#he’s not putting on the guise that he’s just a regular employee and this is just a job to him and not his life like it is to Tony

[daydreamerdrew]

Iron Man (1962) #62

[gallawitchxx]

hey bee so um I was scrolling through tumblr right, a normal wednesday night for me and I come across these tags right?

maybe wanna share more thots on this please?

You've put this in my head and now I can't get rid of it unless someone writes it

cc: @y0itsbribri

AJ & BRI MY SWEETS 🖤🖤🖤🖤🖤🖤

more harvest festival thoughts you say?

I DON'T KNOW WHAT HAPPENED BUT I WROTE 1.6K WORDS! PUTTING THEM UNDER THE CUT OMFGGGG

- - - -

mickey did a stint in prison--some run with terry gone wrong--& when he gets paroled his new p.o. sets him up with a job at a fucking harvest festival. cleaning toilets, emptying trash cans, picking up after all the little brats who run around eating half of a candy apple & then throwing the rest on the ground like goddamn animals!

fucking blows.

but he goes along with it because terry also got sent away & shanked inside, so he's dead now & mickey's free to live a different life.

he'd never say it out loud, but he wants a different life.

so, he works that harvest festival like his future depends on it, which it does, & vendors start to notice him, & then he's being asked to help around different booths & rides. a little fix-up here, a little "carry this to the car for me, will you dear?" there.

before he knows it, he's the harvest fest handyman.

pride swells in his chest. he looks forward to going to work.

the season ends. the festival packs it in until next year.

mickey gets a new job painting houses. he misses the folks & the smells of the festival, the woozy look of dumb motherfuckers straight off the tilt-a-whirl, even the fucking candy apple kids.

when the next fall rolls around, mickey asks his p.o. if he can get his gig back at the harvest festival. unfortunately not. someone else needs the short term placement & mickey's superiors like him down at the painting gig. no dice.

but the lure of the festival is too strong, too enticing, so of course, the first friday of the fest, mickey's dragging mandy down to the fairgrounds under the guise of some fucktwat x assface bonding time. "you like stupid shit like this," he spits, throwing his voice to throw her off his scent.

it's just like he remembered. everywhere they walk there are waves, "good to see you!"s, "we miss you this year, mick!" from familiar faces. he hides his blush behind his extra large coke & jumbo preztel.

when they hit the haunted house, the owner is outside, red-faced & screaming at some acne-scarred kid. mickey winces. he likes the old man, but he can be a hard-ass.

fuck, mickey's getting soft.

by the time he & mandy make their way through the house--mandy almost punched some scary clown in the face & mickey ended up scaring one of the employees instead of the other way around--the kid is gone & the owner's sucking down a cigarette & pacing like he's going to bore a hole in the ground.

turns out that kid was supposed to be working the whole festival, but something came up & he had to back out.

the haunted house is down one scarer.

mickey offers his services.

he fucking loves it.

mickey starts setting goals for himself--he wants to make some kid piss themselves. could he get someone to puke? how many jump scares in a night is too many? anything to spice it up for himself & the regulars he starts to accrue. tough kids with something to prove. mickey fucking takes down every last one of them.

before long, he's quit his boring ass painting gig to go on the road with old man jim & the haunted house. jim sees his potential, sees how hard he works, how much he enjoys it. pretty soon, he's covering for jim so he can get a night off & putting his math skills to use helping with the books.

nothing like the open road & a fuckton of kids just waiting to get the shit scared outta 'em.

a few years go by & old jim's starting to hate life on the road. his bones ache, his lungs are black with smoke, his cough terrible & he figures it's time to get out while he still can. spend some time at a beach or something. rest his weary legs.

he hands the keys to the literal house to mickey.

it's too much to run on his own, so he calls up the rest of the milkovich siblings. asks if they have anything better to do than to join him on the road. says that it could be good for them to get paid to run a haunted house after growing up for free in a real one.

promises them that every halloween, they'll be in chicago at the festival that mickey first worked at. they'll work the season & then hang around the ole neighborhood until the new year.

when september rolls around, the milkovich kids set-up camp at the fairgrounds. mickey's welcomed back with open arms, shown even more of the "behind the scenes" than before. he's earned it, he's one of them now.

the place feels like home.

mickey's the big boss now, he has tons of acne-scarred kids to run the actual show, but every once & a while he sees a group of punks that he really wants to show a good time & he hops in the house, taking up his old position behind a trap door in the hallway.

but one night, it's not a buncha punks that leads him to his old haunt. it's an alien-looking motherfucker, tall & glowing, face littered with freckles, a shock of red hair haphazardly atop his head.

mickey's gotta get closer to him. maybe test him a little. see what he does when the pressure's on & the walls move unexpectedly.

his palms sweat as he waits. as he peeks through the peephole in the trapdoor for the ginger & his friends to pass by.

when the time's right, mickey swings open his trap door.

the redhead launches himself back towards the opposite wall, his arm lifting like he might actually sock mickey in the fucking face. it's never happened to him before, so this would be a hell of a way for it to go.

but then, his arm is sailing smoothly behind his porcupine-looking hair-do, & mickey watches him come to land gracefully against the wall with his right leg hitched out in this fucking sexy ass pose, like that's what he'd meant to do all along.

"come here often?" the guy grins.

mickey's losing his mind, but plays it cool: "only on the weekends."

that earns him a dazzling smile, all white teeth & bright green eyes. mickey can't help but smile back.

the moment's broken by laughter from the rest of the mystery man's group, pulling both of them back from whatever cloud they were occupying in the middle of a fucking house of horrors.

mickey flushes. the redhead does finger guns????, gives a little embarrassed wave & then he's off, onto the next room.

when the fair's almost empty & mickey's almost done for the night, he grabs his pack of smokes & heads to the back of the house set-up, somewhere he's only been allowed to go now that he owns the joint.

he lights up.

he notices a figure walking up.

"'ey man, place is for employees only."

"what about friends of employees?"

fuck, it's the guy. the alien-looking one.

mickey clears his throat, "you throw finger guns at all your friends, red?"

he laughs. his face pink up & mickey wants to run his thumb against his cheekbones.

"hey, you gotta admit until then i was pretty smooth. used my last brain cell keeping it together back there."

"yeah, yeah, you did good. was impressed." mickey holds out the pack. "you smoke?"

"been known to, yeah."

the lighter snicks & then the redhead is leaning down. he smells like cotton candy and cologne.

they each take a drag.

the silence is nice. not uncomfortable, much to mickey's surprise.

finally, mickey says, "your friends ditch you or something?"

"or something."

there's a hint of spice to his otherwise smooth voice & he's looking at mickey like he could eat him alive.

"you gotta name?"

"ian," he says, holding a hand out to shake.

mickey takes it. "mickey."

ian looks to where their hands are joined. "woah, nice tats. no wonder they keep you locked up in the dark & away from the kids."

"not far away enough if you ask me."

their handshake ends before mickey's ready.

he's nervous. fuck, is that what this feeling is? all pesky butterflies in his gut.

before he can say anything else, ian asks: "so, if i come back tomorrow, you'll be here?"

"be here through halloween, man."

"but only on the weekends, right?"

mickey forgot he'd said that. wasn't true, just sounded good in the moment.

"naw man, i run the place. here every day."

mickey stubs out his cigarette, trying not to look at the delighted look on ian's face.

"you run the place? here i was thinking i was into some regular old actor type! didn't know i was talking to mr. haunted house himself."

"alright, alright, calm down. it's a fucking carnival ride, not some fortune 500 whatever-the-fuck."

ian takes his last drag and steps on the butt, twisting his leg in a similar pose as he struck in the haunted house.

"still pretty cool," he says with a shrug. "so if i were to have some thoughts about the user experience of the house, you know, a review, you're the one to tell?"

"a review, huh?"

"yeah, a pretty long one, mickey. could take a minute."

something hot flickers between them as they look each other up & down.

mickey pushes off the wall he'd been leaning on & heads towards the small door on the side of the house.

he swings it open & then turns back to face ian with a wicked grin.

"step into my office."

[selinakidreams]

hello!! this is my first ever collab and man o man am I happy to be participating in @buttershouse ‘s Magic March with so many talented people!! Please go check out everyone’s work, there’s so many delicious pieces to choose from.

without further a-due, please enjoy this 7k word mash of a magic coffee shop/witch/ college au that I have goin here

pairing: Sero Hanta (with a FUCKIN UNDERCUT !) x gn!reader (afab)

warnings: she’s WHOLESOME, implied sexual themes throughout and then actual smut at the end !! , sex on aphrodisiacs

a/n: thank you so so so so so so so much to @keishinslove @hiddenbluee @spikesbimbo @scorpiomoonslutt and @dymphnasprose for reading and beta-ing this big boi- you guys helped me so much and 🥺🥺 you guys seriously mean the world to me.

tag list: @hiddenbluee​ @undersero @sawam0chi

“Double double, toil and trouble, fire burn and cauldron bubble,” you hum as you steep black tea before shifting to the other part of your station so you could add the guise of vanilla to the milk you were about to steam. 

You hear a snort come from your coworker as she looks over to you before smirking, “You think you’re so funny,” she teases while heating up a chocolate muffin for the current order. 

“I do, I really do,” you muse, holding the metal pitcher up to the espresso machine’s steam wand. The distinct smell of the liquid luck wafts around as you begin blending it in with the milk; it makes you smile, a comfortingly warm feeling washing over you. 

You always hoped people stepped into the shop hearing about the rumors and whole-heartedly believed them; believing in the magic that went into each drink when they ordered something off of the special menus- and that it wasn’t just for the unique taste. 

When you first started out, you often heard that with each new employee, the magical feeling tends to die out sooner or later; the happiness of creating spells and potions for others fleeting with the ever-growing pessimism towards all things unexplainable. After working at the shop for three years, one would think the feeling would have caught up to you, instead you felt anything but. With each new regular whose eyes sparkled with excitement as you handed them their unique concoction of a drink, your smile grew wider. Sometimes the familiar faces would come back and whisper about how each drink gave them the right energy to deal with each individual situation… almost like magic. You could do nothing but smile, sometimes a coy little wink was added, exciting the customer more and more. They'd leave with a newfound pep in their step. That's what has kept you going for so long. All anyone ever has to do was keep an open mind and believe that true magic does exist, and when you do, it's almost as though a door opens up, full of delightful possibilities.

As you called out the finished order and thanked the satisfied customer, the shop’s entrance bell chimed, welcoming in the newest one. 

You look up and made eye contact with someone who seemed oddly familiar; you tend to remember almost every person that has shown up more than twice at the cafe, so the fact that you can't fully recognize him only shows that the cafe couldn't have been where you’ve known him from... You couldn't quite put your finger on where you've seen him before but you definitely couldn't forget the welcoming aura he radiated. With his black hair pulled into a ponytail, exposing his undercut, and his extra large t-shirt hanging off of his lean frame, he flashed a bright smile, heading up to the counter to order.

Accustomed to ‘hey’s, ‘hi’s, or even an immediate order, the first thing out of his mouth somewhat surprised you. With a tilt of the head and a squint of the eyes, he mumbled out, “.. You look really familiar.” as he tried to place the face.  

“You know, I was thinking the same thing...” you trailed off. 

After a few seconds of analysis with no conclusion, he seemed to shrug and let out a little chuckle with a passive “it'll probably come to me in the middle of my next class…” before his eyes caught sight of the menus off to the side. Not wanting to make it too obvious that you were tempted to stare, you aimed your gaze elsewhere, only occasionally sneaking a glance at him while he was preoccupied with the menu.

“Ahh… can I get…” he kept his sights on all the options he could, as if it was going to make him any more decisive. Part of you hoped to hear something special, something magical, only to hear, “uhh a… hot latte please?”

While a very solid drink, you subconsciously waited to hear a flavor come after it; staring at him, almost in a daze. 

“Did I forget something...?” Your eyes grew wide, mind blank, trying to come up with an excuse for the elongated silence but before you could spout something out, his smile grew as he rolled his eyes, “Oh, duh, I forgot the size!” A breathy laugh came after his revelation and your chest  felt lighter once the sound hit your ears. “Could I get a large please?”

“Yeah, absolutely!” you chime as you grab a large paper cup and mark down his order with a sharpie.“Will that be all for you today?” looking back up at him, your customer service smile makes its awaited appearance like clockwork as it did when wrapping up every order. His eyes darted to the full pastry case before he could conclude, causing an actual smile to grace your lips, “Tempted?”

“One way or another, yea,” he said with an undertone of something else being implied, causing your cheeks to heat up. The smile that he threw in there further caused a little flutter of your heart.  

“Well luckily for you, we just restocked, so you've got a wide range of goodies to choose from.”

He licked his bottom lip and smoothly responded with, “Well which is your favorite?”

“My favorite? Hmm… Well, I always love a good chocolate croissant whenever I'm drinking regular lattes. The chocolate adds in that kick of sweetness that compliments the lack thereof with the coffee and bonus, it's not too heavy where it will make you feel bloated.`` 

“You really know how to sell a guy… That sounds amazing. Could I have that, please?” the tone in his voice was playful, fun, possibly flirty- and that was something that you were not going to think about. He’s a customer; he might not come back when he wants his next cup of coffee.

“You want me to warm it up for you?”

“Sure!”

Picking up the prongs, you took the freshest croissant from the batch and placed it in the microwave oven, turning back around. 

You voiced his total with a soft smile, “Cash or card?”

“Card. uh .. Can I leave a tip on here?” 

Cue the airy sigh that left your chest. A man who knows to leave a tip: you were in love with him already.

“Yea!” you squeak before clearing your throat, “Yea, once you remove your card, the option should pop up on the screen!”

You throw one more smile back at him before turning around to start his drink, not missing the incredibly hard stare your coworker was giving you. You try not to look at them throughout the duration of making his drink.

Handing the handsome man his order, your hands lightly brushed against his and you fought hard to ignore the hefty thump in your chest. You looked back up at him and swore that there was a tint of rose dusted across his cheeks. 

You saw the beginning of his outburst before you could hear it. 

“Sero!” he said quickly, “Sero Hanta. That’s my name.” 

You smiled, sticking out your hand and saying your name, “I’ll be sure to remember it… Sero.” 

The rest of the shift went by pretty quick after that. Your coworker couldn't keep their mouth shut about how he was flirting with you and how you just so happened to be flirting back. You two were giggling so much that the rest of the shift just seemed to slip away and before you know it, it was time to clock out.

“Is there anything you want me to do before I head out?” you shout, asking the newly present night shift as you’re halfway out the door. 

“No no, we got it,” both your coworkers chime, “just hurry up and get to class!” one of them adds. 

Rolling your eyes, you wave goodbye, double checking that everything needed for class was in your bag before fully lugging one of the straps onto your shoulder and heading off.

The walk wasn't that far from the shop, luckily- taking your time and enjoying the world around you was such a cooldown from the hustle and bustle of your work shifts. 

The college town was quaint, warm, homely; It felt like everywhere was a short walk away- which it was. There was an ample amount of time for you to stroll to class after one of your shifts.

As you peruse down the street, you took note of how bright it felt this time of day and how soft the glow emanating from the sunlight hitting the trees was; the kiss of the sun heated your skin, allowing you to bask in the warmth of everything: the environment, the vibe, the mood. What a great feeling. 

Random thoughts passed in and out of your brain as you got to the entrance of campus- but the continuous train of thought halted at the station when the image of that man who came into the shop, the one with the undercut- Sero Hanta, popped up.

He was really attractive… where had you seen him before?

You mindlessly head towards the lecture hall, with the image of Sero’s face ever present behind your eyelids. The approaching building was a beautiful brick with ivy climbing up the side, a framed golden plaque near the large double doors announced that people were about to enter the Mirai Sasaki building- something you would normally stop to admire but today, you headed straight inside and towards your seat, still mentally preoccupied. 

Plopping down, you situate yourself, getting everything out; your textbook, notebook, pens, pencils and even a highlighter. You take a deep breath before slightly shaking your mind to wake up and concentrate on the human sexuality lecture that was about to start. Sero Hanta can wait.

Is what you told yourself and yet, the thought of him wouldn't leave you alone. It went so far as even hearing the professor call out his name. 

“So, I just wanted to clarify,” your ears perk up at the voice, “The article you gave us was about how unequal the orgasm ratio- the orgasm gap- is for women… but I feel like there is a new wave of um… feminine orgasm appreciation. Not to get too personal, but I know between my friends and I, we make sure that our partners always come… first.” He trailed off at the last part, probably coming to terms with the awkward phrasing he had ended with. 

You had to take a second to get a grip; too many things were happening at once and the one that held most of your attention was the fact that Sero Hanta blatantly admitted to wanting the girl to orgasm first. 

What a gentleman.

“Thank you for your… input … mister Sero- but with what you pointed out, it’s actually a perfect segway into the first project of the semester! If you notice in your syllabus, I typed a very vague title for the next class’s date. We're going to talk about it more next class but until then, please read the assigned articles by the next class and have a good rest of your day!”

While the majority of the class was packed and headed to the door, your eyes stayed glued on Sero as you mindlessly put things away. It seemed as though he was taking his time as well. Maybe he needed to talk to the professor? 

Seeing that your desk was now cleared, you slowly began descending down the stairs to get to the floor level, eyes glued to each step in front of you, mind somewhere completely different until your head is met with a firm back. With wide eyes, you step back and begin a stream of apologies, head bowed and eyes still on the floor as if you didn’t learn your lesson the first time. A warm chuckle hushes you accompanied with a light, “It’s alright, it’s alright!”

You look back up and are met with the mind-dizzying smile of the man who failed to leave your thoughts alone. 

Before your eyes could get any bigger, he murmurs your name. “So this is where I know you from!” He slightly cheered, lopsided grin growing comfortable. 

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“Hey! Hey- you guys aren't closing are you?” You hear a panting voice rush through the door- the complete opposite of the energy the cafe currently held. You and your coworker were just winding down from your shift, cleaning and making sure everything was restocked for the next shift, soft music aiding the mood. 

Sero was attempting to collect himself when he realized the two pairs of stunned eyes staring at him. 

“I just- I wanted to walk with you to class. If that’s cool,” he said to you, flattening his shirt down, “and maybe get a coffee.”

Warmth fills your face as you try to suppress a smirk, “in that order?”

The already flustered college student blushed just a bit harder. Before he could come up with a response, your smirk eased into a soft smile, “okay Sero, what could I get you to drink?”

He steps further inside and orders the same thing he got the first time: a large hot latte. It doesn't take long until the drink is in his hand and you're shooing him off to a table, “I’ll be done in like 10 minutes, is that alright?” you ask, hints of your customer service mannerisms kicking in. He nods and you get back to cleaning, unaware that your movements became a bit swifter. 

After clocking out, you’re met with an eager grin and a glint of something unnameable in sero’s eyes. 

“The coffee was excellent, by the way. Both times I had it. Do you do something to it? I feel like it’s so much more than just a simple latte.” 

You smile at two things, him opening the door for you, and the fact that he was absolutely oblivious to the fact that his drink is one of the few drinks you don’t add any magical properties to. 

“I make it with kindness.” You say as you two start your walk, intertwining your hands behind you.

“So mister Hanta… have you been stalking me?” 

His eyes grow wide as his cheeks taint red, “N-no! I just thought that maybe you work every shift that’s before our class.”

“Hmmm… So were you going to come by every day to test out your theory if i wasn't there today?”

“Well, luckily you were there, so I guess we’ll never know the answer.”

After you hummed out a response, the walk turned into a comfortable type of silent.

The both of you had several things passing through your mind, but outwardly, one was caught up basking in the fresh spring air while the other was admiring how the wind would slightly shift your hair.

Deciding to break the silence, you turned to face him, “Hey, so, why did you choose to take human sexuality?”

He didn't seem surprised to hear the question but he took a moment; it didn't seem like he was scrambling to find the perfect answer, it was almost like he just couldn't properly find the words. 

“Honestly, I love intimacy. I think its really cool that not one person’s views on sex and sexuality and the miniscule details within it, are the same.”

While the words you were hearing made sense, it must have shown that you weren't prepared for such an insightful answer because he let out a hearty laugh that seemed to go on and on, even after he took a deep inhale. 

“I’m sorry-” he choked out as he grabbed his chest, “your face just-” he gulped another breath of air, trying to regain composure.

Throughout his fit of laughter, you almost joined in a few times if it weren’t for you biting your cheek in attempts to keep the annoyed facade up. 

As soon as it seemed like he got it all out, you try to pull a convincing pout. 

“So what's the real answer, then?”

He cocks his head at your question, a smile still playing on his lips, “whaddya mean?”

“You're telling me that what you said wasn't just to catch me off guard?”

“Oh! No no, that's really why I'm taking the class. But i bet you thought i was going to say something asshole-y like ‘i just wanna learn more about sex so i could be better’, hm?” he said the last part in a dopey voice before smirking back at you.

You rolled your eyes in return, “not necessarily, that was just a really… refreshing… answer.”

By the time you got to class, it seemed pretty full, which was a bit odd seeing as though there was still some time before the lecture started. Part of you was hoping that you could snag a seat next to Sero or he could snag a seat next to you- but both of your usual seats were surrounded by others already. There was also always the possibility that maybe he didn't want to sit next to you; you didn't want to get your hopes up so you turned to him, waved goodbye, and headed to your normal seat. Unbenounced to you, he physically slouched in disappointment before heading to his spot.

The lesson went on, and while he wasn't crowding your mind today, you subconsciously kept stealing glances at him throughout the lecture in hopes that one of the times you'll find him glancing back at you. The only time you did catch him staring at you was with wide eyes when the professor announced that you two were going to be partners for the upcoming project.

“So I guess this means it's an appropriate time to ask for your number… I wanted to ask you for it but I didn't want to move too fast…?” he said as you two approached eachother after class, cracking a shy smile while he absentmindedly scratched the back of his neck, a subltle flex of his muscles on display. It was a bit hard to concentrate with a combo move like that attacking you, as if he was going in for the kill. 

“I wouldn't have thought it was too fast.” you softly counter, flashing him a tender smile.

It was one thing to feel the heat go to your face, it's another to visibly see it appear on his.

You both traded phones at the same time with the promise to text each other later that night; you put a little coffee emoji by his name while he put the sun next to yours.

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Sitting at the furthest table away from the register, you start to unpack your laptop and make yourself comfortable- you're gonna be here a while. Powering up the device, Hanta pulls at the seat across from you and begins to mimic your movements. 

“So you want our first project meeting… at a coffee shop?” you start, trying to keep the smile from coming onto your face. Looking up at him would mean automatic defeat seeing as it's getting harder and harder for you to look at him without your lips twitching upward.

“I thought it would be very symbolic.”

A snort greeted both of your guy’s ears as your eyes went wide and your hands shot up to cover your mouth. “Anyway, so the project.”  Blushing around him was starting to become a regular occurrence, as well.

“Right,” he says clapping his hands and rubbing them together.

“So the project is to point out common sexual misconceptions and back it up with statistics and research articles. The fact that we got dibs on the misconception of the orgasm gap all because you had bragged about your personal sex life…” the thought alone shot a wave of warmth down your spine and right to your lower region. A flash of a Sero you hadn’t faced yet appeared in your imagination; him looking up at you, hungry and eager to please. It made your breath hitch. 

“Well, yea! I had to voice it. I mean, I feel like it’s common sense! When you have sex by yourself, then you can focus on what makes you feel good and what makes you cum. But when you’re with a partner…” he trailed off and your gaze snapped to him, “you should make sure they cum at least once before doing… whatever you two.. had.. planned on… doing.” Sero finished, his eyes flickered between your eyes and lips. 

Oh fuck. 

You felt yourself throb. 

“Y-yea! Uh I completely a-agree.” 

It’s almost as though he could tell that you were flustered so just to top it off, he smirked, “Good. I’m glad we’re on the same page.” before deciding to drop it and move on.

He took a sip of his drink and sighed, “You guys really do make the best coffee. I got the same thing as I did with your place and yet… I'm here longing for your coffee.” you snort once again.

After that, the conversation eased into the project and what exactly needed to be done; the assignment was very simple but sorting out what dates you guys were going to meet up and how exactly you were going to go about gathering the information was all crucial. The project was due in a month and needed to be submitted in powerpoint format- which the both of you were relieved about.

It was really cute seeing Hanta’s eyes all lit up when it came to the part of how you two were going to go about getting all the information needed. He even suggested to conduct a little side research if you guys were ahead of schedule. It was something that made your heart patter. It was almost like you had smelt some of the charmed rose petals from work because every time you looked at him, you couldn't stop the warmth that flooded in your chest.

With that thought, there was the fact that he was more than likely going to be spending large amounts of time at the cafe- would he notice? Should you just come straight out and explain it? Explain that you were considered a witch, someone who was open-minded and was in tune with their intuition and can work with certain herbs, charms, and spells to create wonderful things? It didn't seem that big of a deal to you, it was something you had grown up with; simple spells and practices that just made day to day life more simple. Not every witch has been through the same childhood you had, there’s no special school- not that you were aware of, anyway. Your parents kept their grimoire out in the open and let you frolic about as they eased basic wholesome rituals into your life, and when you got old enough, they let you take in chapter by chapter each spell they casted, each potion they brewed. 

When you applied at the cafe, your first interview was full of normal questions worded in a way that almost sounded like it had a double meaning, thankfully you caught it and later was asked for a second interview- conducted by the boss himself. He had asked you to perform a basic potion/drink you grew up with, something that made you feel like you were walking on air. It was simple; a butterfly pea tea with a breath of life, with just a little bit of lemon activated the spell in the brew. When the well made drink hit his tongue, he offered you the job not a second later.

No. You wouldn't tell Sero yet. It never came up; It’d be odd to tell him straight off the bat- there's really no need. If he ever asks… then you’ll tell him.

But he hadn't so far.

Each meeting so far felt incredibly productive. It seemed like getting work done came naturally, with the topic being easy to discuss between the two of you and getting the articles to support your claim was fairly simple- apparently a lot of studies have been done about people’s orgasms. 

Since drafting up a skeleton outline the first time meeting, the bits and pieces really started coming together, but the get-togethers sometimes didn't go as planned- however, what was a constant was that no matter what the meet-up consisted of, there would always be a paper cup from your work, filled with a hot latte.

Some of the days, rather than working on the project, the two of you would use the allotted time to sit in your cafe and goof off, or sometimes you would host “tea time” in your apartment and talk about anything and everything- and it was okay because very early on, you both gathered all the adequate articles that involved your topic and sifted through them to get the statistics you needed. Collecting the data was simple enough and putting it together just came easy to you. 

Looking up from your laptop, finally done with sorting all the cited sources in each slide, you wave your hand at Sero to get his attention. Hanta was working on phrasing the facts and statistics from each work, so when he tilted his head up, gaze still on the screen until he finished typing the last sentence, he took his headphones out and hummed as he looked at you. 

“You get the same thing everytime we’re together… why?” 

He glanced at his almost empty cup before fully taking out his headphones, “I get it all the time because it really is the best latte I've ever gotten from a cafe before. I tell you this all the time.” 

“You never… wanna try anything new?”

“Is there something in particular you want me to try?” he asks, quirking his eyebrow upwards.

“Well no, not necessarily…”

“Well then how about you give me a recommendation? What’s a drink you think I would love?” 

This one stumped you for a minute. Though the thought had crossed your mind quite often, you couldn't quite pinpoint which special drink he’d appreciate the most. Something warm… something reflecting how you feel about him.

“I think that you should get the Time Flies; it's this black tea latte with orange zest and it's really… cozy.”

“Okay, I'll try it the next time I go.” 

And he did. The first sip he took felt like smooth gold hitting his tongue. So warm and rich that it had apparently induced the vivid image of the sunset from his grandmother’s porch. He was remembering the orange glow of everything the light touched. The whole day, he was feeling incredibly nostalgic, he even did some of the things he used to do when he was a kid, like watch old black and white movies and make dinner with his mom (even if it was through a phone call).

He told you all of this with one of the most handsome smiles you've ever seen, and that's saying a lot.

˚✧₊⁎⁺˳✧༚16 oz Love Me or Love Me Not with oat milk, hot; our very own pink rose syrup (enchanted candied petals inside and dried petals on top) steamed in the milk meets a double shot of espresso for a deep, sweet, cozy drink˚✧₊⁎⁺˳✧༚

 “So,” you start once everything is situated on your living room table, the two floor pillows that play hosts to your guy’s lower halves sit diagonal from each other.

“So.”

“Everything is practically done, I just wanted to… call this meeting so we could just quickly skim over it and see if there was anything in the powerpoint that needed fixing and or adjusting.”

“Very reasonable reason to call this meeting but both of us have been looking at this practically nonstop… so I’m pretty sure it's good.”

“Well it’s due next class and I know we finished it up a few a couple of days ago but… there is absolutely nothing wrong with striving for perfection. And if anything, I’m trying to save your reputation.” he choked at the accusation you were attempting to make, “Oh yea! How are you going to get away with making that bold statement in front of the class, do a whole project on it, and then just… have it not be anything short of jaw dropping?” you didn't even wait for him to speak, “exactly. Your rep is on the line, I'm just the sorry person who got stuck with you.” You smirk, driving your ludacris point home while crossing your arms over your chest. 

Scoffing, he leaned over and lightly shoved you, “we got to choose are partners for this project! You chose to be with me!” his cry caused a chuckle to fall from your mouth as you readjusted yourself onto your pillow, “that's neither here nor there.” you try your best snotty act as you stick your nose up in the air.

“Okay okay then, your grace, let us go over the powerpoint,” he jested along and gave you a slight bow.

After a quick runthrough, everything seemed spick and span, so the two of you became more relaxed and sunk into the larger floor pillows once again. 

“So… I noticed that you finally got something from your shop.” Sero gestured over to the other paper cup on the table. “I have never seen you with your own coffee before, why today?”

Your cheeks involuntarily began to heat up; the drink he was referring to was none other than the Love Me or Love Me Not. Usually, you never went out of your way to make it, but for the occasion, it was necessary. It was the last time you guys were going to meet up for the project and you just… had to know. 

Let it be known, messing with love potions wasn’t your forte, you preferred for everything romantic to be consensual and untampered with- that's why this brew in particular was one that you preferred out of all the ones that are out there. When made correctly, the person drinking it should be able to look at their crush (in person) and if the crush liked them back, then the drinker would get a fierce wave of goosebumps; if the person did not like them romantically, their head world ache for just a few minutes before going back to normal. Simple and effective, plus no one gets roughed up or drugged.

Not a single sip had been taken yet, you were on edge about the situation. This was the first time you had ever made it for yourself, and it was pretty nerve wracking to see if this man who you began harboring feelings for liked you the same. 

It’s surely gone cold by now but that wasn’t going to stop you. “Oh! Uh- I was just really craving this drink today.” You say lamely before bringing the cup to your lips and taking a gulp. 

The smell of rose hit your nose before you could register the taste. The evenly sweet syrup paired with the strong espresso danced on your tongue before you swallowed it. You softly sighed, it tasted delicious. Another sip slipped past your lips. 

A roll of relief cascaded through you when an intense wave of goosebumps rose on your poked at your skin, causing you to cough and sputter. Eyes going wide and squeezing shut as the coughs wracked through your body. 

He likes you.

While coming down from your fit, you semi glance at Hanta who had almost instantly appeared by your side, patting and gently rubbing your back. 

“Is there liquor in that?” He joked as he handed you your drink so you could have more liquid to ease your throat.

You shook your head after drinking some more and cracking a grin. It might’ve been too big of a smile for someone who just choked but you didn’t care. Sero Hanta… likes you. 

Unable to help it, you glance down at his lips only to realize how close he is. Your grin slowly drops, your heart pounding in your chest.

“Can I uh.. can I try your drink?” He says, face red with blush. 

As you go to hand him your drink, he leans in and cups your jaw- causing your whole body to still, even your heart stopped to join the languor.

 He peaks his tongue out to softly lap up a drop that must have been on your lip, before capturing your lips with his. 

It felt like your mind shut down, and all you can feel is how soft his lips are and how sweetly he’s kissing you. Almost hesitantly. 

He pulls away in attempts to find your gaze to decipher how you felt about it. 

Your breath is ragged as you look back at him- everything and nothing is going on in your head in that moment, unable to speak, until you see the goosebumps that coat his body. 

Your heart thumps impossibly faster as you realize that not only does he like you… but he truly believes. He believes in the two of you, he believes in love, and he believes in magic. 

Without another second to waste, you tackle him in a hug and find your lips on his in a way that you know you’ll never get enough of. 

special extra ! : you and Hanta in the fall- Season of the Witch with almond milk, hot; dirty chai latte with a bewitched cinnamon stick to help keep you warm ;) , even on the coldest of days ˚✧₊⁎⁺˳✧༚

The cold nips at your nose just as big hands nip at your waist, causing you to let out a noise between a squeak and a gasp. A flash of soft black hair blurred your vision before cold lips meet yours. “Hanta,” you sigh into the kiss before pulling away and giggling. 

You were heading back to your apartment after a day shift at work, the sky already becoming darker because of the autumnal equinox. 

“What are you doing? I thought I was gonna meet you at my place.” You say as your fingers intertwined and your step fell into pace with his. He pulled you closer so that you were basically leaning into him as you walked.

“You know those chocolate and pumpkin scones you baked for me? The special ones?” He quietly moaned. 

Your eyes go wide as he purposely guided your intertwined hands over his blatant bulge.

“Hanta you weren’t supposed to eat those until later, the spell usually kicks in within the next 30 minutes!” You giggle again. 

A few weeks after you two started officially dating, you formally sat him down and explained everything you didn't when talking about your guys’ past- the memories of frolicking through tall grass and talking to your mother’s familiar, to getting your job at the cafe. He told you that it was a lot to take in, but never did he push you away. When he went to the cafe, he was more observant. Somewhere in the months between June and July, he slowly became more and more interested in the rituals you would do and the potions you would make. He wanted to start joining in. Now in October, he loves seeing your crystals around your house and all the different herbs you grow in the sills of your window. When he found out that you could bake magical pastries with certain herbs, he almost immediately asked you to bake him some. At first, it started as something simple like a sage and rosemary savory loaf that helped cleanse your pallet of any negative energy. Then it started becoming more and more intricate, and that's how the two of you ended up here.

 “I know but fuck-- I was hungry and they looked so good, and now I’m hard and I need you.” he spoke lowly. 

This was going to be fun. 

The rest of the way, you were casually asking him things that shouldn't be heard in a public setting, “What is it you want to taste first, Hanta?”

“How badly do you want to fuck me into the mattress? Hm? Have your big cock stretch me out?”

“Wanna fill me up?”

By the time you both got to your apartment, there was no fumbling with the keys to get your door to open, you already had them out; getting through the door took three seconds tops. Next thing you know, your back was against the closest wall, your hands pulling at his tied up hair and scraping your nails against his scalp when the soft locks fell. One of his big hands lifted up a leg of yours and he groaned as he thrust upward against your heat.

“Fuck-” he panted into the kiss before trailing down your neck, still holding up one leg while the other hand finds itself under your shirt, his fingers hot to the touch. 

Releasing your leg and dropping to his knees, he looked up at you as he fumbled with the button of your pants. You lace your fingers in his hair, feeling him yank the material down your legs, tossing the one leg over your less dominant leg over your shoulder, and when a warm muscle hits your sopping clothed core, you pull his hair harder to apply more pressure.

“Look at me when I have you in my mouth, I wanna see how much you enjoy this.” 

You felt yourself clench, and apparently so did he, because a smirk grew on his lips. “Oh, you like when I say things like that?”

“H-hanta, please.. '' your voice wavered before you sucked in a sharp gasp. He had a finger, then two inside of you in no time, the other hand keeping the underwear out of the way so his lips could wrap around your clit.

He was pumping in and out of you faster and faster, occasionally switching the pace to unbearably slow and when you would whine, he’d tilt his head up, mid lick, to throw you a teasing glance before picking up the pace. He bagan curling his fingers, hitting a spot that had your eyes rolling and with the pressure building up, it had you panting out a breathy repetitive stream of his name. 

“‘M gonna cum Hanta, hh-” you moaned out before clenching your eyes shut, your body involuntarily shaking above him. And right below you, he was ready to lick up everything you had to offer.

Holding you steady as he came up to kiss you, your juices still on his lips, “you ready for me, sweetheart?” he asked when he pulled away. The short sobering moment hit as soon as he scooped you up and carried you to the bedroom, but after he tossed you onto the bed, the look he gave you as he was unbuttoning his pants drew your mind hazy again.

“Can't wait to pump you full of my cum, to have you a drooling mess because of my cock.” he huskily whispered, giving you so many delicious previews of how the night will go. “You want that, pretty? Use your words.” he said as he crawled over to you and caged you in. The scent of cedar wood and citrus clouded your senses.

“Yes please Hanta!” you whine, “wanna feel stuffed b’cause of your cum. Please fill me up--” you whimper out, cutting yourself off when you felt his leaky tip at your wet entrance. 

Just like each time you two have been intimate, he guides himself slowly until he's in to the hilt of his pelvis, “shit, squeezing me so hard- c-an i move?” he moans out. 

Unable to form coherent sentences, you frantically nod and squeak out, “yes!”

With your permission granted, he eases in a thrust before he starts snapping his hips into you.

“Fuck, look at you, milking my cock so good-” he moaned, as he leaned in and kissed you. Each sharp thrust jolted you upwards, proving just how powerful his thrusts were. You threw your arms around his neck for the slight stability.

You began to let out little moans into the kiss that spurr him further; everything was beginning to get to him. How tight you felt around him, the feel of your tongue against his, the sloppy wet noises of your cunt.

“I’m gonna cum-- i'm gonna cum!” he choked out. 

You clawed at his back while whimpering pleas for him to fill you up, “fill me up with your cum, your cock fills me so good, please Hanta, more- more!”

You were clenching around him hard, and to bring you right to his level, he found your puffy clit and began a quick circular motion that made your jaw go slack, causing more frequent clenches.

His mind blurred as he pushed himself the deepest he could, moaning out your name and a gruff curse before emptying himself into you. 

You felt him twitch inside of you right before hot seed coated your already warm walls, and that’s what pushed you into a convulsion of ecstasy. 

He lazily humped his hips into you as you rode out your high before pulling out and rolling next to you.

Calling out your name to bring your attention to him, he pulls you into his chest where you could feel his racing heart, “what if… I started singing that song from hocus pocus? You know the one..” 

What a goof, you thought to yourself, playfully smacking his chest as you roll your eyes, looking up at him. 

“I put a spell on you… and now you're mine…” you begin to whisper, earning a hearty laugh from you boyfriend.

Maybe it was mutual, but quite possibly he had put a spell on you. And you were more than okay with it.

[sadachmesarthim]

yes this is a rewrite, feel free to fry my ass on anon about it.

content: starker being mean to each other, peter parker has Supportive Friends™, tony has daddy and mommy issues, quentin beck is a Mean Boss™, smoking, secondhand smoke.

word count: 3.0k

square filled: coffee shop au  -> link to playlist here

part two is here!

a little vocab lesson before continuing: mobster = really high up in the chain of command for this group of coffee shops. they go around training new hirees, and often decide who gets to move up the line of command. they get to travel on company money, and are very well respected in the workplace. mobsters usually come in groups - siblings, hires from the same groups, etc. 

Tony didn't like Richland.

Sure, okay, it was a serious step up from Federal Way. He was free from his parents, he could do whatever he wanted in a house all to himself, no one knew who he was - it was a refreshing change, one he definitely needed now that he was graduated, all grown up.

He'd moved back east about two months ago. He'd wanted to get as far away from home as possible, stretch his legs - he went under the guise of missing his grandma, wanting to go to school. He wasn't a terrible liar, either. Howard and Maria'd eaten it up, encouraging him to go as soon as he could.

"If you go now, you could get there in time for summer classes. Maybe even get a job before they stop hiring seasonally. You never know, but you might as well try!"

So here he was. Still jobless, still not yet enrolled in school. Enjoying his time in the (now autumn) sunshine, biding his time before he ran out of money. He'd planned well - he had enough cash to keep him covered for a while, as long as he didn't go blowing it.

He'd blown it.

He was a sucker for good coffee, though, and he missed Outback. He'd worked at one back home for almost a year before he left, and now... now, it was like an itch he couldn't scratch - he needed the interaction, needed to go make friends. He was too much of a social butterfly.

Yet again, he found himself in his truck, on the way to the nearest stand. He was pathetic, really. Here he was, wasting more money on coffee, when he could be out hiking or climbing or... literally doing anything else.

He knew it was worth it the second he pulled in. The cutest kid was running lines that day - shorts hugging his tight ass deliciously, in a way Tony knew his operator would get in trouble for if a Mobster or Coach saw.  Christ, they lettin' just anyone work here now, that it?

He had to keep his thoughts to himself, though - the kid had just finished the cars in front of him, and was headed straight for Tony, iPad in hand. He took a breath, putting on his best poker face. He needed a fucking cigarette.

"Hey handsome! Welcome to Outback, what're we drinkin' today?" Shit, he's cute. All bright and cheery - it might be fake, sure, customer service voice and all - but boy, did he play the part well. All big eyes and wide smile. He looked up at Tony expectantly, right hand hovering over the screen of the runner iPad. Shit, he still has to order something.

"Hi, just a small iced white vanilla breve please." Tony watched as the kid pressed a few spaces on the tablet, shocked at how fluidly he moved. Tony'd never seen him at this location before, but he obviously knew what he was doing. Location transfer, maybe? Mobster? He wasn't sure.

"Perfect! I've got you in - anything else, love?" God, he was too much. There's no way this was just the sickly facade Outback enforced - no, this was all him. "Nah, I'm okay. I'm paying card today, too." He reached his hand out for the tablet, wanting to tip this kid specifically.

"Oh, I'm so sorry, this card reader's broken. The one up at the window's working though! My girl Maia'll be up there waiting for you!" He turned with a smile, skipping off to the next car.

Jesus, who was this kid? And what did Tony have to do to see him again?

•|||•

Return an application, apparently.

Maia, the girl at the window, had let him know that they were hiring. He didn't have to feign interest - he had relevant experience, could work his way up if he needed to - and he'd get to see the mystery boy again. She'd ran and grabbed a small stack of papers for him, which he dutifully filled out and brought back a couple of hours later.

The closing shift lead had briefly interviewed him, practically giving him the job on the spot. Apparently she'd met his sister on a Mob trip, before - it paid to have connections, but damn... someone in town already knew who he was. Oh well. Not a big deal. These were still new people, fresh faces - he could make a clean reputation for himself, a fresh start...

It was exactly what he needed. And if he needed to use a bit of his influence with his sister to get it... so be it.

•|||•

"Emma, please, just... don't be a dick when he calls you. I need this job, it'll be good for m-"

"Save it, Tony. I don't want your excuses. If I say I'll do it, will you leave me alone?" She was being unusually short with him. Fuck. She and Rhodey were fighting again.

"Yes, yes, anything. Thank you so much." He was met with a bored sigh.

"Whatever, dude. I'll put in a good word. Talk to you later." She hung up before he could say anything else. Whatever - it wasn't the worst conversation he'd had with his sister, but it left a lot to be desired.

They hadn't been doing well since she & Rhodey got together. It was on-again-off-again... and they were honestly both to blame. Neither one of them was good at commitment, and it showed.

It put strain on both of their relationships with Tony, and didn't do much to help keep him in Federal Way. He sought comfort in the isolation of a new town, but it didn't seem to be helping anything.

Leaving never did, but it was really all he knew how to do.

•|||•

Peter hadn’t been at Outback long, but he’d enjoyed every minute of it.

He’d gotten hired almost immediately after graduation, not wanting to waste a second of his summer not making money. It was a bit of a difficult transition - he wasn’t a big fan of Beck, his boss, and training was really overwhelming. But after he’d hit that twelve week mark... it’s like something just clicked.

He was a whiz on bar, he was making friends right and left. He and Maia’d even gone to get tattoos together a couple weeks ago during a flash sale. He was getting faster and faster at running cars, he knew almost all of his regular customers. He genuinely felt like part of the family.

That didn’t really change when Beck hired a new group, either. There weren’t too many of them, helping keep their group small. They’d been spending a bit of time in the stand here and there, going over the rules, the ins and outs of making coffee, taking their menu test.

The three he was introducing today seemed okay enough. He just barely caught the tail end of Beck's “congrats on becoming a full employee” monologue before the man set the fresh meat loose. Not that they could really go far - it was maybe a good spit's distance from corner to corner. But, if it helped them get their bearings...

He was pulled from his thoughts before they could take off too far. “Hey, Parker! Come say hi to the green beans!”

•|||•

The red haired girl was nice enough. They'd introduced themselves, exchanged snap usernames, gushed over Peter's tattoos, and bonded over the typical new job anxiety. He'd forged a sweet new friendship with Bri, and was hopeful she'd stick around. He'd seen people like her get chewed up and spit out in this industry, and he liked her.

The tall guy... was pretty boring, actually. He stayed on his phone for the majority of the introduction, opting to ignore Peter entirely. It was fine - he'd probably be gone by the end of the month. Not like they’d miss him - he barely passed his menu test, from what Peter’d overheard.

Then came Mr. Short, Dark, and Brooding - Tony, apparently - Peter remembered him from a few weeks ago. He’d given Peter a poorly concealed once-over, tried to take the runner iPad from right out of his hands... if he wasn’t so attractive, Peter’d pin him for a fuckboy.

Despite how much he looked like he’d wanted to back then, when given the opportunity, he didn’t really engage with Peter. He apparently wasn’t the type to keep eye contact, go in for a hug, make small talk. 0 for 2. Disappointing. Oh well. That’s fine - Peter was perfectly content as the only guy at this location (sans Beck, of couse). Too much testosterone didn’t foster a healthy working environment, and they all knew it.

The girls, especially. They all gushed over Peter - apparently being the token gay guy in the stand somehow made him exempt from the targetted harassment. Nearly every guy they’d hired had left within 9 months - coffee was definitely a female-dominated field.

Peter was excited to see how these two fared.

•|||•

The tall guy was gone within a week. Didn’t even leave notice, just up and stopped showing up to his shifts. Not that it was the end of the world - he was still in his probationary period, so he wasn’t even making tips. No sweat off Peter’s back.

Bri did really well, in comparison. Beck was unusually strict with her - lashing out during her initial first shifts, generally being a hardass. It was unnecessary, and everyone knew it - Peter often found himself having fridge or bathroom meetings with her to help calm her down. But she kept showing up, kept trying, and after a few weeks she was doing just as well as Peter and the rest of them.

Tony was even better. Peter’d heard through the grapevine that he’d worked at a different location when he was still in school. Why he had to go through training again was lost on Peter - Beck tended to be thorough when it came to these kinds of things, but Tony was arguably more experienced than some of Peter’s coworkers...

Apparently, it’s because he wasn’t one to play nice.

•|||•

It took them quite a while to work together. Peter’d found himself getting the shit end of the schedule, working 7-1s religiously. It was by far his least favorite shift - dealing with the morning and lunch rushes were nothing, if not exhausting. But he pushed through, and finally got a say in what he worked - a very comfortable 5 - close.

Tony seemed to fill the between-shift gap - 2-8 was his jam. He liked working later, but still getting home before dark. Apparently being a newbie meant drawing the short straw sometimes -

And the short straw just so happened to be barring with the twink from a few weeks ago.

He hadn’t been... avoiding him. Tony just... didn’t like the way he worked. Peter was flighty, always moving. It irked him... he was just so much, it made Tony’s head hurt. If he wasn’t so engaging he might actually piss Tony off - but he knew the kid had nothing but good intentions, and that made it bearable.

It didn’t translate to the bar, though.

It seemed nearly impossible for them to work well together. Tony’d been assigned the milk station for the last three hours of his shift - a long stretch, but nothing he hadn’t done before. Peter was on shots almost the entire time. Poor kid.

Tony’s sympathy ran dry when they actually began working. They were almost always on top of each other - Peter crowding his space and trying to do too much. It grated on Tony’s every nerve, made it difficult to function. Peter didn’t seem to notice at all - or if he did, he didn’t care.

It came to a head when Peter went for the fridge. 

It was a pretty well-known rule that the person on shots doesn’t reach for the fridge. Not only was it too far away from their position on machine, it requires them to go behind their bar partner, which is dangerous in a shop this small. Hot liquids, ice, sugar... they can cause spills, burns, falls... 

So of course this dumbass goes for the fridge. Opens the door. Grabs a can of cold brew with his bare hands before turning back around. 

And running into Tony face first. 

This would have been fine if it were literally anything other than a cold brew. This would have been fine if Tony wasn’t holding a fresh drink! But no - the universe lined things up just right, laid out the most well-planned disaster. 

As they made contact, Peter’s hands flew up in shock, dropping the very pressurized can. It exploded as it hit the concrete, spraying nitrogen and foam-y coffee all over them. This caused Tony to let go of the drink in his hand, coating both of their lower halves in hot, sticky milk. 

It was picturesque, the mess they made. 

Tony looked up at Peter in absolute shock. “What the fuck do you think you’re doing?! Why were you in the fridge?!” 

“I was just trying to help! You were busy, I figured I could-” Tony cut him off before he filled the stand with more hot air. Not in the mood for his bullshit excuses. 

“I don’t care how busy you think I am - you ask before doing something outside of your station. Do you understand me?” The look in his eye was one Peter’d never seen before - it probably should have scared him, but frankly, it just made him angrier. 

“Who do you think you are to be giving me orders?” He was huffy, he could feel his cheeks burning red. He was an angry crier, and knew he was struggling to control his face. 

“My sister’s a Mobster. I think I know what I’m doing.” Oh. That explained it - his experience, his proficiency on bar... why he was such a dick. Peter’d never met a Mobster he liked, and if this guy was related to one... shit just made sense. 

•|||•

He spent the remaining few hours of Tony’s shift hiding in the back. They were better off separated, and neither complained. Tony could handle himself up front, and Peter was productive enough. He had chores to do, dishes to finish, the closing list to start... Getting an early start benefitted everyone. 

By the time 8 rolled around, the atmosphere in the stand had relaxed. They’d both had a chance to clean up, the girls on window had helped ease the tension with casual conversation. Bri had been running, and Peter spent plenty of time in the back with her, hushed enough to avoid the ears a few feet away. 

“I don’t see why he gets to walk all over us. You’ve been here longer, and the attitude isn’t necessary.” She was sitting on the edge of the sink, goldfish making their way to her mouth between words. “You know I don’t like him. I don’t see why you keep trying to be nice.”

Peter sighed. He knew she was right. “I just... I don’t want anyone here to feel left out, or like I did at the beginning. Beck can be mean... I want all of you to feel welcome.” It wasn’t a lie, either - he’d made a point to make everyone feel at home, to make this stand a family. Until Tony showed up, he’d been doing a great job. 

“I know buttercup. Just... don’t go bending over backward for someone that won’t even look you in the eye.” With that she hopped down, ready to clock out. 

Tony shuffled past them both, excited to do the same. Maia’d taken over the bar for him, alleviating him just before the four minute window was up. He didn’t even excuse himself, just inserting himself in their personal space without concern. 

Bri shot Peter a look before she left. Talk to him! 

He opted for bravery. He deserved an apology for Tony’s harsh words earlier today, and he was going to get it. 

He checked the cameras before walking back, making sure Maia wasn’t gonna wind up swamped if this took longer than necessary. Tony was collecting his things - he had to do this fast. 

“Hey, listen.” Tony looked up, unamused. “I know we didn’t exactly have a good shift, and yeah I’m partly to blame for that... but Beck doesn’t really vibe with hostility, and the girls...” 

Tony cut him off halfway through. “What, it makes them uncomfortable? They don’t like it when a man takes charge, has a little outburst? Sheesh, y’all really are a mess.” What the fuck?

“Okay, seriously. I tried to be nice. You owe me, and the rest of us, a serious apology for today, or I’m going to Quentin about it. It’s not that hard to say you’re sorry, Tony.” Good job Parker, firm boundaries. 

“I’m sorry? Sorry for what, doing my job? Fuck that, man. I’m out of here.” He opened the door and left, skipping past an oncoming car and heading toward his own. 

Peter followed him. It was stupid, sure - but he needed to assert himself here. This was his stand, his home - and he was damned if he was going to let some... some asshole trample all over his home like this.

He caught up to Tony quickly, stopping him before he could open the driver’s door. “Why are you such an asshole? The girls are obsessed with you, you clearly have a leg up against everyone else in your group. There’s no reason for you to be acting like this, dude. You’ve been here all of what, a month?” 

Tony took a long drag from his cigarette before answering. “I don’t have to explain myself to you. Now be a good little closer, and run inside. Finish your shift.” He exhaled the smoke into Peter’s face, getting into his car and driving away without another word. 

What a douchebag. 

[electrickoushi]

cook me up some love

a/n: my first work in my valentine’s series! i literally wrote this at 6am because i woke up and couldn’t sleep, so if something doesn’t make sense.... please ignore haha. thank you for reading :) 

pairing: miya osamu x suna rintarou tags: fluff, like 4 suggestive lines, the word kink twice at the end wc: 1.7k 

Rintarou can’t remember when or why he agreed to working as the cashier at Onigiri Miya on Valentine’s Day, yet here he is, ringing couples up who are actually getting the chance to enjoy their special day. Naturally, his sour mood doesn’t go unnoticed by Osamu though, who had planned a special surprise for his boyfriend all along.

The restaurant smelled like spices and ingredients and whatever the hell else Osamu put into his cooking.

Rintarou clicked the button on the register with his index finger to open and close the drawer with a ding each time. His face rested on his hand, squishing his cheek and molding his expression into one of pure boredom.

“Excuse me.”

Rintarou looked up to find a couple waiting to pay for their meal. He wordlessly took the receipt, entered the total, took their money or swiped their card, gave them their change if they had any, stabbed the receipt onto the pointy thing, gave them another receipt, wished them a Happy Valentine’s Day, and returned to playing with the register.

This happened countless times until Rintarou felt the angry eyes of his boyfriend on his back. He gulped. Everyone knew you didn’t mess with Osamu when it came to his cooking and restaurant.

“Rin, please stop that. I've had multiple customers complain about you.”

At least he’s still using a nickname, which means I can’t be in too much trouble.

“Sorry.” He clicked it again, the register drawer flying open.

“Rintarou!” Osamu growled.

Oh, he was in for it now.

Osamu was already sweaty and stressed from being the head chef of the kitchen. His boyfriend’s antics that were driving away customers was just the cherry on top to an already difficult evening.

“You, watch the register,” Osamu snapped. “I need to have a talk with Suna here.”

Oh God, last name basis. That’s bad.

He dragged the faux cashier into the storage room where they wouldn’t be bothered and Osamu could properly yell at him without disrupting the customers.

At least, that’s what Rintarou thought.

Instead, when Osamu shut the door, he turned around and hugged Rintarou.

“I’m sorry for making you work tonight. I know you’d rather be at home, watching a movie or something.”

Rintarou was surprised but wrapped his arms around Osamu’s shoulders. “I just want to be with you. I hate seeing all these couples enjoying their Valentine’s Day while you’re stuck in the kitchen. I hardly ever get to see you.”

Osamu kissed his boyfriend’s cheek, taking in a whiff of his cologne. He ran a hand through Rintarou’s brown hair and felt him soften at the touch. “I know, but I have a surprise for later tonight. Didn’t you wonder why I decided to close early on such a profitable night?”

“Nine is considered early?”

“For a day like this, yes. So just work a few more hours for me and then we close, and I’ll have your surprise all ready. Can you do that?”

Rintarou found himself nodding along, enjoying the way Osamu’s hand felt running along his scalp and his hot breath tickling his ear. Osamu’s other hand was rubbing small circles on his waist.

“You know,” Rintarou started, grabbing his boyfriend’s hand to lead it higher. “I think it’s pretty soundproof in here, as in no one would hear us if we just-”

“Shit, I forgot I have something on the stove. Okay, see you later!” Osamu kissed him once more, this time on the lips, and shut the door behind him.

Rintarou gaped, realizing he just got played for the fool he was. Like a child, he was placated by the promise of a surprise. And to think, he believed he got the less evil twin.

Rintarou stepped out of the storage and resumed his position as cashier. The dinging stopped now that his mind was focused on something else. Namely, being fucked in the storage room of a restaurant owned by his boyfriend.

“Sir, can we pay now?”

God, he really needed to stop spacing out.

“Yeah, sorry.” He rang them up and told them to have a good night.

Every so often, Osamu would come out of his kitchen and check on Rintarou. It was under the guise of affection but he knew that Osamu was just making sure he wasn’t aggravating any more customers.

It was 8:45 when Osamu had flipped the sign and told the hostess to stop letting people in. Hopefully that would mean people would leave relatively soon, but some stayed until they were explicitly told to get out by an employee. That was Rintarou’s favorite part of the job.

The fifteen minutes passed by so slowly that Rintarou started to think the clocks were broken. He missed Osamu.

Yikes, when did I start sounding like such a simp?

Only one couple was left, and they had been sitting there for a good hour. Rintarou would know because when he got bored with playing with the register, he would people watch. This couple in particular seemed to be in a brand new relationship, the stage where you asked surface level questions and gave surface level answers.

By 9:05, Osamu walked past Rintarou at the counter and towards the couple.

“Hello, we are closed now, and I see that you two have finished. I hope you enjoyed your meal. If you could just pay and leave please, I would greatly appreciate that.”

“We wanted to order dessert,” the woman said, looking at the desert menus posted on each table.

“The kitchens are closed.”

The man interjected, “You’re the head chef, right? The Miya that runs this place. Can’t you just whip something up? It shouldn’t take that long.”

“Like I said, sir, the kitchens are closed.”

Rintarou watched the exchange. He knew his boyfriend could handle it since he’s dealt with so many rude customers over the months. That didn’t mean Rintarou liked seeing his boyfriend get stepped on though. Being nice and polite was very much an Osamu thing, but Rintarou never believed in such diplomacy.

He got up and walked towards the table. “Get out.”

Osamu and the couple looked at Rintarou.

“How rude. Are you going to let your employee talk to me like that? He should be fired,” the man said, glaring at Rintarou.

The brunette wasn’t fazed. He just glared back, using the same stone-cold expression he used to intimidate his opponents on the court.

“He’s right. Get out of my restaurant and don’t ever come back again,” Osamu sneered, fed up with their behavior. They had no right to treat Rintarou like that, or himself, for that matter.

The couple shuffled out of their booth and walked away, the woman’s heels clicking on the ground. Osamu rolled his eyes and took their dishes.

“Sorry they didn’t pay,” Rintarou said. If he hadn’t butted in, Osamu might have gotten somewhere with them, but patience was never his strong suit.

“It’s fine. I’m glad you got them to leave.”

Rintarou followed Osamu as he walked back into the kitchen and dumped their dishes into a giant sink. He rolled up his sleeves before spraying the food off them and slotting them into their giant industrial dishwasher. Rintarou felt like he should help, but he just watched, enamored with the simple action of his boyfriend doing dishes.

A few minutes later, the hostess came up to Osamu and said something in his ear. Rintarou didn’t even realize she was still here. He couldn’t hear what they said over the running water, but it must have been something important since Osamu nodded and dried his hands. He shut the water off and smiled at Rintarou.

“Close your eyes.”

“I do not want to run into a hot stove and die.”

Osamu slapped two hands over Rintarou’s eyes. “Walk forward. It’s literally a straight line from here.”

Rintarou did as he was told. He was led to a table by his boyfriend who was grumbling about how he walked at the pace of a grandpa.

Osamu removed his hands, and Suna blinked rapidly to adjust to the lighting. He looked up to find Osamu with his apron on and a pad of paper in hand. The table was set for two, even though neither of them needed a menu.

“Hello, welcome to Onigiri Miya. My name is Osamu, and I’ll be your server today. Can I get you started with a drink?”

Rintarou cracked a smile. “Osamu…”

“Since you won the boyfriend lottery, everything’s on the house today and will be cooked by yours truly.”

Well he wasn’t going to say no to that.

Osamu bent down, briefly shedding his character. “You want your regular?” he asked, tucking the pen and paper away.

Rintarou nodded and Osamu stood back up. “That’ll be right up, sir.”

The nice hostess brought him a glass of water while Osamu worked his magic in the kitchen. Rintarou sipped on his water before getting up and changing the music on the speakers since he had boyfriend privileges.

The cheery pop music shut off and was replaced with his and Osamu’s shared playlist. Arctic Monkeys floated throughout the restaurant.

Sitting back down, Rintarou waved goodbye to the hostess. She waved back and wished him a Happy Valentine’s Day.

Only a few seconds later, Osamu came out with two plates of steaming food. He set the plates down before sitting down himself.

“Happy Valentine’s Day, Rin,” Osamu smiled before shoving a ginormous bite of rice into his mouth.

“Happy Valentine’s Day, Samu.”

They ate and talked happily, remarking on various customers and incidents that happened during the day. Drinks spilled on tables, people dined and dashed, minor fires that almost burned the entire place down started in the kitchen, the usual really.

After they ate more than enough leftover heart-shaped cookies, Osamu cleared their plates and dumped them in the sink, deeming them a problem for tomorrow.

He did some owner stuff that Rintarou never bothered to understand before shutting the lights off in the kitchen.

“How’s the storage room looking?” Rintarou asked, side eyeing his boyfriend.

“We can just go home, you know. Or is it a kink thing?”

Rintarou admitted unabashedly, “It’s definitely a kink thing. Put your apron back on. I’ve dreamt of this moment for a good four hours now.”

Osamu shoved the keys back into his pocket and dropped his bag on the closest chair. He dug his dirty apron out, letting his boyfriend drape it over his neck.

“Suna Rintarou, you sure are something else.”

[pcychedelic]

Hello can I request for Chanyeol Baker fluff wherein chanyeol is a baker and reader is a regular customer in their bakeshop and Chanyeol has a crush on her. I will be happy if you write one for me. Thanks for writing EXO fanfic

A Light Dusting of Sugar

For anonymous

Pairing: Park Chanyeol/Reader

Tags: Fluff, baker!Chanyeol

Rating: General Audiences

Words: 2.3k

The first time you meet the new baker at Mr. Bong’s patisserie is during the first day of summer break.

You’ve been used to being greeted by Kyungsoo and his black, thick-framed glasses whenever you burst through the doors of the pastry shop for the past four years, so when you find someone completely different behind the counter, it’s only natural for you to wonder if you’ve entered the correct place.

“Hi! What can I get you today?” the new employee asks with a big grin on his face.

You eye him curiously, having to literally look up at him because he’s so ridiculously tall. The stranger continues to smile at you as he waits for your reply, and it has made you notice the endearing dimple on his left cheek. His big, round eyes seem to gleam with a sense of mischief you can’t quite put your finger on. It’s his ears that stand out the most among all his features — they stick out in the cutest way possible, especially since he’s wearing the baby blue baseball cap that goes with the employee uniform.

You snap yourself out of the trance that this stranger has put you in and you eventually manage to say, “I’m, um… I’m here to pick up an order. A whole rhubarb and lemon curd cake? I think my mom already paid for it.”

“Oh,” the man nods. “So you’re rhubarb.”

“I have a name, so I’d appreciate it if you didn’t call me by the cake my parents made me pick up,” you retort, hoping he understands that you’re joking. Thankfully, the handsome stranger just laughs, and then he goes on to prepare your order. As you watch him, you can’t help but ask: “I’m sorry, but… do you know where Kyungsoo is?”

“The guy that worked here before me?” he asks. You nod. “All I know is that he left town to study or something. I can’t really remember, but I think that’s what Mr. Bong said. He just needed a baker urgently and I was the best he could get.”

Law school, you say to yourself. You’re happy that Kyungsoo’s out there finally living his dreams, but it wouldn’t have hurt him to say goodbye.

“Why do you look so bummed out?” the man asks as he places the cake in the center of an unfolded box. He then carefully begins assembling it, making sure that the paper box doesn’t touch any part of the cake. “Did you like him or something?”

“Am I that easy to read?”

“Well, not you specifically. Girls are easy to read,” he answers, still focused on wrapping your cake up. “I can only speak for myself, though. Maybe it’s the same for other dudes with sisters too.”

“I’m sorry, who are you again?”

He finally looks up and flashes another wide smile. You didn’t believe that hearts could skip beats, but you could swear that yours just did. “I’m Chanyeol.” He finishes your order up, tying a dainty blue ribbon around the box. He hands the cake to you. “And you are…?”

“Leaving,” you say as you pick up the box and turn around.

You can hear Chanyeol chuckling behind you. “Okay, then. See you later, rhubarb.”

— 

The first time you meet Chanyeol outside of Mr. Bong’s patisserie is during the first day of the fall semester.

“Rhubarb!” an annoyingly familiar voice calls from behind you.

You turn around in a flash only to be greeted by another one of Chanyeol’s huge grins, his dimple appearing on his left cheek like it always does when he smiles this widely. “I told you to stop calling me that.”

“I didn’t know you studied here too,” Chanyeol says, completely ignoring what you just said.

“And now you do.” You roll your eyes at him as you turn back around and continue to walk to where you’re supposed to be heading, not caring whether Chanyeol follows you or not.

Unfortunately, he does. “I thought you were just in high school or something,” he remarks as he walks beside you.

“I’m not sure if I’m supposed to be flattered or offended by that hypothesis that’s way off the mark.”

Chanyeol laughs. He’s still walking alongside you. “Where are you going?”

“Class.”

“You’re lying. Everyone’s off to lunch.”

You stop in your tracks and throw him a look of genuine confusion. “Why are you annoying me right now?”

“Because,” Chanyeol begins, “You haven’t been around the shop much and I kinda miss annoying you there, but then I saw you walking and at first I thought I was hallucinating or something, and then I realized that maybe it’s just my lucky day.”

You give him one last glare before you continue walking. “So… you missed me,” you paraphrase his explanation.

“I’m not saying it again,” he chuckles. “I know you heard me just fine the first time.”

You purse your lips in an attempt to keep yourself from smiling. You didn’t know that Chanyeol cared about you enough to notice your absence, and now that you do, that information is turning your heart into mush.

“Do you have plans after class?” Chanyeol asks after a few silent steps, jamming his hands into the pockets of his jacket.

“Maybe,” you tease. This time, you allow yourself a smirk. “Maybe not. It depends on what you’re gonna say next.”

“Well that isn’t pressuring at all,” he sarcastically says as he laughs. “I was going to ask if you wanted to hang out somewhere. You know, somewhere I can annoy you that’s not the patisserie or here on campus.”

You don’t stop yourself from smiling this time around. “Sounds cool.”

Chanyeol’s signature grin spreads across his face once again. “Okay,” he says. “See you later, rhubarb.”

— 

The first time you try your hand at baking is with Chanyeol at Mr. Bong’s patisserie long after business hours during the middle of winter break.

Chanyeol always teases you about how you just sit around while he bakes for tomorrow’s sale the night prior. To shut him up, you agree to let him teach you how to bake under the guise of “wanting to help him” in baking for the shop when you’re eventually good enough, but really, you’re just there for the free sweets.

Tonight you’re making baked sugar donuts, which Chanyeol claims to be the easiest recipe he could think of. That may be true to an extent, but you know that it’s probably the least probable recipe to be a fire hazard.

“We literally have less than ten ingredients so if you mess this up, I’m really gonna make fun of you,” he says while preheating the oven to 350.

“I’m not a child,” you protest, but it probably came out as sulky and… well, childlike. “Just tell me what to do so we can eat donuts already. I’m starving.”

Chanyeol stares at you for a while, a soft smile slowly spreading across his lips, and it’s hard not to convince yourself that he doesn’t look extra cute when he’s smiling at you like that while wearing a light blue apron that says ‘kiss the chef’.

“Are you just gonna stand there and stare at me like a creep or are you gonna teach me how to make donuts?”

Chanyeol laughs, and then finally shows you the ropes: how to properly coat the donut pan with nonstick spray, why it is important to sift the dry ingredients, how to thoroughly mix the batter so that it’s smooth all the way through. Suddenly, you’re like fourteen again, back in home economics class for your first practical kitchen exercise.

Chanyeol volunteers to fill up the donut pans but you protest, so naturally, he lets you have your way. He pops them into the oven once you’ve finished filling the pans up. The timer is set to fifteen minutes.

“Who taught you how to bake?” you ask out of the blue as both of you just stare through the oven glass, waiting for the batter to rise and cook.

“My mom,” Chanyeol answers with a fond smile. “Do you know what was the first thing I baked in my whole life?”

“What?”

“Sugar donuts.”

“No way…” You turn to look at him, and he simply nods. “This is your mom’s recipe?”

“Yeah,” he says. “I was ten, I think. I kept on messing up the batter and we had to do, like, three do-overs. You actually did better than me.”

Both of your laughters are cut short when the timer lets out a loud ding. Chanyeol pulls the fresh batch out of the oven, and you can already smell the sweet scent of honest-to-goodness homemade donuts. You were about to dig in when Chanyeol chastises you playfully, reminding you that you’ll need to wait five more minutes to cool them down. He flips the pan over and lets the donuts rest.

The minutes pass excruciatingly slowly. The timer finally dings again, but Chanyeol still swats your hand away as you reach for a donut.

“What?” you whine.

“They’re sugar donuts,” he reminds you. “We haven’t added sugar yet.”

“Oh, right.”

Chanyeol laughs at you once more, tossing the donuts one by one into a sandwich bag filled with sugar. He shakes the bag lightly to cover the donuts with the sweet granules, and then he puts them on a plate when he’s done.

“Can I eat one now?” you ask, getting impatient.

Chanyeol lets out an affectionate chuckle. “Sure. Knock yourself out.”

You both grab a donut and bite into it. The sweetness explodes in your mouth as soon as you dig in, the donut almost melting on your tongue because of its softness. It has a light, airy texture to them and the next thing you know, you’re already reaching for a second one.

“These are so good,” you say, the words almost coming out a moan.

“Right? God, I could never have enough of these when I was a kid. It’s actually a miracle I don’t have diabetes now from all the sugar donuts I’ve had growing up,” Chanyeol says as he laughs. “I could teach you how to bake other recipes, if you’d like.”

You just smile at him. “I’d love to.”

— 

The first time you admit to yourself that you have feelings for Chanyeol is during the last day of spring break.

All you did over the break was help him bake in the patisserie, even if he still did the majority of the work. Mr. Bong was naturally happy about it because of the free labor. But really, it was the least you could do for him since you practically grew up having his croissants, brioches, and eclairs. It felt nice to sort of give up, especially since you’ve seen how the shop struggled sometimes throughout the years.

More than that, you liked helping out in the patisserie because you got time to spend with Chanyeol.

He’s still annoying as ever, perhaps even more now that you’ve known him for around a year, but it’s nice to have someone to exchange playful banter with, to teach you baking recipes that he learned from his mom, to tease you out of the blue.

It just feels nice when you’re with him.

“Do you have plans after work?”

“Technically, I don’t work here,” you say, “but no, I’m free after work. What’s up?”

Chanyeol fumbles with his words as if he’s nervous, but eventually he manages to say, “I, um, baked something for you. I was wondering if we could share it back in the kitchen after closing.”

“You made something for me?” you ask in confusion. “For what? It’s not my birthday.”

Chanyeol shrugs, but you can tell he did it for a reason, you just can’t seem to figure it out. “I just felt like baking something for you. You’re gonna love it, I swear.”

And so closing time arrives and Chanyeol disappears into the kitchen as soon as you flip the CLOSED sign on the door of the shop. He comes out after a while and then asks you to close your eyes. He leads you back into the kitchen, guiding you slowly as you can’t see anything, and when you both stop and he asks you to open your eyes, you find a familiar cake sitting on the industrial kitchen counter and your lips slowly curl into a smile.

“Really?” you ask, but you can’t help the small chuckle that escapes your lips. “Rhubarb custard cake?”

“I wanted to make a rhubarb and lemon curd cake, like, you know, from the first time we met but we’re all out of curd and I didn’t have enough time to make one from scratch so I just settled for custard,” Chanyeol rambles on and on, but you just stare at him with a smile until he notices that he’s babbling. “I’m sorry. I’m saying a lot of stuff right now, aren’t I?”

“Yes,” you laugh. “What’s the cake for?”

Chanyeol heaves a deep sigh, and then says, “Like I said, this was the cake you picked up — well, it’s close to the cake you picked up when we first met, and… we’ve been hanging out for quite sometime now…”

You shake your head, still smiling. “Get to the point.”

“I may or may not have had a little crush on you for a while and… this is… Well, this is me saying I like you,” he finally says. “I’m such a dork, right? I’m saying I like you by baking you a cake. Right. I’m sorry. I’ll just…”

You interrupt him as you suddenly walk toward him and tiptoe to give him a kiss. He’s confused for a split second until he realizes what was happening, and then his hands settle on the small of your back to support you.

You pull away. “What are you sorry for?”

“Um…” he replies intelligently, earning yet another chuckle from you. “I honestly can’t remember what I was saying before you kissed me.”

And so you kiss him again, and you could feel him smiling into the kiss, and you decide that Chanyeol’s lips are sweeter than anything you’ve baked with him.

[granny-snek-7673]

Editing the Truth Chapter 2

Summary: Bellona’s routine is interrupted as an opportunity at work presents itself. How will she cope?

Edit: Bellona now has brown hair; sorry, not sorry. 

          The next few weeks passed uneventfully for Bellona, allowing her to slip back into her regular rhythm. It wasn’t until she walked into the office at 5:24am on the first Friday in August that her routine would become more disrupted than it had been in the last 5 years. She sat down in her god awful chair in her cubicle and set her bag by her desk as she booted up her laptop and the desktop. She sipped her coffee and her smoothie alternatively as she put one headphone in and played soft music. Her attention was pulled from her laptop to the desktop as it chimed, indicating an email. She felt her heart jump to her throat when she realized that it was from Orson Maurus directly, the CEO of the publishing house and several other large corporations. She quickly clicked on the email and read it over to herself three times to be sure she wasn’t hallucinating. Just then, Lillian appeared, peeking over the cubicle walls.

           When Lillian realized that the look on her friend’s face was one of pure terror, she quickly made her way into the cubicle and glanced at the screen. Bellona stared at the email in silent shock as Lillian read it over her shoulder aloud.

           “Ms. Humbert, It has come to my attention that in the last five years, you have commissioned some of our most successful works, the most recent being the historical fiction novel that has quickly become the number one best seller in every country we’ve released it in. That novel was turned down by nine other publishing houses almost exclusively because it wasn’t what was currently trending on the modern market. You agreed with that statement, but also presented several convincing arguments to approve it and publish it anyway and now it’s a resounding success. This has been the case with many of your commissions and I would like to meet with you and discuss your strategy. Please let me know what time you’d like to go to lunch to talk. Warm regards, Orson Maurus, CEO.” Lillian was silent for a moment, then she spun her friend around in her chair and grinned. “Holy shit, Bel,” she breathed, “This is your break.”

           “My break?” Bellona replied exasperatedly, “I’m going to have to sit and talk to the single most intimidating man in this entire building and attempt to explain an analytical concept that I attempt to use literally just to be cautious and I don’t even fully understand it myself.”

           “What do you mean you don’t understand it?” Lillian asked.

           “I mean I process all the prospects analytically like I’m supposed to, but if I personally would read it, then sometimes I’ll commission it anyway. Most of my process is personal preference and I can’t even imagine telling the man that runs the company that I commissioned the novel because I liked the character arcs that the author set up,” she said quickly, stuttering several times and adjusting her glasses, a red flush working its way up her neck to her cheeks. “I heard he made Jeanette cry last week,” she added under her breath.

           “He made Jeanette cry because he rejected her when she made a pass at him,” Lillian replied deadpan, “Because he’s hot as fuck, Bel. Trust me on that.”

           “That makes it worse!” Bellona sighed, her voice approaching a high-pitched whine.

           “Oh my god,” Lillian groaned, “You’re 27 fucking years old and you can’t have a conversation with an attractive man about your work success. Are you broken?”

           Bellona laughed ironically. “Definitely,” she replied.

           Lillian growled in frustration and then pushed her friend away from the computer and typed out a return email, saying it out loud as she did so. “Mr. Maurus, I usually take my lunch at 1pm. I will meet you up in your office and we can decide where we want to eat on the elevator ride down. Thank you, Ms. Humbert.” Then she clicked send before Bellona could argue. “Okay,” she continued, “I’m going to go steal a chair and we’re going to practice what you’re going to talk about at lunch. Sit tight, don’t freak out, I’ll be right back.” Then she scurried away as fast as her sky high heels would let her.

           Just when Lillian was out of sight, her email chimed again and she saw the reply from Mr. Maurus. “Ms. Humbert, I look forward to meeting with you very much. Very warm regards, Orson Maurus, CEO.”

           For the next several hours as the rest of the employees filed in for work, Lillian and Bellona practiced the conversation in as many different scenarios as they could imagine. Then Lillian had to get back to her own work and Bellona returned to wading through the possible commissions until 12:45pm. At this point, she put her laptop back into her bag and carried it over her shoulder as she took the elevator to the top floor. When the doors opened, she was surprised how bright and open the space was, the light from the windows unimpeded as there were no cubicles, only open desk spaces. She pushed her glasses back up on her nose and tried to walk with as much confidence as she could to the in-house CEO office. She was unsure if she succeeded when she reached the door, which was closed. Part of her was uncomfortable with the fact that there wasn’t a secretary to usher her in. She gently knocked on the door and a deep voice beckoned her to come in. She adjusted her glasses nervously and slowly opened the door and stepped into the office, shutting the door behind her.

           The man sitting at the desk wasn’t quite what she had expected. For some reason, when she imagined Orson, he was much gruffer, with eyes that glinted like steel and a set jaw that took no arguments. She wondered if she’d completely made up those images, or if she was just fooled by the pictures she’d seen of him on magazine covers as she stared at him now. He was handsome, that was for sure, and he had a presence about him that demanded quiet respect. His face had excellent symmetry, and his soft blue eyes had smile wrinkles at the edges. His jawline was fierce and covered with a well-trimmed beard the same shade of light blonde-brown as his neat hair. His shoulders were broad, enough that she was certain he had to have his suits personally tailored. He smiled up at her and then stood to his whole 6’3” height, towering over her, but not in an intimidating way.

           “You must be Ms. Humbert,” he said in a deep melodic voice, rounding his desk and extending his hand, “It’s a pleasure to meet you. You can call me Orson.”

           In an instant, Bellona recognized the voice as the man from the gym all those weeks ago and felt heat rise in her cheeks. “Call me Bellona,” she replied on autopilot, “and the pleasure is mine.”

           “Well, Bellona,” he said with a smile, “I suppose we should head out to lunch. Craving anything in particular?” he asked. Bellona shook her head softly, a quite smile working its way onto her face as she realized that he didn’t recognize her from their first meeting. “Do you like Mediterranean food?” he pressed. Bellona smiled more broadly and nodded. “I know just the place then.” He opened the door for her and they walked to the elevator together. As she walked next to him, she saw several women beautiful enough to be models staring her down. Her eyes drifted to the ground as she waited for the elevator to save her from their stares.

           When the doors closed after them as they entered the elevator, Bellona felt her insecurities suddenly triple. She looked down at what she was wearing: an overlarge emerald green chunky cable knit turtle necked sweater, light gray dress slacks, and her black pointed-toe two inch heels. The women she’d just seen on the top floor were dressed like models, their clothes tailored to their thin bodies, their faces and hair perfect. She’d never felt more inadequate in her life. She glanced up at Orson and noticed how stiff he was next to her, his demeanor so different from even just a few moments ago in his office. His hands were gripping the railing on the back wall, his knuckles white, his jaw locked, teeth grinding. She became aware that her presence was affecting him in a negative way and took several steps away from him under the guise of shifting her bag from one shoulder to the other. She glanced at him again and thought she saw hurt flash in his eyes, but assured herself that she was wrong; it was probably relief.

           When the doors opened again, both of them breathed in relief and walked through the lobby. As they walked down the steps outside the office, Bellona noticed that a black car was pulled up to the sidewalk. Orson went straight for it, opening the door for Bellona and letting her in, and then walking around to the other side to get in from the street. He passed a note to the driver and they started driving to the restaurant. Bellona realized that Orson was much more relaxed now. She was now unsure what his behavior in the elevator meant. She was just as close to him now as she had been and instead of looking stiff and distressed, he appeared quite at ease. The drive was silent, neither comfortable nor uncomfortable, just quiet.

           They pulled up to a small Mediterranean restaurant, Orson making sure he opened her car door, helped her out of the car, and held open the door to the restaurant for her. Bellona was taken aback by the amount of chivalry, nearly astounded when he helped her take her seat at their table. They ordered their food and made easy conversation as they waited for their meal.

           “So did you always know you wanted to be a writer?” Orson asked. “Or at least work with writing?”

           Bellona shrugged. “I knew I wanted to do something that let me travel and have fun, so journalism seemed to be the way to go,” she replied.

           “So you’ve done some traveling then,” Orson continued, “Where all have you been?”

           Bellona laughed. “Nowhere, really. Life got in the way. I’ve only ever been to a couple of states and never out of the country. I had every intention of going, got my passport and everything, but…” she trailed off and shrugged, rubbing the ring finger of her left hand with her thumb nervously and staring down at the patterned table cloth.

           When she glanced back up at him, she found that he was already staring at her, but his eyes held no pity; only understanding dwelled there. His blue eyes brooded, the smile lines of his face deepening as he smiled softly at her. She realized now that he was older than he looked. Sure, he was handsome and fit, but his eyes held a wisdom that couldn’t be faked; his voice spoke quiet insight. And the way he looked at her assured her that he was a man of experience. She looked back down at the table cloth.

           “Well where’s one place you would still like to go?” he asked softly, his deep voice becoming husky.

           Bellona thought for a moment. “Italy,” she replied. “The food, the culture, the people; it just seems like a good place to visit.”

           He nodded. “It’s wonderful there,” he said, “The wine is truly unmatched in my opinion.”

           Bellona smiled. “But getting drunk in an Irish pub and kissing a Scotsman in a kilt are also on my bucket list, so...” She shrugged and then blushed, never looking up at him, not having expected herself to be so comfortable talking to him. Relief flooded over her when he laughed wholeheartedly, seemingly unphased by her comments.

           “I wouldn’t have expected those things to be on your bucket list,” he laughed, eyeing her and winking, “but I have heard it’s always the quiet ones.”

           She blushed and laughed, wringing her hands under the table. Bellona was grateful that their food arrived at this moment and she dug in, being sure to mind her manners, but not welcoming much more small talk.

           “So you wanted to talk to me about strategy?” she asked, desperate for the conversation to steer toward work; Lillian had prepped her extensively for those types of conversations.

           “Well,” he replied, “to be honest I think I wanted to meet you more than I wanted to talk strategy. I was mostly just surprised that so many of the works you commissioned ended up being so successful. You’re doing something right, and I want you to know that.”

           Bellona stared at him, dumbfounded. “You don’t want to know how I’m doing it?” she asked, suspicious.

           “Truthfully, no,” he responded, “Because whatever you’re doing, I think it’s original to you. I don’t believe you could put it into words and I don’t think it could be recreated by another person, much less taught to another person by me. And especially now that I’ve met you, I realize that your caution and prudence and excellence are more a part of your personality than a strategy for commissioning. I wanted to take you out to lunch to promote you.”

           Bellona couldn’t bring herself to form coherent thoughts, much less words. She stared at Orson in shock for several minutes before clearing her throat. “Excuse me?” she nearly whispered.

           “I’d like you to take over the vacant Chief Editing Commissioner position. You’d get a desk on the top floor, a parking spot in the covered parking garage, and a salary increase. And you could choose your own team for each project. I wouldn’t force any extra responsibilities, I just think that you could lead by example. Productivity on the top floor is at an all-time low, hence the newly open Chief position. Your record speaks for itself and I think you’re the perfect woman for the job,” he rattled on.

           “You want to promote me?” she asked, still lagging behind.

           “Is it so hard to believe that I think you’re doing a good job and should be treated and paid appropriately for it?” he asked, his brows knitting together.

           “I just…” her voice faded, but he prompted her to continue, “I just didn’t think my work warranted anything special…”

           Now it was Orson’s turn to stare at her incredulously. “You can’t be serious…” he said, his voice low. He pulled a piece of paper from the inside of his suit jacket and unfolded it. “Thirty-seven best sellers, nineteen blockbusters, sixteen major awards,” he read, “and that’s just from this year; and the year isn’t even over yet. I ran the numbers and your productivity is rated as one-hundred-thirty times more than the average employee here, your profit margin far above anyone else’s. Ms. Humbert, I had planned to apologize for not noticing your exemplary work earlier, but apparently it also slipped your notice.”

           They sat in silence for several moments, Bellona pushing her food around her plate with her fork. “I don’t know what to say…” she mutters.

           “Say you’ll take the job,” Orson quipped, his voice comforting, yet commanding respect.

[safty]

To the Rescue (Part II) Chapter 30: Pillowtalk

New chapter is here! And with an email from Ao3, I’ve been notified that it was indeed a commerce violation that I was flagged for! Thankfully, with some compliance issues resolved, TTR should be back in good standing after a review by the abuse case people.

In the meantime, enjoy this chapter. Hopefully by next week or the week after, thing swill be back on, regular style. 

Even if Seth had the time to discuss things frankly with his boyfriends, he wasn't really sure what he was going to say. Whether it was the obvious, looming cloud surrounding his inheritance or the more immediate problems of Roman's drinking, he was at a loss for words. Without the ability to triage the most important issue, Seth just felt listless and disconnected.

That night, Roman eventually came to bed after Dean, but the three were all siloed from one another, in their own space. Seth tried to half-heartedly cuddle with each of them, if only to make himself feel better. But Roman's snoring was terrible and Dean was even more fidgety than usual, springing up during the night to use the bathroom on more than one occasion.

Breakfast was quiet, and Roman seemed to realize he was being circled with a wide berth. Seth watched with a sort of dissociated fascination as Dean focused intently on nibbling his egg sandwich to completion before checking on the chickens. It didn't seem malicious or passive aggressive, but Roman cleared his throat loudly, looking around the kitchen as Seth mutely rinsed out his coffee mug.

"Ugh… sorry I've been kinda… slacking since vacay," Roman admitted, rubbing his eyes and leaning back in his seat. "I'm gunna clean the house up this weekend. Got the carpet cleaner's comin' anyway."

Seth just hummed, blinking hard. Past using the bathroom several times before noon, he wasn't sure if his coffee was doing anything for him anymore.

"Dean okay you think?" Roman asked, looking out the window to where their boyfriend was aimlessly wandering around between the garden patches. "Was sort of quiet… last night."

"Ask him if you want, I dunno," Seth sighed, shaking his head. Everything else seemed so much larger than the petty tedium between his boyfriends. He yawned hard and set his mug in the sink before going to the bathroom to shave, too sleepy and preoccupied to be polite. This was Roman's problem after all, not his. It wasn't like they could help him with his own problems right now.

Needless to say, Seth's detached mood threw their morning routine for a loop when he went to load his work bag into the Cadillac instead. For Seth, it made obvious sense. Roman only had to work a few hours in the morning and their carpooling was becoming inefficient. With all the last minute duties of the fundraiser, Seth was also sort of hoping that he might have to work later and have some time away from the house to occupy himself. Dean watched, obviously torn as Roman just went to the Jeep, likely a little put off by Seth's own grumpy attitude.

"I'll still pick you up if you want," Seth heard Roman call. He didn't bother looking up as he searched for a good song on his phone to play for his morning commute. Another plus to riding without Roman was that Seth wouldn't be subjected to R&B music he didn't want to hear. A little surprisingly, Dean took to the Jeep and Seth blinked, watching his boyfriends load into the larger car without a perfunctory goodbye.

"Whatever," he mumbled under his breath. Gripping the wheel maybe a little tighter than usual as he turned down the road, toward the highway. Hadn't Dean just confessed to him yesterday about being uncomfortable with Roman's behavior? Seth supposed he could be using the short ride to talk, but it seemed unlikely.

With everything going on, work was a godsend and Seth was ready to isolate himself all day if it meant he got a mental break from the world. With Roman and Dean just a few seconds behind him, he powered through the lobby, past Sami and the school group that was coming in, to Hunter and Stephanie's office that was darkly lit and unoccupied. He paused for a moment, squinting through the glass before his hand went to the door handle, about it open it. Usually he checked in with his boss before he put his things down in the maintenance room, it was just a habit at this point.

"Hay, you can' go in there."

Seth turned his head and came face to face with a rather large bearded man donning a lifeguard tube. He was quite a few inches taller than Seth, with chest hair that was puffing out from under his guard shirt, Seth blinked, amused.

"Uh, I work here?" He almost laughed, feeling the frustrations with Roman and Dean that had been just beneath the surface flare up again. "Employee of the month? I'm Seth Rollins."

The man raised an eyebrow, eyes flicking back to the water he was attending. If he hadn't been so flagrantly rude, Seth might have thought he was attractive. He was similarly bearded with long dark hair, and something about his voice was vaguely foreign, like british, or something.

"Well… you don' have a nametag or nuttin'," the man mumbled, re-adjusting the strap of his tube across his chest. "Thought you were just some patron."

"Don't worry about it man," Seth said, more dismissively than anything as he put his hand back on the door handle. If he was in a better mood, Seth might have asked for his name or at least put on a guise of benevolence. But that morning, he was more than happy to appear haughty and self-important as he came inside the office and flicked on the light.

Sure enough, on Hunter's desk, a note had been left detailing a set of tasks that still needed to be completed before the fundraiser the next day. At this point, Seth was sort of used to untangling his boss's shorthand scrawl, and he smiled as he saw a large circle of items that Hunter had simply scrawled SETH next to, in the margin.

Call Paige (See cell # on contact sheet) Working front desk w/ Sami? Fundraiser start time

Seth had remembered Hunter mentioning something about Paige, and he blinked, trying to think if it was best to just try texting her. Aside from always feeling a little stupid on the phone, he had next to no relationship with the girl. All he'd known was the swarm of gossip around her and he didn't really want to stick his nose in it.

Surf camp sponsorship: attn: Shinsuke

At this, Seth noticed an arrow pointing from the clipboard to Stephanie's desk, where a catalog of surfboard gear was resting on her desk. Sure enough, the catalog had a sticky note that said NAKAMURA in large script. Seth didn't really know what it was about, but he supposed he would probably have to go find the guy and give him the catalog.

Find Face Paint (restock??)

More Fundraiser stuff, and Seth sighed hard, trying to imagine where the facepaints were. Miz's office was a good guess, though there was a large rubbermaid container full of a miscellaneous selection of crap that White Water kept around for birthday party groups. It was likely that he'd have to do some digging.

Chairs from basement

This was pretty self explanatory. There were some chairs that Hunter had discussed needing to bring outside for use by the staff. If the note was referring to the metal folding chairs, he'd have to find the service cart to load them onto. For this, he might need someone's help, just because of his knee. However awkward it might be to go find Dean and Roman for their help at that point, he might have to.

Lanyards (See Sami)

Seth had no idea what lanyards the list was referring to. He might try to tackle that first, just so he could get an idea of what he was supposed to be doing.

Confirm water X class with Roman

"OO' was that guy?"

Seth blinked, hearing voices behind him, in the pool area. The tall guard that had accosted him on his was into the office was talking to someone. Though his voice was muffled, Seth could hear him through the glass easily. He didn't want to turn around and reveal himself, as the lights were on, and so Seth just played dumb, listening intently with his back turned.

"Who?"

"Dark haired guy," the man said. Seth sniffed, it sounded like he was talking to Dolph. To appear busy, he picked up a pen from Hunter's desk and twirled it between his fingers.

"Oh, Seth," Dolph said, lightheartedly. The back of Seth's neck prickled. Ever since he'd heard Dolph talk shit about him on accident, they'd been a little cold. "Hunter's sassy gay friend."

His chest went cold for a moment as the man he didn't know gave a snorting laugh and said something unintelligible. Dolph's words were entirely inappropriate- bordering on some sort of harassment, but Seth kept his cool, feeling his hands began to sweat. Dolph continued on, saying something along the lines of "Used to guard" and "mostly harmless" and the two men walked down the pool deck, moving onto a different conversation. Seth stayed rooted to the spot, bubbling with anger and the desire to call Dolph into the office for a man to man chat. Was Dolph really so stupid as to think that he hadn't heard him?

There didn't seem to be an opportune time to make his exit, but Seth gave himself a few moments before blindly leaving the office. Five steps out, and he was forced to double back for the clipboard, but even he didn't know where he was going. Dolph and the taller guy were on the other side of the pool and didn't even seem to see him, talking to a patron.

"Hey!" Sami piped up as Seth came behind the desk, pulling out the weekly work schedule and tossing the clipboard onto the counter with a flippantly careless thwap. "I got those little keychain things."

"What?" Seth said, unhearing as his gaze went down the list of guards working the pools that day. The usual 9:00-1:00 shift slot showed Dean in P-Pool and Baron opening the adaptive area. The name DREW MCINTYRE was printed large under the lap pool tier and Seth just blinked, wondering what he'd been hoping for.

"Hunter told me you were going to assemble these once we got them in," Sami said, kicking a large cardboard box in his direction which rattled with the noise of plastic packaging. "I can help too. Most of them are in these clear sleeves right now-" Sami held up couple of little inserts, but paused as he seemed to sense Seth's distress. "What's up?"

"It's nothing," Seth lied, shaking his head. A few patrons came in and Sami paused, quickly scanning their membership cards. "Uh… I'll uh… I'll be back in a bit here."

"No prob," Sami said, handing an older man a towel. "I'll take them out of the sleeve things. Should make it easier."

"Thanks man," Seth sighed, walking back through the turnstile without any real plan of action. Why had Dolph felt compelled to say something so offensive? Did he know it was offensive? Honestly, the more Seth thought about it, the more he felt it probably wasn't intentionally malicious. Straight people said all sorts of cringeworthy things about gay people all the time, and Seth had spent most of his teenage years trying to dodge women that seemed over-eager to befriend him when they found out he was gay.

Perhaps it was the use of the word sassy that had particularly grated him. Seth doubled back to the lap pool to grab the catalog off Stephanie's desk with a face set in concentration. As soon as he'd come out as gay in a frenzied emotional fit to his mother, sassy was a word he had begun to loathe. Seemingly overnight, almost everything he did that was remotely antisocial or introverted, his mother referred to as sassy for comedic effect. Everything he did was deemed effeminate, and it aggravated him to no end. To Seth, it seemed obvious that the words were derogatory, but he instantly began to question his own behaviors and mannerisms.

It doesn't matter what they think Seth thought as he left the pool for the second time, purposefully ignoring Drew Mcintyre and Dolph. Hadn't Dolph got him coffee that one time he had to open the pool? Weren't they friends?

There was still some cleaning to do aside from all of Hunter's errands, and Seth decided to reline the trash cans first and work his way around the building to cover his ground. Shinsuke wasn't on the schedule until three, usually when Seth was leaving the building. He could catch Roman literally whenever he wanted to, and so he quickly texted Paige about the fundraiser before Seth worked top down, heading to the adaptive pool.

"Hiya Seth," Finn grinned sweetly, passing him at the utility closet where he was grabbing a new box of trash bags. Seth nodded, trying to smile and pull himself out of his head. "Wha' time are ya workin' the fundraiser tomorrow?"

"Morning shift," Seth said, setting the box on his cart and looking for gloves. "I think they're having me man the gate or something."

"Could barely fine' parking in the lot, what with all da folks out der," Finn mumbled, looking a little tentative about something. Seth looked up as Finn licked his lips, looking a little sheepish. "I was uh, wonderin' if I could ask ya a favor…"

"Yeah?" Seth asked, looking up as Finn blushed, holding up a plastic bag which was stuffed full with a bag pack.

"Urh… I didn' wan' to haff ta ask, it's jus…. Kev made fun of me pretty bad last time and tol' me he wouldn' wash it twice… I spilled coffee on et…" Finn explained. Seth accepted the bag, peering in. "Do you tink you coul' wash it while I'm on da lifeguard stand?"

"Yeah man, no problem," Seth laughed, wondering why Finn was so uptight. "You want me to put it in the breakroom when it's done?"

"If you coul'," Finn beamed. "Thanks Seff!"

With just another item on his list, Seth took the elevator to the top floor and began working his way around AJ and Miz's offices, pointedly hurrying to get away from the two insufferable men. For once, AJ wasn't subjecting the room to obnoxious country-pop music and Miz wasn't on his headset device, talking boisterously. The two men seemed swamped by the fundraiser as well and several stand up displays were resting against the wall of the office, ready to be used the next day.

Baron was on the stand, watching a single kid and what was likely a professional assistant, working with a special needs child. The deck's single trash was barely ever full, and after checking it, Seth made a beeline for the boys locker rooms.

"You want me to check the ladies?" Sasha asked as she came in, watching Seth consolidate several bags as he stood outside the youth locker rooms, arms full.

"Uh, if you got a sec," Seth mumbled. Sasha and Bayley occasionally helped with these sorts of things, but Stephanie wasn't above assisting either, if she was walking down the hall. There were a stange view moments as Seth stood, holding an empty garbage liner as Sasha ducked into the locker room, feeling unaccountable for his mood. As his mind seemed to be paddle-balling back and forth a lot these days, he wondered idly how long he'd have to clean bathrooms before he received his inheritance. Seth knew a six-figure check didn't mean he was better than anyone, but he was getting awfully tired of having dirt in between his fingernails.

Dolph passed through the youth locker room, shaking him from his thoughts and making Seth slightly angry again. Sasha came by to grab another liner and wiggled her eyebrows.

"You okay?" she asked, fluffing up the garbage bag. "You look moody."

"It's my face," Seth grumbled, watching his bleached-blonde coworker traipse down the hall as though nothing was wrong.

"You doing okay though?" Sasha asked, looking at him seriously. Seth knew she was asking because of his grandfather and he just shrugged, wiping the side of his nose with the back of his hand.

"Weird day, I dunno," he admitted. "Don't worry."

Paige texted him back during his break, and Seth went out of his way to avoid Dean. He was still in a weird mood and wanted his space, and although it was hot outside, Seth went on a short walk around the steamy parking lot. There was still a lot of work to be done in the cordoned-off area where rented tents were being erected in preparation for the big day.

Hired workers were sweating in the hot sun and a few were smoking on the outskirts of the parking lot, taking a break. In his mind, Seth could imagine the layout that he had seen on Hunter's computer screen several times. The park would be closed for the day and several food trucks would be parked by the entrance, including the one belonging to the Joe character he'd talked to on the phone. The tents were for a few different outreach programs and White Water's internal programming, like swim lessons and water exercise. Looking out to the farthest corner by the line of trees, Seth was sure the bounce house and kids games were all going to be set up the next morning.

His forehead sweat as he walked, but his knee was feeling good enough to survey the area in a lap, awkwardly waving to the workers and Kevin, who was coming out of the park. As he came around the backside of the tents, Seth could see Hunter at the front, talking on his cellphone.

"Yeah, no, I know, but it's only supposed to be for the morning, so worst case scenario, we'll just be anticipating a bigger crowd in the afternoon." Hunter was saying on the phone. Seth stepped forward, mingling around but trying to appear casual by bringing out his own phone. It wasn't strictly necessary for him to keep checking in with Stephanie and Hunter, but he was feeling sort of fragile and directionless.

"Yeah… I'll uh, I'll catch you tomorrow Shawn, just make sure you've really got that dinner reservation…" Hunter shot Seth a sort of playfully exasperated face as his friend clearly wanted to prolong the conversation. "Yeah brother, you too…"

Seth half smiled as his boss sighed and hung up the phone. They were both sweating in the sun and he was grateful as Hunter gestured for them to walk inside.

"Paige got back to me, she said she can be here tomorrow around eleven." Seth said first, mentally trying to work through the list he'd been given. Still gotta get those chairs and the lanyards… You just want them in your office when they're done? The lanyards?"

"Yeah, that sounds best," Hunter nodded, pocketing his phone and making to get the door for Seth before they could fight over it. "I'll help you with the chairs now if you're ready."

"Sure sure,' Seth said, following Hunter down the stairs at a shuffle. Predictably, they were stopped several times and Seth had to idle behind his boss as all manner of questions were lobbed his way.

"I need to talk to 'ou before the end of de day," Maryse said seriously, looking awkwardly between her boss and Seth, sure in the fact that she wanted privacy.

"When do you leave? Four?" Hunter asked calmly, looking at his watch. "Can you meet me in my office then?"

They were accosted again by a very sun-tinged Sheamus, who was angry with Rusev for being made to work in the direct sunlight.

"I think Aiden had the same complaint," Hunter laughed, Seth watched his boss pat the large ginger haired man on the chest. "We still need to get the rest of those umbrella's put up there for you guys. I'll make sure it gets done after the fundraiser."

"It's like you get stopped every five feet," Seth laughed lightly as they continued on. Hunter just shrugged, turning down his walkie talkie as Tyler requested more towels upstairs.

"That's sort of the idea behind the position we're creating," Hunter explained, flicking on the light in the basement and surveying the large racks of folding chairs, sitting dusty in the corner of the basement storage area. "Stephanie's taking on a lot more outreach work lately and it would be nice to have a more communicative lead staff."

"Well, you know I'm in," Seth said firmly, walking over to where Hunter was pointing at the moving dolly. "I know that I've had… like all that stuff happen. But I'm getting back in the groove of things."

"Good. Life has bad timing sometimes." Hunter said cooly, as though he wasn't talking about something as complicated as a deceased family member. "Knee still healing then?"

"Yeah, uh, I still need to go to the doctor again," Seth mumbled, accepting chairs from Hunter to stow on the dolly. "Waiting… till after the fundraiser. It's been feeling fine and I've been doing the exercises I'm supposed to, so I feel like I can push it a little…"

He felt a little stupid talking about his life to his boss, but Hunter's attention seemed to be the perfect mix of detached and focused to allow Seth to speak. There wasn't much that he really wanted to say, but it felt better than mutely pacing the halls and finishing chores as he usually did. As the two pulled the chairs up the elevator, through the lobby and back outside, Seth wondered if there was really a vocal minority at work that could possibly dislike Hunter and thus similarly dislike him. Dolph had said Hunter's sassy gay friend as though he was also dismissing his boss a little. For a moment, Seth mulled over the possibility of telling his boss what he'd heard, but he sighed, swallowing it down.

"We're still waiting on two tents and the display board," one of the workers explained to Hunter, fixing a work cap over his sweaty hair. "Truck's comin,"

"Will it be here by four?" Hunter asked, slightly annoyed. Seth watched him check his watch and fanned his shirt quickly. Even if he did tell Hunter anything, what the hell could he do about it? The fundraiser was the priority right now.

With the folding chairs crossed off the list, Seth put Finn's backpack in the wash and set Shinsuke's catalog aside at the front desk for when he eventually came in. It was now almost two o'clock, and Seth worked with Sami to begin fixing the keychains to the lanyard strands. Hunter and Stephanie had ordered five hundred little White Water metallic logo keychains that were to be given away with donations to their water safety program.

"There's gunna be an ad in the paper, tons of folks show up," Sami explained, tossing Seth a lanyard clip. "Weather doesn't look great, but that won't stop a lot of people."

"I'll be glad when it's over," Seth yawned, clipping a keychain to a lanyard and tossing it into a box. He knew if he wanted to do his job right, he'd go through and tie the lanyards together in strings of twenty or something, but he was losing his enthusiasm as his fingers grew dry. Sami kept having to pause to check people in and the evening rush was coming on fast with swim lessons. It took Dean clicking his tongue from the turnstile for Seth to notice him. His heart leapt a little and he realized he hadn't seen his boyfriends all day.

"You staying for awhile?" Dean asked, holding his work bag, clearly ready to leave. Seth nodded from his spot on the floor, pointing to the box of lanyards.

"Yeah, that's the plan," he said, not looking at Dean. "Uce can pick you up right?"

"I can stay'n help too," Dean shrugged. "What do you gotta do?"

"It's no big deal," Seth said quickly, not really sure why he was readily refusing help, other than he felt weird around his boyfriends at the moment. If he just stayed at work, he didn't have to go home and have an awkward conversation. Seth could barely remember all the specifics either. Roman's drinking… a sort of filthy house… it hardly seemed important compared to his own problems.

Dean looked to Sami and then to Seth, lost. Seth felt a pang of guilt, but knew he needed some space. From his sprawled out station on the floor behind the counter, Dean couldn't ask him weird questions or physically say goodbye. But Seth knew he couldn't really place his fear in reality as his boyfriend rarely copped a poor attitude in these sorts of situations.

"Mmmmmkay," Dean said simply turning on his heel and heading back toward the turnstile. "You good on dinner then?"

"Yeah, don't worry," Seth said, piping up as Dean's scruffy head began to disappear away on the other side of the counter. "We'll uh… We can maybe hang out after the fundraiser or something tomorrow?"

"Yeah?" Dean said, coming back to the counter and leaning over it. A family skirted around him, clearly slightly annoyed he was in the way. "Promise?"

"Yes, I promise," Seth furrowed his brow a little. Aggravated at any hint of being called a flake. He knew Dean was just teasing him, but he wasn't in a good mood to hear it. His boyfriend raked his knuckles on the counter, thumping the surface before walking off, probably to sit on the chairs by the door. Sure enough, Sami didn't say anything about the interaction for several minutes, likely after Dean had actually left the building.

"Dean seems a lot more cool since you guys have been together," he said simply, setting down the card scanner to grab another lanyard. "I feel like he didn't talk to anyone ever. I mean… he's still pretty goofy, but it's good that he's got you guys."

"Mmmm," Seth hummed, uncrossing his legs. "Maybe I guess… Not like I was here long without dating either of them."

"I just thought Roman was his only friend." Sami explained, nodding to an older woman coming through the door. "Never seemed to like socializing much."

"Was Uce- Uh… Roman any different?" Seth asked, curious. Sami shrugged, thinking hard.

"Maybe… he's probably more relaxed now," Sami smiled. "All three of you guys are sort of weird and grumpy."

"Excuse yourself," Seth said, rolling his eyes. Dolph's words were still rolling around in his head and again, he bit back an anxious re-telling of the overheard conversation. "I have friends away from my boyfriends."

"Yeah you do, I'm just joking," Sami said, surveying the box of still un-connected lanyards. "Jeez, how long did you want to be here?"

"I'll finish it," Seth said tilting his chin so he could see the rest of his work. "Don't worry about it, you don't have to stay."

Shinsuke arrived on time for his evening swim lessons and as he came through the lobby, Seth presented him with the catalog of surfing equipment Hunter had left. For a day of completing mostly tiresome and thankless jobs, Seth was at least glad to see Shinsuke's face light up with excitement, paging through the bright pages full of wetsuits and boards.

"Did… Hunter say?" Shinsuke asked with a heavy accent, accessing his english. "What time? Eh... to Order?"

"Uh, I don't know," Seth said, trying to remember exactly what Hunter had written. "I'm sure after the fundraiser… I think that just came in the mail the other day."

"Kids will love it," Shinsuke said, beaming wide. There was something incredibly infectious about his enthusiasm and Seth smiled too.

"Yeah? That's great," he nodded. "Glad I caught you."

With the noise of swim lessons and children's voices cascading down the hall, Seth pulled the lanyard boxes into the break room so he might have some peace and quiet. Snacking on a bag on Sun Chips that had been abandoned on the table, he yawned a few times, checking on his progress and rolling his shoulders. If he was home right now, Dean would probably be checking on the chickens of knitting and Roman would be doing some dishes or lounging on the couch. At least, that's what they did most days. Seth knew he was probably acting really weird and distant to him, but he was at least glad he had the excuse of his grandfather's passing to allow him some thinking time.

Seth still had to call the estate lawyer and sort through the paperwork his mother had sent. It was so confusing it made his head hurt and there still didn't seem to be an obvious answer to his problems. As he sat in the empty break room and pressed keychains onto the lanyards, Seth wondered if a logical conclusion would arise through the court process or if he was supposed to have something in mind already. If everything he knew about lawyers and property bureaucracy was to be believed, he probably had a little while to think about what he wanted to do.

But still, Seth sighed, feeling hopeless again. If Dean and Roman just didn't want to make the leap with him, he'd have to face that reality. For all the issues he'd ever encountered with being dishonest with Marek and watching that relationship fall apart, Seth had never been thoroughly rejected before. The thought terrified him, and for a few moments, he simply sat, mouthing theoretical conversations to himself.

I love you both a lot, he tongued against his teeth. I feel like we could really do this if we wanted. I don't have anyone else I want to share my life with like that.

Seth jumped as the door opened and a very wet, disheveled looking Finn came in, towel around his neck, looking miserable. As soon as they locked eyes on each other, he laughed a little. Seth blinked.

"Little brot'er fell in da pool," Finn explained, "Probably didn' haff ta' do a whole jump, but the mot'er scared me."

"You're just having a great day, aren't you?" Seth snorted, standing up and feeling his knee pop a little from sitting still. "Your bag is in the laundry room. Did you want-"

"Uh, yeah," Finn nodded, dusting off his head a little.

"Everything okay?" Seth asked for good measure, touching the walkie talkie at his hip. "Someone got it?"

"Oh yeah, it was just a quick t'ing," Finn sighed. "Randy's givin' me sum time."

Seth retrieved Finn's newly cleaned bag and doubled his pace to finish up the lanyard assembly before six-thirty. Eager to leave and get a more substantial dinner, he swore as he remembered the children's face paints, still unaccounted for. Dropping his bag and running around the building, Seth used the service elevator to get to the top floor, checking Miz's office cabinets before looking elsewhere. The container in question was supposed to be some blue-lidded rubbermaid with little paint palettes specifically for face painting. If he found them, Seth was supposed to put them with the other kid's area boxes that were stacked in the corner of P-Pool. Looking outside through the window, more displays and tables had been erected before the sun was due to set.

After twenty minutes of searching, and enlisting the help of Bayley and Sasha, Seth was sure that whatever container Hunter had been describing had passed into non-existence. They checked the party room, the basement, the storage rooms on each floors and even behind the front desk, but there wasn't any face paints. Annoyed, but mostly just exhausted of being at work, Seth tapped his foot, trying to think.

"They wouldn't be in the park you don't think?" Bayley tried, surveying all of the lanyards Seth had pieced together over the course of the day. "Maybe they all dried up and someone through them away."

"If I buy more, Hunter can reimburse me," Seth sighed, pulling out his phone. His mouth twitched, realizing he had a text in the group chat he shared with Dean and Roman. Ignoring it, he opened Google, trying to think of a store that might have face paints.

"Most places are probably closed," Sasha said, pulling out her own phone and pulling a face. A group of swim team kids came by and she flattened herself against a wall. Seth felt guilty, his friends were ready to go and had their bags on their shoulders but were idling around on his account. The only art store that was open was south of Disney World and Seth didn't want to go to a grocery store and buy a low-quality product that wouldn't work.

"Okay though, I have to be here at 8:30 tomorrow…" Sasha began, looking at Bayley thoughtfully. "I could run to the store by my place… they'll be open at 8 and I could get stuff for me and Xavier to use."

"Could you?" Seth asked, fully ready to hug Sasha if he meant he could be finished working for the day. "That would be… perfect."

"You owe me a cool hangout night," Sasha said smartly. "I wanna go bowling or something. Maybe a movie."

"Absolutely, whatever you want," Seth said, nodding hard and picking up his box of lanyards again. "Just save your receipt and I'll get you cash back."

"Sweet!" Bayley said, happy to see the issue resolved. The girls waved as Seth shuffled as fast as he could to put the finished lanyards in Hunter's office and finally clock out. "Bye Seth! See you tomorrow!"

"Bye girls!" Seth said loudly on his way out. His whole body felt like it was priming to shut down, relieved of duty, desperate to sink into a few hours of rest before he was back again, bright and early.

The lap pool was fairly busy as he walked in and set the box on the floor of Hunter's office. Standing in the dimly lit room, he pulled out his bright phone to see exactly what he'd been sent. Two hours ago, Roman had asked How late will u be over there? Seth felt a little guilty, like he should have told them upfront in the group chat how long he would be, but he honestly hadn't known.

Heading home now he sent, stomach grumbling. It would be a lot to assume that Roman had kept anything warm for him, but Seth would have been appreciative if that was the case.

Of the three of them, Seth was the only one that had to work really early the next day. Dean had the second shift and Roman was more or less beholden to the same job he always worked, which was just his regular group exercise class. Mentally, Seth reminded himself to tell Roman that he was supposed to confirm the class with Hunter and do some stupid intro about the importance of donating to the fundraiser. Turning the key in his ignition, Seth shook his head hard, trying to just clear his head of work crap now that he was off the clock. He didn't really expect to come home and have a long talk or a stupid fight or anything outrageous, but Seth was starting to realize how disconnected he felt from the present. Driving through the city to get home, it was like he had no short term memory, nothing rooting him to the reality of him sitting in his car, turning the steering wheel and signaling for turns. Everything was in the future, and looking in the mirror, Seth thought his face looked sort of discolored and patchy, like his beard was short but growing in weird directions.

The house was dark and the Jeep was gone as Seth approached, feeling anxious again. Inside, Kevin was barking eagerly, but Seth paused as he imagined what he might see inside. What if Roman was passed out on the couch again? What if Dean was avoiding them both? It was nearly dark outside now and the air was sticky, not really prime biking hours.

But as Seth came inside, he realized he was fully alone. All of the lights were off and although the house wasn't quite the filthy mess of dirty dishes and drink containers, the garbage was a little overflowing and stinky. Kevin had already been fed, and Seth licked his lips, wondering what he was expecting.

We went out, there are noodles in the fridge was written on a note in Roman's neat handwriting. There was a little heart under it, which Seth guessed meant that no one was actually mad at him. Why hadn't they bothered to ask him about it? Did they just assume that he didn't want to go out?

Truthfully, Seth was in no mood to go out and he toed out of his shoes and let his hair out of it's bun for good measure. The house was humming with central air and the new refrigerator shone bright as he opened it, examining the buttered noodles left behind. As he spooned the contents into a bowl, Seth was struck by how empty he felt again, without any task left to do.

Am I depressed? He thought, walking to the sliding door to let Kevin outside. He knew he was being ridiculous if he was going to be lonely without his boyfriend's for a single night, especially after Seth had opted to see Cesaro the previous day. There wasn't anyone to talk to, so Seth undid his lips and again, practiced conversations on the open air.

"I don't want to do any of this." he said, not really knowing exactly what he was talking about. The inheritance seemed obvious, but the buttered noodles whirring in the microwave were also rather unappetizing. "Everyone should know that I can't deal with this."

The microwave beeped and he stared for almost another minute before he took it out to stir it again. Feeling dramatic and wishing he could just snap out of it, Seth strode to the living room and grabbed a pillow. He pressed it to his face and screamed as loud as he could manage with one breath, rubbing his beard on the upholstery and screwing up his face with a yell that nearly tore up his vocal chords. Another breath, another long yell and he felt light headed, standing up straight and hearing Kevin scratching at the door, apparently disturbed.

"You're fine," Seth snorted, striding to the door to let his dog in again and stooping to pet the little Yorkie. "You've got it the best Kev, don't take it for granted."

[mmcollective]

Risks in software testing

In the footsteps of training on dealing with risks in testing, I decided to disassemble the topic of risks in the testing to the simplest components, so for themselves and colleagues, this semi-mystical, polushamanskaya topic has become transparent and manageable.

So, firstly: the risks and problems are often lumped together. Risk, by definition, some existing or evolving factor of a process that has potentially negative impact on the process and, consequently, its result. You can, of course, to endure every challenge to the concept of risk, but why? On average, a typical training on risk management consists of only 20-25% of the material about the process of risk management and describe the typical risks, and the remaining 75% of the time coaches are trying to cram the guise of describing the risks of process concerns under sauce "and yet you can be here that … ". I repeat - why?

So, face it.

Risk - the existing or emerging factor in the process, which has a potentially negative impact on the process.

Simply put, to clearly delineate the risks and problems: the risk is something that can happen and lead to negative consequences, but the problem is something that has already happened and discourages work. And the risk and the problem may hinder or interfere with work, but ways of dealing with risks and challenges somewhat different: the first must try to understand, find, and if possible to minimize their consequences before they "shoot", and the problems we have to work in fact - to repair or "stew". Separating the risks and challenges of risk management becomes much simpler and easier.

A simple example that is not the risk associated with QA testing services, but often to those concerns is to use one environment for testers and developers. Uncomfortable situation, which generates or can generate a lot of problems, but it is the source of the problem, not risk.

How to deal with risks

Activity of cyclical risks, like any other project activity, if you work in iterations. Moreover, if the iteration you are long enough cycles of works related to risk management may be several such internal cycles can for simplicity be called "loops".

What usually causes difficulties in the initial stages of risk: the actual start (to make these activities in the work plans) to understand that dealing with risk is not rocket science and that such activity as any other must be planned, resourced (performers) have been fulfilled, and the results should be analyzed (that "shot" that - not with what we did successfully, etc.).

An interesting point: sometimes we can not do anything with risk, or our actions are not enough to eliminate risk from the list, but it happens. Systemic risks to a system and that all can not be excluded, as they often are a feature of the process in which we operate. Clearance of mines, the process is risky, but work to do. In this case, we try to insure themselves in case of fire from its consequences and to paint instructions in the event of hostilities.

I will not dwell in detail, but the stage of the analysis of the results and lessons learned are often ignored, which leads to a repetition of an unsuccessful outcome at the next iteration - that, actually, is characteristic of any process: if we do not analyze "to hit", the next shot hits again " somewhere to go … ", instead get" wherever necessary ".

Also, do not want to detract from the main subject of the article ideas about the proper goal-setting, but if the risk management plan will be written to "talk with the chief of PO lead tester" instead of "resolve the question of increasing PO lead tester at 20%, then the result of the Tasca such a plan would probably not "have increased by 20% CB", and "talked with the chief about the rise …."

What I would like to fix before we proceed to consider the typical risks associated with testing software. In order to properly handle risks and this work brings results, it is necessary to clearly understand to which level applies to a particular risk - the level of your responsibility as a manager of testing or to the level of project risks, which need to work on with the project manager and lead developer. Systemic risks or risk level of business in which you work, are usually beyond the zone of influence of the project team, but the project team can take part in the preparation of some decisions and analyzing the current situation, to provide decision makers timely and understandable information.

Typical risks in software testing

What is the project? Project from the perspective of the manager - this time, money and hepines customer. Project to test this same project, with the difference that money directly to the test manager manages the rare, but their resources in the form of man-hours in the money, you can convert or work with labor costs directly.

Incomplete evaluation of labor on the project

Frederick Brooks, in his famous book "The Mythical Man-Month," noted that this particular risk is often the main reason for failure to timely or completely failed project.

In general, the risk is, of course, refers to the level of project risk, and more precisely to the risks of project management. But, since the estimate labor costs for the project includes an assessment of labor costs for testing and the testing effort are on the critical path plan for the iteration, the risk is often linked to the misjudgment of labor costs for testing, which we will consider the following individual risk.

Risk is characterized by the fact that the testers are not involved in any labor costs to Review the project or to obtain estimates themselves. Situation in which the evaluation of testing just down the project manager, customer or someone else is often clinical and contrary to basic principles of project management: an assessment of the problem gives the executor, or executor may not take up the task and is not responsible for the result.

I repeat - the risk of the project level, when it comes to assessing the labor costs of the project, but some can be managed and minimized the QA team or its manager, by including testers in the process of getting estimates for labor costs and Review of the estimates and project plans.

Partly estimated labor costs for testing

Similar to the previous risk, based mainly on the violation of the principle of assessment of labor gives singer ", but at the level of project tasks for testing.

In addition to the basic causes of "shot" of this risk, also significantly risky factors may be missing implicit requirements, incorrect definition of the types of tests and configurations that will be tested - these problems are most affecting the amount of work on testing and as a consequence of mistakes made in carrying out these problems lead to a change in the scope of work on testing and significantly influence the test plan.

How to deal: reviews and audits, formal and "on the fly." At this point, one head is good, but two - better.

The situation can be generated or exacerbated by combining the roles of test manager and test designer. In the separation of these roles at various project team members tested, the test designer must justify and defend his proposed strategy for testing and evaluation of their labor. This protection often works better than formal reviews.

Test plan is not tied to the project plan

Strictly speaking, this is the problem of the testing process, which, meanwhile, is so widespread that I would recommend to focus attention on it as a serious risk.

Testing and development are sitting on one project resources - on time. If the plans of the two directions are not connected tightly (preferably at the level of a general plan of the project, just links of between tasks in MS Project or any other similar system) or are not synchronized on a regular basis, there is a likelihood or risk that the shift of development plans (which impact on the delivery date version in testing) will not be counted in the work plan for testing, leading to inadequate time for testing and, consequently, to pending testing phase.

Why plans for testing and development have yet to be firmly linked to the level of a single project plan: the area of ??responsibility the project manager for a fixed duration iteration among other things is the volume management (scope) iteration, for which he needs to see the testing effort. Roughly speaking, a time-limited task of iterating the PM and choose an amount of functionality that the team has time and make and test.

If the project manager to estimate labor costs for testing are not necessary (see "Clinic"), the task manager to test their work into the project plan and associate them with acc. targets for exploitation. In such a scheme to move the timing of testing is extremely difficult - some part of the testing effort will simply clear vylazit deadline for the plan or on the charts.

The testing strategy is absent or failing the development team or customer

Technically not a risk, but a problem which raises the risk that the testing strategy will fail in that part of the problems, where the overlap with the tasks of developing or will not be provided with resources (often the design time), and the result is still not completed.

How to deal: Formal Review strategy or test plan is usually not helpful. Formal apruv in this place, often means "I saw that you have a document with the name of strategy or plan and you have it updated in this iteration. In fact these are the words "well done, the main thing that you’re a good student" who do not give you as test manager, ability to obtain the necessary understanding of the development team and sootv.resursy to implement this strategy and your plans.

Layoffs

The risk of dismissal of key or not a key employee is always there.

The problem is not that people go, but that goes when you need them, instead of the project and to enter a new employee, train them and output to "project power" it takes time - resp. plans to subside, speed drops, all nervous.

What to do. Keep the "bench" is not always possible for economic reasons. "Feed the better" does not always help, and sometimes (in the case of a time with no key companions) is also simply not profitable. What can I do? The most obvious thing I see is "to negotiate with its neighbors - just to talk with neighboring departments, or projects (in which this risk also exists), and agree that in the event of such an event, they will be able to somehow (if it will allow product-specific and the current workload) to help you people. Similarly, be prepared to help themselves. Yes, the rescue of drowning - the handiwork of drowning.

The remaining problems

Changing even documented requirements or priorities, often referred to as risks as to factors that affect the amount of iteration and acc. lead to a revision of plans and possibly disrupt delivery schedules version. I would not call this part of the design of risk - a reality that we must work with both design constraints and try not to even reach the status of the problem. Effective way is to just limit the volume of iterations in the dates of when any change in the requirements leads to the expulsion of some other piece of work (and real estate development and testing) in the next iteration. Forcibly or administrative "force" requirement is not changed yet, no one turned out - the business is changing, the requirements are changing and if the customer is willing to pay not only for natural changes in the requirements, but also for their "fantasy" or "disorganized" - it must accept and be able to live with it. Ways to eat and they work.

Difficulties in the group testing is associated with the testing is actually very little. Seen described as a particular risk of software implementation of the Product level "no GUI». On the fact of not being a risk, this feature of the project or product can be a significant limitation in the testing strategy and to impose stringent requirements on the qualifications of personnel involved in testing. I repeat - this is not a risk, it is a feature of your product or project. You do not complain that the interface is your product written in English as intended for the Western market, although in Russian, it might be easier to test.

In conclusion, I would like to focus on is fairly obvious, but ignored the risk that consists in the idea of ??ignoring the risks.

The risk of ignoring the risks

One of the risks, which applies to all levels of risk management. Refusing to take into account the fact that there are risks that the process (even the most well-established, verified, formalized and controlled) can lead to inefficiencies, usually leads to overly optimistic plans to conflicts with their non-compliance, the need to reschedule a "fire mode" ( that usually leads to miscalculations, and more violates the normal rhythm of work) and as a result of failures.

What to do: to start working with the risks (however hackneyed and trite not sounded this conclusion, but there is no other recommendation). In testing the specific risks a bit. Most of the risks the project level, may be solved by joint efforts of the testing, development and project management.

Now, hopefully, it will be easier.

[thehandsomeasshole]

Initially, the look Jack shot Zane would've made any regular employee of his simultaneously release their bladder and stomach contents. Not Zane, though. Of course not. Sure, he could've kicked him out of the lift. But was there really a point? He'd probably just say no, put Jack in an even worse mood.

He found it pretty funny.

It was nice to have employees that'd do whatever you told them, no questions asked, SURE. But one you could just flat out piss around with for shits and giggles?

Even better.

His expression softened slightly, brows settling from their tightly drawn together position and the downright murderous-look in his eyes was replaced with sheer exhaustion.

He could help the laugh that slipped past his lips at the clear attempt of a compliment, "Hell, I wish." He mumbled, eyes settling back on his feet as he let out a loud huff, "At the age where whenever I move, all my bones crunch."

The CEO snorted, a warmth tingling in his chest as he realised that was probably the first few times he'd laughed properly in a month, "But, I- I'll give it to ya. You know how to put me in a good mood, kitten. I'll give ya that."

Oh, the offer sounded like pure bliss. Get hammered out of his mind, pass out in bed, take tomorrow off under the guise of just doing paperwork when all he would be doing was sleeping off the hangover. Definitely self-care.

"You know what? Count me in, you spunky little Irishman." Jack huffed, looking back up and meeting Zane's eyes with a quirked grin, "So, classy bar or one of the really freakin' dodgy ones on the lower deck?"

thehandsomeasshole‌:

@ferocityflynt ​ - starter

The soft hum of the elevator was almost soothing as Jack descended, a pleasant silence compared to the downright chaotic day and, for once, it wasn’t his fault.

Entirely.

He hadn’t expected his presence to be such a surprise in R&D, or at least not enough for someone to drop an entire crate of corrosive chemicals and for the entire floor to have to be evacuated. It’d have been a lot funnier if it weren’t for the damn pile of paperwork he had to fill out over it. 

The CEO had his arms crossed over his broad chest and a remarkably unenthusiastic scowl on his face as he felt the elevator stop, not nearly enough floors had passed so he knew someone else was getting on rather than him being able to get off. He wasn’t sure why this pissed him off so much; his employees had to use the elevators too or, God knows, no one would get anything done on time.

He didn’t even bother looking up from where his eyes were focused on the floor, darting briefly to the man who entered before he looked back to where he was before. A sigh left his lips, and with his eyes still trained on the ground he spoke. It was more of a grumble, his voice a little hoarse from the entire day of yelling and screaming at the dumbasses he decided to employ.

“You sure as Hell better hope we’re going the same way, kiddo. Ain’t in the mood for detours tonight.”

working at Hyperion has been nothing but chaotic since he signed up.  then again… he’s not really working at Hyperion,  just for the company.  he’s not technically employed by them,  just by Handsome Jack to carry out particularly terrible tasks.  be it murdering or nuking ratch nests or even doing a coffee run for him that one time.  he’s morally ambiguous enough to not give much of a damn about what the specific job is–  but he does give a damn about how much he gets paid.  and luckily,  Jack has always rolled out the big bucks to him.  the same can’t be said about his other employees,  that’s for sure.

he’s making his way back to his temporary room when the elevator finally opens,  and…  he’s not expecting the CEO here,  but he’s not like any other employee who would just offer to take the stairs instead or maybe piss their pants in anxiety.  his head is still held high and now there’s a grin on his lips as he swaggers into the shared space,  pressing the button again to get the huge door to slide shut.  surprisingly enough,  he’s not the first one to speak this time around.  he raises his scarred brow at the other man,  eyeing him rather openly.  obviously he’s not afraid of him–  something that can’t be said for many people,  really.  but Jack can’t use anything against him.  he’s got no friends and his two brothers are idiots who might already be dead anyway,  and if he threatens him with death?  well,  he’s been flirting with her for a long while now.  

“kiddo?  i’m pretty sure i’m older than you,  handsome!  what are you– 25?  26?”  oh,  he’s doing that on purpose.  he’s sure they’re about the same age,  but the guy looks absolutely miserable and he knows nothing gets him off better than compliments about his appearance.  he thought he was self-obsessed… and then he met Handsome Jack.  “well,  i was planning to head back to my room,  maybe call it a night.  but now i’m thinkin’ i wanna get absolutely shitefaced.  you look like you need that too,  boss.”

[dallasareaopinion]

Lets start with an idea from the better half

As regular readers know I feel the Reps and Dems have failed us and I am always saying we need new parties. Yet I am all talk and no action. I have researched a few things, but no real action. Yet lo and behold the better half struck me twice.

First I found out she does listen to me. Apparently she has heard me rant and rail enough to know exactly how I feel about our political morass. So the other morning over breakfast she hits me with this idea. I should start a campaign for candidates. This is her exact verbiage “campaign for candidates”.

And then she explained what she meant. And I am sitting there dumbfounded because A) she proved she listens to me and B) this is a great idea for what I want.

I always say we need to recruit new candidates for office. Exactly how does a person accomplish this goal is one question in my mind. She explained you have town hall type forums, (town hall is my term) invite the public letting them know you have an opportunity to speak your mind. Once everyone has spoken you afford the attendees an opportunity to choose which ideas best represent you and they then try to encourage the person to run. 

This concept can bring new ideas to the forefront and reinforces to people that there are more people that think like them, hence it is easier to convince someone to run for office. An open forum for debate, discussion, exchange of ideas and none of it tied to either of the current political parties. Many indepenents and dissatisfied Reps and Dems can realize there are other options. 

At one point many localities were trying to develop economic incubators as ways to grow small businesses. And I still think this is a good idea, now we have  a similar idea to grow new government or new policy or new participants in government. 

So now I am really stuck with what do I do next because I have been called out. Anyone want to help me drag this from my lazy backend into a productive reality. It still needs people to start and since I am an introvert I need to crawl ot of my shell and find an avenue to get this started. Lets hope my better half’s good idea does not go to waste. I will have to mull this over.

Earlier today I had a whole host of random comments. They seem to have disappeared instantaneously. 

Something about Trump cannot say he kept a campaign promise by bringing the troops home from Syria and not fighting endless wars anymore, yet there are other ramblings about troops being sent to Saudi Arabia. Cannot pick and choose when you are fulfilling a campaign promise and when you are either self dealing or flat out lying. If we really want to end all these endless wars we need to get off oil, yet here is the man who makes fossil fuels the be all end all to the future. He is one large walking contradiction.

Or Elizabeth Warren and her wealth tax, you just cannot tax the wealthy and expect it to solve problems. We need to tax the wealthy, but there has to be a goal with how you do it and what you expect to accomplish with rationale. The obvious one is to help reduce the deficit, but even that will need cost reductions alongside the extra taxes. My argument is it is payback time. The decline of education in this country is one by product of the 1% buying off Congress.

Their gain is they are paying for a better educated country to help rebuild our economy. The wealth horders don’t want a better educated country, but talk to people who are true business people and they know they need a stronger and  more prepared employee to move their business. Success takes many people. If people cannot do the work, or create, or problem solve, the business will fail eventually. True capitalists know this and so do wealth horders. The wealth horders have been running the country into the grown under the guise of capitalism. Hopefully the real capitalists and entrepenuers will wake up and back what is needed. Just taxing the rich because they are rich will only get you push back. Real business people understand investing in the future. 

And a couple of posts ago I said I would start another story. And I had some choices. This time around I am choosing the story that is more an exercise in writing than a story I usually write, yet I do have a story. I said if I chose this route I would have to plan it. Well, I didn’t. I do feel though I need to take on this challenge. It will be like all my others, it will be written in the moment as it is added to my usual madness of posting. One side note I am pulling together another story that I am going to put on Smashwords eventually. It originally started in this blog, but I am making an effort to get some feedback and do smething with it. I actually got some good feedback and now I have to force myself to follow through. Hopefully soon I will get that done. I will let you know once I am there. For now though, here is the next story and it is a concept or an exercise in a certain type of writing.  Cheers!

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Pressure existed. A force pushed down. Nothing changed. Constantly the same pressure existed. The same force pushed down without an increase or a decrease. Yet, the pressure seemed to go straight through and the same force and pressure pushed down further. There was no movement only the force existed and it came from on top and moved through and pushed on and on through and further down. It was a resting force.

At times somewhere else there existed something. It made its presence known. Occassionally the pressure was slightly affected, maybe there was movement that pushed the pressure to the side for a moment. Things would settle down and the pressure would be the same. Other than the occasional side movement, there was no change. Or it seemed that way.

At one point the pressure eased. And then it shifted. The same pressure existed. It still pushed down, on, and then through and the pressure went down. 

Eventually the pressure eased again, shifted again. This time the pressure shifted, but changed. The pressure still pushed down, on, and through and the pressure went down. Yet once the shifting ended, the pressure pushed down with less force. It existed, but it wasn’t the same. It still pushed down, it still was on and still went through, yet there was a difference. 

Another time it happened again. And again the pressure was different. The pressure was less. Other than that there was no change.

This change happened multiple times until eventually the pressure was non-existent. The shift would happen. And then the release of pressure. 

A violent shifting took place. The side to side movement now increased dramatically. The pressure almost disappeared and in its place was rocking and shifting. The side to side movement was dramatically different. The movement changed and headed in the same direction. The pressure was still there, still pushing down, but very slightly, but it was on and then through still pushing down.

The movement stopped. The resting pressure came back, only very slight. What was pressing down still existed, but disappearing. Now there was new shifting and each shift brought less and less pressure. Pushing down yet even going further down the pressure eased. 

There was upheavel, there was violent shifting and up and down motion, each motion created a new motion. Some was side to side, other times it was up and down. This upheavel stopped. The pressure was still there, yet ever so slight. The movement jerked again and there was a new resting place. Some pressure still existed, pushing down, on and through. Now the movement was regular and with each shift the pressure lessened again. 

Then more violence. The pressure completely vanished. The movement was constant. Then there was a different pressure applied, ever so slight. The surface changed and contained another element. Also very slight. It did not increase or decrease the pressure. The movement continued. 

Once the movement stopped there was no pressure. Nothing pressing down, on and through. Complete freedom all around, only the slightest of pressure that moved that affected different spots. 

Movement began again. There was a new pressure that existed in only one spot. This movement changed directions. And then there was no longer connection to anything. The movement changed direction randomly until it stopped. After it stopped, the movement began again. There was pressure in one spot again, Then there was connection. Something attached itself and connected. And now again there was pressure, yet only slight. The resting pressure had come back.

To be continued....

[ggdbonlineoutlet-blog]

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[bulletpunchcut]

Subterfuge: The Informant: Part Two

Assail: It had been just over a week since my visit to the club, and while things had been busy with Belnoise and mine cousins, I felt it was time to pay my little informant a visit. I wanted to be sure she had adequate time to put her ear to the ground a few nights before returning. This eve I planned to go alone. I knew that was a risk, but I needed the good Reverend to assume I had fancied his finest host and was back for mine own selfish purposes. Ehric and Evale were one push of a button on my phone away, at the house on the Hudson, armed and ready should I need them. Even though my plans for this eve required no violence, I could not control the behavior others. My hand absentmindedly brushed my breast pocket, feeling for that vial of wakey-wakey. I had filled my gasket in mine quarters before departing, but a quick pick me up was always a possibility. As security let me past I headed straight for the VIP area. When I met the bouncer there I smiled and offered him a few bills. He was already waving me past, but accepted the tip with a gratuitous bow. I stepped inside and scanned the booths, looking for the bright-eyed, dark haired beauty from my last visit. She was over by the bar, speaking to one of the staff members. I slid into a chair, loosening my tie as I sat back and waited for her to see me. No one else would serve me, that was our agreement. And she better intend to keep it. Evayhne: *I gave my drink order to the bartender, explaining the requests of the picky humans when I suddenly felt flush and warm as if I was being watched.* “Hey, Eva … there’s a guy looking at you.” #Gina elbowed me. “He looks like he’s ready to eat you up, lucky bitch.” *I turned slowly to follow her gaze and looked over my shoulder to see Assail sitting alone … pointedly waiting for me. I swallowed as I felt my fangs descend … he’s was quite mouth watering … and it had been months since I last fed. Not good. I turned away and took a deep breath, trying to calm my sudden racing six chambered heart. Then I remembered why he was /really/ here. It wasn’t for me … at least not exactly. Information is what he wanted. I still didn’t understand what exactly he was looking for. I asked the bartender for the Johnnie Walker Odyssey neat and asked #Gina to deliver my other drinks while I took the lone scotch to Assail. I turned to walk around the dance floor and the other tables as Rihanna’s “What’s My Name” blared through the speakers as the humans humped on the dance floor. I could feel his eyes on me as I concentrated on my breathing and relaxed my posture. His effect on me was palpable … a useless reaction on my part. But again … it wasn’t as if I was out there meeting anyone … my only association was with the employees here, the humans and the very few and rare visits from the males who I suspected where not just mere males of my species … but something altogether dangerous and unrivaled.* Assail: I watched as Evayhne caught sight of me, my lips twitching up as she pawns off her other drink orders and turns her attentions to me. Good girl. The drunken patrons part for her as she approaches, all long legs and midnight waves. I hooked the toe of my shoe around the chair next to mine and slide it in close, giving her no other option than to sit with her legs against mine. I rise from my seat and offer her my hand, drawing her in to join me with a slight bow of my head. “Evayhne. Stunning as always, and a pleasurable sight for mine eyes. How fare thee?” We sit and I rest my hand flat on the table, leaning forward, attention solely on the female in front of me. Despite the fact that this was a ploy, even I could admit it wasn’t hard to pretend with a female like Evayhne. This close, her warm scent filled my nose, overcoming the dry coarse leftovers of my last hit. It was like twilight after a steamy summer day, slick and floral. Sweet, but with a hint of richness. I wondered if she had any idea how appealing her blood was. I looked her over as I waited for her response, taking note that she appeared well this eve. Evayhne: *I watched him rise as he towered above me and as my hand was placed in his … the touch was unnerving. My heart palpitated in my chest as I tried to steady my breathing. His effect surprisingly flustered me as I sat in the chair he offered. My naked legs brushing against his expensive slacks feeling the cashmere as it sends a shiver up my leg and straight to my lower parts. I quickly shook my head to get me out of my thoughts and into the present.* I’m well. How are you? *I asked in return as he took the tumbler of whiskey I provided. I took deep breaths as I waited for his response. Breathing in his masculine scent … heavenly, positively sinful. Then those naughty thoughts came right back as he brought his focus on me as I observed, memorized, as his lips sipped the amber liquid.* Assail: “I am well, thank you for asking.” I sipped my drink and lifted a finger at the nearest waitress so she’d bring Evayhne one as well. In no time another glass was set on the table. With two fingers I slid it over in front of my host, nodding for her to drink. “How’s business been this week? Has the owner been in much? Or is not visible to employees when he’s in his office?” I kept my eyes scanning the club, making sure that while the wait staff bustled around, no security was close by. I didn’t need anyone overhearing us. Which was another reason for sitting Evayhne damn near in my lap. Hushed voices and lips hidden behind our glasses, or perhaps in each other’s ears, would keep prying eyes off us. Next time I’d sit at a different table too, varying things up so they couldn’t bug our “regular spot”. Then again, this whole place could be wired for all I knew. I suppose after tonight I’d know. If I showed up next time and was denied entry, that would answer my question. If that happened, I’d have to find my informant, make sure she was safe. I didn’t want a death on my hands. Evayhne: *I smiled as he got one of the girls to bring me a drink and looked around the club. Perhaps he was looking for someone to bed tonight no doubt. I inwardly sighed and focused on the task at hand.* The waitress returned with a Absolut Pear and Sprite for me, something I was drinking earlier upon a suggestion from one of my female patrons. It was very light and delicious and kept me hydrated as the night grew longer.* Business has been good. Though the clients could tip better. *I smirked.* As for #Rehv, He’s in most days and mostly goes straight to his office. I’ve actually never stepped inside, I just wave hello from the doorway as I walk past into the locker rooms. *I always wondered what went on in his office. It was none of my business. #Rehv kept the girls safe and his employees happy … we didn’t question anything. I wonder if what Assail was seeking would harm him and the others. I stayed silent and waited for his response.* Assail: I smiled at Evayhne as she spoke about her job. It didn’t surprise me that business was good here, there was an endless supply of vampires and needy humans rushing the doors every night. I wondered if it was the drinks they were after, the supernatural encounters, or something a bit more … illegal. I watched Evayhne as she described Rehv’s patterns, nodding once when she finished. “So he doesn’t spend time on the floor, he leaves that to his managers? Ah, let me think … Trez is the one, yes? I’ve seen a female too at times.” I lifted my drink and held it in front of my lips, wording my next question carefully. It was important no one see or hear me ask it, save for my informant. I leaned in closer and kept my voice as low as possible, so only she could hear me. “I wonder what it would take to gain his audience. Tell me, what sort of incident would it take for a valued staff member like yourself to earn a moment of his time? That is something I would be interested in seeing happen in the very near future.” Evayhne: *As I spoke about the nightly routines, he listened intently and nodded. It made me wonder what he was really after. Everything I was revealing could be observed by anyone who came into the club nightly and had the desire to pay any attention to the employees.* No, not really he mainly leaves it to #Trez and #Xhex. *They both were a send from the Scribe Virgin to watch over us. I may not love what I do exactly but I loved working for them. They treated all the employees like family. If anyone has any issues with /anyone/ … either or both would take care of it. No questions, no payment, nothing in return.* I suppose that I could ask for an audience for anything. He’s door is always “open” as  the human’s say. You just have the courage to knock. *I chuckled quietly. All though we were treated like family … /no one/ wanted to be on #Rehv’s bad side /ever/.* Assail: My gaze locked on Evayhne as she told me anyone could request an audience with Reverend. Interesting … I didn’t want to send her in there on a social call. So, how should we handle this? Do I raise issue, create a scene, enough to get the club’s owner to invite her in during cleanup? Or do I create a guise, a ruse to send her in under … yes, that was the way to go. I knew I was already being watched every moment I was in this place, but bringing even more attention to myself by causing trouble wasn’t the way to further my agenda. Yes, I was dying to get a pair of eyes in that office, whether Evayhne’s or mine own. But I couldn’t risk exposing myself by getting on everyone’s naughty list. No, I had to be as pure as a Chosen in the Scribe Virgin’s Sanctuary, a good little male every moment I visited Iron Mask. Or all this would have been for naught. I reached for her hand, a roll of cash in my palm as I joined our palms and lifted her fingers, pressing a chaste kiss to her knuckles. “Would you do something for me, Evayhne? Would you request a few moments of your boss’s time? Bring one of the other girls with you, too. Tell the Reverend that a few of your clients have been OD’ing lately, that they have to be carried out the door and you lose out on tips and … any other monies owed for the services some of your coworkers provide. If he asks what they’re on, tell him blow. Can you do that for me?” I kept my eyes on Evayhne, despite the urge to look around us to ensure no one was eavesdropping. It was hard fighting my instincts, but Fates be, I needed my own ruse to play out. Evayhne: *I felt the roll of money in my hand as he leaned down to kiss my hand. A warm breath of his lips. Soft. Sweet. It sent electricity through my arm and settled low in my body. His effect of me was palpable. I listened as Assail made his request and thinking I didn't want to lie to #Rehv. He has been a great boss to work for and yet for some reason I wanted to help Assail, but I knew it could backfire and in a bad way. I still didn't understand what this male wanted exactly but I had determined that whatever it was I needed to stay in the loop … for better or worse. He intrigued me. The thing was #Xhex and her crew dealt with the ODs and #Trez and #iAm made sure none of the working girls were ever shafted, and if money wasn't available there was payment taken … from their hides. One way or another. Lately though, I had overheard some humans try to sell someone else’s stuff to the employees, the girls had mentioned it to me just the other night and with the rash of ODs lately … I put one and one together. I was planning on telling #Xhex but I could just tell #Rehv. I explained my plan to Assail and watched as he listened … not knowing his thoughts. He kept a good poker face. Neither slight twitch here or there …nothing. Only an eyebrow arch, barely noticeable, as I told him that I would ask for an audience with actual intel that I already had rather than the lie he concocted.* So you see, I actually do have a reason. So instead of #Xhex, I could request to see #Rhev instead. *I shrugged nonchalantly. Still loyal to #Rhev while entertaining his request. I wasn't sure what I was hoping for. I wanted him to keep coming back. Useless really. My conscious was rolling her eyes at me.* Assail: Impressive. Evayhne wasn’t just a good actress when it came to her clients, smiling at all the right things, laughing at their jokes, keeping her attention on her clients when her mind must surely be wandering … She was clever, and smart enough to allow me some intel in order to solidify our plan. She knew what went on in this club better than I did. So when she suggested a slight change to the reason for her attendance in Reverend’s office, my own brain began churning as well. Humans selling to the employees. That was bad for business. Did they even realized they were in the house of THE Reverend? A male who kept his dealings very private, yet somehow was known to everyone as the drug boss of Caldwell. Well … my ambitions may tip the scales in a different direction one day, but in the meantime, Rehv held that title. The stunning female before me had offered her aid, words that would ring true to her boss rather than the lie I fed her. Her loyalty was growing. My lips finally slid up into an amused smile, letting Evayhne know that I liked her idea. “You delight me with your words, Evayhne. If I come back in two weeks, time, would that be enough for you? If you were to go to him immediately, it may tip them off about you and I. But if you wait a few days, a week, even … I will be forgotten. Well, hopefully not entirely.” I smirked and carefully let her hand go, leaving the cash inside her grip as I released her. This was good. I had things to attend to in the meantime, then I could visit the lovely female again. If the fates blessed me, she would have some answers. Evayhne: *I warmed at his compliment to my alteration of his request. Why did I want to please him at all? Again, my subconscious was shaking her head at my idiotic fantasies that perhaps he would find interest outside #Rehv … and his business. However unlikely. He smiled delicious as always and his innocent kiss sent my insides into over drive. I was disappointed he broke our connection as he pulled back his hand. Damn. I needed to get a grip on myself. Perhaps I needed to get laid. Scribe knows it's been a while. I looked out into the gen pop and thought of hooking up with a human. Easy to erase their mind later. I also needed to feed … I internally rolled my eyes at the hassle of dealing with feeding. I needed to get my head back into the conversation.* Yes, that's fine. I should be able to get in with #Rehv later this week. *No BFD. I watched as he finished his drink, his adam’s apple moving against his throat, pulse beating. Fuck. I needed to get my libido under control and off this male and a quick feed as well. He was not for me. I'm sure he had mother females at his beck and call. He wanted information that's it. I needed to remember that.* Assail: I sat back, more than pleased with how this evening had worked itself out. Evayhne was turning out to be a quite suitable employee. If she kept this up I might have more work for her when this was all over. With a narrow smile, I patted my pockets down, doing a coke vial, phone, and wallet check. All where I expected them to be. I needed to speak to Benloise this eve. Might as well get to that appointment next. It would give me time to muse on how I wanted to handle the next part of my plan. Things always needed to be handled delicately. “I think we have an accord then, Evayhne. Until next time?” Evayhne: *Nods.* I won’t keep you, I'm sure you have appointments to keep. Drink is on me ... I'll see you later than. *I stated as calmly as possible, smiled, stood up, pocketed the cash into my black leather sheath dress, inside my bra, and started to make my way to gen pop. I need a break to try and dance off some of this pent up … energy. Yea, energy. That's it. Clearly lying to myself.* #Subterfuge #TheInformant #PartTwo #BDB

[skullposse-blog]

Break the Ice | Lane & Greyson

Plotted Ahead! | @aetherxparadise

He was disillusioned to it all far, far, far too late – Aether’s involvement with Skull; Lusamine’s sick, toxic influence over Guzma and over every last one of his insecurities that she could pick apart like the last little scraps of meat hanging off of bone; her obsession with Ultra Beasts that had her neglect her own children and spun her into madness. Yes, he had come to realize it far too long after the events had already transpired, far too long after he could have done anything to change it, try as he might. And he did try… he did so try; but even his best efforts were formed after the fact, as they were now, and he certainly felt the repercussions of all that Aether had done currently – so, so currently. 

Interpol was quickly called into practice to investigate that which had transpired during the events of Aether, only to uncover the worst in the guise that the ‘sanctuary’ had built up so carefully, so meticulously – yes, indeed so much that even some of the lower Aether employees themselves were not privy to; instead of being the safe haven that they had lauded and lobbied were protecting such innocent Pokemon from the monstrosity and terror that was Team Skull (and Lane could only chuckle dryly at such a comment, even back in his ignorance), it was soon found that this Paradise that was to take in sick, scared, traumatized, and injured Pokemon were, at worst, experimenting on them, and at best? Cryogenically freezing them to take up one of many, many slots in Lusamine’s personal hoard which she had deemed to be her favorite, and ‘worthy’ of existing in the new, horrible world she wished to create, overrun with her precious Nihilego. It only made Lane’s skin crawl at the thought of it; after all, even with horrible, disgusting projects such as these, there were those that were arrested that were openly involved with the freezing of and experimenting on Pokemon. How… How sick could these people be? How could they live with themselves, stooping so low?

Even still, he felt mixed about it all; after all, only some of those employed under Aether were obviously those who dirtied their hands in the sins underneath Aether’s promising, light exterior. Those vile people were arrested, were taken away, and promptly dealt with. But what of those who were not? What of those who managed to put on their masks, put on their guise that they were as innocent as any other Aether employee who was none the wiser to the darkness that transpired? They walked among the people in Alola as if regular citizens, and others around them were none the wiser to the crimes they’d taken part in, the blackness that stained their pasts, their hearts. Who could see the difference between an innocent employee and a guilty one? Lane grimaced; he certainly knew what it felt like; after all, there were very, very few among those in Skull who had ever been privy to the despicable contract between Skull and Aether – between Guzma and Lusamine; not even Plumeria was privy to the fact. Lane never wished upon anyone what he’s had to face as a result: discrimination – horrible, horrible discrimination by the masses, as though he was just as much of a menace as Aether had been. That was never his intention; yes, he had engaged in criminalities that deserved no pity, but to be lotted with intergalactic terror? He could hardly imagine what it must’ve been like for those innocent among Aether; they honestly believed that what they were doing was an act of good. And what of them now? Surely, they still had to be charitable, kind people, shouldn’t they? It was the least Lane could do to keep his heart light and open to them.

After the news had filled to the brim with details of this dark, true Aether Foundation is when the calls began to roll in, as did the Pokemon. Lusamine’s personal chamber had held the cryogenically-frozen forms of hundreds upon hundreds of Pokemon trapped in their own little space – their own little cube – of time, stuck into every corner of the massive, expansive room. And with the investigation came the painstaking, careful process of unthawing each preserved Pokemon, and having them taken care of in Pokemon Centers all across Alola – but then, there were the younger ones. Small things, trapped inside small blocks, able to have been stored away – many, many of them at a time. They were baby Pokemon, most likely separated from their parents to watch the world around them change into the new world Lusamine had in store for them; immature, innocent beauty was no doubt what she had in mind for them. These small creatures were sent to the Paniola Daycare to be cared for one-on-one, fed and rehabilitated just as infants should be. Among these Pokemon was the small, small Vulpix that was given to them on behalf of Interpol, and Lane jumped at the opportunity to be able to raise her and nurture her.

She was given her name by Lane – after all, this Pokemon was captured without ever having been kept in a Pokeball before, and even still, Lusamine had never bothered to name her – and she was named ‘Luna,’ whose bright blue eyes sparkle and shone like the full moon. She had been nestled so small and so deeply into the walls of Lusamine’s trophy chamber, she was difficult to remove, and hard to thaw out without personal injury to her. As a result, her elbows were weakened and her paws were numb, making it difficult to walk without injury, standing on her best wobbly legs as an infant newborn. By day, she went through little activities of physical therapy, trying to ease her into walking – again? Perhaps, but perhaps she had never learned to walk to begin with, she was so young – and by night, Lane took her home to his cozy apartment, and allowed her to sleep in bed with him, teaching her the warmth and kindness that humans could have, and that not all of them were Lusamine. She began to grow stronger and stronger each passing day, little steps at a time, until she was able to stand on her own for quite some time before having to lay down to rest her weary limbs. Lane didn’t push her.

It was three weeks after Luna had come into his life – by day, growing stronger and walking more, and by night, resting and being fed and cared for and loved as she always should have been – and the day passed by the by similarly to the last. She was given monumental praise for her small little victories, treats, and lavished with love. Many of the prospecting adopters fell in love with her and her story, only to turn sour at the fact that her care would be considered ‘intensive.’ They wanted a cute pet that was easy, and by no means would Luna ever, ever be easy to raise. Lane always offered the possibility of waiting for her rehabilitation to be complete, and to grow with the human-wary Pokemon so she may warm up to them, but the humans she was wary of were never patient; they could simply go to Tapu Village and get their own – one that was less difficult than she. It made Lane sick. 

He had Luna nestled in a dark, cozy little spot between the front desk and the check-in countertop above it, working front desk for the while Luna needed her rest, relaxing himself on his phone while the lobby was sparse and empty. An alarm went off on it, and Lane could only smile over at the sleepy Pokemon. “Li’l Miss Luna… y’know what time it is~? Time fer yer bottle~” He cooed, allowing her tired eyes to open before he dismissed himself to the back to fill up Luna’s baby bottle with warm, warm milk, holding her gently onto his lap and petting her head, giving her a little kiss on her forehead when her wide, wide moonlit eyes opened up to look at him sleepily, innocently. She yawned with a little whine, and soon sniffed the air for the promising smell of food, and she drank away at her milk greedily – as all infants do. It was in the middle of this when a man entered through the door, the light jingle garnering both foster parent and baby to the man as he approached the counter. He was a lithe thing with wavy brown hair and determined chartreuse eyes, sparkling and bright. Lord, he was mighty pretty, wasn’t he? Lane shook off the thought with a small blush, momentarily averting the man’s eyes to look back at Luna, coo at her for a moment. With a blink, he returned his gaze to the man before him, speaking in his usual, polite Southern accent, “Howdy howdy there.” He greeted, still continuing to let Luna have her drink and rocking her slowly in his arms. “Thanks fer comin’a Paniola Daycare. Lookin’ fer somebody t’adopt? Someone t’drop off? Pick up?”