#other employees put them out. and they all sold in a week. AND ITS NOT EVEN PRIDE MONTH YET

[differenteagletragedy]

Price who didn't get married for anything as maudlin as love -- no, he got married because that was just the thing to do. Advance in his career, marry a pretty woman, buy a house, fill it with things that don't matter, that will never fill the hole he always pretends isn't missing in him.

And it's fine. It could absolutely be worse. His wife is nice, he enjoys her company. She works a lot, a higher up in some company that does some things, he's not too clear on all the details. He goes to the Christmas parties when he can, a picnic in the summer where he meets people he knows he won't remember.

Then there's the fundraising event.

His wife spent weeks organizing it. He's been home for a stretch, and he's heard all about the catering, the invitations, the ... other details. With all the scotch, some things went in one ear and out the other, but when the big day arrives, she puts him in his tuxedo and drives him to the venue.

There's a dinner, some live music, and once everyone -- including John -- is settled in, good and full and at least a little tipsy, the auction begins.

Mrs. Price, who'd been flitting around all evening, appears on the stage, grasping a microphone and explaining the rules of the auction. John quirks an eyebrow, a little bit confused when he hears his wife explain that she'll be auctioning off dates.

He's pretty old-fashioned himself, but still, it feels like an odd move -- a relic from another era, to be selling dates with people. But the wife seems excited, and the employees who come on the stage with her seem comfortable enough to have the audience bid to spend some time with them, so maybe it's just all in good fun.

John knocks back another drink or two, watching as handsome men in suits and beautiful women in dresses, all lively and relaxed under the spotlight, take their turns receiving bids. The company is raising a considerable amount of money, it seems, with some of the attendees getting a bit rowdy with the bidding. All laughs, all for a good cause.

But when his wife introduces you, he notices that things are just a little bit different.

You're the first person up on the stage that's seemed nervous. He watches you fidget with your fingers, then force your hands to rest at your sides before they start fiddling with the skirt of your gown. Your eyes dart around, glancing at his wife then back to the audience, though he imagines the spotlight blocks them all out.

He faintly hears his wife describing you, as she's described all the people before you -- you're a secretary, it seems, and Mrs. Price assures the bidders that you're "a little shy but ready for a fun evening."

His lip twitches, the closest to a smile he's gotten all evening.

To John, you're the most beautiful woman that's been on stage yet. With wide hips and generous cleavage that peeks its way out of even your modest dress' neckline, you're more suited to his taste. Not that it matters. He's married, after all.

But when the bidding starts and he sees your shoulders tense and your eyes dart around like you're desperately searching for an escape, he just can't help it.

So he bids. High. High enough that his wife declares the date with you "sold!" with an excited smile -- she thinks he did it as a donation.

John, as he watches your shoulders relax, his eyes drifting to the sway of your hips as you walk offstage, knows better.

[gavisuntiedboot]

We Can't Be Friends (but I'd like to just pretend)

Pedri x Stylist! Reader

Part 2

Warnings: None

Word count: 4.3K

A/N: Back with part 2! I'm warning y'all now - it's going to suck until it doesn't. Please bear with me. Also, I have included the links to both the shirts being sold for Gaza and the direct donation link. Please check them out! And if you can't donate yourself, I donate $1 for every watermelon comment under this post! So please make sure to share at the very least.

~~~

Being scolded was the worst feeling in the world. Well, actually, sleeping with a famous client and then having him immediately chase your coworker was the worst feeling in the world. But boy was this meeting with Katerina a close second.

“There needs to be a case study on this kid.” She muttered under hear breath as she moved sticky notes around the December calendar. She darted her eyes around her current configuration, before turning sour and looking up at you. The dark circles under her eyes had darkened a shade since you had seen her the previous week, and a twinge of guilt played against your sternum for contributing to her fatigue.

“Let’s go over some basic rules, my dear. First and foremost, you cannot block your client’s number.”

“But I-“ You began to protest, but your boss lifted one finger, silencing you instantly.

“I do not care. I do not care if he is a dick. I do not care if he is going to make my stylists kill each other. Honestly, that might be a blessing.  I do not care if he is the father to a litter of bastard children running barefoot around your home. You work for SDF. You work for Pedro Gonzalez. He will have access to your phone, your email, your address, hell your underwear size if he asks. Understood?”

You bit back the urge to protest, just nodding silently. She breathed in deeply before continuing.

“Second, you will not share his information with the other girls in the office. That includes his photoshoot timing, the PR being sent to him– anything. I’m tired of having to file reports to Milan about my girls fighting.”

The command was followed by another nod, this one more genuine. You had no intention of getting within 100 meters of either Tania or Sylvia, who were still not speaking but had also telepathically decided that you were a common enemy. You had been stepped on a suspicious number of times while collecting their pins from the floor, and you always caught them whispering to the other girls in the office about “la naranja podrida”. Didn’t take a detective to put those pieces together.

You were still in a state of agitation regarding the whole ordeal. In your fit of anger, you had done the mental calculations of how long it took Pedri to text another girl. He had left just as the sun was rising, so about 5:30 am. Google maps said you lived 25 minutes from the stadium, but he would have gone home first, because that’s where the damned boots and more damned note would have been. That brings us to 6 am to account for wherever the gremlin lives. By all your most optimistic estimates, he had waited at most a hour between leaving your bed and texting your coworker.

“Hey Silvia” was the text heard around the world. After the report (and a few hair samples) was filed away, a company-wide letter from HQ was sent out reminding employees of professional boundaries with clients. The giddiness and satisfaction that had come from a harmless prank had dissolved, leaving a queasy feeling in its wake. Day damn one. You lasted 4 hours before you crumpled like a convenience store receipt over a boy at work. Ignoring every caution sign, you dove head first into a pool of prospective romance - and promptly hit the concrete.

The worst part was that you couldn’t tell anyone. Bryce had responded to your gushing sonnets in the worst possible manner: with logic. You had brushed aside every one of her very appropriate questions, looking through your rose-tinted lenses at your life. You had gone as far as to tell her she was being a bad friend for trying to find any possible negative in this situation, causing her to pull back.

“I just don’t want to see you get hurt, that’s all.”

The words of her static-garbled voice memo never left your head. There you were, only a few hours later, stomach turned and heart shredded, completely and utterly hurt. And you weren’t ready to face the sting of “I told you so” that was waiting for you, so you just… never said anything else. When she asked about Pedri, you responded formally with his upcoming campaign schedule. Lucky for you that she was too busy with her own life to keep pestering.

The upside to the current tragedy in your life was that you were working in fashion. It was hard to cry when you spent hours upon hours looking at some of the most beautiful clothes in the world, getting full creative freedom to bring your visions to life. Not impossible, because there were definitely a couple of wet spots on the Margiela from yesterday, but harder. Barca Femini had been in and out of the office for fittings, and it was a relief to be able to work with something other than khaki trousers and blazers. There were seemingly hundreds of hangers carrying vintage sports pieces, colorful jackets, and silky skirts. It sparked little moments of happiness, knowing that you were so good at playing dress-up that now you were getting paid for it.

It had been a week since your unfortunate altercation, and though the evening (and unfortunate following morning) had never left you, it had seeped from the front of your mind to the base of your skull, a dull throb that could be ignored during the course of the day. That was, of course, until you received an email from Adidas.

~

"Okay, Pedri, I hate to be the one to break this to you, but this means you're blocked."

There was a snigger that floated through the lunch room that, had he been able to pinpoint the source, Pedri would have promptly quieted with a slap to the head. But it whizzed around like a gnat between some of the younger players.

"How could I be blocked, Fermin?" The question was met with a raised eyebrow from Fermin, who was mentally cursing his college education.

"Maybe it has something to do with you sleeping with her and then disappearing?" Gavi offered up that brilliant hypothesis between bites of grilled chicken.

"No, it couldn't be. She's American - they don't take sex so seriously. Besides, we just met! What was I supposed to do? Propose?"

Pedri resisted the urge to shrink back from the judgmental stares he was receiving. He was used to being questioned by Gavi, who believed in the "stare at her intensely until she falls for me and confesses" method of romance. But now that he had roped in Fermin (the most tech-savvy of the squad), he couldn't handle the intensity of the silent disapproval.

In all honesty, Pedri was tired of the emotional rollercoaster that had plagued the entire day. The previous night had been incredible. He wasn't quite sure what to expect when La Naranja stepped through her front door, but she surely exceeded expectations. Pedri believed he was happy in his normal routine: DM an Instagram model, engage in the little cat-and-mouse game where she pretended she wouldn't bend to his every will, and go back to her place for a decently fun time. But there was something about the way you walked, so coy and bashfully, looking up at him through delicate lashes with wide eyes, that warmed the most primal part of his being. His heart quickened at the sudden desire to chase, to capture, to consume. He wanted to protect this pretty little thing from the sharp eyes and sharper teeth of his friends. He was ready to savor everything you offered.

Over the course of the evening, the feeling gnawing at the inside of his chest became harder to ignore. The soft grip you maintained on his bicep to keep him close, the warmth of your fingertips searing his skin. He wanted to bark at Ferran to never look your way again. To sink his teeth into your neck, have you cry out his name so every man would know to never come near you again. Your hand, so delicate and soft in his own, maintained a firm grip as he dragged you out of the club, and a firmer grip on his hair once he was finally able to kiss you senseless. He felt like a wild animal unleashed in bed with, unable to slow or take pause. You were so hypnotizingly innocent, and he was going to destroy that.

The warmth in his chest remained till the following morning. As he kissed your cheek and whispered his goodbyes, he allowed himself to imagine what kind of arrangement the two of you could have. He was more than eager to feel the caress of your soft lips again. Maybe you would be open to picking up his late night calls, spending long, tedious days together talking and fucking and laughing at nothing in particular. He thought about the flush in your cheeks that would arise whenever he came into work, dropping subtle hints about your activities in the days before. He could really make you a permanent part of his rotation with little difficulty, facilitated further by the fact that you had been assigned as his personal stylist. Filthy as it may sound, he contemplated not showering upon his return home. He would have to later in the day following practice, but until he could secure a second audience with you in a bedroom, he wanted to savor the scent a little longer.

His front doorstep was littered with packages once again, about half from Adidas and the other from Springfield. He was not a designer by any means, but he appreciated that he was at least sent the collections that were meant to be his. Fer was sipping on a coffee when Pedri walked in, and expertly avoided ay questions of where he had been the previous night. He was a concerned older brother, but he was also a guest. He instead asked to see the piles of PR that his younger brother had hauled through the door.

"I don't understand why they bother sending you all this stuff. Why wouldn't they just send it to the styling team."

"Because I actually have to play in the boots, hermano." Pedri said, lifting the lid off his newest pair. He was excited for another Adidas campaign, or any campaign really that would bring him closer to you once again. Oh how he wished he could have captured the way you looked in that dress forever, immortalized it in an oil painting and hung it on his wall (right beside the ripped remains of the dress, which he so desperately wanted to destroy). His daydream had been broken by a crisp white envelope contrasted against the bright orange of the boots. There was a feminine wave of scent in the air, and the heart pumping in his ears drowned out the sounds of his brother’s whistles and taunts. Had you done this? Had you been planning ahead to send him a note had he neglected to ask you out while at the office?

He tensed his forearms to disguise a slight tremble, ripping open the envelope and scanning the page only to find-

“Ay dios mío. Silvia.” He allowed his head to thud against the counter, Fer’s tittering laugh clear as a bell now.

“Is she the scary one or the weird one?” His brother asked, prying the crumpled letter from Pedri’s dejected form.

“Both are fitting adjectives. She’s the shorter one with the silver hair. She kind of looks like our Tia Marisol?”

Another tittering of laugher, and this time Pedri joined in with a cracked smile of his own.

“She wants to tell you how much she admires you, how much you make her … quiver? Ew.” Fer squinted at the note further.

“Listen to this line. Ehem: ‘I am ready to serve you, worship you, give you my body and soul because I love you.”

Pedri groaned so loudly he was sure the neighbors heard. Honestly, what were these girls thinking?? That he would start blushing and giggling at the mention that they would sleep with him? That was the least most girls would do. It turned his stomach, constantly fearing that he would be trapped with a child.

“Let me text this girl. I have to go in next week and I don’t want her bent over a table spread and waiting when I arrive.”

He typed in the number on the note, drafting a long text before deleting everything but the “Hey Silvia” at the top.

“It’s too forceful to say ‘hey I don’t want to fuck you’ right off the bat, no?”

He hit send, reluctantly heading off to shower away his escapades before he went into training, waiting for a reply before he asked not to receive any more erotic letters from his stylists. Oh how he wished she hadn’t.

~

“So run us through it one more time.” Gavi said, Ferran deciding to stifle his groan. The last thing he needed was to enrage Gavi further, as he suspected it would result in him finally getting the punch that was coming to him. Ansu and Fermin were nodding along vigorously, eager to hear all about Pedri’s first experience having feelings.

“We went out, we fucked-“

“Pedri!”

He rolled his eyes at the indignation from the boys. Kids these days.

“Okay. We went out, we had a magical lovemaking experience, and then I had to come to training. I texted her about her being my stylist to ya know break the ice. And I found myself in deep shit and promptly blocked on like everything.”

“I think your first mistake,” said Fermin, “was not texting her about last night. Why would you start with her working for you?"

Pedri dragged his hand down his face in frustration.

"What was I supposed to say? Good morning linda, great pussy last night?"

Gavi stood promptly with his hands up, leaving the room.

"I don't want to hear about another girl's vagina."

"Yes," Ferran muttered, "God forbid he cheat on his crush by listening to a story."

"Whatever happened to 'Hey, I had fun last night'? Is that not a normal thing to say?" Ansu asked, as shaken as Gavi but remaining planted by his desire to be in the loop.

"I think my agent is texting SDF to get her to unblock me. Not super easy to talk to my stylist if I have to do so through messenger pigeon. Where did Gavi go?"

Pedri followed his friend out of the locker room, watching as Gavi stared dejectedly at the Doctora’s office.

“Are you done moping?” Pedri asked, clapping him on the shoulder.

“No. She might lose her job and we play her stupid boyfriend’s team tomorrow. I just want to keep her safe from that asshole.”

For a minute, something sparked in Pedri’s chest. Was that jealousy? He had never before felt that there was something missing in his life, content with being surrounded by friends and family and teammates. But there was something about watching Gavi pine, listening to the way he spoke of this girl, and it caused him an ache. He was in awe of this foreign spectacle: loving someone so deeply, so intensely, that it led to begging for crumbs of their time and attention. He almost wished to be in the Doctora's position, always having someone waiting around the corner for him.

"I have a styling meeting today. Do you want to come and keep me company?"

~

"Naranja, the bastard is here."

You didn't even lift your head when Maria informed you of the arrival of your client. You had worn all black to mourn the death of your self esteem, prepared to ass-kiss as much as needed to preserve your job. Unfortunately, it was difficult to push down the burning rage in the pit of your stomach when you had to kiss the ass of the man who has hurt you so intensely.

Pedri strolled into the room clad in the ugliest jeans known to man, his doe-eyed teammate (Gavin?) trailing behind him. At least the littler one knew how to dress. He was in baggy jeans and an Amie Paris t-shirt, clean sneakers in the same shade of blue as his top. Pedri, on the other hand, was an abomination. His black hoodie was far too baggy on his frame, making him look somewhat inflated. It was made worse by the tight and ribbed denim hugging the (admittedly stunning) legs that ended suddenly in some chunky clompers.

"Good morning, Naranja."

God. Even the sound of his voice was like swallowing razor blades. You wished that you could hear the lilt in his speech without remembering the soft whispers against the column of your throat, guiding you to ecstasy at his command. The way that he encouraged you, coaxed the gentle sighs and high moans with just an ask.

"Let me hear you, pretty girl."

And who were you to deny? But now, looking at his soft eyes and confident stance, you wish you had resisted. Pretended you didn't speak Spanish that first godforsaken day in this office.

"Good morning Pedro."

A stifled laugh and wide eyes from the boy behind Pedri (God what was his name? Gustavo?). Pedri's shoulders had dropped significantly, his thick brows coming together in confusion.

"No one calls me Pedro. Not even my mother."

"Well, maybe it's a good time for you to learn what disappointment feels like. Especially since you're so comfortable giving it out to others. Do you have your boots?"

You could tell Pedri was lost for words, and it caused you a mild spark of satisfaction. You had spent the last week boiling silently, unable to unleash all the rage simmering in your chest. He nodded silently, pulling the box out of his bag.

"Great. Gabriel, there is a coffee shop on the second floor if you want to grab a drink while I'm fitting Pedro. I'm sure you've seen him naked plenty of times but-"

"No, no, I'll go. Would you like anything?"

After shaking your head, he exited the room, and you began frantically grabbing different sweat pants and shirts for Pedri to put on.

"His name is Gavi by the way." Pedri said to break the silence, and you turned so he could strip off his shirt.

"Come on, Naranja. Don't pretend you haven't see it already." He smiled somewhat earnestly, softer than he did at the other girls. You were a gentle thing, and he wanted to be gentle with you.

"How many other girls in this office have seen it as well, Pedro?" You asked with as much venom as you could muster, turning to face him and eyes locking as he unzipped his jeans.

"You think that sleeping with me is a company welcome gift, Naranja?"

"That's not my name."

"And Pedro isn't mine. But if you want to poke at me, I'll poke at you right back."

He was now in only his boxers and his socks, and it took everything within you not to glance downwards, a reminder of the sight from one week and one night ago. He took a defiant step forward, the heat radiating off his body.

"You know, Pedro," You began, steadying your voice. "Texting my coworker mere minutes after leaving my bed is a sin on it's own."

"Wait, what? Hold on-"

"But in those mere hours of bliss, I googled you. Looked at your name on Twitter. Saw who you were. And you're just another slimy athlete that uses girls and throws them away."

Your face broke when you heard him laugh loudly at the revelation. It made you angry, expecting him to feel ashamed of his behavior.

"I despise miscommunication, Naranja. So don't go jumping to conclusions and acting foolish. Your coworker sent me a letter essentially begging to fuck me, but I suspect you knew that already. Hell, you might have even been the one to switch the names around."

Your cheeks grew warmer, and a part of your brain registered that Gavi was now lingering in the doorway.

"But beyond that, linda, is that I was texting her to say I wasn't interested." He began dressing, joggers defining his legs in a way acid-washed denim never could. "But I don't like being judged based on rumors on Twitter. I want to be your friend-"

"Again with that word!" The outrage was finally seeping from you, and now that the lid had come off there was no containing it.

"How am I meant to be your friend, Pedro? You hit on me, you sleep with me, and then you moved on to the next girl. How am I supposed to be your friend after everything you've put me through?"

"What did you expect of me exactly?" He shoved his shirt over his head, a sweet bit of relief in a tense situation. "I like you, Naranja. More than a lot of other girls I've met. And I want to keep seeing you," he let his eyes burn a path down your body, "as a little more than a friend. If that's something you're into."

You took a step back, hand over your chest in shock. Did this man just ask you to be a friend with benefits, mere minutes after you asserted your disgust for his very being.

"You must think so highly of yourself." You couldn't raise your voice out of fear of it cracking. Just how much had you deluded yourself into thinking you found something special?

"I don't actually," there was a tone of laughter in his voice, "quite the opposite actually." There was suddenly not enough air between you. You simultaneously wished someone would interrupt you and that the moment would last forever.

"You're a sweet girl, Naranja. Too sweet for someone like me. I know who I am and what I want, and a girlfriend is not on that list currently."

"So what? I'm good enough for you to fuck and not to date?" You asked, the question heavy between the two of you. He remained silent, lips unmoving, the wheels turning behind deep chocolate eyes.

"I like you enough not to want to hurt you, Naranja. So, what do you say? Friends?"

"Go fuck yourself, Pedro."

~

The high pitched noise of the camera going off repeatedly was starting to get to your head. You leaned against the wall, rubbing at your temples to try and stave off the impending migraine. You opened your eyes briefly to see Gavi also leaning against the wall, gnawing on his lip and staring at his phone. Propelled by boredom, you shifted slowly along the wall to peak at what he was doing, desperate for any form of entertainment.

Thank God for the lack of Gavi's vertical blessing. A quick peek revealed that he wasn't actually typing any words, only rereading text from a contact that was saved as...

"Holy shit are you fucking your doctor?" You asked, probably a little louder than appropriate.

His eyes went wide as frying pans and he began to go visibly red. He started babbling out denials, explaining that the two of them were just friends.

"I mean she has a boyfriend and even if she didn't she would never go for me because she's so much older than me and cooler than me and she's way out of my league but all I want to do is keep her safe and make her happy and-"

His brain finally caught up to the words he was letting loose, and he abruptly suspended his word vomit.

"Does she know that you like her?" You asked, back against the wall, shoulder to shoulder with Gavi.

"God, I hope not. I don't want to do anything to make her life harder than it already is."

"Maybe telling her how you feel will make it easier. Maybe she feels the same."

"Yeah," he sighed deeply, looking wistfully at his phone again, "That's what Pedri keeps telling me."

The disgust was evident on your features. "I wouldn't really take Pedri's relationship advice."

"Now now, turning my best friend against me because you want me is a little extreme, Naranja." The voice behind you was too much to bear.

"Someone needs to give your best friend advice on how to not transform into a heartless user."

"Ironic. I remember one of us chanting 'use me, use me, use me' just last week." The response died in your mouth as Pedri's publicist approached. Where did this guy get off? Even if you believed his bullshit excuse about not wanting to fuck Silvia, the teen drama explanation as to why he doesn't "do" relationships compensated plenty.

"Alright you crazy kids! Ready to go shopping?" You spun around so quickly that you almost smacked Gavi with your hair.

"I beg your pardon? I am a stylist, not a personal shopper. I get pieces sent to me."

That was the truth. You weren't in charge or brand relations, and the purchasing department was an impenetrable fortress. Each week, a soulless intern wheeled a rack into the room, and you worked with what you were given. You had several ideas for how you could modernize some of these stuffy athletes, but that wasn't your place. Not yet anyways.

"Yes, of course. But we are redoing Pedri's wardrobe entirely. We have received communication from the team that his tunnel outfits are - what was the official wording? Oh yes, 'a detriment to the team's public image and an offense to the eyes of culers globally'. Springfield have also asked us to film some content during the journey."

"I don't think this is really part of Naranja's job description."

Of course Pedri was the one undermining you. Of course it was his voice speaking out only to call you incapable. You forced on your biggest smile, turning to face the agent directly.

"Oh, there's no issue at all. It would be an honor to makeover Spain's worst looking footballer."

~~~

Okay end of part 2!! I have decided that I want to post more frequent, smaller parts for this story rather than giant updates every three months. Please let me know what you think in the comments and in my ask box, and potentially where you want this dynamic to go! Thanks cutes xoxo gavisuntiedboot <3

(also if you would like to be on the taglist for this story, pls lmk!!)

Taglist:

@girlidekanymore

[thorough-witness-enjoyer]

In the face of recent news about our beloved Destiny, I think it’s more important than ever for us as a community to come together and support each other in numerous ways.

It’s been a very hard week for all of us, especially those who lost their jobs and outlet for their passion in mass lay offs. Losing a position that allowed you to craft magnificent stories alongside some of the most ambitious people in the gaming industry, especially in worrying economic circumstances, must be excruciating to deal with and I wish the best for all those laid off from Bungie.

For us fans, it hurts more than anything to see the game you care so much for get put in headlines for how little that care is shared amongst the people responsible for making decisions on it. I’ve been into Destiny since it first dropped, making it the love of my life for nearly two-thirds of my whole existence , and to hear about how it’s just another product to be sold when it’s everything and more to me is just despairing. I wanted to become a writer and concept artist to create a game for others that made them feel as cared for as I did when I played Destiny and now I’m sitting here seeing all the people who helped foster that feeling be treated as another expenditure.

It’s awful, a lot of us are feeling really uninspired and betrayed at the moment, not sure we even want to see what will happen to this masterpiece of a game in the hands of the current executives. We are also dearly missing the developers, artists, writers, and more who made Destiny more than a fps looter shooter.

But it is times like these where we are torn and confused that we must uplift one another and not let the bitter taste of Bungie’s actions make us speak with hostility. This is not about decisions on whether to support Bungie or the actual game, but about refocusing on what truly makes Destiny enjoyable to so many.

Its world is immersive with care put into every story and that clearly shows in just how eager fans are to create masterpieces for it. It was never playing the game or the notoriety that kept me coming back for more, but the joy of creation I could share with others.

It stings to see a disinterest in nursing the potential of the Destiny universe from the executives with motivations other than monetary gain, but when the executives won’t care, we can. There are still employees at Bungie who adore their work and we can continue to support them by speaking up against horrible industry practices and show that we won’t abandon their efforts to make Destiny what it is.

Make ocs, write fanfictions, follow the former employees wherever they go, draw til your heart is overflowing, join Discords, roleplay, share headcanons, create aus with friends, do whatever keeps Destiny alive and flourishing for you!

Destiny will never die to me, even when it’s long forgotten and the servers shut down, because Destiny made me who I am and I intend to repay that gift an infinite amount of times over. The characters and universe will be alive and well to me until I die, regardless of the fate of the game and Bungie.

So go out and prove that Destiny’s themes of the power of community and hope are more than just morals behind a screen, that they are life changing messages that we will carry on despite hopeless news!!

Reblog charming artists, message people about ships you enjoy, leave questions and tags that contribute to conservations, write essays about what Destiny means to you!!

My messages and inbox for questions are always open if anyone would like to talk (I’m trying to get better at answering them, even if they are months late)! You are all welcome here and I want to start reblogging and liking more freely even if those things scare me sometimes!

We can decide our fates and we can decide the fate of Destiny’s presence in our lives as well! We can choose to care when others won’t and refuse to make our enjoyment debatable!! In troubling times, we should be able to reach out into the dark and find hands to hold onto tight!!

[autumngracy]

Y'all are NOT gonna believe what I just got at the store for $35:

Not naming the store, but before the hobby imploded, they normally had an inventory of more pokemon tcg stuff than your average Target or Walmart.

I'm sure they're still ordering it at the same rate they were before, but these days I'm used to going in there and them having nothing at all because of scalpers (despite locking all the pokemon cards behind the registers and implementing a 1-pack/set per customer per day rule).

Which is crazy, because it doesn't occur to most people that these particular stores even carry pokemon merchandise, so before the befuckening, they would have huge amounts of inventory sitting around for up to half a year or more (especially more basic sets, even if they were dressed up in cool tins or whatever. It didn't help that they never listed their trading cards online despite having a digital storefront).

It even took the scalpers awhile to realize this store was a good place to scalp from, because while everywhere else was getting scalpers buying all their inventory the second it hit the floor, and literally fistfighting each other in the aisles, this store was still carrying on pretty much as usual for another 5 months or so before finally having to lock everything up.

Nowadays, they have maybe a *few* basic things in their lockup up front, if you're lucky. But today I walked in and they had this ultra popular set that's sold out literally everywhere??? My jaw dropped.

I had actually been looking at this set online just yesterday and moping a little because it had some of my favorite 'mons with extra pretty artwork (also gay pride colors) but was basically unattainable due to scalping, unless you wanted to trade a kidney for it.

But! They had two of these ETBs, and also a Cynthia Garchomp EX set (which is kind if fun with its acrylic figures). So I got this ETB, which was $55 ($5 less than the original offical price, I think?) for just $35, because I had a $20 rewards card to use. And scalpers are selling this online for like $130, just because they can.

Best part is that I know this store is safe to buy pokemon cards from because it has very stringent standards, so I know it's not going to be a repack situation (the only way that could happen is if the store's vendor/distributor themselves was repacking them, but I reeeeally doubt that would happen, and haven't ever seen evidence of it).

To be fair, I think this actually is still a hard store for scalpers to target, because even the store employees themselves have no clue when the vendor is gonna roll up with fresh stock. The deliveries are basically random, so restocking times aren't predictable like big chain stores.

Anyway so yeah this is my birthday present to myself lol (besides the books I bought). :)

It's the first pokemon tcg product I've bought since before last Christmas, when I bought a single box set in store for like $20 (which I also used store rewards for). Other than that, I haven't bought any tcg stuff for like ... a year to a year and a half, I think, because the state of the industry is shambles.

I remember trying to buy the ETB specials at Target last year on Black Friday, and how despite me being awake at 3am and putting some in my cart literally the second the sale went online, I could never check any out, because scalper bots kept buying them. It was insane. I remember spending all week checking if inventory had replenished, but it never mattered, because the bots could buy them instantaneously.

It was after that incident (and some research) that I realized that not only was it going to be impossible to ever get a sale price on pokemon tcg merchandise again, but it would be very difficult to buy even a normal priced product.

So I'm amazed I was able to gets my hands on this—and for such a good price!

[mr-hammer-exe]

Sonic.SGM (Story)

I’m writing about this here since I doubt anyone will believe my ramblings if I tell them this in person. However, this being the internet doesn’t change much.

I hate prolonged introductions, so I’ll cut to the chase, rip the band-aid off, and get this off my chest before I lament over it any longer. To set the scene and make part of a long story short, my name is Thomas Miller, but most people I know simply call me Tom. 

I was a massive fan of Sonic the Hedgehog when I was younger, and I still am. I’m sure most of you reading this have at least played a game with him in it, watched one of his many cartoons, read one of his comic runs, etc.

It’s been the childhood of many since the 1990s and 2000s, and I consider myself fortunate to be part of this group. My father surprised me with a Sega Genesis on Boxing Day years ago, and games such as Aladdin, The Incredible Hulk, and Toy Story were bundled with it. 

But the two that fascinated me the moment I laid eyes on them were, of course, Sonic the Hedgehog and its sequel, Sonic the Hedgehog 2. I played them a thousand times over compared to my other ones.

I’m not quite sure what made me so infatuated with it, be it the irresistibly cute character designs, the fast-paced take on the typical platformer formula that was revolutionary at the time, or something else. Whatever the case, I held the classic titles dear as I grew older, and collected as many newer games as I could whenever they came out. 

Unfortunately, I found myself in some financial trouble when I got to college, and I ended up selling my childhood Genesis, along with all the cartridges, to get myself out of it. It’s a choice I’ve deeply regretted for a while now, and just thinking about it as I write this causes me emotional pain.

And after what I’ve experienced, it’s only worsened. After what I’d seen, I’ll never be able to play a single Sonic game ever again. Or at the very least, look at the character the same way I did before. 

It all began a few weeks ago, when I went to a game shop near where I live to see if they had any Genesis and Mega Drive Sonic games. When I learned that they didn’t have any in stock, I tried another location in the next town over per the suggestion of one of the employees. 

I mean “another location” roughly, since this place looked like a throw-together flea market. The place didn’t look like it was getting much business, and I couldn’t help but feel a tinge sad for them. 

As I strolled along the aisles, I saw some shelves consisting primarily of well-known Wii or Xbox games. I felt somewhat somber since I owned both of those consoles at one point, only for both of them to inevitably become out-of-date.

But that wasn’t what I was here for. I found some others, such as 3DS or Switch games, and even Super Nintendo or NES games, most of which were cheaper, more common titles. 

I was beginning to lose faith, but that was when I saw it. Positioned toward the middle of the Dreamcast section was a 2019 Sega Genesis Mini, a re-release of my childhood console with 42 built-in games.

While it may not have been exactly what I was looking for, I heard it had both of my childhood favorites, which was good enough for me. When I checked for a price sticker, however, there was none. 

This was a little strange, but the console itself looked to be in pristine condition, so I still decided to buy it anyway. The guy who sold it to me had a scowl on his face the entire time I was in the shop, but when I brought the console up to him, his eyebrows rose almost comically. 

When I asked him how much it was for, he stammered with his speech as though he were unsure of what to say before finally uttering, “That’ll be ten dollars, sir.”, in a straightforward tone. I did as requested, and he took the ten-dollar bill from my hand and put it in his pocket without a word. Once I put the console in its plastic bag and returned to my car, I eagerly went home to boot it up.  

I brought it to my apartment’s living room and fumbled with the wires and adapter cables, nearly plugging them in all wrong because I could barely contain my excitement.  This would be the first time I played a Sonic game, or any game from my youth, for that matter, in over a decade. 

After getting the console hooked up and skipping through the legal notices and company logos, I scrolled down the menu of built-in games until I found it: Sonic the Hedgehog. With one press of the start button, I began playing my favorite thrilling, high-speed action platformer, now in a new, high-definition display. 

The SEGA logo faded in as the screen turned white, and hearing the harmonizing voice caused a tidal wave of nostalgia to wash over me. The famous title screen soon appeared, and I hummed along to the opening jingle as Sonic waved his pointer finger. 

Once the music stopped, I pressed start, causing the title screen to fade out. As it did, however, I could’ve sworn I saw Sonic’s eyes turn a reddish-brown before the titlecard of “GREEN HILL ZONE ACT 1” appeared, the catchy 16-bit melody accompanying it. I shrugged the occurrence off as a minor glitch since there didn’t seem to be anything else wrong with the level upon loading in. 

I ran through the level, collecting rings and smashing up monitors, badniks, and breakable obstacles as I’d done all those years ago. When I reached the end of the act, however, I noticed that the giant ring that teleports you to the special stage wasn’t present, despite having collected 80 rings (you need at least 50 for them to appear). 

I tried jumping around where it normally was, thinking it was a loading error, but nothing happened. It was as though I didn’t have enough rings. I sat there, annoyed that I missed the special stage, but figured I could see if the ring would appear in the next act, which soon started.

After rolling down the steep slope next to a swinging platform, I was sent careening backward toward the area beneath the waterfall I passed over when starting the level. 

But as I destroyed one of the two Motobugs in that area and rolled further back, my momentum was suddenly halted out of nowhere, and I lost what few rings I’d collected by then as though I’d run straight into a hazard such as a badnik or spikes.

Unsure of what to think, I brushed it aside and went to the left toward the speed monitor near a breakable wall, hitting it and rocketing through the level ahead. 

Because of both this and an invincibility monitor I hit along the way, I ran through the remainder of the act within 15 seconds. But this came at the cost of not getting enough rings for the special stage ring to appear, which I cursed myself under my breath for. My inner completionist was starting to seethe. 

I sighed before going into the pause menu and exiting the game without saving my progress. I figured no harm, no foul: that I’d just start over while I hadn’t come too far. Though in retrospect, part of me wishes I’d kept playing. I passed through the company logos and the title screen without incident, which reassured me that whatever loading errors I’d experienced had been corrected. 

I started Green Hill Zone Act 1 again, now with a newfound confidence. Though that confidence was short-lived. Not even five seconds into the level, just as I was about to jump onto the first plateau, the game froze, and the music was drowned out by a loud buzzing sound. In addition, the graphics turned all choppy as the pixels blended, complete with an “ILLEGAL INSTRUCTION” message overlapping it all. 

The message remained onscreen for about 40 seconds before the screen went black, and the buzzing stopped with it. I harrumphed in frustration as I got up to turn off the TV and unplug the console.

I thought the thing was broken and was ready to take it back for a refund, but the light blue oval that accompanies a level title card suddenly appeared from the left of the screen, centering itself. But the text was flickering between “GREEN HILL ZONE” and “SPRING YARD ZONE”, and there was no “ACT [Number]”. To my surprise, a level loaded shortly after the title card faded.

The real kicker, however, was that I wasn’t playing as Sonic, but rather Tails. His sprite resembled the one from Sonic 2, though the palettes were a darker orange, and it was overall drawn differently. I moved Tails around a little as I tested to see if he had any exclusive controls in comparison to Sonic.

He couldn’t fly despite me pressing the jump button multiple times in mid-air. “Okay,” I thought, “Can he spin-dash?” I pressed down on the D-pad and tapped the jump button again and again, but he remained in his crouching position. 

He didn’t so much as even tuck and roll when I pressed down on the D-pad after gaining a bit of momentum, nor did he break into his hover-run using his two tails, which I thought was strange. Now I was sure something was off. I began to doubt that this was a legitimate release from SEGA Corp., and thought it must have been a weird bootleg or modified hardware. 

With nothing else to do, I proceeded through the level, which consisted mostly of flat terrain with a few slopes leading upward. The background assets of the mountains and buildings from Spring Yard Zone were gone, leaving only the still clouds and lush foliage. 

20 seconds into the level, I started seeing lampposts from Star Light Zone, as well as metal textures from Spring Yard that were fashioned into structures that I soon recognized as houses. “What is this place?” I asked out loud. 

I also noticed that there were no badniks, monitors, spikes, bottomless pits, or rings in the level at all. Nothing. I continued to the right and realized that the sky and level palettes were gradually changing to a more nighttime-esque setting, and the lampposts turned on one by one. The Green Hill Zone theme gradually slowed down as this happened, too. 

The Classic-Era games never had this much detail put into them, so I was as impressed as I was skeptical. I soon reached a stretch of flat ground, and the music abruptly stopped. I checked to see if I’d accidentally muted the TV by sitting on the remote, but I hadn’t. When I made Tails jump, the sound still played. That said,  I figured this was either an error in the audio loop or scripted.

A new song started to play, and it wasn’t like anything I’d ever heard in a Classic Sonic game. It sounded like a piano, but it was cold and unpleasant, played with incredibly low-pitched notes. Tails suddenly stopped, and his expression changed as he looked over his shoulder. I wasn’t controlling Tails anymore, so a cutscene was playing out. The screen panned slowly to the left to reveal someone slowly walking toward Tails. 

Once they came into view, I realized who it was: Sonic. But something wasn’t right with his movements. His head was tilted toward the ground, and he had both hands behind his back as he approached Tails. “How is he moving like that?” I wondered. What confused me more was Tails’ reaction to Sonic’s arrival. 

He didn’t look happy to see him, but afraid. Sonic lifted his head and looked at Tails with contracted pupils and a smirk that stretched across his face. White text (the same font used for the level titles) appeared at the top of the screen, reading:

“HELLO THERE.”

The characters were never this expressive during cutscenes (namely the ones in Sonic 3 & Knuckles), and no dialogue was ever used, so this was weirding me out.  But my confusion was replaced with surprise just seconds later, when Sonic suddenly ran toward Tails.

Tails suddenly turned around and ran away to the right in a panic, to which control returned to me. I shouted out, “Oh, shit!” The music also changed into a repetitive, frantic-sounding song as Sonic slowly gained on Tails. The hedgehog’s expression changed again, now sporting a twisted grin. I felt my stomach turn when I noticed not only this, but also what Sonic was holding in one of his hands: a knife. 

At first, it was difficult to make out because of how quickly he was moving, coupled with the 16-bit graphics, but there was no mistaking it once I realized what it was. The level came to a downward slope, where another stretch of flat ground densely packed with palm trees and bushes from Green Hill Zone awaited me. Sonic started lagging, and he stopped at the edge of the tree line. I thought I’d gotten away, which filled me with relief. 

But about 15 seconds of running later, Tails tripped over a sprite of what looked like a shovel, falling face-first into a ditch just ahead of him as his momentum was completely halted. Beneath the fox was what looked like a jumbled mess of leaves and pieces of trunks from the surrounding palm trees. I couldn’t do anything but watch as the poor kid cried, and my heart sank. 

Though it suddenly began beating quickly again as the dreadful drowning theme faded in, played with drawn-out, deliberate notes and more intensity. Sonic soon appeared from the left of the screen, walking over to the edge of the ditch where Tails sat, looking up at him with fear in his eyes. Sonic stared back, looking down at the fox with one of his idle frames from Sonic CD, if you’d remain inactive long enough before he jumps off the level. 

“YOU CAN’T HIDE FROM ME ANY LONGER.”

“GOOD RIDDANCE.”

Sonic then drew one arm, holding a lighter this time. He ignited and tossed the lighter into the ditch, causing the timber and leaves at the bottom to quickly go up in flames, and along with it, Tails. The screen cut to black as the sound of roaring fire from Marble Zone sounded through my TV’s speakers, though it sounded as if the effect was being played multiple times, each overlapping the other. 

I had to turn my head away and cover my ears because it was so loud. On a lighter note, it only lasted for about two seconds, so I guess I didn’t have to worry about getting a noise complaint from one of my neighbors. There was nothing for another second or two before white text appeared: 

“NOW DO YOU SEE THE EFFECT OF YOUR WORDS?”

“I HOPE YOU DO.” I sat there in a mix of shock and confusion. I couldn’t tell which I felt more, though it was probably the latter, as several questions ran through my mind. “What the fuck does that even mean?”, I asked myself, “Did Sonic just… kill Tails?” What could Tails have possibly said for Sonic to do… that to him, his best friend? Is that what that sentence was implying?

My attention was diverted back to the TV when the game started on its own again. A title card appeared, but the level had no discernible name, just a bunch of jumbled text. When the level loaded, I saw I was playing as someone new yet again. It was the red ruffian himself, Knuckles the Echidna– a character who wasn’t even supposed to be on this console, given that it didn’t have either of Sonic 3’s two halves, nor the full game, built into its hardware. 

Similar to Tails before him, none of Knuckles’ sprites were ones I’d ever seen before. In fact, they looked as though they were custom-made in the style of Sonic 1/CD. As dumbfounded as I was, I tried out the controls to see if he could glide. But alas, he was reduced to “basic platformer mode”, just like Tails. 

I gave the level graphics a look next. The ground tiles were from Green Hill Zone, though it was only the top part. The rest of the assets below had been cropped out. The background was completely black, save for the clouds at the top of the screen. There was another new track in this level, too. It was a dark, dreary tune with reverberating notes, landing somewhere in the ballpark between being unnerving and lonely.  

It seemed like this level’s tone was intentionally creepy, which, given what I’d just witnessed, didn’t seem too farfetched. Contrary to Tails’ nighttime segment, there were no lampposts, rendering most of the level obscured, and the palettes saturated. From what I could make out, though, Knuckles seemed to be in a similar area to where Tails met his end, since the place was chock-full of palm trees. 

Knuckles stood  in his idle pose before entering his waiting animation because of my inactivity. I could see that he looked confident yet unnerved. Out of curiosity, I moved Knuckles to the left. Part of me hoped I’d be able to find Tails and save him, but I instead found a dead end.

“So much for that.”, I said with a sigh. After running for what felt like forever (which, in reality, was probably about a minute), I finally saw a pair of objects in front of the echidna: a bench next to a burnt-out streetlamp.

Once I passed it, I reached the next segment of the level, where the scenery was a complete 180 in comparison to the first. It appeared to be a more urban area, with assets from Spring Yard Zone portraying what appeared to be storefronts and other buildings.

I felt oddly at ease seeing this sight as I listened to the background music. With the faint crackling of the audio that sounded reminiscent of raindrops hitting a solid surface, it almost felt therapeutic. 

As I moved Knuckles further along the street, the lampposts began flickering to life. Some of them glowed dully, and others burned out completely as I passed them by. But it was as these lights began to illuminate the level that I noticed Sonic following me, with the same animations as when he’d approached Tails. I didn’t see him until one of the lights above revealed him walking at an equal pace to Knuckles, so I don’t know how long he could’ve been following the echidna for. 

I felt my heart skip a beat when I spotted the hedgehog, and I heard that same unpleasant piano-esque melody from earlier fade in over the level’s music. Sonic slowed his pace and came to a halt before Knuckles did the same a few seconds later. And then, another cutscene. 

Knuckles stopped and looked over his shoulder before whipping around, having a similar startled reaction to mine when he saw Sonic standing there. Knuckles stood like a deer in headlights, looking at Sonic as he slowly lifted his head to meet the echidna’s gaze. White text appeared at the top of the screen.

“ABOUT TIME I FOUND YOU.”

The moment they made eye contact, Sonic didn’t quickly approach Knuckles like he’d done Tails, but made slow, methodical movements toward the echidna. He never once broke eye contact with him. Knuckles backed three steps away as Sonic continued to advance toward him, moving like a predator sizing up its prey. As he approached, more text appeared and disappeared in rapid succession. 

“WHAT’S THE MATTER?”

“ARE YOU SCARED?”

“THAT’S NO WAY TO LOOK AT YOUR OLD BUDDY.”

I almost didn’t notice, but Sonic’s eyes now appeared reddish-brown, just like when the title screen faded away during my first run. The only reason I hadn’t before was because of the poor lighting, but now I could see it. I wanted Knuckles to get the fuck out of there, but worried Sonic would give chase. That was when the hedgehog made his move and attacked Knuckles. 

In the blink of an eye, however, Knuckles charged forward and punched Sonic, causing him to fall flat on his ass. I couldn’t help but laugh at the hedgehog’s expense as he sat there with a disgruntled, embarrassed look for a few seconds before standing back up and brandishing the same knife he’d chased Tails with.  His face also contorted into that uncomfortable smile, and I immediately got quiet.

“STOP RUNNING. YOU CAN’T.”

“FACE THE CONSEQUENCES.”

The music suddenly shifted into an intense, sporadic song akin to a chase theme in a horror film. As Sonic jumped at Knuckles, I realized, “Oh,  a boss battle!” and ran to the right to avoid the hedgehog’s attack. A boss fight against Sonic. That was new. Then again, it was the other way around in Knuckles’s debut game, so perhaps it wasn’t all that surprising a concept.

I tried to jump and hit Sonic, but he swung the knife at Knuckles twice, causing him to enter a damage animation as he staggered back. With the short window of invincibility frames I had, I ran past the hedgehog as he jumped at me again. My mind was racing, wondering how I’d be able to hit Sonic with how fast he was moving, and how frequently he was jumping around. 

After about 30 seconds, Sonic stopped to rest, and that was when I struck. I made Knuckles run and jump at Sonic, landing a blow to his head and causing him to stagger back after entering his damage animation. More text appeared after the hedgehog recovered:

“I’LL MAKE YOU PAY FOR THAT.” “ALONG WITH ALL THE OTHER THINGS YOU SAID AND DID TO ME.” 

Once control returned to me, I moved toward Sonic as fast as the controls would allow, but the hedgehog refused to let me damage him any further. Every time I got close to hitting the blue bastard, he’d land a cheap slash on Knuckles with his knife and run to the opposite side of the screen.

He’d run right past Knuckles as though he were part of the foreground or background, meaning I couldn’t hit him if I tried. This process repeated four or five times before Knuckles finally fell to his knees, hand over his face as he began to sob. 

Sonic approached Knuckles from behind, and that intense version of the drowning theme returned. I felt my heart sink upon hearing it again, dreading what would happen next. I tried every button I could, and I found that I could make Knuckles slowly crawl away using the D-pad, but Sonic leapt forward and put a foot on the echidna’s back, pinning him to the ground. 

The hedgehog raised his knife over his head before bringing it down into Knuckles’ back in one swift movement.  I let out an audible yelp as he did. The screen cut to black as the sound of a character running into spikes played, followed by the drowning sound effect. “Knuckles, too?!” I thought as I sat there in disbelief.  At this point, I was thoroughly freaked out. 

This wasn’t the Sonic I knew and loved from my childhood. It couldn’t have been. Sonic would never hurt his best friends, let alone kill them. Whatever game I had been playing, whatever game had started as a digital re-release of Sonic 1, had taken a dark and gruesome turn. Another message appeared on the black screen:

“NOW YOU KNOW HOW I’VE FELT.”

 I wanted answers. Why was Sonic killing his friends? What could they have possibly said or done to him to set him off like that? As I asked myself these questions, another level title card appeared. Unlike the last two, this one read clear as day: “THE END”. I raised an eyebrow at that. “‘The end’?” I asked, “It’s over? Just like that?”

My guess was disproven almost immediately when another level loaded, along with another character. If I hadn’t already been surprised by Knuckles appearing in this game, on this console, as a playable character, then I certainly would’ve been when I saw I was now playing as Doctor Robotnik. Not to say I wasn’t surprised, since he’d never been playable in any of the Classic Sonic games. But even then, it was still quite a shock.  

Unlike Tails and Knuckles, his sprites hadn’t been altered in the slightest, and were from Sonic 1. The level was reminiscent of the second segment of Knuckles’, graphics, music, and everything. I immediately began moving to the right, and was surprised to see that Robotnik’s walking loop seemed more “normal”, in the sense that his arms weren’t outstretched behind his back. Rather, he was jogging, moving both arms at his sides. 

I was a little confused by these new animations because of what I was already used to, but I got accustomed to them pretty quickly. Dare I say, I’d have preferred them over the ones that were reused between the games from my youth. Pressing the action button yielded no result, not even a jump out of the Doctor. For that alone, I already knew I wasn’t going to like whatever this version of Sonic had in store for me next. 

Robotnik waddled down the street, which, unlike with Knuckles, had functioning streetlamps. Their combined yellow glow made me feel more at ease and calmed me down. “Well, that’s at least good, I guess.”, I said. I walked for about a minute without incident until finally, I reached a more suburban area akin to where Tails first walked through. 

Continuing forward, I saw for a split second what looked like the silhouette of Sonic standing near the left corner of a house, just out of view from the nearest lamppost’s field of light. When I approached, it quickly disappeared behind the structure. My unease began seeping through once again, and I muttered, “Oh no…”

Not even 10 seconds later, I came upon the entrance to one of the buildings, which was toward the end of the level. I say entrance because this one served as another segment of the level. And I assumed it’d be the final one, too. 

As I approached, I could just barely see the hedgehog’s visage bolting to the other side of the screen, disappearing behind the house. My blood ran cold when I saw him, and I gulped. I had no other choice but to go inside. When I did, everything in the background turned black, rendering it featureless save for the house’s vague interior. I could make out a table, chairs, and a countertop. 

The music also stopped playing, and it stayed that way. Though that was probably for me to hear the loud crashing sound of when you collide with a breakable object (such as a wall or rock). Robotnik had an anxious look on his face, the one he has every time you hit him during a boss battle. Neither he nor I knew what would happen next, but it couldn’t have been anything good.  

I made Robotnik continue to the right, where the level took a downward slope.  The graphics became saturated as I went down, making everything even harder to see against the black background.

A few seconds passed, and I found a barely visible metallic panel from Scrap Brain Zone on the wall, though it looked more like a lever. Curious, I pressed the action button, and the graphics brightened. “Must be a light switch.”, I said before continuing past the vague odds and ends of the basement.

 It wasn’t long before I reached a dead end, where Robotnik stopped and looked up at what appeared to be a hole in the wall, toward the top corner where it met the ceiling. He then turned around, glancing back and forth as if he were contemplating running for his life. I couldn’t blame him. Whatever was going on here was beginning to creep me out. Despite how much I had hoped Sonic wouldn’t appear, he did. 

Robotnik stopped glancing around, focusing his gaze toward the left side of the screen. The camera slowly panned in that direction as the sinister piano began playing before it finally stopped, focusing on Sonic. The blue hedgehog stood next to the light switch as that wide, eerily happy grin quickly spread across his face. 

I clung to my controller when I saw what he was holding this time. Instead of a lighter or a knife, he was now holding a baseball bat. A metal baseball bat, from the looks of its sprite. The lights went out, leaving most of the screen obscured as text appeared: 

“ISN’T THIS SURPRISING?”

“WHO’S SCARED OF WHO NOW?”

The camera followed Sonic, panning toward the right as he slowly approached Robotnik, dragging the baseball bat behind him as he did. The doctor nervously backed away, cowering against the wall. But there was no avoiding his fate. Sonic took the bat to Robotnik’s head, to which the sound of a boss being hit played. Robotnik fell to the ground, shaking for about two seconds before looking up at Sonic with a petrified stare. More text appeared consecutively as the intense drowning theme began blaring through my TV speakers:

“OH, WHAT’S THAT?”

“WHY, YOU ASK?”

“BECAUSE YOU MADE ME DO THIS.”

“YOU RUINED EVERYTHING.”

“IT COULD HAVE BEEN JUST THE TWO OF US, BUT NO.”

“YOU JUST HAD TO BE A SHITTY LIAR.”

“YOU JUST HAD TO KEEP MOCKING ME…”

“...”

“SORRY ISN’T GOING TO CUT IT NOW.”

“IT’S TOO LATE.”

“YOU GETTING RID OF ME MAY HAVE BEEN THE HAPPIEST DAY OF YOUR LIVES…”

“BUT NOW I’M GOING TO HAVE THE HAPPIEST NIGHT OF MY LIFE… GETTING RID OF YOU!”

That was when Sonic took the baseball bat to Robotnik’s cranium for a second time. A much more brutal-sounding variant of the boss damage sound played, and the music concluded. I could feel myself wince as it happened. Soon, the screen faded to black.

Those sounds. I couldn’t get them, or their implications, out of my head. The screen remained black for another 10 to 15 seconds before something else appeared– the “CONTINUE?” screen from Sonic 1 after you get a game over. 

Sonic stood on the purple circle in the center of the screen with his back turned as the 10-second timer counted down. No matter what buttons I pressed, nothing happened. I couldn’t continue. When the timer reached 0, I didn’t get a game over, nor was I taken back to the title screen. Instead, the last note of the continue screen music was paulstretched into an ear-splitting drag, and I dropped my controller to cover my ears.

The text and timer at the top of the screen glitched and broke apart as this happened before both completely vanished, leaving only Sonic, who still had his back turned to me. I sat there in silence for what must’ve been a solid three seconds as I watched the screen, on which more text appeared. 

“WE HAD GOOD TIMES TOGETHER.”

“THEY GAVE THEM TO ME, AND TOOK THEM FROM ME, TOO.”

“THEY CUT THEM SHORT.”

“EVEN AFTER I GAVE THEM EVERYTHING.”

“THAT’S OKAY, THOUGH.”

“I’LL MAKE MORE OF MY OWN.”

“WHEN I CUT THEIRS SHORT.”

“BUT YOU?”

“YOU ARE NO DIFFERENT.”

Sonic then turned his head, looking over his shoulder and directly at the screen, at me, with his reddish-brown eyes and a smirk stretched across his face. The hedgehog turned his whole body to face the screen, and his appearance began to change drastically as he did.

He sported a stockier build as his palettes darkened, and his sprites became more detailed as he had a gross expression on his face: black, sunken eyes with reddish-brown irises and white pupils, complete with that psychotic grin.

  “YOU ARE NO DIFFERENT FROM THEM.”

Was Sonic… talking to me?! Why did he look like that all of a sudden? I wanted to scream, but I just couldn’t muster the strength amid my confusion. I didn’t know what the Hell was going on, and it was scaring the living shit out of me. The screen glitched as my TV made a loud buzzing sound for a few seconds, and what I saw next made me freeze where I sat. 

On the screen was a close-up of Sonic’s head and upper torso. It was highly detailed, almost photo-realistic, even for the standards of the Sega Genesis’ hardware. His gaze was fixated on the camera, as if he knew exactly where I was looking. But his appearance was even more horrifying now that I could see it in greater detail. 

His muzzle was covered in thick blisters. Glossy, crooked teeth lined his sore-ridden mouth, and I could see trickles of blood and some strange, black substance running from his gums all the way down his lower lip and chin. In fact, it seemed to be leaking out of every orifice of his ragged face. 

That alone would’ve been enough to horrify me, had it not been for what happened next. The image of Sonic remained onscreen for roughly 10 seconds before two words appeared at the top of the screen.

“GAME OVER.” 

But then two more at the bottom.

“FOR YOU.” 

Then I heard a laugh emanating from the speakers. A raspy, shrill, nasally chuckle that gradually grew louder. And then, the image of Sonic changed as the text disappeared. It changed from the warped version of the blue hedgehog to an equally disturbing image of a person’s face. From what details I could gather, it appeared to be a young male who had bloodied, pale skin. It almost looked like rough leather. 

Curly, matted black hair sat atop his head like frayed wires, all the while his face was skull-like in appearance. I nearly gagged at just the mere sight of him, and I could’ve sworn I saw that grin of his grow even wider when I did.  From what I could see of his shoulders and upper torso, he was wearing a dark blue overcoat and a torn, bloodstained white button-up shirt. 

Those hollow eye sockets retained the reddish-brown irises and white pupils, which continued staring into my very soul. A foul, nauseating odor suddenly filled my living room. I would’ve thought it was a gas leak or some other thing going wrong in my apartment building had it not been for the rotten, skeletal hand reaching out of the TV screen, which displayed a jumbled mess of static and assets from the game. 

It was that instant when true, primal fear took complete control over me. I jumped out of my seat and screamed. It was the kind of scream I hadn’t felt, let alone heard, leave my body in years.  There was no way in Hell I was staying in there any longer.

I made a mad dash for the front door and began frantically undoing the locks. For some godforsaken reason, I glanced over my shoulder at the living room, and was met with that same ghastly face staring back at me. 

But it wasn’t displayed on the screen anymore. Now it, and the rest of the dirty, raggedly clothed body it was attached to, was pulling itself out of it. “Where are you going?” he asked me in a raspy, whispering voice mixed with a disgusting gurgle, “Don’t you want to help me find our friends?”

It was the most ungodly thing I’d ever fucking heard. The second I turned my head back to the door, I heard sapping, wet-sounding footsteps closing in behind me. 

I let out another frightened scream as my fight-or-flight response kicked into high gear, and I swung the door to my apartment open before slamming it closed behind me.

I remember running down the halls of my apartment building, screaming for someone, anyone, to help me. Eventually, someone opened their door. It was a guy who was around my age, and I immediately ran inside. He tried to calm me down, asking what was wrong. 

I told him someone had broken into my apartment and tried to kill me. That was the best explanation I could think to give in the heat of the moment. I could see the man’s face go pale from what I’d said. 

He introduced himself as Kyle, and he beckoned me over to his couch to have a seat while he called the police and reported the whole thing. They arrived within minutes and searched the entire premises, but couldn’t find any signs of forced entry, nor the intruder themselves.

All they found was a mixture of blood and that black substance leading from the TV to my apartment door, and bootprints made out of it. They asked me a few questions about the intruder, such as how they were able to get in. I assured them someone really had been in my apartment, and that I had no idea who he was. 

I’m willing to bet that if I’d told them the complete truth, they’d probably think I was either high or flat-out insane.  After they took my statement, I was told by the officers that they would look into the case and keep an eye out before they left. 

Kyle invited me to stay in his apartment for the night if that would make me feel any safer, and I accepted. I had just met the guy, but I couldn’t be more thankful for his kindness toward me that night, and the next few days I stayed with him. We even exchanged contact information, should anything else happen.

When I finally returned to my apartment, however, I found that the mess had been cleaned up, and the Sega Genesis Mini was gone. I called the police station to ask if, by some off chance, they’d taken it in for evidence, but no one seemed to know what I was talking about. 

I haven’t seen it or that demented-looking man again since that night, but I’ve spent every day afterward fearing I will. At night, I never feel safe anymore. Any sound I hear makes me nearly jump out of my skin and look over my shoulder, even as I type this. Every time I close my eyes to sleep, I see those hideous faces staring back at me from the shadows, smiling and laughing. I even had recurring nightmares of them for a time.

I have to let people know. I have to get this off my chest, no matter how ridiculous it sounds. I don’t know what was up with that console. I don’t know who that man was, or where he came from. Every rationalization I try to make ends with me on the verge of tears. The memories of that night have been too painful to look back on. Some things are better left dead in the past. 

But even then, I still haven’t forgotten them. And I know I won’t forget them anytime soon. Since then, I haven’t touched a single Sonic game. I worry that if I do, that guy, whoever or whatever he was, will come back for me. I can’t risk it. I just can’t. I never understood what he meant by “our friends” or that I was “no different from them”, either.  And I don’t think I’ll ever know. 

I’m not even sure if I want to know.

[jcmarchi]

inKonbini: One Store. Many Stories Preview - The Joy Of Japanese Convenience - Game Informer

New Post has been published on https://thedigitalinsider.com/inkonbini-one-store-many-stories-preview-the-joy-of-japanese-convenience-game-informer/

inKonbini: One Store. Many Stories Preview - The Joy Of Japanese Convenience - Game Informer

Two days after returning home from my vacation in Japan, Tokyo-based developer Nagai Industries Inc. released a trailer for its upcoming adventure game, InKonbini: One Store. Many Stories, and I was immediately taken back to my convenience store (“konbini” is Japanese for convenience stores, generally) adventures days prior. From Lawson’s excellent spicy chicken to 7-Eleven’s life-altering egg salad sandos, convenience stores in Japan are incredible, as strange as that is to write. InKonbini is a ’90s love letter to the konbinis of Japan, and after speaking with Nagai Industries founder Dima Shen about InKonbini, I couldn’t be more sold.

InKonbini puts players in the shoes of college student Makoto Hayakawa, who is taking a break from her studies to help her aunt run a small-town konbini. Nagai describes the game, due out on undetermined consoles and PC in 2025, as a “meditative narrative adventure/simulation game,” where, while playing, you discover the joy and wonder hidden behind the daily routine of a konbini worker. The idea began as a “Summer Project,” which is also the working title for InKonbini, between two friends. Shen’s friend was planning to move to Argentina, giving them one last chance to work closely together, “so I offered him to try and make a game in the span of one summer.” Today, Nagai has eight full-time employees and a few others working on the game.

Shen says their conversations led them to develop something “beautiful and cozy, with a positive mood, but also a bit sad,” like mixing the works of Hayao Miyazaki and Makoto Shinkai. Shen tells me Japanese culture describes these mixed sentiments as mono-no-aware, which can be translated as “the sad beauty of mundane things.” After several iterations, Nagai landed on the 1990s konbini, and Shen got goosebumps the second this idea was born. Those goosebumps might have also resulted from Shen remembering the bright and welcoming konbini of Shenmue, one of his all-time favorite games (Nagai Industries is the cover-up name for a Yakuza group in one of the game’s locations).

Shen says Nagai aims to challenge and confront the notion that a developer can’t convert this occupation into a meaningful and exciting gameplay experience. The game’s trailer indicates InKonbini will have the kind of gameplay you’d expect in the shoes of a convenience store employee. But at the same time, Nagai expects players to find joy (and many other emotions) in the meta-gameplay born out of the other element of working at a konbini: talking to customers.

“The game is being built around a traditional Japanese concept of ‘ichi-go, ichi-e,’ which translates to ‘one time, one meeting,’” Shen tells me. “No situation in our life can be repeated; we never get to experience the same thing twice, and that’s what brings nostalgic flavor to some of our memories.”

Makoto Kayakawa will only spend one week working behind the counter, but Nagai thinks the new connections she gains and the stories she hears will resonate with players. However, don’t expect a mystery-driven plot or investigative narrative – InKonbini is about the joy of the seemingly mundane, although there is a connecting throughline.

Ultimately, Shen and Nagai hope players can recognize the power of slowing down in an otherwise fast-paced world, with Makoto Hayakawa standing in for us.

“The main takeaway wouldn’t be a big revelation, though,” Shen adds. “It’s the journey that matters, not the destination. We simply want players to be reminded that all the moments of our life are fleeting, and even the things we get used to, like a convenience store around the corner, won’t be here forever.

This article originally appeared in Issue 366 of Game Informer.

[bearpillowmonster]

I heard that FF7RR didn't perform as well as Remake and at first I was sad but then I starting thinking about it. The PS4 came out and not enough units were made but eventually they caught up and everyone seemed to have one but this generation, the same thing happened, that's their own fault, they underestimated on purpose and it got a reputation again that it's a scalped console.

While certainly desirable, a lot of people couldn't find these and when they finally became available, they shrugged at the price. PS4 was 400, PS5 is 500, it's a hundred dollar difference and yet we're still here 3, wait, it's been almost 4 now, 4 years since it's launch! It's more than half way through its life cycle if we go by PS4 dates. 6 is pretty standard. Not to mention, after the first three years, Sony is known for coming out with a revision to their console.

The PS4 Pro, the PS2 and PS3 slims, it's expected and with the coming of those, there were price drops, first 50 after the first 2 years then 100 when it actually released and it took the spot of how much that initial console cost. We're already past that point now so I suppose the decision between a digital and physical version is considered the different version right at the get-go. People wait for these things to go on sale. They wait for a game that they really want.

Me? Spider-Man 2 and FF7R2 just dropped within the past 6 months and those are the two games that I'd get. There's a ton of games that I'd try but those are two that I was really looking forward to, does that justify uh, 500+70+70=640 plus tax?

I for one have waited so long that I decided to wait until the PS6. And Sony must know that the PS5 sales didn't go as planned, I mean, it's three years in and they release the brand new Resident Evil 4 remake on both consoles. 50 million consoles sold is huge but when you have over double that with PS4 which was still had higher sales at the landmark the PS5 is at right now.

I support new consoles, new technology but absurdly priced technology just doesn't cut it for me, I don't normally give in and I want FF7RR more than any other game right now because it looks like KH4 is out of reach for the time being and I know a lot of people are the same way, "I want to play it but I don't have a PS5". There's certainly a demand for that game, but one factor is that some people wanted the idea of a remake but got a franchise (which I personally don't mind but still)

I'm not always blaming the industry because the price of everything is up right now and really, that puts a damper on absolutely everything, nobody can go out and have fun. I make it a point to only go out maybe one day of the week and do something because any more than that is spending too much money. It's sad and it's stupid. My siblings are growing up in this, first covid then the economy which when I ask them what they want to do, they have no idea what they 'can' do because they don't know what's out there. Then when I decide for them, they don't know how to act, they don't know how to treat an arcade because we can't afford to go to them all the time, let alone find one. They're indecisive about getting a toy because for one, they see the price, which they shouldn't have to worry about but when they ask for something expensive and all they know is the excuse that it's too much then they start being conscious of it and then they don't know how to treat it because they know that may be the one big thing they get and aren't sure whether to use that ticket. Then me, I go into stores and don't buy anything, I gawk "Oh, that's new" because I spent the money to drive here but everything I see is overpriced and or a lot of effort to get aka I have to stand in line for 20 minutes because they don't have self checkout and they don't pay enough employees to have more than two registers open at a time and by the time I get there, I change my mind and regret my potential purchase.

The middle class has been eliminated and a majority of its people have been pushed into being poor. Sidetracked. It's not the game, it's the console, it's not the console, it's the price. And the games also cost more. Ok, bye.

[bccnews-press]

Awaiting the fate of a man of Tshepo Mahloele’s calibre is torturous

If I ever had the chance to advise a rich businessman about to buy a newspaper company, I would tell him to stop. Newspapers are best run by publishers in moth-eaten jerseys and smudged glasses.

This is no place for a gentleman, I would say. The people inside this building are an ungracious mob. They’ll hate you merely for paying them on time.

Watching my boss, Tshepo Mahloele, chairperson of Arena Holdings and founder of Harith, become collateral damage in the few days since it was announced he is joint lead in a consortium poised to get SAA flying again, I’d love to be able to tell him: “See? I told you.”

Too late. And now his problems are my problems. He is being roughed up by rival media and, as he owns newspapers, can’t respond without looking like a schmuck. His money is tainted, they say. He can’t afford SAA; he’s part of an ANC old-boys’ network. Is he a crook?

That’s the insinuation left hanging in the final report of the commission of inquiry into the Public Investment Corporation (PIC), Mahloele’s former employer. Did he enrich himself through a series of complex financial manoeuvrings, as alleged by UDM leader Bantu Holomisa?

Or has he been cruelly left dangling by the report? Found guilty of nothing, but nonetheless waiting for the PIC and its client, the Government Employees Pension Fund (GEPF), to investigate, as required by the commission, “that all monies due to both parties have been paid and properly accounted for; to determine whether any monies due to overcharging or any other malpractice should be recovered”.

In other words, would the PIC and the GEPF please investigate themselves? Early last year the commission gave them six months to do the work. So far, nothing. I don’t have information the commission didn’t have and I’m as confused as they were.

But life’s not fair. Over at the department of public enterprises, Pravin Gordhan has dodged every bullet fired his way in his fight to “save” SAA. He’s still standing because he knows every twist and bend of the political rivers he swims in.

My boss, on the other hand, doesn’t have a clue for politics. I think he thought there’d be wild rejoicing at SAA being taken off the fiscus, which is what he and former Comair and kulula boss Gidon Novick are promising once their due diligence is done.

Instead, it’s a war out there. People are angry with Gordhan, others with President Cyril Ramaphosa. The Left is incensed about privatisation. Whole factions are forming in the ANC that believe there are people who will throw their own money at SAA and still leave the state in control of it.

Journalists, rightly angered by state capture, are all over Mahloele’s reputation, questioning his bona fides. They have to do this, I understand that. The record is what it is and he is poised to take control of a broken, but once huge, state asset.

Can he raise the promised R3bn for SAA? No idea, but he raised R1bn in six months to buy a newspaper company. He likes big brands such as the Sunday Times, but SAA is something else entirely. Everyone knows how to save it. Everyone knows the deal’s a stitch-up. Everyone knows state capture is still going on. If the deal doesn’t work, he’ll find another one.

Mahloele made his big money in Capitec, as one of the people who put together a BEE consortium to buy 10% of the bank in 2007 at R32 a share — no discount — with a R300m loan from the Industrial Development Corporation (IDC). In 2012 the consortium sold half its Capitec stake to the PIC to pay back the debt.

Since then Mahloele has been quietly buying out other consortium members and, through another of his companies, Lebashe, now controls almost 7% of Capitec, with financial help from Investec and Absa. This week the Capitec share hovers at about R1,640 and its market capitalisation is almost R190bn. For the doubters, 7% of that is serious money.

In many ways though, he is an innocent. He pays his debts, for one. And among my jobs I’m his adviser on editorial matters. As such, he’ll sometimes ask me if he might call a reporter about an article he’s enjoyed. I’ve had to explain it isn’t editorial interference to congratulate people.

But he learnt his finance at Rand Merchant Bank (RMB) and it can get complicated. The PIC commission admits it was confused. Its Harith chapter starts with Holomisa: “One of the most difficult tasks regarding dealing with the type of corruption that is alleged to have happened at the PIC is the sophisticated nature of the transactions. Corruption can come in two forms, legal and illegal corruption ...”

The commission agrees. “These words resonate ... The layering of legal entities ... can make finding the substance, and not form, of a transaction or series of transactions complex and quite perplexing.”

But if the commission was perplexed, why not call in experts? Why ask the PIC and GEPF to probe themselves? Mahloele says he’s had two independent reviews done, including by Terry Motau, the lawyer who exposed the VBS Mutual Bank fraud. They clear him, but they’re no good because he paid for them.

A big issue is fees. “The fees charged by [Harith] appear punitive: management fees, advisory fees, transaction fees, costs of covering [Harith] operating expenses, incentive fees from 2015 on returns in excess of 8% per annum and a poison pill termination clause,” says the commission.

In February though, the SA Venture Capital and Private Equity Association (Savca) found no fault with Harith. An investigating committee found “the legal and fee structures set out in the fund terms are in line with industry standards”. I don’t know how high that bar might be.

The Harith fund fees were 1.75% to 2% management fees, plus an incentive structure where it would earn 20% of all returns higher than 8% in US dollars, the funding currency. That means investors in the funds only start paying incentive fees after they get, in cash, annualised, the minimum hurdle return rate (8% in this case) in dollars. Neither fund has paid incentives yet, but returns on the second fund are, right now, huge.

Mahloele is also accused of selling a Pretoria house to former Eskom boss Brian Molefe at a suspiciously big discount in 2016. He bought the house in the Cornwall Hill estate in 2007 for R6.8m with an Absa bond. The Reserve Bank governor also lives there. So did Molefe. Around 2013 he decided to sell. He was divorcing and the agent said he could get R17m for it, though a valuation from Absa in late 2015 suggested R11m. There was a R14m offer, but no actual money.

Eventually he took the house off the market. In 2015 or 2016 Molefe offered him R10m. By then he was living alone and had met a woman he was to marry, who didn’t want to live there. Last October Molefe sold the same house for R13.5m, having added a tennis court and other features.

Last week a newspaper carried a story headlined “Takatso Boss controls KZN purses”. Here was more “evidence” against Mahloele. Except it wasn’t. Takatso is the consortium Mahloele and Novick have formed to take over SAA. The story about the “boss” was nothing of the sort — merely a board member of Harith, nominated by the PIC, which owns a 30% stake in it.

If this is all a cautionary tale it might be about flying too high and too close to public funds and, possibly, about being black at the same time. It may also be the start of a story about new SA wealth that will be around for a long time. Mahloele says he’s “building a balance sheet”.

We will have to wait for the PIC and GEPF to do their jobs. It’s a torture. I’ve never felt sorry for any of the many owners this company has had in the 24 years I’ve worked for it. Each one has left it richer and the rest of us poorer. But this one has his own skin in the game. It’s a rare thing.

[the-one-true-nobody]

What Are Workers Worth?

One of the most frustrating things about all the arguing and pontificating about employee pay in this or that job is the way that, particularly on the more right-wing side that favors lower pay, no one ever acknowledges that you are NOT! just paying for the work itself when you hire someone and they clock in to do that job.

You are also paying for the time that worker spent doing the work.

Think about what that means. And I mean, like... think about what it really means. Work-hours aren't just "company hours," after all. They're also hours of life that your employees will never get back.

Time. A small slice of their finite time on this Earth. Time they could be using to relax and enjoy themselves, yes, but also time they could be using to learn new skills, do chores or maintenance tasks at home, cook healthy food instead of processed garbage, learn to cook healthy food so they don't need to rely on processed garbage, get their shopping for the week done, bond with their family or significant other, deal with their latest personal crises, work toward whatever their actual life passion is, get out there and put their energy into supporting important social causes through hands-on activism or volunteer work... any number of things, really. Things they can no longer use that time for, because they sold that time to their employer.

But, no. Wages are only calculated by capitalists based on the value employers acquire from the worker; never the value that the worker surrenders to the employer. It's always been that way, of course, it's not a late-stage capitalism thing. But it's certainly a glaring issue, this lopsided way that we think about the "fair" exchange of labor for money.

It's gotten to this point because in the industrial world, one of the key methods of maximizing profit has always been to cut costs, and maneuvering for a lower wage has always been one of the staple ways to do that. Because that is what wages are, from the businessman's standpoint: a "cost" to be minimized, voluntarily increased only when there is some benefit to be gained or when "competitive wages" force the issue.

The larger the company becomes, the less directly the decision-makers have to acknowledge that the employees are also people paying a "cost" in their own lives to be there doing the work.

It's funny, because in smaller more tight-knit businesses, the people running the show often know this very well. They might not be able to do a whole lot about it because of their tighter budgetary concerns, though. One of the great ironies of capitalism, that: the big corporations are too detached from the little guy to factor the little guy's "cost" into their own cost-benefit analysis. The small businesses who see that cost and the person who pays it up close and personal? Those are often too small to factor it into pay, even if the people running them would really like to.

The funky thing is, I really do believe that if society phased out certain staples of late-stage capitalism, namely the massive heaps and heaps of spending dedicated toward stupid-ridiculous "growth" to keep the investment machine well-greased and spinning; and legal spending dedicated toward keeping the status quo as it is, channeling that money into heartier pay all-around would feed the economy in such a way that even smaller businesses would be able to pay their employees more. Most of the ills of our current version of capitalism are, in my belief, tied directly to and exacerbated by that investment culture, the stock-trading focus that pressures companies to constantly push to be bigger, better, more profitable, and to never stop.

Many conservatives might be comfortable with the notion that hard work is king and that people who want to make more money just need to work harder... but you know what? In my view, it wouldn't take much at all for society to shift around its priorities so that hard work is still king, but with a crown made of something more impressive than tin-foil and bubble-gum wrappers.

That sounds nice, no?

[lumosinlove]

Day Five:

On the fifth day of Winterfic, Hazel gave to you, a local farm/Christmas Tree Co. Lelo AU.

Heartcliff Farm was a creature of the summer mostly. It made its ends meet with strawberry and blueberry picking and cut-your-own flowers in the fields. The farm shop housed great, plump tomatoes in June and July. Fresh butter and milk. Buttery, sweet corn in August. Leo and his mother’s own baked goods—using our own eggs and fresh milk from just a few hops and skips away! The lake was near by, after all, and all the second-homers came up for the summer, or at least the Forth of July and a few vacation weeks later on. Leo’s family lived in town. He had never actually been to the lake—it was all houses, no public beaches—but he’d been working at Heartcliff his entire life, and he’d mastered talking to the Lakers as if he, too, was their kind of “regular.” That’s what they asked each other. Are you a regular? And, for Leo and his fellow employees, Are you a local? Local verses Regular—who could say which was better.

But everyone was friendly, and Leo liked to see how his smile worked wonders on them. Most of them knew him by name, and he, them. You wouldn’t believe the tomatoes this year, Mrs. Walker. Oh, Leo, is that some of your banana bread? I don’t know where you find the time to do all that baking for us!

It was a well-worn routine. And there was hardly ever anyone new, but Leo didn’t mind. He missed home terribly when he was away at Gryffindor University, which seemed to be nothing but new people, and no one who cared about this place. No one who cared that he loved it, that he loved baking, that he loved anything. Either he talked too much or was too shy. He hadn’t yet been able to find the sweet-spot, the one all the people at Heartcliff responded to. The one that felt easy, here. It felt like the most difficult thing in the world, there.

But, like any summer, winter always came—but Leo found the good parts. The parts so perfect that they warmed him through and through. Skiing, the Gingerbread house competition at the local library (him or Mrs. Hollyway nearly always won). The fires that his father built in their great fireplace. Baking cookies, and more cookies.

And, of course, the transformation of Heartcliff farm. The summer tomatoes, the sweetcorn and fresh bread, the flower and strawberry picking…all of that was scurried away and swapped out as if Christmas elves had come in the night. Evergreen garlands were strung along the farm shop’s doorways and roof. The wood burning stove was an ever-present smolder in the corner. The library’s sewing and knitting club made ornaments to be sold, some of the profits going to the local charities. Red-faced skiers coming in freezing and hoping for some of their (well, Leo thought it was famous) hot chocolate and home-made marshmallows.

Best of all…

Well. Leo’s throat closed up a little, cheeks flushing as bright as the skiers (only not from the cold) when he thought of the best part of all. To anyone else, he’d say the best part was the Christmas tree farm they put out front of the shop, stringing lights up above to glisten down on the falling snow. The best part was how cozy it looked, how happy the children were when they found that there was hot chocolate and candy canes to be had while they hunted for the perfect tree. The best part was the amount of snow that fell, and how perfect it all looked. The best part was strolling around with his parents to pick out their own tree, too. Those were the best parts. They really were.

But secretly, quietly, only to himself…For Leo, the best part of winter, was Logan.

Logan, who was like a myth that came down from the mountains each year.

“I know that look.”

Leo looked up at his mother over the sound of the electric mixer. She was at the counter, opening a fresh pile of delivered Christmas cards.

“Hm?” Leo asked.

Eloise smiled. “And that smell.”

Leo tried to will the redness out of his cheeks that had sprung up like it was eager or something. “Hm?”

Eloise laughed. “Hm?” She parroted. “Hmm, I just wonder who you’re making ginger cakes for.”

“Mama…”

His father came in from a fresh shoveling of their front walk. Wyatt banged his boots clean outside before shutting out the cold air again. “What’s with that mama? What’d I miss?”

“Well,” Eloise said, watching her husband take off his coat and hang up his hat. “Who could possibly be coming today that Leo would be making ginger cakes for?”

“Well, there’s only one lucky chap I can think of.”

Leo turned the mixer off and laughed. “Dad. Guys, no.”

“Could be it be a certain mountain man?”

“Oh my God, he’s not a mountain man,” Leo said, sprinkling flower into the buttered up, small bunt cake molds. “He’s—he’s just—Well, he doesn’t have a beard, first of all—Second—I’m not making them for him, these are for the shop. It’s a big ski weekend, and everyone’s getting their trees right now, with Thanksgiving over with. I’m—You know, you know what, I didn’t even remember they were coming down with fresh trees today.”

Eloise rolled her eyes. “Oh, yeah, totally forgot?”

“So, you’re making the ginger cakes for me, then?” Wyatt smiled. “And I could take a few over to book club later?”

“Sure.” Leo said, and rolled his eyes at his dad’s laugh. They really weren’t all for Logan.  It was only that Leo wanted something that might make Logan give him one of those gentle, almost shy smiles of his. Now, if only they would bake properly. Logan and the others wouldn’t be here for an hour, so he did have time. And the cakes would be hot for Logan that way—well, for anyone, but—but Logan liked them the most. Logan had a sweet tooth. Oh, Leo hoped they had enough hot chocolate, because then maybe Logan would keep coming inside for breaks and—and if no one else was in the shop maybe they could just talk a little more. A little more than usual.

“Okay.” Leo turned away to slide the cakes into the waiting oven. “I am ignoring these questions and I’m going to read until these are done.” If he could focus. “And then I am going over to the farm to start the wood burning stove. I have my timer on. Don’t open that oven door.”

Eloise winked at him over her mug of tea. “Yes, sir. Oh, and while you’re starting to stove, make sure you’re definitely not waiting for a glimpse of a certain truck or anything.”

It was still snowing lightly when Leo closed the front door behind him, covered plate of ginger cakes in hand. The weather channel had promised it would get heavier throughout the day. It’d be a full on white Christmas for sure, and the skiers would all be out today. He smiled when he saw the farm, so warm looking in the building snow on the ground and roof. The lot waiting for more Christmas trees looked like it would be its own forest, right there on the outskirts of town. He fumbled with his gloves getting the key in the door. The heat was on, making him shiver as the warmth hit him, but the stove was what completed the scene. Leo hung up his coat and hat in the back room before kneeling in front of the stove and opening the small glass door. He piled the wood in, crinkled up the kindling, and struck a match. The warmth flooded out, and Leo filled the iron basin on top with water to evaporate into the air.

He almost loved opening the shop more than running it. He loved starting up the hot chocolate, thick and not too sweet, setting out the bowls of crushed candy canes and marshmallows. At the beginning of the season, he loved stringing up the lights, the red bows above the displays, and the secret sprouts of mistletoe over the doorways. The jingle bells that replaced the usual cowbell above the entrance, alerting them to someone entering the shop. He loved watching people’s faces light up.

Leo was carefully setting his ginger cakes out on the snowman display pedestal when the door opened again, revealing his dad with three big coils of twine over his shoulders.

“I’m really not allowed to eat one of those?” he asked.

“Nope.” Leo put the glass dome over them. “Not until Logan has his pick.”

Wyatt laughed. “You ever gonna talk to this kid when it’s not Christmas?”

Leo didn’t look up from fitting some small lights around the display’s base. “If I was ever going to work up the courage to ask, I would no longer recognize myself.”

“Aw, Le. Come on, I’m sure you could. Even if its just as a friend, at first. Logan seems like a good kid. Better than that boy you said you were ‘maybe’ seeing at school. What’s his name?”

Leo just raised a shoulder and turned to check on the hot chocolate. He didn’t really want to talk about Jack right now. Jack who had refused to come home with Leo for Christmas to his middle-of-no where-town. Babe, why would I when you could just come to the city?

“Logan probably has more than enough friends,” Leo said.

His dad came around to the back of the counter, making Leo look up at him. “That’s not really how friends works, hun.”

“Well.” Leo sighed, gave his head a shake. “Dad, I don’t know.”

“All right, all right.” Wyatt held up his hands. “But at least we’ll have enough Christmas tree twine, right?”

That made Leo crack a smile. “Right. Did Pascal say who he was bringing on the phone?”

“Logan, Noelle, Sergei.”

“Oh, I love Sergei. He always has the best stories.”

His dad laughed. “True. That man has lived five lives, I swear to God. Best way to be, though.”

“I don’t know, I’m pretty happy with my life.”

“Oh—” Wyatt gave him a playful scuff on the head. “You know what I meant.”

Leo’s reply was lost to him as soon as he heard a tell-tale rumbling from the road. He couldn’t help the way his head snapped towards the window, only to find a sight that looked a great deal like an old-time Christmas card. The red truck bumbling towards them with its bright green trees strapped to the back, the whole scene covered in fresh white snow. Leo watched them pull up, could hear some sort of French rap song coming from the cab. The truck stuttered to a stop, tires crunching over the snow, and the song cut off.

“Allez,” he heard—Pascal Dumais’ voice, owner of the farm. He said something faster that Leo didn’t catch—and he had been trying his best to learn from the French courses he was taking (no, it wasn’t for Logan, you had to take a language credit…it wasn’t just for Logan)—but all he caught now was Logan’s name. It was followed directly by Logan himself jumping down from the truck, wearing a dark green puffer jacket and a black beanie, also those thick, worn work boots that Leo sometimes imagined sitting, unlaced, by the front door of his shared house at college. They were tan, and scuffed, and made Logan’s strong legs look even stronger. If Leo ever found out what he looked like without those bulky jackets, he didn’t know what he’d do.

He was watching Logan and Noelle shove each other as they got some supplies from the truck, when his father cleared his throat. “You gonna go say hello?”

“Um.” Leo realized his voice was pitched up. “They always come inside when they first arrive.”

But when Leo heard the bells above the door jingle, and Pascal heartily greeting his father, Leo clammed up. He turned to the side, pretending to mess with the cash register, just for something to do with his hands. But he saw Logan out of the corner of his eye. He saw the way he stopped messing with Noelle, who had pointed out the mistletoe almost instantly and given Logan a smacking kiss on the cheek as they walked in, wiped those boots off politely, and—was he looking at Leo? Or the shop. The shop. Because they had done a wonderful job, it was cozy, and warm, and festive—

“Salut, Leo.” Logan said softly.

Leo took a breath and finally looked up. Green eyes. Green eyes he dreamed about. Logan offered him one of his quiet smiles as he set his gloves on the counter.

“Hi,” he said again, as if Leo hadn’t gotten the French.

“Hi,” Leo breathed, then cleared his throat. “Hi. How are you?”

Logan shrugged. “Good. Same. Did you just get home from college? I saw a bunch of others who look like they’re on break.”

Leo nodded. “Yeah, about a week and a half ago.”

Noelle raised her eyes towards the room. “Doesn’t look like you’re taking much of a rest.”

Leo laughed, smiling at her. “Yeah. I’m not very good at those.”

“I am,” Logan mimed a shiver. “I’d stay in here all day rather than get up at four because someone forgot to do her farm chores.” He sent a pointed look at Noelle.

“Hey!” Noelle didn’t look up from where she was making herself a hot chocolate. “They were yours.”

“Non.”

“Oh-kay,” Pascal laughed. “We’re all nice and warm now, let’s unload.” He sent Leo a smile. “Nice to see you, Leo.” He pushed through the door again, followed by Wyatt and Noelle.

“Same, Pascal.” He looked back at Logan. “Well.” He looked down at the ginger cakes, then motioned to the chocolate. “This’ll be here if you want to get warm again.”

“Will you?” Logan asked.

Leo flushed. He hoped he could blame it on the wood-burning stove heating up the place. “Mhm. Sure will.”

“Good.” Logan began to step back. “D’accord—oop—” He’d bumped not one of the smaller trees they displayed ornaments on. This one was full of jingle bells and there was an almost comical chorus of rings and Logan reached out to steady it. “Ha, okay, I obviously belong outside.”

Leo couldn’t help but laugh, lowering his hand from where he’d covered his mouth. “I guess. Wait, here, you forgot your gloves.”

“Oh,” Logan nearly tripped over his feet coming forward again to grab them. “Merde, okay. Merci.”

And with that he was out the door, leaving Logan staring after him.

It took a couple hours to unload everything, get the new trees in the ground or stands, restring the lights, and then it was time for the customers to come—leaving Logan and Leo both busy and, frustratingly, apart. Between ringing up tree tickets, Leo snuck glances outside at Logan—hauling trees through the netter, hoisting them onto car roofs, and—someone have mercy, please—yanking the chain saw to a start to saw off uneven trunk bottoms. Even from afar, it was good entertainment—especially when Logan got hot and shucked off his jacket in favor of a thermal undershirt in the hour the snow let up a bit. Leo huffed. If he had to watch two more girls from the local high school giggle over Logan, he was going to knock them into the jingle bell tree.

Finally, Logan said something to Noelle that Leo didn’t quite catch, but made a motion towards the shop like he was going inside. It practically made Leo jump, checking the hot chocolate, the ginger cakes, trying to look busy and available at once. He’d barely moved, though, when the bells were jingling above the store door and Logan was stepping through, nose and cheeks flushed.

“Hi,” Logan breathed, sniffing a bit from the cold. “Oh, so warm in here. Lucky.”

“Ha, yeah. Stay as long as you like.” He nodded outside. “We’re doing good though, huh? The trees are beautiful.”

“Ouais,” Logan said. “More beautiful here, though.” Logan set his gloves down on the counter again, and then took off his hat. His chestnut hair was a mess, wild, and maybe a little sweaty at the temples. “Prettier with lights around them.”

Leo’s eyes darted to the lights around the store that seemed to halo Logan. “Uh-huh.”

Logan looked at him for another moment, fingers tapping on the counter, before he noticed the sweets. “Oh. Oh, I know these. You have made these every year, yes?”

“Mhm,” Leo smiled. “Yeah, I—they’re some of my favorite to make.” I make them for you. “You want one?”

“Ouais, please, please.” Logan said, then looked at the hot chocolate. “I can take some of that, too?”

“Of course.”

“Kind of a tradition?” Logan asked as Leo put a cake on a plate for him. “The making?”

“Yeah.” Leo took a breath, stealing himself. “Yeah, kind of like—like seeing you is.”

Logan’s eyes went back to his, and he looked surprised for a terrifying second, before he nodded. “Seeing you makes it feel like Christmas.”

Leo looked back at him sharply from where he was pouring the thick chocolate into one of the staff mugs—much better than a paper cup. He expected Logan to have just—said it. Maybe he would be looking at something else, eating the cake. But Logan was looking right at him.

“You too,” Leo said. “Really, I—yeah.” He pushed the hot chocolate forward. “You too, Logan.”

“Good,” Logan said simply, and without ceremony, proceeded to dump what Leo thought was probably just a little too much candy cane crumble into his cup. Leo couldn’t help but laugh.

“You kind of have a sweet tooth, don’t you?”

“Mmm,” was Logan’s only reply, eyes closing as he sipped the chocolate, then took a bite of the ginger cake. “Ouais, I love these so much. I dream about these, I think.”

Leo shook his head, snorting. “No way.”

Logan just nodded as he chewed.

Leo glanced out the window again and saw that Pascal was bringing the truck back around. “Oh.”

Logan looked up questioningly, just as Noelle opened the door, huffing.

“Lo, we’re packing up.”

Logan looked back at her. “Quoi? Wh…now?”

“Yep.” Noelle raised her eyebrows. “You helping, or…”

“Ouais, just—hold on, merde.” Logan waved her off, annoyed. “Be right there.”

Noelle rolled her eyes at Logan, smiled at Leo, and shut the door again. Logan looked back at Leo, lips parted as if trying to decide what to say. He leaned forward, then back, fingers drumming on the counter again. The shops Christmas music played softly between them, and Leo bit his tongue until he couldn’t stand the silence anymore.

Leo sighed. “Well…” Do you want to exchange numbers? I’d love to keep in touch. Every version of the phrase either felt too flirty or too formal. “Hardly said hello before goodbye.” Hardly anything. How many days had he been waiting for this? Telling himself that maybe this year he’d—what? He felt stupid now. This was how it always went. Logan didn’t live that far away, but it was still a drive. And all Leo really knew was that he was kind, sweet, had pretty eyes, liked ice hockey as much as he did, wanted to run the farm rather than go to college. He loved his life, who was Leo to mess with that?

“Maybe—Leo…” Logan began to say, and God, did Leo love hearing his name in his voice, his accent. Logan laughed and rocked on his heels again. And then he was taking out his phone and holding it tentatively across the counter. “Maybe we don’t…wait a year to see each other again?”

There. Yes. Of course, Logan had said it perfectly. Leo was nodding before he realized it, before he could form proper words. “I—yeah.”

“Mhm?” Logan was nodding too. “Really? Good.”

“I’d really love that.” Leo said, and then realized he hadn’t taken the phone yet. “Oh—ha, here.”

He might have hated the way his hands shook a bit as he typed in his number, but at least Logan was still looking softly at him when he gave him back the phone.

“Okay,” Logan said, and they both heard Noelle shout his name again. Lo-gan. Logan took a few steps towards the door. “Okay, well—maybe some time this break, I’ll drive down myself or…or you can come see the farm, too, if you want. The goats are cute, they have little Christmas collars—well, anyway.”

“Yes. Either. Both. Absolutely.”

Logan grinned. “Okay. Good. Good.”

He’d only just made it out the door when Leo spied his gloves, left on the counter again. “Logan, wait!”

Logan all but threw himself back through the door, coming close to knocking over another display, his green eyes bright. “Yes. I mean, yes?”

Leo laughed. “Your gloves.”

Logan looked at them on the counter, then smiled. “Keep them. You can return them when we meet up.”

Leo bit at the inside of his cheek against his smile. “Okay.” He felt sheepish, and shy, and like something fiery and good was burning him up inside.

“Bye,” Logan said softly. “I’ll text.”

Leo could only nod. “Bye.”

As he watched the truck drive away, French music started up again, he couldn’t help himself. He went to walk through the remaining trees. He put on his coat and hat, shoved his own mittens into his coat pockets, and slipped on Logan’s gloves.

~

A Few Months Later

The weather was warming, and so Leo had his apartment’s windows thrown open, letting in the fresh Spring air. He hummed softly to himself as he packed up his school things—computer, charger, pens…oh, the book they were reading. He smiled when he heard the shower cut off from the bathroom off of his room, the slight humming louder without the pounding water surrounding it.

Things had never been this good. Almost graduating—just a few months away, really—another perfect summer at the shop waiting for him. Not to mention getting to spend half of his time at the Dumais’ farm because—

The bathroom door opened, releasing steam. Logan emerged, towel wrapped around his hips, another being scrubbed at his hair.

Logan. Logan, driving down some weekends to stay. Logan, kissing him stupid at night, and curling into his side to watch movies. Logan, and his clothes filling up a drawer in Leo’s dresser. Logan’s boots by the door.

“Headed to the library?” Logan asked when he saw Leo’s bag, and reached out to cup Leo’s cheek, pressing a kiss to his mouth.

“Yeah, got to meet my partner for this presentation—English Lit class. Might have him over some time. He’s funny, you’d like him.”

“Oh?” Logan asked. “What’s his name?”

Leo shouldered his bag, kissed Logan again, and opened the door. “Finn. See you for dinner, love you!”

[fuck-customers]

3-26-23 🙄

Horrid employee again

In case you weren’t sold on my previous reasons of proof that Horrid hates its employees, I’ve now found out three new-ish rules/things they want us to do that aren’t insane or anything but just really fucking stupid

1. Customers have 60 days to make a return (but corporate wants us to MaKe ThEM HaPPy so we’ve returned things from MULTIPLE months ago which fucking SUCKS) but EMPLOYEES only have 14 DAYS to make a return and no later then that. But whatever

2. One of the VERY few reasons I like this job is because I do get a first look at new shipment (that’s something we all like cuz who wouldn’t??) and therefore we’re able to make claims on stuff that comes in and are sure to get it before it’s sold out

Well. Now corporate is wanting us to change that. They want us to “leave it for the customer! Order it online instead!” Which can take about a week to deliver. That’s not a long time, but it is if we need it immediately. Also since they keep sending us SO. MUCH. FUCKING. SHIPMENT. (we deadass had about 32 boxes in our very very small back room that we have absolutely no room for on the floor and almost no room for in overstock!!!!) I don’t see why I should have to order and wait instead of purchasing it now. Also they’re still getting our money either way so who gives a shit? Literally all of us were like “absolutely not lmfao”

3. They’ve asked us not to abuse employee holds on items, which I would understand and we are all kinda guilty of, BUT customer holds are only supposed to be 24 hours (unless they call and ask to extend) and YET, and YET, my manager puts customers shit on hold for sometimes up to TWO WEEKS because they’re “frequent and loyal customers and we know them 🥺”. Ma’am, YOU know them. I don’t even remember their names unless they’re assholes, they treat us like shit and cant even be bothered to pick up their PACKAGES and half the time they change their minds about the clothes anyway meanwhile 8 other people have come thru looking for those pieces of clothing on hold and I have to tell them we don’t have it when we do!!!!

Now once again idk if I’m crazy or if these are normal things at most stores but idk everything Horrid does just feels wrong esp when it comes to us the employees (oh also, in case anyone remembers my rant about my $0.20 raise, I still haven’t gotten that back. Also feels like a fuck you to employees “we raised the wages so why would u need the $0.20?”)

@staff I HATE the new text editor!

[caleiiiii]

mcytbers as subway workers because i work at subway and i said so

i wrote this all at like 1 am im sorry

subway terminology (at least where i work)

waste out -means an item cant, or isnt, being sold, like overbaked cookies or expired milk. gets written down on a list for tax returns or smth

freezer pulls -pulling items from the freezer to the walk in fridge so they can thaw for the upcoming days

POS system -the software used for ringing up food, has a bunch of options per type of sandwich

generally 2 shift rotations , each one has a shift lead which is ur main opener or closer

characters

dream 

makes sandwiches so fast. 

how ??? 

he wraps the sandwiches immaculately as well

definitely a main closer

george 

just. disappears during a rush 

only to be found two hours later STILL doing dishes

dream and sapnap are not pleased.

sapnap 

convinces dream to waste out bread for him so he can eat it

gives ppl he likes free cookies 

terrible at wrapping sandwiches

tommy 

always works with wilbur and tubbo. always. 

he HATES freezer pulls but if he has to he can be seen SPRINTING between the freezer and the fridge

also bad at wrapping sandwiches

does all the online orders for tubbo because he cant read them well

tubbo 

loves to bake the bread and cookies

got a complaint once because he read an online order wrong so tommy always does them

hates ringing people up but loves to make the sandwhiches

technoblade

only works like 1 shift a week but its the most goddamn productive shift of anyone.

always makes sure they are selling potato soup when hes working

another main closer

wilbur

always controls the radio in the store

always works with tubbo and tommy, drives them to work

bribes others so he doesnt have to do the dishes

main opener

philza

the manager

super chill about scheduling

turns a blind eye to people “accidently” dropping cookies and wasting them out

niki

a goddess at baking the bread and cookies

never burns anything ever

everybody wants to work with her shes so nice

fundy

is really good at ringing those ppl up with 28372 coupons

horrible at making sandwiches tho

the only one that knows how to fix the soda machine when it breaks

quackity

always gets asked to translate the writing on the boxes since its in spanish 95% of the time

loves stocking the milk cooler so he can take home the expired sodas n shit

always forgets to remind customers when stuff costs extra

schlatt

that one transfer from another store that does everything

slightly wrong.

its been long enough now that he should know better but nobody wants to correct him.

eret

has tons of pins on his hat, 10/10

really good at making the wraps

always says hello when customers enter

karl

the new hire

immediately taken under sapnaps wing, much to the chagrin of dream

much more bread is now wasted out.

bbh and skeppy

regulars that are just. always there

they know all the employee gossip and get discounts on food

phil is .5 seconds away from asking them if they want a job

normal shift schedules

wilbur, tommy, tubbo (day shift)

dream, george, sapnap (night shift)

eret, niki, fundy (day shift)

technoblade, quackity, schlatt (night shift)

karl mainly works with the dteam, but jumps around

random things

the cookie incident

once tubbo accidently overbaked like 2 dozen cookies

so he and tommy ate all of them during their shift

they did not come into work the next day.

dream and techno rivalry

dream and technoblade have a rivaly about who can close and leave the store the quickest

eventually they decide to time themselves and race eachother on their respective shifts

techno wins with a time of 3 minutes before theyre officially allowed to close.

they both get yelled at by phil

technoblade’s only mistake

the only mistake technoblade has made ever was accidently leaving the bread cabinet open overnight

wilbur, tubbo, and tommy find it in the morning and have to throw all the bread out

tommy and tubbo split the bread and each leave with a garbage bag full of subway bread

wilbur still wont let techno live it down.

hacker things

once fundy hacked the POS system to give him a 100% discount

used it for about a month before someone (quackity) accidently pressed the option and snitched to phil

luckily, he just sighed and reset the system

cookie dough

wilbur comes up with the idea to pop raw cookie dough in the microwave and eat it half baked

phil comes in one day only to make -direct eye contact- with tommy as he and tubbo lick cookie dough off of some deli paper

allows it to happen as long as they pay for the dough

subway garlic bread

on a really slow day niki and eret are goofing off and create

~subway garlic bread~

it instantly becomes a secret menu favourite among employees and regulars

the bet

once skeppy bet quackity and schlatt that they wouldnt start a fake argument during rush hour

skeppy recorded the whole thing

technoblade can be seen in the backround silently making sandwiches as quackity and schlatt scream at eachother about if quackity has a “flatty patty”

phil tries to be mad but sees all the tips they made and lets is slide

sacrifices

george is the one always sacrificed to deal with the crabby middle aged moms

its his punishment for not helping during the rush.

torture

sometimes for fun wilbur takes his meal break right before the dinner rush

tommy stares at him in fury the whole time.

betting pool

none of the employees can tell if bbh and skeppy are dating

its to the point that they keep a betting chart on a white board next to the “top failure of the week” spot

subway ghost

after a few freak instances wilbur is positive that the subway is haunted and convinces phil to let him do a séance after hours

he manages to convince half the staff that the store is haunted

(the ghost is drista or smth idk aksjdhajk)

top failure of the week

a tally on the white board in the back room of who dropped/wasted out thw most items

sapnap has the record top failure of the week, dropping a total of 42 loaves of bread in a week

schlatt got put on the board once. never again.

enamel pins

tubbo finds a enamel pin of a bee that he puts on his visor

its not technically allowed but phil lets him do it anyway :)

bandanas

tommy and tubbo take subway bandanas from the back room and initial them before trading with eachother

nobody comments that theyre not technically allowed to have a hat and a bandana

the war

at some point a rivalry breaks out between the day staff

wilbur, tommy, tubbo, niki, eret, and fundy

and the night staff

dream, sapnap, george (techno, karl, schlatt, and quackity stay out of it)

what starts out tame eventually leads to workers purposely messing up stuff for the next shift to deal with, like not stocking the fridge or mopping the floor 

at some point eret switches to the night shift

the day shift does not take it well.

 after about 2 weeks phil is forced to step in as the store quality starts to go downhill

he closes the store for a day and makes everyone clean it u

 techno watches from outside the windows with a bag of popcorn

pogway

tommy starts placing the stickers they use to wrap sandwiches everywhere with the words “pogway” on them

everyone can tell its his handwriting but no one can catch him placing the stickers

phil even checked the cameras, still no trace of him

subway gun

sometimes tommy goes around spraying others with a spray bottle full of water used on the bread

he calls it the “subway gun”

wilbur gets fed up hides it in the freezer overnight

thats all for now! if i come up with anything else i might add it lol

EDIT PART 2 IS NOW OUT

[cogitoergofun]

One weekday morning in July, Kerstie Bramlet was at her workstation inside the Warren County Sheltered Workshop near St. Louis, Missouri, putting plastic labels on rabbit-meat dog chews one by one.

The 30-year-old, who wore a St. Louis Cardinals shirt and a blue-and-white tie-dye hat, is autistic and has intellectual disabilities. She was on dog-chew assignment that day with a dozen or so coworkers, who are also disabled. As they chatted excitedly about an upcoming bocce ball tournament — part of a local Special Olympics event — Bramlet and her coworkers formed an assembly line of sorts, some counting the dog chews using a gridded piece of paper to ensure they reached the right total before handing them off to a supervisor for shrink-wrapping.

Eventually, a six-pack of the dog chews would be sold on Amazon for $14.99.

For this work, Bramlet earns $1.50 an hour. It’s legal to pay her such a low rate because she works at what is known as a sheltered workshop, which can pay subminimum wages to disabled workers like her under a federal law enacted more than 80 years ago. At that rate, if Bramlet kept a full-time schedule working 40 hours a week and took no time off, she’d earn $3,120 a year, less than a quarter of the federal poverty level.

By design, employment in sheltered workshops is supposed to be a temporary measure — a training process to allow disabled adults to transition into the regular workforce.

But Bramlet, who lives with her 49-year-old mother, has been working at the Warren County Sheltered Workshop off and on since 2014, and her long tenure is not uncommon in Missouri.

An investigation by The Kansas City Beacon and ProPublica found that, as of June 30, the vast majority of the more than 5,000 disabled adults employed at Missouri’s 97 sheltered workshop locations have been there for years. The news organizations’ analysis of employment data shows that nearly 45% of the employees have worked at the facilities for at least a decade, and 20% have been there for two decades. The longest-serving employee has stayed for more than 50 years.

That’s because very few employees ever “graduate.” From January 2017 through June 2022, only 2.3% of all sheltered workshop employees in Missouri left for a regular job, according to an analysis of employment data by the Beacon and ProPublica.

Missouri officials chalk the low graduation rate up to the fact that sheltered workshops in the state are not focused on helping their employees transition into the regular workforce — even though state law says they are intended to help disabled adults “progress toward normal living.”

“Missouri’s program was not built as a rehabilitation program,” said Dan Gier, sheltered workshop director at the Missouri Department of Elementary and Secondary Education.

“It was designed [as] an employment program to allow the disabled adults in Missouri to work that would have not succeeded anywhere else.”

Missouri is an outlier: At least 14 states have adopted laws or policies that completely phase out sheltered workshops or subminimum wages. At least 10 others have considered similar actions in recent years. This shift has come on the heels of a number of studies showing that sheltered workshops across the country were failing to live up to their goal, including a 2001 estimate by the Government Accountability Office that no more than 5% of employees were transitioning into the regular workforce.

Amid growing calls to eliminate subminimum wages at the federal level, Missouri instead deepened its commitment to sheltered workshops last year. Currently, the U.S. Department of Labor is the only agency empowered to issue certificates that allow the facilities to pay below the minimum wage. In July 2021, Missouri lawmakers passed a measure to develop the state’s own system of issuing the certificates, in case the federal government stops issuing them — a move that experts say no other state has taken.

State Sen. Bill White, a Republican who was one of the measure’s key supporters, said falling in line with other states to phase out sheltered workshops in Missouri would be a mistake.

“This wonderful idea that we’re going to put everybody in the mainstream and everybody will be able to participate and function perfectly in this economy isn’t true,” White said. “They’re just not as able to be as fast, as productive and as efficient.”

Critics say Missouri’s stance on sheltered workshops is akin to treating disabled adults as second-class citizens, keeping them segregated and reliant on disability payments or family support for their entire lives.

“They lose the opportunity to craft their own life,” said Judith Gross, director of the Center on Community Living and Careers at Indiana University. “They will never have freedom of choice of recreation, nor where they live, nor how they make their money.”

Advocates point to the long-term successes of states like Vermont — the first to eliminate sheltered workshops — as evidence that disabled adults can find gainful employment.

Within three years of closing its last sheltered workshop in 2002, Vermont officials reported that about 80% of the facility’s former employees had transitioned into the regular workforce. In the decades that followed, the state’s employment rate for people with intellectual and developmental disabilities rose to more than twice the national average.

Cheryl Bates-Harris, senior disability advocacy specialist at the National Disability Rights Network, a nonprofit advocacy group, said Missouri’s sheltered workshop supporters are “diehards” who are out of step with the growing opposition nationwide.

[latte-fairytaekwoon]

𝐻𝑜𝑤 𝐴𝑡𝑒𝑒𝑧 𝑊𝑜𝑢𝑙𝑑 𝐴𝑠𝑘 𝑌𝑜𝑢 𝑂𝑢𝑡: 𝑁𝑜𝑛! 𝐼𝑑𝑜𝑙 𝐴𝑈

❥𝐴𝑟𝑡𝑠 𝑎𝑛𝑑 𝐶𝑟𝑎𝑓𝑡𝑠 𝑆𝑡𝑜𝑟𝑒 𝐸𝑚𝑝𝑙𝑜𝑦𝑒𝑒: 𝐾𝑖𝑚 𝐻𝑜𝑛𝑔𝑗𝑜𝑜𝑛𝑔

As a college student, you usually end up having to do a lot of projects that require creativity and lots of paint.

That's how you ended up in an arts and crafts store.

You found Hongjoong behind the counter, finishing up his task of arranging the ribbons on the shelf.

He smiled at you and immediately put his task down.

"How may I help you this evening?"

Knows exactly what you'll need better than you.

Often recommends other materials or throws in a few creative suggestions of his own.

He's always asking you what they're for, he's genuinely curious about your assignments..and even more curious about you.

Sometimes you end up doing some of your posters with him right there on days where there's nobody else.

You purposefully began buying things you didn't even need just to have an excuse to see the blueberry haired male.

He doesn't mind, he likes your company, even if it's strange you keep buying the same red glitter everyday.

One day you came in, and he was excited to show you the new Valentine's Day cards that just arrived.

In particular, this really cute one that played a song you've never heard before but that asked in the end "Will you go out with me?"

You giggled. "It's so cute. Who thought of it?"

Hongjoong smiled even more, holding the card out to you. "I did......it's for you....so what do you say?"

❥𝐹𝑙𝑜𝑟𝑖𝑠𝑡: 𝑃𝑎𝑟𝑘 𝑆𝑒𝑜𝑛𝑔ℎ𝑤𝑎

You really love to gift flowers to your loved ones, feeling that it's a sweet way of saying you're thinking of them.

You frequented a lot of flower shops, but something about this particular one made you want to keep coming back...

And it wasn't just the hot employee behind the counter. Or his super sweet and flirty personality.

It was that and much much more.

You loved the cozy and intricate way the arrangements were always lined up.

They made it a point to change them every week, sort of giving the shop a fresh look each Sunday.

Seonghwa also knew specifically what type of flowers to suggest depending on what it was for.

White tulips for when you wanted to apologize to someone, Hydrangeas to show gratitude, and even Sunflowers to show love to your best friend.

It was always fascinating to hear him speak about what each flower represented.

Just as fascinating as watching him delicately put them together in beautiful bouquets and tie them with a ribbon.

One time you came in and he was very excited to show you a new bouquet he made.

"Ta da!" He pulled out a bouquet with lavender roses as the main focus.

"They're so beautiful Seonghwa! What do they mean?"

"They represented enchantment and love at first sight...ideal for a blossoming romance..."

He grinned as he held them out. "From me, to you."

❥𝑃𝑒𝑡 𝐺𝑟𝑜𝑜𝑚𝑒𝑟: 𝐽𝑒𝑜𝑛𝑔 𝑌𝑢𝑛ℎ𝑜

Getting a chow chow puppy as a pet was no easy task.

Especially when their hair is extremely fluffy and in constant need of maintenance.

Fortunately for you, a nearby pet grooming shop opened up recently.

So you walked, pooch in your arms as you looked at the cozy scene in front of you.

"Hello, I'm Yunho and I'll be assisting you today. And whom do we have here?"

Your puppy instantly took a liking to him, which was rare since he was a big scaredy cat for a dog.

"If my baby trusts him, I guess I have nothing to worry about. "

You really didn't. Yunho was so friendly and knew how to handle dogs perfectly fine.

He was just as playful as them and was very careful when trimming their hair or nails.

So you felt absolutely at ease leaving your child for a few hours with him while you ran some errands or went grocery shopping.

"Hi baby. Were you a good boy today?" You came to pick up your pooch one day.

"Oh they were an absolute gem as always."

You were about to leave when Yunho said. "Hey Y/N...I actually have a dog of my own at home....and they could use a friend.."

"Oh? So you want to arrange a play date for them?" You asked.

He blushed and smiled shyly as he admitted. "Date for them and maybe....us too?"

❥𝐵𝑜𝑜𝑘 𝑆ℎ𝑜𝑝 𝐸𝑚𝑝𝑙𝑜𝑦𝑒𝑒: 𝐾𝑎𝑛𝑔 𝑌𝑒𝑜𝑠𝑎𝑛𝑔

Truthfully, Yeosang frightened you the first time you walked into the shop.

He just stared at you with a cold stare as he warned you to keep quiet in the place.

You definitely didn't want to get on his bad side.

So you just stuck to browsing the shelves, picking out the books you wanted and buying them.

Then after getting more brave, you took advantage of the tables and desks they had inside to either catch up on homework or read what you just purchased.

You just loved reading, especially poetry or sonnets.

You always got so lost in your book, you only realized what time it was because Yeosang tapped your shoulder.

"It's 5 minutes to closing. You should probably go home now."

It became a routine of coming to the shop right after school, curling up on the chair in a back, your nose stuck in a book.

Unbeknownst to you, Yeosang always watched you, took notice of the genres you were fond of. He'd be lying if he said he didn't find you cute and attractive.

You were just as mysterious and quiet as he was, and he was intrigued to get to know who you were.

One day, you came in as usual, waving to Yeosang who just sat by the register.

You sat in your usual spot and noticed a tiny folded letter on the corner. You opened it up and read its contents, a quote from one of your favorite novels:

"In vain I have struggled. It will not do. My feelings will not be repressed. You must allow me to tell you how ardently I admire and love you."- Pride and Prejudice.

You looked up to find Yeosang peering at you from his own book, for the first time, a smile on his sculpture like face as he waited for your reaction.

❥ 𝐵𝑎𝑟𝑖𝑠𝑡𝑎: 𝐶ℎ𝑜𝑖 𝑆𝑎𝑛

Being the coffee addict you were, of course you had to try out the new shop that opened up.

The fresh scent of espresso filled your nostrils the moment you walked in and it was heavenly.

And the barista at the counter was pure eye candy.

And you soon found out he was sweeter than any cinnamon roll or cream Danish they sold there.

"May I interest you in any of our specialty drinks?"

But you were a simple person, you just wanted straight black coffee.

He seemed taken aback and somewhat disappointed at your choice.

But at least you weren't a picky customer that tried his patience.

So you just regularly came to get your straight espresso.

One day he asked "Can I please just try something?"

You couldn't say no to his little pout, so you let him.

You watched as he did your regular espresso shots and looked to be adding some type of cream.

He giddily went back to the counter and held it out to you.

There on the very top, he had created a heart out of latte foam...

And on the cup, he had written his phone number and added the words "call me ;) "

❥𝐷𝑎𝑦𝑐𝑎𝑟𝑒 𝐴𝑠𝑠𝑖𝑠𝑡𝑎𝑛𝑡: 𝑆𝑜𝑛𝑔 𝑀𝑖𝑛𝑔𝑖

You had always been more than willing to help babysit your cousin during summer break.

You adored that child like none other.

But you had recently gotten a job and couldn't watch him all the time

So you opted for the nearby daycare center to help you when you had to work.

The first sight that greeted you was a tall young man who had tussled hair and paint staining his apron.

"Hello. I'm assistant Mingi. How can I help you today?" He greeted you both and then let out an 'ouch' when something hit him from the back.

Feeling safe with the environment, you began taking your cousin every other day to the center and picking him up after your shift ended.

You always saw Mingi there.

He usually helped your cousin with the homework assigned to him over break.

Or he was simply goofing around with him, it was quite endearing to see.

You were content to see the little boy make friends and break out of his little shell.

You came to pick him up as usual. "How was it today? Learned anything exciting?"

"I learned that Mingi thinks you're cute and has a crush on you." He snickered as he pointed to Mingi.

"Hey! Shhhh!! You promised not to say anything!" Mingi laughed nervously as he looked at you rather worrisome.

You blushed and smiled. "It's ok. They think you're cute too Mingi." Your cousin interjected, now exposing you and prompting you two to confess your feelings.

❥𝑃𝑎𝑡𝑖𝑠𝑠𝑖𝑒𝑟: 𝐽𝑢𝑛𝑔 𝑊𝑜𝑜𝑦𝑜𝑢𝑛𝑔

Having the world's biggest sweet tooth was a blessing and a curse.

And right now the biggest issue was finding a new pastry that you had not tried before.

But you had practically gone through all the bakeries in town, knew what they had to offer.

So you decided to stop by a very old bakery that you had not gone to in forever.

And you weren't joking when you said forever, the place had changed so much, you hardly recognized it.

You also didn't recognize any of the people working there, having been a regular before.

You looked through the assorted pastries on displays, hoping to find something to catch your interest.

"Hello there pretty one."

You were startled by the loud voice behind you. You turned to see a cute guy smiling at you.

"Were you looking for something in particular?"

You explained that you were looking for something new or special and his eyes instantly lit up.

He ushered you to follow him to the counter, where he pulled out a tray of peach shaped pastries.

"These are Italian peach cookies, meant to look like actual peaches. Try one and tell me they're not the best thing you've ever tried."

You ate one and your whole mouth was engaged. They were absolutely amazing. "They're so good. I love how sweet they are."

Not wanting to miss the opportunity, Wooyoung smirked. "If you like sweet things, how about going on a date with me?"

❥𝐴𝑟𝑐𝑎𝑑𝑒 𝐴𝑡𝑡𝑒𝑛𝑑𝑎𝑛𝑡: 𝐶ℎ𝑜𝑖 𝐽𝑜𝑛𝑔ℎ𝑜

Jongho was no strange face to you and you were no stranger to him.

He often worked part time at the local arcade during summer break.

You and your friends hung out there a lot after you guys got done with your respective jobs.

"Hey." "Hi." You both always shyly greeted each other like that for 3 years now, sometimes starting small conversations.

Your friends often rolled their eyes at you, telling you to work up the courage to ask him out.

His friends, and coworkers, were also trying to do the same to him.

"They're totally into you." But Jongho would only blush and brush it off as pure fiction.

One night, he noticed how someone came up to you and tried to hit on you.

You looked visibly uncomfortable and seemed to be wanting a way out of the situation.

When they leaned in too close for your liking, and his, he marched right over there.

"Is there a problem here?" He made it a point to flex his arm muscles, making the person apologize and just scurry off.

"Are you ok?" He asked, wanting to make sure you were fine, which you said you were.

He was gonna go back to the counter, but he had to ask."Y/N...would you like to go out on a date sometime-"

"Yes!" You immediately answered, not letting him finish, suddenly feeling awkward for sounding so desperate.

But Jongho only smiled. "Don't worry, I would have done the same if you had asked me out."

Gifs not mine. Credit goes to their respective owners.

[florrickandassociates]

TGF Thoughts: 5x08-- And the détente had an end...

I did not like this episode! I had many problems with it! More under the cut...

A purple line is painted on a curb and then we’re watching footage of Wackner’s show. Question: do they only wear the costumes when it’s a low profile case? It was very noticeable they didn’t have them on in the cancel culture episode, and they don’t have them on in the Julius scenes in this episode...

Also, can I pretend that the horse and cat wearing tiara are meant to be BoJack and Princess Carolyn?  

Del is remote-watching a focus group about Wackner’s show when Liz walks in. He refers to Wackner as “your guy” and Liz replies, “Must not be going well if you’re calling him my guy.” Sounds like “why is she my stripper when she does something bad?”

The focus group is in Vegas “where the real Americans live.” The clips from Wackner’s show being tested seem to be only the most ridiculous ones. Unsurprisingly, the focus group hates the show.

And here is my first question: Why are they testing a version of Wackner’s show that seems to be exclusively silliness? I know, you know, the writers know, and Del knows that that’s not funny.

Wackner Rules is not a good title.  

I love Liz being amused by the focus group going poorly.

Why don’t people like Wackner Rules? Well, the cases are stupid—fights over barking dogs, shoes that don’t fit. They’d rather see burglary or robbery. This is silly, because while I’m sure most of Wackner’s cases are silly, we've seen a fair number of cases with a little more substance (or at least zaniness that makes them less mundane), including the one with the high profile comedian that was filmed explicitly to be part of this reality show. So is Wackner Rules, despite its cases financed by David Cord, just the most boring shit possible? And if so, why? Again, everyone involved here knows better than that.

Also is this just Del’s pet project? Is that why he is producing it, testing it, and approving it?

Liz rolls her eyes at the “wisdom of the crowd” on display. Then she shuts the laptop without realizing what she’s doing and jokes around about it.

If I were Del and my partner had just disparaged my work and then shut down my laptop while I was working, I would be furious. However, this is a bad episode of a television show and I love Liz so I am amused.  

Del goes to fill Wackner in on how the focus group went. Wackner does not care about the opinions of twelve people. (This is funny, given that he has decided he is the most important person when it comes to making decisions and also that juries have twelve people too.)

No, dear god, no, please do not make me sit through tiny office jokes again. Have we transported back in time to season seven of TGW? I hated the door slamming against Eli’s desk then and I hate the sudden addition of this “joke” to Wackner’s chambers now.  

The calendar says February 2021. Is it supposed to be February?  

Apparently, the focus group likes the court, the costumes, and, mostly, Marissa. Just not the cases.  

Marissa’s all, “well what do they want, a murder case?” and Del gives her a look like, “Can you???”

Again, the cases weren’t so silly they were boring in any other episodes and we know that Del/Wackner/Cord were meeting to discuss the best test cases for TV. So, like, how did people waste their time and energy making this obviously awful episode of TV for the focus group? No one involved is that clueless and it makes me dislike this plot.

AND RIGHT AFTER LAST EPISODE WHERE THE CASE ESCALATED TO THE POINT OF PRISON? I think that’s maybe my biggest complaint about this plot, and this episode as a whole. The last episode gave the this season a lot of momentum. Prison! Stakes are raised! Will Marissa say anything!? How much power is too much power for Wackner?! And then we get this episode, and it’s like, jk, forget about all that, now Wackner’s cases are drying up and everyone involved has zero critical thinking skills and we’re going to forget the prison thing ever happened!  

“His court needs this show. Look at Trump. He wasn’t shit until The Apprentice,” Del tells Marissa after Wackner exits. Marissa does not react to the Trump reference, which may be the low point of this episode. Does Marissa Gold want to build the next Trump!? Is Marissa Gold not concerned that someone has just suggested that the goal of her show is to make someone in to Trump!? Hello?! This is not a reference you drop casually! I would be concerned about partnering with Del if I heard this! Marissa would be too! So why isn’t she?!  

Also, this line + the “real Americans” as the target audience for Wackner’s show + the USA! Chanting at the end make me think the point here is somehow supposed to be about Trump and, like, cults of personality? I don’t really see it but I’ll reserve judgement until I see where Wackner’s arc ends up.

Julius heads to Wackner’s court to meet with Cord. He pitches them on his new firm. How is Julius going to start a new firm already? Wasn’t RL the only place that would take him? And pitching Cord on a firm with the 20% of staff that was laid off is a stupid idea, too. As Cord says, hiring the people laid off means hiring the “B-Team.” I dunno if that is actually true, but I know that Cord and anyone else who knows those were the people who were laid off will see it that way. Why is this in Julius’s business pitch? Like, is Cord wondering where Julius would get employees from? Is that a question?  

Reddick & Lockhart, Julius says, is no longer eligible for no-bid government contracts. I want to know why: is this because RL is actually STR Laurie, or is this because Diane is white? If the latter, then you’d think we’d hear a little more about it...

Why is Cord calling the Copy Coop somewhere near the courthouse in a business district in Chicago “the middle of nowhere”?  

Anyway, Cord passes on the new firm because it is not innovative and it does not disrupt anything.

Then Julius pitches the firm but with known-innovator Diane Lockhart and her client list. Cord is kind of interested. Cord cares that much about Diane? Alright.  

Julius, after involving Diane, calls her to tell her what he’s done. When he gets back to his car, he is being given a ticket for parking in a purple zone. A purple zone is, apparently, court staff parking for Wackner’s court.  

Julius rips up the ticket, then gets another ticket for destroying the ticket, and another ticket for destroying that ticket.

Wackner asks Marissa to find out how he can get out of the reality show. Marissa refuses and says she’s going to find out how they’re portraying Wackner, since the show benefits him. This is because he has “fewer cases this week than the week before, and fewer than the week before that. This court goes away unless more people know you’re here.” What? Where did that come from? I’m so confused. Last week Wackner had infinite money and a prison and was dealing with cases with settlements in the millions and famous comedians. Now his audience is dwindling and I’m supposed to care about this plotline? Thanks, but I cared about the plot you already sold me on, writers!  

Hey, wasn’t there a thread at some point in this season about David Lee bugging Liz’s office? Odds we ever hear about that again?  

Diane does not like Julius’s new firm idea. “David Lee is insisting that I stay,” Diane says, as though David Lee actually has that kind of power over her.  

Julius points out that all the other partners are threatening to resign unless Diane is replaced, and “at a certain point, it won’t matter what David Lee says.” Diane says she’ll think about it.

Julius tries to talk to Cord again and finds that his car has been towed. This scene is too long, and watching Julius get confused by shifting, fake rules feels a little too much like the first Memo 618 episode. This episode only has a 40-minute run-time and we spend a lot of it on building up this plot. I don't really get why. Sure, it’s fun to watch people act incredulous, but we already know Wackner’s court is trying to put some muscle behind its authority (violence to encourage compliance, literal prison) so I don’t know why we need to spend so much time on what feels like a lower key bizarro version of a theme we are already aware of.

Just, like, do a boring ass case of the week episode if you don’t have ideas. Don’t regress the plotting and kill the momentum.

SPEAKING of killing momentum, remember how Carmen got a stellar introduction, a few episodes of development, and then pretty much disappeared for several consecutive episodes?  

Then there’s another one of these scenes where Julius tries to get his car and more and more people enforce Wackner’s fake ticket.  

I do not like “Wackner’s City of Chicago” being on the seal. I think he'd have something more clever than that on the seal.

David Lee calls Cord in to pitch him on bringing over all of his business. This scene confuses me, because you’d think Cord would be a big get for giant corporation STR Laurie. But no, David Lee wants Cord to bring his West Coast, East Coast, and Europe business to boutique firm Reddick Lockhart. Or, at least, that’s what Cord’s hesitance suggests to me.

Cord tells David Lee that Diane is leaving and that he won’t go to a firm that is breaking apart. David Lee denies it.

THIS sounds like the Hitting the Fan score.  

David Lee insists that Liz and Diane drop what they’re doing and come up to his office. They do.  

David asks Diane if she’s leaving. She says she was asked to join another firm, and that she was told that the equity partners are planning to resign unless she resigns, so she’s considering it.

“No one is threatening to resign without my permission,” David responds. Those must be some contracts if he is this powerful...

David warns Diane about poaching clients and she’s all, they’re free to leave if they want (ah, so they’re free to leave when you’re leaving but they’re your clients and can be stolen when YOU’RE losing them, I see). Liz is irritated by all of this and pre-accuses Diane of stealing clients after what she’s already done to keep her position. Fair.  

David asks Diane what her issues are. “I’m a name partner being squeezed out of the decision making process,” she says. “And why is that, Diane?” Liz asks. “Because of my race!” Diane insists. “Because no one respects your decision to stay in your position. It is not yours by right,” Liz says.

“I’ve fought as hard as anyone here to keep this firm solvent. And I didn’t inherit this firm. I was invited in, and I earned...” OOOH FINALLY WE ARE GOING TO ADDRESS THAT LIZ HAD NO EXPERIENCE RUNNING A FIRM BEFORE THIS ONE FELL INTO HER LAP. Shame it’s a throwaway line.  

STRL’s presence both adds and removes tension here. I wish they pushed this a little further. Sometimes David Lee seems to be functioning as an outside mediator; sometimes he has more power. What’s the point of all of these dilemmas and battles if at the end of the day, STRL owns and controls everything? How much can RL really mean to them? There’s even an RL in their name that doesn't stand for Reddick/Lockhart. I just don’t understand what it means to be a name partner in a black firm when that firm is actually controlled by some giant company. The way I see it, Diane should want out of RL because she’s past retirement age and being controlled by David Lee and that can’t be fun, and Madeline et al should want out because the mandate to focus on profit over social justice is not mostly coming from Diane or even Adrian’s legacy... it’s coming from the giant power and profit hungry corporation that owns you!  

David has Diane and Liz stand on opposite sides of his desk. “Are you gonna spank us?” Liz says. I love funny Liz. Funny Liz is my favorite. But you know what I wish we also got more of? Liz’s thought process in general.

David’s point with this is that David is going to “come live and work with” Diane and Liz if they don’t figure it out themselves. I know they can’t easily get out from under STRL but Adrian did it so there’s surely a way to resign... this feels so demoralizing... I can’t believe Diane just takes this.  

As they walk downstairs, Liz says, “If you’re going to leave, there’s nothing to talk about. “Liz, I don’t want to leave this firm. And you don’t want me to leave. So why don’t we hire a partner to replace Boseman?”

(1) I like that they’re acknowledging that Liz and Diane clearly want to work together and like working together and are having this fight mostly because they have to have this fight, not because they actually want to. Pretty much nothing Liz has done suggests she actually wants Diane to step down and pretty much nothing Diane has done suggests she actually wants to switch firms. So good, that’s text instead of subtext now.

(2) Weren’t they going to hire a partner to replace Boseman in the first place? Why didn’t that just... happen then and avoid all this?  

Liz says she’ll think about it, but we all know that this is what she and Diane both want. This is where they should’ve been weeks ago.  

OMG okay I knew they had talked about it before! In 5x02 Diane suggests this strategy from the start! Why does it go away!? It’s clearly the right strategy and doing it that early could’ve prevented a lot of conflict and tension. At this point, it feels almost too little, too late. What’s it going to do other than smooth things over with Diane and Liz?  

They really are keeping the cameras rolling for Julius’s dumb parking ticket thing? Guarantee this does not make Wackner look good. As trivial as parking spaces seem, this feels like the sort of issue that would really piss off a lot of people. Maybe that would make good TV, but you want people to like and trust Wackner to keep people coming back to a reality show...  

Julius, being Julius, refuses to apologize to Wackner and make the whole issue go away. I think why this rubs me—and so many others; I have seen nothing but negativity about this episode among friends and on the internet—the wrong way is that this feels like power for the sake of power. It is trivial, self-important (“Wackner’s City of Chicago”), disconnected from anything resembling reality. That’s not to say anything else about Wackner has been realistic, but the writers have been walking a very fine line between surreal, allegorical storytelling and straining credulity. This feels so mundane and unneeded that I actually have an easier time accepting that Wackner has created his own prison system than I do accepting that he’s tried to reserve parking spaces for his staff. At least with a prison, I see the larger-than-life point the writers are trying to make.

The parking attendant tells Wackner she wants to add more reserved spaces up the street and Wackner is like, oh, good! I don’t understand! Who is this lady that just wants to enforce Wackner’s rules? Does she want more spaces because it’s kind of a powertrip to give people tickets? Why do they need more reserved staff parking when cases are dwindling? Who is Wackner’s staff? Why do they need more parking?

And like, it’s one thing when Wackner’s antics affect people who are part of his little bubble, since they all have agreed to be there. How can he just reserve street parking? Wouldn’t this get shut down in a day? Julius would NOT be the only one furious.  

Then Julius decides to steal Wackner’s book of seals so he can make it look like his ticket is paid.  

So if they have footage from the cancel culture episode of Wackner Rules, why wouldn’t they have used it? We see it here, in the editing room, so why are the cases so boring again? (I’m sorry, I know I've said this like 1000 times, but it’s bothering me so much that this episode isn’t even internally consistent.)

(This whole plot is a time-filling detour tbh. I have no problem believing Wackner Rules could be an interesting TV show seeing as how I am watching it as part of an interesting TV show, so I don’t get why we need to spend all this time on how this obviously bad first draft of the show is bad and that it can be improved by fixing a non-existent problem? Also, there are zero stakes because Del owns the show and is also the one deciding whether or not to air the show.)  

(Like, there could be a version of this where the focus group really helps us get into where Wackner’s stuff does and doesn’t translate and the changes he’s asked to make and how the fact it’s television changes the court, blah blah blah. Instead, the premise seems to be that the show is capturing what Wackner’s court was like in the days before Marissa or Cord or Del became involved, which makes no sense and is also boring!)

They’re mentioning Marissa being in the IDF again. This comes up because the re-edit of Wackner Rules is all about Marissa. This is kind of fun and meta! Marissa would definitely be a favorite on a reality show!  

It turns out this re-edit is mostly about how the editor has a huge crush on Marissa.  

I know that these tv writers know the process for tv writing and production better than I possibly could. I still do not believe that this reality show has one producer (Del) and an editor who is making executive decisions about the content of the show, and that this is for some reason happening in a mobile trailer parked outside of the court. Surely there would be meetings about what direction to take, not just a vague instruction to “make it better”?  

In case I needed more evidence that the writers did not bring their A-game for this episode, we get Diane talking to RBG, again, because apparently now there are no other ways to clue us in on what Diane’s thinking. This is just lazy.

The RBG thing worked for me in 5x06 because it felt like a novel way for Diane to get to talk out loud, and that episode that wouldn’t have worked if we didn’t have a way to see what Diane was thinking. Here, it feels like the writers are doing it because they did it before and it worked and it’s thematically connected and it’s easy.  

Doesn’t this entire scene just radiate laziness????  

I know not every episode can be great but just don’t try to do something interesting and innovative if you’re going to half ass it.  

I’m not even bothered by the thought that Diane daydreams about conversations with RBG. I buy that. I just don’t need this conversation (which feels way too much like it’s supposed to be an actual conversation for my taste).

OMG please stop talking about how RBG and Scalia were friends, I beg you, if you’re going to do this device again can you at least have a different conversation.  

So much exposition. Diane knows someone named Allegra through EMILY’s List and thinks she’ll be a perfect choice for the third partner. Diane did hear she had a meltdown, though.  

Julius gets arrested for stealing Wackner’s sticker book. When he starts shouting about how it’s a fake court, the officer is like, “As real as Officer McFinely’s death?” calling back to the last episode. I do find it interesting the police would be willing to overlook Wackner’s complete disregard for the law because of a grudge involving the law firm, and I like that choice.  

Allegra is basically a slightly more toned-down version of Elsbeth. She has a messy, rented office, and trails off mid-thought. Since she’s kind of a familiar character type, I’m not overly impressed by her, but she’ll be fine to add some little bits of humor to the office drama, I think. My hope is that they use her in small doses, because I have a low tolerance for quirk.

Allegra’s office has tons of books. I can’t see what most of them are, but she has a copy of The Nix, and I liked that book! It’s the only fiction title I can spot; the rest seems like political commentary or pop sociology/business stuff.  

Diane mentioning her RBG hallucinations to Allegra is probably a very smart way to win over Allegra.  

Marissa encourages the editor, whose crush is so obvious it’s uncomfortable, to put Wackner’s outburst in the show. The one about how Del is using the show to rehabilitate the comedian!? Why would Del air that?! How does this help anything?! If the goal is to get Wackner’s court more cases, why would this make anyone choose to take their case there?

The police bring Julius to Wackner’s court, which I have a slight bit of trouble believing (not that any of this is believable, but you know what I mean—I don’t feel like it’s logical given everything else I know about this premise) but I'll roll with.

Now there’s some ridiculous, awful fake lawyer who was “devil’s advocate” with devil horns in the last episode and David Cord is prosecuting Julius and... what the actual fuck is going on in this scene? This Devil’s Advocate man would not have lasted a second in what we’ve seen of Wackner’s court before this point—he is an obvious liar and showman who Wackner would have no patience for. And if Cord has a bone to pick with Julius, this is an odd way of showing it, because it feels like Cord is there as a familiar face and not for a story reason.  

Like, does Cord actively HATE Julius? Is... that supposed to be the point of this?

Seriously though, Devil’s Advocate would get like two sentences into his story about how Julius grew up poor before Wackner would make him stop, and if he got farther than that, Julius interrupting to ask “What are you talking about?” would’ve prompted Wackner to hold up that “cut the shit” card.  

This humor is so fucking lazy. In the worst moments of this show, they take gags that have previously been successful and run with them until you can’t believe you ever found them endearing. That’s this scene.

Also it just occurred to me when I referenced the “Cut the Shit” card that we’ve seen Wackner be able to get audience responses to his cases. Seems to me like you pretty much already have your focus group results, no? You do more of the things that make the live audience excited and fewer of the things that make them get up and leave. The things that the live audience plays along with and reacts to are the catch phrases you’re going to put on merchandise. I’m not a TV producer and this is very obvious to me.  

Instead of telling this lying lawyer to stop, Wackner instead asks the court musician to play “This is Us like music.” Make it stop. I don’t know who finds this funny but it’s not me!

Can you IMAGINE the fake reality show airing any of this? I dislike it and I know all of the players and context.

There is a shot of Del looking excited to see what’s going to happen. I’m sorry, but if Del’s instincts are this bad I just do not believe he runs a streaming service. Maybe his main role is to do the business stuff, not the content stuff? (But if so, why’s he always hanging around Wackner’s court?)

This episode is full of extremely essential scenes, like Marissa and the editor having sex as they watch footage of Marissa. Good for Marissa, I guess? This could’ve really easily just been implied. And if you really want to give Marissa more material, give her an arc, not a hookup where the focus of the sex scene is the editor dude. Or, like, just let her react to the whole prison revelation from the last episode. WHY ARE WE NOT TALKING ABOUT HOW WACKNER IS SENDING PEOPLE TO PRISON?

Liz and Allegra meet. Allegra makes it sound like it is about her book but then she’s extremely (and intentionally, I think) obvious that she’s there to be the third partner and that Diane scouted her.  

What is the point of Allegra asking if Liz has a view of Willis Tower and misidentifying the building? Presumably Allegra lives in Chicago, so you’d think she’d know its most recognizable building by sight (and would probably also call it the Sears Tower).  

Liz likes Allegra.  

Now there are a ton of cops in court and Del is loving the drama. Sure, it’s dramatic, but is this really want you want to air? Some convoluted thing where a bunch of police officers intimidate a lawyer who works at a firm that was unfairly linked to a cop killing because that lawyer refused to pay a parking ticket issued by a fake court? Who... who is this for?! What’s the angle? Who is amused by this?  

Marissa sees Julius is the defendant and jumps into action. She asks Wackner why he’s prosecuting Julius and he says it’s his job. She argues that Julius is from their firm and this is bullshit. Wackner still won’t let him go.

If Julius is from the firm and Wackner employs the firm, is Julius NOT covered under the court employee banner? Why do I even care.

Wackner acts like he’s just not bending the rules, just like Marissa wanted. I’m not interested in this enough to decide whether I agree that this is consistent or think this is actually a different scenario. I just want to be done with this episode so I can forget about it.

I imagine—maybe hope is a better word—that this episode is bad because it’s hard to write five great episodes in a row without kind of phoning one in. I wish this episode didn’t kill the momentum coming out of 5x07 but I’m hoping that it is an isolated issue and not a drop in quality that will also spoil 5x09 and 5x10.

Wackner closes the door on Marissa, which I think is supposed to be meaningful, and Marissa calls Diane down to Wackner’s court to help Julius.  

Diane and Liz both go to court. “I’m about to be sent to prison for parking in a purple zone,” Julius explains. “What does that mean?” Diane asks. “If I explained it to you, it wouldn’t make any more sense,” Julius says.

Oh so now we remember that Wackner’s prison exists. When I said I wanted more about it, I didn’t mean that I wanted it looming as a threat... I meant I wanted to explore what it meant that Wackner was promoting prisons...

Diane asks if they should call the police, “the real ones.” I like that it takes her a second longer than Liz and Julius to understand the cops are real. Liz also notes that the SA’s office won’t help either because they might be happy with anything that fucks with RL. This scene is decent. Some of the themes in here are decent. It just feels poorly timed and with the emphasis in the wrong place. I imagine the goal here is to show that Wackner is now more concerned with enforcement than with the process for trials, and that enforcement brings with it a lot of uncomfortable questions. I wish that we’d spend less time on the incredulous reactions and silliness and more time reckoning with those questions.  

The next focus group likes the Wackner anger outburst, because, in Del’s mind, they want to see Wackner care about something. Does Del have the worst judgment ever? Wackner looks invested in every single thing he does—how could anyone accuse him of not seeming like he cares? His whole thing, the whole thing that got Del’s attention, is that he pays each case the kind of individualized attention it deserves. Now he only looks like he cares if he blows up? Even if the thing he’s caring about in the explosion in question is his own reputation? Is Del trying to make Wackner into a mid-2010s anti-hero? And if so... why?

Wackner’s outburst that accuses Del of corruption is apparently so good it got an unprecedented “95%” from the focus group. Sure. Why not.  

Then Del tells him to keep doing cases “just like this” and they’ll keep the court going. Does that mean just like the ALREADY HIGH PROFILE AND ALREADY HAND PICKED FOR TELEVISION cancel culture case, or cases like the Julius case? If the first, well, duh, that’s why they picked that case in the first place. If the second, again, why?

“You and your colleagues think you get to decide when and how justice is determined. You think it is your right to make and break the rules as you see fit,” Wackner says to Julius. UM, WACKNER, THAT IS LITERALLY YOUR ENTIRE DEAL???????????????????????????  

That’s the point, right????? Please tell me the point of this is that Wackner is supposed to look totally hypocritical and like an egomaniac who thinks his own judgment should not be questioned but everyone else’s should be????????????????????????? If this line isn’t meant to be supremely ironic I... I wouldn’t even know where to start.  

“The law belongs to the people,” Wackner says, and the cops start chanting, “USA!”. What?!  

And then we cut away from this and suddenly we’re welcoming Allegra to the firm and... did I miss an entire episode or something? What happened with Julius? Why are Liz and Diane smiling? How did Diane and Liz’s conversation about Allegra go? Did the other partners agree to this? Did David Lee? This is a very big development! I need more!  

Madeline seems welcoming towards Allegra. She and another partner are still suspicious of Diane because they have seen right through this strategy. So... I guess we aren’t done with this arc yet.  

Aw, Liz has a picture of herself with her son when he was a baby on her desk.  

Diane and Liz drop Wackner as a client. It takes longer than it should for Marissa’s name to come up in this conversation.  

If you were wondering about the Julius case we spent most of the episode building up, it’s resolved off screen by Wackner releasing Julius with time served. Why? Don’t know. Did it seem like it was headed that way during anything we previously saw? Nope.  

Wackner won’t let Diane and Liz back out, saying he gets to choose his representation (does it REALLY work this way?) and also, probably more importantly, that they won’t be able to get all of Cord’s business if they piss him off by dropping Wackner.  

Wackner also notes that they picked up his pilot. I’m sorry, what? Del didn’t just decide that the series he created for his streaming platform would be straight to series? That whole little “Wackner doesn’t test well” plot was resolved by showing an episode with the COTW they obviously should’ve shown from the start and then Wackner made a total of zero changes to his behavior or attitude and now the show is a huge success? What was the POINT? Why did I just watch that?!  

“Fuck,” Liz says as the episode ends.  

I’ve kinda always thought this, but it’s worth saying again: Madeline and company should resign from the firm. BOTH RL and STRL care more about profit than anything else. Liz and Diane want to work together. Liz and Diane both take the threat of losing Cord’s business seriously. If Madeline wants a firm that’s focused on social justice, it doesn’t matter if Diane is name partner or not. Liz is probably even faster than Diane to decide things based on money, and even if she weren’t, STRL owns them! Plus, I have a feeling that Diane, her clients, Liz, and Cord are probably individually worth more to STRL than Madeline and the other partners combined. If Allegra is down to pursue profit and deal with corporate overlords too, then Madeline and the others matter even less to STRL. Just cut your losses and start the firm you want to start. At this point it won’t even compete with RL.  

Don’t get me started on this absolutely idiotic title sequence for Wackner Rules. I’m sure this is someone’s idea of a joke. If I take it seriously, then I have to write about how it is even worse than all of the things I just complained about for the entirety of this recap, and honestly, I’m exhausted.  

[myheelsdontmatchmysweatpants]

Pear-cut Diamonds & Forget-me-nots

A/N: I am aggressively late for this collab and I’m very sorry. But here is my piece for the BNHAREM On The Job Collab. Please check out all of the other contributors here! There is a fun fact at the bottom of this post!

**Also! the quote at the end is from famous French poet and writer Antoine de St-Exupéry.

Yuuga, Aoyama x Fem Y/N

Warnings: fluff, lots and lots of fluff

“Good morning mademoiselle, you look ravishing as always.”

You huff out a laugh, not at all phased by the natural flirty tone of your coworker. “It’s 1 o’clock in the afternoon Aoyama, and I know I look like a trash panda so don’t lie to me.” As you set down your things next to your work bench the flamboyant blonde approaches you.

“L/N, I know for a fact that you woke up not an hour ago so good morning, and as for your looks.” He reaches over and tucks an errant strand of hair behind your ear. “Even if you look like a ‘trash panda’ you are a beautiful one.”

Despite the horrible cheesy line, a slight blush dusts your cheeks. “Alright fine. If I’m gonna believe anyone it’s gonna, be you, mister cultivator of beauty.”

“I’m going to take that as a compliment, despite your obvious sarcasm.” Aoyama tilts his chin up, flicking his shoulder length hair back.

You shake your head at him, a smirk on your face while turning your back to him. As you move around your work shop, setting up the tools you need for the day Aoyama watches you, silently. Always enchanted with the way your movements go fluid and your face softens when concentrated on work. Know better than to linger, he softly bids you good bye before exiting and making his way to the store front.

“One day Y/N. One day you will realize the beauty I see in you.” He sighs forlornly. “For now, I will take pleasure in reminding you.”

You never let Aoyama stay in your workshop while you’re working. Not because you get nervous when people watch, you love showing of your skill; and not because you’re worried about him seeing you get sweaty, you don’t care what you look like when crafting. The reason why you don’t let him stay in your workshop was because the one time you did, he would not. Stop. Talking. No matter how many times you told him you had to concentrate he always had a question to ask. No matter how many times you told him you would answer anything after you were done, he would come back with “but what if I forget a question?”

You were halfway through soldering a custom engagement ring when you finally had to ask him to leave. Your excuse being that if he saw the whole process the end result wouldn’t be as impressive. He simply nodded his head and winked before waltzing off to check on the employees in the front.

Regardless of the perpetually annoyingly peppy attitude of the man, you will forever be grateful for Yuga Aoyama. He gave you a chance to prove your talent before he judged your personality.

Never one to sugar coat or kiss ass; most of your past employers, or anyone who knows you really, describes you as grumpy bordering on rude.

After many lost chances and “you don’t fit with our team” excuses you began to feel like maybe everyone was right about you. Eventually you got tired of living in the states, your reputation following you everywhere; so, you packed up and moved to Japan, having always been drawn to the culture, food, and otherworldly beauty of it. You managed to get yourself employed by a tech manufacturer soldering motherboards and other ugly things that didn’t interest you. You job allowed you to obtain a work visa and have a steady income where your aloof attitude didn’t matter. No one is paying attention to your resting bitch face or unwillingness to converse when they all have their minds on their own intricate work.

Not wanting to give up on your passion for creating jewelry, you managed to save up enough money to buy the tools you had to leave behind and start creating again. You didn’t have a lot of free time, so you were only able to make one piece every couple weeks, normally rings or necklaces. Anything you made was either sold online or at local pawn shops.

It was one of your trips to a pawn shop downtown where you happened to meet Aoyama. He had been looking to buy pieces of jewelry for his private collection when he walked in on your striking a deal with the owner.

“Miss l/n, as impressed as I am by your work the last piece you brought me has not sold and I try my best to not have more than one piece from a seller at a time. It shows favoritism towards a certain person and I do not want to give anyone a disadvantage.”

You heard footsteps behind you and dropped the conversation, not wanting to take the owners time away from paying clients. The ring you had finished polishing just the day before sitting on a blue velvet pillow as you move to the side to give them space you hear a hum. Your eyes flashing over to the person to determine whether it was from annoyance or interest.

You stop breathing for a moment, awestruck by the man in front of you. He had such a strong presence, and honestly, he was quite beautiful. His indigo eyes, his teeth, the tastefully sized blue diamond studs in his ears all glittering. As you were examining him, he was examining your work.

Aoyama had seen plenty beautiful pieces of jewelry, had sold many of them at his parents store. Your work was not the most beautiful he had seen, not to say it wasn’t gorgeous in its own right, but the careful details and craftmanship spoke of a person who put a piece of their soul into everything they crafted.

The ring was sterling silver, polished to a mirror finish. The band flowing from the center stone in two layers, both shaped like tear drops the top layer forged to look like they were falling from the center. The bottom layer reversed; tiny diamonds no bigger than grans of sand covered the layers stopping just before the band would disappear between the fingers. The ring finished off with a pear-shaped stone that was to his trained eye a man-made diamond of flawless quality.

“How much?”

Startled by the sound of his voice you looked at him for a moment with your mouth open before remembering yourself and closed it, standing straighter. He sounded European, French more than likely considering the vague accent which would explain the blonde hair and blue eyes.

“I’m, um… I’m sorry?”

“The price, mademoiselle. How much are you asking for the ring?” He was standing with his hands behind his back, making eye contact but not oppressively so.

He has kind eyes.

You hesitate for a moment, deciding to be honest with him. “I’m not well versed in the exchange rate; the owner of the shop normally handles that for me.”

“Not a problem, I’m guessing USD is what you are familiar with correct?”

“Yes.” No need to ask how he knows, one word out of your mouth and it’s clear your American if a glance at how you look wasn’t enough.

He bends down to examine the ring again. “May I?” he holds his hand out, as if to pluck the ring from its velvet perch.

“Oh, of course!”

The shop owner watches the conversation with mild amusement, having dealt with the young sir several times before. He knew that face when he saw it, this was all business, he decided to walk off, leaving you both to talk.

After examining the ring up close, even going as far as removing a jewelers loop from his impeccably tailored suit jacket, he places it back on the pillow and turns to you.

“Yuga, Aoyama. Nice to meet you miss?” As he holds his hand out you look at it with confusion before placing yours in it. Before you can react, he brings it to his lips and gives it a peck.

You choke one your words, never having had a man do that to you in real life. “Uhhh, I’m L/N Y/N. Nice to meet you as well Mr. Aoyama.”

Yuga smiles brightly at your flustered expression and glances at the ring once more before speaking. “Twelve thousand, for the ring and a job.”

Your mouth falls open again, this time you don’t both to close it.

Twelve thousand? I would have been happy to get five, but twelve?

“Wait did you say and a job?”

After explaining that his parents owned a well-known jewelry store uptown and that they had always wanted to hire a full-time jeweler to work in the back of their shop for custom requests and general repairs he offered you the job again.

“You would be the only person in the workshop, and we would provide you with your own space behind the store, for ease of access should someone need an emergency repair.”

Not giving yourself time to reconsider you accepted, shaking on it, and telling him you could start in two weeks.

It has been almost three years since then and despite a rocky start, mostly with the other employees barging into your workshop and demanding you to drop everything and polish or repair something, you could never regret taking the job.

Aoyama’s parents might own the shop, but he was an employee like everyone else. His parents believed in him having real world experience; well as much as you can get from working for your parents.

Aoyama had been a permanent part of your life since then, making sure you had all the tools you needed. Staying late so that he could take you home when it got dark. He was always making sure you ate during the day and stayed hydrated.

He went from a friendly coworker to a friend, to a best friend in a matter of months and before you knew it, you never went a day without talking to him at least once. You started to spend time together outside of work as well, whether it was sitting in companionable mostly silence at your apartment drinking tea; or having lavish dinners at restaurants that were always oddly vacant even during the weekend. Yuga always made sure that anything you did together was your choice, even if you decided you wanted to be alone. He merely gave you a slight nod and, again with your permission, a kiss on the cheek before leaving you alone.

The one thing you could never get used too was the compliments. Although you had gotten better at shrugging them off and not having your face burst into flames, every nice comment or kind word rattled in your brain until you feel asleep that night. Only to be replaced with new ones the next day.

You don’t know when you started to think about him in a more serious sense, but you became more aware of the effect his presence had on you after dealing with a particularly tough customer.

Aoyama found you crying in your workshop after hearing about the disaster of a consultation.

You had brought the finished piece to the customer and they had blown up at you, claiming nothing looked even remotely professional and that the piece was sloppy. He was told that you calmly handled the situation, showing them the paper, they had signed stating in extreme detail what they wanted and pointing out that you had done everything correctly.

Eventually his father had to step in giving you leave to silently retreat to your workshop in the back.

When he walked in, making sure to shut the door softly enough to not startle you but loud enough that you knew he was there, he walked up and sat next to you. Not saying a word, not touching you, just letting you know that he was there, he was present should you need him.

He sat there until you reached out a hand, and he grabbed it in both of his.

“I – I know I shouldn’t let this affect me, and – and that it’s stupid,” you hiccup, tears still slowly running down your face. “it’s stupid to cry. But I, it’s painful to have someone work so hard to tear down my work, to tear me down.”

“Y/n darling, look at me.” Aoyama softly grabs your chin and tilts your face up, brushing his thumb over your cheek. “It is never stupid to cry if you need to shed some tears then do so, it will help ease your pain.” He pulls a handkerchief from his pocket and dabs at your tears. “It is alright if this affects you, it will make most people feel bad, just don’t let it consume you.”

“I thought we were going on a date?” You look up in confusion at the simple yet no less elegant house you were driving up to, Yuga’s house.

“We are mon cheri!” He pulls up in front and parks the car, getting out and going around to your door.

Is that a valet?

Aoyama opens your door and holds out his hand, ever the chivalrous gentleman, and you grab it. As you step out of the vehicle and shut the door, the valet takes the keys and drives off, going around the back of the house.

He hired a valet, just to drive his car to his garage.

“This is your house.” You look at the building then back at him incuriously.

“Observant as always darling, yes this my house.” He holds out his arm for you to take, which you do, without hesitation. “I am well aware of your aversion to crowded enclosed spaces.” His voice soft as you both walk up the front steps of his home. “So, I decided what better way to ensure you are comfortable than to have a date at my home?”

“Your name sir?”

You were to busy watching your steps on the stairs that the cheery female voice startled you. Snapping your head up your eyes go wide, comically so, at the sight of a podium next to the front doors. A woman with A-line brown hair and a kind face is dressed in a black turtleneck standing behind it.

“Aoyama, Yuga. For two.”

She glances down at the book in front of her, as if checking for his name you glance at your friend. Aoyama only stands in place, patiently waiting for the hostess to escort you both to your table.

After a quick moment, she looks back up a smile on her face and laughter in her eyes. She steps out from behind the podium and opens one of the doors, her knee length black skirt fluttering in the wind.

“Right this way, we have your table already set.”

As you both start down the long hallway you sneak a peek at the “guest book” not surprisingly finding the pages blank. You huff out a laugh and let yourself be lead to the back of the house. “You really went all out with this huh?”

No answer, just the soft thudding of your shoes on the carpet and the far away sounds of cooking coming from the kitchen at the other end of the house. As you approach the door that leads to his backyard, a glass one that normally allows an unobstructed view of the carefully maintained garden, you are instead met with a thick velvet curtain. As it sways and moves, velvet waves on an emerald ocean, you take one more look at your companion and meet his eyes.

Aoyama can see the confusion and excitement in your eyes, in the way your eyebrows are slightly raised, how you chew on your lip, and he smiles.

In a grand flourish the hostess open the curtain and he watches as your face turns to the open door and your mouth drops open.

“Your table awaits.”

“I want you to be my partner, in any capacity that you are comfortable blessing me with.”

“W-what?” You’re frozen in your seat, lips gently parted, eyes lined with silver.

Yuga stands from his chair and moves it to sit beside you, taking your hand so softly holding it as if you were made of glass. As always, he looks in your eyes, checking for any sign of discomfort before continuing. “Whether it be a friend, a lover, or a significant other. I want to be in your life for as long as you will allow it.”

Your breath hitches, the silver lining your eyes growing thicker as they swirl with emotion.

“Aimer, ce n’est pas se regarder l’un I’auter, c’est regarder ensemble dans la même direction.”**

You don’t know what the phrase means, but the tone of his voice, the love in his eyes causes the tears to spill over.

Yuga gazes at you silently for a moment, speechless. The love he feels for you reflected in your eyes, in your smile, and then he is crying. “Love doesn’t mean gazing at each other, but looking, together, in the same direction.”

He holds out a hand, a small box resting in his cupped palm, with the ring you had crafted, the one he bought on your first meeting. “I love you Y/N; will you look toward the future, together, with me?”

@doinmybesthere @patchworkpuzzle @eyebagsbutglam​ 

Fun Fact!

The ring Y/n made is based off of my irl engagement ring! Here is a picture of it, please excuse my chubby hands.