service elevator.”

A map of the building laid next to you on the gravel roof. It hadn’t been easy to get your hands on it, but it was worth it for a building as secure as this. No security measure had been overlooked by this man and as paranoid as he seemed it went a long way to his credibility.

“In and out through the service elevator. 20 mins tops. Oh, the jammer.”

A handheld device that you’d paid top dollar for. Yes, it has duct tape holding pieces of it together, and the screen was a repurposed old Gameboy front, but it is the best your back-channel dealer could provide.

How did anyone do anything without a handler these days?

The jammer would save you the trouble (if things turned sideways) of dealing with reinforcements. It flickers to life by flipping a switch smoldered to its side. The thing really does look like a piece of garbage.

Several frequencies and networks flashed across the screen, all of them belonging to the building you were surveying. Scrolling through, only a few needed to be shut down, too many and it would raise alarms.

Wifi was the last to be turned off and then you would really need to book it inside.

Everything planned out to a T. Entrance and exits mapped. Back-up plans (and back-up plans to those back-up plans) in place. Extra weapons and ammo in case you had to go out guns blazing. This should be no problem.

“Office-penthouse on the top floor. Computer terminal on the desk, west side.”

Get to the computer, get the files, destroy everything. If you happened to kill the son of a bitch, well, that was a bonus.

You sigh and rub your face, trying to work out the stress lines that seemed to make a permanent home between your brows. “Now I just need to stop talking to myself.”

It was an unfortunate habit you’d picked up in the last few months of working alone. Usually, you had… no. This was no time to think of them, or of him. You have to focus. After this is done, you can go back and apologize, even grovel if you have to.

But now is the time for focus.

In the middle of repeating this mantra, one you’ve been repeating for the last month, you happen to look up at the street. Not for any real reason, nothing had drawn your attention. Nothing was amiss in your perfect plan.

Except two very familiar faces walking down the sidewalk.

Lemon and Tangerine.

Clad in their typical attire. Snazzy suits, dress shoes, and ties.

Your stomach does several things. First it flips at the sight of Tangerine as he saunters with his hands in his pockets, then it sinks and twists into painful knots.

“No, no, no!”

They can’t be here! Anywhere but here!

The two walked casually down the sidewalk, as if they were taking a nice midday stroll. No rifles, no car, nothing. Either they were ballsy as hell…or wildly misinformed about this building and the man inside.

Something in you hoped, prayed, they would pass the building. That they were going somewhere else.

They took a sharp turn to cross the street—toward the building entrance—and your breath turned ragged, your blood chilled. At the same time, your mind was churning with practicality, cold and calculated ideas. Some nasty part of you that had gotten you this far in such a dangerous career, that had nestled in you a long time ago and only now resurfaced in the months of being alone.

You could just walk away; they have their job, and they’re professionals. They can handle themselves.

You could go in after and clean up without ever being seen. Easy. The plan you made could still work, Tangerine and Lemon would be a perfect distraction.

But you were already moving. Lega working on their own and putting you into motion. Fingers tapping off the Wi-Fi signal on the jammer while you slung your duffle bag over your shoulder.

This was not the plan, you argued with yourself as you flew down the back stairs. You’ll get yourself killed being this reckless and impulsive. What happened to in and out in 20 mins?

With every point you made the other side of your mind made a counterpoint.

They’re underprepared. They’re misinformed. They don’t have the firepower to walk in the front door, hell, they don’t have enough bullets to make it to the second floor.

“God damn it!” You yelled, taking the stairs down two at a time. Your voice echoed off the walls in the cramped stairwell. The rifles in your duffle bag clattered and banged together.

They’d be killed. Tangerine and Lemon would be killed. You couldn’t let that happen.

. . .

“I say we take a hostage and negotiate our way up.”

“Yeah, sure, Lemon.”

“This guy’s what, a tech billionaire, or something?”

“Probably.”

“Ok, so he’s a nerd. Easy job.”

“Uh-huh.”

Lemon shoots his brother a less than happy look. Tangerine is staring off into space with a slight frown, hands shoved deep in his pockets as he hunches over a little. Which wasn’t new, he’d been doing that a lot lately. A reflection of his dour mood.

Lemon rolls his eyes. “Oh, mate. Come on. We’re on a job.”

Tangerine shrugs, frowning harder. “I’m fuckin’ aware of that, Lemon.”

“Then stop with your sulking! What have I told you?”

“No—” Tangerine waves a hand, “—you don’t need to say it again—”

“Just send her a letter or something. She’d love it.”

Tangerine groans, he’s starting to get a headache now as they near the target building. “As I’ve said before, I attached letters on the flowers I sent.”

Lemon opens his mouth, but Tangerine cuts him off. “And I sent more than one bouquet. For fuck’s sake, her house probably looks like a tropical rainforest by now.”

“What about—”

“I’ve sent her presents. Jewelry. Perfume. A new phone in case hers was broken. Fuckin’ hell I even had her porch repainted.”

“And she didn’t say anything?”

“Nothing.”

Lemon hesitates. “Did you say you’re sorry?”

Now Tangerine was about to lose it. His eye twitched, not that his brother could see it. “Sorry for what? She’s the one that up and disappeared without a word.”

“I still think you should say it. Just to cover your bases.”

“I’m not apologizing. We were all perfect and you know that. She was happy as a clam and if something was wrong, she would have told me.”

“Then why’d she—”

“You’re really getting on my fucking nerves, Lemon.”

They were across the street from the main entrance now. Two glass doors with golden handles reflected the brothers. In sync they both took a sharp turn toward them. Through the glass they didn’t see anyone else in the lobby and there was a long, chest high counter with a clerk along the far back wall.

Neither of them blinked at how empty the lobby was. Their client had said this target was some kind of informant, but that was about it. They’d paid half up front and sent them on their merry way.

Tangerine yanked open the glass door, holding it for Lemon. He was beyond pissed and just wanted this to be over with. Despite his complaints he was still mulling over what his brother said. Should he apologize, even though he had done nothing wrong? He didn’t think he’d done anything wrong, and he had thought back on all the times you’d been with them, working a job or not.

He’d been happy, he thought you were happy too.

The white floor tiles of the lobby were so shiny they could check their reflections in them. The whole place was upstanding and flaunted wealth. On both sides of the spacious lobby were two silver elevators. The clerk, a lady in her mid-thirties, looked up at them as they walked in. She picked up a phone and turned away as she spoke.

It took them 10 seconds to reach the desk, and, in that time, Lemon had pulled out his gun.

He pointed it at her now. “Hang up the phone.”

She pursed her lips and narrowed her eyes. Not the usual response someone has when a gun is pointed at them, but she slowly hangs up.

“Come out from behind the desk, slowly.”

There’s a moment when she does nothing. Then, “No.”

Tangerine blinks, then pulls out his own gun. “Did you really just say no? Listen lady—”

She leans forward over the desk, leering. “Turn around and get the fuck out.”

Lemon shoots into the wall slightly to her left. She doesn’t even flinch at the sound. “I will fucking shoot you. Get out. From behind. The desk.”

She leans back. “Cute gun.”

Tangerine starts to get a sinking feeling. He turns to Lemon, about to say they should take a walk (maybe find a back entrance to this place instead) when the woman pulls out .22 Uzi from somewhere in the desk. They only catch a glimpse of the muzzle before they start shooting wildly and ducking.

Lemon takes a shot to the chest with a grunt. Tangerine hears the bullets whizzing past him and shattering glass.

The desk clerk turns disappearing behind an employee door seamlessly built into the wall.

They crouch down next to the desk. Tangerine’s head pounds, as it usually does when a job gets out of control.

“You alright?” He reloads his gun, watching his brother carefully.

Lemon checks himself over, patting his chest and stomach. “Yeah, all good, the vest caught it. This is fucked what do we do—”

He doesn’t get a chance to finish as both elevators open and squads of heavily armored men pour out. They all have automatic rifles and black Kevlar vests.

“Behind the desk!” Tangerine shouts, pulling Lemon up.

They jump over just as the bullets start flying. Glass shatters, wood splinters, tiles crack. It’s utter chaos and Tangerine and Lemon can only sit behind cover.

“I think we might be fucked!” Lemon shouts, checking his gun.

Tangerine grits his teeth, mind racing. “The client didn’t mention this level of security! I’m going to wring their fucking neck!”

“We’re outmatched!”

“No question, Lemon! Thanks for pointing that out!” Tangerine can feel his brother’s rising anxiety as he shifts his weight from foot to foot.

 “What do we do?!”

“We hope to God this is all of them and try our best to make it out of here!”

“You’re saying—”

Tangerine fires blindly from behind the desk. “Yes, we bail on this job and break our client’s fucking legs!”

The onslaught never seems to end. These assholes are top security and they’re trained well. Their shots chip away at the desk piece by piece, Tangerine and Lemon can feel the bullets violently embed themselves in the wood against their backs.

Tangerine glances at the employee door, there’s no handle and no way to pry it open. He figures there’s a remote control that opens it somewhere from behind. He tries to remain calm, think of a way out that isn’t behind at least 10 guys with rifles.

What would you do in this situation? His heart feels like it’s been pierced with a lance as he thinks of you. Obviously, you would never be caught in a situation like this. You were careful, practical, methodical in the way you planned out jobs.

He wished you were here with him.

Instinctually, his hand reaches into his pocket, grabbing his phone. Lemon watches him with something close to sympathy on his face.

Your number is on speed dial. Tangerine presses a button and holds it up to his ear.

It goes straight to voicemail.

The automated answering machine has become very familiar to him these last few months. Were you checking his voicemails? He’d left you enough to fill up your mailbox, he was sure of it.

“Please leave a message after the tone.”

He hopes you can hear him over the sound of gunshots.

“Yeah, look. Lemon and I, we’re in a bit of a pickle. I was really hoping you would answer this time ‘cause we need help. Since you didn’t, I just wanted to say that you’re a real prick for leaving us the way you did. And you haven’t said a single thank you or anything for all the gifts I’ve sent. Poor Lemon has been wondering where you went off to.” He pauses. This wasn’t the way he wanted to start this message, but every other attempt at getting your attention has failed.

“You know how I feel, I’ve made that pretty clear. But right now, I’m just pissed. Nothing has worked, so I’m going to break into your house and wait for you to come home.”

Lemon gives him a startled look, shakes his head from side to side.

Tangerine frowns. “Don’t take that the wrong—Alright, I won’t break into your house, but I will wait on your doorstep. Every day, I’ll be there until I see you.”

Lemon is still frowning, but Tangerine ignores him.

“This is all because…Well, I…” He struggles, throat turning dry and closing around the words he wants to say. Instead of continuing, he hangs up.

Sitting back against the desk he exhales. The gunfire has stopped to an occasional patter here and there.

Lemon runs a hand through his hair. “Bruv, what the fuck was that?”

“A last-ditch effort at getting some backup.”

They fell into silence; the lobby was eerily quiet. They knew the security team was just waiting for them to come out from behind the desk. The air crackled with energy.

Lemon checked his pockets. “I’ve got two clips left, you?”

“One and a half.”

The look they share conveys their doubts, their dread. An unspoken conversation passes between them.

Tangerine puts it in the back of his mind. “I’ll run out first, then you go a few seconds later.”

“No way, we go at the same time.”

He shakes his head but arguing only puts off the inevitable.

“Go to the opposite side of the desk.”

They split, crouching behind opposite corners. There was no way either of them would be able to make it two steps without taking 10 rounds to the chest. The image of you stays in Tangerine’s mind. He just wished he could see you again. Whatever comes next, afterlife or not, he hoped you—or some form of you—would be in it.

Tangerine gives Lemon one last look, finds that his brother is watching him, and gives him a somber nod. He holds his gun up, takes a deep breath, gets ready to run…

He’s out from behind the desk, gritting his teeth and firing in a flash.

He hits one, another to his left falls from Lemon’s bullets. His legs are shaky, he can feel them trembling.

Rifles take aim.

Tangerine opens his mouth to urge Lemon on.

And a grenade goes off.

The loud bang startles him, his ears ring and a second later he’s shrouded in white, smokey fog. Tangerine stops, confused, looking around to try and find Lemon. But a strong hand yanks him and drags him back. He stumbles, scattering empty bullet shells along the ground, and falls onto the tile.

He’s back behind the desk. Lemon falls next to him.

A pair of legs stands between the brothers. Next to them lies a green duffle bag. Empty rifle shells fall to the ground. Tangerine didn’t even realize guns were firing. He followed the legs up in one long sweep of his eyes.

. . .

A million and one things were going through your mind as you fired an automatic rifle at the security team in the lobby. The biggest thing was holding back every fiber of your damn being from screaming at Tangerine and Lemon for being so foolish.

If you had been a breath later, a second too late, these idiots would be laying in a pile of their own blood on the floor. That thought definitely won’t haunt you for a few months.

The other thing you were concentrating on was ignoring the way Tangerine was staring at you right now. He’s not hurt—you kept repeating, over and over again. He’s ok.

The security team was scattering for cover, but finding little, making your job easy as the last of the smoke cleared. They hadn’t been expecting someone to come in from behind and you’d shot a few in the back before throwing the smoke grenade. Only a few were left now.

They seemed to get over their surprise and began firing back, opening the elevators, and using the inside cabins for cover. Keeping the doors open would stop them from being sent back up for more goons to come through. That was good.

You duck down behind the desk. They were still staring at you.

“Yes! Hello!” You stubbornly gritted out while staring into the wood.

Tangerine’s mouth opened and closed many times, but no words came out. That didn’t mean Lemon wasn’t able to say anything.

“Did you get his message?” He was grinning like some kind of fool.

“Message? Which one?”

Was he talking about the hundreds of messages—texts, voicemails, and letters—Tangerine had been sending on a weekly basis? Yes, you’d gotten them. Read every single one. It had been hard enough sleeping normally, after all that you hadn’t been able to sleep at all. The guilt was overwhelming.

Lemon’s eyes dart to his brother. You did the same and regretted it immediately.

Tangerine’s eyes were practically bulging from his head. His mustache twitched.

Oh, he’s pissed.

You quickly look away and clear your throat. “Are you on a job?”

“Yeah, a shit one. We were just trying to bail.”

“Can’t blame you. What happened, bad intel?”

Tangerine’s voice resembled a growl, it grated against your ear, but it wasn’t entirely unwelcome. “Understatement of the century, love.”

Love. Love. Love.

Lemon wipes his forehead. “What’re you doing here?”

“I have my own problems with your target.” You turn to Lemon but feel Tangerine’s eyes burning a hole in your back. “I was about to sneak in when I saw you two walking down the street.” You check your gun, then rummage through the duffle bag for another clip.

“A massive coincidence then?” Lemon was holding back a smile, eyes darting to Tangerine occasionally. It was as if they weren’t just about to die only five minutes ago.

“If you two still want to bail, that’s fine with me. I’ll give you a window after taking the rest out. I’m going to push on.”

Tangerine spins you around by the shoulder to face him. “Are you fucking mental?”

You’re very close together. The determination it takes not to just lean in and…

Speaking slow, you’re focusing your words and hoping it gets through to him. “Your target has info on me that could get people hurt and ruin my reputation. I need to wipe his computer.”

For all his credit, Tangerine takes you seriously in that moment, even as he looks like he might commit murder. He looks to Lemon—they do that ‘sibling conversation’ without words that they’re so good at.

“We’ll stick around to help.”

“You sure?”

Something in him ignites. There’s a fire behind his eyes. “Fuck yes, we’re sure.”

He’s giving mixed signals now. Is he angry? Probably. But apparently not angry enough to leave you on a job alone.

“Alright…” You say, slowly backing away.

You search through the duffle bag, cold objects graze your fingers, you can identify them each by touch. The laser cutter has a rubber handle. “Lemon—" You toss it to him. “—Cut a hole in the employee door. Tangerine—” You grab another rifle, placing it into his hands. “—Help me take out the last of the guys.”

He takes the rifle and for a moment your hands touch. You expect him to flinch away, or recoil, but he lingers there for a moment. His golden rings gleam—of course he wore them, he never leaves them behind—and catch your eyes until he takes the gun from you.

Fucking confusing.

It had been months, but the three of you worked together like no time had passed at all. Tangerine falling in sync with you, watching your back. Working in tandem, the few remaining riflemen dropped like flies.

“Doors open!” Lemon shouted tapping you and Tangerine’s shoulder.

The three of you waste no time dashing into the small service hallway. Tangerine grabbed the duffle bag and slung it over his shoulder. You were just about to pick it up, but he gave you a look.

There wasn’t as much polish to this part of the building, the lighting was dimmer, and it lacked the white tiles, replaced by a steely gray metal flooring instead. The hallway was long and narrow, its walls matched the floor in color.

“This should lead to an employee elevator. That will take us to the top office.” You panted, oddly exhilarated.

Lemon was looking down the hallway as he crouched. “Watch out for the desk clerk, she went this way.”

“Still can’t believe you both just walked in the front door…”

“We don’t all have your sense of planning, darling.” Tangerine huffed, hiking the bag higher on his shoulder.

“Did you have any sense of planning?”

“Lemon had a plan.”

You turn halfway back to face him. “You—Tangerine!”

He fixes you with an odd look. “What?”

“Lemon doesn’t even read the briefs! And you let him make the plan?” You shoot an apologetic look to Lemon. “No offense, you’re really great in every other area.”

He gives you a half smile. “I appreciate that.”

Tangerine grinds his teeth. “In my defense, the intel in the brief was already bad.” He steps closer, into your personal space. “And you always come up with the plans.”

You don’t shy away from him, in fact, you inch closer. “I’m sorry I wasn’t there to make them, but you should know better—”

Lemon sighs, long and loud. “Can you two please focus? We’re in the middle of a dangerous situation here.”

It took a moment for you and Tangerine to resume, the closeness was intimate. Electricity crackles in the air between you.

You both say ‘Fine’ at the same time, like stubborn teenagers. The tension hadn’t settled one bit.

If Tangerine needed to be ignored for the remainder of this mission, then ok. That’s fine. No problem. That doesn’t bother you one bit. Nope.

The three of you empty the duffle bag of its contents, splitting the ammo and giving Lemon the pump action shotgun. That shotgun was your Hail Mary in case shit hit the fan—which, by your definition, it had.

You three were your own personal attack squad now, armed to the teeth.

The employee lift was at the end of the twisting hallway, metallic doors shining like a beacon. The panel to call it only had the arrow pointing up, a one-way lift. You’d poured over the maps late into the night leading up to your personal mission, often with a glass of wine, and it had struck you as odd that it only offered a one way up.

You jab at the button, and the little golden light is stark against the greys around it. Tangerine stands just behind you; you can hear his breath over your shoulder.

“Why’s it only one way?” he asks, hushed and tense.

“I asked the same question.” You responded turning a little to look at him. “I thought it might be security measures.”

“Doesn’t really make sense though, does it? It lets people like us up.” Tangerine zeroes in on your frown. “What is it?”

“There might be internal controls from the top office. This guy doesn’t fuck around with security.”

“Who is this guy anyway?” Lemon sniffs, casting a look back down the hallway.

“An asshole that likes snooping into people’s personal business.”

The brothers trade looks.

“He also works in satellite tech, undercover ops, information gathering.”

There’s a gentle bump into your shoulder. “He’s been snooping into your business, has he?”

How long is this elevator going to take?

“He has.”

“Did he try to blackmail you?”

“Yes.”

“What did he find?”

The elevator dings and the sleek metal doors slide open. The inside is full of ominous red and gold hues. The luxuriousness of it gives you the impression that the boss of the building takes it regularly.

Instead of answering, you step inside and forcefully hit the button for the top floor. Tangerine watches you carefully, studying you. Somehow, he looks like a kicked puppy, yet holding the rifle he takes on a much more sinister tone. He still looks dashing as hell in his suit though. You can see the little gold chain of his necklace around his broad neck.

Focus, focus, focus!

His mustache twitches a bit as he catches you staring. And to top that off, he stands in front of you, very closely in front. Either trying to shield you or irritate you. Possibly both.

He’s wearing the cologne you got him as a present almost a year ago.

“If there’s in house security for this lift, we should be prepared.” You shift a little to see Lemon over Tangerine’s shoulder.

“What do you suggest?”

“They know we’re coming, so we have to be fast. Their access to elevators has been blocked. All remaining security teams will need to take the stairs. This elevator opens to another employee hallway that we’ll have to exit in order to reach the office. That’s assuming—”

The elevator stutters, something above you screeches in the elevator shaft, and the panel lights flicker. All three of you stumble as it comes to an abrupt stop and the dim emergency lights switch on. They coat the interior in a faint red light, turning it into a nightmare scenario.

 You groan. “That’s assuming they don’t just turn the elevator off. Fuck.”

Lemon places the shotgun on the floor and motions to Tangerine. Together they pry the paneling off to reveal the switchboard underneath. Lemon fusses with the wiring, using a knife to cut through some and connect it to others.

Sparks fly, flashing in the dim light. Your anxiety ramps. Trapped in an elevator was not on your list of things you wanted to deal with today.

While Lemon fussed with wires, Tangerine turned back to you. “Relax.”

“Excuse me?”

“Try to stay calm, we’ll be out in a second or two.”

Your blood boiled hot. “Don’t tell me to be calm.”

Tangerine smiles at you. “I know you hate elevators.”

“They’re fine, I just particularly hate being trapped in them.”

“Just relax, I’ve got you.”

“That doesn’t help at all!”

More sparks and flickering lights and the elevator doors open an inch. Tangerine has the audacity to smirk in that moment and he touches your chin briefly. His eyes gleam in the dim light.

If you all lived, you were going to kill him.

The twins work wordlessly to pry the elevator doors open. It takes a tremendous effort and both of them are sweaty and breathing hard at the end, but there’s enough space for a person to climb through. Except, you’re going to have to jump down into the office below. Half the elevator is blocked.

“Well, good news is…” Lemon says, scratching his head, “we can get out. And if the elevator can only fall downward.”

“The elevator only goes up, Lemon.” You choke out.

“Oh. Right…well, best get a move on then.”

“I’ll go first.” Tangerine volunteers.

On instinct you reach for him. He sees the slight movement before you hold yourself back.

As if it was easy, he’s crouching down, squeezing through the doors, and jumping into the office below. All with his gun in his hand. Meanwhile, your heart is doing summersaults in your throat.

He holds his hands up, beckoning you. “Come on. You’ve done harder things than this.”

You force yourself to move, crouching down and inching toward the opening. You toss him your rifle. “Like when?”

“Like when you jumped between rooftops in Venezuela.”

“I wasn’t thinking when I did that! And in hindsight, it was fucking stupid of me.”

He laughs. “I’ve got you. Come on.”

You squeeze through the doors, imagining the elevator crashing down, the doors snapping shut, something—anything drastic, and then throw yourself at Tangerine. He catches you with practiced ease and holds you close to him.

He says something you don’t catch over the sound of your trembling breaths. There’s a pat on your shoulder, Lemon is out.

Regaining yourself, you move away from Tangerine and straighten your clothes. His brow furrows, mustache tilts down. Maybe it was your imagination, but did his fingers grip your clothes? A silent plea for you to stay?

You do your best to ignore it. “Let’s go. Did anyone catch what floor we stopped on?”

“37th.” Lemon says, handing over your gun.

“Two floors short.”

“You think they’re waiting for us?”

“I’d bet money on it. Be careful, both of you. I don’t want to see any heroics.”

Tangerine’s eyes follow you as you move to the front and lead them through the hallway at a jogging pace. The single door at the end is much like the one you entered on the first-floor lobby. There’s a control panel for it to the side. As you run up to it, you press your ear to the other side.

No noise.

Your hand hovers over the button. With one last look behind you at the twins you give them a nod, then press it. The door clicks open a fraction, and everything goes to shit.

They were waiting for you on the other side of the door and the gunfire started up immediately. Your vision was blocked immediately, and you were pushed and tugged out by a strong hand—the world was a blur of loud shots, ringing ears, and scrambling. Grey cubicles shoulder-height tall were set up along the floor, which made spotting the enemy incredibly hard. All the fighting was done in the tight walkways between the office spaces.

Your shirt had blood on it, but you had no bullet wounds. Tangerine sat beside you, holding an arm. He’d been shot in his right arm.

“I said no heroics!” You practically shrieked.

Lemon was firing between cubicles, and from the sound of it, he was holding his own.

“What was I supposed to do, love?” Tangerine pants through the pain.

“You’re supposed to let me handle it!” You’re shouting as you pull out some gauze. The bullet went straight through his upper arm. He’d need stitches but, overall, he would be ok. You poke and prod gently as he hisses with each touch.

His teeth are gritted as he grunts out, “You wanted to get shot?”

“I’d take a bullet for you, happily. You know that.”

“I feel the same way, which is what I was doing.”

“I still don’t want you to!”

“I don’t want you to, either!”

Something bounces off your back. It’s a stapler. Both you and Tangerine stare at it for a moment, confused.

“Oi! You two! Get over yourselves and actually talk about your feelings for once!”

You whip around to stare daggers at Lemon. “Did you just throw a stapler at me?!”

He’s taking cover behind a grey cubicle not too far away. “Yeah, I did! I’m sick of you two avoiding an actual conversation. Talk—it—out!”

Tangerine sits up, pushing against your hands on his chest in your weak attempt to keep him down. “You’ve lost your mind, mate!”

“Thomas would say to express your feelings, that bottling them up is bad for you! So, express them!”

“Is it really necessary—” You pick up your rifle and fire blindly down the walkway, “—to do this now? We’re a little busy!”

“It’s now or never, I know you two! Once all this stops, you’ll avoid it!”

Tangerine looks perplexed, like he’s really considering it, and you try not to look at him again. “Fuck this job!” You shout, before rolling into the walkway and opening fire.

The two or three men that hadn’t been behind cover are caught by surprise and the bullets chew through the walls of the cubicles. A deadly silence permeates the office floor, only the ringing in your ears remains.

Another shot rings out and you feel like your shoulder’s been ripped from the socket.

You’re thrown back onto the ground. It must have been a heavy round, your left arm is completely numb, do you even have an arm left?

There’s shouting and more gunshots, the grey office walls and floor merge into one as the room spins. You’re getting pulled off the ground, someone is prodding your arm. Absentmindedly, you swat at whoever is doing it.

“Listen, hey, open your eyes!”

Tangerine…

You obey. He’s inches in front of your face, brows furrowed, a vein in his forehead sticks out.

“I’m fine.” You cough out. “Just fell down, is all.”

“You’ve been shot!”

“Oh.”

He struggles, he looks like he has more to say, but stays silent. You swat at Lemon who’s wrapping your arm—or shoulder, more accurately. “I’m fine, let’s keep going.”

“You’re not fine.” Lemon grunts, pushing your hand away. “It was a .308 round. You’ll be lucky if you have any bones left in your shoulder.”

“Why’d you do that?!” Tangerine is shouting, running his hand through his hair. You both match now, he’s bandaged up on his left arm too.

“Do what?” You ask through gritted teeth as Lemon tightens the bandage.

“Run out like an absolute lunatic?”

“I told you I’d take a bullet for you.”

His eyes bug out. “You threw yourself into the line of fire!”

“All in a day’s work. Now, can we get back to it?” You don’t wait for a response, instead pushing yourself to your feet. Your left arm hangs to the side, limp and numb. A dull throb pulses through your side.

Tangerine watches you. “We need to have a serious discussion when this is over, love.”

You huff out a breath, swaying slightly. “Noted.”

The three of you push on in tense silence. Tangerine makes sure you’re behind him while the rest of the floors leading to the main penthouse office are cleared. He’s acting so stubborn, blocking you at every turn, holding you back with a gentle, yet unyielding hand. The vein in his forehead never goes away.

Finally, the double doors leading to the office are before you. Platinum gold, of course, with carved handles. This guy’s style was beginning to get obnoxious.

Lemon kicks open the doors with as much anger and prejudice as you feel (yet can’t muster at the moment). Instead of what you were expecting, the target stands alone behind his desk. He smirks, giving off a Wall Street investor impression with his pressed suit and perfectly cut hair.

He spreads his arms wide. “I really should have known you three would be together for this.”

“Shut up, wanker.” Tangerine shouts, pointing his gun.

The target opens his mouth to say more, but Tangerine doesn’t let him. He empties the clip into the man’s chest.

The target dies with a startled look on his face, falling back over his desk.

You move past Tangerine, fighting his hands that grip at your clothing. “Thank God for that.”

The computer is easily hacked, the files you’re after are on the desktop. Maybe the dead man was looking to bargain—or gloat. You glance at his dead, glazed over eyes.

Bastard.

Tangerine paces, looking at you often. His job is done, the confirmation is sent to the client through Lemon’s phone.

Your files are downloaded onto an encrypted flash drive, and you rip the wiring out of the computer’s back, smashing the server tower. Mission accomplished.

“I guess now that you have what you need, you’ll disappear again.” Tangerine is glaring at you, chewing his lip. His bandage is bloody.

The flood gates open.

“I needed these files!” You shout, worsening the headache you already have.

Tangerine shouts back, taking a step closer. “I would have understood if you had just told me!”

“I couldn’t have told you!”

“Why not?”

“Because—well—I didn’t—It doesn’t matter now!”

“So, you disappear for months, without a word, for something you won’t even tell me about?!”

“I didn’t want to involve you! I wanted to get this done myself!”

“I’m involved now!”

“It was a shitty coincidence you showed up here today, and I’m sorry you got hurt because of this job!”

“I’m not concerned about me!”

“Well, you should be! I care about your safety!”

“And I care about yours!”

In the corner, Lemon shakes his head.

You hold your arm, trying to work some feeling back into it. It throbs and you wish you hadn’t. “I would have come back after this was done.”

“Oh, really?” Tangerine laughs dryly. “How was I to know?”

You groan, throat turning dry. “You’re so impatient! I just needed a little time!”

“You know how often I tried to reach you—?”

“Yes! I heard every message, got every bouquet of flowers—and thank you for my porch, that was really nice.”

Tangerine flounders a little, he still wants to argue, but some of the steam has been let out. “A thank you would have been nice.”

“I’m thanking you now!”

“A whole good that did when I thought you were done with me—” He shoots a look at his brother, “—and Lemon!”

“I’ll say I’m sorry a thousand more times, Tangerine! Is that what you want?”

He turns his back to you, grumbling something.

“I don’t understand why it was such a big deal to you, we’re contractors! We kill people for a living, and you’re freaking out—”

He spins back around. “It’s a big deal because I thought you were hurt.” He stalks closer, you notice his hair has come undone from the neat gel, curls flair out around his neck. “I thought something happened to you!” He’s within arm’s distance now. “It’s a big deal because I love you!”

And then he stops. His eyes go wide, as if he’s just spilled a secret.

Fuck, he did just spill a secret. Maybe you had known, but he’s never said anything. It was always just little guesses here and there, a thought—a feeling—and inclination. Late nights, especially recently, that you spent thinking about it, wondering.

Your mouth falls open in the silence. “I—I…love…” but damned if your mouth just wasn’t getting it out.

Arguing and bickering was so much easier.

But he knows, he can see it in the way your eyes soften, in the way you swallow with a dry throat. In the way your hand reaches to him, and your body leans forward.

“You know…” Lemon says, looking up from his phone, “Most people would kiss at this point. Just a suggestion.”

A quip, a very fitting one, comes to mind and you’re about to tell Lemon just how you’re not normal people, when Tangerine pulls you to him. Your chest presses to his and his lips are on yours in an instant.

Hungry, needy. It’s desperate, an urgent need be close, to be touching. Burning with desire and hot with passion. You give into it.

His mustache scratches at your lips and you pull him into you, threading your fingers through his curly hair, mussing it up even more. His hands grip at your back, pull at your clothes.

Closer. You need to be closer.

Fuck air, the feeling of his lips moving against yours is the only thing you’ll ever need again.

Your arm throbs and the dull pulse shoots up to your chest. You sigh, half in pain and half in pleasure. Unfortunately, Tangerine pulls back. There’s blood on his lips and he looks concerned.

“Wait…” You mumble, trying to pull him back to you. He’s your lifeline now.

“You need a doctor, love.”

“Just a little longer.”

Tangerine chuckles, wrapping an arm around your back. “After you’re patched up. I promise.”

…Bonus…

“You’re going to ‘break into my house and wait for me to come home’?”

Tangerine groans, throwing his head back as you walk into the small office. Private clinics with ‘respectable’ doctors. Gotta love ‘em.

“Love, I didn’t mean it, I was in a life-or-death situation—I’m sorry, I wasn’t thinking—”

You give a good-natured laugh, sitting next to him. You’d been patched up first, Tangerine was just waiting for some blood work to come back.

Tangling your fingers in his you give his hand a gentle squeeze. “I’m just teasing, Tan. I know.”

“Ok.” He sighs, giving your hand a squeeze back. “Good.”

You ruffle through your pockets to pull out your phone, your arm stings, but the pain medication the doc gave you does wonders. “I thought about it, I think you deserve to know why I was after your target.”

He looks at you with new interest now.

You tilt your screen to show him.

It had pictures of you and Tangerine. Pictures of you sitting together at lunch, laughing. Pictures of you walking down the street together, arm in arm. Pictures of you looking like a couple.

“Oh,” he breathes out, “I see.”

“I was worried you’d be put in danger if these…well, if they got into the wrong hands.”

“Didn’t want our clients to think we were softies either, huh?”

“That too.”

He presses his face into your hair. He hasn’t expressed his feelings for you again, but you’re starting to realize he always had—just through actions instead. A gentle hand on the small of your back. Wrapping an arm around your waist. Leaning down to speak softly into your ear.

These were just as much of an expression as words.

“Will we have to do this every time?” he asks, voice muffled slightly.

“Every time what?”

“It’s only a matter of time before more pictures of us make it into someone’s hands.”

“Oh. That’s a good point.”

He pulls you a little closer. “I’ll be dammed if I have to stop taking you out over that.”

“Then I guess we’ll just have to kill whoever tries something like that again.”

“We’ll do it together next time, yeah?”

“Absolutely.”

[racefortheironthrone]

Which federal laws and policies would you get rid of or modify in order to help the American labor movement.

I was looking through the labor law tag on my blog and your ask reminded me I haven't actually written a comprehensive post about this on Tumblr. (Indeed, you'd have to go back to my old, old policy blog from 2009...it's been a while.)

One silver lining of the Sisyphean struggle to restore American labor law that's been going on since the 1970s is that the labor movement and their allies in Congress, academia, think tanks, and progressive media have been thinking through this very issue of "what reforms would make a real difference" for a long time. I'm not going to say it's a solved question, but the research literature is pretty robust.

For the purposes of this post, I'm going to focus on the three most recent reform packages: the Employee Free Choice Act that was the main vehicle during the Obama years, Bernie Sanders' Workplace Democracy Act (which was introduced repeatedly between 1992 and 2018), and the Richard L. Trumka Protecting the Right to Organize Act (PRO Act) that is the current proposal of the Democratic legislative caucuses. There's going to be quite a bit of overlap between these proposals, because it's very much an iterative process where allies in the same movement are trading ideas with one another and trying to stay abreast of new developments, but I'll try to tease out some of the similarities and differences.

EFCA

While EFCA contained a number of provisions that sought to close various loopholes in U.S labor law, the three main provisions largely target the flaws that have made it extremely difficult to win a union through the National Labor Relations Act process devised in 1935 that has turned into a Saw-style gauntlet thanks to the professionalization of union-busting and the Federalist Society's strategy of death-by-a-thousand-cuts:

"Card check." Probably the most common pattern of union-busting in the workplace today is a war of attrition by management waged by an industry of specialized law firms. Generally what happens is that the union files for election with a super-majority of ~70% workers having signed union cards, then management delays the vote as long as possible to give their hired "union-avoidance" firm to systematically intimidate, surveil, propagandize, and divide workers, up to and including illegally firing pro-union workers pour encouragez les autres. Over several months, what happens is that the initial 70% of pro-union support starts to erode as workers decide it's just too dangerous to stick their necks out, until the vote happens and the union loses either by a squeaker or a landslide.

Card check short-circuits this process by just saying that if the union files with a majority of cards, you skip the election and the union is recognized. And for all the pearl-clutching by the right, this is actually how labor law works in many democratic countries, because the idea of a fair election that lets management participate is an oxymoron.

Arbitrated first contract. In the event that enough workers keep the faith and actually vote for a union, management's next move is to draw out collective bargaining for a year or more. After a year, the original vote is no longer considered binding and employers can push for a "decertification" vote, which they usually win because workers either give up hope or change jobs. So this provision says that if the two sides can't reach an agreement on a first contract within 120 days, a Federal arbitrator will just impose one, so that at least for two years there will be a union contract no matter what management wants.

Strengthening enforcement. As I said above, one of the problems with existing labor law is that there are basically no penalties for management knowingly breaking the law; companies literally just budget in a line-item and do it anyway. This provision would allow unions to file an injunction against employers for unfair labor practices or ULPs (at present, injunctions are only required for violations done by unions), and would add triple back pay for illegal firings and fines of $20,000 for each ULP. This would make union-busting much more expensive, because companies routinely rack up hundreds and hundreds of them during a campaign.

Workplace Democracy Act

Sanders' proposal includes the main proposals from EFCA, and adds a bunch of additional reforms, like mis-classifying workers as independent contractors, banning captive audience meetings, making "joint employers" liable for labor law violations by franchisees, legalizing secondary boycotts, and requiring employers to report to the NLRB on all anti-union expenditures during a campaign and barring anyone convicted of an unfair labor practice from being hired for anti-union campaigns and making "union-avoidance" consultants liable for fines for ULPs (which would kill the "union-avoidance" industry, because they commit ULPs for a living).

PRO Act

The PRO Act is very much an updating of the previous efforts we've talked about. It bans captive audience meetings, allows for secondary strikes and boycotts, massively increases fines and allows for compensatory damages, ends mis-classification, speeds up the election process, etc.

It also contains a couple new and ambitious proposals:

it allows unions to sue management in court instead of having to complain to the NLRB, which opens management up to a very expensive legal proceeding and discovery.

it bans "right-to-work" as established by the Taft-Hartley Act.

it requires that any worker who's fired for pro-union activity be immediately reinstated while their unfair labor practice process or civil lawsuit is going through the process. This would be enormous just on its own, because it changes the entire veto structure of illegal firing. As it stands, employers fire people and maybe maybe have to pay some back wages in a couple years when the worker has found another job and is unlikely to come back. This would reverse the balance of power, such that the worker is immediately back and other workers can see that they can speak up without getting fired, which makes illegal firings a giant waste of time and money for management.

In terms of stuff that's not on this list that I would add, I would say that an enormous difference could be made by simply making it illegal for management to lock-out their workers or hire scabs. You do that, and unions can win almost every strike.

[yacinthemorning]

A Lesson in Listening

Summary: Grian's brother is moving to town and staying with him while he house hunts. While introducing him to his friend, however, Jimmy and Tango seem to make quite a connection. Determined not to suffer through the pining, Grian and Impulse attempt to play matchmaker.

Ships: Grian & Impulse(Platonic), Jimmy/Tango (Romantic), ZITS (Platonic), Grian & Jimmy (Familial)

Warnings: mild acephobia, verbal fight, sibling bullying, misunderstandings, relationship meddling

If Grian was good at one thing, it was connecting people. Not to be a braggart, but he was a sociable sort who was good at reading people, made new friends with ease, and led the pecking order in his circles. It was his great talent, really. One of many.

“Humility not being among them, clearly.”

“Shush.” Grian hissed, whipping his head around to glare daggers into Impulse. The stout man returned it with his trademark innocent smile, as if Grian didn’t know what went on in the head behind it. “You’re distracting me.”

Impulse chuckled. “What’s there to distract from?”

“I’ll have you know mixing friend groups is a very delicate process!” Grian explained, holding his phone to show the opened notepad doc. “Inviting the wrong person could be the difference between success and disaster.”

“I think you’re overthinking things, G. Anyone who’d get along with you will probably get along with your brother.”

Therein lied the problem, though. Jimmy was nothing like Grian. Okay, well, nothing was a bit of a strong word. Jimmy was extroverted and sociable like Grian, and they both had a fondness for mischief and cats. And maybe Jimmy was the first person Grian always invited to karaoke night when he was in town, because no one else was quite as enthusiastic as they were. But other than that they were nothing alike! For one, unlike Grian, Jimmy was a massive loser.

“That’s a bit rude.”

Grian squawked. “Would you please stop reading my mind!”

“You should stop speaking your mind, then.” Impulse shrugged and returned to scrolling through his phone. Grian had assigned him the task of picking out the venue for the night out, being far more familiar with the town than Grian. He paused, “You might as well monologue, I know you want to.”

“I don’t monologue! I’m not Scar.” Another name was struck out on the list. Doc was angry at him right now, anyways. “I just want things to go well, can I not be excited that Tim is moving closer? I’ve barely got to see him more than once every other month for the past several years! By the way, we can’t-“

“Can’t eat red meat so make sure there’s other options, yeah, I know.” A large hand patted down on Grian’s head, ruffling his hair.

He pouted, falling back into the cushions of his couch. “I feel like you do not appreciate the skill needed to coordinate you people. It’s like herding cats, you know.”

“Why do you think we leave it to you?” Impulse leaned over Grian’s shoulder. “Who you got so far, anyways?”

“You, Scar, Gem, and Cleo. Mostly people he’s met before at least.”

A curious hum filled the air and Grian patiently waited for whatever idea was brewing in Impulse’s head. There were a few taps to his screen, then, “You think Tango can come?”

“Tango?” Grian’s eyebrow quirked up. “Isn’t he hauled up in his basement working on some game right now?” While most certainly a good friend, Tango was one Grian went almost just as long without seeing as his brother half a day’s drive away, despite being a street away. Once he had an idea he would dedicate himself to it until it was done.

Impulse sighed. “Yeah. Zed was able to get him outside for an hour last week, and he went on some business trip for a bit, but he also hasn’t eaten in like two days last I checked. It’d be good excuse to drag him out. He’s gonna forget what real people sound like outside his headphones if we don’t.”

“I honestly don’t know how he expects to survive if he moves out from you guys.”

“I already made him promise to give me a set of spare keys when he does.”

Grian tilted his head as he stared at his last message to the man in question. Something about a crazy idea for a remote-controlled cat toy he thought of. In all honesty it wasn’t the worst idea. Not the cat toy- Tango was a strong personality who left a big impression, but he was always polite. Certainly much more introverted than everyone else going, but not nearly as bad as Zed. At least, when he remembered to leave his basement. It couldn’t do them any harm. At the very worst he could sit in the corner and chatter with Impulse. “Yeah, sure, let’s invite him.” He said, already typing. 

Impulse gave a thumbs up. “Tell him we’re gonna go to that barbeque place he loves, that’ll get him.”

“I said-”

“They have plenty of chicken and even vegetarian options, I double checked. It’s right across from the bowling alley, too. And call him, don’t text, or he’ll never see it.”

It was a small miracle Tango agreed to go. It was a small miracle he answered his phone at all. The mention of barbeque worked, though. How much of the rest of the evening they could convince him to stick around for had yet to be seen, but Grian was hopeful he’d stay a little while at least.

Impulse could deal with Tango, though. Right now, Grian had his hands full with Jimmy. They were running ten minutes behind because his poor little brother couldn’t bear going a day without a bubble bath. “C’mon, Tim, get in the car!” He shouted from the window.

Jimmy stumbled in, nearly dropping his phone between the seats in the process. “I’m hurrying, I’m hurrying, I just had to send a text. I thought this was supposed to be fun?” He whined. The second his door was closed Grian began driving, not waiting for him to get his seatbelt in. He was so tall and lanky he’d just smash his head through the glass whether he had one on or not, anyways.

“It’s called punctuality, Timmy. Something the hosts should have!”

“Alright, I get it.” He slumped back into his seat, caving as he always did. It must be hard, having an older brother who was always right. Of course, it was much harder being said brother, as Grian could attest.

The car ride was quiet, only the radio filling the space while Grian worked to remember where he needed to go. Jimmy was the first to break the silence, “So, I’ve scheduled some tours for this week.”

Grian hummed. “Anything promising?”

“Actually yeah.” He chirped, pulling out his phone. Before he could shove it in Grian’s face he put his hand up. It’d only been a month since he rear-ended a Toyota, and he’ll be damned if he hit someone else. The last thing his friends needed was to reignite the jokes about him being too short to see over the dashboard. Jimmy made a whine but didn’t try again. “There’s a place not far out of town in the farmlands. It’s small and old, but it’s an actual house with over half an acre.”

“I dunno why you care so much about land. A condo downtown is way better.”

“It’s nice, isn’t it? I could have a garden.”

“I guess.” The obnoxiously large sign for the barbeque glared high above the trees and buildings around it just up ahead. “Oh, we’re already here. Should be mostly people you met before, by the way.”

“That’s fine.”

Pulling into the parking lot, Grian could already see Impulse’s minivan and Cleo’s beat up old car. He clicked his tongue as he pulled up next to them. “See! I told you we were late, everyone’s already here.”

“Oh, come off it, they probably just got here, it’s fine.”

It was not fine, the host should always be first, but he wouldn’t expect Jimmy to understand. The two squabbled all the way inside, only stopping to tell the waiter their booking. A nice large table on the patio already had most of Grian’s friends sitting around, still having yet to be served even drinks. Everyone but Tango despite his phone, unmistakable with its Guy Fieri case, on the table. Bathroom, maybe? He was always terrible about going before he left. Scar was the first to spot them. “G! Timmy! You’re here!”

“That we are.” Grian mumbled and turned to Impulse. “Where’s-”

“Hey, Grian, just in time!” The scratchy voice of Tango shouted too-loudly behind them. He saw Jimmy jump, and both brothers swivelled on their heels. Tango jolted back a bit, friendly wave shrinking to his side at the reaction. His eyes grew wide, locking with Jimmy’s which mirrored him like two deer caught in headlights. “Oh!” He squeaked unintentionally.

It jogged Jimmy out of his fright enough to look away, though Grian took suspicious note of the redness of his ears. He gave his baby brother a raised eyebrow, but he didn’t seem to see it.

“Right, well, Tango, Cleo, this is my brother, Ti-”

“It’s Jimmy.” Jimmy jumped in at lightning speed, holding his hand out for Tango to shake with a wide smile. “The name’s Jimmy.” Tango hesitated for a second, before tentatively shaking back with an equally tentative smile.

“Tango, of the Tek variety. Nice to finally meet you.”

“I thought you said your brother was Tim?” Cleo asked.

Impulse scratched at his bread. “Honestly, I thought it was.”

“It’s not, my name’s Jimmy. Don’t trust anything this man says, he’s a menace.” Jimmy huffed, which got far too enthusiastic an agreement from nearly the whole table for Grian’s liking. Behind him, Tango snuck around back to the table. In a baffling move, as far as Grian was concerned, he paused at the empty chair across from his own and pulled it out. He nodded towards Jimmy, who muttered a sheepish thanks. Grian narrowed his eyes at the engineer, but he seemed to be pointedly not looking at him. A shared look from Impulse, though, let him know he wasn’t the only one who took notice.

“Well, then, Jimmy, it’s a pleasure to meet you.” Cleo reached over the table, offering their hand.

Chatter very quickly picked itself up once they were all sat down. Most was directed towards Jimmy, asking what he did and the places he was looking at and how on earth did he get his hair that perfect. It was a bit awkward with him sitting at the end. Given the middle seat where Grian now sat was also empty, he suspected Tango’s little gentleman’s stunt had messed up the seating arrangement Impulse intentionally left. 

It wasn’t the last. When their drinks came Tango had ordered some crazy bright red fruity slushy monstrosity like he was on vacation or something. For him it might as well be. Something that brightly coloured, with a fruit skewer at that, was basically tempting the gods as far as Jimmy was concerned, who looked more dazzled by it than the already bright blue drink he ordered. Only a sip had been taken before Tango was nudging it towards him, asking, “Wanna try?” Which he wholeheartedly accepted.

Honestly, between that and the conversation somehow always managing to close into a back and forth between the pair, Grian wanted to gag. Did his brother have absolutely no shame? Or maybe Grian was just bitter he had to order something lighter as their driver. It was at least funny to watch Scar also ask for a sip and be completely ignored.

A large platter was ordered over individual meals. It was just easier, when everyone wanted to try this and that. Astonishingly, it was probably the first time Grian had witnessed Tango eat a vegetable, when he tried one of the skewers the brothers ordered on the side. That was the power of good barbeque, he supposed.

They finally called it after Gem won the third round of bowling in a row. Grian tapped against the open door of his car, glaring holes in the back of his brother’s head, who was too busy saying goodbye to Tango to notice. “Come ooon Tim!” He finally shouted after the third obnoxious little giggle they shared. When he turned, Grian narrowed his eyes. You ain’t subtle. The pair finally said goodbye for real, and Jimmy ran to get in the car before Grian decided to drive off without him. He’d barely gotten his seatbelt on before he was furiously typing something on his phone. Really?

“So, how was it?” Grian asked.

“It was fun, your friends seem cool.” Was the distracted response.

“Mhm…” He leaned closer over his shoulder. “And how was Tango?”

If it was possible to jump out of one’s skin then Jimmy had jumped out of his skin, muscles, and bones. “Huh?” He squeaked, face red and eyes bugged. Grian only returned it with an unimpressed eye roll.

“Oh please. You nearly dropped a bowling ball on your foot while swooning.”

“Well… He’s a cool guy, isn’t he?”

And that shut Grian up. More efficiently than he would like to admit. He expected Jimmy to deny it, or be too flustered to say much of anything. When Grian failed to reply Jimmy went back to his phone, tapping away with a smile. There was that obnoxious giggle again.

This was not one of the issues Grian anticipated having when his brother told him he was moving. 

“So, how do we set them up?”

Impulse Hummed, spending far too long reading the contents of a can of cream of mushroom like it wasn’t the same can he always bought. “Who?”

“ Who? ” Grian mocked back. “Tim and Tango!”

“Do we need to?” Three more cans joined the first, before they moved on to the broths. Grian threw the bouillon in the cart before his companion could grab a carton that would languish in the back of his fridge. “They seem to be doing fine on their own.”

“No, trust me. I know Tim. He was literally living with his last boyfriend before he realized they were dating and that he liked him. He’s an idiot.”

“And Tango hasn’t exactly been leaving the basement much lately.” Impulse conceded, grabbing a carton of pho broth anyways. Acceptable, Grian supposed.

“So, then, any ideas?”

They paused before entering the next aisle. The larger man’s face twisted in thought. “Well, we could invite him to D&D, run a oneshot, and have their characters drink a love potion until they get the hint.”

“That sounds like a terrible idea, absolutely not.” He wrote it down in his phone for a future session.

“Another dinner?”

“What are the odds of getting Tango out of the house twice?”

“Probably a lot higher than you’d think with how they were acting.”

“What if I gave Timmy a tour of your house and just locked the basement door behind him?”

“You know I’m starting to think we might be bad at this and should leave it to someone else.”

“Nonsense!” Grian grabbed the first bottle of soya sauce he spotted, much to Impulse’s protests. He wasn’t going to sit and wait for him to match the prices to the ounces. “Look, I know Timmy best, and you know Tango best. Logically, there’s no better pair of heads to crack together for this. They’ll thank us at the wedding.”

A jar of pickled bamboo shoots found its way into the cart beside the biggest bag of basmati rice Impulse could pick up. He had to catch his breath before he continued. “Listen, Grian, do you need to… talk, or something?”

“What?” Grian’s head whipped around from the wall of spices he was mulling over. “About what?”

Impulse hunched his shoulders up, cringing slightly. “I dunno, y’know… You’re planning your brother’s wedding to your friend while picking out my groceries for me. I’m not even sure how you found out I was grocery shopping or found me in the store. I don’t think that’s normal, healthy person behaviour.” 

“I am so completely normal and healthy!” He said just a bit too loud.

“You know you can talk to me if you need to.”

This was getting nowhere real fast. “Are you going to help me or not?”

Impulse sighed. “I’ll help.”

“Good. Then, what’s the plan?”

In the end, the plan was little more than ‘wait and see’ with a side sprinkling of putting the pair in as much direct contact as possible. This turned out to be much more work than they anticipated, however. Jimmy had always been a socialite, but he seemed to be gone every other day viewing houses or visiting locations. Meanwhile, Tango did as he does and made himself busy constantly. Every group activity Grian planned was lucky to get even one of them, and he was about to lose his damn mind.

Their big break finally showed itself one evening, when Jimmy dropped in with Grian. Well, it was more like Grian promised to drive him to do some errands and made a left turn away from the mall and directly to the ZITS house instead. A decision Jimmy was not familiar enough with the town yet to notice until it was too late. Just the sound of Jimmy’s voice managed to draw Tango upstairs to see what was going on in his kitchen, where the rest of them were chatting.

Immediately the annoying little giggles started up again. If there was one thing in this world that could make Grian try to keep them apart, it was that giggle.

“By the way, Jimmy,” Skizz piped up from where he leaned against the sink. “You still need a lift tomorrow?”

When had Jimmy found time to befriend Skizz? Who knows. Knowing the two of them they probably bumped into each other on the street and kept talking till the sun went down. Extroverts were so exhausting. (He ignored the little Impulse-ish voice nagging that Grian was also something of an extrovert.)

“Yeah, sorry, I appreciate it.”

“Where you going?” Impulse asked.

“Got another house tour.” Tango of all people replied. Maybe that wasn’t all that surprising, though, given the amount Grian has spotted Jimmy texting the past few days.

“Is that so? Will you be going with them?” Grian teased, but instead got a toothy grin back.

“Yessiree!”

Really? Inviting your crush house hunting? Was that forward or just weird? Either way, it was an opportunity. “You know, Tim, you haven’t invited me to go with you.” He whined, putting on his best puppy dog eyes. 

Unfortunately, while Jimmy’s talents were sparse, this was one area where he outranked Grian by a factor of magnitudes and had unlocked absolute immunity, or something. “Yeah. That was on purpose.” He said bluntly, not even looking away from Tango, who laughed. In fact, everyone laughed. Even Impulse, the traitor.

Grian wouldn’t give up so easily, however. “Well I think you should. So where is it?”

“What? You’ll just embarrass me, I’m not telling you!” He squeaked, finally looking at his kind, sweet, dear older brother.

“Yes, you are!”

“No, I’m not!”

And that was how Jimmy ended up in a headlock on ZITS’s kitchen floor, Impulse reluctantly using Jimmy’s phone to text Grian the address on his calendar. Tango, simp that he was, managed to distract Grian by jokingly calling Jimmy honey, forcing Grian to let go in order to pretend to hurl, during which time Jimmy made his escape back to the car. 

He won though, and the next day when Jimmy pulled up with Skizz and Tango to the house tour, Grian and Impulse were already waiting there with the realtor.

“I can’t believe you.” Jimmy dragged his hands down his face. “Don’t you have to, I don’t know, work?”

“Jokes on you, I’m my own boss.” Grian puffed up his chest.

Tango patted Jimmy on the back and turned the both of them towards the poor, confused realtor. “Let’s just get this over with.” He soothed, to which Jimmy gave him a saccharine smile.

The property was ridiculously nice. It wasn’t especially big, but it was lined by woodlands and already had a garden, albeit in need of some severe TLC. There was even an old chicken coop to the side of the house that only needed new fencing and cleaning. The house itself was a one-story cutesy cottage-like thing. It was older, but whomever had lived in it last had the wiring redone and appliances replaced. The bedroom was big, too, as they tended to be in these older houses, and the bathroom had a proper large tub. There was a spare office room with a nice big window to the garden. The garage was separate, and large enough to be a workshop. All that while being well within the range of good internet and still close enough one could walk to town if they really wanted to. 

It was, essentially, Jimmy’s dream home. The only issue Jimmy seemed to have was the fact that the wall between the living room and kitchen had been knocked out for a more modern open concept design with the largest windows in the house.

“It’d probably be a pain to heat in winter, right?” He asked no one in particular. 

Grian knew jack all about houses, and only shrugged. It still wasn’t that big, so he imagined not. Impulse and Skizz seemed to mull the idea over a little longer. Tango, though, saw an opportunity, and Grian had to give him credit because the man took it without hesitation. His arm was around Jimmy’s shoulder, toothy grin leaned in a bit too close. “Well, that sounds like a good excuse to cuddle up in bed all winter, hm?”

Jimmy’s cheeks turned pink. He muttered something under his breath that made Tango chuckle. Grian rolled his eyes towards Impulse, who seemed almost too shocked by his friend’s forwardness to notice.

More questions were asked, things Grian was glad he never had to worry about as a condo guy. Owning a home seemed like so much work, but Jimmy had lists upon lists. Of course, it was Jimmy, and even with lists he forgot certain things. But Tango seemed ready to pick up the slack with his own barrage of inquiries. 

“I think,” Jimmy said, looking at the kitchen with a bit of awe. “I think this might be it, guys.”

“Yeah?” Tango’s eyes practically sparkled with excitement. Jimmy nodded.

The realtor stepped up. “There aren’t any other serious inquiries at the moment, I think you have a good chance if you put in the asking price.” Jimmy nodded, and the realtor went off to his car to make a call.

Grian pursed his lips at his brother, though. “Are you sure you can afford that? I know you’ve saved up and all, but it’s still a lot.”

Jimmy beamed though, clearly overwhelmed with excitement. “Of course, you think we would look at houses we can’t afford?”

“I mean if I’m honest kind of, but- wait. We?”

“I’ll have you know, despite the beliefs of certain individuals, my credit score’s top notch.” Tango patted his chest proudly. “And between the two of us we have more than enough savings for the down payment.”

Grian felt the wires in his brain short circuit and reboot. An unholy screech came from his throat. “What!”

Jimmy and Tango both side-eyed each other, their awkward smiles caught between guilty and like they were ready to burst out laughing. “You… Thought I could buy a home on my own?” Jimmy asked, hiccupping in the middle.

Impulse looked just as dumbfounded. “When did you work this out?” His voice came out hoarse.

It was Tango’s turn to be confused, raising an eyebrow. “Um, months ago? I told you, Impy.”

“You said you were thinking about moving out, not buying a house with a stranger!”

“Wait-” Skizz burst out laughing, pointing at Grian and Impulse. “You guys really didn’t know?”

“No, why do you know!”

“Cause I listen to my roommates?”

“Hold on. Months ago?” Grian pushed them out of the way, getting into his brother’s face.

It seemed Tango was no longer able to hold in his laughter, leaning on Jimmy for support while Jimmy rubbed the back of his neck. “I honestly couldn’t tell if you’d actually forgotten or if this was some bit.” He admitted.

“We’ve been together for almost three years.” Tango wheezed out between cackles.

“Excuse me?” Balked Grian. “Since when? You’ve never met!” His head whipped between the two. How on earth-

A finger twirled absently in the air as Jimmy tried to explain. “Do you remember your Halloween party? The one me and Joel attended, where Tango was dressed up as an imposter?”

“Yeah?” It was the biggest party he’d ever held, how could he forget? His brow creased. “But that doesn’t make any sense, I never got to introduce you two cause you both went… home… early.” Grian’s eyes went wide as the puzzle pieces clicked into place.

Tango leaned against Jimmy’s shoulder with a smirk. “There it is.”

“Oh. My god.”

“I told you he doesn’t ever listen to me.” Jimmy groaned.

“You two-”

“Yeah.”

Grian gasp cracked. “Jimmy you slut !”

“ Excuse me? ” Jimmy shouted back in equal amounts of disbelief and anger.

Out of the corner of his eye he saw the realtor pause in the entryway, then slowly back out of view once more.

“You heard me!”

“What do you think we did!”

“Well you weren’t enjoying my party, that’s for sure!”

 “Okay, okay, everybody calm down.” Skizz stepped in, pushing Grian towards Impulse, who seemed to hold Grian back on instinct more than anything as he was still lost in shock.

“Why didn’t you tell me?” Impulse asked, giving his housemate a look of betrayal. It was returned with concern.

“I did? I swear I did.”

“Dipple Dop, he told us he was busy in call with his partner all the time. He extended his work trips several times.”

“That was Timmy?” He stumbled back, leaning on the counter. “I thought he meant, like, an MMO buddy.”

“Yeah, and you certainly never told me!” Grian huffed, which Jimmy returned.

“I did tell you, but you didn’t listen! Or did you just do that thing like with Scott where you thought I wasn’t aware I was dating the guy I lived with for two months just because I told you we hadn’t-”

“You know what?” Skizz clapped his hands together. “I think we all need to just take a deep breath, okay? Everybody just breathe. In,” He took a deep breath, of which his housemates joined in while the brothers continued to glare at each other. “And out.” They all let out a long sigh.

 A brief silence fell over the group, only interrupted by a nervous knock at the door. The realtor stuck his head in, eyes darting between the group. “Um, Mister Solidarity, Mister Tek, could I speak to you now?”

“Yes, one second.” Jimmy said, voice tight. The pair left to talk outside.

Grian and Impulse went home after that, waiting for the other three to return. They said little, Grian fuming while Impulse stared at his lap like his dog just died. Zed popped in to say he was going out, at which point he was let in on the day’s events and gave them both odd looks. Had they really been the only ones who didn’t know? 

By the time everyone else arrived back at the house they’d pulled themselves together somewhat. Not entirely, but enough to ask questions without shouting.

“So, you’re really leaving?” Impulse asked, voice almost watery. Tango’s posture softened with his smile, and pulled the larger man into a big hug.

“Oh, buddy, I told you I was gonna. I’m a big boy now!”

“Yeah, but… I dunno. We’ve lived together since college. I didn’t think this would actually happen…”

Skizz rubbed his back. “Hey, he ain’t movin’ cross country, he’s just down the road. We’ll see him all the time.”

“Yeah! I promise, Impy, I ain’t going nowhere.”

The three continued to talk among each other, comforting their friend, so Grian left them be. Instead, he turned his attention onto Jimmy, who still looked huffy, with his arms crossed and a glare squarely on Grian.

“I told you.”

“Well, maybe you should have told me better.” Grian turned his nose up as an almost automatic response. Jimmy threw his arms in the air and stomped off to the doorway, and immediately Grian felt the regret. He chased after his little brother. “Wait, Tim. I’m…” A warbled wheeze escaped his throat, straining to get the dreaded word out. “Ssso-…rry... That I didn’t listen.”

The shift was near-instant, disdain laxing into smugness. “There, was that so hard?”

“Immensely.”

“Oh, come off it, you big baby.”

“I just don’t get it.” Grian grabbed his hair. “How did I miss that you two were dating? Why didn’t Tango say something when we invited him to dinner?”

“Well, it probably started with the fact that you introduce me to everyone as Tim and his boyfriend’s name is Jimmy.” He sneered, eyebrow raised.

Well, he had him there. Not that he would ever admit that to his brother’s face. “I still can’t believe you ditched my party to hook up with my friend.”

“Oh my god, we didn’t hook up!” Jimmy threw his head back. “We just went to get Mcdonald’s and watch movies because Tango almost had a panic attack at the number of people you invited and couldn’t breathe.”

“In my defence, I didn’t expect that many people to actually show up.”

“Either way, stop projecting.”

“Wh- excuse me?”

“Tango’s the same as me. I can assure you nothing like that would ever happen.”

Grian pouted. Well, at least they were happy and close by. “Fine, I’ll forgive you if you can get Tango to come to roller derby night.”

“Uh, I don’t have anything I need to be forgiven for, and I’m not going to make Tango do something he doesn’t want to do.”

“But Tim, consider: Tango falling on his butt in the most hideous disco suit.”

That gave Jimmy pause, thinking for a solid moment before a smile stretched behind his hand. “Alright, fine.”

“Yes!” Grian pumped his fist into the air, nearly smacking Impulse in the face as the group joined them.

“What’s going on out here?”

“Nothing.” Both brothers replied, matching smiles immediately getting them suspicious looks. Jimmy pushed past them to grab Tango’s hand and drag him towards the basement. “C’mon, we have to finish planning.”

“Yessir.” Tango saluted with a chuckle. 

As they retreated, Grian shouted after them. “Oh, Tango!”

“Yeah?” Bless his soul, he was too busy giving his partner a doofy look that was wiped away the second he turned to see Grian. He did his best to bore a hole through the man’s skull.

“You better watch your back. I know where you sleep.”

“Well, I’d hope so.” Grian didn’t like that grin. “Be weird if you didn’t know where your brother was.”

And that was how Grian began to plan the death of Tango Tek.

[angst-is-love-angst-is-life]

☕️the most egregious problem The Flash has is that it literally NEVER ADDRESSES ANY of the trauma it consistently puts Barry and co through, like it has other problems but I think that's the worst lol

1000000% and I will die mad about it.

Since it’s (always) on my mind, let’s take season 2 for example shall we?

If I had a nickel for everytime Post-Zoom-trauma just disappeared at the drop of a hat, I’d have four nickels. Which isn’t a lot, but it’s fucking INFURIATING THAT IT HAPPENED F O U R TIMES

The four (for lack of a better word) victims in question: Caitlin, Barry, Jesse, and Jay.

Caitlin: kidnapped and held against her will for (I believe) two weeks (that’s putting it simply but we’ve all seen the show so🤷‍��️). The show gives her one single episode to deal with it, during which she shows very real symptoms of PTSD— solved and therefore ignored and glossed over entirely with a single pep talk. I would also like to add that she showed NO fear of him in the season finale which makes no fucking sense with what the show established only an episode earlier. But tbh, this is the best one because at least the show ACKNOWLEDGED that trauma; if only for one episode.

Barry: Back broken during first encounter (among other severe injuries), humiliated by being dragged around the city to show he wasn’t strong enough to stop Zoom, confidence shattered from the experience. Like Caitlin, we got one episode to deal with this trauma and in that episode, Barry also showed signs and symptoms of PTSD (the entire season is evidence tbh). But of course, one pep talk from his dad and everything’s magically ok :-D !!!!!! I’m going to eat glass (also I will definitely make a post on that fucking episode because I hate it). As mentioned; he continues to have PTSD symptoms throughout the season but it’s glossed over so much and attributed to generic-superhero-stuff™️ that it really doesn’t matter. Gods, I could go on all day about Barry’s post-Zoom AND post-Thawne trauma. (Oh, he was also kidnapped, threatened, and {borderline} tortured by Zoom in the Earth-2 episodes; but that’s all normal superhero stuff ofc so it doesn’t matter right :-D !!! gnawing at the bars of my enclosure)

Jesse: Good gods where do I even start. Kidnapped by a known serial killer, tortured by said serial killer, repeatedly and (probably) constantly threatened with death, and held captive for around 9-10 months. Mm also, she was clearly terrified of Zoom every time he showed up prior to her rescue. Sounds like an extremely traumatic experience with multiple opportunities and instances to develop PTSD right? WRONG! According to the lovely writers; people are completely fine after a traumatic experience is over! What’s PTSD??? chewing glass chewing glass chewing glass. They didn’t even TRY with her, at least with Barry and Caitlin they pretended to give a shit about what they went through but Jesse makes two things crystal clear. 1) The writers don’t care about your trauma unless you’re an MC. 2) The writers put minimal effort into trauma if any; MC or not. It’s like they said ‘Ooo, we should have Caitlin kidnapped by Zoom!’ ‘Won’t that have some sort of effect on her? Being kidnapped is a terrifying experience’ ‘Ah fuck you’re right… eh, we’ll give her one episode ig’ ‘What about Jesse?’ ‘Who?’

Jay: Fucking. Hell. I ordered this in what I consider best handled to worst. Jay is by far— handled worst. Let’s see here *checks notes* Ah yes. Kidnapped and taken to a completely different Earth, an attempted theft of his powers, imprisoned and put in a mask so he can’t speak, {not confirmed but very likely with Zoom’s track record and somewhat implied} tortured, had his identity stolen and {likely} mocked and tormented about the subject, and the ~delightful~ cherry on top— held captive in this situation for at least one year. Fuck I’m so tired. Anyways; there’s not much to say. He got rescued (off-screen ofc), was able to access his powers instantly with no problems, and left to go back to his Earth. Trauma? What trauma? *gestures wildly at said trauma posted above* That’s not traumatic at all! *screams* I don’t care how much experience you have as a superhero— that doesn’t just GO AWAY! PTSD, FLASH WRITERS. LOOK INTO IT P L E A S E fuck I just remembered the show is over now ALL YOUR MC’S HAVE IT! EVERY. SINGLE. ONE. Sigh. In the end of *gestures at said trauma* all that, Jay was just used to cause Barry more greif from his father’s death. Obviously he gets roles in later seasons but (as far as I can remember) this whole thing was never brought up again. Sigh.

I COULD GO ON

I COULD GO ON FOR DAYS

but I won’t cause dear gods I’ve been typing forever now

[ghostherlig]

boy has it been a bit since ive done one of these but i started this on spring break and got back around to it now that im stuck at Not My House- anyway, enjoy!! <3

this time, johnshi^2 edition 😌 (under the cut bc this, like all of these, got real long 😭)

john is a Stress Baker and will bake into the night if he's stressed out enough (usually cookies to store in the freezer for the rest of the month)

johnny is a Stress Cooker and will cook the most complicated dishes to make himself feel better (ignore his problems)

kenshi mostly cooks for himself and is used to making single-servings of things, so when he makes food it's usually only for him

taka only knows a few recipes, but he has Perfected them. Perfected. They Are Perfect. He makes Takoyaki, Five Flavor Soup, and a few other things that the other three fucking love-

john has a black light tattoo of a smiley face on his ass cheek

johnny has no tattoos

we've all seen kenshi's tattoos, pretty pretty man <3

taka has a few smaller tattoos in fewer seen places, the most common sighted being a small raven on his ankle

johnny owns an industrial freezer and fills it with all sorts of food storage and left-over ingredients that were made in large batches

taka put a false bottom in the industrial freezer to hide his special ingredients for his dishes

johnny teaches physics during summer or winter courses between filming for his movies

kenshi is a big family man and has two older sisters and a younger brother- he has mommy issues 😔

john is also a big family guy, he loves his daughter and his dead wife despite how shitty his childhood was

johnny and taka... arent as big on family-

taka has a bridge piercing that he has a plug in now that he's older, but he still puts in jewelry for at home dates where he doesn't have to wear his sunglasses

john has his ears pierced, but he never wears his jewelry- his collection is a lot of studs, but he has a pair of hoops that he was given by his mom and a pair of jade earrings that taka gave him

johnny had a belly button piercing, but doesnt wear his jewelry anymore 😔

kenshi had several ear piercings but only really wears studs or hoops in his main two lobe piercings

taka wants to get his eyebrow pierced, but just hasnt gone and done it yet

taka uses a hairpin to keep his hair up and despises hair ties despite the fact that johnny always carries them around for him- he has and will continue to grab the pen out of johnny's hands to put his hair up rather than take the offered hair tie.

kenshi usually prefers to navigate without sento at home and in public, and he helps taka get used to using a sight cane and more accessibility devices since taka usually navigates with sento since to him it's easier

when they're all busy working, johnny sets up Very Official Google Meet Meetings and uses his work calendar to hide the fact that he's calling his partners during business hours- the other three do the same thing so they can get at least fifteen minutes together outside of lunch breaks to talk

kenshi NAPS. like, daily naps. he needs his at least fifteen minute lreferably an hour nap per day or else he's a lot more irritable- taka, john, and johnny always look for him around noon, forgetting he's Napping and they usually catch him asleep in his room, on the couch, and often in his office on base-

john will sometimes take midday naps too, usually on weekends, and kenshi will join him on his giant lazy boy recliner and burrow into his side to take a nap

john and johnny are Human Heaters, they never get cold, whereas kenshi and taka Cannot Thermoregulate To Save Their Lives and are constantly cold and usually wear a lot of layers

kenshi and taka also HATE being too hot, both would rather be cold and they despise cali summers since it can get up to the hundreds on really bad days

they all work until they collapse. it's awful. usually johnny and john are better about it, they put work down after 6pm and Dont Look At Work Things until 5am the next day- but taka and kenshi?? they're used to always being on call for things, mundane or not, and that means john and johnny are CONSTANTLY slapping the phones out of their hands when they see an official OIA number

johnny gets bad abt working late when shit gets busy on and off set, esp if he's working on a script or there are all kinds of clerical and scheduling issues and errors- he's had to be dragged away from his desk and/or laptop bc he just wouldnt stop fixing little things- he's pulled all nighters on accident bc he was so focused 😭

john is the most outwardly affectionate- constantly saying it, constant touches, hugs, kisses, little love taps, ass slaps- anyway he can convey his love he's doing it- he's esp bad abt slapping johnny and kenshi's asses since he did it to taka once and taka Stands On Business (slapped his ass so hard the next day john was waddling around the house for thirty minutes)

surprisingly, kenshi is the second most affectionate, though it's more in words and quality time and little gifts- almost daily he leaves all three of them a little note or gift or will cut them fruit- and if he cant he's leaving them or greeting them with a kiss on the cheek or a little peck- he also affirms his love very... aggressively?? john, johnny, and taka all get in moods that scream "would you love me if i was a worm?" and kenshi will always sit there and go "of course i would. i would build you a terrarium and start composting so you would have the best dirt in the world."

johnny is the third most affectionate- it takes him a bit to get comfy just giving hugs or draping himself over someones back, but he does say how much he loves them all the time- constant 'i love you's while he's doing other things, when he comes home, when he leaves, etc. any time he thinks it, he says it

taka is the least affectionate and least affirming, but it's all in his actions. taka will berate john and johnny and kenshi for working themselves sick while he digs in the industrial freezer to make them five flavor soup and some tea- he'll call them stupid or dumb affectionately while pressing a kiss to their temple- he gets nuzzle-y and sometimes just needs to tuck himself over them or hold them to feel normal again- he says 'i love you' the least, but he acts out his 'i love you's the most. he also hilariously sometimes replies to 'i love you' with 'okay.' or '..thanks.' bc he struggles to say it outright, but most oftentimes he hums and presses a little kiss wherever he can- usually the cheek, temple, or if they're already leaving he'll grab their hand and press a kiss to their knuckles

[liesmyth]

Some general thoughts about the narrative voice in John’s NtN flashback chapters now that I started rereading Nona for the [mumble]time

▸ John is talking to Alecto; Harrow is just listening. Harrow, inside Alecto, is revisiting Alecto’s memories of the immediate post-apocalypse, and this is possibly a real conversation Alecto and John had at some point. She is experiencing the world like Alecto did in the aftermath. The “I still love you / You always say that, Harrowhark” exchanges are Harrow’s consciousness replacing Alecto’s name with her own. The only time Harrow, as herself, interacts with John are in John 5:4 (“Teacher, may I ask a question?”) THAT is Harrow.

▸The flashbacks aren’t in real-time with the rest of Nona. This is a narrative framing trick on Tamsyn’s part, putting most John’s chapters immediately after Nona has gone to sleep or right before she wakes, to keep the reader speculating that Nona might be Harrow. HtN 27 ends with Nona admitting that she’s not Harrow and she “never was,” and John 1:20 picks up right after while Nona is obviously awake. We don’t know how long ago these flashbacks took place for Harrow, but I assume at least a few months. Harrow walked into the tower and into hell in John 5:4 and was in there for a while. John possibly started his bender in earnest after his last conversation with Harrow.

▸I’m taking John as a truthful narrator. He’s not actively lying or attempting to deceive his interlocutor, because he’s talking to Alecto at the end of the world, and he has nobody left to hold him accountable. Multiple times he shares details that make him look worse and he could have left out with no problems—such as when he admits that he killed local civilians along with the cops (“I dropped everyone with a gun in a kilometre radius. There were over a hundred of them, but I didn’t discriminate) or when he recounts C— saying “your problem is that you care less about being a saviour than you do about meting out punishment.” These are all details that aren’t very relevant to the grand scheme of events, but make him look bad. He’s spilling his guts to the ancient inhuman creature who made him a good; when he says ‘it doesn’t matter’ which bomb went off first, it’s true—humanity is gone anyway. He has no reason to lie. No personal account will ever be objective, but it isn’t a con.

▸Doyistically: This is the part of the story where we get answers. NtN was conceived as the first act of Alecto; THAT is the context in which the flashback chapters were first developed. We are in the final stretch, and there’s absolutely no narrative payback in introducing several chapters of a much-anticipated backstory only for the narrative to pull the rug under from the reader by revealing last minute that the truth is actually somewhere in the middle. AtN is going to be so packed that there won’t be enough space in the narrative for this kind of revelation, unless it’s really half assed, which I doubt. If we do end up getting a different account of events, it will be due to normal reasons like different people remembering details in a different way, but this is far from the kind of narrative gaslighting that was going on in HtN.

Yes I made this post for myself to link to in the future so I can point at it for #reference

[realbeeing]

some reflections from a time past

for several months during the pandemic i was literally doing nothing. like no career, hardly seeing other people, just straight up flaneur type idleness. i was living in Peru for most of 2020 (and years prior as well). we were stranded there because they shut down all the airports. before the news broke we had already wanted to leave, but now we were stuck there. there was nothing to do. i had some freelance writing work i would do online, but i had no job in Peru except occasional volunteering to teach kids art, but of course that had to be halted. i also gradually stopped responding to writing assignments for some reason. i was listless. and now we couldn't move freely around, we couldn't get a mototaxi into town, we couldn't go to a cafe and meet up with the few friends we had. we lived several miles from the main town, and probably 1 or 2 miles from a tiny village with like 2 stores that sold only laundry detergent and chips and fruit. we lived up on a mountain. every day i would check facebook groups to see if maybe the borders would reopen. i was trying to scheme all sorts of ways to get out and back to NY, maybe rent a car and drive all the way back. problem is there is no way of passing between South and Central America by road. then i fantasized about taking a random bus to some other Peruvian city. just to get out of this valley, i literally felt like i was caged by mountains. maybe the jungle could be nice, maybe down south in the plains. but in reality i was already in one of the more touristy centers of Peru, why would i go somewhere even more remote and lacking in Western comforts. which we had very little of already. not comforts like sushi restaurants and nail salons, more like good drinking water and health clinics. i did crave real cheese and trader joes chocolate peanut butter cups, but that was obviously out of the question.

the Peruvian government allowed one day for shopping a week and for some reason men had to be separated from women. so i had to walk all the way into town (a few miles each way) by myself. it was something to do at least. when you reached the market, a security guard made you spin around as they sprayed you with something, maybe bleach? a mode of disinfecting i suppose. they had a list of all the foreigners' names and kept track of when we would leave and go into town. i had to load up my bags with as much stuff as i could carry back, resting many times along the way. it was so eerily quiet everywhere.

anyway i had an idea i would write a book. so every day after breakfast i would climb up the steep mountainside behind our house, which had corn fields that belonged to someone who never seemed to come around. i'd just hunker down there with a huge bag of coca leaves which i was addicted to at this point, but didnt realize it. i actually didnt know for a time that coca was the basis for cocaine. i just thought they were nice leaves. i would chew coca with llipta and write manically in my notebook. eventually it did get typed up into a word doc but when i read it back i'm not sure it makes much sense. it was a strange time. i was in between worlds. i had already left the peruvian ayahuasca cult i'd been in for 2 years, and now lived on my own with my partner. but i had no idea what was next. i was so resistant to go back to the "real world" which i saw as oppressive and fake. i didnt know what i wanted to do or who i wanted to be. besides the fact that i wanted to be a rebel or free spirit. but i didn't feel that free, i had no money and no future vision and was scraping by on a flimsy ideal. rent was only like $400 which was great. we had spent months getting legal residence and were now able to live in the country, potentially forever if we wanted to. but i didn't want to anymore, even after all that effort, and i felt despondent. my digestive system had never fully adjusted to a third world country. my lungs struggled with the altitude. my partner and i were sick a lot. we still lived down the road from the cult. it had been a baby step in the right direction to get our own place but i needed a drastic change. i needed to escape out of this country, but couldn't. and even if i could, i had no idea what to do.

so instead i would wander through the mountains for hours, the winding dirt roads which seemed to keep going up and up into the beautiful clouds, passing the Mamitas who were carrying their verduras in a blanket on their backs or kids playing in the dusty chacras. our two dogs, who we had found on these same roads, would always follow along and sometimes other neighborhood dogs would join us, sometimes i was strolling with 8 dogs by my side. and when i was done and tired, i would just lay in any grassy patch i could find in the dry terrain and pull tarot cards over and over and write down the messages and smoke this potent Bolivian tobacco mix with calendula in it and scribble about art and philosophy until my hand went numb, with thick wads of leaves in my cheek. i never had a cavity before living in Peru and after i think i had to get like 6 filled.

when they opened up the airports again we immediately booked whatever ticket we could, which was to Panama, and then got a connecting flight there. we had to stay in Lima our last few days and i chewed my last few leaves in the hotel but i was already sick of it. i happily threw the rest to the wind, on a foggy rocky beach. with time to kill in Lima we got to see some old pyramids and i learned that it almost never rains there. the restaurants in Lima were the first ones where i saw QR codes on menus. that was so weird to me. we had arranged a convoluted travel itinerary for our dogs. i gained like 10 pounds immediately after getting back to America, it was like making up for lost time through ravioli. eventually i did figure out what to do, well that's kind of a lie, but thank God i don't feel listless like that anymore, trapped between worlds, i mostly feel in the flow of my commitments, with not enough time to get too existential about any of it

[daisy7beauty]

Invisible — Liz x reader

summary: Liz and y/n have been dating for almost a year, but recently, y/n feels like she’s invisible.

pairings: Kim Jiwon (Liz) x fem!reader

tags: high school, secret relationship, angst

word count: 1,3k

——————————

It had been almost a year since Liz and y/n began dating. Both of them came from completely different social circles, so it was a miracle they even met each other. While Liz was one of the most popular girls in school, known to be kind, helpful, and overall just a sweetheart, y/n could be described as a loner who didn't eat lunch in the cafeteria, scared of having milk dumped on her.

They first met in middle school but didn't have a solid conversation with each other until years later, when Liz lost her dog while walking him in the park. Coincidentally, y/n was just returning from her part-time job when she saw a small puppy running towards her, dragging its leach behind, and a very frantic Liz sprinting after him, waving at y/n to catch the dog from far behind.

After that whole fiasco, they sat on a nearby bench and got into a conversation. Y/n could relate to Liz. She herself owned a stubborn dog that would just randomly take off to far away land. Both of them remembered this moment fondly and considered it the start of their relationship.

They had started to walk their dogs together almost every day, talking about school and other struggles they faced in everyday life. It was comfortable, and Liz appreciated having someone who understood and respected her around. So, around three months after becoming friends, she asked y/n out on a date. To say that y/n was surprised would be an understatement. She had liked Liz from the moment she laid her eyes on her during middle school and never stopped loving her since. Imagine her surprise when Liz came to her after school once and shyly gave her flowers and a box of chocolates, asking her out.

It was like a dream come true. They began dating just a week before the summer holidays, so they could spend every day together without anyone bothering them. Y/n took Liz to her 'secret spot'. It wasn't anything amazing, just a secluded part of their local park with a small bench that overlooked the whole city, but Liz loved it anyway. It became 'their place', somewhere they could come when it felt like the whole world was against them.

It wasn't all sunshine and roses. When y/n announced their relationship to her parents, they forbid her from ever seeing Liz again. Even locking her inside her room for almost a week. Eventually, they came to an understanding, but seeing their reaction, Liz decided not to tell her parents about dating y/n. She understood, after all, Liz's parents were even more traditional.

Y/n was okay with not being open to the world. It didn't matter. Liz treated her as if she was her entire world, that was enough…at least until school started.

It started small, like when Liz stopped going to school with her, saying: “It's better for me to go with Yujin and Wonyoung. What if someone sees us and starts to ask questions?”

Y/n tried to be as understanding as possible. Liz was just afraid that someone would find out and report back to her parents, but lately, it started to feel like too much.

Liz wouldn't speak to her at school and avoided her like the plague. When she tried to set up dates, they had to be indoors and somewhere where no one from school could see them. Then she had just started rejecting them, choosing to instead hang out with Yujin and Wonyoung. It was always the same thing. “It's just so that they won't become suspicious, y/n, I promise.”.

One of the worst things that y/n had to endure was Liz constantly getting asked out. As the school's sweetheart, she had several secret admirers who left sweet notes in her locker. Y/n didn't mind them as much. They were probably too scared to ask her out, content with staying anonymous. The real problem was the hundreds, okay y/n was exaggerating here, the number of guys that had the guts to ask Liz out in front of the whole school. It would've been fine if Liz just outright turned them down, but she never did, always being gentle, not wanting to look mean.

The final straw was the resident heartthrob Yeonjun confessing to Liz during lunch. He asked her out on a date and gave her a rose. 'Her favorite flowers are lilies, you dumbass.' Y/n thought, almost laughing at how stupid he looked. She had already turned away, knowing how the rest of that interaction will play out. Liz was going to thank him for the flower and then gently reject him, saying that she's focusing on her studies and doesn't have time for a relationship.

“I'll think about it.”

Y/n froze for a moment before her head jerked back. Liz was smiling at Yeonjun, who had an irritating smirk on his face, as the girls sitting with Liz squealed, gushing at how cute they looked. Y/n just looked at the pair, her body refusing to move.

She jumped out of her seat, legs carrying her out of the cafeteria as fast as possible. Tears were streaming down her eyes, making it hard to see what was in front of her. Y/n headed out of the school, not caring about the bag she was leaving behind. She just wanted to get home so she could cry as much as she wanted without people looking at her weirdly.

She already had a hand on her bike when someone jerked her back. As she turned around, she saw Liz standing in front of her, a guilty expression on her face.

“What do you want, Liz?”

Y/n almost shouted. She was already humiliated enough and just wanted to get away.

“I'm so sorry y/n. I didn't mean it. I don't like Yeonjun. It's just that the girls were staring to ask why I kept rejecting everybody, and I didn't want them to become suspicious, so I just-”

Y/n cut her girlfriend off before she could finish speaking.

“It's always the same thing! You didn't want them to become suspicious? Then just say that you don't want to date anyone or that you don't have time for it. Your love life is none of their business!”

Both of them stood still for a moment before y/n started speaking again.

“You know what, I don't believe you. You just don't want to risk your reputation as the school's sweetheart. You'd rather cheat on your girlfriend than have someone dislike you. And are you that embarrassed of me that you can't even look at me in the hallways, or do you just don't want me dragging down your social status?”

The dam broke, and y/n just couldn't stop talking. Everything that she suppressed down, the way she felt every time Liz chose someone else over her just poured out of her.

“It doesn't even feel like we're girlfriends anymore!”

Y/n stood there, her chest heaving from talking so long, waiting for Liz to speak.

“Don't you have anything to say?”

Liz opened her mouth a few times, not knowing what to say.

A sound came from the school's doors. Wonyoung, Yunjin, and the rest of Liz's group stood there, obviously worried about their friend who just ran out of the lunch room after being confessed to by the most popular guy in school. Maybe unconsciously, Liz took a step away from y/n, looking back at her friends.

“I see how it is.”

Y/n said, sighing a bit, before turning around and sitting on her bike. She gave Liz one last look, the other girl not even facing her anymore, more concerned with how to explain this situation to her friends.

“I think it's best if we break up.”

With that she rode off, tears threatening to come back. It hurt, knowing that the person you love doesn't care about you anymore, but like with everything in life, this too will pass.

Y/n was still young, and who knows, maybe once they're older, their paths will cross again. Until then, we’ll just have to wait.

-end-

[lorillee]

Ok well its been a few hours i got some sleep and its time to share my thoughts and feelings on yakuza 0. Naturally i will be spoiling left andright so i will be putting this under The Cut

really, TREMENDOUSLY fun game i have not had this much enjoyment with anything in my life for the past several months. seriously seriously way too fun and im like genuinely considering attempting to 100% it.

this is partially because I NEEEEEEED to go back and finish all the substories but also i havent spent a whole lot of time with the minigames which is a crying shame because there was so much love put into every aspect of this game. And also because if i pick up thenext game in the series i will be staying up until 5:30 on a school night again. Which techinically i skipped class today because i have a sick note but still we donthave time for that sort of shenangianery right now. so the next game will proably be a thanksgiving break adventure so stay tuned

Ok. now lets get into final thoughts and feelings on the plot.

truly and honestly i think kiryu's story could have SEVERELY benefited from some streamlining. the issue is its a little bit all over the place and im not sure if thats because the authors had too many ideas and wanted to cram them all in, or too little ideas and needed to stretch the plot out to last for his assigned 8 chapters.

like the whole thing is kind of just kiryu being jerked around by everybody and everything around him and like . i dont know it kind of feels like we're spending a lot more time reacting to stuff that other people do as opposed to being proactive. i guess. im kind of struggling to put this into words

and like at the very end it kind of feels like his story is getting co-opted by majima's because the focus again jerks over to this random girl he's met for the first time and has like no attachment or personal connection to outside of being his boss' sister. You know.

like we go from framed for murder, have to prove my innocence so that my boss doesnt get roped into this and also i dont get arrested -> join real estate firm to secure incredibly valuable piece of property and also find the dude who actually killed that guy -> on the run from my original yakuza family because they all want to kill me -> Ok nevermind my boss bought their boss off -> ok yippee we found the owner of the land who is also my boss's sister -> oh no my boss is now dead his sister is gone and also they want to kill me again -> save his sister and beat up the guy who wants to kill us all . yippee the end

which like. Well the problem is its more like a series of events that follow each other and like obviously they have relation but theyre not really tied together in a way that makes it feel like a natural progression/buildup. like our climax does not really have that much to do with where we started off because shibusawa ISNT EVEN THE GUY WHO SENT THAT HITMAN!!!!!!! hes not the man who framed kiryu for murder and he's not the man that did the murder!!!!!!!!! Hes Kind Of Just Some Shmuck!!!!!!!!!!!!! and like it would be one thing if kuze was the final boss (which i would still be annoyed by because i seriousyl dont want to fight that guy anymore) because at least he's been causing problems for us since day one BUT HES NOT EVEN??!??!!?! like shibusawa has basically nothing to do with kiryu and its just such a baffling choice.

anyways so basically kiryu's story needed to be streamlined and aggressively so. the fact that it wasnt kiryu but MAJIMA who takes down the real killer is just like. well its kind of an insane writing choice. just all around. im also still a little salty the real killer was just some random assassin guy like Ok whatever.... kicks up dust cloud................. <- No im not bitter that its not nishiki..... yes i am................

additionally im ultimately still kind of baffled by the choice to have oda be the guy who sold off mikoto because i feel like it really wasnt . well frankly all that relevant. Like they didnt really do much with it and kind of left me feeling like Ok what was the point of all that then..........?.

honestly im half convinced that they constructed the overarching story around majima's side and then had to fenagle part of kiryu's into working with it which is like. well . a shame because its actively detrimental. i think if they had worked on giving mikoto and kiryu more of a connection then it wouldve flowed a lot better; like im thinking about the brief conversation they had in the hotel where shes talking about her insanely shitty life - if they had expanded on that more i feel like it wouldve done some serious legwork for making this not feel like 57 insane side tangents tacked on one after another

like mikoto is absolutely central to the story but she has basically no connection to one of the main leads outside of being his boss' sister - i guess like making oda the guy who sold her was their attempt to do something about that but its not like. well frankly its not like they really did anything with thtat. so i dont know its just kindof frustrating

i think majima's plot is a lot more compelling because its frankly a whole lot less complicated. mikoto is the heart of it and everything revolves intimately around her story and so like when kiryu's story bleeds into majima's via tachibana it feels a lot more like its being woven into as opposed to co-opting.

Ok well while we're talking about it i want to take this opportunity to talk about how tremendously happy i am with the way they decided to play mikoto and majima's relationship Because my main concern was that (especially with all the commentary from people in the game) it was going to be straight up "omg theyre totally in love.........." Again despite the fact that well they dontknow each other all that particularly well in a context that isnt immediate/impending life or death situation.

but nope THEY CAME THROUGH FOR MEEEEEEEEEE because ultimately in this sort of situation the absolute best thing you can do for everybody and everything involved is leave it vague and undetermined. all we really need to know for this to be compelling is that they care about each other and they care about each other a lot, and what form that manifests in is really kind of secondary. And of course the ending is like *chef's kiss* Congratulations you made me miserable. tremendously good job

its like really what i said in that last 4 chapter set roundup post u KNOWWWWWW i eat that doomed/star crossed ambiguous maybe could have been lovers stuff up like the very circumstances that brought them together and gave them the connection that they had is what keeps them apart SLAMS MY FIST INTO THE WALLLLLLLL like at the end when they run into each other for the first time in two years and she's finally regained her eyesight but he cant say anything to her because he doesnt want her to recognize him........................... FUCK!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! THE FACT THAT SHE NEVER EVEN KNEW HIS NAMEEEEEEE........... THE WAAAAAAAAAAATCH......................... (DRIVES OFF CLIFF

like as always the fact that its doomed to fail is truly what sells it for me. Maybe i want us all to be a little miserable. togheter<3

Personally i think mikoto shouldve gotten to kill the entire dojima family leadership but whatever (kicks up dust cloud

also genuinely insane how majima is just like Fine i guess with working with sagawa and his boss that tortured him in a pit for a year like buddy Youre crazy. these people suck can you please find a better profession

the car chase minigame was so good. THE HELICOPTER?!?!?!?!? THE MISSILES!?!?!?!??!?!???? Chef's Kiss. game that was made for me

[aita-blorbos]

AITA for ruining the remainder of a dying woman's life?

To be entirely honest... I do believe that I am "the ass hole" here. This is more of a confession or act of catharsis on my part. I just think... it needs to be said, somewhere.

So I (137, male, vampire; legally 42, male, human.) am — or rather, was — married to a woman of particularly high status (48, female, human). While I don't wish to be excessively rude to someone who I have already wronged, I feel it necessary to mention that this ex-wife, whose name I shall abbreviate as "B", is not very intelligent. To put it lightly.

This is relevant because I was never actually "in love" with her. I have never been "in love" in my entire lifetime. I specifically picked her out as a target, because I have wanted for a very very long time the kind of social status that she possesses. You see, she has a rare medical condition, barely detectable unless you really know what you're looking for — since she will likely die from this condition soon and I expect that it will make the news, I will avoid hinting at the specifics, but essentially, my unique position as a vampire and low ranking witch allowed me to detect this condition.

The thing is, the condition is treatable. I suppose a Good Samaritan may have approached her and informed her, and given her a pitiable few decades more to live. But instead, I saw an opportunity— I knew that she would die from this condition, natural causes so to speak, in just a decade or so from when I met her— and with as unpleasant a personality as she had, combined with her severe lack of wit, I was easily able to convince her that I, a "humble policeman," was deeply in love with her and wished to marry her. We were wed within a few months, and she was entirely fooled by my honestly low-effort ruse. This was all about eight years ago-- I was around 130, and she had just turned 40 (I proposed to her on her birthday).

...The past eight years have been hell. For both of us, I presume.

As I mentioned, she is not intelligent in the least, and her personality is absolutely vile. I had thought it would not be a problem for me, since it is only a decade that I would have to bear with it, and I am quite busy anyway as the head of a criminal organization (it's complicated). She, of course, doesn't know about this, or even that I'm not human. I have had to make severe compromises to placate her, since after a few months of marriage she picked up on the fact that I do not like her very much, and started accusing me of cheating on her, even going so far as to follow me when I leave in the middle of the night (to attend to my criminal duties). It got to the point where I had to appoint a temporary new head for my organization, and "step down" so to speak, lest she uncover the location and secrets I am keeping there.

...I described some of the things she's said and asked of me, one time, to a trusted colleague of mine. They were deeply offended and told me to divorce or kill her immediately, though I suspect they may have meant it hyperbolically (I cannot be certain, as I have a bit of a reputation for killing people, and they are aware of this). They said that "B" sounded "like a bitch" and "sexually coercive". I do not feel that it would be appropriate to go into detail here, but I will say that some of these experiences were indeed deeply uncomfortable.

However, whether she is coercive or not, it was my own choice to placate her where I could. Moreover, this feels really insignificant in the grand scheme of things, considering that I have been planning to take advantage of her premature death to inherit her title from the very start. All in all, I feel that I have suffered justly for my time with her, but it is true that I have ruined her chances of finding real love in the year or so that she has left. Though I am doubtful that anyone would have been able to put up with her revolting personality in this past decade, had I not duped her.

But, as the conscious instigator of this relationship, I do feel that I should perhaps hold the burden of responsibility for both of our suffering. I do not think I would make this choice a second time.

TLDR; am I in the wrong for preying on and pretending to love a dying woman who would not likely have found love even if I had left her be? Especially considering that this choice resulted in a horrendous relationship that neither of us left for almost the rest of her remaining lifespan. I'm pretty sure that if I had done nothing she still would have died resentful and alone, but at least neither of us would have experienced this.

[ryutarotakedown]

susato for the character ask game! if she’s already been sent in then olive/viridian :^)

AAAAAAAH THANK YOU!!! im doing both because i feel like i say everything i think abt susato immediately on here lmao so i probably have more olive thoughts than anything

headcanon A: realistic

susato is autistic. sososo autistic. and as a result she learned most of her Way of Speaking (and english in general) from the herlock sholmes zine serials, which i think is actually pseudo-canon according to an interview with the localizer janet hsu? but anyway at one point she says something like “it is a great joy to know what emotions lie behind that cold mask” with the utmost politeness to, like, maria or somebody, and iris is like. ohh susie! i think i know where you got that from! ^-^ and susato has the delayed realization that half of her prepared lines were written by a ten year old

also susato has really good sea legs considering she's spent like [thinks] eight whole months at sea by the time she arrives in japan post-canon

i really like that one fanart with the headcanon that olive needs glasses!! i also think that she had severe anxiety as a teenager (and still does, it just manifests in a different way now) such that she had trouble speaking at all at times (selective mutism) which is how she got to be so fast at painting arrows on her palette thing. it's lessened a bit by the time we meet her but she likes doing it for emphasis anyway

headcanon B: while it may not be realistic it is hilarious

i cannot find the fanart for the life of me but please know i am always constantly thinking about that one comic where susato flies away with her hair loops flapping like a bird's wings. i am haunted by it.

on a more original note i think susato should consensually steal iris's smoke gun so she can go try to shoot her initials into the walls of the mikotoba mansion again. "the problem with the Real gun, naruhodou-sama, was the recoil! but this one should do the trick :)!" she succeeds and also dyes her father's hair blue in the process. hey at least he matches with sholmes-of-two-months-ago now

oh god let's see, do i have any good olive headcanons? i think her middle name is viridian and the difference between her original and localization counterparts is that viridian hates the color olive and olive hates the color viridian. they're both so glad their parents gave them two options.

headcanon C: heart-crushing and awful, but fun to inflict on friends

maybe i should have put this one in "realistic" but: consider the fact that susato arrives to london early the second time because she didn't get on the same boat as her father. consider that after they find out about him, both ryuunosuke and susato think it's possible that yuujin knew kazuma wasn't dead (even though this is disproved immediately after they tell him about it). consider susato running away from ryuunosuke after telling him she has to leave in 1-5. anyway i think avoidance is susato's main coping mechanism and she chose to spend 2 more months alone on a ship with no one she knew because she couldn't bear to look at her father for more than three seconds without making herself sick with wondering what he was hiding

i thought for so long about olive but the thing is. i genuinely don't think i could make her story more tragic than it already is without making it just, horrifically dark, you know? i thought a bit about whether she would be executed for attempted murder but i do think the system of tgaa is more lenient on that than the actual modern ace attorney universe, so. let's see — canon says she has parents and that she and duncan were waiting to graduate before telling them about their engagement, so i think they tried to talk to her after she dropped out but the selective mutism kicked in for like. a very long period of time. while she went to briar road every day, pretending not to hear them calling after her that this wasn't healthy. she heard them talk about possibly institutionalizing her behind her back and figured, what's another straitjacket. after she gets placed in prison they do come visit her and try to hide that they're horrified that she would ever go so far as to poison someone for that ross boy who they never did approve of that much, but she can tell. she doesn't speak much to them. they still visit every week.

headcanon D: unrealistic, but I will disregard canon about it because I reject canon reality and substitute my own.

i have said this probably a million times already but susato should have Exploded in 2-5!!! she should have blown up!!!! she should have had a meltdown!!!! why don't we have a susato breakdown sprite other than her trying to chuck her book into the ocean!!!!!!!!!! also she spills everything to haori once she gets back and they kiss about it.

ALSO also this isn't "unrealistic" exactly but it is unbelievable to me that susato & haori are not canonically childhood best friends so i am just. going to canonize that. one extra word. there

while in prison olive keeps drawing anywhere and everywhere and more and more people join in until it's a whole underground movement thing, and 200 years later textbooks will say that the term and practice of "art therapy" originated from a felon convicted of attempted murder whose name has sadly been lost to the annals of history (her signature was stylized in all-lowercase like "olive green" so as to be Emo, and so they thought she was just making a statement about color theory)

[ritzcuit]

not to contribute to the booktokification of the industry or whatever but i do have to admit that genres by and large have never meant much to me Like if i say i like fantasy youd think oh wizards and bitches? you like magic? you like dnd? and what im saying is I like books about talking animals. bc thats what i meant. Bc watership down is. Idk what else to call it. adventure?? Its played out its stupid im over it

but if i cant use genres to explain what i want, which i very rarely can, Bc genres are likeeeee like i get it and it must work somehow but its like. different authors write differently. Or something. and their takes and what they emphasize are different. And so how am i to say which genre i prefer if by and large what im looking for isnt "I want there to be a wizard" but moreso "i want a good book" LOL LIKE IDK GIRL I CANT TAKE IT

mostly when i go to bookstores now its for manga bc at the very least manga has a VERY large indicator of whether ill like something at a glance: art style :-) ill read just abt any manga if i like the art style. genre isnt at all what i take into consideration...so i guess the analogous Thing to that is writing style? but that feels, by comparison, absolutely nebulous to define and if i think about it too hard im going to convince myself that written language is a mistake and hide in the woods.

i guess my real problem is i just need to open up to the idea of reading bad books HELP rather than spend several months trying to triangulate The Perfect Book

also by booktokification i mean i see the appeal of looking for Tropes when searching for a book. Which if we're honest genres are just tropes anyway...also its a tongue in cheek comment bc i know its not that serious. And i would never call a book spicy so im not contributing to anything.

[konigsrose]

Pt3 of König’s Rose… 🌹 we love protective König 😍

Things did not improve for Rose. The current political situation had resulted in some issues accessing certain literature she needed for her thesis. There was a time when a brief trip over to Russia - admittedly with several complicated documents to give permission - would have made it possible to see these documents in their originals, or at least decent copies of them. Now this was entirely impossible, and Rose feared she may have to begin an entirely new thesis after seven months of painstaking but ultimately fruitless work. Rose was very much aware that compared to the horrors being faced by those involved in the war, this was nothing… But knowing that didn’t make her own life any easier. She wouldn’t lose her position on the course, she was trapped in a contract for at least three years anyway, but it had seriously dampened her enthusiasm.

It didn’t help that she had other, less academic issues at the university too. The President of the university had a son in the second year, Markus; Rose was supposed to be one of his tutors. Unfortunately Markus was an absolute dolt with no respect for women, who had decided Rose wasn’t worthy to be teaching him. In fact, Markus was outright harassing Rose now, making disgusting comments whenever they happened to be out of earshot of others, and on a few occasions when he knew they were in a camera blind spot actually trying to touch her. He tried to play it all off as compliments, that he just wanted a chance to be with her, but Rose had made her feelings on the matter very clear. She had no real friends in Berlin to talk to about this, and knew that given her thesis’ already shaky ground, going after the President’s son for harassment probably wouldn’t end well. If he’d got into his second year without anyone doing anything about his sleazy, sexist behaviour, what was the point in Rose reporting him?

She had had a run-in with Markus as she was leaving the library today. There were no cameras in the stairwell, and of course, when she left the stacks he had followed. His usual litany of “compliments” followed her down the stairs, and he had tried to put an arm around her waist. Rose had pushed him off her, and he’d made a joke about her playing hard to get, but she had seen the momentary flash of rage on his face. Rose didn’t know how many times she would have to tell him she wasn’t playing hard to get, she really wasn’t interested, but it didn’t seem like it would ever go through his thick skull. She had cried on the way home, unable to help herself. Everything was going wrong, she was exhausted, she was broke, she was hungry, and she had never felt so miserable and so trapped. When Rose saw König by the lift as she arrived back at the building, she knew she was a mess, and tried to bow her head so he wouldn’t notice her puffy red eyes and tear stained face. She did not speak to him. He glanced at her, but did not say anything either, at least, not right away.

“What’s wrong, little Rose, had a fight with your boyfriend or something?” He waited until they were in the lift to speak, and König tried to keep his voice light, hoping a joke might diffuse the tension that the little metal box of the lift seemed filled with.

“Maybe if I had a fucking boyfriend that might solve one of my problems at least.” She spat, irritated by the comment. Did König really think she was that pathetic? At least if she did have one, he could put Markus in his place; he’d probably take no for an answer if it came from another man.

“I assume you are not crying because you do not have a boyfriend, then?”

“No, König, that’s not why I’ve been crying, I’m not that pathetic. Actually, I probably am that pathetic, but right now being single is the least of my worries.” Rose was about to cry again, she couldn’t help it, and bit her bottom lip hard in an attempt to stop a sob escaping. König was silent. Rose made him feel more nervous than he felt out in the field sometimes, just forming words around her was difficult. When the lift arrived on their floor, he turned right, rather than left, and walked with her to her door, still in silence.

“Do you…” he hesitated, nervously. “Do you want to talk about it?”

“Seriously? Why would you want to listen to me crying and wailing about my own stupid choices ruining my life?” Another tear had escaped, though Rose desperately tried to blink it back.

“I do not want to leave you alone like this. It is not right for a crying girl to be left to cry alone.” Rose looked into König’s face above her, and saw nothing but earnest concern. She hesitated; but she needed a friend, and he was the closest thing she had right now. She nodded, opened the door, and he followed her in.

“Tell me.” He said, simply, sitting on the loveseat against the wall, his huge, thick thighs taking up most of the space on it. Rose’s already wobbling resolve broke, and she allowed the words to spill from her as she collapsed into the little space next to him.

“It took me 4 years of study and then 3 more working to save enough money and be accepted on this fucking PhD, I’ve given up a decent job, a flat where I actually had nice things, my family, my friends, all for this SHIT! I spend all day doing other people’s fucking work, the war means I can’t even access what I need for my thesis, I get harassed by some untouchable dickhead constantly, I can’t afford to fucking eat most days, and I’m still years away from completing my stupid doctorate. I can’t go home, because if I go home I’ve wasted the last 7 years of my pathetic worthless life for nothing!” Rose’s wild ranting dissolved into sobs, face buried in her hands, as her whole body shook. König sat there, completely at a loss for what to do. He did not do social situations in general, and this was a particular social interaction he was wholly unprepared for. When he saw crying women it was usually in the line of duty; comforting them was not a part of his job. He placed a massive hand on Rose’s shoulder, and awkwardly patted it.

“Little Rose… I… do not know what to say.” He thought for a moment about each of the things she had listed. Most of them he had no help for, but the part about being harassed; well, that he could deal with, at least. Part of him wondered if hugging her would help, and he longed to let her cry on him, to hold her tight in his arms until she had calmed but… He didn’t have the courage to do that, fearing that given she was already being harassed by one man, the arms of a relative stranger may not be what she needed. “Who is he? Has he hurt you? Why is the dickhead untouchable?”

Rose let out a dark laugh at that last question, for some reason the phrasing of it amused her in her hysterical state.

“He hasn’t hurt me but he says things, disgusting things, and tries to touch me. I’ve told him a hundred times to leave me alone but… He’s the son of the university President, he can do what he wants. He knows where all the cameras are, and even if he got caught they’d probably just pack me off back to England anyway.” König’s fist was clenched on his knee, and the hand on her shoulder seemed to tighten painfully.

“I could… talk to him. Once I have spoken to him, it will not happen again, I am sure.”

“No, König. I appreciate the offer but… I don’t think that would be a good idea. I don’t want you to get in trouble. He’ll get bored eventually.” Rose, even through her tears and tumbling emotions couldn’t quite believe he had just offered that. He barely knew her, they had only spoken a few times, why on earth would he be offering to do such a thing for a woman he had only just begun talking to? Maybe this was another one of those soldier things, protecting the innocent or something like that, like it was his duty to look after her?

The confusion had at least distracted Rose from her tears, and she wiped her face with her hands, looking up into König’s pitying expression. Mein Gott, he thought, she was pretty even when her green eyes were bloodshot and puffy from crying. He wished he could find something else to say, something to fix it for her. She said she couldn’t afford to eat… Maybe he should offer to buy her dinner? But that would mean he would have to take her to dinner, and make more conversation, find other things to say to her - the thought of it made his lungs feel like stone, unable to breathe. Sheiße, why couldn’t he just talk to her like a normal person, without his stupid brain disconnecting from his even stupider mouth. She looked so small, so soft compared with his massive muscular bulk, and he was beginning to feel even more anxious with the way she was looking so intently at him.

“Thank you, though. For the offer. And for letting me vent.” Her hand reached out to the one on his knee, and wrapped around it, tiny compared with his. It was warm, and soft, compared with his calloused and scarred skin. König’s heart began to pound in his chest, his mouth going dry, as she continued to stare up into his eyes with that sweet, desperate, sad look on her face. He needed to get out of here, needed to get away, before his panic took over completely. He pulled his one hand quickly from her shoulder, the other from under her soft fingers, and stood up, eyes darting around for an escape. Rose jerked back in shock, afraid she had done something wrong.

“Sorry, I, um…” She stammered, eyes full of fear.

“I hope you will feel better little Rose. I will leave you, now.” He managed to mutter, before leaving the flat without so much as a glance behind him. Rose’s heart sank as the door closed. She finally had an opportunity to make a friend, and a really kind, chivalrous, gorgeous one, and had scared him off already.

König returned to his own apartment and sat on the floor, his back to the cold wall for a minute or two to try and let his heart return to a normal pace, desperately trying to even his breathing. He hated that he felt like this over something so simple as a conversation with a pretty girl, when he could put a bullet through a target’s eye from hundreds of metres away without so much as a blink. He knew he had never been good with people, it was why he preferred to stay silent most of the time, why when he wasn’t at work he preferred to be in the gym or in his apartment alone. What was he thinking, when he had followed Rose to her apartment? Did he really think he could make her feel better? He had probably only made her feel more awkward, Verdammt! Well, there was one thing he could do, even if she had asked him not to get involved… That little Arschloch would never touch her again.

It was not hard for König to find the name of the man harassing Rose. The University she was working and studying at was fairly obvious, given the location of their apartment building, and it didn’t take much work to find the name of the President, and then the name of his son, especially with König’s military connections. He knew Rose had warned him against seeking out this stupid little man, but he also knew if he did things right, she would never need to know he had anything to do with it. A drunken accident, perhaps, was in order; nothing too severe, maybe just make sure his hands would not be reaching for Rose again. The last thing Markus heard, before the pain took over, was a deep male voice speaking in German.

“You will not lay a hand on my little Rose again.” It was not a request.

When Rose next saw Markus, he had a black eye, and two broken wrists. Apparently he had fallen down some stairs and broken both of his wrists at once. This seemed like a rather odd injury, and the details were hazy even in the rumours… How would he also have ended up with a black eye if his wrists had taken the brunt of the fall? But he was a hard drinker and definitely partied hard; maybe the reason it was all being kept so secret was that he was high or drunk when it had happened. Rose wouldn’t put it past his family to want to hush that up, given his father’s position. She had the tiniest little hint of suspicion that maybe, just maybe, König may have had something to do with it… But she brushed that aside quickly, sure that there was no way König cared enough to get involved, especially after the way he had abruptly left her flat. Either way, Markus’ injuries seemed to have knocked the arrogance out of him. Still, the thought of König’s words rang in her ears.

“Once I have spoken to him, it will not happen again, I am sure.”

[girderednerve]

apologies dear friends i continue to be: a grouchy old man, obsessed with libraries

my new job is fine objectively like there is nothing wrong with it but my boss is very "do storytime, do more storytime, we must schedule storytime," and does not really listen to anything i say, such as 'i would like to do less early literacy programming so that i have some time to do programs for elementary & early middle schoolers,' or 'please schedule me on the youth desk instead of giving me nothing but unstructured office time, leaving me isolated & uninvolved in the day-to-day operations of the library, with which i need to rapidly develop familiarity,' or 'our desk schedule actually should not be rigidly set a month in advance, because we need to be flexible & can work out desk coverage on a department level,' or 'you actually do need to have a clear & specific plan for emergencies, including severe patron issues, & this plan should be communicated to all staff instead of vaguely stashed four folders deep in the shared drive'. (actually when i repeatedly pressed for clarity on who is in charge at any given time she posted an updated chain-of-command document which listed, for some reason, me? as third in line in case of emergency? which is just bugfuck)

it feels very frustrating & i know that many of these problems will resolve themselves as i begin to actually do programs—i haven't been able to because all programming at this library must have at least 2 weeks' advance notice, and i came onboard right after thanksgiving/needed time to get my bearings at least a little—so we can get some cute kid pictures to placate the board & build more of a sense of what is needed. but i still don't really know how to pull reports so i can't weed, i only just got ordering credentials this week & have had to find $2k of books to add to a library collection with which i am largely unfamiliar & for which i have absolutely zero circulation numbers, & nobody has actually given me an up-to-date budget (i am meant to guess, i suppose?). it feels kind of like a slow ongoing disaster; i know this feeling is partially because i have 2 hours' round-trip commute to worry & stew & so on, but i also am just like. girl you are a bad manager. you have persistent staff issues because you are not good at managing people. every meeting you are in is worse because you are in it. you cannot handle interpersonal tensions by having your assistant make friendly 'reminders' to all staff which are obviously about a single person, that never works. i have really strong feelings about management for a person who does not want to be in management! should probably try to walk that one off!

i cornered the adult services/sysadmin librarian today to talk to him about some stub ideas i have for kid programs about 'learning to code,' because we have (apparently) gotten lots of requests for this kind of thing, & basically everything on offer is just buzzwordy bullshit like 'make a bracelet that spells your kid's name in binary using different color beads!' or 'buy this expensive piece of edtech which will be unsupported in six months & anyway only introduces kids to our very closed environment!' or 'just let them spend some time on the computer, so their elastic little brains can pick up digital literacy skills by exposure :)'. so i had some ideas which seemed less like, um, nonsense, but i don't actually know how to code (am stupid) so i wanted to run them past him to get a sense of whether there was any real content there. i want to build a little model transistor & talk about why computers use binary. i want to use a makey makey to have the kids construct a sort of human circuit by holding hands, so we can model a logic gate. i want to write an if-then chart together & roll dice to determine which dance moves we do (cf. a ucla comp sci prof's exercises with her four-year-old). i want to use a makey makey to make a simple morse code transmitter so we can talk about encryption & transmission. i want to make an escape room so we can practice some very basic math & simple decryption (& also persistence!). i want to have tweens play scaled-down capture the flag to think about security. my boss just wants me to do three storytimes a week into infinity

anyway i am still marinating on my computer skills for kids concepts (it's mostly buzzwordy bullshit! even the stuff i want to do is kind of bullshit, lol) & plotting my wind tunnel/paper airplane prototyping program & figuring out when i can schedule my middle grade graphic novel book club. i am trying to figure out how this job might be doable. maybe someday i will want to go to work. america autem delenda est