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yamithediaperdork · 3 years ago

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Birthday wishes

It was Jack's 6th birthday, and the little guys party was going off with a bang. Lots of friends over and tons of presents for the little guy since he was just the sweetest most loving little shorty ever.

It was that all loving and understand nature of the little guy that had him not only keeping quiet about how just last week he had woken up in the middle of the night and seen his big brother, 13 years old (his birthday was next week) wearing white and pink diapers with little princesses on them and a pinkish white top that had said princess on the front in hot pink letters.

Jacob had been showing off to someone on web cam in their shared bedroom and clearly didn't expect Jack to wake up, and so the little guy while finding it confusing then funny, had bit his tongue and rolled over, pretending to still be asleep while his mind had spun.

His big brother wanted to be a baby girl? Mister rough and tough 'I'm gonna be in the WWE when i grow up'? It was a conflicting mental image but the more Jack thought about it, the more it seemed to him that it would explain just why Jacob was so back and forth with his mood swings lately.

He'd toyed with just telling Jacob what he'd seen and offer to babysit him, let him baby out but then pictured Jacob getting all defensive and make him get even more unhappy and moody which was the last thing the little guy wanted. At a lost of options Jack who stilled believed in the magic of birthday wishes made up his mind to use HIS to help his brother out, and as such when it was time for the birthday boy to blow out the candles he formed formed out the mental image of Jacob in a super girly dress, thick diapers and all happy and blew.

'I wish for Jacob to be able to be the happy big baby girl he wants to be!'

The Party finished up soon after, and though he was asked over and over again, Jack refused to tell anyone what his wish was, citing that it wouldn't come true then but kept giggling and looking at Jacob and winking.

That night Jacob had a weird dream, it involved him sitting in some sort of office building, in a cubicle but while it had office furniture and the like, it was staffed solely by Fairy's, or at least he assumed as much since they were only half his size and had wings.

"Ah Jacob! Good to see you! I'm Pixel, and I'll be handling your case." The short haired blond said, extending a hand to him and her breath smelling like a mixture of vanilla and cinnamon.

"I..Uh..ok.." Jacob said, reaching out and shaking her hand, making a mental note to lay off the pizza before bed.

"I can see your confused. I work for the department of Birthday wishes, and well, it seems like your little brother used his to try and make you happy. Since he's one of the rare super good ones and believe so totally in us, we're gonna grant this one, we just need to clear up a few things first since again it involves you." Pixel said.

"..Never knew wish granting had gone corporate." Jacob said.

"Oh yeah, the reform cam back in the 90's. it's much more streamlined now but does take a bit of the magic out of it..pardon the pun." She giggled then went on, as she tapped away at a keyboard in front of her. "Now, according to this you wanna be a silly baby girl, but just in spirit and mind, not actually regressed..is that correct?"

Jacob felt a flush come to his cheeks, and started to squirm in his seat.

"I well..er..see.." he stammered as Pixel giggled.

"I'm gonna take that as a yes. Did you wanna retain control of your tinkles and boom booms or just total baby?" She said, grinning with delight.

"I..I.." Jacob mewed, wishing he'd just wake up.

"I can't just assume on this part for you little one. what is it?" Pixel said, making her voice sound extra soothing.

"..I wanna have no control over my tinkles and boom boom's." Jacob said in a small voice.

"Noted~ and don't worry little one. part of the magic is only Jack will know you were ever a silly big boy..everyone else is always gonna thing you were a full on big baby girl. and of course we DO have to include a escape clause just in case. Since it's your birthday next week, if your unhappy with how things are going you can use your wish to undo everything. No harm, no foul." Pixel said.

"I..Uh..Noted?" Jacob mewed.

"Right! if you'll just wait here for a second.." Pixel said, hitting a key and then zipping up into the air and leaving, coming back in a flash with a piece of paper. "I'll just need you to sign this contract giving us consent to make you a diaper filling chin drooling big dumb baby girl~" She said, smirking and then catching herself. "ehehe..sorry. just always so funny to me when I get to do these~"

"I..It's s'ok." Jacob mewed out, grabbing a pen and starting to sign, then pausing. "Uh..can..can you make me..like..EXTRA baby dumb?"

"heh, of course~"

Jacob had woken up in the morning, the dream first in his mind and also in a smelly wet bed, Jack standing over him.

"Jacob..Jacob ..come on silly, you need to get up. you wet the bed." the little guy was saying.

"Not I..did...n't?" Jacob had gone to say then looked down, the proof was right there and he blushed badly, and oddly almost felt like crying.

"Hey..hey..it's ok. accidents happen!" Jack said, giving a over the top silly grin which made Jacob giggle and smile too. "Why don't you go and get a shower in, and I'll get this all cleaned up for you ok?" Jack asked and ruffled Jacob's hair.

the ruffle felt super good and Jacob closed his eyes, enjoying it and was disappointed as the hand was pulled away.

"Uh..Yeah ok. Thanks Jack." He said, giving a grin and getting out of bed. "your growing up so fast!" He added with a giggle and headed for the bathroom.

"..You have NO idea." Jack giggled and then started to handle the clean up.

Breakfast was interesting as Jacob apparently had trouble getting his peanut butter and jam toast to go into his mouth, but he just played it off as lingering effects from the dream and tried to put it out of his mind, though couldn't help but blush and squirm in his seat as Jack tsk'ed and came over with a damp wash cloth.

"Sheesh, maybe next time try getting some of it in your mouth!" Jack teased, and without asking for permission washed Jacob's face for him, making the closet sissy baby melt as he felt so smol.

"T-Thank bi- I mean..Little bro." Jacob said, stammering and blushing.

"Awww, you can call me big brother if you want." Jack had said and winked.

Thankfully their parents had gone off to work so weren't around to see the display, though little did Jacob know if they had, they would of just smirked.

it was minor, but the change was already underway.

Class for the most part was as boring as usual, with Jacob drifting in and out of attention and mostly just doodling in his notebook, till a sudden and all powerful need to whiz hit him and his hand shot up into the air.

unfortunately he had just volunteered to come to the front of the classroom and solve a math problem and his protests of needing to use the bathroom merely got snickers from his classmates and the old crone of a teacher (Jacob was sure she had been a escapee of the salaam witch trials) just told him if he wanted to use the potty, he'd have to solve the problem.

Normally ok with math (he wasn't going to go into the advance class anytime soon or join the math team) Jacob found most of his brain focusing on his really full bladder as the problem on the board might as well been asking him to figure out a rocket formula rather then a simple division problem.

Crossing his legs and semi hunching up and down much to the amusement of the rest of the class Jacob almost could swear his back teeth were floating as he finally started to scribble something out on the chalk board, he'd take the scolding for the wrong answer after he got back from taking what was going to be a epic piss..or at least that was the plan.

But the best last plans of mortals often get tossed aside as the old crone frowned at his answer.

"Young man, do you think this is a joke!?" She snarled, and jabbed a boney finger at the board, while the class was hooting with laughter.

Jacob was confused till he looked at the answer and as it turned out his need to go was so strong on his mind he hadn't scribbled out random number, but wrote 'Baby Jacob needs to tinkle!'

"I uh..See.." Jacob stammered, he was at his bursting point and red in the face, already knowing before the day was out he was going to have a new nick name and hoping the story attached to it wouldn't include a wet pair of pants.

once again fate was not smiling at him as the crone slapped a rule on a desk, making everyone else jump, and making Jacob do something far far worse.

"Ew he's actually wetting himself!" one girl cried out.

"Well he DID say he had to." snickered a boy.

"Holy heck, look at the puddle he's making ! back up, hes gonna flood the room!" Cried out a girl in the front row, snatching up her backpack and climbing up onto her chair.

"Young man you stop that this instant!" The crone demanded, but the only reply she got from Jacob was a gurgle of happiness even as tears streamed down his cheeks and he dropped onto his knees caught in the pure bliss of draining a full bladder.

Jack had been in his class when he was called to the office, him and Jacob both when to the same school as there wasn't enough student to make two separate ones needed, and was puzzled until he walked into the nurses room just behind the office where Jacob was sitting wearing a short light pink skirt, a faint smell of pee in the air.

on a table near by triple bagged was Jacob's soggy undies and pants, or so Jack assumed as the smell of pee was coming from them and Jacob's hair looked a little damp, meaning he'd been allowed to take a shower.

"Your Brother had a little accident..and not only did he forget to bring his gym clothes with him, but apparently forgot the key to your house. we've tried to get in contract with your parents but there's no answer." the Nurse said, trying not to snicker and smirk too much as she looked at the mortified teenager who was tugging at the skirt.

"heh, I can give him my house key yeah, but whats with the skirt?" Jack asked, reaching into his left pocket but getting stopped.

"it was the only thing in the lost and found in his size..well that and a pair of panties. and Jacob has a request for you." The nurse said.

"Oh?" Jack asked, having a feeling he knew what it was.

"Uh..Big brother..can you walk me home?" Jacob mewed, his thumb on his chin and on the verge of popping in his mouth.

"heh, Of course I can little lady~" Jack said and ruffled his so called big brother's hair, getting a giggle in response.

Both boys had been signed out for the day (something that they're parents were just gonna be sooo pleased to hear) so they weren't in the biggest rush to get back to their home even if Jacob was pretty in pink.

sucking his thumb and holding onto Jack's hand the pair got more then a few stares as cars and other people on the streets passed them but Jack would just smile and wave as Jacob adorably tried to hide behind his 'big brother' even though he was taller, Though he noticed not as much as he had been this morning.

If anyone asked what exactly was going on Jack would handle the talking, saying his special little sister wanted to get some fresh air and people just left it at that.

"You know, there's only one thing that sucks about walking you home like this." Jack said as they came up the driveway./ "well ok, two."

"W-what's that?" Jacob asked, pulling his drool coated thumb out of his mouth.

"One, they didn't have a cute little hair bow for you." Jack said winking and getting a giggle. "And two, it's over already."

"Umm we could always go to the park after I get changed!" Jacob suggested.

"Tempting but I'm not gonna reward you for having a accident at school by letting you play on the swings little missy." Jack said, wagging a finger at Jacob and making the bigger boy whine.

"I-I tried ta go to the potty but my tea-" Jacob started and Jack held up a hand, the big sissy shushing up.

"Now now, none of that. you wouldn't of had to worry about any of that if you would of been wearing one of your diapers like a good girl." Jack said, grinning ear to ear as Jacob turned tomato red.

"M-M-MY what? I-I don't kn-" The poor sissy tried to deny it, but Jack just cut him off.

"Now now, none of that. we both know your just a little princess. now let's go get that cute butt back in some princess diapers and then you can watch some my little pony while I make us a snack." Jack said, reaching up and ruffling the top of Jacob's head and while he had to stand on his tippy toes to do so, again, earlier this morning Jacob would of had to of been sitting down.

"I uh.. Otay big brother." He squeaked out.

one double diapering later (any protests from Jacob being shushed by a costume pacifier he'd gotten being popped in his mouth and a nursing urge taking over) and the pair were back in the living room with baby Jacob sitting on a soft and fuzzy blanket on the floor and hugging a stuffed teddy bear, his skirt around him and trying but not QUITE able to keep his pink princess diapers from being on display. the panties were just tossed out out however as Jacob had looked on in confusion.

"what's with the look? Don't tell me that my silly little sister thinks she's ready for big girl undies!" Jack chuckled shaking his head as if Jacob had just told the worlds funniest joke. "Come on sweetie, we both know it's a wonder you didn't go uh-oh on our way home."

replying that over and over in his head, Jacob just felt so tiny and smol..and he was loving every second of it as he accepted that yeah, this was really happening and figured it was just the dream at work..it hadn't really been a dream.

Of course while the wish was in fact in play and Jacob was getting smaller and small, his outfit shrinking along with him or changing (Case in point his paci had switched to a Nuk 5) the bigger changes hadn't actually happened as of yet, this was just Jack playing up what he knew and enjoying a bit of fun while Jacob still hadn't gone full on two plus two equals fish baby dumb.

"Hey, earth to babygirl, come in! this is ground control." Jack said, snapping his fingers and Jacob blushed as he realized he had totally zoned out just gushing in how smol and cute he felt.

"About time, Said your name three times." Jack chuckled and then held out a shallow bowl with apple slices in it and Jacob raised a eyebrow and turned to look at Jack, letting his paci fall out of his mouth.

"Um big brother.. you know apples give me the poops.." He said.

"heh, Awww, is somebody trying to say something?" jack asked with a wink letting Jacob know he was just playing. "All I hear if ba ba goo goo."

'wait..does he WANT me to go boom in my diapies?!!' Jacob thought, the idea of being a helpless little pamper packer of course was a long time want. But one he had never acted on due to well, having to dispose of the treasure so to speak and sharing a room with his little brother.

"Eat up princess, and know I have lots of apples if you want more~" Jack said and kissed Jacob's forehead and headed back to the kitchen to get a sippy cup of apple juice ready.

6 apples and one carton of apple juice latter and Jacob was quickly earning a nickname of princess stinky as the little sissy (Now almost the same size as Jack) was pooting up a storm. Jack of course would make faces and wave a hand but then was quick to add that he was just kidding and give the gassy little sissy a BIG hug when Jacob would look ashamed or sorry. Ironically it was during one of these 'it's ok to stink' hugs that Jack made extra tight that widdle baby Jacob let out a tiny gasp and then was clinging tight to his big brother as he started to rapidly fill the seat of his princess diapers.

"I'm pooping!" Jacob cried out, burying his face in Jack's shoulder as Jack laughed and rubbed Jacob's back.

"heh, good thing you told me, I would of never been able to tell." he teased.

Jacob pulled his head back up to let out a raspberry at Jack who then hammed up a confused look.

"Whoa! Your a talented pooper baby sis! your about to poot in stereo!" he said then broke into giggles and so did Jacob.

Letting the little lady finish up destroying his diaper, Jack tugged Jacob who was not half a foot shorter then him into his lap, and cuddled him., somehow able to ignore the stink.

"Um..Aren't you gonna change my stinky diapie?" Jacob asked.

"Do you want a diaper change now, or do you wanna enjoy it for awhile Princess stinky?" Jack asked, pausing the episode of MLP and smiling. I'm fine with it either way..this is ALL about what my cute widdle sissy wants." he added and tapped a finger on the edge of Jacob's nose.

"..I'd wike ta sit in it fer a bit..and umm.." and Jacob was poking two fingers together now.

"yes?"

"Mayyybe if you wanted to.. get a horsie ride." Jacob said, looking anywhere but at jack.

"heh, Cute. Princess stinky is also a little cowgirl."

By the time their parents got home Jacob had finally stopped shrinking, and came up to Jack's waist. they're room had changed as well, now half decorated like a little boys room and the other half like a baby girls nursery, including a crib, diaper pail, a closet full of dresses and sleepers and the like and of course..lots and lots of DIAPERS since he WAS princess stinky. it even said as much on his diaper pail..or so he was told as it got harder and harder for him to read as the week went by.

As Jacobs birthday came around (13 going on 2) the little gurl was super excited and couldn't wait for all his presents and got smirks and chuckles when he promised to make lots of them in return.

"Like we would expect anything else from Princess stinky." Jack chuckled.

naturally any trace of Jacob ever having gone to school had vanished as his new role was pushed into place and the night before his birthday the cute little sissy baby tossed and turned for hours (Or maybe it was just minutes, he couldn't really tell time anymore) before finally slipping into a deep sleep at around 6:45..having been allowed to stay up half a hour because it was his birthday tomorrow.

Jacob found himself sitting back in the cubicle and while he was still in his diapies and his pink footie and mitten covered sleeper, he had his full mind back as he looked at Pixel who was grinning big time.

"I have to say little one, your transformation went even faster then I expected..this should of taken up most of the week but with you grabbing this with both hands it apparently helped speed things along." She giggled.

"i uh..well you know..er.." Jacob said, squirming lots and wishing he had a stuffie with him right now.

as if reading his mind, big soft teddy bear poofed into jacobs arms and he cuddled it and coo'ed happily, though he looked up as he remembered his manners.

"Thank you Pixel."

"Your VERY welcome Princess stinky." she giggled. "Now, I was suppose to wait until your party to see if you wanted to back out but with your rate of regression really catching us all by surprise..there's a good chance you're going to be too goo goo gaga baby dumb to remember you even have the option to back out of this..a mental state YOU yourself requested as you recall."

"Ehehehe. Yeah I do." Jacob giggled.

"As such, I'm to give you your option to back out now and return to your big boy life. Going to school, using the potty and being able to count at all, if you go back to this you'll be to busy trying to suck on your toes to try and use them for counting to 20." Pixel said but smirked before adding. "or you can stay a dim little diaper pooping sissy baby forever..teased but loved and making epic boom boom's as princess stinky. I have a feeling I know which one your going to pick..but I need you to say it to make it official."

"...I uh.. I wanna stay like this." Jacob said, hugging the teddy tight and looking down.

"heh, called it~ Alright, I'll just need you to sign away your right to returning to normal an-" Pixel paused, looking at the mitts. "..I'll just sign for you." She said with a giggle.

"Ehehehe fanks...Uh.. Pixel?" Jacob asked as she signed the paperwork making sure he'd always be a big silly sissy baby.

"Yes princess stinky?" she asked.

"Can I use my birthday wish for something else?"

"heh, what did you have in mind?" she asked.

"Um..I want Jack to have like..the bestest birthday party's ever for the rest of his life!" Jacob giggled. "after all, he's given me the bestest life ever!"

"heh..I think I can swing that. Looks like we're all done here Jacob. Hope you have a good life and know that even if you can't see me, I'll be always watching and laughing at you~" she coo'ed and tapped his nose.

"Ehehe.. fanks."

true to her words, Jacob was little more then a crawling gurgling dumb baby the next day at his party, blowing spit bubbles and getting himself covered in cake and frosting while friends and family all laughed and took pictures. And of course it was clear to everyone just who princess stinky liked the most as whenever Jacob wasn't getting a diaper change or in his highchair or being held by a adult.. he was crawling over rand sitting in his awesome big brothers arms who just would give him the best big hugs.

Maybe it wasn't how Jacob would of pictured his life turning out.. But he couldn't of asked for a happier ending.

The end.

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elphiej · 4 years ago

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Be My Light: Chapter 1 Shadows from Our Past

*Pairing: Yoonig X Reader

*Genre: Mafia, angst, eventual smut, slow burn

*Warnings: Language, violence, gun fight, mentions of abuse, mention for drugs.

Author’s note: Hi everyone, here is chapter one. My editor and I had some conversations about the length; they wanted to shorten it and I wanted to leave it in tact for the sake of the flow. Let me know if the length is too long or not. Also, there are a bunch of easter eggs (bangtan lyrics, iconic outfits, ect. as we continue) let me know what you find. And, of course, thank you for reading and let me know what you liked.

Tag list: @lalalalaloo-blog, @bangtan-sonyeonddaeng, @barbikatherine, @mrsfortune1306

The sun had just begun to fill the windows of the Lotus Apartment when you stepped out of your unit, coffee tumbler in one hand and bag slung over one shoulder , ready for a gruelingly long shift at Central Mercy Hospital. You let your eyes scan the corridor for any signs of life; no one else in their right mind would be up this early, yet anxiety had you checking the halls before you felt secure enough to fully exit your apartment. Taking out your keys, you pull your door shut and lock the two deadbolts that had become necessary in your mind.

And not just because of the active gang activity in this part of the city.

It had been close to three months since you had come to Central. And over four since you had left your miserable excuse of a ‘boyfriend’; The lying, abusive snake that was Daniel. Just thinking about him made your stomach churn. Your time in Central, alone in your apartment, helped you reflect on your relationship and how toxic it had been. At first, it was nice. He had been your friend. He had been supportive and kind. Then, he was your roommate, taking care of you and being your security in uncertain times. Then, he became your boyfriend. It was nice and normal, something you thought you’d never have. He was protective, at least that’s how you saw it at the time. Looking back now, it was controlling and manipulative. He would say things that you thought were sweet, but now you understood they were horrible things. He said he wanted an obedient, good girl; he’d tower over you and make you feel so small. And for some reason, you believed him. You stayed like that for too long. After you had taken a job, trying to help support the two of you, his behavior got worse. He started to drink, and his abuse became more physical. Afterwards, he’d always say how sorry he was, how much he cared about you, or how he only drank because he was worried about you. Somehow it was always your fault. He wanted you to quit your job at a small medical clinic near his secluded home, but it was your only escape. To make it worse, you found out he had been sleeping with another woman. And still, you stayed with him, because he had fucked your head up so bad that you thought you needed him. The final straw that snapped some sense into you was when you confronted him about the other woman. He had come home from drinking with her and went crazy when you said you were leaving. He screamed, threw you around the apartment, hit you. Then he trapped you against a wall and started choking you. Had you not been able to grab hold of a bottle he had left on an end table and hit him just right, you may not have made it this far.

You left that night with just your backpack full of clothes and the few personal belongings that you had with you, your cellphone, and the money in Daniel’s wallet. And you ran all through the night. You didn’t have a plan or destination but you just had to get as far away from him as you could. A small voice under all the doubt and fear that he had piled on you, cheered and drove you to keep going. You didn’t stop moving until you found a bus stop in the middle of nowhere. The driver had told you it was headed to Central, and something in that name seemed familiar to you. It drew you there like a siren’s call. Central was so large, it felt like it could have classified as a country. It was the perfect place to disappear. As the bus pulled into its terminal, that familiar feeling came back in as you gazed about the large buildings. But you chalked that up to remembering that you and your father moved around a lot.

It was one of the few memories you had like that.

Over the last few months, you had questioned why Daniel had changed so much. He had been the first face you remember seeing after the accident. And he had been the one to break the news to you. There had been a terrible accident, a horrendous car crash. You had been in the passenger seat when the car had broadsided by a drunk driver, sending the car rolling into a ditch. You had survived but your injuries were so severe that you had to be placed in a medical coma, and the trauma had affected your memory. When you woke up, you could remember very little of your past; You remembered that you had studied to be a nurse and recently graduated, that your father had been your only family, and that he had been a high ranking police officer. Daniel’s face was something that you sort of remembered as well, and you figured that was why you clung to him like an anchor. But everything else was wrapped in a dense fog, shattered like pieces of glass that couldn’t be put together. Daniel had, also, broken the news to you that your father hadn’t survived the accident. He stayed close to you for over a year, helping you through therapies, reminding you to take your anxiety medications, and wiping away the tears. He was perfect. But then, it changed. And any time you tried to talk to him about it, he would brush you off or say that he was stressed out, but that he loved you and just let him do what he needed.

What was funny was that in the months since leaving him, a piece of a memory had resurfaced. It was of your father and how he didn’t seem to like Daniel all that much. You could only think of what your father would have said when he saw what his daughter had become. You did remember how he had taught you to be strong and tough, to stand up against the bullies. He would be disappointed now. You rubbed your neck where he had choked you, smelling his alcohol pungent breath as he said so many nasty things to you.

But you got out and for that, anyone should be proud.

Shaking your head from the bad memories, you shoved your keys back into your bag and down the dimly lit hall towards the elevator. You felt a tad silly looking over your shoulder, thinking one day he was gonna show up at your door and drag you back to that unsafe mind set, but you had learned from the support group you had been to that it was normal. Thankfully, you were about to have a long shift to distract you from all those feelings. The intensive care unit had been short staffed, and with the increase in gang activity, everyone was working extra hard. Central Mercy was the most active hospital in all of Central; the others were less willing to help gang members or those targeted for fear of retaliation. But once they came through the ER doors, it didn’t matter what they were. If they needed help, you would help. Even villains need help, and maybe your help can change them, your father’s voice had echoed from somewhere in the foggy parts of your mind. Also, Central Mercy was the main hospital dealing with the current outbreaks of drug overdoses due to a strange street drug known as U4-1A, a highly addictive and deadly substance that had been making its way through the city. Mercy was more equipped for trying to save the overdoses that kept popping up. You had only seen a few of those cases, but the doctors who had been on the front of those, had described it as a mix of “ecstasy, meth, and cocaine all rolled into one deadly substance”. You shook your head. You didn’t understand why people would do that to themselves. But, then again, who would stay with a person who abused you for so long? As you stepped into the small elevator, you really needed a distraction from all these bad thoughts and your best friend, Amber, should be on her way into work by now. You decided to try and text her.

Bless that girl, she had been a big part in getting you back into a functioning human being. When you had stepped off the bus in Central, you were overwhelmed by everything. You were scared, tired, and had nowhere to go. You had felt so lonely. You ended up falling asleep on a bench just outside the station. That is where Amber had found you. She felt sorry for you and took you to get some food. Once she had heard your story, though, she brought you back to her loft to help you. She had said she was in your position once, but never explained what she had gone through, and wanted to help turn you around. She had got you into therapy, got you to open up, helped you find a job in her department at Mercy, and found the woman you were sure you had been on track to be before the accident had set you back.

You hit the lobby button on the elevator, then reached in your work bag for your phone as the door shut. You felt your umbrella, wallet, extra shirt, and even your lunch, but not the phone. You prayed that you didn’t leave your phone in the apartment in your sleep deprived haze. It wouldn’t be the first time this week that it had happened. Your anti-anxiety medicine had finally run out, even after you spaced them out over the last few weeks. And your mind had refused to shut off and you had been plagued by nightmares all night. Finally, your fingers had brushed against the plastic case of your phone. You let out a sigh of relief. However, when you pulled it out of your bag, you wished you hadn’t. It had been the phone that Daniel had given you, and the one that Amber had been trying to get you to throw away for months. You remembered having a panic attack when she had taken it from you. It had been one of the only things you could call yours. She had returned it to you after messing with the setting. Amber didn’t want to take any chances of him tracking the phone, not that you thought he could think of that, and told you not to respond to him. He had sent a few messages in the first few days; he said he was sorry and how much he loved you, but you did as Amber had asked. There was a small part of you that wanted to reach out, in secret. Thankfully, the logical part of your brain kept you silent. Amber wanted to block his number for good, but you left it as it was. She had given you a new phone not long after so you wouldn’t be tempted. And you hadn’t turned the old phone on since then. It had been stuffed in a bottom drawer, only reappearing now when you had rushed to grab an extra thick undershirt and stuffed it into the bag without realizing it.

The elevator came to a halt and opened to the empty lobby. You knew there wasn’t much time to decide what to do. You needed a phone- a curse of modern society to not be able to go a day without it. If you decided to go back up to retrieve your real phone, you still had to find it from where it had fallen in the chaos of this morning. And by then, you would miss your bus and be late to work. Technically, this was a working phone. You hit the power button; if it turned on, you would just get on with your day. That was your decision. It sprung to life, still with a good amount of power despite how long it had been in that drawer. The home screen had a picture of you and Daniel. It made you cringe at the sight of those smiling faces. But it worked and that would have to work. Amber may not be too happy to see it, but you’d rather deal with her then your supervisor. Plus, you really had no desire to talk or see Daniel.

Though, that small, needy part in the back of your mind was still wondering if he had still reached out to contact you.

You got your answer as you stepped out onto the chilly, lamp lit sidewalk. Your inbox was full of text messages and voicemails. He must have sent two or three a day since you had run away. You couldn’t bring yourself to hear his voice. But, as you head down the sidewalk to your bus stop, you decided to read through a few of them.

-Y/N, I’m sorry. Please call me.

-I know you’re mad. You have every right to. I’m weak and dumb.

-Please, just let me know you’re ok.

-Honey, I love you. I’ll never drink again. I never meant to hurt you.

-Please let me know you see these.

-You mean so much to me. I’ll do better. I need you.

-Honey, that girl meant nothing. I can’t live with what I did to you.

-Please call me. Yell at me, hit me. Do anything you want, just come back.

His last message came only two days ago.

-Honey, you must be out of your medicine. Please, just let me give that to you. I won’t bother you anymore. We don’t need to get back together. Whatever you want to do, we can do it. Just let me bring it to you. You need it and I care about you. Please, Y/N, I’m sorry. Please, let’s just talk.

Wow, you thought, he seems really upset. That small part surged forward again, pushing you to respond since he seemed so sincere. But you shook your head. Amber had brought you to a counseling center she volunteered at where a survivors of domestic violence group met. And based on what they had talked about, and his history, you knew it was best to move on. Though, you were basically out of medicine. You didn’t know the name of it, nor had the prescription for it. Daniel had always taken care of it. There was a doctor at Mercy whom you were close with, Henry Na, who had offered to investigate it for you. So, you had given him the last generic, round, white pill. He had offered to prescribe you a basic anxiety medication to help you while he did some research. He had been a big help, just like Amber to getting you to the state of normalcy you had achieved. Hopefully, he had found something for you. You would wait to see what he had to say before making that decision. Or you could talk to Amber and she would slam the stamp of “HELL NO” on that whole thought.

Not wanting to continue this train of thought, you sent a quick text to your friend to say you were on your way to the bus, then locked your phone and stuck it in the pocket of your scrubs. You were determined to make the most out of this day. Even after a terrible night, you were going to be with your best friend, seeing some of your favorite patients, and being away from your troubles. You just needed to get to the bus stop and out of the chill of the early morning. You pulled your jacket close to your body and quickened your pace. Living at the far end of town, while cheap, had its disadvantages. There was much gang activity in the outskirts, the bus stops were sparse, and all the main shops were a long way away. At least, for the moment. Ahead, you could see the outline of the new shopping center the government had decided to build in hopes to revitalize this part of the city. And while you were excited that you wouldn’t have to go far to get essentials, you hoped it wouldn’t raise your rent anymore. Your bus stop was just beyond the construction. You hoped that today would prove to be just as exciting as the prospects of the new shopping center.

Little did you know, in the dim light of the dawn, just how exciting your life was about to become.

~*****************~

If the outside wasn’t foreboding enough, the inside made up for it. It was dark with only a few work lights scattered around the large, open space. There were tall, arching pillars and small openings along the sides that were meant for food stalls, and a large, empty fountain in the center of the concrete floor. Loose wires hung from the unfinished light fixtures, while high scaffoldings and boxed materials were randomly spaced about. A cold breeze swept through the open doorways, sending dust and debris swirling about Bangtan’s feet as they took echoing steps towards the elevator at the end of the floor. Above them, there were large cut outs in the floor so patrons would peer down at those below, all in interesting and modern designs. Once it was finished, it would be very fancy and high-end, the complete juxtaposition to the traditional and family owned buildings around it. It didn’t belong there.

Just like we don’t belong here, Suga thought as his eyes wondered about the dim area. Jimin was beside him, the sparse lights glittering off the studded shoulders of his leather bomber jacket. His face was sharp and serious, his eyes constantly moving behind his rose-colored glasses. And Jungkook was trailing behind, dragging the poorly trained spy with him. The bound and blindfolded kid had fought against the maknae’s grip as soon as they entered the construction zone, screaming unintelligently against the gag. It took a good smack on the back of the head and a threat of “knock it off before I knock you out” before he stilled and allowed Jungkook to lead him around. He, even, made an annoyed promise that he would not let him stumble or fall until they turned him over to his team.

V’s voice rang through the earpiece Suga wore, telling him where to go. The elevator would take them to the top floor, opening to a reception area. And beyond that was the event hall where Choi and his group of assholes were waiting for them. V didn’t see anyone on any other floors, which meant that their passage should be safe. Just as a normal drop should be. But Suga knew that it wasn’t going to be normal. With each step, the uneasy feeling grew. With the confirmation of the General’s presence, old feelings from the past made Suga even more on edge. But he hid it from his younger members. He figured this was a trap; he and RM had talked every conclusion out. They just needed to get in and out as fast as possible. V had set some helpful distractions up if they needed a quick getaway. But all Suga was focused on was dealing with Choi and keeping his dongsaengs safe. He took out his cell and texted a quick update to the leader.

“This place is huge! I didn’t realize it when V and I came here before. Let’s make sure we come back when it’s finished. Something this fancy looking is bound to have a Gucci store,” Jimin said, trying to ease the mood a bit. He brushed a bit of dust from his white Gucci shirt to highlight his point.

“I feel between the two of you, you have enough Gucci in your closets to open your own store,” Jungkook replied, though he had his own collection of name brands to rival theirs.

Suga gave little response as they reached the elevator. RM had texted him back, saying what they already knew; Get in, get out, and be safe. The leader had added ‘try not to antagonize him too much, hyung’. Suga had a gift of speech, known to the others as his ‘Tongue Technology’. He could talk circles arounds even the most versed debaters, and knew exactly what to say to break someone down. If he had ever decided to pursue a career in music, all of Bangtan was sure he’d be a master at diss tracks. When Jin had captured the spy, Suga barely warmed up before the kid broke from fear. And while he knew he should do as his leader asked, Yoongi knew that if Choi opened his mouth, he’d find it extremely hard not to challenge him. As all four crowded into the elevator, he slipped his phone back into the pocket of his red coat and hit the top floor button. Jimin had started cracking his fingers and stretching out his limbs just in case he needed to be ready. Jungkook seemed to be bouncing on his heels with anticipation. A black face mask was resting under his chin. Suga reached over and pulled it up over the young maknae’s nose. He reached up, after, and fixed his black hat to hide most of his face. Jungkook was the only one of their members who Choi hadn’t seen face to face, making him the safest when he walked around barefaced. The boy had been quite young when he had joined them, and each meeting before the Generals had disappeared, Jungkook’s identity had been hidden. And Suga meant to keep it that way. Jungkook smiled at the action and nodded a ‘thanks’ to his hyung.

“Just stay behind us until the trade is made. Block the door. And keep your face hidden. We don’t need Choi knowing who you are, got it?”

Jungkook nodded again, tucking some of his hair behind his ear.

The elevator came to a halt as it reached the seventh floor and the doors slid open. It opened to a finished reception hall with an ornate, marble desk at the end near the large, double doors. Compared to the rest of the building, this was practically finished. The floor had a mirror finish, there was a small chandelier above the desk, and the walls were painted with a dark contrast to the white marbled floors. As they stepped off the elevator, a strange crackle sounded through the piece in Suga’s ear. With each step, it got louder. He could see the small red light from the CC camera that V had placed under the edge of the desk. He knew V had been monitoring them, as well as the Royals, and he tapped the earpiece to signal V something was off. He could hear the young man under the roar of the static typing away at his keyboard, letting out a few curses. The roar got louder and louder the closer they got to the doors.

“Hyung-…. Sug-…. Can you…” static “Wait they…. With them! Plea-…” static “Get-,” then a piercing noise overtook everything, and Suga ripped the earpiece from his ear. From what little he heard from V, and the tone he was using, whatever he was trying to say wasn’t good. Jimin and Jungkook looked at him, questioningly. It was clear that something wrong was just beyond those doors. But they were already too far to turn around. The Royals must have heard the elevator’s chime and their footsteps as they came up to the door. If they fled now, it would only be worse later. Suga gave a reassuring nod to his dongsaengs and turned towards the door. Jimin took his position beside him, a hand on his hip to give off the air of sass that his gang persona was known for. Jungkook pulled the spy close to him as he positioned himself behind them, eyes glowing with strength and determination.

And then, Suga kicked the double doors wide open.

The solid oak doors slammed against the inner walls of the large room with a big bang. Just as the lobby, it was practically finished, save for the large crates of fancy décor, some unfinished lights, some high work platforms, and a good polishing. The floor was the same marble and dark finished wall combination as the lobby, with large Roman pillars that gave the room a grand and expensive feel. There were high windows that lined one side of the room, showcasing a large section of downtown as it was bathed in the warm light of the dawn. Further into the space, two high metal scaffoldings had been constructed, high enough for someone to walk under and for painters to reach the vaulted ceiling in order to finish the commissioned watercolor piece; one was just beyond the double doors while the other was against the opposite wall at the far end of the room near the emergency exit. In the center of the room, surrounded by work lights, appeared to be a diamond shaped dance floor. There was a worktable there.

And sitting at the table was Choi. He stood out against the sea of black suited goons with his silver fur coat. Choi always had an air of intensity about him, especially when he caught you in a stare down. He was like a cobra; smooth, unpredictable, and ready to strike without warning. When Suga had first met the General, he had overseen the breaking in of the new “recruits”. And the look he gave was enough to warn the kids to beware his wrath. Choi leaned forward on his elbows; his tented, gloved fingers pressed against his lips. His crazed eyes tracked Bangtan as they sauntered into the room, stopping just before the first scaffolding so to keep some distance between the two rivals. The one holding his spy stopped behind the other two. He tsked in disappointment.

“Nice of you boys to show up,” he greeted in his deep, gravel voice. “I appreciate that you agreed to come to our location. Times have been tough for my troops, and this makes them feel more at ease.”

“Safe it, Choi,” Suga said, his tone even but methodical, “I don’t need you to put on this little act of yours. You’re not doing this for your guys. At least own up to the fact that you don’t want to follow the Accords.”

Choi made an amused noise. “Ah, Agust, I have missed that lip of yours.”

Out of the corner of Jimin’s eyes, he watched as Suga slid into Agust, a second persona Yoongi had developed in the early years before Bangtan. Suga was cold and intimidating, methodical and quiet. Agust was the opposite. He was more aggressive, ready to set the world ablaze; where Suga was the bulletproof vest, Agust was the machine gun and ready to pop off at whoever provoked him. While Suga liked to take his time, his second persona didn’t want to. The shift was subtle, but Jimin had seen the wicked smile appear across his lips as he cocked his head to the side, spilling his platinum blond hair across his eyes. Agust seemed to vibrate with mischievous energy. Jimin hadn’t seen this side of his hyung in an exceptionally long time; only people from Bangtan’s past knew of Agust or he hadn’t been pushed that far to bring out the wildcard. However, he knew Choi had a way of bringing the worst out in them. This would be interesting.

“Oh, I missed you too, Choi. But don’t worry, my aim is much better now. Can we just do this shit? I have better things to do and you are not one of them.”

The amused look on Choi’s face slipped. “Such disrespect for your sunbaenim. This is why I requested your leader. He seems to have taken my lessons better than you.”

“Sorry,” Agust pouted, bringing up his hands in a mocked apology, “but my leader has better things to do than play with a flea infested bitch like you. Wait, that was an insult to dogs.”

Jungkook was happy he had a mask on to hide his grin; he always enjoyed when Yoongi-hyung fell into Agust; it didn’t happen much these days unless he was extremely angry or overly stressed. So, this was a treat to see Agust tearing into Choi like he knew his hyung had always wanted to do when he was younger.

Agust continued, his eyes glowing with annoyance. “Seriously, can we move this along? We have your little spy here, all safe and sound. We even fed him, which is more than you could do. Let’s do this exchange before I get more annoyed. It’s past my Maknae’s bedtime and he’s gonna be cranky later.”

Jimin couldn’t hold back his laugh at that point. That drew Choi’s attention. A gleam appeared in Choi’s eyes that, even from that distance, Jimin didn’t like.

“Now I wasn’t expecting to see you, Sweet One. It’s been a while since we last met. How have you been doing? Had your fix recently?”

Jimin only glared behind his glasses, his hands clenched in a fist. He took a deep breath and tried to block him out.

Choi stood up and moved to the front of the table. “What, nothing to say? I missed that voice of yours. So sweet and addictive. You know, sometimes I can still hear your sweet moans and gasps echoing through my memories. Begging and pleading, so needy and desperate. Makes me wish I had taken a chance with you when I had the opportunity. I can see you’re shaking from here. I have what you need, baby. I can help you feel all better. You just need to come over and ask for it. I can take good care of that itch of yours. I’d love to hear how loud your moans can get now.”

Jimin felt something in him snap. He went to rush him, fist cocked back, ready to shut the bastard up. Suga threw out an arm in front of him before he could take a step. The look he gave Jimin told him to let him handle Choi. RM had asked Suga not to cause too much trouble. And since Agust had already made an appearance, he couldn’t risk Jimin starting something. Even if Choi deserved whatever Jimin had planned to do for bringing up such a dark part of their past. Suga’s reassuring hand gave Jimin a slight push behind him, which the younger man begrudgingly allowed.

“Seems like you’ve become the responsible one, Agust. Perhaps you’ve gone soft on me, despite the bite. Fine, we should get down to business. But first thing is first; lets make sure that you followed the rules I sent to your leader. No weapons were to be brought with you. Chen, Yao,” he called over his shoulder, “search them.”

The two suits stepped away from the pack and crossed over to Bangtan. Suga nodded to Jimin, who made his way to stand next to Jungkook in order to keep the spy between them as they were searched. The guards started with Jungkook, then Jimin. They searched Suga last. Both guards ran their hands through clothes, dipping into each pocket. So, of course, they found the small pocketknife Yoongi had slipped into the inner pocket of his red coat. Chen fixed the smaller male with a look, which was received with a nonchalant shrug. Chen was not amused by the gesture and grabbed him by his blond hair, yanking his head back. Agust grabbed hold of Chen’s wrist, twisting it as hard as he could before spitting in the thug’s face. Yao rose his fist to punch him, only to be stopped by Jimin, who had appeared next to him. Agust was intimidating on his own, but the look that Jimin transfixed on them was enough to send a message. Both suits backed away from the two before things got any worse.

“Agust,” Choi remarked as his guards returned to their space, “how disappointing. Do you see, boys? They have no respect for us. They bring a weapon to a tradeoff. And when scolded for breaking the rules, he acts like a wild animal. They don’t even have the decency to dress professionally. Instead of business attire, we are presented with ripped jeans, flashy and cheap clothes-,”

“Hey, I wore designer labels to this,” Jimin interrupted.

“And the one in the back,” Choi continued, “look at how they teach their Maknae. Black cargo pants, hoodie, and wearing a mask and hat. Like he’s going to a club instead of meeting with his betters. Take that off and let me get a better look at you, boy! The least you can do is give me a proper greeting.”

“Leave my Maknae alone.” Agust took a few steps forward, stepping into the primary focus. “He’s protecting himself from all the bullshit you keep spitting. You don’t need to see him for us to do this. Stop stalling. Where’s your goods? We took good care of your little rat. Now put up or shut up.”

“You keep demonstrating how low you can be, Agust. Do you think you’ll become as successful as us acting like a classless thug?”

Agust shrugged, tapping his long finger against his cheek. “I’m not sure about the secret to success. But I think I know the secret to failure and being an idiot. And that is to keep babbling like you. I’m really starting to lose my patients with you. Show me the fucking trade, else I’m leaving with your spy and I’ll do whatever I want to with him.”

Choi nodded to one of his suits. They pulled out a suitcase and opened it. It was full of cash and ammunition boxes. “Satisfied with that, Agust? It’s way more than his life is worth. But recruitment has been slow recently. However, before we trade, I need an apology.”

“For what, your appearance? You need to take that up with your parents,” Agust sneered, causing Jimin and Jungkook to start chuckle.

Choi slammed the case shut. “I’m over your bad attitude! You have disrespected me enough today. You show me respect, or I will demonstrate how I used to deal with you.” Choi reached around and brandished his ornate cane, smacking it against his hand. “You remember what I used to do to you. Now, apologize to me!”

“Alright, I’m sorry. Don’t get angry. Your mom will be upset if you lose your only asset- your health,” Agust mocked with a small bow, causing Jimin and Jungkook to laugh. The shocked expression from some of the suits added fuel to the fire.

Choi’s face took on a red shade. “Enough,” he screamed, his voice shattering against the empty walls, “You may appear brave and bold, but I know what you hide behind that smile, son!”

Agust took another step forward, unafraid by his little outburst. “If I’m the sun,” he said, pointing out the windows at the rising light, “then you are the moon; as I rise, you go down. Though, I’m sure I’m going to be more disappointed in your tongue technology than your cohorts are with mine.” The roar of laughter from behind him only increased and sent Choi further into a rage. He lunged at Agust and swung his cane.

Suga’s hands were almost as fast as his tongue; he grabbed hold of the cane before it could strike him. He pulled his face close to the General’s, his eyes cold and serious.

“I am not that scared little boy you locked in the dark. I will show you that I’m the king here. I’m the boss. And you will end up just like your vile, worthless Maknae.”

“You’ve gotten strong in my absence,” the taller man remarked as he tried to pull away from Suga’s grip. The younger held tight for a second before giving him a hard shove back towards his team. Choi took a grounding breath and ran a gloved hand through his frosted hair. “Remember Agust, our Maknae acted on his own. Against his boss’s plan. And you got your revenge on him for that. He damned himself, not his hyungs. Don’t keep using that to fuel your hate.”

“I have plenty without that.” Suga turned and walked back to his team. “I’m done playing with you. Slide that case over here. We’ll leave your man here as we exit out the door. And we will call this done.”

Choi shot a dark glare at the blond’s back, before waving a dismissive hand at him, accepting that he wasn’t going to get anything he wanted from the younger man. He gave a nod to the suit holding the case, who slid the case across the floor. Jimin stopped it with his foot before picking it up. He thought it felt lighter than he expected it to, but the want to leave outweighed his curiosity; he was still pissed about what Choi had said to him. He turned his back to the room and made after Yoongi.

Suddenly, Choi’s soft laughter filled the room. Yoongi remembered that laughter; the General had used it when he knew something they did not. Bangtan’s Second in command looked over his shoulder to see that Choi had a small remote in his hand. With a press, the double doors swung shut automatically. Panic rose within Bangtan. They were trapped! Jimin opened the case in his hands and discovered it was full of fake bills and empty ammunition boxes. Everything was a set up. Choi must have figured that they would have a surveillance too, and made it so he couldn’t communicate with V once they got to the meeting spot. Yoongi hoped that he hadn’t thought about a camera hidden within the room. Since V had been trying to tell him something before their communication was severed, he must have eyes in the room, at least enough to know he needed to get to them fast. Jungkook tightened his hold upon the spy, as if it was their only protection. He shot Suga a look. The elder shifted his eyes between both of his comrades, deep, stormy eyes narrowed in defensive thought. He had thought of this; he had many plans unraveling in his mind. Now, it was all a matter of finding the best one in order to get them out of there. The only unknown factor was Choi. Suga motioned for the two to keep calm as he turned back to the General.

“Honestly, Agust, did you really believe it would be that simple? That I would let you come in, disrespect me and my troops, and walk out of here like you’re the one in charge? After all that you and your little boy scout brigade has done. I was hoping to send a little message when I scratched up that smiling fool of yours. And yet, your leader couldn’t grasp that and sent you right into my hands. It should had been obvious that you weren’t going to get out without a struggle. There is no Hallowed ground here. You are in my territory with a member of mine that, for what anyone would see, you have kidnapped. Therefore, I can have my fun without any fear from the Accords and their rules.”

Jimin growled, “Since when do you care about the Accords? You already drew us here under false pretenses.”

“They’re not entirely false. As I said, you have my recruit,” Choi remarked, his voice in a mocked tone of concern. “He was given such an easy task. And he couldn’t even do that correctly. It would see that some more training is in order.”

Jungkook felt the kid in his grasp cringe and bury himself deeper into his hold. It was painfully clear that the kid had no choice in this life, much like most of members in the room. And from the stories he had heard from his hyungs, Jungkook was sure this kid had been treated much better in their care than anything in the Royals clutches. It wasn’t up to the Maknae, but he wondered if it was too late to try and take the kid with them.

“As you know,” Choi continued, “recruitment has been difficult on me. And all the rookies have little to no talent when it comes to the finer arts of the trade. They would benefit from some more one on one training. How do you think we can achieve this?”

“Well, when Ji just up and leaves like the coward he is and leaves his most useless General in charge, seems like a daunting task for you. Might as well just give up and disband,” Suga said in his methodical tone, causing Choi and the Suits to actively flinch at the mention of their leader’s real name said so offhandedly.

“Don’t you dare say his name! I will make you regret that. And you’ll be the example for my new recruits. Like I said, my boys don’t do well with their basic training back at the compound. They need some ‘on the job’ training, some action in the field. And what better place then here. Since we are not on Hallowed Ground, we can let them play a little rough. What a splendid opportunity for all of us; they get to have a real experience and you get a few broken bones to send a message to anyone who thinks that they are above the Royals in the food chain. Do me a favor, Bangtan, and don’t give up to fast.”

With that last smirk, Choi settled himself back against the table and snapped his fingers. Four of the Suits smirked and started to cross the room towards Bangtan. Jimin looked over at Suga. The steely member gave a sharp nod and Jimin pushed some of his honey locks out of his hair with a dark glint in his eyes. He heard Suga tell the youngest to ‘stay put’ as he set off at the advancing Suits. Out of Bangtan, Jimin was known as one of their best fighters. He had studied many different styles and always perfected his craft; from judo and taekwondo to kendo and target shooting, he was regarded amongst most gangs in Central as the most skilled. Jimin was, also, a well-versed dancer, having studied since he was a child. And that control and flexibility of his body only aided him when he decided to show off just why he was well known. As he was still seething with anger from Choi’s words, he decided to take out that frustration on whoever came near him. Jimin took off like a bullet and launched himself up to grab a high bar on the bottom side of the scaffolding. Using his momentum, he swung himself up towards the closest Suit, catching the young man off guard as Jimin wrapped his toned legs around the taller man’s neck. Before the Suit could recover from the surprise, Jimin let go of the bar and arched back into a backbend. Using his lower body strength, he pulled the victim over and down the ground with a loud thud. The shock knocked the air from the Suit and Jimin sent a sharp punch to the throat, to keep him down.

A yell from another Suit brought Jimin’s eyes up. He got up and tackled the second. The new opponent was sturdier on his feet than the first, easily keeping himself upright and throwing Jimin back. Jimin recovered quickly; he ran to one of the supportive, vertical legs of the scaffolding, grasping hold and using it to spin himself back to the Suit, his heels colliding with the goon’s chest. The Suit stumbled back, chest heaving. Jimin didn’t give him much chance to recover; he was instantly back in his range, throwing punches and sweeping kicks towards the taller man. Being as flexible as he was, Jimin had no issues dodging and sliding under the Suit’s attempt at a comeback. While the bastard was strong and aggressive, he lacked speed and foresight. And Jimin had much of that. They had been backed further along the scaffolding towards it’s beginning, moving rhythmically around the bars and legs. The Suit had managed to grab Jimin by the collar of his studded jacket as he tried to get behind him and threw him face first into the ladder that lead to the top of the scaffolding. He clung to bar for a moment, feeling his lip start to bleed and his head ringing from the sudden impact. He could hear the asshole let out a laugh before charging at him. Just as the Suit was able to connect his jab to the back of Jimin’s head, the smaller blond side stepped him, and let the Suit’s hand make a cracking impact with the metal bars. Jimin got behind him and wrapped his arm around the man’s neck, squeezing as hard as he could. The other man thrashed against his grip, but his windpipe was being crushed. The Suit slipped onto his knees as his vision started to dot. And Jimin took the opportunity to release the Suit’s throat and use his knee to hit him in the nose. Blood spattered over the dark denim as the Suit screamed in pain. He was silenced when Jimin elbowed him in the back of the head. After the man fell unconscious, Jimin ran his hands through his hair and adjusted the rose-colored glasses that had managed to stay on his face.

While Suga wasn’t as graceful as Jimin when it came to fighting, he was able to hold his own with the rest of them. He was scrappier, more calculative in his actions. The remaining two Suits had come at him at the same time. And just like Jimin, he used his height to his advantage, easily dodging under the sweeping arms of the two. The closest Suit had backed Suga up against one of the Roman pillars with his advancing punches, his back flushed against the cold stone. The bastard set an upper cut, which Suga caught and turned back upon its owner. He looked over the goon’s shoulder to see the second had a picked up a crowbar. Oh, fantastic. The second Suit raised the bar and brought it down in a hard motion, only to hit his own comrade when Suga grabbed the first one and used him as a shield. The goon swung again and Yoongi moved behind the pillar just as it made contact, sending dust flying into the air. When he came back around, he caught hold of the bar with both hands and struggled to push back against the brute’s strength. The first one had recovered from the hit and caught him from behind, locking his arms around the thin gang member’s body. Suga threw his head back and knocked against the Suit but his grip only tightened. He struggled hard as the second guy advanced on him again. Thinking fast, he brought his legs up and kicked the second Suit hard in the chest, sending him to the ground. He thrashed harder against the taller man behind him. He was swung around until Suga saw the white pillar in front of him. He ran up high enough on the pillar and kicked back with all his strength, sending him and the Suit to the marble floor. The arms around his chest loosened enough to slip one out of the hold and use a reverse elbow strike to the goon’s face, hard enough to send him to the very edge of consciousness. Suga scrambled up to his feet as the second Suit barreled at him; he moved just enough to grab ahold of the Suit’s jacket and propel him into the pillar. Suga grabbed hold of the Suit’s shaved head and slammed it as hard as he could into the pillar as many times as it took until the guy slumped down, blood decorating the white stone. Taking a deep breath, he turned back towards the General, smirked before giving the Suit at his feet a good kick to the stomach.

“That all you got, you son of a bitch?” Agust was out of breath, but still had enough snark in his voice to fill the room. “You couldn’t teach them how to fight their way out of a paper bag. I didn’t even need to bring out my tank over there,” he pointed at Jungkook, who smiled behind his mask and gave a little wave. “What were they supposed to do again? Teach me a lesson? Make me into the example to what happens when your fragile self-worth is questioned. If that’s how you teach your boys to fight, you should change your profession because your ability to make yourself look like an idiot is extraordinary. Your title should be ‘Moron Extraordinaire’ instead of ‘Washed-up Mafia Kingpin’. What you want to throw at me, now? Clearly, we can take you. And when I get out of here, you can guarantee that it’s going to be open season on you. I don’t care if your punk ass leader decides to show his fucking face. I’ll gladly spit in it and let him know how this little ‘bapsae’ took his place.”

Choi looked down at the Suits, most of whom were still unconscious at Bangtan’s feet. His eyes flicked up to meet Suga’s cold stare. He gave a deep sigh and shrugged the fur coat from his shoulders.

“Oh Agust, I really do wish one of my men had the foresight to break your jaw. That way I wouldn’t have to hear you anymore. I’m growing tired of this game. I would have hoped you would’ve gone down easier. It would have boosted the moral of the boys instead of their medical bill. Guess we are going to have to do this the old fashion way.”

Choi reached behind his suit jacket and brandished a chrome revolver. Behind him, the rest of his guys pulled out theirs and pointed them at Bangtan. Jungkook’s doe eyes seemed to get bigger as he took in the site before him. Jimin looked concerned as well, but tried to keep it internalized so not to feed their egos; his eyes were darting across the room, looking for places to shield himself should shoots be fired. Suga refused to break eye contact with Choi. The older General gave at laugh at the fronted courage. He cocked the gun and raised it eye level.

“I have wanted to do this for a long time. When I was away, I had dreams of shooting you right between those cold eyes and wiping that fucking smile off that face. I remember when my brothers and I brought you under our wing; we had high hopes for you if we could break you. But you are just as stubborn as the rest of your ragtag crew. I hope your efforts were worth it in your mind.”

Choi’s finger moved towards the trigger. And Suga didn’t move, just stared him down. Before Choi could pull it, a loud gun shot rang out in the space! And a bullet hit Choi’s weapon and sent it ricocheting across the marble floor. Choi spun around, looking for the source of the shot. Suga let out a breath he didn’t realize he had held. Jimin rushed to his side, eyes searching for an explanation, as if Yoongi had some how done something. But the second-in-command was just as shocked; his eyes darted about the room, just as the Royals were making a commotion looking for the phantom gun.

A deep chuckle filled the space, bouncing off the shadowed walls that made it seem like it was coming from everywhere and nowhere at the same time. “Stop going on about ‘effort’ and more ‘effort’,” the deep voice commanded. “It’s makes my skin crawl when you say things like that.”

Drawn by the voice, Suga finally caught a glimpse of a black leather jacket and red pants perched atop the second scaffolding behind the Royals on the opposite wall. V was squatted on top of the platforms, gazing down upon the scene like a gargoyle, one elbow resting against his knee. The other arm was stretched out with his emerald green gun held tight in his grasp. Suga was half impressed that V had hit his intended target; the other half was annoyed he had taken that chance.

“About time you decided to show your face,” Suga remarked. “What, did you take the scenic route?”

“Sorry Suga-hyung,” V responded, his voice like black velvet. “They scrambled my signal so I couldn’t contact you. Not even on your phone. And, of course, I had the guys at the cars to deal with. By the way,” he moved his steely eyes to Choi, “your henchmen weren’t a fan of my ‘Vante’ mark on your tacky car. So I left them giftwrapped in the trunk. They didn’t play nice so they’re a bit bruised. Hope that’s ok.”

V brought his hand up to flash his signature ‘V’ sign and winked at Choi. The General just stared back at him, his gaze disbelieving and furious. Then, he turned to his Suits.

“Unbelievable,” he said, the hand V had shot the gun out of balling into a shaky fist, “the empire I helped create is being spit upon. And its members are just letting this bunch of misfits walk all over them. This isn’t even all of them! You are supposed to be the most feared, strong, aggressive men of the Mafia families. But you let a pretty boy, a shadow, a whore, and a foul-mouthed baepsae fuck you over time and time again?! I should just shoot you all myself for being so useless! Do you know what’s going to happen if you continue to let the Royal’s name drag in the filth of these fuckers?! I will make sure every single one of you begs for death before I’m finished! Is that what you want? Or are you going to do something about it?!”

“Whoa, watch that temper, Big Boss,” V said, while smacking on a piece of gum. “Your face is turning a bright shade of red. It’s clashing with your suit. Not a good look for someone of your age.”

Choi had had enough; he gave a sharp order to Chen who whipped out his revolver from a hidden hoister. He raised it at rapid speed and took aim at V. But while Chen was fast, someone was faster. A loud shot sounded from behind them, and the bullet cut across the captain’s arm. His arm spasmed at the contact and dropped his gun before he could even move to the trigger. Choi whirled around, eyes wild and enraged. Behind Suga and Jimin, both of whom were wearing a smug smile, was the shadow who Choi had dismissed, still holding their hostage in front of him. Jungkook had his arm balanced against the hostage’s shoulder, with his metallic purple handgun on full display. Even with his face hidden behind a mask, all could tell he had a triumphant grin spread across his lips.

Choi grabbed his captain by the arms, uncaring of the bleeding wound his hands covered. “I told you to search them for weapons! Can you not do one thing I ask?!

“I did, Boss! I swear,” Chen cried as Choi fingers dug further into his gunshot wound.

It was Suga’s turn to let out a bemused noise, letting his head loll to one side. His hands came to rest on his hips, and he clicked his tongue in a disappointed fashion. “Oh Choi, you think you’re the smartest person in the room. You think you’re the only one with secrets. See, we’re not as naïve as you like to believe. We have the genius leader after all. We planned for every eventuality you could think of. You’re not as slick as you boost yourself up to be. But we played our part well to make you believe that, didn’t we? Since your boys lack the brains to think of creative methods beyond your orders, I’ll let you in on my little secret. Your boys did search us – they didn’t check your little rat.”

As quick as he brandished his own piece, Jungkook pulled Jimin’s and Suga’s weapon from under the rat’s oversized sweatshirt and tossed it to them. Jimin’s was a polished gold, while Suga’s was a studded black gun. Both caught their respective piece as if they had rehearsed the moment. Now, they had four barrels pointed at the Royals. Bangtan was outgunned, but they were widely known for their accuracy and body count. That reputation alone was enough to worry the newer Suits. Suga’s cold stare drilled into the General as he held is gun steady.

“Even after all your shit, Choi, I’ll let you decide how we do this; either let us walk out like nothing happened or we start shooting. You’re already down a few men,” Suga said, motioning to the four men still on the ground from their earlier rumble, either still unconscious or too scared to sit up. “Do you really want to risk losing more? After all this, I can’t guarantee that we won’t hit anything vital like with Chen there. So what’s it gonna be, Jackass?”

Choi stared at the younger man; his face was blank and unreadable. Suga wondered if he was going to have to repeat himself, or if they could use that silence to back away before anything happened. But then, a crazed look appeared in the General’s eyes and a wicked smirk cracked his face. He gave a shrug of his broad shoulders before taking a step back behind his Suits.

Then, he snapped his fingers.

The Royals opened fire with an onslaught of bullets. Bangtan scattered behind whatever cover was closest. Jungkook pulled his hostage behind a large crate and shoved him to the ground, ordering the kid to ‘stay down and don’t move if you want to live to see adulthood’; he had protected the kid so far, he wasn’t gonna let him get shot for a stupid reason. The poor kid was too scared to do anything but shake and do as he was ordered. Jungkook leaned around the box and fired a few shots to try and cover for V. The gray-haired boy was running across the scaffolding, yelling out ‘one shot- two shots’ as he fired down into the Suits. He vaulted from edge of the platform and scampered behind one of the pillars where Jimin had shielded himself with. The smaller Bangtan member was an impressive shot and was managing to keep the Suits from advancing upon him. Suga was across from them, behind another pillar. From his position, it was difficult to get a clear shot at anyone and he was pinned down behind it. There was a crate a few feet from him that would give him a better vantage point to lay out the Royals. It would be a bonus if he would break down the human shield Choi had surrounded himself with, and stain that blue suit of his. Running away from the pillar into the sea of smoke and ammunition, he rapid-fired at the Suits, hearing at least one of the Suits call that he had been hit. Jimin and V were moving to a new cover, alternating cover shots over each other’s shoulders. Suga knew they needed to get out of there; no matter how good of a shot they were, they would run of bullets before the Royals would. He needed a plan, and fast. He looked behind him at the door Choi had rigged; there was a red light from the mechanical device that had shot and locked the door. The lobby had some decorative things that they could use to bar the door once he could destroy the mechanism. There were the emergency stairs just behind the Royals that they could use if they could keep their distance. Or both to split up the group.

Behind him, Jungkook had slid a new round of ammunition into his gun that V had slid to him. He had moved from the very back of the room closer to the rest of his team. One of the Suits came running at him from along the side of the room. He easily showed him why they referred to him as Bangtan’s tank; he blocked the Suit’s punch before pistol whipping him, sending two strong jabs at his gut, and a final uppercut that sent the suit falling backward and his gun flying from his hand. Jungkook easily caught it in his empty hand and sent double the shots at the rest of the Royals. He ducked behind another set of boxes and looked to Suga.

Three more Suits had been hit and were scrambling for cover. Those still shooting had changed weapons and released a new spray of bullets that pinned Bangtan where they were. Choi stood in the middle of it, almost as if he were a statue, with a confident grin still on his lips. He gave an order for the Suits to advance. Suga knew they needed to get out now. He rose up and fired, hitting two Suits and bringing them down. He gave a signal to Jungkook to come to him. The Maknae rushed over, both guns firing and keeping the Royals ducking for cover. Suga looked over his shoulder at the other two and called out. He gave a pointed look to the door and V followed his gaze. They had all worked together long enough to not need much to understand what the other needed to say. V looked back and nodded, knowing Suga meant for them to leave that way on his signal. Jungkook laid down some cover as the blond turned from the battle and fired four shots at the mechanism, destroying it. He turned back to see Choi look stunned at his actions, before ordering his men on.

Suga grabbed Jungkook and leaned close. “Get to the back stairs. I’ll cover you and be right behind you.” He looked behind and called out to Jimin and V, “Get to the car! If we’re not there, just drive. We’ll meet up at the safe zone!”

V and Jimin nodded and took off towards the double doors, Jimin kicking them wide open before V turned and slammed them shut behind them. Choi yelled out for a few men to follow them. Three of the men who had lost in their hand-to-hand battle with Bangtan, jumped up from their positions on the floor and ran towards the closed doors. They pushed against it but it was wedged closed. The blond smiled, knowing V had thought of the same things he had about securing the door to help give them time to get away. It held just long enough for the two to escape the lobby. Suga gave Jungkook a shove and the young man took off around the outskirts of the room towards the emergency door in the back of the room. Shots continued to whiz by him as he ducked and weaved between pillars and boxes, having a few close calls as he neared the back end of the room. Suga trailed behind him, pausing at each cover to fire back at the Royals. He managed to bring down two more of the Royals before he ran out of bullets. Jungkook finished the clip in the stolen gun and threw it, hard, at an advancing Suit, nailing him in the side of the head. Chen, still bleeding from his arm but determined to win favor from Choi again, had seen where Jungkook and Suga were heading and stood in front of the door. Jungkook ran at the captain and got locked in a hand-to-hand fight. Chen was one of the few present to offer a challenge to the Maknae, even injured. Chen grabbed one of Jungkook’s fists, as he went in for a cross jab, and twisted the young man’s arm behind him. Jungkook twisted, trying to get his arm free, but Chen held tight. So, he shoved them both backwards until the captain’s back slammed against the wall, throwing his head back to crack against the taller man. Chen let go, and the two were back to exchanging punches, jabs, and dodges.

Suga was almost to Jungkook when, from the corner of his eyes, he saw Choi moving towards one of his new recruits, one who was a terrible shot. The General snatched his gun from the Suit’s hand and rose it. And it was aimed at Jungkook in a fatal angle. The Maknae was trapped with Chen and couldn’t see what Choi had planned. Suga cursed and ran. Everything happened too fast.

Jungkook had landed a sharp punch to Chen’s face, causing the captain to stumble back stunned.

Choi fired the weapon with a clear target.

Jungkook noticed Choi, as Suga shoved him out of the way.

#bts fic #bts imagines #bts mafia au #bts mafia fic #yoongi x reader #bangta boys #ot7 x reader #min yoongi #kim namjoon #kim seokjin #jung hoseok #park jimin #kim taehyung #jeon jungkook #bangtan fanfic

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dolls-and-cats · 3 years ago

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L'hôpital des Anges

Paris, France, 1744

Claire: "His skin is pink, good granulation. There's no bad smells or dark streaks. But his urine is very dark and odorous and he's incredibly warm."

Mother Hildegarde: "Perhaps a secondary infection? Bladder or appendicitis?"

Claire: "There's no abdominal tenderness."

Mother Hildegarde, as the dog alights to the patient's bed: "Bouton, a la bouche, Bouton. Ouvrez la bouche. [Bouton, go to the mouth. Open the mouth.]"

"No, you are right, it isn't that. Cherchez auilleur, Bouton, mais fais attention, cette homme a la jambe cassée. [Look elsewhere, Bouton, but be careful, this man has a broken leg.]"

(Bouton sniffs at the patient's legs): "Bravo, tu as trouvée, Bouton. [Bravo, you found it, Button.]"

Claire: "But that's almost healed. It's not infected."

Mother Hildegarde: "No? You see? A pocket full of putrefaction. Shall I summon Monsieur Fourrez?"

Claire: "No, I can handle it. I'll need a small scalpel, some alcohol and cloth, please."

Jamie: Sassenach? What are ye doing?

Claire: Jamie, I've told you! I'm a physician! I can't just sit around all day while you work with Charles Stuart! Here I can be of some use, and improve my skills!

Jamie: Right, ah, I just meant to say, ah, why are ye wearing that dress? Isn't that the one you had made for our very important event at Versailles? Won't ye get...very foul-smelling urine on it?

Claire: It was the only thing clean in the closet. I think the costume department is rather short-staffed. Anyway, I need to pay attention here. Can I just meet you at home?

* * *

(The beginning of the dialogue is from Outlander season 2...the rest....not so much!)

Mother Hildegarde played by Ilse

Unnamed patient played by Henry Greenbear

and introducing Coconut as Bouton

Welcome, Coconut, to my doll family!! Adding some trans representation among my lgbt dolls and plush people!

#dolls at work #outlander #claire fraser #jamie fraser #carpatina #americangirldolls #american girl dolls

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firebrands · 5 years ago

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the mind-body problem | steve/tony

Steve Rogers/Tony Stark, M (for later parts), 4.5k | Stony Bingo Prompt: Off the Record | on ao3

Steve stares at the card in his hands. It's just a little lighter than cream, almost white; dark letters embossed, sans-serif. PEPPER POTTS.

He'd met Ms. Potts a month or so ago, in a conference that was supposed to be attended by the famous Tony Stark. Steve's been in the energy beat long enough not to expect attendance, but he does know to take notice when she appears. Potts is the only direct line to Stark, and he needs to speak to him, at least if the mountain of research he’s done is true. Steve’s done his fair share of investigative reporting—but it’s never been related to what this could be, and this could be… Steve takes a deep breath, steadying himself and stopping his train of thought.

“This should probably be lodged under the nation beat, Pete,” he’d said, earlier that day when the editorial team had met to discuss their longer-form stories.

“They’re full up with the Stern inquiry,” Pete, Steve’s editor, said. He didn’t even look up from his notebook as he spoke. “We’re short on hands for this. And you’ve covered Stark long enough.”

“I’ve barely covered Stark, I haven’t even met him,” Steve said.

“Do you not want the story?” Pete’s tone was sharp. Annoyed.

“Of course I want the story!” Steve huffed. “But I don’t want any of those guys taking it from me midway just because the senate hearing ends early. So.”

“Yeah, okay. Fine.” Pete waved Steve off. “Good luck.”

Steve had never intended to end up in the energy beat—he barely knew enough about science on the get- go. But as it was in newsrooms, when one team was short staffed, the most junior staff had to fill in. That was almost three years ago, when Steve had started in the New York Bulletin, writing about culture, art. Next thing he knew he was given a press pass for a two-day green energy summit, then that was it. Steve Rogers, senior reporter for the Energy and Environment section of the New York Bulletin.

Steve taps the card on the table, bites his lip, then pulls out his phone to type out a message.

Steve stares down at his phone.

Then stares some more.

He wasn’t expecting a reply, at least not any time soon; he was ready to go to their office and set up an appointment with her assistant’s assistant’s assistant, but instead, he’s here. In direct communication with the closest line to Tony Stark.

Steve doesn’t even bother checking his schedule before accepting the appointment. He lets out a shaky breath. This seems too good to be true. Just like that—he checks the timestamps of their messages—in the span of 2 minutes, he’s secured an interview with one of the richest and most powerful men in the country.

He needs to find something to wear.

***

Steve sucks on his bottom lip as the elevator begins its ascent. Steve checks his bag for his recorder, notebook, and pen. He checked it twice before leaving the office, once again in the cab, and lastly once more as he pulled out his wallet to hand over his ID for a security pass.

He’s not usually nervous; he’s met his fair share of C-suite executives before. But he’s heard about Stark, about how he behaves during interviews in the few time he grants them. Flippant, wilfully obtuse, and too wildly charismatic for you to do anything about it at the moment. Disarming, his friend from other papers had said simply. Another suggested that Steve check his questions before agreeing to end the interview, because Stark had the talent to take you for a ride you never asked to go on, and make you happy to be on it all the while.

The elevator doors slide open to an office bathed in the afternoon light. Pepper Potts is standing at the entrance, and reaches out to shake Steve’s hand.

“It’s nice to see you again, Mr. Rogers,” she says, smiling down at him.

“You too,” Steve says, shifting his bag on his shoulder. “Thanks for setting this up. We’re really happy to be able to interview Mr. Stark.”

Ms. Potts nods, and gestures towards large double doors at the end of the carpeted hallway. “Let’s go,” she says, and Steve follows, fighting the urge to rifle through his bag again, just once more.

Ms. Potts knocks on the door and peeks her head in. “It’s Steve Rogers from the New York Bulletin.”

The beat, then the door swings wide open to reveal Tony Stark. “Hey Steve, nice to meet you.” He extends his hand, and Steve shakes it.

Here’s the thing about Steve, he realizes glumly: he’s always been very good at recognizing things that are aesthetically pleasing. It’s why he initially chose to focus on art and culture. It’s why he can’t help but feel a little overwhelmed by how absolutely gorgeous Tony Stark actually is. Sure, he’s seen photos, and seen Stark from a distance in the few times he’d deigned to make an appearance at events. But seeing him here now, dressed in a crisp white dress shirt—top three buttons undone and sleeves rolled up—Steve can’t help but feel a little helpless when faced with such immediate beauty.

Stark directs him to a sitting area. “Coffee? Tea?” he asks, taking a seat directly across Steve.

“Tea is fine,” Steve says, and Stark nods at Pepper, who nods back. Steve sets down his bag and pulls out the tools of the trade: his recorder, his notebook, his pen.

“Your office looks lovely,” Steve says, hazarding small talk.

“Thank you. It was all Pepper,” Stark says, leaning back on the couch, relaxing.

Without thinking, Steve inches forward—then he catches himself and tries to settle into his chair nonchalantly.

“Is that a Newman?” Steve asks, nodding at the black and white painting behind Stark.

“Hm?” Stark furrows his brow, then follows Steve’s line of sight. “Ah, is it?” He smiles a little to himself, then looks up when the door opens, and a man walks in with two steaming cups.

They remain silent as their drinks are placed in front of them. Tony takes a sip of what Steve assumes to be an espresso.

Steve clears his throat. “So, Mr. Stark. I’ll begin recording now, if you don’t mind?”

“I don’t,” Stark says, placing his cup carefully back on its saucer. It doesn’t make a sound.

Steve doesn’t want to face why he’s cataloging all of this. Instead, he nods, turns on his recorder, and asks Tony: “Let’s start with when you first launched the energy arm of SI. Can you tell me about the thought process and rationale for it?”

Stark nods, leans forward and rests his elbows on his knees.

Steve catches a whiff of Stark’s perfume. He swallows, and focuses on his pen poised on top of his notebook, ready to write.

“What are the real questions you want to ask, Steve?” Stark tilts his head a little, clearly assessing Steve.

Steve frowns. “These are the questions I’d like to ask, Mr. Stark.”

Stark sighs. “It was in ‘99 when we first began investing in R&D for more sustainable industries.”

As the interview goes on, Steve feels less and less inclined to be on his guard; Stark responds to his questions directly and completely. It’s likely because he’d been prepared by his team, but it’s nice to know that Stark isn’t the asshole everyone paints him to be. But then again, it could also just be something Steve’s gotten used to at this point: Stark doesn’t see him as a threat. No one ever does. That’s why Steve’s so good at getting scoops over other reporters, overzealous and loud and brash, always angling for an interesting story. No one ever expects Steve, quiet and small, to go straight for the jugular.

When Steve gets to his last question, he pauses to take a breath.

There have been allegations that SI’s energy business is just a front. I’d like to know what you think of those allegations.

Steve asks the question.

If he hadn’t been watching Stark so closely, he would’ve missed the barely perceptible tightening of Stark’s jaw, or the way he pushes his glasses up his nose, fully covering his eyes, now.

“Allegations are just that,” Stark says, and Steve finally sees the flippancy everyone had warned him about. “If there’s any basis to them, then whoever’s saying this should be talking to my lawyers.”

Steve nods, scratching Stark’s words onto his pad. “Anything else?” Steve asks, because Stark’s been much more verbose than that in the past half-hour they’d been speaking.

“So this is what the song and dance has been about,” Stark says, smirking.

Steve feels his hackles rise, and he shakes his head. “I am doing a story on SI’s energy business. It’ll be celebrating a decade at the start of next year,” he says, keeping his voice level. “But in the course of my research, I came across these sentiments. I think it’s only fair that I ask your opinion on them,”

The smirk on Stark’s face stays in place. “Fair,” he says, arching his eyebrow. “Sure,” he says, his tone a touch condescending.

Worry pools in Steve’s belly; he can’t afford to be on Stark’s bad side, not if he wants to still cover SI events. “Have you heard these allegations before?”

“Can’t say that I have,” Stark responds, shrugging. “But I figure Hammer’s got something to say about it.”

The thought had crossed Steve’s mind, but it seemed baseless to bring up. He thinks back on the massive Excel sheet he had worked on, cross-referencing numbers and seeing how they didn’t add up. Maybe Stark doesn’t know—and that hypothesis, well. It tracks.

“He doesn’t,” Steve says. “Not about your energy arm, at least,” he adds, smiling at Stark and hoping that he gets the joke.

Stark snorts, and that seems to put him in better spirits. “Yeah, and now you’re going to ask what I’m working on, huh?”

Steve bites back a grin. “Well, Mr. Stark, I wasn’t. But now that you bring it up…”

Stark chuckles, then motions to Steve’s recorder.

“Off the record, then,” Steve agrees, and someone in Stark’s PR department definitely dropped the ball on this, because off the record isn’t real. It’s not as if people can just pretend they didn’t hear something, and sure, Steve isn’t going to include this in the story, but he’ll know, and sometimes, that’s all it takes.

“We’re in the testing phases for a new missile,” Stark says, and then there seems to be a real spark in Stark’s eyes, as if finally he’s awake.

“What’s new about it?” Steve asks, tucking his pen into the binding of his notebook. He’s half-afraid to look up at Stark again, luminous with excitement and impossibly more gorgeous. Now that the interview is truly done, it seems like his traitorous brain lets go over its tight grip of professionalism.

“Oh, Steve, it’s magnificent. I developed this new repulsor technology that—” Stark catches himself. “You’re sure you work for the Bulletin, right?” he asks, scrutinizing Steve closely.

Steve holds up his press ID. “No corporate espionage here,” he says.

Stark laughs, eyes crinkling up, and Steve wants to reach out and touch him, wants to make him laugh again like that. Instead, he grips his notebook just a little bit tighter.

***

Two weeks later, Steve is at a Stark Industries event. It’s about something called “Intelli-Crops” which Steve hates the name of, but he can’t help but feel impressed by the science behind it.

Steve is even more impressed (so much so that he nearly drops his drink) when Tony Stark walks out on stage to explain the product himself. Stark is singular in the way he immediately draws all the attention in the room; he walks across the stage and gestures as the presentation flows behind him. Only after a few seconds of watching Stark does Steve realize with a jolt that he isn’t recording Stark’s speech. He pulls out his notebook and takes notes, eyes fixed on Stark’s muscular form all the while.

Steve is still standing by the bar, going through his notes and double checking the press release included in the media packet when he feels a presence beside him.

“Steve Rogers. Fancy seeing you here.”

Steve’s head snaps up at the voice he’d gotten very familiar with as he’d spent hours transcribing their conversation. Then he’d listened again for good measure, just to make sure he didn’t miss anything. And if he listened to Stark’s voice sometimes in the privacy of his apartment then that’s nobody’s business but his own.

“Mr. Stark,” Steve says, turning to him. “I can’t help but say the same to you.”

“Well it is a Stark Industries event,” Stark answers, eyebrow cocked.

“That didn’t seem to matter much in all the other events I’d attended,” Steve says, snorting a little.

“You wound me,” Stark says.

“I’m sure you can afford the treatment,” Steve says, downing the last of his whiskey. It’s his second of the night, which means he’s had enough. He’s already pretty loose at it is, palling around with Stark like he isn’t Tony Stark, Billionaire Genius Extraordinaire. He sets down his glass and nods at Stark. “It was nice seeing you, Mr. Stark,” he says, extending his hand.

Stark pouts. “What, no follow up questions for me?”

Steve very nearly says, how about I follow you up to your room instead but he still has a grasp on reality. Instead, he shakes his head. “Thank you for the excellent presentation, booze, and dinner, Mr. Stark.”

“Call me Tony, Steve,” Stark huffs. “The program’s done, doesn’t that mean you’re off the clock?”

Steve levels Stark with a look. “How do you think reporters work?”

“Dunno, really,” Stark says, and Steve has a feeling that this isn’t Stark’s first drink of the night. Somehow, that makes him feel a bit braver. He shifts his gaze and looks around the room, worried that Stark will notice that he’s staring.

“But I’d like to learn, if you’ll tell me.”

Steve’s gaze snaps back to Stark, cheeks heating up at the comment and the way Stark’s tone is just a little shy of innuendo.

“I—” Steve stammers. He doesn’t know what to do with that, with flirting, has never known what to do, really, and Bucky is too far away for him to ask.

Steve’s immediate reaction when in this position is run. “Well, Mr. Stark,” he says, trying again to keep his voice even.

“It’s Tony,” Stark frowns. “Seriously, it kills me every time you call me that.”

Steve scrunches up his face. “Okay, Tony. It was nice chatting with you, but I need to send this story in so it makes tomorrow’s paper.”

Stark sighs, then immediately brightens like he has an idea. He turns to Steve with a smile. “How about,” he pauses, resting his hand on Steve’s arm, just above his elbow. “How about you type up your story in my office, and we keep drinking there?”

There are many thoughts that spring to Steve’s mind. First, is that this is a great way to build a relationship with a source. Second, Stark’s hand is warm against the thick fabric of Steve’s shirt. Third, and this is (un)fortunately what spills out of his mouth: “Why me? There are so many other people you could drink with here.”

Stark snorts, as if Steve has said something stupid, which is annoying. “Other people are boring. You’re interesting,” Stark says, like that explains everything. “Let’s go.”

So they go.

Stark’s office floor is dark when they arrive, but lights turn on as they walk towards his office. Steve looks around, wondering who’s flipping the switches, then sees Stark’s fingers dancing along his keyboard, which is answer enough.

Stark motions to the couch, and a strange sense of deja vu floats into Steve’s mind as he settles in, pulling out his laptop.

Stark busies himself by making drinks: “Neat or on the rocks?”

“Neat,” Steve answers, not looking up from his laptop as he types. Nervous energy is beginning to build in his belly, and he won’t admit to himself why he’s so intent on immediately finishing this story. Thankfully he’d gotten to start it midway through the program.

“A man after my own heart,” Stark says before plopping down jovially beside Steve on the couch, handing Steve a drink before taking a sip of his own.

“That’s your laptop?” Stark asks, frowning down at Steve’s beat up ThinkPad.

“Office-issued,” Steve answers. “And I like the red button.”

“He likes the red button,” Stark murmurs to himself, disbelief clear in his tone.

They’re silent for a while, the only sounds of the room are Steve’s fingers on the keyboard. Beside him, Stark scrolls through his phone.

“So walk me through your process,” Stark says, setting his phone down and turning to look at Steve.

Steve takes a drink to steady himself. “Well,” he says, still not looking up as he types. “Right now I’m just plugging in some quotes from your presentation.”

Stark hums in response. “You memorized what I said?”

“What? No,” Steve holds up his notebook. “I wrote it down.”

Stark puts down his drink and peers closely at the page. “I don’t know if anyone’s ever told you this, but you have awful handwriting.”

A laugh bursts out of Steve, unbidden, and Tony smiles in response. “Seriously though, shorthand?”

Steve can’t help but feel a little buzz go through him, but of course Stark knows what shorthand is, he’s a genius.

“Yeah, I taught myself in college,” Steve answers.

“That’s really cool,” Stark says. “Can I see more?”

Steve shrugs and hands his notebook over. “I’m almost done,” he says.

“No rush,” Stark replies, but he’s not looking at Steve anymore. He flips through Steve’s notebook, and Steve focuses on finishing his story instead of getting jealous over pieces of paper.

Another drink later and Steve triumphantly shuts his laptop. “Sent!” he crows, and downs the rest of his whiskey.

Stark grins at him. “Congratulations!” He says. “I hope you wrote something nice about me.”

“Of course I did. You let me use your WiFi,” Steve says, matching Stark’s grin with his own.

“If only your colleagues were so easily swayed,” Stark says, sighing dramatically.

Steve huffs out a laugh, putting away his laptop. “Well, it’s hard to write badly about you when it comes to what you’re doing for sustainability,” he admits.

“Is that so?”

Steve shrugs. “I follow the story. So far what you’ve been telling good ones.” The whiskey is getting to his head, but he still has control over himself not to say more, not to pry and allude to what he’d been uncovering.

Besides, just like Stark said earlier: he’s off the clock, now. Or at least, that’s what he tells himself, trying to focus instead on the heat radiating off Stark, flushed pink from the alcohol. He’s strikingly gorgeous, no matter the setting, but to know that only Steve is seeing him like this, in this moment—it makes Steve feel reckless. It’s a good feeling.

Stark nods, trying to look sage. It makes Steve laugh, again. It’s ridiculous, really.

“So, Steve Rogers,” Stark says.

A beat passes.

“So, Tony Stark,” Steve prompts, teasing.

Stark’s gaze snaps to his. “Cheeky,” he accuses.

“Drunk,” Steve says just as quickly.

Stark laughs. “God, who are you? Walking in here and sassing me like this,” Stark says, more to himself.

Steve’s thankful that the desk light is the only thing illuminating the room; he hopes it hides the heat in his cheeks.

“Well, I have been writing about energy and the environment for the Bulletin for the past three years,” he ventures.

Stark turns to him, a pleasant quirk to his lips. He nods. “And before that?”

Steve snorts. “I don’t know, why does it matter?”

“I just want to get to know you, is all,” Stark says airily, before finishing the rest of his drink.

Stark may be relaxed about this, but Steve can’t help but feel that tension has settled in the air. He knows better to sit any closer to Stark—he’s heard those stories, too. The man’s just as much a philanthropist as he is a philanderer, and Steve would never be stupid enough to get in bed with someone like him. Not that Steve has indicted Stark on his ways, but that—he’s one of the most important men in America. Steve can’t afford to get wrapped up in all that and manage to uphold journalistic integrity.

Still, it’s not like he has to get wrapped up in that, he reasons with himself. It could be a one-off, and neither of them would ever speak about it again, and he could go on to cover events that Stark would never show up for anyway.

Of course, that’s all to say that Stark is attracted to him, too. Which is impossible, of course, but then again—why else would he have invited Steve up to his office, made him drinks? Why else is his knee pressed against Steve’s thigh, legs spread open tantalizingly?

Steve swallows.

“Maybe another time,” he says, motioning to get up. Stark grabs his wrist, sending a jolt through Steve. His hand is warm, and his fingers fit perfectly around Steve’s wrist.

“Look, Steve,” Stark says, looking away for a moment and then up to meet Steve’s gaze. “Tell me if i’m reading this wrong, but…”

Stark shifts a little closer and Steve can smell his cologne, rich and heady mixed with the smell of whiskey. His hand slides up Steve’s arm and gently cups Steve’s jaw.

Steve reminds himself to breathe.

Stark’s thumb strokes his cheek.

The world is magnificently silent. Steve isn’t imagining it when he hears the soft rustle of Stark’s clothes as he moves even closer, and Steve’s eyes flutter shut when their lips finally meet.

Stark’s lips are soft, and the kiss is gentle, almost tentative. It ends too quickly, and Steve chases after Stark as he pulls away, crashing their lips together, parting his mouth open, swiping his tongue along Stark’s. It’s electric, the slide of Stark’s lips against his, the hard press of Stark’s body as Stark leans over him, pushes him down onto the couch.

But Steve has another idea in mind, shifting and swinging a leg over Stark’s lap to straddle him.

“Fucking hell, Steve,” Stark moans when he pulls away.

Steve blushes, and kisses him again before he can say anything else that could be embarrassing.

Stark runs his hand through Steve’s hair, then tugs his head back sharply so he can kiss down Steve’s throat.

“Ah, Mr. St—”

Stark tuts, and bites on Steve’s neck just for good measure. “What did I say you should call me?” He licks the swath of skin, soothing it, and making Steve’s hips buck in pleasure.

“Tony,” Steve breathes out, his vision blurring as Tony’s other hand slides around his waist and under his shirt. “Tony, Tony, Tony.”

Tony’s hand slides through Steve’s hair again, resting just above the base of his neck, “I like the way you say my name,” he murmurs, just before pulling Steve into another searing kiss. His other hand reaches up to grasp at the knot of Steve’s tie, then—Steve pulls away hastily.

“Oh my god,” he breathes out. “Tony—Mr. Stark. I—” Steve clambers off Tony’s lap, uncoordinated and clumsy. “I can’t, we shouldn’t,” he continues to blabber, bending down to pick up his bag. “I’m sorry I shouldn’t have,” he says, looking everywhere but Tony, frantically trying to get his bearings. He’s impulsive at best, and Tony’s lips were so soft, and he looked so beautiful under the dim glow of the lamplight, and Steve was more than two drinks in. He nearly stumbles over himself in his hurry to get to the door. Only then does he register through the din of alarm bells ringing in his head that Tony was speaking to him.

“Steve, Steve, wait,” Tony says, and Steve walks briskly down the unlit hallway towards the elevator.

Unfortunately, Tony catches up to him before the doors slide open.

“Sorry for coming on to you like that, I thought,” Tony says, scratching the back of his neck.

Steve curses himself for noticing how rumpled he looks, how his tie is askew. Steve very badly wants to kiss him again, wants to run his hands through Tony’s hair, see him messed up. Wants to hear Tony panting under him, wants to taste his skin, all of it—but he can’t.

He’s a reporter. If he does this, if word gets out—and even if word didn’t get out, how could he maintain any sort of professionalism?

“It’s not your fault,” Steve stammers, pressing the button for the elevator again. “I’m sorry for… all of it. I shouldn’t have come. I hope we can just put this past us and maintain our professional relationship.”

“Our professional relationship,” Tony parrots back.

The door to the elevator slides open.

“Good night, Mr. Stark,” Steve says, stepping in.

Tony is standing frozen in front of him, looking at Steve like a puzzle he can’t make out. It gives Steve some relief.

“Good night, Mr. Rogers,” he says, and with those two words, the relief is wiped from Steve. Still, it’s a small price to pay if it means he can just continue to do his work.

“It’s fine,” Steve says into the empty elevator cabin. “I’m fine.”

#stevetony #stony #stony fic #steve rogers x tony stark #steve x tony #steve rogers #tony stark #things i love #!!!!! please let me know what you think!#i am also once again putting myself through the mortifying ordeal of writing as i post #so i'd love to hear your thoughts on how this could go lmao #things i write

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genuflectx · 4 years ago

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Just wanna rant about my job a bit, will probably delete this later. But I think I may quit my job within the next month or so u_u’

Originally when I joined this job last year it was under originations- I helped people apply and get approved for loans, or offered general tech support when they needed help with the process online. I felt like I was helping these nice old people, they were rarely mean (save for the occasional grouchy old man after he gets rejected), and the work load was decent. Not too heavy, not too boring.

Then the pandemic hit. My entire team, which had been hired only a few months before, were rushed in for “accelerated training” on the credit card support department. I believe it was just like 4 weeks of training for a tooootally different workflow. We worked in the servicing department for what, maybe a month? Then they furloughed a ton of people and managers and moved us AGAIN, this time to collections. So calling to collect debts on our credit card product. When I joined this company it was under the understanding I did NOT want to do collections because it makes me sad and feel shitty. But they promised us we would be transferred back to originations after a bit, so whatever.

Slowly things have gone downhill since. Just tiny things adding up. They implemented a internet speed minimum requirement, which is understandable working from home, but we lost another good chunk of people who got fired for that, some who I’d made friends with. Hell, I got THREATENED with firing due to this, forcing us to run an Ethernet cable through 2 stories of our house. And I was PISSED because I was the only one on the team making a 100% average on QA scores. Then a few people quit, leaving only 3 people from my original originations team. They hired a new manager to oversee work force management (WFM) and quality assurance (QA) around this point and I’m CONVINCED it got worse because of her changes...

They changed our outbound dialing system to a cheaper one, promising all these improvements, and who woulda guessed... the quality of work life barely improved with this piece of crap tech but hey, it cut costs. Next they dismantled the debt management company department (DMC) and trained us in it so we’re technically trained for and work in two departments. On top of the promise that in the far future that they will cross-train us with the loan department too, a totally different product. We also have to do the emails for our department as well.

Then things got bad. Non stop calls for a months. Likely related to the unfortunate weather disasters in our outsourced locations. The outbound dialer, which is an autodialer that WFM loads up with late people to auto-call, starting filling up with impossible amounts of people to call for our agent count. We started going from 5000 to call every few hours to 10,000. And it doesn’t matter if we don’t clear the queue, they will load more in at certain times of the day. So we’d get 10,000 at 1pm, we’d get it down to 3,000 by 5pm, and they’d just load it back up to 10,000 again.

Then they added on the mandatory overtime. Everyone in our department either has to do a half shift extra on either saturday or sunday- with mine being on saturday. Another person quit (down to 2 from my original team). We’re understaffed as hell and they tell us that they’re FINALLY training a new class. And know what? They ONLY enacted the OT and got a new class because their service levels were down. Service levels are a mandatory legal level of how many agents per how many customers we have, they get in legal trouble when it drops too far for too long. They didn’t give a shit about our stress until their damn legal agreement dropped and then forced the OT on us. Wow. We feel so appreciated.

And THEN the OT was supposed to go until Feb 14th- today. THEY EXTENDED IT ANOTHER WEEK.

And and and a few days after they told us it was extended these dudes LAY OFF 3 managers, including our team’s manager, who I REALLY liked, and stuck us into the team of a manager who is notorious for giving out incorrect policy info! Why! >:(

Some other small things they’ve done that have added up slowly: They sent me a “nice” alluminum mug for my high QA score. Stuck it in the washer once and the pretty gold lettering on the front melted. It also leaks. They do these “thank you” videos some time where the upper management (never faces you recognize save for 2 or 3). BUT they made us watch this 10 minute long “thank you” Christmas video BETWEEN CALLS instead of scheduling time for us to do it like usual. Due to the short staffing, they changed how our weekly meetings with our manager/team go. Instead of having the whole team go into a meeting with her twice per week, they made her split this into 3 smaller meetings once per week, so that 2 or 3 team members meet with her at a time (more people on the floor to take calls). It spread her thin- before they laid her off of course. After they enacted the OT a week or so into it one of the upper management people sent us all an email telling us we basically weren’t doing good enough because our collections numbers weren’t high enough.. KNOWING we’re under staffed, she still emailed that. Come on.

So ya know what? My fiance and friends have encouraged me to just move on. This company isn’t what it was when I started a year ago, and idk if it’s legit just due to covid or if this WFM/QA overseer that they hired near the end of 2020 is fully to blame. I hate hearing customers tell me day in day out about their family dying, about being homeless/evicted. I hate old ladies screaming at me because they can’t comprehend that WE ARE IN A PANDEMIC and the MAIL WILL BE LATE, so their damn paper checks need to be mailed out at least 2-3 weeks in advanced- OR THEY COULD JUST CALL AND PAY LIKE NORMAL PEOPLE. Tired of people insulting me and calling me names because THEY’RE late and THEY missed a payment and they can’t accept responsibility- because they think screaming at someone making a few bucks over min wage will do anyone any good or make their shitty credit score any better.

All this mandatory OT and my nice manager being fired has put a lot of stress on me, if the other crap wasn’t enough. We’re really financially stable in this household even if I did quit, even if I’d feel guilty af. And it could be months before I found another job as safe and well-paying as this one, but at least my mental health would recover.

So I have about a day of sick time and 80 hours of PTO. My plan is to hopefully schedule out all 80 hours, or at least 85% of my PTO if I can, then when I come back to put in a 1 week notice. By then the new agents will be in full swing. I can get the money from the PTO I earned at this shit collections job and then try and move on to bigger and better things. And in the mean time while looking, I can work on art/writing and I can also possibly get a new car with all the money we’ve saved up. My mama and granny might end up disapproving and judge me but 2020 was such a shit year and I’m tired of this. I feel like this job is taking advantage of us and legit just doesn’t give a crap about their employees.

Okay! Well that’s outta my system! Bleck

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canyouhearthelight · 5 years ago

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The Miys, Ch. 54

This chapter is 100% dedicated to my beloved sister, @parisconstantine. While we never really got the chance to actually do this, I always wished we could.

Also, thank @baelpenrose for Arthur Farro and the unceasingly fun to write Alistair Worthington.

Content warnings for basic white girl shenanigans, you have been warned.

“It still tastes like chai,” I groaned as I sipped the drink my sister set in front of me. We were in her office, going over crew files to identify who we had available to start learning the material for the Galactic Core courses. Eino and Grey were solidly behind the initiative, along with Xiomara – purely for political and defensive reasons, but still – so with neither Pranav nor Huyhn having any objections, we had a tentative green light.

This concoction in my cup, however, did not have any such approval.

“It would probably help if we knew exactly what was supposed to be in it,” Tyche before wrinkling her nose at her own beverage. “At least we both like chai?”

I shrugged and nodded. “Maybe it’s the ratios… Hey, this guy looks promising. He’s already assigned to Eino, apparently was a teacher Before. Poor thing, he taught high school…” Tyche erupted in giggles. I scowled at her. “You don’t understand. High school students can be horrible monsters.”

“Agreed,” Alistair added as he breezed into the room. He stopped abruptly, wrinkling his nose. “Why does it smell like a tea shop in here, and why are we discussing the propensity of adolescents to be Eldritch abominations?”

“Latest attempt,” I raised my cup at him. “And we’re going through personnel files for candidates to teach the new curriculum.”

He nodded. “I received the alert that the Council approved. However, one would think Councillor Wiitala would be the one to handle the details.” He gestured at the console. “May I?”

I shrugged and Tyche nodded, so he dialed a cup of my sister’s most recent creation. “Eino will coordinate with the new educators to decide the actual curriculum,” Tyche clarified. “Personnel falls under Soph by way of me, and she’s responsible for logistics.” She made an eloquent gesture at me.

“And Sophia has no other staff to delegate this to?” He arched a brow as he took his first taste of the experiment in his hand. Grimacing, he managed to swallow before putting the rest in a recycling port. “Oh, that’s chai. And not even good chai. How are the two of you drinking that?”

“Grow up drinking coffee that could degrease and engine,” I muttered into my cup. It wasn’t that bad, I decided. My assistant just pinched the bridge of his nose and took a deep breath through his clenched teeth. “As far as delegating, would you be interested in taking it on?”

“Not possible, I’m afraid. Between my day to day responsibilities as your assistant and those horrid swimming lessons, I have very little free time as it is. Madame Reid, you can stop laughing this instant, it is not funny in the least.”

Tyche exploded into laughter rather than complying with his admonishment. Wiping tears from her eyes, she gasped, “I can’t believe you took that bet!” She dropped her head onto her arms and shook, gasping now and then.

I managed to restrain myself to a smile, but it was a close call. “Anyway, if you are too busy, and Tyche is already handling the personnel files, then no, I can’t delegate this.”

“Surely you – “ Alistair broke off as Tyche’s hysterics escalated. At first, he looked confused, but dawning comprehension finally broke across his face. “You cannot be serious.”

“Mmm hmm.” I smiled wider, quirking an eyebrow at him.

“You really have no other staff?”

“Nope,” I popped before leaning back in my seat. “I come up with ideas, I vet ideas, but of the entire Council, I have the smallest staff. Two, to be precise.” I swept my arm, gesturing at him and the shaking lump of my sister, still slumped on the table.

“That is…” he trailed off, shaking his head. “How did I never realize this?”

Tyche’s head popped up. “I wish I knew,” she answered shakily, wiping tears from her face. “You have access to the entire staffing plan for the Council. How did you not see that?” Alistair muttered and turned his face away. “Come again? I didn’t catch that?”

“I thought the information was incorrect, Madame Reid.”

“Mademoiselle,” she corrected. “But Tyche is preferred. Did you really think that a staffing document that I, personally, manage would be incorrect?”

“Tyche,” I chided. “It is very common for those who manage personnel to leave their own updates for last. He’s not being rude.” I turned back to my assistant. “To clarify, that data is completely accurate. The entirety of my staff is sitting in this room. That doesn’t mean I don’t delegate, mind you. I just don’t delegate entire projects, that’s all. Tyche handles anything regarding staffing, whether it’s long term or short term. That is entirely on her, by the way, even though it falls under my department. If I need data, Pranav has given me permanent access to some of his people, and I can also reach out to Grey whenever I need. For something like this, once I figure out the logistics and make sure we have enough educators to do it, I hand it over to Eino, and it’s his problem.”

Alistair looked thoughtful for a moment before nodding. “Additionally, I would venture that you have a sort of unofficial staff.”

I shook my head vigorously, immediately understanding what he was getting at. “No, I have a family, Mr. Worthington. Talking about your day, bouncing ideas off each other, that’s what a family should be. They are certainly not my staff.”

“I am,” Tyche offered, smirking.

Brat. “That’s different,” I sighed. “You actually report to me, in a professional capacity.” I picked up my cup to take another sip, frowning to find it empty. “There is a hole in my coffee cup,” I muttered.

Alistair rolled his eyes and snatched the mug from my hands. “Give me that before you make yourself sick,” he demanded waspishly.

I took a deep breath through my nose, trying to bring myself back to the actual task I was in here for. “Okay, no, I don’t have any other staff, so no, I can’t delegate this. And that fine, this was my idea, and I’m actually very excited to have a hand in bringing it to fruition. So, moving on… Arthur Farro goes on the short list. Who’s next?”

“Don’t kill me,” Tyche immediately responded.

“Not what I expected… why would I kill you?”

“We have one person on this ship with pretty much nothing to do, who has a very unique perspective on this and actually has read most of the material…”

“Tyche…”

“…And he’s not my favorite person either, but – “

“Tyche. Spit it out.”

“Simon,” she blurted, leaving me in stunned silence. “I know, he’s got the social skills of an enthusiastic squirrel, but he is the only human on the ship who already knows the majority of the material.”

I sputtered, stopped, and tried again. “But can he teach it?” I asked, incredulous. “Knowing things doesn’t always mean you can pass the information on effectively.”

“That is your objection, Councillor?” Alistair threw over his shoulder as he continued to do whatever he was doing at the food console.

“Well… yeah?” I confirmed, confused why I would have any other objections. “I am absolutely certain he knows most of the material and would probably learn the rest on his own. He didn’t have much else to do for the year he was on the Ark by himself. And he’s been working on his social skills, it’s just…” I sighed and ran a hand down my face. “Look, I’ve had those teachers, you know? The ones who know the material like they breathe air, but can’t teach it to save their lives. It’s an awful experience and always made me hate the subject instead of the teacher. Simon doesn’t need any more hate directed at him, thank you.”

“For what it’s worth, I’ve already talked to him, and he’s willing,” Tyche offered. “He’s been studying public speaking and body language, and said he would be willing to take some education courses if it would help. He really does want to give back.”

“Wait, body language courses?” A feeling of abject horror buried itself deep in the pit of my stomach. “Tyche… Which courses?”

“About that – “

“I swear on my bones if you sent him – “

“He found it himself!”

Hammering my head on the table suddenly seemed like a brilliant idea. “Oh my god. This is not happening.”

Alistair interrupted, sliding two mugs on the table before absconding with the cooling remnants of my sister’s not-chai. “You are doing it again. You are speaking ‘Reid-ish’ and I’m not quite fluent yet, so would the two of you mind speaking in full sentences so the rest of us mere mortals know what you are saying?”

“Oh, you’ll learn,” I threatened drily before sweeping a hand at my sister. “Go ahead. You love telling this story.”

She leveled a glare that would wither lesser people before turning to explain. “Sophia was an interpersonal communications expert in a former life. She wrote a paper, during grad school, on the importance of body language to people in positions of power. Specifically, educators and managers at various levels. It was controversial for a while, mostly because it emphasized the exact opposite of what most studies in that field encouraged. No ‘power poses’, no ‘assertive language’, nada.”

“And this is the paper Mr. Rodriguez found?”

“Oh, not the paper,” I groaned miserably. “Eventually, people started asking me to come give talks, and then seminars to their employees. It was a disaster.”

“It was an insane success,” Tyche argued.

“But I had to give seminars!” I cried. “You know I hate public speaking!”

You could have heard a pin drop. Alistair gaped at me, mouth opening and closing a few times in aborted attempts to say something. Finally, “You wrote an entire paper, and gave actual courses, on how to do something you hate?”

“That’s why I wrote the damned paper,” I admitted. “I hate public speaking because of all the toxic power-posing bullshit attached to it. It’s like you’re intimidating people to believe you. ‘Project confidence, don’t use filler language, use powerful language, executize’.” I mimicked in a squeaky voice. “It was a bunch of baloney, so I wrote the paper to prove that. I never expected people to take it that seriously. Not to mention, I nearly didn’t get my Masters because of that paper.”

“The professor was not impressed,” Tyche stage-whispered.

“The professor was an asshole who entered every room like a bull in a china shop,” I growled. “He blustered and intimidated people, and at least half his students were afraid of him.”

“And you basically wrote an entire paper about why you found him distasteful,” Alistair nodded. “I am genuinely floored that he disagreed with your findings.”

“Fuck him, I was right,” I ground out. “I managed to get nearly every undergrad in the school to participate in the study, which turned out to be the only way I was able to keep from failing the course – the sample set was so large, he couldn’t exactly argue it. But he tried, believe me.” Distracted, I took a sip of the drink he had set in front of me. “Oh my. Oh god. This… Tyche. Drink. Now.”

She took a sip and threw a predatory look at Alistair. “You did not.”

“I did,” Alistair replied smugly.

I was fighting back tears while simultaneously trying to learn how to live in a cup of coffee. Tyche just looked constipated. “I’ve been trying for two months. You just whipped it right up.”

“I will admit, I did not think your… quest… was as serious as it turned out to be, else I would have done it sooner. If for no other reason than to spare myself your various concoctions.”

“This used to be our thing, every fall,” I explained, sniffing my now-mostly-empty cup. “Before she moved to Paris, I mean. We would go out and get these, and hang out for a day.” I blinked furiously, refusing to cry over a cup of coffee.

Alistair chuckled. “Could the two of you possibly have a more stereotypical tradition?”

“No,” Tyche growled stubbornly before tilting her chin up. “Nothing says ‘comfortable with myself’ more than two women this white,” she pointed back and forth furiously between us, “Enjoying pumpkin spice coffee in the fall.”

“Being a walking stereotype is its own kind of confidence,” I admitted. “You know everyone is probably judging you for it, but you really just don’t care.”

<< Prev Masterlist Next >>

#the miys #humans are weird #autumn #aliens #science fiction #original writing #humans are space orcs #apocalypse

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thefeministherald · 4 years ago

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Inappropriate proposition

Tiffany Bacon Scourby, a former team cheerleader, told the Post about a 2004 encounter with Snyder at Fight Night, the team’s boxing-themed charity event. She and other cheerleaders staffing the event were wearing black bustiers, gold shorts and black fishnet arm stockings, and their job was to dance in the ring and mingle with guests to sell copies of the swimsuit calendar.

At the event, Snyder called Scourby by name and invited her to speak to him. He mentioned that Anthony “Tony” Roberts, his longtime friend and the team’s “official ophthalmologist”, was there. Roberts did Scourby’s LASIK surgery the year before, but Snyder allegedly proposed they engage in something much more intimate.

“We have a hotel room,” Snyder said that 2004 night, according to Scourby. “Why don’t you and Tony go upstairs and get to know each other better?”

Scourby said she laughed sheepishly and waited for a laugh from Snyder that would indicate he was joking. He didn’t laugh, she said.

“Oh, I’m working. Have a great time,” Scourby said she told him before quickly walking back into the crowd.

Scourby told three people about the incident: Donald Wells, the former director of cheerleaders, longtime friend Kristi Kelly, and her former boyfriend, who spoke to the Post on the condition of anonymity. All three confirmed that Scourby told them about the proposition shortly after it happened.

Outtakes from a cheerleader calendar shoot

Brad Baker, a former production manager in the team’s broadcasting department, claims that in 2008, former team play-by-play broadcaster Larry Michael asked him and two others to edit together a video of the “good bits” of the recent cheerleader calendar video shoot in Aruba.

Those outtakes featured the cheerleaders adjusting their bathing suits and revealing their breasts and genitals as they changed positions and moved props for the shoot. Michael, who resigned after the first wave of allegations surfaced, was essentially asking for an uncensored video of team cheerleaders for his personal use.

The other two people Michael allegedly asked to help with this project denied that it ever happened, as did Michael himself. But a former employee turned the 10-minute video over to the Post, and analysis confirmed that the video was created in June 2008 and had not been manipulated since then. They compared it to the promotional video broadcast, and found that it contains shots of the cheerleaders’ breasts and genitals which were censored in the official version.

Another video was allegedly made after a different shoot in 2010 which contained even more footage of partially nude cheerleaders. The unnamed former employee also turned this video over to the Post, and said that they witnessed a producer splicing together footage for the video specifically for Snyder.

The former employee told The Post, “I saved the video because I didn’t think anyone would believe it was real.” This former employee decided to provide the videos to The Post after its July 16 report, out of a desire to see the NFL “hold the team more accountable.”

The cheerleaders interviewed by the Post did not know about the secret uncensored videos until they were told during their interviews. They said they felt shocked, disgusted, violated and nauseous by it. Donald Wells, the former cheerleader director, had a visceral reaction.

Wells, the longtime cheerleader director, was so taken aback by the news of the videos that he cried.

“I worked so hard to protect them,” he said. “They are daughters and wives and mothers. This is disgusting.”

Unwanted advances

Washington’s code of conduct strictly forbids “unwelcome or unsolicited sexual advances,” but numerous women told the Post that they constantly endured exactly that while they were on the job.

“Things that go on there would never go on in a normal office,” said Michelle Tessier, the team’s public relations director from 2000 to 2004. “Being friendly was taken as an invitation to make comments. I was cornered in offices. … There would be no one else around, and the flirting and the innuendo starts, and they take it too far.”

This behavior wasn’t limited to employees. Interns also experienced unwanted sexual advances and were left with no recourse. Shannon Slate, who was a 22-year-old intern in 2016, was relentlessly pursued by former director of pro scouting Alex Santos, who was fired in July over his involvement in the first set of sexual harassment allegations.

Washington had just one human resources staffer, who reported to chief financial officer Stephen Choi. Slate went to Choi to file a complaint against Santos, but he told her that wasn’t an option.

“He basically said: ‘This is a sports organization; men dominate it,’” Slate recalled. “‘You have two options: Keep your distance from Alex, or you can end the internship early.’ I ended the internship early.”

Will there be an independent investigation?

After the allegations first surfaced in July, Snyder announced that he was hiring D.C. attorney Beth Wilkinson to conduct an investigation of Washington’s workplace. Many of the people interviewed for the Post’s story said they hope the NFL takes over the probe.

“An independent investigation is needed,” said Brittany Pareti, a marketing executive who worked in Washington’s community and charitable programs from 2007-2012. “We cannot trust a report from this organization to be unbiased.”

These new accusations now directly involve Snyder, and include serious violations of personal privacy. Snyder isn’t conducting the investigation, but he chose the person to run it. Unless the report of the investigation is released directly to the public, without any input or massaging from Snyder or anyone else from the Washington team, how can anyone trust it?

The NFL launched an independent investigation on Wednesday afternoon, and commissioner Roger Goodell condemned the behavior detailed in the story.

The Washington Football Team released a statement on Wednesday night, too, and Snyder took “full responsibility” for the accusations though denied knowing about them.

#feminism #feminist #metoo #sexism #time's up #nfl #dan snyder

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wolf-n-bones · 5 years ago

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Stories from the workplace

alright, so I’ve got some story rrriigggghhhtttt out of a soap opera. I have this coworker who is about as empathic as a plastic bag around your face. I’m talking sociopath cause I have compared her actions with the traits and i fits like a glove. She originally worked at our sister location and had worked at our location previously when we were short-staffed. Even then I already gotten weird vibes from her so I was glad i wasn’t a perminent thing. Years go by and she gets into a fight with her manager and the rest of her coworkers there. Boss didn’t want to lose her so hired her at our location. All is fine and dandy for a while but it didn’t stay that way. Our manager got offered a job elsewhere and took it, so we got a new manager. This manager had already been offered the job before but due to complications couldn’t take the job. (She was pregnant and after giving birth had heart problems. She’s got a pacemaker now) This lady is a fucking trooper, she works her ass off to make sure we as employees are happy. I can get pretty frustrated with work but if she asks me to pick up an extra shift I will. So, we get 3 weeks of vacation time. I took mine 21st of October til the 10th of November. We have 6 people currently including my manager. We have a student who took his vacation in the beginning of summer because he still goes with his parents. We had one coworker (we’ll call her Bean cause this story involves them) go in the middle of summer with miss Sociopath taking 2 weeks off. Manager didn’t even have a full vacation because she was still doing paper work. Then there is our old man, our fixure of the workplace because he’s been there for nearly 20 years. He took his vacation in September, the first 3 weeks. I thought ‘it’s fine I can take the last and a few in October’ NOPE. Miss Sociopath took the last week of September. Summer is usually a work-heavy period so I was basically running on fumes at that point... But since I had a vacation planned with friends the first week of November I figured ‘21st October til 10 November it is!’ I submitted those dates before september since the work scedule for that month had already been planned. So the work scedule for October and November are planned. Miss Sociopath whines she has exams IN THE MIDDLE OF MY VACATION. Manager told me not to worry about it since I had submitted my dates well on time and miss Sociopath DIDN’T. It did nothing to stop the worrying... Then... It happened... The other coworker, Bean, gets in an accident. She was riding on her scooter and had to evade a cat. Ending up in a ditch. She sprained and tore her knee and ankle, ontop her neck turned stiff so moving her head wasn’t possible. This happened when miss Sociopath was still on holiday for her last week so I had to take over Bean’s shifts which I did even if I was running on fumes and highly irritable. Did ask our Fixture if he could work one of my shifts since I’d be working 7 in a row and 8 was gonna kill me. He had no trouble with that. Since Bean’s injuries were pretty severe she was out for atleast all of October. Now I have to say I was pretty frustrated having to work extra shifts when I was already on my last legs. But it was NOTHING compared to Miss Sociopath. Miss Sociopath accussed Bean of faking it and that Bean could work a few hours regardless of her injuries. And that once SHE worked with a BROKEN FOOT. (if it truly been only her leg Bean technically could have worked since she’d been allowed to use the chair. It would be highly uncomforable but it could be done. However i wasn’t just her leg) She also called the rest of us lazy since we didn’t ‘do our jobs properly’ and that if she were manager ‘you’d all have to fear for your job’. (lady, if you were manager I’d quit on the spot, have fun filling 3 full shifts ontop of those 4 other shifts from Bean. Our shifts are divided in 3 aday, you’re fucked if that happens) Bean wasn’t back before I went on vacation so the manager needed to request emergency aiders. But during my holiday I got a notification from the work group. I feared it was trouble so I looked. No such thing. It was a Kermit drinking tea meme. Something very odd in a group chat meant for work related messages... It was posted by miss Sociopath and had 3 sentences: 1. ‘I don’t actually see you as a collegue.’ 2. ‘Oh you mean we’re more like friends?’ 3. ‘No I mean you do jackshit’ ............................... Yeh, she REALLY posted that..... So the Manager asked the Student, he was the admin of the group, if he could delete it. He told the manager only Miss Sociopath could delete it. So Miss Sociopath responded with: ‘I don’t see the problem? Is self-mockery forbidden?’ Bitch. You’ve been shouting that we’re lazy. Do you REALLY THINK we’d see this post as SELF-MOCKERY? .... So being a little shit I decided to explain it to her <3 I told her: ‘The text implies YOU view US as lazy. It’s not self-mockery if it’s not about yourself.’

Welp~ This is where her true persona shines~ Because her response on that was truly: ??? Dafuq??? (I’ve shown it to various people and that was legit their response) Her response: ‘Wolf, firstly, I think my vocabulary is broader than yours. (good for you? I doesn’t make you smarter tho) Secondly, You don’t know if I’m lazy nowadays since I don’t work extra. So if you want to have an opinion you better ask for facts first’ :justsaying: (No, no I don’t. You can have an opinion WITHOUT facts. I can find you a stupid crotchgoblin, doesn’t have to be true. That’s why it’s an OPINION.) Seriously, I had a giggle with that ludicrous answer but the Manager was fed up. The Manager snapped to cut the crap and that the chat wasn’t for this crap. Miss Sociopath replied with: ‘I was seriously joking about my new motivation’ bu was promptly shut down again. Then she left the group chat :3c (oops~) I did apologize to my manager in private because I didn’t think Miss Sociopath would explode like THAT. Manager said it was cool and enjoy the rest of my holiday. Which I did~ So now I’m back at work, Bean and the Manager are the first coworkers I’ve seen so far. And this is what I’ve heard regarding Miss Sociopath: - She’s pissy because I called her out - She’s driven the Department of Personnel crazy to the point that they hang up if she calls. - She’s texted the Manager so much and at such odd hours (3am) that we can’t text her after 6pm or on weekends. (unless emergency like gas-leak or something) - She’s called Bean a ‘Fat Toad’ (Bean lost like 99lbs in a short time, rude) - She’s been rude towards customers - She’s tried to whore herself out AT WORK (chatting up guys to see if they’re willing... DON’T STICK YOUR DICK IN CRAZY) - She’s threatened and yelled muliple times she’s going to quit (oh please do, you won’be missed) So the manager is going to have a review with her (letting slip Miss Sociopath’s contract ends in February) and that she’s probably only going to give her the 8-hours stated on her contract. (Missy ain’t happy about that) We’re all getting a review but Miss Sociopath is probably the only one on the chopping block.

#Really needed to get that off my chest #anyone else had a sociopathic coworker?#workplaces are full of danger #hope no one goes through this #Workplace story #I'll probably get karma for this #but she seriously shouldn't touch my coworkers #I won't have mercy for you if you do

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calleo-bricriu · 5 years ago

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Business as Usual.

(( This was some Discord RP and conversation with @directoryandle & Calleo that I decided to clean up months later.

Most of the RP that lead to it took place off of Tumblr as well but the gist of it comes down to:

1. Calleo did, as he usually does by virture of the kind of magic he works with, end up attracting attention he didn't want in the form of @absintheabsence ‘s Grindelwald.

2. He avoided most of it for the better part of a decade by either refusing to see anyone that was sent to try and convince him to go willingly using his, "Get on my calendar, which is packed full for the foreseeable future" deflection method, not answering owls, or occasionally answering the more interesting owls that might have come wrapped in complicated spell work with what can be most succinctly described as, "Thanks, that was fun! But, also, still not interested."

3. Eventually, the grandfather on his mother's side, who is an amazing person that helped design and at least begin execution of a couple of different genocide plans, was sent to talk to Calleo's mother who would then (it was assumed) talk to Calleo, which didn't work out well as she interpreted it as a threat toward her only kid and cut contact.

4. By that point, it was late 1939, and there was a shift in tactics requesting one of the Ministry's archivists visit for Perfectly Benign Work Related Reasons, nobody else in their right mind wanted to set foot anywhere near continental Europe, Calleo drew the short straw in the department, and was told to "just go and get it over with, they're not going to kill you."

5. They didn't kill him, but it was clearly one of those things that was planned out well enough that they'd been banking on the Department of Mysteries making Calleo go and he was pretty quickly snapped up and thrown into a cell in Nurmengard to sit for a few days while the building temporarily stripped him of the ability to use magic to make sure he couldn't fight back in a way that might have been dangerous to anyone.

6. And he was given two ultimatums by @absintheabsence after he decided he was done fucking Calleo up enough over the whole 10+ years of daring to not be super interested and eager to jump ship--and also over a lot of really terrible puns and Calleo still being more than happy to still run his mouth because if you’re probably going to die anyway you might as well:

#1. Stay, and everything will be nice or be let go and have everyone who might have meant anything to him be targeted in retribution for the rudeness of not being impressed enough to want to voluntarily stay. Possibly safe to say that Grindelwald had no concept of what the word "voluntarily" meant but, there you go.

AND

#2. Be a glorified, but typically caged, house pet more or less, or go back and spend the next however long it takes you to die down there sitting in one of the prisoner cells that keeps you from using magic and is staffed by people who have no business being in charge of other people.

He chose the "stay 'voluntarily' as a glorified house pet" option with the negotiated aspect of, "Fine, but you have to make it look like a kidnapping so I can go back to work at the Ministry later," (which was accepted because, of course, Grindelwald was of the opinion that there was no conceivable way he could lose the war) and spent the next five or so years confined to one of about three rooms in the Not Prison areas of Nurmengard.

By 1945, it was "later". Once occupying forces had both decided to check the towers to see if anyone was up there and verified he was who he said he was (which was, above all else, “property of the Department of Mysteries”; nobody typically wants to keep the Department of Mysteries from getting its stolen things back in a timely manner), got what amounted to, "Either go to his office and get my card deck and runes out of the top right drawer or let me go and get them, then I'm going back to London", got his two things back, and...went immediately back to work. ))

Calleo briefly paused after stepping out of the lift, mostly out of amazement that it was working properly and not broken down again; a quick glance at the magic still--not quite humming, but not exactly falling to pieces just yet--going around them told him they'd been recently propped back up in a way that clearly stated it hadn't been Maintenance's work.

Director must have done it at some point in the recent past.

The three offices directly off of the lift, Calleo noticed, were still empty and looked to have been empty since he'd left. Even before he'd left, they'd been empty since mid-1926. Trying to get the Director to either hire three new people or let him do it had been a losing, uphill battle as the Director's main focus had been keeping attention off of the Archvies due to the political climate and hiring anyone would have swiveled attention down that way.

He figured he'd find out just how far behind the department had fallen sooner rather than later as it'd likely be one of the first few things the Director would say to him.

He also wasn't about to stop in to the Director's office for a chat as chances were the answer the Director would have about how far behind the department was would have the word 'years' tacked on behind the number so Calleo opted for the same, deadpan, automatic, "'Morning, Director," he'd been using since 1912, kept walking, and settled back at his desk to figure out what (if anything) had been left just sitting there for the last five years and what was inexplicably newer.

Wouldn't have been the first time Director Yandle had either simply left old work there for Calleo or dropped something newer off, assuming he'd be in eventually.

Director Yandle heard the lift doors open and shut and didn't think all that much of it at first. People did still come down to the Archives, after all. Not often, but they did still come down now and again. For the most part, it was nearly always someone from Magical Law Enforcement wanting him to look up some tidbit of information here and there, but nothing that took too much of his time.

This morning, however, his routine of quiet was shattered by the old routine of anything but quiet starting up again.

If he'd been anyone else, Calleo might have had someone apparate directly into his office if only out of complete and utter surprise that he'd just--turned back up without any explanation after having been gone for half a decade without any explanation.

The Director had a better grip on himself and despite that being his first inclination, he instead finished the paperwork he'd been working on, sent it off, and very calmly stood and walked into Calleo's office, stopping directly in front of his Archivist's desk.

He gave Calleo a good minute to stop what he was doing and acknowledge that someone else was there and when that didn't happen, the Director laid his hands on the desk and leaned partway across it, and spoke.

"Where the HELL have you been?" That wasn't strictly what he'd meant to say, and he surprised himself with how venomous it came out. He had meant to ask where Calleo had been just...not quite that aggressively.

"Up a tower."

Calleo had noticed that Director Yandle had entered the room and that he was standing on the other side of the desk; he was also not necessarily in the mood for conversation, especially conversation liable to spin him off on an entire rant about where he'd been and what he'd been doing for the last few years.

While he hadn't been doing anything horrible or even questionable, and couldn't even say that it had been all that unpleasant. Still, it was something he'd done because non-compliance would have made everything markedly worse and it certainly wasn't something he wanted to chat with his department director about.

The noise Calleo received as a response could best be described as derisive disbelief with the repeating of what he'd just said confirming it. Up a tower indeed; what kind of answer was that? He'd been gone for years! The only things that might have spent years "up a tower" were bats and pigeons and Calleo was neither of those things as far as the Director was aware.

"You can't possibly expect me to believe you've spent five years in a tower somewhere! Why didn't you just leave?"

"The door was locked from the outside." Calleo shrugged matter-of-factly.

"And not one hundred percent of the time, no," the first part of his response was more a sigh than words, "but it was where I spent the majority of my time. In that regard, I do expect you to believe it."

"You ought to be grateful I know what year it is as anyone else walking into this office and looking at the papers on my desk might assume time stopped in--" Calleo paused briefly to leaf through the papers, "--early autumn of 1939, which I'm certain," he purposely did not miss smacking Director Yandle's hands with a rolled up copy of that morning's Daily Prophet, with the date showing the year to be 1945 facing up, "it did not."

"It's been five years. You've been gone for five years without a single word!" Director Yandle snatched his hands back after having them swatted, not at all under the impression that it had been done accidentally, and idly rubbed the back of one of them.

"Yes, and that's largely your fault, isn't it?" Calleo still hadn't looked up from what he was working on, a fact that both did not escape the Director and did nothing to de-escalate the building argument. Also not helping to de-escalate anything was the fact that Calleo's rhetorical question was spat back at Director Yandle with the same venom as the Director's initial greeting of Calleo contained.

"You are, after all, the one who decided granting that request was a good idea. If you'd had a bit more sense, you'd have ignored it the same way I ignored it for over a decade; I'll be expecting back pay, including weekends and holidays, as an aside," he continued as a long overdue piece of paperwork folded itself and flew out of the room to finally be delivered, "since I was technically sent 'on Ministry business' on your orders."

In an instant, the Director was on the other side of the desk and Calleo had found his chair (with him in it) whipped around to face the other Wizard. Calleo had managed to move his arms out of the way before Director Yandle could pin them against the chair arms when his own hands slammed down onto them and it didn't help matters at all that Calleo casually reached over one of the Director's arms to pick up the paperwork he'd been reading to continue reading it.

When his idiot subordinate didn't have the courtesy to put the paperwork down, Director Yandle snatched it out of his hands and threw it back onto the desk while, in the same motion, grabbing Calleo's jaw to force the other man to look at him.

It struck the Director that the look he initially received from Calleo reminded him more of a teenager annoyed at being lectured for having missed curfew than it did of a Wizard only a few months shy of sixty who had (allegedly) been what would have technically amounted to a prisoner of war at this point.

Still, Calleo didn't make any move to pull away and instead only slipped a hand up between himself and Director Yandle to remove his glasses, after which he simply sat there and waited for the Director to finish looking for whatever it was he was looking for in his mind.

"The next time one of these Dark Lords pops up, Calleo," slowly the grip he had on Calleo released, and he was now leaning on the chair arms again and passively watching, "do both of us a favour and just keep your head down."

"And how is it you imagined I survived this one?" Calleo's mostly neutral expression split into a sharp grin as Director Yandle drew back from the statement alone, allowing Calleo to turn back toward his desk and pick up the paperwork that had been rudely all but smacked from his hands a few minutes prior.

For what seemed much longer than only a few seconds, the Director stood there trying to decide whether or not he wanted to think too much about the answer to that question and eventually decided that he absolutely did not. He did, however, fish a book of matches with a particularly clever illustration of a cat and some pun he couldn't seem to fully recall offhand out of one of his pockets.

The book of matches he dropped directly in front of Calleo before Director Yandle turned to head back to his own office, "Light yourself back up and get to work; we're three years behind."

A few minutes later, through the thin wall separating his office from the Director's came muffled-by-a-layer-of-books-on-each-side, "Good morning to you as well."

#v: ftbawtft #hp rp #long post #stories #The stupid question of why didn't you leave got met with the equally stupid answer of the door was locked #Keep my head down? Director how exactly do you think I managed to not die and not be thrown into an actual prison cell?#BUT ALSO I WAS KEEPING MY HEAD DOWN UNTIL YOU MADE ME GO BECAUSE YOU DON'T LIKE CONFRONTATION #You can bet by the 70s Calleo was just not having any more of that dark lord nonsense #and anyone sent probably got to Hi I'm here on behalf of the Dark Lor--#before being cut off like a telemarketer with not interested don't call me again

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measuringlife · 5 years ago

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Measuring Me: Buuuut After This Week Things Will Slow Down a Bit

Week of August 4: My Birthday! And Bad News

Lots of celebrations including friend visiting from all over the place. I get a call while at the African American History Museum while touring with dear friends and their baby who are in from Boston that my Mom is in the hospital with a broken hip. Kept birthday festivities scheduled as planned, including Jazz in the Garden with a wonderful crowd of friends who made me feel so supported and loved.

Week of August 11: Long Island NY - Round 1

I flew up to NY on Sunday night towards the tail end of my Boston's friends trip. It was grueling deciding if I should rush up there or not, but looking back I made the right decision. I couldn't handle all the business I needed to handle until Monday anyway. It was a flurry of hospitals, rehabs, doctors, etc. There was also going into my Mom's house after having not been inside for close to 2 years. My sister and I who had a falling out in the spring, made amends and were off to the races. Banks, respite housing, lawyers, notaries, a lot was handled in a short bit of time. Let's not forget I flew back to DC on Wednesday with a new addition, my mom's 4-year-old Chorkie (Chihuahua/Yorkie), Louie is ours indefinitely.

Week of August 18: Fall Welcome Events, and Senior Living Tours

When I wasn't running 3 large orientations, onboarding a new grad student, supporting other major Welcome/Back to school events I was researching and email independent senior living communities near-ish me. Mom was surprisingly agreeable to not go back to the house she's lived in for 40 years and move down to be near me. However, finding the right spot was a multistep task. I wound up visiting 3 places this week and 2 more places the next. I also squeezed in a Hanson concert, and ACA meeting, a 90-minute massage as well as a mani/pedi this week. I've learned I need to take care of me before I can take care of anyone else!

Week of August 25: Grad classes, Vet visits, Musicals, Wedding calls, More Senior Living Tours, and back up to NY

This week was the first work of classes where I work, which was also the first week of classes for me as a brand new grad student! I had 2 classes, one Wed and one Thurs from 5:30pm-8pm. I actually had to race out of my first class which thankfully let out a little early to uber to the Kennedy Center to see am 8pm performance of Dear Evan Hansen - it was amazing! I also visited the last 2 senior living options for mom that week and had 2 Lisbon-based wedding planner calls. One planner was great, but her price tag was steep. One planner was rude and made me feel dumb. I had a wedding planning meltdown, but had a good chat with my dear friend SC who helped me re-group. I've been building (and will continue to build) a nice pot of wedding/honeymoon money. However, when I think about all the side hustles and sacrifices I've made for a lot of this money I don't want to blow it on "a party" that usually has more bells and whistles than we are interested in. So I'm hoping to plan a celebration vacation with loved ones and I'm working with a travel agent friend of mine. I spent Labor Day weekend back in NY, this time I drove - I left as the sun rose on Saturday morning and had a full weekend of bank nonsense, errands, got Mom settled in her "respite" stay at an assisted living community, went over senior living options with Mom, and going through my childhood bedroom - including my sister and I wearing our prom dresses. We took Freddie off all his meds because he health has not been improving and it seems the meds were only making him feel sicker - the change has actually seemed to help outwardly, but still super stressful. Also, poor Louie got neutered this week and was in a cone of shame for 2 weeks!

Week of September 1: NY, Grad School, Hiking, and Pump Official

I was in NY until Tuesday and then drove back down, I had another week of two grad classes, but after sitting through my second nutrition class I was sure that it was too much science and more work than I could handle. I ended up dropping that class before the add/drop period ended and felt relieved. I did another visit to Mom's top two senior living choices to view the exact rooms that were open. I also made time for fitness. I got a permanent gig teaching Body Pump on Fridays at 6pm, I had been long term subbing the class since April, but the instructor decided to give it up and I got to take it over! The half-semester Urban Hiking class I teach started this week, which has once again proven to be a delightful highlight in my life! I also squeezed in another concert too!

Week of September 8: Fitness, Mercedes Bastards, Injury, and Friend Dates

I kicked off the week with an all-day AFAA (Athletics and Fitness Association of American) continuing ed workshop that I had already postponed once due to my crazy schedule. It was really great though, I'm glad I went. I signed papers on a place for Mom which didn't come without its own Mom drama - but at least it was relatively mild. I squeezed in a couple of friends dates: manicures with AL, walk with LH, and a dinner date LB. I was still chugging through my one grad class, but having some concerns about if this program was the right direction for me, it's much more Public Health-oriented than the Fitness and Wellness aspect of health I'm truly interested in. I had a bunch of petsitting clients and have had them during all the previous crazy weeks. I already separately about the ordeal with my Mom's leased car, but Mercedes are crooks! I had toyed with officially taking over the lease, but there is like a $1500 transfer fee that "they can't waive." There's no way they are getting a penny more than we have to pay. I made a bunch of calls to NY based insurance folks I know as well as talked to my mom's insurance agency and my insurance agency to make sure when I start driving her car everything is squared away. Also, this week my colleague aka one other coworker because I manage an office of two had a personal injury that had her out of the office for about a week. As I well know, life happens, but it started to feel like when it rains it pours....

Week of Sept 15: Drag Brunch, Euro Trips, a Resignation, and Back to NY for an Explosive Visit

I kicked off this week with a highly anticipated Sunday Funday with some fabulous work friends. I got all dolled up and headed to a drag brunch in DC which led to gay bar-hopping on a beautiful afternoon. Despite making my way home at 6pm, I still felt like trash most of Monday, but thankfully I was off. I did have my first celebration vacation in Portugal call with my friend DR who is a travel agent. It was a really exciting call and the fact that I know DR already makes things a lot easier. We have a plan for me to make the most of my scouting trip in November which is a relief. I was having a particularly busy week and was just pushing through until we get Mom moved, when my coworker (aka person 2 of our 2 person department) drop a bomb on me, she got a new job and is resigning effective 10/10 which is 3 weeks notice. I can say I'm surprised she's a great employee, had a tough job, and has been with me for almost 2.5 years. I was more shocked by her not giving me any sort of heads up. I went to a tailspin back in Jan 2017 when the other half of my office left and I was alone. Thankfully I am not 5 months into my job like I was then, this time of year is honestly "the best" time to be short-staffed and I am looking to do a re-org that hopefully would make things even better in the future. However, it means a lot more work on me all the way around. I head back to NY via train this time! I actually had my Urban Hiking class start and end at Union Station which made for a great hike and for me to easily make a 4:15pm train. Saturday night was just pizza and wine with my sister. Sunday we headed to Long Island to see my Mom. We needed a durable power of attorney signed - the one we did when my Mom was first in the hospital didn't cover as much as we need and my sister and I need the power to act on my Mother's behalf independently since I'll be handling VA business and my sister is handling NY business. My sister has a friend who is a notary and the friend was also going to on LI visiting family and agreed to come to Mom's assisted living place to have us all sign paperwork. Well, my Mom out of the blue demanded cigarettes and wine before agreeing to sign the papers. This was extremely hurtful. Most of you know my Mother is an alcoholic. Did she fall down down the stairs and break her hip because she was drunk, it's possible. Has her drinking made my life a nightmare especially the last few years? Yes. Having her hospitalized and in the care of others meant she wasn't drinking, she was actually taking her meds, and she had company and therefore didn't need to call me all the G-D time. Well, apparently my Mom's sister bought her cigarettes the week the before (WHY?!?!). My Mom was having bullshit anxiety over an eye doctor appointment because for the 15th time she's convinced she's going blind (she's not, she's fine). She NEEDED the wine and cigarettes and threw a tantrum right in the lobby, right in front of my sister's notary friend (who at least knows some of my Mom's craziness), it was horrifying and embarrassing. My sister started crying and here I am trying to keep it together. I tried to explain to Mom that her drinking was hurtful to us, especially since we've both dropped everything to tend to her situation. I explained that it feels like she is choosing wine over us and she didn't deny it. I needed these papers signed so I conceded and said after we did house stuff that day I'd take her to buy cigarettes, but I don't want to be anywhere near her when or soon after she's been drinking. After some more bank business and errands, I dropped her at a liquor store (walker and all) to get herself her precious wine. I told her I needed to cool off and needed a break from her for a few days, I would call her when I was ready.

Week of September 22: Grad School Drop Out, Wedding Planning, & Car Sales

As I drove back to DC on Monday knowing that I didn't get a chance to do my reading for grad school or work on a paper, I felt stressed (plus the stress of driving my Mom's brand new Mercedes 300 miles to DC as essentially it's maiden voyage). I have so much stress on between Mom stuff, being an office of one, wedding stuff and just general life I was at my max. The class was something I could do something about. I emailed the professor asking for an extension (I automatically have more compassion for my students now), but also let him know I was investigated dropping the class. Since add/drop and the refund period was over I was worried that since this class was being paid for my employer's tuition benefit that there might be some major financial implication. I reached out to the department chair and the HR benefits lady. The way the benefits work and the fact I hadn't used them before means I'm not on the hook for the $5000+ tuition or any of the taxes related. There is only a $27 gap that I will pay taxes on, OKAY. So I dropped the class and ultimately withdrew from the grad certificate program. I feel major relief, not only over this semester, but over the next 2 years that I had penciled in grad school for. I quickly realized that the AFAA professional development workshop is more in line with what I want than anything overly academic - I mean I already have a masters. I think eventually may get an AFAA nutrition certificate which is far less intensive and way more applicable than the route I was going to take. Now with my Wednesdays free again, I was able to make my triumphant return to my Adult Children of Alcoholics (ACA) meeting and I was so happy to be there with my people. I also tried to carve out more time this week for wedding stuff. Talked through my new vacation celebration idea with some friends who will be on the invite list, talked more with my travel agent D, and with my friend DM who is traveling with me for the scouting trip. I'm feeling more focused and ready to make decisions. I also sold my 2007 Camry to a coworker who happened to be in the market for a reliable used car, just as I was learning that I would be driving my mom's car and therefore wanted to sell mine. We hit a couple of snags, like the fact that my car's aftermarket tints that came on the car when I bought them were too dark to pass MD inspection. Or that I needed to sign the back of the title over to my friend, the buyer. She learned AFTER spending 3 hours at the DMV, oops! I cleaned the car out and removed my stickers from the window and bumper - that 26.2 sticker did not want to budge!

What will the next 2 weeks hold is yet to be fully seen, but here's the summary I'm expecting

Week of September 29: Senior living lease signing, 1000 last-minute Mom things, ACA, Running a 2,000 person Family/Alumni Weekend, Teaching my last Urban Hiking class of the semester and driving to NY with my fiance T and Freddie (we don't Louie thinking he is going back).

Week of October 6: Pack up the stuff that's going to VA with my Mom in a U-Haul van T is driving, I'm driving my Mom down (AKA the woman who hasn't left NY state in at least 10 years), move her into her new place, have two last days in the office having transition meeting with my colleague before she leaves on 10/10, I also have birthday celebration plans for T and my friend SL whose birthdays are this week. Also, it's my Mom's birthday so I imagine we'll be taking her out.

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