#official employee of myself

[aka-indulgence]

AWH MAN WHOEVER YOU ARE THANK YOU SO MUCH!!! 😭

[radgeorgie]

had an amazing interview yesterday.... was told I'd know by Monday.... but it's alleged they DRUG TEST and I just bought 6 packs of weed edibles 😭😭😭😭😭😭😭

[quantum0459]

I tried to make my sona's cutie mark a file cabinet for a bit there. Before I even worked oh god

[in-class-daydreams]

Imagine nearly beating a bitch when they imply that ex-husband Gojo was anything but completely devoted.

Being married to one of the most powerful sorcerers in history was bound to garner some rumors. But the the rumor mill really went wild after your divorce.

You'd grown to ignore the rumors that Satoru left because you were unable to have children after Sen. Or that his Clan ordered you to divorce (though they would have if they could). Or that you weren't a strong enough sorcerer to maintain his interest. People could make up all kinds of baseless things, so you grew to ignore them quickly enough.

But of all the cruel, accusatory, presumptuous rumors surrounding your divorce, one stood far above the rest.

"Satoru Gojo's wife left him because of his wandering eye."

As if people knew anything about him. About how "devotion" is the core of his personality.

So, yes, you might have sent an up-and-coming clan heir through a wall at an official meeting. But she had it coming.

Sukuna sighs and yanks you back into your seat. "Calm down. The bitch doesn't know what she's talking about."

"Excuse me?" the young heir gasped. "How dare you speak of me that way?"

You flick a hand and send a water snake directly at her face, making sure to direct it at an angle that would force water right up her sinuses. She coughs and gags.

"Satoru was utterly devoted to me and our son. Our marriage may not have lasted, but he is still the most loving man I've ever met. If I ever hear another nasty comment about him from you again, I will remove your tongue," you growl.

The other clan staff sitting around the table gape at you. No one moves to help the young heir.

"Looks like this meeting's over," Sukuna drawls, gathering his papers. "Good thing. This was such a waste of time. Come back when you actually have something for me that makes sense." He shifts into his Ryomen form and uses his extra arms to grab your stuff. "C'mon, brat. I'm done with these idiots."

~

Imagine doing a consultation at Tokyo High and being a little extra nice to ex-husband Gojo.

"I organized each file with color tabs. They're pretty self-explanatory," you explain, handing over the stack.

"And here's to think you could hardly read when we met," Satoru teases.

"Hilarious," you deadpan. "And I left a bag of sandwiches and a gallon of cut fruit for you in the employee fridge. Don't forget to eat again or I'll force feed you myself."

Satoru's eyebrows lift. "Oh. That's different. What brought this on? Are you buttering me up for something? What'd you do?"

You scoff and make to leave his office. "I just don't need Suguru to complain to me about you passing out or something. Don't think about it too hard."

"Alright, thanks."

Just before you cross the threshold, you hear, "Thank you for defending me. You didn't have to do that."

You turn halfway and eye him warily. "I don't know what you're talking about."

"Kuna ratted you out."

"Of course he did."

"Nice try, though." He gives you a rare smile.

Satoru never smiled much. He laughed, pouted, or sly grinned plenty, but you hadn't seen his gentle smile in a while. It made him look younger.

"Well." You shrug. "Bitches who don't know any better should keep their mouths shut."

He laughs. "The Teenage Jailbird version of you still jumps out sometimes, I see."

"She gets the job done." You linger in the doorway for a moment. Then you move before you can change your mind.

Satoru turns his chair to face you when you run round the desk and lets out a soft "oof" when you lock him in a tight embrace. Your clench fistfuls of his uniform jacket.

"It's okay." Satoru pats your back. "I'm not hurt. Really."

You have to pry yourself from him, but you manage. Wiping a stray tear - that even Satoru is surprised to see - you nod resolutely.

"Okay, well. Don't forget to eat or whatever. Bye, Satoru."

Satoru watches you speed walk down the hall. The six eyes pick up on you stopping outside the school gates and running your hands down your face. Once you're gone, he returns to his admin work newly energized.

It was hard to explain to you when you were married, but those little moments of affirmation made all the difference to him.

~ Thanks for reading!

Click [here] to keep up with ex-husband Gojo and his estranged family | Ask stuff about Sen and the fam [here]

[lovethroughdelusions]

SUPPORT USPS

Some of you may have heard this already, but rural carriers in the USPS just got fucked over. (note: i myself am not a usps employee, but my partner is)

USPS and the National Rural Letter Carriers' Association (NRLCA) have disagreed on how to price the volume of work for the rural routes. City (walking) routes get paid hourly, but rural routes get paid salaried. After disagreeing, the matter went to arbitration and the arbitor chose a complicated algorithm for determining the pay by volume, and it goes into effect this week. People are losing thousands of $ a year. Most between 5%-30% of their wage just.. gone. My partner only lost $4000 off their wage, but someone he works with lost $10,000 off their yearly income. A person on reddit is saying they lost $18,000.

The USPS always gets the short end of the stick, but this is going to throw things into chaos. USPS workers are unable to strike, so they don't have much ability to fight back. (though some have been talking about illegal strikes...) They can file a grievance within their union, but it's a gamble on if it will work.

How you can help: please make a fuss about this. Contact your local reps. Share this on social media. Tell your friends.

Thank you. ❤️❤️

Sources:

r/USPS

Route Changes Survey by ruralinfo.net

official NRLCA site

USPS and Striking

[skufdaddyswansea]

!!Termination Letter Update!!

Just a heads up, the recent update to the game that fixed the timeline also updated the termination letter I posted about a little while ago!

I went ahead and grabbed the screenshots myself this time. Fair warning that I struggled a bit so they might not be super legible, but I've also included a transcript this time.

Transcript:

Instructions for Termination

Tulpar Captain,

This letter is the official confirmation of the closure of the PONY EXPRESS SHIPPING CO. As Captain, it is your responsibility to convey this news and information to the members of your vessel.

!!!WARNING!!! DO NOT DISCLOSE CLOSURE UNTIL < 48 HOURS REMAIN OF SHIPMENT DURATION

Please ensure you maintain crew morale after delivering news of employee contract termination.

Questions and concerns can be referred to HR once the active contract period is concluded. Crew is still expected to complete the remainder of the haul to PONY EXPRESS standards - failure to do so will lead to fines and legal action. Please be reminded that the shipment contract is active until completion despite immediate termination of employee contract.

CONGRATULATIONS! You have lived up to Pony Express' high employee standards and will be promoted by the end of the Tulpar's current shipment contract completion. PONY EXPRESS always aims to encourage work-loving and efficient employees and acknowledging and rewarding such behaviours even in these trying times.

LIST OF AFFECTED EMPLOYEES: Captain, Curly

Please enjoy the rest of your contact and thank you for years of exemplary work.

[a-very-tired-jew]

The very peaceful protests and their very peaceful actions. I previously posted about how the Columbia SJP has an infographic on terrorist groups and uses language justifying and endorsing their actions. Well here is the UCSC SJP's Instagram.

Fig. 1. Depicts a police car that was damaged by an IED on June 1st at the UCSC student Palestine protests.

Listen, I'm as ACAB as the next person. Hell, I'm an independent forensic consultant. I get to see first hand the fuckery that goes down when I get called in, regardless of what side I'm on. But this? This action here on the official UCSC SJP Instagram page? That is employing the same methods that recognized terrorist groups have used around the world. Jews have said for months that these "peaceful" protests were on track to becoming violent. When you shout and endorse the same rhetoric as terrorist groups that have repeatedly stated they want to kill Jews there is the eventuality that you will start using their same violent tactics. We've already seen these student protesters engage in the same behavior as Nazis by preventing Jewish students and faculty from attending their classes and buildings. We've seen them spit on us, threaten us, shout vile insults, attack us, and attempt to burn down / bomb / destroy our places of worship and business, and we have repeatedly said that it will get worse. Well here it is. Once you start trying to blow up vehicles in the street you're too far gone to call yourself peaceful protesters anymore, you’ve become terrorists. Plain and simple. And guess what? The picture on their Instagram has a descript that is equally chilling.

Fig. 2. Is a message that is attached to the photo in Fig. 1. and includes language that emphasizes violence and terrorist actions. This reads like a manifesto that is attempting to garner support from minority populations here in the USA by appealing to the issues they face. However, the language they are using is a giant warning klaxon because it undermines the actual severity of what these groups face by couching it within the ProPal Western Activist lexicon. Many people, myself included as a death expert, have pointed out that the term genocide as applied to the conflict is improper and does not meet the criteria. That doesn't stop these protesters from using it to appeal to emotion and attempt to guilt others into supporting their cause. It's clearly an attempt to gather support and drive others to violence. Nothing in here says that these are peaceful protesters. They are ready to lay down their lives for the Cause™ in a violent manner.

Glorifying martyrdom.

Red flag.

Death to amerikkka.

Red flag.

Knife to the throat of zionism.

Red flag. You already complained about the more benign Finding Out portion of employers flagging certain degrees from specific universities and wanting to know if their possible employee is an antisemite. The Finding Out portion of actually planting IEDs is much, much worse. At a certain point people will have to accept that the SJP/PSC system blatantly endorses and justifies violent terrorism. This is what Globalize the Intifada means. It means engaging in the same violent acts of the Second Intifada. It's a call to engage in violent terrorism. But ya'll don't want to accept that, regardless of how many times it's pointed out.

[raven-at-the-writing-desk]

official twst light novel in english!!

LET’S GOOOOOO 😭

The Twisted Wonderland light novel is being localized!! The first volume will be available to the public starting on the 27th of August 2024 according to this Barnes and Noble listing.

The price is around 18 USD (tax not included) and the book itself is about 400 pages.

ADDENDUM: the link no longer works; my guess is that maybe a B&N employee made a mistake (?) and listed the preorders too soon so they had to take it down. However, I can confirm that I have seen the listing for myself, that the English light novel does exist, and that the (tentative) date in this post is correct. Here is a screenshot of it from when it was still up:

SECOND ADDENDUM: VizMedia has made an official blog post confirming that the Twisted Wonderland light novel is coming to us in summer of 2024.

[plushibo]

You Experience Homophobia

Characters included: Diluc, Itto, Childe (Part 1, lmk who else you wanna see)

Total word count: 3.8k

He/Him Reader (In Childe's, it's teacher! reader)

Warnings: extreme homophobia (all of them), threats (all of them), mentions to homosexuality being against the archons (all of them), the statement "i would rather d/e before [act of homosexuality]" (Itto), prison (Itto), breaking bones (Itto), mention of past bullying (Itto), ooc (Itto), references to "executing" homosexuals (Childe), Horrible children (Childe), use of Childe's real name,

A/N: I used to experience homophobia constantly in high school, even by the people i trusted and considered to be my greatest friends :[ so I wrote this to comfort myself and I hope it comforts you as well! Please be aware that all of these scenarios have actually happened to me (except for one small part of a situation, which happened to a cishet friend of mine that I connected to homophobia because that's why she was called that).

For the first time in a while, you had the free time to visit your boyfriend at his manor. For once, you were off work the next two days, as well as an empty schedule. You wanted nothing more than to lay beside Diluc and hug him for hours, profiting off his warmth as he held you in his arms.

With a pep in your step, you walked your way to the Dawn Winery, humming a song that had been running in your head for the last few days. You admired the rows of designations as you approached the vineyard. You sneakily plucked one of the fruits and popped it into your mouth as you finally reached the cobbled path. You practically skipped all the way to the door. 

The door opened and you peaked in quietly, entering and shrugging off your coat to hang by the door. There didn’t seem to be anyone nearby, but that didn’t mean very much. You continued your trek through the huge manor, making your way towards Diluc’s office. On the way, you heard a little noise behind you before you were stopped.

“Sir?” You spun around with a kind smile, greeting the woman who stood there. You didn’t recognise her; she must be a newer employee. “You aren’t supposed to be here. Allow me to escort you out.”

You smiled graciously, shaking your head, “Ah, no thank you. Sorry, I have permission to be here.”

She stepped closer, placing the tray she was holding on a nearby surface. “No, I was told we weren’t to have any visitors today. I’m sorry; Master Diluc made that very clear.”

“But I’m not a visitor?” You mentioned. “Well, I mean, I am, but not that kind of visitor. I’m Y/N. Diluc’s boyfriend.”

The maid girl’s brows furrowed and she shook her head, “No need to spew such lewd lies.”

You frowned, taken aback, “Lewd Lies? What about that was lewd or a lie?”

“Master Diluc does not have a boyfriend.” She said the word with… was that disgust? “He wouldn’t stoop so low as such a high ranking official.”

You hummed, eyes narrowed slightly. “Oh, uhm… Okay. Wow. Well, I can wait outside and you can tell him that I’m here, how about that?”

Despite the perfectly reasonable response (which you should have thought about earlier, would have saved this trouble), she shook her head,” I think it’s best if you just leave, Master Diluc was quite adamant about no guests today. I don’t think he would want to meet with someone… like you, anyway.”

You visually reacted, leaning back with wide eyes, “What?” You were surprised. You hadn’t been spoken to like this for years. “Who do you think you’re talking to? I can get you fired in ten seconds. Now, go get Diluc for me.”

She looked aghast, “Do not refer to Master Diluc so casually. He is more powerful than you ever will be. Now, this is the last time I will ask politely. Please exit the premises.” 

You coughed out a laugh, completely shocked at her blatant disrespect. “Do you treat all of Diluc’s guests like this? It’s highly inappropriate and out of line.”

“You have no place to comment on my work ethic. I deal with people with respect. Unless they are unnatural.” She gave you a very disgusted look and appeared to almost gag. Was she being serious or was this one fucked up prank that she was trying to pull on you? How did she not know that you were actually Diluc’s boyfriend?

With a scoff, you turned back towards the stairs, climbing it quickly as you heard her scrambling behind you, urging you to stop. You found Diluc’s office quickly and entered, leaving the door open for the maid to enter behind you.

“Master Diluc! I am so sorry! I tried to keep this creature out of the house, but he just barged in!” The maid said, fearful of Diluc’s power.

Diluc glanced up for a moment before doing a double take. He completely ignored you for a moment when his gaze noticed you standing there. “Did you just call him a creature?” He repeated, disbelief coating his honeyed words.

You nodded, “And that’s not even the worst of what she called me! She said  I was unnatural and that she refused to let people ‘like me’ enter this house.”

He glanced at you with furrowed brows, standing up. The maid took this as her time to speak.

“Well, this man was trying to convince me that you were dating him! And- And that’s just so wrong! Why would you stoop as low as to date a male when you are surrounded by beautiful women!”

Diluc’s eyes flashed to hers, unmistakable fury in his eyes. “What?” He said, scarily quiet. “What did you just say about him?” You stared at her with a pointed expression, urging her to realize that you were never lying and that her precious boss was, in fact, dating a male. “He is my boyfriend.”

The woman was gobsmacked. She looked between the two of you before her eyes widened in fear. “I- I didn’t mean-” She tried to reconcile.

Diluc took a step forward menacingly. He narrowed his eyes harshly. “I expect you have a very, very good apology to him.”

She was quiet before shaking her head. “I- I won’t apologize because I was right. It’s unnatural and, frankly, disgusting.”

You stared in pure shock as she said that, spitting at you after she finished speaking. Diluc grabbed her arm. You could see the smoke billowing off of her clothing.

“You are not welcome on this property. You’ll be lucky if anyone in Mondstadt allows you to enter their establishment.” Diluc said. “You deserve the worst of the world, and I will be delighted to begin.”

She stuttered and tried to pry her arm from him. “I- You’re hurting me!”

“Good.” Despite his words, he let her arm go harshly, turning and waving her off. “Get out of my sight. I shall hope to never see you again. If I do, I am not sure if I would be able to contain myself as I have done now.” She cradled her arm (which was barely touched, honestly) and rushed from the room. Diluc walked towards you, placing a hand on your cheek. It was still warm from the heat he had conducted.

He wordlessly scanned your eyes, which held a certain sense of conflict. “Are you alright, my dove?”

You frowned, nodding slowly, “Yeah, I’m okay. I just- I was not expecting that.” You leaned into his palm. “We’re natural, right? This isn’t against anyone’s greater plans?”

He raised an eyebrow, “And who’s greater plans would that be? Barbatos?” He chuckled, “As if he would care about two boys dating each other.” He spoke as if he knew the god himself, but you had to admit it sounded silly. “There is nothing unnatural about us, darling.” He whispered, leaning his forehead against yours. “Some people are just disrespectful and like to shove their noses in things that do not concern them in any way. They love to be angry when it has nothing to do with them.”

You nodded in agreement, laughing quietly. “Yeah. They do, don’t they?” He smiled softly, leaning in to kiss you gently. “I love you, Di.”

“I love you, my dove.”

Once again, you had gotten a letter from your jailed boyfriend. Once again, he found himself locked up and needing a bail. You shook your head with an amused sigh. You never knew how he continuously got in trouble for the silliest of things. Nonetheless, you grabbed your sack of mora and began to travel the distance to the Tenryou Commission.

Once you arrived at the doors, you stated your business. Despite a roll of the eyes, you were led into the waiting room. One of the guards came up to you and offered you a seat in front of his desk.

“Right, what are you here for?” He asked, giving a friendly smile despite the drab surroundings. “Do I need to get my reports ready to be filled out?” You laughed at his little joke to be polite. “No, no, I’m just here to pay a bail.”

He hummed, pulling out a folder. “Right, who for?”

“Arataki Itto.”

The guard coughed, hiding a scoff that you noticed. You tilted your head in confusion. “The oni?” You nodded with a blank face. This could go a few different ways. “Why are you here for him?”

You shrugged, “I ask myself the same thing sometimes.” You attempted to joke. The guard didn’t laugh. Rude, considering you had laughed at his lame attempt at a joke. “He’s my boyfriend. I always end up being the one to bail him out.”

You noticed the way the man rolled his eyes and watched with narrowed eyes as he closed the folder, leaning forward to rest his chin on one of his fists. “Boyfriend, eh? I thought you were a boy.”

“I am. But is that any of your concern?”

He raised his hands in mock surrender, “I suppose not, though you may want to listen to me.”

“And why is that?”

“Because maybe you’ll realize the path you’re going down is going to send you straight to hell.”

You blinked, glaring at him angrily, “Excuse me?”

“You heard me.” He replied calmly, flipping the folder open again and slowly going through each page. “Not only are you being a horny animal, you’re being a disgrace to Her Majesty the Shogun.”

You stared at him. You swore you could feel your eye twitching in pure unadulterated rage. “A horny animal? What is that supposed to mean?”

He rolled his eyes, “That’s all you type of people are. Horny creatures who do nothing but frolic with each other.” You leaned forward angrily and he scoffed, scrunching his face in disgust, “Don’t get any ideas. I would rather die than allow a man to kiss me.”

“I would rather kiss a hog than kiss you.” You retaliated, leaning back again, glaring at him as if he was a hog. “Go get my boyfriend. Let me pay his bail so I never have to see you again.”

He huffed, crossing his arms, “I don’t take orders from the likes of you.” You swore you would have jumped at him if another soldier hadn’t entered the room. She glanced between the two of you with a raised eyebrow.

“Ma’am, can you help me? This man here is being very very disrespectful to me.” You asked, shoving a snarky comment at the man.

She nodded, walking over, “Of course, sir, what seems to be the issue?” 

“I would like to pay the bail for my boyfriend, Arataki Itto.”

She hummed, “Alright.” She reached over and took the folder from the man, flipping through it. “The oni? You have your work cut out for you.” She laughed before grabbing a ringed set of keys from the man’s desk. “The bail is set at 15,000 mora.” 

Your eyes widened slightly at the price. What had Itto done this time? Regardless, you nodded, shuffling through your small coin sack to find the correct amount of mora. As you did, the male soldier spoke again.

“You just heard that he has a boyfriend and you’re cracking jokes with him?” He asked incredulously.

The woman shrugged, “Why not? There’s nothing different between him and anyone else in a relationship.”

“It’s unnatural.” 

She rolled her eyes, “So are your teeth, but you don’t see anyone complaining about that.”

You stifled a laugh as you passed her the mora. She nodded at you, turning to put it up before returning. “Alright, he’s in cell 232, come this way.”

You followed and the male soldier followed you, for some reason you couldn’t fathom. You soon found yourself standing outside Itto’s cell. You grinned at him and, once he heard the rattling of keys, he sat up with an even larger grin.

“Baby!” He yelled excitedly. The door swung open and he barreled towards you, slinging an arm around your shoulder. “I just knew you were gonna come and set me free. My knight in shining armor.” Itto teased.

Though he earned a warning look from his coworker, the male soldier scoffed loudly. Itto glanced over, questioningly. His eyes were slightly wide as he wondered what he did.

“Can you not be so gross in public?” He asked snobbily.

You nearly growled, “We barely even hugged. His arm is sitting on my shoulders and that is it.” Itto glanced between you two, slowly removing his arm. “Why do you care about our happiness so much?”

“It’s immoral and wrong and you are on the wrong side of everything.” He replied, crossing his arms and sticking up his nose. “Clearly, you need some sort of psych evaluation.”

Itto immediately stepped up, “Woah, woah, man, don’t go saying that about my boy.” He warned. 

His coworker grabbed his arm gently, “Stop being such a bad person.” She hissed, trying to pull him away. “You’re going to get suspended again.”

The soldier didn’t budge. He tore his arm from her grasp and stepped closer, raising a finger and pushing it into your face. “You are such a freak and-” Before he could finish his sentence, he screamed. Itto glared at him intensely as he turned the pointed finger upwards- a direction it should not have been pointing.

“Don’t talk to him like that.” He growled animalistically. The woman’s eyes widened and pushed her coworker out of the way, pushing him towards the exit of the cells. The man took the chance to run out of the hall of cells. She turned back.

“As much as he deserved it, you do know I have to arrest you, right?”

“Hah, yeah. Figured as much.” He laughed, quickly coming down from his earlier anger. He turned to you, noticing your wide, surprised eyes. “You alright?”

You nodded quickly, “yeah, I just- That was faster than it usually is to get you angry. What happened?”

His cheeks flushed a bit and he scratched the back of his neck, “Aha, uh, yeah, you mentioned how when you were younger you were bullied relentlessly for being queer, so I would not let some bastard talk to you like that.” He said casually, shrugging. “You know nothing he says even matters?” His eyes sparkled, “And I’m Arataki Itto! The one and Oni, so you have to trust what I say.”

You laughed, leaning over and kissing his cheek, “I know, silly. It just caught me off guard mostly. I’ve worked through a lot of the homophobic trauma regarding my early years.” He narrowed his eyes, staring at you before deeming you truthful and nodding. He turned and walked into the cell he was just released from.

“I’m all ready, chief.” He said, grinning at the guard as she locked him in again. “I’ll see you in a few days, baby! I love youuuu.” He sang as you walked off. You laughed, waving your hand in the air.

“Love you too, Itto.” You responded. You and the woman made your way outside of the hall and she held your arm for a moment.

“Are you willing to help me report him?” She asked, nodding to the man who was still holding his extremely broken finger as someone else accessed the damage. “I might be able to pull this off as self-defense.” She mentioned. “Mr Itto will still get in trouble simply because he’s an oni, but it’ll be less severe.”

You nodded, “Of course. That bastard needs to be suspended or even fired.” She smiled kindly, offering you a chair in front of the desk you were at earlier.

You grinned at your class as they slowly trickled into the room. “Morning!” You said chipperly. Some of the middle schoolers hummed in response, most not even acknowledging your greeting. It didn’t affect your mood, though. You were thrilled. Today was the day the kids would begin giving their group presentations.

The assignment was not too difficult, but it was a long one. In groups of four, the four students would work together to create their own version of a utopia. Transportation, housing, laws, repercussions, etc. were all to be decided as a group for the happiest and best world they could imagine. It was a little assignment you had learned about from a teacher on vacation that her class did after reading The Giver.

“Alright, class! So, you all should have finished your presentation boards on your utopia.” The class groaned, knowing what was coming. “Well, it seems you’re prepared.” YOu laughed. “Does anyone want to go first, or shall I spin the wheel?”

Everyone lit up slightly, “Spin the wheel!” You grinned, heading to a little wheel on the edge of your desk. You had already prepped it for today’s lesson. Everyone waited as you spun the wheel, watching the colours spin until it landed on a kid’s name.

“Hmm, alright, Marcus’ group, you’re up first.” You announced. Marcus and his three partners groaned but stood up and quickly prepared the presentation boards. You listened happily as he and his teammates discussed their perfect utopia until they reached the laws and repercussions board.

“Our most important law is no gay people.” Marcus stated, showing a picture of a pride flag with a huge red X on it. “If someone is gay, they are to be executed immediately.” You stared dumbfounded. None of the kids knew you were gay, but they knew you were at least an ally. Why would their utopia- their supposed perfect world- want to execute all gay people?

You were a bit distracted as they finished up. They called your name a few times before waving a hand in your face. You blinked. You swallowed and nodded with a fake smile. “That was great! Thank you so much.” You spun the wheel again and let the next group go.

You prayed that this time it would go differently, but it didn’t. Once again, at the laws and repercussions slide, there was a rainbow flag with a big red circle with a line through it. Each group had something similar. Your smile became more and more fake as each group presented their assignment. By the end of the day, you were holding back your despair. These kids that you treated as well as you could, these kids that you saw every single day and treated them the best that you could- they wished you were dead? 

Inadvertently, since they didn’t know. But it didn’t reassure you much.

When the day was over, you felt exhausted from hiding your true feelings. You were usually fairly open with the kids. You walked home as you normally did, ready to collapse into bed and curl into yourself. Maybe you’d cry, maybe you’d take a shower instead. Something to make you feel better.

To your relief (or perhaps disdain?), you entered your house to be met with your lovely boyfriend. Ajax stood with a grin, holding his arms out for you to hug him. You did so instantly, hurrying over to bury yourself in his scent. His comforting hug almost made you break and you could feel your despair tipping over the edge.

When he pulled back to peck your lips, he stopped with a frown, his brows furrowing. “Is something wrong, sólnyshka(Sunshine)?” He cupped your cheek with his hand.

You leaned into it, closing your eyes. Your thoughts had been ruminating for far too long and you felt horrible- both from the students and from your own mind running rampant. “Not really.” You admitted.

His eyes held sympathy, “Did something happen at school? Or was it just a long day?”

You were silent for a moment before the dam broke. Your tears filled your eyes and slipped down your cheeks. He caught a few of them with his thumb, concern filling his expression. “I just- Is it wrong to be happy?”

Ajax blinked in surprise, “What do you mean, my love?”

“Is it wrong to be happy with who you are and who you’re dating?”

He thought for a second before a darker look appeared on his face, “Did someone say something about us? About us both being boys?”

“Not directly.” You replied, sniffling. “Remember the assignment I was really excited to see finished today? The kids did their presentations today.” He nodded along, listening closely even though he was a bit confused as to how this pertained. “And every single one of them, Ajax. Every single group had one of their laws as no gay people. And that gay people would be put to death.”

His breath stopped for a moment before resuming, pulling you into his chest. He wanted to take away all of the pain and make the people who caused it suffer, but, in this situation, he couldn’t. “Darling, some kids are raised with the belief that other people shouldn’t be happy if it isn’t the same happiness that is normalized.” He said softly, stroking your hair. “I know it hurts a lot to hear them say that when you care about them so much, and I’m not sure if I can make it hurt less.” He pulled back a moment to place both hands on your shoulders. “But just know, I will always be here for you to talk to. You can talk about how hard it is being queer, you can talk about how you feel betrayed, you can talk to me about anything.”

You gave a wobbly smile, “Ajax… I don’t think you’ll ever know how much that means to me. I’m sorry I made our evening sad.”

His supportive smile fell into a small frown, “Sólnyshka, never apologize for being upset. Or for telling me that you’re upset. You are allowed to be upset and I want to be able to help you. It’s always you and me.” You stared at him for a moment before pulling him into another hug.

“Thank you.”

“You don’t have to thank me either.” Ajax hugged you tightly. “Now, come on, dinner’s done.”

As you pulled back from the hug to follow him into the kitchen, you raised an eyebrow, wiping the remnants of your tears, “You cooked?”

He gave you a goofy grin, “I wanted to surprise you and you mentioned before that you didn’t like going out on school nights because of the early mornings.” You could hardly believe you had such a genuine man to be your boyfriend. 

“I love you.”

He winked at you over his shoulder, his tell-tale grin on his face, “I know.” He laughed as you swatted at his shoulder, “Fine, fine. I love you.” He kissed the air in your direction as he plated the two meals.

[thecaptainamore]

OOOOKAYYYY yapping for upcoming TADC episode predictions/things I think would be neat💥💥

SO we know that this next episode is focused on Gangle, something to do with trying to figure out why her comedy mask always breaks and/or preventing it from breaking for once. We also know that this episode will be in the fast food place! (Spudsy’s yayyy)

Now this art came from a collab with Tower Records Cafe in Japan (so it’s official as far as what people are saying?)

Notice how Gangle looks more like a manager while everyone else is in matching employee uniforms. My theory is that Gangle will have to undergo the absolute joys of managing customer service (eye twitches in former Disney cast member) while the gang tries to keep her from breaking her mask. I think it would be neat if instead of some external force, it’s Gangle’s own stress that cracks the mask, eventually breaking it down completely. Then we get all her deep stuff woooo

OK THEN THE NEXT TWO EPISODES-

We’ve got this neat screenshot of a baseball stadium from the season teaser (which could be just a gag but I’d imagine it’s a hint for episode 5). We know that ep 5 will focus on Ragatha, then ep 6 on Jax. People have claimed that Goose said Jax will get what’s comin to him for being a jerk (I haven’t seen this but hey what do I know), and I think it would be neat if we saw that peak in these two episodes. Maybe in ep 5 the gang will compete in a baseball game, with Jax pushing Ragatha to her breaking point & she abstracts. Then the next episode he has to face the guilt of his actions & we can learn what his deal really is🤷🏼‍♀️ also I would just LOVE a baseball themed episode as a baseball girlie myself

ANYWHO ramble over, carry on

[chiriwritesstuff]

The Girl in IT - 7. The All Hands Meeting

A Boss! Joel Miller x IT Specialist F! Reader AU

The LIST │ Series Masterlist

Chapter Rating: E (18+, MDNI)

Chapter Summary: A look into a typical day at Miller Construction Group. Chaos ensues (naturally).

Chapter Warnings and Tags: No outbreak AU, Boss x Employee Relationship, Sugar Daddy Lite, Smut, SO MUCH SMUT, Age Gap, Older Man/Younger woman, So much dirty talk, Office sex, Desk sex, Inappropriate usage of PowerPoint, Tommy fucks around and finds out, No Beta we die like men!

Word Count: 4.4K

A/N: And the hijinks are back! I wanted to try something new this week, and it was the perfect opportunity to showcase all of our fun supporting characters in 'The Girl in IT'! I thought what better way to introduce everyone was to include their commentary, like an episode of 'The Office'! This one is a doozy, and I hope you all enjoy!

#MCG ADMIN 50 members Sarah (HR) Good morning, Team! I hope you're all doing well. I'd like to announce a mandatory All-Hands HR Meeting today at 11 am in Conference Room A, co-facilitated by Tess and me. We'll have a brief presentation, and for those working remotely, please log into Zoom to join the meeting. Following the session, thanks to Bill, we'll have lunch and refreshments provided. Feel free to reach out if you have any questions. Looking forward to seeing all of you soon! Tommy  Sarah, are you gonna bust your Papi's balls in front of everyone for posting that naughty photo? 💀☠️🪦 Frank (Interior Design) Will there be an opportunity for discussion following the presentation? I'm eager to delve into the minds of SlackGate and understand the motivations behind their actions the other day. Connie (Reception) It's clearly because they're fucking, Frank. 🍆🍑🦪 Frank (Interior Design) Who is? Our fearless leader and our shy girl in IT? Until one of them makes it official, it's just hearsay! Is this meeting a hard launch for a new power couple? 👩‍❤️‍💋‍👨 Sarah (HR) Yes, there will be an open-forum discussion after my presentation but NO, we will not be talking about the events of the other day in detail. Connie, this is a professional space and we will conduct ourselves as such. Connie (Reception) Why am I always being singled out?? Frank started it! Frank (Interior Design) Did I not professionally conduct myself? Geez Connie, I'm not the one sending nudes to our Boss when clearly, he has a girlfriend. Wait. Oops? (Sorry Connie 🤡) Bill (Civil) Frank! What do I have to do to get you to behave for once? Frank (Interior Design) Oh, I could think of a few ways... Why don't you come and find out once you're done handling your bratwurst out there? Sarah (HR) I don't get paid enough for this shit.

"Thank you, everyone, for coming together at such short notice. While I'm aware this all-hands meeting was abrupt, recent events in the past few days have made it essential. Tess and I genuinely appreciate your presence as we address these important matters," Sarah says with a bright smile, handing out materials. "Here's an updated Employee Handbook with a few edits. I thought it would be beneficial for us to go through it together. Are there any questions before we begin?"

"Yeah!" Tommy exclaims from the back of the room, his feet casually resting against the edge of the table. "How long until we get to the part of this meeting where we discuss just how much of a bad boy your Daddy was the other day?"

Tommy Look, I love my brother, I do. He's always so serious, so noble, providing for everyone and all that, making sure we have a roof over our heads. Shit, he's gotten me out of a lot of binds in my life- [He looks a bit uncomfortable and clears his throat, nodding.] ... anyway, it's a rare thing to see my brother slip up like that, you know? Didn't think he had it in him, honestly. It's been a few decades since I've seen his twig and berries, but shit, I know he's packing! He's a Miller, for fucks sake!  [he puffs his chest out a little at that, chuckling to himself] But Sugar? She's been a fucking godsend! Never in my life have I seen my big ol brother act a fool, especially over a woman! What can I say? It's great to not be the fuck-up brother for once! I'm gonna milk out SlackGate til the end of time!

"Tommy," Joel warns through his teeth, glaring at his brother. "Cut it out."

Sarah rolls her eyes in response as she fiddles with her laptop, the projector behind her illuminating with her PowerPoint presentation. "Like I was saying, this presentation is just going to go over the changes we have implemented in the last few days, including proper Slack etiquette and conduct. You would think that as grown adults, we would know better than sending inappropriate images and messages through company property and time," she clears her throat, glancing over at Joel, then to Tommy, who winks in her direction knowingly. "...including those who decide to engage and participate in unsanctioned secret channels-"

Frank's hand suddenly shoots up, his face awash in mock outrage. "I'll have you know, the watercooler channel serves a purpose, folks! When I caught wind of this 'secret channel' gossip circulating among the Nosy Nancies in the breakroom, I was appalled! Who would dare to stoop so low—"

"Frank, you invited me to the chat just this morning," Jesse remarks, casually holding up his phone as evidence. "It's titled 'Frank's-secret-slack-chat.' I thought it was some kind of exclusive club or something."

Frank Hi, [waves to you] is this on? Yeah? Hi. I'm Frank.   Listen, Sarah was getting a little too vigilant about monitoring Slack ever since Tommy sent us a little treat last year [he laughs] so I had to do something about it, you know? [It pans out to Frank leaning against his desk chair, typing away on his secret Slack Chat.] The chat started as an open forum for discussion on the everyday going-ons of Miller Construction Group. Do we just so happen to discuss the private lives of our peers? Maybe. Do we mean any harm by it?  [He gives you a wicked smile] Maybe.

"You guys, you know, the longer I keep getting interrupted, the longer we're all going to stay here in this conference room, and the longer we have to wait to eat Bill's food. You know how he is," She looks outside of the window, the smoke from Bill's grill swirls like a plume as he flips over a juicy steak. "He hates it when he has to serve his food cold. As I was saying, it should be obvious that we shouldn't be sending inappropriate images or photos to one another through Slack or e-mail."

"Hey! It was just one time, and it was an accident!" Tommy retorts, "Besides, it was hardly inappropriate, I was just only trying to show Maria this weird rash I got-"

"What does that mean, anyway?" Connie cuts in, casting a glance your way. "Inappropriate photos? And is there a difference between accidentally sending them or doing it on purpose?"

"Yeah," you shoot her a pointed look. "Sending nude photos to someone who doesn't want them is actually considered sexual harassment," you say, raising your voice a bit and turning in your seat. "I mean, you could get arrested for that, Connie," you add with a sing-song tone, a smirk playing on your lips as you glance at her. "You have nothing to worry about though, right?" you challenge, rolling your chair towards Joel, and taking his hand in his. "Not unless you did send naked photos to my boyfriend?"

Connie Look, I didn't know that Mr. Miller and Sugar were boning. I know how this looks- like I don't believe in girl code or something. I am a girls girl! If Sugar was just forthcoming about who gave her those damn hickeys before SlackGate happened, I wouldn't have sent her boyfriend nude photos of myself! A girl's gotta try, you know? I was only trying to shoot my shot! [She looks a bit uncomfortable, picking at a hangnail.] ... but you have to admit, Mr. Miller is H-O-T hot. God. I love me a graying man in flannel. I always thought to myself, there must be a story here. How does a millionaire who looks like that be single all this time? does he have anyone? is it a sugar baby? does he have a secret love child? I mean-  [she looks over her shoulder where Joel is, arms around his chest as he winks at Sugar. There's a hint of jealousy in Connie's eyes.] Is it true, though? Is it really sexual harassment if I send unsolicited photos of myself? Do you think he's gonna press charges? 

"It's true. Sending unsolicited photos of yourself to unsuspecting parties is sexual harassment, Connie. Not to mention creepy," Sarah winces, shooting you an apologetic smile. "So please don't be sending any photos of that nature to anyone that you work with, especially not in the admin group Slack."

"Yeah, Joel!" Tommy chides. "Keep that shlong in your pants, brother!"

Sarah You would think that working for my family is a cakewalk? Please. I've been diagnosed with IBS and GAD since I started working here five years ago. I sometimes take half an edible just to make it to lunchtime.   [Her head rests on her desk, and as the events of SlackGate unfold, an endless barrage of messages from the admin Slack channel floods her monitor. She can't help but groan in response.] Listen. I love my Dad. I've never really had to worry about his behavior at work before, not like how I have to with Uncle Tommy... but what the hell was he thinking? I can't unsee that! What if Ellie was on that chat? Could you imagine the trauma? My trauma?

"Okay, let's turn to page 12, where we'll go over all the recent updates," Sarah announces, clicking through her PowerPoint. A collective gasp echoes in the room as the slide projects onto the screen, revealing an image – the image of Joel. However, where his exposed package would be, an eggplant emoji tastefully takes its place. It resembles one of those generic memes easily made with a phone app, complete with the semi-imposed words 'Keep Calm and Shlong On!' in big bold letters.

"Shit!" she exclaims, hurriedly pressing the ESC button as she tries to close out her PowerPoint. She slams her laptop shut, the tell-tell sound of a crack echoing throughout the conference room. You hear Tess silently scoff in the distance, and Sarah closes her eyes in embarrassment as the room falls silent.

... and then, all hell breaks loose.  

Tommy is beside himself, his face red, and his eyes filled with tears as he doubles over in laughter, clutching at his middle. "Shit, Henry! When I asked you to do this, I honestly didn't think you had the balls to go through with it, but I so owe you, my man!" he exclaims, enthusiastically high-fiving his nephew-in-law. "This is the best fucking day of my life!"

"Henry?!" Sarah exclaims, her face flushed with rage. "This is what you needed to do in the office at 6 am this morning?!"

Henry's expression crumbles as he witnesses his wife's ire, suddenly realizing that he's just dug himself into a deep hole. "Sarah," he stammers, attempting to regain composure. "This isn't what it looks like—"

Henry Yeah, Tommy asked me to put that meme into Sarah's PowerPoint last night. I would have done it at home, but Sarah doesn't like to bring her laptop home, you know, work-life balance? So I had to make an excuse to come to the office this morning. Was it a dumb ass idea? Yeah, probably. Did I kind of want to get back at Sarah's dad for making my life a living hell? [He looks at you awkwardly, scratching the back of his neck.] Honestly, when you're like five beers in, drinking with Tommy- everything seems like a good idea. He dared me, you know? Said that I'm such a simp, trying to always please Joel. Called me a fucking pussy and everything! What else was I supposed to do? Sarah's going to kill me, huh? Do you think that she's gonna ask for a divorce?

"It's a meme. A meme of my Dad's dick pic with AN EGGPLANT EMOJI?!?! ARE YOU FUCKING KIDDING ME??! WHAT DID YOU MEAN FOR IT TO LOOK LIKE?!" she screams, pulling at her hair. "AND YOU, TOMMY MILLER!" she points at her uncle furiously, "WHAT THE ACTUAL FUCK??!"

"Baby," Henry replies, his hands raised in an attempt to calm her down. "It's just a harmless prank, look—"

"No, you look, Henry! Does it seem like it's just a harmless prank?" she gestures to the room, her eyes wide. "Don't even think about coming to bed tonight. I can't even look at you! How dare you collaborate with Tommy, do you really want to go this way? Because I see you fucking around, and you're about to find out-"

"Oh come on, Sarah! you know these all-hands meetings are dull as fuck, I don't even know why you even bother, no one ever listens anyway!" Tommy exclaims, looking around the room. "Isn't this fun you guys? Come on, lighten up! It's not like y'all haven't seen my dick before! Your Papi's gonna live another day, I think we should all feel as comfortable as we want, fuck the rules!"

"...but Joel's is much bigger than yours!" someone yells amid the chaos, laughter, and banter echoing through the room. Sarah looks around helplessly in a panic, trying to grasp the situation unfolding.

"Hey! I'll have you know that I ain't small!" Tommy yells in retaliation.

"Do you think that this is helping, Uncle Tommy? I'm beginning to believe that the only reason why people don't take me seriously is because of all of the shit that you pull!" Sarah groans, looking like she's at the end of her rope. "I could mention that Tess is helping me facilitate this meeting to scare everyone but she's just off to the side, pretending to not be drinking under the table!"  

Tess [She is sitting off to the side, smiling to herself as the chaos ensues, shaking her head.] I am drinking, because who else thinks it's appropriate to call an all-hands meeting first thing in the morning? I don't even want to be here. It's so fucking pointless, trying to get these shitheads to conform to a set of rules.   [She witnesses Joel storming up to Tommy, his face full of rage and irritation, finger pointed right at him.] This is the consequence of hiring friends and family, isn't it? I tried to tell them it was a bad idea, but who's listening to me? I get it, everyone thinks I'm a bit of a bitch, and well... yeah, I am. Alright, time to rein this in— [She suddenly stands from her seat and walks over to Sarah, who appears to be disassociating into madness.]

"HEY!" Tess bellows, clapping her hands together. The room abruptly falls silent, Joel's hands frozen mid-grab on Tommy's flannel. Forty-eight pairs of eyes pivot towards Tess, a blend of shock and embarrassment spreading across their faces, reminiscent of children caught sneaking cookies from the jar by their mother. "Okay, that's enough!"

Her eyes are narrowed, hands on her hips. "This is what's going to happen. You're going to stop sending each other dick and tit pics through Slack, because as much as it is amusing," she smirks, winking at you, "I would really rather not have to deal with the fallout that comes with it," she shoots a pointed look at Connie, whose eyebrows shoot up to her hairline.  

"The next time someone tries to fuck around and find out? I'm going to take that dirty photo, print a thousand fucking copies of it and stick that shit all over the office. Every fucking inch, every fucking nook and cranny is just gonna be dick and tit central," she paces around the room, placing a warning hand on Frank's shoulder. "As for this secret Slack chat, I'm going to give you all one chance to come clean. If you don't, and Sugar's report doesn't match who outs themselves right now," She scans the room, a smirk on the corner of her mouth appearing in satisfaction. "Yeah, you didn't think that we were monitoring that shit, huh? Well, I'll throw you all a bone: raise your hands if you are in this secret group chat, and I'll consider not docking your pay for insubordination. Your choice."

Frank [Looking at Tess as she slightly stumbles from where she's standing.] Yeah, she's toast.

The majority of the room begins to raise their hands, except you, Tess, Joel, and surprisingly, Frank.

Tess scoffs. "Really Frank? Really?"

"I have no clue what you're trying to imply, and seriously Tess? Are you really going to play that card? Are you going to dock your pay too?" Frank retorts. "I mean, just last night, you were drunkenly telling me that you heard Joel and Sugar-"

"If you utter another word, I'll fire you on the spot, Frank!" Joel shouts from across the room. "I mean it this time!"

Joel and Sugar [Joel wraps his arm around your waist, leaning in to kiss your forehead while gently pushing a strand of hair behind your ears.] There, that's better. Don't hide your face, Mami; you're too beautiful to be hiding all of that, okay? Right, [he clears his throat.] You would think that people would be a little more professional around here, show me a bit of respect— [His gaze shifts to Tommy, who's engaged in laughter and banter with the team, his chest puffed out in triumph. Joel glares at him, shaking his head.] I'd like to think I try really hard to be a good boss. I pay fairly, I allow remote work, and damn it, I take pride in offering the best employee benefits in all of Austin. We even take a company trip to Hawaii every year, for fucks sake! [You squeeze his hand, pressing a kiss to his temple as he takes a frustrated breath.] Papi, if it means anything, I think you're the best boss any of these folks could ever ask for. They don't deserve you. [Joel nods.] Look, I don't know what to tell you. I got the ride of my life that morning, my sweet Mami riding my cock just right, you know? I would have been okay, going into my meeting with blue balls, just as long as Sugar got hers. Your pleasure is my pleasure... but I was just so fucking horny! I started to work out, yeah? Wanted to keep shit tight for my baby, and fuck, I was... what do they young kids say?   Feeling yourself? [Joel nods again, smiling at you.] Yeah, 'feeling myself' or whatever. Anyway, I was in the meeting, and you messaged me, right? saying that you weren't going to be in for lunch? and I don't know if was the disappointment, or if I was just too horny, but fuck. I quickly excused myself and took a quick dick pic in my bathroom. I thought I was in the right Slack channel... so I sent it, and then the guys at The H Group asked me a whole bunch of questions, and then an hour later- Chaos. The messages kept flooding in! Frank was asking about how long I was, and Connie was sending me nude photos of herself- in my fucking office! Wait, what? [Your gaze meets Connie's, nervously seated as Frank goes on and on beside her. Her hands twitch like a possum that just got run over by an 18-wheeler. Yeah. Squirm for me, you think to yourself.] Yeah! And I just sat there, in shock, you know? Like this is the kind of shit that Tommy pulls, and I couldn't believe that I was so fucking stupid! Can you imagine the kind of therapy Sarah's gonna need? What if Ellie saw this?

"Who's up for some snacks?" Tommy calls out to the team, holding a basket filled with rather sizable cucumbers, bananas, and eggplants. "Help yourselves, compliments of Joel!"

Ellie  [at the job site across town, hard hat fixed crookedly on top of her head.] Yeah, I saw it. There is not enough bleach in this world that could ever erase that image from my existence.   [she glares at Sam, who just shrugs.] Thanks a lot, asshole!

"Alright, you degenerates!" Bill booms, bursting through the conference doors wearing a 'Kiss the Cook' apron, tongs in one hand, and a tray piled high with thickly cut steaks in the other. "This steak isn't going to eat itself!" 

The team swarms Bill like seagulls spotting a tasty piece of bread on the boardwalk. Tommy grabs a t-bone with his bare hands, biting into it with the enthusiasm of a caveman.

"Hey," Joel whispers to you, his shoulder gently bumping yours. "Want to help me with something?" You nod eagerly as Joel swiftly guides you out of the conference room, heading towards the executive offices. You giggle as Joel ushers you into the room, pulling you into a kiss, his foot playfully kicking the door shut.

He moves the both of you over to where Tommy's desk is, pushing aside its contents off the tabletop in one fell swoop, the items clattering onto the floor. "Papi, what are you doing?" you ask cheekily as he bends you over the desk, lifting your skirt.  

Joel growls and shoves you down onto the desk, his hands harshly grabbing onto your hips. Your arms scramble to find purchase as you knock over a framed photo of Tommy and Maria, watching helplessly as the image of their smiling faces falls onto the floor. His palm travels across your back, pinning you in place as he fiddles with his zipper with his other hand. "Line item 6," Joel murmurs as his hands begin to travel across the globes of your ass, squeezing and spreading and slapping them until you're so wet you can feel it dripping down your thighs.  

Joel hums in appreciation. "Thats right Mami, get nice and wet for me, okay?" You can feel him pump his cock against you, notching his head at your entrance. "You gonna make a nice mess for me, baby?" he asks through gritted teeth as he strokes through your folds with his dick.

"Yesss," you moan, pushing your ass back toward him.  

Joel pushes into you to the hilt in one brutal thrust as you cry out, grabbing onto the edge of the desk as he begins to pound into you in earnest, his thrusts so hard and punishing that the desk begins to rattle. You squeeze your eyes shut as Joel gathers your hair in his hand, pulling you back towards him. "Fuck baby, I'm gonna come so fucking hard, fill this pussy up and watch as it drips out of you, maybe fuck you again if we still have time-"

You gasp, taking a deep breath as his thrusts become so erratic it pushes you up the desk, lifting one leg onto the surface as Joel angles himself higher, hitting a spot so deep within you that you bite your lip from crying out, not wanting to attract any unwanted attention. You squeeze around his cock as you chase your high, hoping that Joel can maintain his composure long enough so you both can finish together. "No Mami, stay with me, come with me-"

He leans over you, pressing you onto the desk as he grabs onto your shoulders, pounding into you, his breath hot against your neck as he buries his face into it, huffing from exertion. "I'm so close Mami, I'm gonna... Fuck!" He bites your shoulder as he cums in one last brutal stroke, his hands harshly grasping your thighs as you feel his hot spend flow deep into your belly. You rock your hips onto him as his hand goes to your clit, rubbing until you are weak in the knees, your body trembling beneath his. "Fuck Joel," you say a little breathless as you slump onto the table as Joel pulls out of you, his finger probing into you as he pushes his leaking cum back where it belongs. "Come on, lets clean this up and head back before they notice-"

Joel just snorts as he zips up his jeans. "No," he replies nonchalantly as he catches his breath. 

"No?" you ask as you straighten yourself up, frowning at him.  

"Line item six says I bend you over his desk and leave a little souvenir," he motions to the mess on the floor, pens and papers scattered about.  

"He's going to fucking murder you, Joel," you chuckle, pulling him into a kiss.  

"Yeah? Well, he shouldn't have fucked around, because he's about to find out." He simply replies, taking your hand in his. "Come on, little Mami, quickly now, before he realizes we're gone..."

You share a laugh as he guides you back into the conference room. Bill raises an eyebrow at both of you, handing over a plate with steaming steak, as if he just finished cooking it. "I thought I'd save your lunches for last, figured you guys needed some extra time," he says, clearing his throat and nodding towards Tommy, who seems entirely oblivious to your brief disappearance. "You know Tommy, can't resist a good piece of steak," Bill continues, gesturing at Joel. "It's like everything around him disappears for a moment; you could rob him blind, and he wouldn't even notice," he adds with a small smile, placing a hand on Joel's shoulder and giving him a knowing look. "Enjoy your lunch, you two."

Bill Look, I wouldn't call myself a nosy person, but I am perceptive.   [He glances at Frank whispering and giggling to Connie off to the side, rolling his eyes.] Look at them. They think that they're the eyes and ears of this operation, but what they don't know, is that I. Know. Everything. I am a survivalist. I gather intel on all of my surroundings, even if I am surrounded by absolute morons.   [Bill takes another sip of coffee, subtly glancing around him before making eye contact with you, the reader, once more] So if you want to know the real scoop, the real ins-and-outs of this company, and not have to deal with the lunatics in Frank's not-so-secret shit talk club, come to me, I'll set you on the right path. At least I have snacks.   [He looks off to you and Joel, giving a curt nod as he starts to cut into his own steak.] As much as I respect Tommy, he's not the one signing my checks at the end of the day. If there's anything that I value more than anything, it's loyalty. I don't like to play around, hate it when people bite the hands that feed them. People like that need to be taught a lesson. Joel's a good man, and sometimes, we fuck up... but it's how we handle ourselves after the fact that matters. If that means I help out an old friend, well- [he smiles as Tommy walks towards the conference room doors, heading back to his office. Bill smiles out into the distance.]

Taglist: @sarcasm-theotherwhitemeat @gwendibleywrites @brittmb115 @joeldjarin @drewharrisonwriter

@littlebunnybigheartfics @missladym1981 @auteurdelabre @quicax3 @casa-boiardi

@amyispxnk @untamedheart81 @paleidiot @laurrrra @la-vie-est-une-fleur29

@bbiophiliaa @thewiigers (I apologize if I missed anyone, but if you are looking for any of my fic updates, please feel free to follow my updates blog @chiriwritesstuffnotifs!)

[anorlondo00]

MarAce One Piece Fic - The Apartment Above the Auto Shop

Edward Newgate had a terrible habit of hiring fatherless, trouble-making punks in need of direction to work at his auto parts garage.

Recently, he’s hired a 20 year old who’s currently on parol and struggling to raise his 12 year old brother on his own.

When Marco (29) moves back to his home city, he’s hesitant to trust the new hire, who’s living rent free above Pop’s auto shop.

Sunday night. 

“Hold on,” Marco navigated over the maze of suitcases and half folded clothes on the floor of his apartment, “You’re not charging him rent? Who even is this kid?”

“I knew his father, years ago.” In the incredibly rare circumstance that Whitebeard had to lie to Marco, he would do so, effortlessly. “An old friend of mine. The kids’ had a hard life, he’s raising a twelve year old on his own— ”

“Sorry, there’s two of them?”

Marco had to hold his cellphone an inch off his ear while Whitebeard laughed, “The little ones’ in school, the older one works hard enough to earn their rent! Relax, Marco. Ace is a sweetheart.”

“This is the one you let steal food out of your fridge for half the summer?”

“That’s the one!” Whitebeard replied, “He doesn’t do that anymore.”

Edward Newgate had a terrible habit of hiring fatherless, trouble-making punks in need of direction to work at his auto parts garage. He’d been teaching scrappy kids how to keep their heads down and put their hands to work for the better part of the last twenty years. Now, he’s accumulated a crew of mechanics that he considers family. 

Marco was one of the first front desk employees Whitebeard hired and his most talked about success story. As of the end of this school year, Marco had officially earned his medical degree. He was a doctor. A very proud one at that. 

“When should we be expecting you for dinner?”

“We?” 

“Sure.” Newgate’s voice filled with warmth, “I’ve been teaching Ace how to cook. He’s pretty decent, now, I can actually keep it down!” Again, Marco kept his phone off his ear for the laughter that followed. “We eat at—”

“Six and not a minute later. I remember.” Marco attempted to rub the feeling of burnout from under his eyes. A home cooked meal sounded nice if it weren’t for the addition of a twelve year old and his fresh-out-of-prison older brother. “I’ve got an entire apartment to unpack so, I’ll have to see you Tuesday.”

“Everyone’s excited to have you back.”

Marco smirked at the campus outside his window, a view he was more than ready to say goodbye to. “I’m pretty excited myself.” 

“Drive safely, alright? And, don’t keep us waiting too long.”

Marco had a week before orientation. One week to unpack, re acclimate, and check on the shop before his entire life was signed away to the emergency room.

 His home was in a densely populated, urban oasis just outside a much larger city. Nothing like the wide empty fields and quant college town his medical school was at the center of. It’d take him four hours of driving to get back to the chaos of pissed drivers and electric bikes zipping through tight lanes of traffic.

No place like home. 

Tuesday Afternoon.

Whitebeard’s Auto Parts and Mechanic was printed in beautiful white penmanship across the top of an old brick building. It stood proudly on a corner off the city's main boulevard. 

Just as Marco remembered, the two, truck sized garage doors were wide open, giving the mechanics plenty of room and fresh air. 

Marco walked through the garage like he’d never left and was more than pleased to see how little things had changed. It could only be Thatch’s playlist blasting that music. Izou’s artwork, while updated was unmistakably his, decorating the brick walls. And, Teetch’s old chevy in the same damn parking spot outside. 

“No… fucking… way.” A voice came out  from under the hood of a truck. The man had a white shirt with the sleeves rolled up to his elbows and red hair gelled back out of his face. “Is that Marco?!” Thatch got to him first. Which was a little terrifying, considering the man was about six feet too big to be hugging someone with a tackle. “Marco!!”

The blond scrambled to stay on his feet, “Okay! Alright—Hi Thatchy— ” 

“Marco’s home, you guys! Holy shit, I can’t believe it! Look at you!” 

The mechanics under cars and occupied in the adjacent office all came to have a look. The prodigal son had returned and Whitebeard’s shop erupted in celebration. Marco had to abandon his backpack on the floor, there were just too many hugs that needed to be given. Izou came sauntering out of the front office, looking beautifully overdressed as always. His gold and silver bracelets rang as he wrapped his arms around Marco’s shoulders. 

“Thatch, do you even realize you’re talking to a medical professional now?” Izou smiled widely, “Congratulations, Doctor.”

“Thanks, Izou.”

“I saw your graduation pictures. Pops has them hung up in his office, you’ll have to take a look.” 

“He’s blushing!” Thatch delivered a solid punch into Marco’s arm. “How cute. Yes, we’re all very very proud. You’re gonna hook me up with a medical marijuana card, right?”

“Thatch, you gotta stop telling people that.” 

“Right, right—” His best friend smiled, “I missed you, man!”

“I missed you too.” 

“Where the hell is Marco?!” Whitebeard’s gravely deep voice could shake the walls. The old man emerged from his office and while his question sounded hostile enough to make a normal person run for their damn lives, it overwhelmed Marco with nostalgia and a sense of home. “Lets see him— What the hell is wrong with you, boy? Moving so far away from me?!”

Marco smilied, “I came back! That doesn’t count for something?”

“Yeah it’s the only thing keeping my foot out of yer ass!” Newgate hugged him. His mentor smelled like cigarettes, booze and motor oil. While age had been shrinking him for years now, Newgate was still built like one hell of a beast; he made most grown men feel short. 

“Hi Pops.”

“Hi yourself!” Newgate dropped a heavy hand against his back. “Have you eaten yet? We’re having lunch. Thatch, get over here, it’s time for your damn break.”

Thatch grabbed onto Marco’s arm and pulled him towards the back door with all the enthusiasm of a little kid. “I’ll make us something. Pops! Did Ace pick up groceries for you yesterday?”

“Yeah.” Newgate retrieved Marco’s forgotten backpack and gestured for Izou to follow them. “Have a look in the kitchen, Thatch, it’s stocked up.”

There was plenty his mechanics liked to do for the old man but grocery shopping wasn’t one of them last Marco remembered. 

Whitebeard lived by himself, out of a small home directly behind the auto parts garage. As they crossed from one location to another, Whitebeard's uneven, slow gate seemed so much more severe than how it had been a few months back. As the four of them filed into the kitchen, Marco couldn’t help his curiosity. “The boys have been taking good care of you, then?”

“Oh spare me.” Newgate retrieved a fist full of beers from the fridge and set them on the counter, “Like I need to be taken care of.”

“We try.” Izou supplied, “But, you know how he is. It’s nice having someone living in your old apartment again. Ace is usually around if he needs anything.” 

There were old metal steps that lead out of the warehouse of Newgate’s shop. On the second floor there was a dusty little apartment Marco lived out of for nearly ten years before leaving for medical school. “I can’t imagine someone else being in there.”

“Yeah, you definitely decorated better.” Izou got a laugh out of the room. “You haven't met Ace yet, have you? You’ll like him.” 

“What will I like about him most, the ankle monitor?”

Surprisingly, it was Thatch that gave him a quick slap to the shoulder. “You seriously need to be nice to him, dude”

“I do?”

“Marco, I’ll strangle you with my own two hands.”

“Alright alright, damn.” Marco cracked open the bottle of beer he was given. Marco knew damn well he had no place to be judgemental. It was Pops he worried about. “So where is this new golden child then?”

“A check-in with his parole officer.” Whitebeard said more seriously, “He’ll probably pick up Luffy from school on his way back this afternoon.”

“Luffy’s the younger brother?”

Thatch, who had gotten to work seasoning chicken breast, sang over his shoulder, “And possibly the cutest little kid in the world~” 

“Next time we’re all together, I’m sure they’d let you look around your old apartment again.” Izou chimed, “If you're dying to go up there and reminisce.”

Marco smirked, “A little. It’s been such a long time.” 

Marco would have to wait a bit longer before he met Whitebeard's new pride and joy. He inhaled Thatch’s cooking— which he missed far more than he would ever admit— finished a second beer and a dozen more stories about the hospitals he rotated through. 

Marco left that afternoon with a box of leftovers and the promise that he’d bring his car in for an oil change before the week was over. 

Tuesday morning.

Marco would remember the auto shop’s schedule until the day he died and Tuesday mornings were always dead. One, maybe two mechanics would run the whole place until the afternoon. Considering Pop’s would rather keel over and die before accepting money from him, Marco preferred his car be as little an inconvenience for the shop as possible. 

Marco could feel the heat stick to his skin the second he left his apartment. Considering summer was nearly over, there was no reason for it to be this damn hot outside. 

AC. He needed to ask them to take a look at his AC while he was at it.

Like he’d done for the past 15 years of his life, Marco pulled his 2012 Subaru directly into the empty garage of Pop’s auto shop. He would have made an immediate comment on the pop-punk garbage blasting in the speakers if it weren’t for the loud string of curses he heard coming out of the front office to greet him. 

“What the fuck are you doing?! Hey asshole!” The young man wore a mechanic’s jumpsuit with  the top half of it hanging loose around his hips. Sweat stuck his jet black hair to the sides of his face and neck. “You can’t just roll your car into the garage!” He threw his arms out to gesture to the rest of the shop, “You gotta check in, I need information from you and shit.” 

Marco climbed out of the driver's seat and leaned over the top of his door. “Whitebeard knows I’m dropping off for an oil change today.”

“I don’t give a shit. You see all the equipment to run over in your cute little Subaru? Park in the lot next time like everyone else.” He propped up the hood of Marco’s car. 

It’s not like he was wrong, it was just the sheer hostility that was unexpected. Marco couldn’t help the chuckling that bubbled up in his throat. “Okay. If it helps, I sincerely apologize.” 

In his adult life, Marco considered himself picky who he found attractive. He wasn’t one to leer at little waisted, broad shouldered, young men with freckles and shaggy haircuts. But, here he was leering while he was getting yelled at. 

“When was your last oil change Mr. Subaru Outback?”

“I’m overdue,” Marco admitted, “Sixteen hundred miles ago?”

“Yikes.” He cleaned the dipstick from Marco’s car with a rag that was within reach. “You’re friends with Pops and he let you go this long without an oil change?”

“I’ve been in school.”

“So, you’re a smart guy?” 

“I’d like to think so.”

The raven haired man took a few steps closer to Marco. The half a foot height difference between them didn’t seem to bother him in the slightest. He tapped the tip of the dipstick against Marco’s chest and challenged him with a smirk. “Five thousand to seven thousand miles would be my recommendation, Smart guy.”

Punk . 

“Got it.”

“Are you going to wait around or pick it up?”

Marco couldn’t help himself, “Does it take you so long to change the oil that I should leave?”

The mechanic’s eyes snapped up from the car to Marco. “Twenty minutes, Dick.” 

“Then, I’ll wait.” 

He pulled a clipboard off its hook on the wall. He crossed one ankle over the other, clicked the back of his pen against his hip and began filling in what would eventually be a receipt. While he waited. Marco finally noticed the ankle monitor, blinking a little green light just above Ace’s boot and peeking out from under the right leg of his jumpsuit.

This was Ace? Gorgeous face, insufferable shit starter? Right up Pops’s ally.

As if on cue, Whitebeard’s old truck came rolling into the parking lot behind them. The old man climbed out of it slowly and made his way into the garage holding an ice coffee in each hand. “Marco!”

“Marco!?” Ace echoed, his nose crunched up into a sneer. 

Whitebeard put one of the coffee cups in Ace’s hand, who took it despite the fact that he looked completely stunned. Marco had never seen the wheels in someone’s head turn so visibly. 

“I told you about him, Ace. Don’t look so surprised.” Newgate plucked the clipboard out of his hands and held it at arms length while he read it. “…And you were going to over charge him… If he was paying, which he won’t be. It's sixty eight for an oil and filter change, you wrote eighty six.”

“Sounds like me.”

“Yeah, sounds like you.” Whitebeard smacked his arm with the clipboard. “This is Marco, my first protégé. He’s been upstate for medical school, just moved back this week. He used to live in your apartment.”

“You’re kidding.” Ace said between sips of his coffee. He extended his hand out to Marco and Marco shook it. “Fuckin— my bad man. I thought you were just some asshole.”

“Is it an eighteen dollar surcharge for assholes?”

“Minimum—”

“Wrong.” Whitebeard said as he turned away from them. “I have to make a few calls. Give Marco’s car a thorough once over. Whatever he needs and do not accept a fucking dime from him.”

The kid might have been a lost cause for numbers and customer service but at least he knew what he was doing under a car. Ace kicked over one of the old scooters that had probably been around since before Marco’s time. He laid back on it and rolled beneath the Subaru with the kind of grace only muscle memory could provide. 

Marco watched his boots while he worked. “So, how long have you been here? Considering you don’t know the price of an oil change.”

“Can you say that a little louder? I want Pops to hear you making fun of the dyslexic kid.” Marco heard the flow of old oil as Ace removed the drain plug, “Two years— I don’t know. I worked for Pops for probably…  four—five months. I got put away for six months and he hired me back when I got out. I’ve been here since.” 

“What’d they get you for?”

“Arson. Burned the last shop I worked at to the ground.”  Ace rolled himself out from under the car in time to get a look at Marco’s deeply troubled face. He flashed the tips of his K9s while he smirked. “I’m kidding. It wasn't anything interesting, I promise.” He pulled himself to his feet and moved onto addressing the old filter that’d been rotting in Marco’s Subaru for the past seventeen hundred miles. “Since we’re on the subject of asking personal questions, are you responsible for the vomit green paint in my kitchen?”

“Your kitchen?”

“Yeah, and the tiny little couch with bricks for cushions. You graduated medical school and thought that couch was okay? I couldn’t even sell that fucking thing, Marco.”

“The space you’re filling is hardly big enough to be called a living room.” Marco hummed, “It was the only couch that fit.”

No one could match the level of sheer animation in Ace’s repulsed expression, “If I knew my doctor thought it was reasonable to buy that couch, I’d find a new doctor.” 

It was difficult, deciding whether Ace was the most annoying person he’d ever met or a half decent comedian. He’d never seen anyone enjoy bickering so much. “If I keep listening to you complain, you’ll take a look at my AC while you’re over there, right?”

Ace clicked his tongue, “What’s wrong with your AC?”

“You tell me Mr. Mechanic. It doesn’t run cold.”

Ace released a long, mournful sigh, “Poor little Subaru. Falling apart at the seams.”

“It’s not that old.”

“Really? Because, Rush’s greatest hits on CD would suggest otherwise.” Ace chuckled, reading off the open black CD case tossed on the passenger's seat. “Don't get me wrong, I like classic rock. AC/DC, The Beatles, and Queen, are all on this playlist—”

“I can’t stand AC/DC.” 

Ace’s jaw fell open. Clearly, he had a love for theatrics because the way he set down the oil filter looked choreographed for a dramatic stage play. Ace turned his shoulders slowly to face Marco, the very epitome of heartbreak and betrayal warping his expression. Ace swallowed, “Tell me you’re kidding.”

“I’m kidding. I just wanted to see how wound up you’d get.” Marco's relaxed demeanor finally cracked. He started laughing the minute Ace became self aware. 

“Oh—you can go fuck yourself!” His pretty bronze skin flushed with warmth. “I’m glad you’re fucking with me becahse I’d never let you leave this garage alive if you ment that. Don’t scare me like that. Shit!”

“You’re saying you’d kill me if I didn’t like AC/DC.”

“Marco, I don’t make the rules of the Garage, I simply abide by them.”

His laughter snapped off the second he heard his name. “Marco.”  Whitbeard’s voice cut through their conversation suddenly enough to make him jump. Newgate had taken to standing in the doorframe off his office, arms folded over his chest. There was a pause before he stated very simply, “C’mere a minute.”

The younger men exchanged glances before Marco excused himself. 

He was let into the office first, then Newgate followed and shut the door behind them. The unmoving, fierce look in the old man’s eyes reminded Marco of the old days at the shop. Whitebeard was infamous for shaking down customers who refused to pay, or thugs who thought it’d be a good idea to steal motorcycle parts from the garage. Marco cocked an eyebrow, “Everything okay?”

“Listen— I’m only going to say this once.“ Newgate crossed the office towards his desk in heavy footsteps. He rubbed at the deep elevens between his eyes. “Don’t get involved with Ace.”

“Hm?” Marco’s confusion only grew, “I…beg your pardon?”

“Whatever it is you’re doing...” Newgate waved his hand in the general direction of the garage, “None of that. Don’t flirt with him, don’t distract him, don’t confuse him.”

Marco couldn’t believe what he was hearing. Flirting? He was pretty sure he hadn’t tried to flirt in the past four years of his life. He let out a breathy laugh and looked over his shoulder like Whitebeard had to be talking to someone else. “…You’re not being serious.”

“I’m serious. He’s got too much on his plate right now and frankly, he’s too young for you.”

“Wow.” Marco had to repeat Newgate’s words in his head a few times to fully digest it. He scoffed. Ace was a hyperactive, one volume only, shit starter. The very idea that someone interpreted their conversation as flirtatious had to be a joke. “First of all—” He could feel his face heating up, “I’m not sure what kind of sleazy character you think I am. Secondly, you honestly think my type is the guy with a tattoo of his name spelled wrong?”

Whitebeard leveled Marco with an unamused glare. Clearly, the idea that he may have  misinterpreted things, hadn’t crossed his mind. “Listen, I gave Teach the same lecture.”

“Teach? I’m on the same level as Teach?” Marco clicked his tongue in disgust, “Well, you can rest easy. I promise you— I guarantee you, I have zero interest. Not my type.” Marco propped a hand on his hip, “But truthfully, I’m a little insulted you think you can dictate who I flirt with anyway.” 

“Oh, don’t misunderstand me, Marco. I haven't ordered you around in the past ten years. You’re an adult. The people you date should be none of my business.” Whitebeard's reply was very matter-of-fact. Marco had thought he heard the threat from his tone disappear completely before it all came rushing back. Whitebeard leaned in, his voice fell an octave and Marco swore he saw death themselves behind the old man’s eyes, “Unless it’s my kid you’re talking to. So, I’m telling you right now Marco, knock it off.”

If you liked this, there’s more on AO3 ;)

Thanks for reading!

[tg-headcanons]

Frothing at the mouth (positive) over the fact you're the only person aside from myself to put their whole ass into the fact the CCG is largely propaganda-based and they barely know shit about ghouls, and only publicly share twisted "facts" about ghouls to get further government money for their ghoul-genocide activities. Whats some CCG propaganda you think they push most aside from "ghouls wre animals and can't think/feel like humans can?"

YOU UNDERSTAND ME

The CCG does a lot more propaganda work than the general public, and even most investigators, realize. It’s human nature to want to bond and relate to one another and even things that aren’t human, and if people tend to humanize animals, plants, and even machines, a big part of what the CCG does is work to ensure they don’t try to humanize things that look human

Within the CCG there are rules policing language. Ghouls are to be referred to as “it,” and described as male or female rather than using man or woman. Reports referring to them with “he” or “she” are corrected to remove human language from them, and if a superior wants to they can easily use “humanizing language” as an excuse to punish an underling

Because the higher ups rely on their employees not understanding ghoul minds and social structure, they withhold information and most investigators don’t understand how intelligent they are. A study was done on particularly unwell ghouls in cochlea in order to engineer the conclusion that ghouls have the base intelligence of a nine year old child, and that their skills and language ability are mostly mimicry of humans. Because of this, a lot of ghouls have gone under the radar because they’re simply too complex or intelligent to be suspected. When some measurably intelligent ghouls are discovered, the higher ups take over quickly and the ghoul is either declared an odd outlier, or some cover up is utilized to deny their accomplishments

Because the only ghoul research happens in cochlea, a place designed to be as distressing and unhealthy as possible, the results are incredibly skewed. They do not understand social behaviors because the only captive interactions are between stressed and doomed ghouls. They do not fully understand kagune usage because they’re all drugged with rc suppressants. They do not know about ghoul hormonal cycles because the rc suppressants tend to make them fatal. As far as there doves know, ghoul are all erratic, mindlessly violent, and prone to unexplainable deaths in captivity. What little research there that is a good representation of ghoul complexity is often destroyed and falsified

The CCG makes an effort to locate people with violent tendencies or struggle with connection for their academy. Staff there knows that if a student is suffering socially or gets in fights, they are to be fast tracked to training. Many of them could have gotten help and thrived elsewhere, but the CCG training program encourages and enables these behaviors so long as it’s directed towards ghouls. They engineer investigators who are taught to cope with otherwise treatable issues by taking them out on something that looks human, but is okay for them to harm. These people are quickly promoted so when there are “complex cases,” they have someone they can trust not to humanize the ghouls and kill them as quickly as possible. They end up struggling to acclimate to anywhere else, more or less trapping them there to be attack dogs

A lot of news about ghouls has to be run through the CCG for approval. There’s a law on the books prohibiting the spread of dangerous misinformation regarding ghouls, which requires “professional input” on any officially released pieces about them. There are some public personalities and so called Ghoul Experts who absolutely don’t know what the fuck they’re talking about, but the CCG allows them to speak on it because they parrot the dehumanizing propaganda they feed the public and it helps to have supposedly independent researchers confirm it. They all know Hisashi Ogura is full of shit, but his fearmongering makes their job much easier

Many investigators die every year because they were not allowed to know what the higher ups know. Countless employees were killed by ghouls they didn’t know how to locate due to misinformation about ghoul psychology or were killed with fighting techniques that were kept confidential for use by the washuu family. A good amount of deaths are preventable, but the CCG will never tell the lower ranks the things that would have saved them. Besides, having a brutal, fatal ghoul attack in the news every day is good for image

[kyuushi]

I present... the character relationship chart from the second official fanbook! Thanks again to the Kyuushi Discord server for the scans, Aroshi for help with cleaning, Shells for proofreading, and Crimson for Mebi's "fry" 😆❗

Like last time, there are some notes under the cut!

↓

Mippiki: As a reminder, this word is a combination of "three people + one small animal (armadillo)" and refers to Rona, Draluc, John, and Hinaichi.

Little-big Bro: Himari calls Rona "chii-nii" (小兄) to differentiate between him and their eldest brother, Hiyoshi. Ironic considering their heights…

God of Popularity Polls: In case you're wondering who that random old man is with arrows to Rona and Draluc, that's him, the God of Popularity Polls. Ura-Shinyoko stole his seiyuu in the anime…

Bio-employees: Autumn is capable of just growing living entities like Rokumon and Chinoike in their lab. Very normal publishing company.

Cement: Chinoike's gimmick is that he only speaks in wrestling terms. I don't know anything about wrestling myself but Google tells me that a "cement style" wrestling match is a serious match where both parties do their best to genuinely win, as compared to an exhibition type match which is more staged/for fun?

Niga, Sanga: Kuwabara and Sanzu are a ninja and kunoichi respectively. Their village names are parodies of the famed Iga ninja. Ni means 2, san means 3.

Useful mobs: Mob = background character. Bonnoki and the fandom's beloved bg boys Miki Kanae and Yoshida Terukazu-san❗❗ There's lore behind these 2 but I won't get into all that here, I just want to mention that Yoshida-san is based off a real person's art. Hopefully we'll get to see the 3rd useful mob in a relationship chart someday!

Piyo-chan: Ventrue accidentally made himself appear as this cute bird avatar on a Noom (Zoom parody) call with the other old bloods. They'll never let him live it down.

Black Silhouette: This is the three brothers' mother, Gabriella! Her face was hidden for quite some time before she finally made a fully drawn appearance in chapter 297.

As always please do take my translations with a grain of salt; I'm just a fan translator and while I did have someone help me with proofreading, the possibility of mistakes remains. If you have any questions or comments feel free to reach out to me here on tumblr or on Discord, @ ash in the Kyuushi server.

[leighsartworks216]

Walten Files 4 Notes/Messages Transcribed

Anything I couldn't read is in [], with my best guess at what it says or "can't read", if there isn't enough information to make a guess with, or "unsure" if I cannot understand the writing.

At 2:54

Charles Brook: 10.10.1970 Hi! Just got hired officially as the computer supervisor for "Unnamed Bunny Smiles Restaurant" (though I've been coming up with a few names myself) I've known these guys for a while, they're family! I've done some work for them along with Susan for years now, even before CyberFun Tech! Getting to meet the Waltens and the Krankens has been super fun! So excited to get to work! The future is bright. C. B. P. 27:12

Worth noting, P. 27:12 is a proverb from the bible, "The prudent see danger and take refuge, but the simple keep going and pay the penalty."

-

At 8:40, in text that is upside down and flipped

Mr. Kranken This is Norman. I’m sending you this letter on behalf of our deal between Bunny Smiles and CyberFun Tech and most importantly, the well-being of our Cyberfun staff. We’ve been getting a lot of complaints about a member of our staff going missing who was highly associated with you and your team. Susan Woodings has been missing for a week now and here in CyberFun Tech we are working as hard as we can to try and manage to get in contact with her. Is there perhaps any detail you could hand us to help locate our missing employee? I’m going to be entirely honest with you, Mr. Kranken, and tell you I have a ton of questions and suspicions about whatever is going on with your company. Whatever it is, it’s making both your company and mine look bad to public light so, again, if there’s anything that could help us find Susan, write us back immediately. Thank you. I’ll see you Monday.

A second later, a sentence appears

SUSAN HAS BEEN STRUGGLING TO BREATHE FOR [3?] DAY SHE [can’t read] ANYMOR[E]

-

At 9:14

Employee Notes #[404?] By: C. B. BSI Notes [crossed out] The BSI Console The Bunny Smiles Incorporated console allows the robots of Bon's Burgers feel a lot more lifelike and allow for a more fun and interesting experience. I think this is an ambitious and innovating concept I would've never expected to make in my life. Susan did not disappoint at all. Absolutely stunning and delicate work. Jack was fascinated. Never seen anything like it! Felix was both amazed and scared, he doesn't understand a thing about how it works!

-

At 9:20

Walkaround Test (Week 1-2) By: C. B. Week 1: Banny knocked over the table! Rework room recognizing feature!  Bon test went well, recognized Sophie right away! Sha is next Boozoo's magic trick bit went well, [unsure] but he'll do better next time. Week 2: Banny fixed, test went as planned. Mask broke down from last incident. Bon walkaround test went well, way better than expected. Mask broke down Get new mask by Friday! There should be a spare one in the workshop

[luveline]

𝐬𝐭𝐚𝐫𝐫𝐲 𝐞𝐲𝐞𝐝 𝐬𝐦𝐢𝐥𝐞 | 𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐯𝐞 𝐡𝐚𝐫𝐫𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐭𝐨𝐧

Steve doesn't really like the holidays, but he likes you. So, he makes some concessions. Rainbow lit, tinsel-covered, pine tree-smelling concessions.

6k words, christmas centric, fem!reader who celebrates christmas, mutual pining, gingerbread houses, mistletoe, ugly sweaters, friends to lovers, idiots in love, allusions to s4.

❆

Steve hates Christmas. He doesn't want to get into it and he won't, not when you love it the way that you do — quietly, and yet every movement hints at your excitement. 

Your hands are basically shaking when he lugs the new box onto the desk. It's adorable. 

"Thank you for doing this," you say, meeting his eyes and sending him one of your too-nice smiles. Kind that makes him nervous and sick and excited all at once. 

"I don't know why you're so eager. They're the same cheese-fests this year as last year," he says.

You lean over the counter enough for him to smell your perfume. "That's not true. You said you have The Christmas Star, right?" 

"Ten whole copies." 

He pulls open the cardboard box and digs for your desired tape. The case is cardstock and crisp with newness, and it squeaks as he pulls it up and displays it against his chest. 

You beam. "Yes. How much? Expensive 'cos it's new?" 

"Not with the employee discount," he says, placing the tape down neatly. 

Your smile turns shy. Steve has always thought you were pretty, in the same way he thinks that grass is green and stars shine at night, but lately you've turned to a sweetness that has his teeth aching if he thinks about it, all manner of terrible emotions flooding his idiot brain. Jealousy, protectiveness, and — he shudders — affection. Even now he's tempted to round the desk and make up an excuse to touch your arms, or your hands. Your face. 

"Thanks, Steve," you say softly. 

"Of course. There has to be one pro to working in this dump, right?" 

"Is it a dump? It looks super clean." 

He hesitates. "We had to fix it up. Holiday decorations are coming in tomorrow." 

"Make that today!" 

You both turn to see Robin struggling out of the back room, two boxes held in her arms and hiding her face. She stumbles to the desk and Steve leaps to help her, unveiling her grinning face. There's a meanness to her eyes that Steve abores. 

"Well, yesterday. Keith says they got here last night, which means today is officially the first day of Family Video Christmas." 

"It's November," Steve says, narrowing his eyes. 

"Thirty first!"

Robin pries open one of the huge boxes and thrusts both hands in unafraid, pulling out streams of green and silver tinsel like festive innards. Her eyebrows jump up. "Nice," she says appreciatively. 

"I almost wish I worked here." 

"You can stay and help," Steve says. 

Your laughter makes his chest hurt. "I can't. I have decorating to do all by myself next door." You straighten your Palace Arcade polo and your black, plain skirt. "Do I look okay?" 

Steve has a terrible lapse in judgement wherein he thinks about telling you exactly how you look, lips pressed together ready to make a 'b' sound, but he stops himself in the nick of time. Friends don't really do that. 

"You look fucking adorable," Robin says, having wrapped the tinsel around her neck in a makeshift scarf. She sparkles as she turns to Steve. "Doesn't she?" 

"Adorable," he says tightly. 

You scratch under your ear. "Thank you.” 

You promise to come back at the end of the day for The Christmas Star and escape before Robin can poke fun at your shyness. 

The door closes behind you and Steve buries his face in his hands. His cheeks are hot. 

"That was pretty bad. Better, though," Robin says, an air of genuineness about her that he knows she doesn't truly possess. 

Steve scrubs a hand through his hair, temper welled to the surface quick and uncomfortable as usual. He pushes it down and turns away from Robin and the glaringly bright Christmas decorations rather than say something snappy that she doesn't strictly deserve. 

"Maybe by Christmas you'll be able to look her in the eye." 

"Maybe by Christmas I'll have friends I actually like." 

"Points for quickness," she cheers. Steve can feel her moving to stand beside him. "But ultimately weak." 

"It could happen." 

"Could it?"

He rolls his eyes and starts to log The Christmas Star under his name for you. Employees get pretty good privileges, like reduced rates and nulled late fees. You could keep it 'til the 25th, if that's what you want. 

Robin drapes tinsel over his shoulders. "I really, genuinely think that, despite your bad posture, your hair, your clothes," — Steve scoffs — "and your dismal taste in movies, she likes you." 

He's so distracted by her (mostly) joking insults that he doesn't quite hear the end. Then, when it sinks in, his incredulity lends itself to a new target. 

"What?" 

"Steve," Robin says flatly. 

"She likes me?" 

"I think so. She's not coming in here every day for me." 

"How should I know? I'm not exactly a good judge of it." 

Robin taps her foot against his. They're overly familiar if not overly affectionate friends, and he relents in his bad mood, pulling the tinsel from his shoulders with a dejected sigh. 

"I doubt it. She was excited about the new movies." Not me. He doesn’t think you'll be back tomorrow.  

"Why aren't you excited?" Robin asks.

"You know I don't like the holidays." His agitation is clear in his annoyed hand gestures, fingers furling and unfurling. "Weeks of torture. Cranky moms walking around like somebody shoved a candy cane up their-" 

"Steve, that's like, ten percent of the holiday season! There's a bazillion other things to like about Christmas." 

He snorts. "Like what?" 

—

Steve doesn't know how she managed it, but Robin has someone orchestrated the older gaggle of their friends to sit down anywhere but next to him. When you arrive, late and full of abashed apologies, the only seat empty is the chair to his right. 

You collapse beside him and the December chill outside follows you. Cold emanates off of your clothes. You peel out of your black denim jacket and press the back of your hand to his. 

"Cold, huh?" you ask. 

He swallows around nothing. "Cold." 

Your touch lingers. If he were your boyfriend, he'd take your cold hands in both of his and blow on them generously. He'd rub your stiff knuckles until they were loose and your fingers limp. 

Robin opens her arms and a half a dozen boxes clatter into the middle of the table, upside down and on their sides. Steve turns his head to read the font, and then promptly sits up. 

"No," he says. 

"Steve," Robin pleads, already turned away to retrieve a wicker basket full of candy. "Don't be a loser." 

"Too late," Eddie says, painted nails digging into the cardboard flap of his box. 

"You don't want to make one?" you ask Steve. 

"Gingerbread houses are a little elementary school, aren't they?" Steve turns to Jonathan imploringly. "You agree, right?" 

"No," Jonathan says with a laugh. "Me and Will still make them every year. El's getting good at them, too." 

"Will made one with a door that opens last year," Nancy says, pride for her boyfriend's brother clear in her pert smirk. 

Steve rolls his eyes. "That's good for him, and I mean it, but why are we doing this? Tell me there's beer, at least." 

"Yes!" Eddie cheers, slapping his thigh. "Harrington, you're finally saying something I can get behind. I have a little something extra in the van, just say the word." 

"There's beer," Nancy says emphatically. 

Eddie pretends to die in his chair. You giggle like crazy at his dramatics and set about opening your box, fanning gingerbread walls and roof panelling out over the table. 

Steve feels old resentment for Eddie bubble up like it never left. He wants to be the one who makes you laugh like that, all sweet and secret like you're trying not to make a fuss but you just can't help it. The resentment fades when you reach across from him and open a second box, laying supplies out in front of him one by one. 

"I think we should be a team," you tell him. 

"That's not fair," Eddie says.

"Can it, Munson-"

"We can all be teams," Robin says, returning with a blessedly cold six pack, three piping bags, and a handful of metal tips. "You two, me and Eddie, Nancy and Jonathan." 

Steve doesn't miss her suggestive eyebrow wiggle, and neither does anybody else. You turn to Steve in confusion. He shakes his head vigorously in a rapid and untrue show of I don't know, arm weaving under yours to bring your attention to the bigger piece of gingerbread. "This is the floor, right?" 

Steve’s surprised by how good of a team you turn out to be. Your gingerbread house takes shape slowly. Steve holds the pieces in place and you apply the icing seams like caulking, smoothing the lines out with your index finger and licking it clean. You’re a picture of happiness, happy jabbering interspersed between singing along to the Christmas songs on the radio and warding off insincere insults sent your way. 

"My grandma can decorate better than that, and she's pushing ninety. She has glaucoma."

“Cut the shit talking, Eddie,” you warn, flicking him with a jellybean. It hits his neck, and his retribution comes in five more aimed at your gingerbread house. 

The sides wobble unsurely.

Steve frosts the roof, assuming it’ll be easy. It isn’t easy at all, and soon any cuteness you’ve made is ruined by his ugly hatching. He winces, then frowns, then glares, eyebrows furrowed in agitation. 

Jonathan and Nancy are the ones to beat. Both nerds, both neat. Jonathan’s an artist and it’s obvious he does this every year, their house made up of pretty white swirls and gem decorated doors and windows. They're bantering quietly, insincere declarations that make Steve jealous — not of Jonathan, exactly, but of their relationship as a whole. They fit together in a way Steve and Nance never had. They’re effortless. 

Robin and Eddie make a good go of it, surprisingly. Steve had expected Eddie to throw the competition before he could lose, and hates to be proven wrong. Dorks combined with too much imagination, their gingerbread house has become a sort of macabre scene with a dead gingerbread man outlined in the snow surrounding, and icing stalagmites rise under the roof’s overhang.

You pull your chair in as close to Steve’s as you can, your knee pressed into his thigh and your elbow glancing off of his bicep every time you place a jellybean.

“There,” you say, pulling back. “That looks awesome, doesn’t it?”

It’s a hot mess. Unbalanced, too much icing on one side of the roof and not enough on the other, you lean back into Steve’s chest, your skin to his skin and your hair smelling of jasmine, appraising the work you’ve made just as it begins to fall apart. The weight of the roof becomes too much and the walls split either side of one another, in both slow motion and fast. Steve sees it happen incrementally, and it’s too quick to stop. 

Your gingerbread house collapses. 

“Fuck,” Steve says. “Fucking fuck.”

You get second place. 

“It looked good when it was actually standing,” Nancy reasons, her lies obvious in her raised pitch, her queasy shifting. 

“It did,” you agree. 

Steve’s self-loathing abates ever so slightly. 

“Pity win,” Eddie says with a cough. 

You laugh like crazy, and Steve decides gingerbread houses are for kids. 

—

After the gingerbread house disappointment, Steve thinks things cannot get worse. He is swiftly proven wrong. 

It's his turn to host a party, Robin's idea, and Christmas crawls ever closer. When he closes his eyes at night he can see the faces of every annoyed mom asking for The Christmas Star. Carols play in his ears unbidden. He finds himself humming songs he hates out of nowhere and clamping his mouth shut hard enough to chip a tooth every time. 

You love decorations, and so he and Robin have spent the last hour making his big empty house something fit for a rom-com, wreaths and tinsels and rainbow flashing lights. You love Christmas music, and so the stereos dialled to a cruel thirty in preparation for your arrival. You love cookies, and so, to Steve's amateurish expense, plates of sugar cookies line the kitchen countertops, along with all the finger foods one could ever desire. 

Though in Steve's case, that's none. He hates Christmas parties, reminded of his parents' misaligned efforts to earn favour with equally pompous parents. He and Tommy would hide out in backyards with stolen booze, and when that got too cold they'd shuffle inside, warm in their chests and numb in their fingers. 

He frowns at the memory and wizzes it all away. Tommy was an asshole. Steve was an asshole, he still is. This party isn't for his parents. 

It's for you. 

Not that anyone can ever, ever know. 

"What do you think?" Robin asks, pulling at the edges of the sweater she's changed into. 

It's a movie reference he should understand, but doesn't. "I love it." 

She smiles. Rare for them to operate above dry sarcasm and quick wit. Christmas makes Robin squishy, like she's forgotten how shitty the world is, and Steve wants her to have a good time tonight. This includes being nice (which he should be more often, anyway). 

"Go change. She'll be here soon."

"Who, Nance?" 

Robin tips her head back. "Oh, yeah, Nancy. Definitely who I meant." 

He flips her the finger, putting an end to their Christmas niceties. She's still laughing as he climbs the stairs and barrels into his room. He doesn't bother closing the door even as he hears the doorbell ring. The pizza should be getting here around now. 

Steve doesn't rush. He’d left cash on the countertop. Robin can deal with it. 

He ducks forward and pulls his polo up the length of his back, hair puffed out like a cloud. He'd set aside his ridiculous reindeer sweater on the top shelf of his closet. Or, at least, he'd thought he had. He searches once, twice, and then gives in to his short temper and drops his face into his hands. 

Stupid Christmas. Stupid sweater. Stupid party.  

He hears your inhale like a whisper. Breath caught in your throat. 

"Steve," you say, sounding surprised. 

It's his room. He's not sure what's so surprising. 

You're standing in the doorway looking angelic, all things considered. Your features softened by powder, wearing a white Christmas sweater with dainty beaded snowflakes and a plaid skirt. You look pretty, and Steve's not one for dramatics but he wishes he was dead. 

"You look nice," he says pathetically. 

"You, too," you say. You clear your throat. "I mean. Uh-" 

"You okay?" he asks, pushing hair out of his eyes. 

Your smile falters. You look at his naked chest. Steve worries he's making you uncomfortable and turns as nonchalantly as he can to his closet again, says, "I can't find my sweater. It's…" He lifts a bundle of jeans up. "Horrifying." 

"I can help." 

You step into the room. Each footstep silent, you've already discarded your shoes. He looks down to your stockings and then up again, ignoring the blush that wants to emerge at the sight of your thighs. 

"It's brown, and it has a weird red thing hanging off of it. Rudolph's nose." 

You step close enough that he can feel the heat of your arm and run a hand down the shelves. It takes a couple of seconds at most and you've found it, pulling it from the pile carefully. He loves the way you move, each inch deliberate. 

You press the sweater into his chest. His hands come up, his fingers cover your own. 

When he's with you, Steve feels as though everything — every movement, every moment — is broken down into its finest details. He thinks he could draw your fingerprint if asked, each miniscule line embossed into his skin as you touch him. 

"Steve?" 

But that's ridiculous. 

"Thanks. I think I got tinsel in my eyes or some shit," he mutters, averting his gaze.

"You're welcome. Robin sent me to see what was taking you so long. I'll tell her it was a Rudolph related crisis." 

You stroke his arm. 

He loses his shit internally, hand reaching for your retreating figure as you turn your back. He doesn’t know why. Maybe he would’ve kissed you.

"Steve?" you ask, now standing in the doorway. 

He recalibrates, muddled. "Yeah?" 

"Get dressed,” you encourage. You give him a short smile, blinding, and laugh quietly as you leave. 

He's hopped up on hope as he gets dressed, a smile plastered over what had felt to him like a seasonal scowl. He's no idiot; arm-touching, your tinkling laughter. Maybe his crush isn't as hopeless as he'd thought. 

He smooths down his hair for much longer than necessary, listening as the door opens and closes and opens again, friends trickling in with happy hellos and complaints about the weather. It's cold but too wet for snow, and evidence of it trails in from the front door through the hallway where shoes lie discarded in clumsy pairs.

He picks over them and finds his friends, ones he made willing and otherwise, draped over his living room like old throws. Max and Lucas have stolen the couch where they sit laughing, clearly gossiping about something. The rest of the lunch club stick close by, bowls of snacks already claimed and in cross-legged laps. 

"Steve," Jonathan says, "what the fuck is that?" 

"Fucker," Steve says. He's the butt of too many jokes, then, and he glares at Robin even as she plates him some still-warm pizza. 

"Sorry," she mouths. 

You curl up on the couch next to Max. He appreciates the unlikely friendship you've formed, sort of a sistership. You only know her through Steve but he genuinely thinks you'd pick her over him, and that makes him like you more. 

That's all he does, lately. Finds new ways to fall in love with you. 

"That is the ugliest sweater I've ever seen," Max says.

Fucking Christmas. 

—

Steve's been in a bad mood since he came downstairs, and you're not okay with it. Despite your shameless meltdown in his bedroom at seeing him shirtless, you don't quit. You spend some time with Max on the couch, and when she seems a little less agitated you track him down. 

He's definitely hiding. 

"I think Max's glasses are hurting her nose," you say. 

Steve looks over his shoulder at you, and he smiles, the slopes of his face kissed by the open refrigerator light. "They'd hurt anyone. The lenses are like, five inches thick." 

“Poor girl,” you mumble, more to yourself than him. 

He turns back to the fridge and pulls out a two litre of coke. “You want a drink?” 

You shake your head. His hair looks incredibly sweet from this angle, and you don’t mean that in a condescending way. It curls toward the bottom of his neck, that tiny bit too long compared to his usual cut. His neck moves as his head swivels, and there’s ligaments, there’s muscle, the bump of his Adam’s apple, all of it commanding attention. You think about stepping forward to touch him, his neck, to curl your finger around the side of his throat and hold him in place. If there’s one thing about Steve lately, it’s that he’s always fucking moving. He can’t sit still. He looks between you and the empty glass in question, twice, a third time. 

“I don’t read minds,” he says eventually, near pleading. 

You decide some flirtation is in order. 

“I’m glad you can’t,” you say lightly, crossing what’s left of the kitchen tile between you to stop at his side. You pretend that you’d wanted a drink, taking a glass down from one of his cabinets so he can fill it for you. Something he could’ve done himself. You hope that’ll be clear enough for him — the blatant want to be close. 

It isn’t, unsurprisingly. 

“What’s that mean?”

“Well, I think…” You lower your voice,a private confession. “That sometimes what I’m thinking, it might be- Uh, telling.”

Poor Steve. That hadn’t come out anywhere as smooth as you’d anticipated. It’s harder to tell him now you’re confronted with him, his every detail. And Steve, sweetheart, angel Steve, he misses the mark. Forget different pages, Steve’s reading a separate chapter, and your flirtation reads as a deeply unromantic confession. 

“Is there something wrong?” he asks. 

“No,” you say. “Of course not.”

His eyebrows jump and his forehead crinkles. “You sure?” His protective tone melts into something softer. “Let’s hear it, whatever it is.”

Steve isn’t patient. You know that about him. His temper is short and fierce. You like how hot he runs, love his agitated pouting and his dark-eyed scowls — he’s handsome in every expression. 

He isn’t patient, but he tries. He’s kind, and if you wanted to sit and talk about the hypothetical that isn’t bothering you, he’d listen. 

“I actually wanted to ask if everything was alright with you,” you say gently. 

His hand wobbles, fastening the coke cap. “Why wouldn’t it be?”

“I’ve noticed you don’t really like Christmas.”

He smiles, and soon the smile catches, a shy lip bite that has you fighting with your hands to keep them where they hang at your sides. 

“You got me.”

Steve pushes the twin glasses of coke back and then turns around, resting the small of his back against the countertop. You step in front of him without thinking, head ducked to catch and keep his eyes. They’re such a lovely brown, light and earthy, potted with white dots from the fluorescent kitchen light like falling snow as his eyes slip down. You swear, Steve is looking at your lips. 

“Is there something I can do?” 

It’s a terrible time to ask because you genuinely mean it, you’re not just trying to cop a feel. He doesn’t smirk or laugh as you’d thought he would, he only smiles. 

“Thanks, but I’m good.” He tips his head back, criminal, neck arched and ever-enticing. “Fucking sick of this itchy straight jacket,” he groans, pulling at the collar of his sweater like he’s hot. 

He is hot. You’d both benefit from a sudden winter breeze. 

His head drops, eyes lit with confusion. “What? Something on my face?”

“Something,” you agree. 

You look behind you to check what you’d thought you’d seen was truly there. When it is, you turn back to Steve with a feigned concern. “Here, come step into better light.”

You hurry into the doorway, frowning. 

Steve frowns in turn and follows you. You give the game away without meaning to, looking up at the sprig of mistletoe pinned sloppily above you. 

He sees it. He lights up. The happiest he’s looked all month, Steve scrubs a hand over his face and into his hair, pushing it out of his eyes as he comes to meet you. Your stomach flips with excitement, because oh shit, he looks like he wants to kiss me. 

“Butler, I’m in need of one of your finest cokes, please.”

Oh, no.

Eddie bounces into view with a certified shit-eating grin, hair decorated with tiny metallic baubles. His sweater is surprisingly normal, a black and white knitted affair with reindeer and snowflakes. 

He comes to a stop beside you. “What’s happening?”

Don’t look up, don’t look up, don’t look-

“Shit, hey! Mistletoe.”

Eddie opens his arms. You sigh, to his delight, and lean in so he can give you a chaste kiss on the cheek. You try to look at Steve and find your view blocked by a mass of hair.  

“Wow, sweetheart. And I thought we were friends,” Eddie says good-naturedly. 

You scrunch your hand in his sweater to push him away, not unkindly. Guilt gets the better of you and you pat the place over his heart. “We are.”

He makes a kissy sound and dives in toward your neck. Startled, you squeal, stumbling away from his rabid affection and back into the kitchen. He follows, though he doesn’t try anymore kisses. 

“Harrington! I wasn’t joking about the coke. Can I-“

“Help yourself,” Steve says. 

He sounds miserable. 

—

There isn’t time or opportunity to smooth things over with Steve that night. Actually, a week becomes two, and neither do you kiss nor talk about kissing. You want to explain to him what he probably already knows — you really had been standing there for him, hoping for a kiss, a proper kiss. 

He’d looked crushed. You don’t use the word lightly. Steve looked as though somebody had stepped on his chest and pressed all of their weight against his ribs. Frazzled, unhappy. You can’t get the look out of your head, and Christmas doesn’t feel so cheerful with the gap that yawns between you, an icy crevice. 

You try to explain and things get in the way. At the video store, you show up with a plate of apology cookies hoping for a second chance and suddenly the radio breaks and gets stuck blaring ‘Here Comes Santa Claus’ like a storm siren. You meet up for games night with a twig of mistletoe in your purse hoping to be a tad more brazen about it and he sits on the opposite sofa, doesn’t take any pee breaks, effectively foiling your plan with inactivity. You ask him out for hot chocolate over the phone and he can’t come. 

“My parents are flying home. I gotta pick ‘em up from the airport.”

You don’t know whether he’s lying or not. His parents actually being home feels outlandish. If he is lying, he doesn’t want to see you, and if he doesn’t want to see you… 

He doesn’t like you. Not the way you like him. 

You worry you imagined the whole thing, his enthusiasm, his starry eyed smile. 

So you’re giving it one last shot. If it doesn’t work you’ll spend your Christmas heartbroken and sulking, but if it does you might actually get to kiss him. It’s a huge thing, and your hands are shaking with more than the cold as you bump up the small step to Steve’s front door. 

The green wreath hanging below the peep hole jitters as you knock, a fragrant twining of pine and cinnamon sticks. 

The door opens all at once.

“Hi,” you say, biting the tip of your tongue. “Hi, I’m, uh-“

The man who’s answered, who you summarise to be Steve’s father despite never having seen him, looks disinterested. “Steve,” he calls. “One of your friends.”

He walks away with nothing else to say, a dark brown liquid lapping at the sides of his small glass. You pull the wrapped box in hand closer to your chest, shifting from one numbing foot to the other as a small tumbling sound comes from upstairs. A pair of hinges squeal, and Steve is halfway down the stairs before he’s even looked up. 

He slows as he approaches the bottom. 

He’s in pajamas. Sweatpants, nondescript, but his too-tight shirt clearly of the Christmas variety. A snowman smiles over his chest. 

“It’s laundry day,” he says. 

“Sure.”

“I’m sorry I couldn’t go out with you-“

“Steve,” you interrupt, shaking your head. “It’s okay. Don’t worry about it.”

“Is that… for me?”

The box in your hands is wrapped modestly. You hadn’t wanted to shove Christmas down his throat, trading reds and greens for a shiny silver paper pressed with fine glitter snowflakes. 

“Yeah. It’s for you.”

Steve stares at you. You stare back. 

“I’d invite you in, but…” He shakes his head. “Let me get my coat.”

Steve doesn’t close the door, to his father’s annoyance, deep grumbling echoing from the kitchen area. You watch him shove his socked feet into a pair of sneakers and scramble to grab his coat and a scarf. 

“Okay?” he asks, stepping out onto the path and closing the door behind him. 

You don’t answer, distracted by his hands suddenly held up, the scarf thrown neatly around your neck. He does a single knot and tucks it under your jaw. “Awesome,” he says. 

You walk down his street. Hawkins is half woods, and soon you’re weaving between naked trees, no destination in mind, not one unspoken feeling acknowledged between you. 

“Why do you hate Christmas?” 

It’s just dark enough for Steve’s clouded breath to show against the sky. “I don’t,” he says.

Your footsteps break over leaves so frosted they crackle. 

“I mean, I guess I do,” he says. “I don’t know. I think I want it to be better than it is.” He stops under a tree that’s clinging to its last handful of leaves and gives a low-hanging branch a playful shake. “I never enjoyed it, as a kid. Or, I don’t remember. I’m sure I liked it when I was still snot-nosed.”

“So, last year?” 

He chuckles warmly. “Exactly.”

You walk a little further, too awkward to hand him his gift. 

“I don’t hate it. But it’s cold, and everyone’s rushing, and the bad outweighs the good.” He sounds tired. 

He breaks your heart like that. 

You stop walking and Steve takes your cue, the two of you toe-to-toe, your sneakers dirty, his socks odd. One white and one grey. 

“I got you this because… um, I have something to tell you. I don’t think I can say it out loud, but- but I hope it adds something to the scale.” You extend the box slowly, your fingers stiff with the cold. “You deserve some good. You deserve a lot of good.” 

You laugh, flustered, and Steve joins in, chest lifting with it as he accepts his gift. 

He rips off the wrapping paper, at first carefully and then less so, shoving little pieces into his pocket as he goes. You take the bigger scraps from him so he can look at the box itself. 

Your gift is actually multiple gifts contained inside, and the first isn't technically a gift at all. The Family Video copy of The Christmas Star.

"Is this-" 

"I've been meaning to give it back to you. I'm sorry, I know it's not a real gift, I just figured- I mean, you've never seen it. I thought we should watch it, and that you'd like it if you did. Or maybe you'll hate it, and that would be fine too." 

He nods and moves to the next gift, lips twitching with an emotion he won't share. 

"That's your size, hopefully. I asked Robin but she didn't know. I kept the receipt." 

Steve smiles at you. "Would you hold this?" he asks. 

You put your hands out and take the box back, worried, but he's only unzipping his coat. Quick as a flash he's shrugging into the sweater head first. It's a simple thing, red wool, soft to touch. A Christmas sweater, though there's no decoration beside a tiny holly leaf embroidered at the collar in dark green. 

"This is fucking sweet," he says. 

You agree. He looks good. 

A shiver racks his spine. 

"Put your coat back on, you're gonna freeze," you say gently. 

He beams at you. "My dead body will be the best dressed in the morgue." 

"Don't joke about that!" 

He laughs and gets back into his coat, zip right up to his neck. He still looks cold. 

The third present is a gingerbread house kit. The fourth, a sprig of mistletoe. They're obvious now the sweaters in action, and Steve seems mildly confused by them. You leap to explain. 

"I thought, I mean- I want a do-over." You tilt your cheek toward your shoulder, scared and fond at the same time. "I wanted you to kiss me. I think you wanted to kiss me, and then Eddie," — you laugh loudly, cheeks burning with the cold — "was being himself. And Steve, I brought that stupid plant with me to Robin's house last week hoping we'd be alone, and to work the week before. But you're hard to pin down." 

You take a deep breath before continuing, eyes determined at his collar, "If you don't want to kiss me, that's okay. That's why I brought the gingerbread house, because ours was awesome before it fell apart, and I'm pretty sure Robin gave us a dud on purpose. We made something really cool together, and I think we can do it again." 

"I did want to kiss you. I do." 

You bite the inside of your lip, nose scrunched up in happiness. "You do?" you ask, and there's this feeling in your chest like you could burst, and all the cold shrinks into nothing. You're warm in your arms, your fingers, your fingertips. 

His hand comes up to his face briefly, shielding his eyes. "Am I obvious?" 

"Am I?" 

His exhale tickles your cheeks. "No," he says breathlessly.  "No, you're not." 

He says it like it's a good thing. A great thing. 

"Everybody else knows," you say similarly. 

"I know." 

He brings a hand to your cheek. It's cold, cold as your face, but he still winces and rubs at the apple with his thumb. "You're freezing," he says as he inches forward. 

His lips are warm. More gentle than you'd imagined, hesitant, and the box you're holding stops him from getting as close as you want him to get. He kisses you once, then he pulls away and kisses you again, his lips slightly parted. 

It's better than you'd thought it would be. His palm stroking your cheek, the pressure, the heat. Knowing he wants to kiss you now as he wanted to then. 

"No fucking way," he says, tilting his head back. 

You tip your head back too. Something wet falls in your eyelashes, a drop of rain. 

Not rain. "It's fucking snowing," Steve says. 

It's snowing. Because it's Christmas, and the powers that be are on your side. 

"Happy Christmas, Harrington," you say jovially. 

You're given another kiss in reward. Reward, or to shut you up. You're not sure. 

—

Steve is impartial to Christmas. He doesn't want to get into it but he will, because you love it. 

The snow — the snow, which had fallen thick and fine as powdered sugar, which you adore, and which makes coming to see you in the days leading up to Christmas near impossible. It's something out of a movie, Steve, seriously, and you need to appreciate what's happening. 

The music you play when he comes to see you, records on your record player and cassettes in your tape deck lying on your chest, knee to knee and thigh to thigh with him. Your quiet humming; you won't sing, but the small sounds alone are enough to make him want to kiss you (though everything does now). He can't hate Here Comes Santa Claus when you hum along under your breath, lips skipping over the skin of his bicep, your hand scratching a rhythm into his hair. 

Everybody knows Santa's coming, I don't see why they have to have a whole song about it. 

Are you jealous? I'll write a song about you. Or maybe I can steal one. You ever hear Santa baby? We can make it Stevie baby. 

Christmas music? Not his thing. You calling him baby? Fine, he can get behind it. At least until January. 

Christmas sweaters! He fucking hates them. They're ugly, they're scary, he doesn't wanna walk around with a pom pom on his chest thank you so much, but he has to allow them. Has to. If only so he can watch you get dressed with one eye hidden in your pillow and the other wide open. Thank little baby Jesus in the manger for Christmas sweaters so you have something to tuck into your skirt, so you have a reason to wear a skirt at all, and a reason to take one off. 

Christmas snacks he can get behind. Or, he can get behind this. You on the couch, a needle threaded in your hand. A bowl of popcorn in his lap, and your face as you lean back. 

He throws a kernel and it lands in your open mouth. 

You both holler, twin expressions of unadulterated joy, popcorn spilling over the sides of the bowl. You just look so happy, he climbs on knees to steal a kiss. A smiling kiss, the very best kind. 

"Aren't you supposed to do this stuff before Christmas eve?" he asks. 

"I've been a little busy." 

Steve digs his face into your neck so you won't see him blushing, hands curling around your waist in an impromptu hug. Yes, he supposes you have been. 

You kiss his temple sweetly. 

"Merry Christmas," he murmurs. He really, really means it. 

❆

thanks for reading! im so out of practice but hopefully this is okay!! i meant to post it yesterday but anyhow, i hope you enjoyed <3