#supervisor: maybe working 4 days a week could help

[titvs-androgynous]

Mental health win, my doctoral advisors want to give me every possible accommodation so I can graduate on time!

Mental health massive L, I am not used to it so I'm too embarrassed to ask for said accommodations!

[syncrovoid-presents]

I am. Not dead. BUT will be gone for a like a day or few because the stuff at work did not! want! to! work!

Which I'd another way of saying that I finally was able to get free after working 34 consecutive hours in a row. The day prior I got 1 hour of sleep and that is all after 5 days of 10 or 11 hour work days.

I am so sleepy. I am taking tomorrow off and probably going to sleep right through it. Anywho cheers everyone!! I am going to go to the shadow realm now @:P

[spideybatsy]

Late Night

Summary: GN!Reader gets a cleaning job working at Wayne Enterprises when a certain billionaire playboy develops an obsession with them. Pairing: Bruce Wayne x GN!Reader WC: 3K Warnings: being watched without knowing, mentions of erections, nothing too serious. Notes: Can be read as any batsy you’d like, I personally picture Bale bc I’m a slut for him <3 This is the first chapter in my new series! I haven't written in a year, so be kind Masterlist

The wind pressed against your sweat slick skin as you stepped into the shadow of Wayne Tower. A shiver rolled down your spine, half caused by the weather and half by the ravenous butterflies in your stomach. Starting a new job is never easy but God, you have never needed a job as much as you need this one.

The renewal of your lease brought a steep increase in rent at the same time as your boss announced he was closing the business. You couldn’t really say you were surprised, the bakery was definitely a front for something nefarious, why else would the GCPD come in every other week?

It was a shame, really. You loved working at the bakery, especially during those quiet moments when you could just sit there and watch the world go by. God knows you’ll be rushed off your feet now.

Cleaning wasn’t your first choice, nor was it your second. Hell, it wasn’t even on the list. But you were not in the position to be anything but grateful when your friend mentioned an opening at their work. The hours weren’t the best but the pay was surprisingly good.

You walked into the building and were immediately shoved by someone sprinting to the lift. Taking a deep breath, you regained your bearings, straightened your shirt, and headed for security. You’d been in the building only once, for your interview, but figured you’d need some sort of pass to get into the actual offices. 

The security man who served you was disarmingly attractive and you couldn’t help but blush as he ran his eyes down your figure. His hair was a dirty blonde, pushed back and behind his ears. 

“First day?”

“That obvious?” 

He chuckled, before asking for your name and looking you up on the system.  “I’ll just call your supervisor, Emily, to come down.” 

“Thank you.” The two of you fell into an almost awkward silence. “How, uh, long until your shift finishes?”

“I’m on a morning today, so I finish at 12. How about you?” 

“Well, I’ll usually be doing the 4 till 10 shift but they wanted me in earlier today. So, I'll finish around 3.” 

“Too bad.” 

“Why’s that?” 

“Well, I would’ve loved to take you out for dinner.” Were your cheeks on fire or was it suddenly just really hot in here? “Maybe it’ll have to be lunch instead.”

You opened your mouth to respond but was interrupted by Emily calling your name. 

“There you are, I’ve been waiting for you!”

You flashed a sorry smile at him and rushed over to your friend's side. 

“Hey, what’s that guard's name?” Although you knew he couldn’t hear you from here, you still whispered.

You cringed as Emily started to turn back, quickly reaching out and stopping her.

“I think that’s Russell.” She whispered back, “Why?”

“He asked me out on a date.”

“Really?” Well, no more whispering. You simply nodded your head, following her into the lift. “You don’t even have your access pass and you’ve got the men drooling. You dirty stop out.” 

“I haven’t slept with him!”

“Yet.”

“I’ll be telling HR you called me a slut.”

“Hoping they’ll sleep with you too?” 

You couldn’t help but laugh, pushing her slightly with your shoulder. As the numbers on the lift drew higher, the two of you settled down. Joking with your friend was one thing but you needed people here to take you seriously, even if you were just the cleaner.

“Are the people here nice?” You weren’t expecting your voice to sound so… small.

Emily looked over at you, affectionately bumping your shoulder. “Yeah, most of them are lovely.” 

“What about the others?”

“Fuckable.”

The lift doors opened and filled the floor with the sound of your combined laughter. 

—-

“And down here, you have Mister Wayne’s office.” You followed Emily down the hallway, looking into an office and making eye contact with an older man. You gave him a quick smile and was pleased when he returned it. 

“That’s Lucius Fox, he’s really the boss.”

“What about Bruce Wayne?” 

“What about him?” Emily stopped at the front of the last door.

“Well, it’s Wayne Enterprises, isn’t it?”

“Why don’t you ask him yourself?”

You couldn’t help but gasp as she threw the door open, jumping to apologise to the aforementioned man. 

Only, he wasn’t there.

Emily laughed, walking further into the room. “He’s hardly here, probably recovering from his drunken nights spent with supermodels.”

You hesitantly followed her in, amazed by the so-called office. This one room was probably bigger than your whole apartment. It definitely had better views. 

“I’m not sure you should be talking about our boss like that,” you mumbled, walking over to the floor to ceiling windows. 

Emily came to stand next to you, “it’s not like he’s ever here to hear it.”

“Don’t be so sure.”

Your breath caught in your throat as you jolted around, instantly fearing the worst. Was it possible you could be fired before you even got your first paycheck? How were you going to pay rent now?

You couldn’t tell if you should be relieved or not when you realised it was the man you’d smiled at earlier. Lucius Fox. 

“I’ll believe it when I see it.” Emily replied, turning back to the view. 

Oh my God. What was she doing? “Please excuse my friend, Mr Fox. I think she meant-”

“I know what she meant,” he responded while walking over. 

You opted to say nothing and pretended to look out the window, wishing for the tension to dissipate as quickly as possible.

“You’re scaring them to death, Fox.” 

The older man laughed, coming to rest his hand on your shoulder. “Worry not, dear. You’ll grow used to the banter.”

The tension started melting from your shoulders, maybe this wouldn’t be so bad, after all.

—

Within two weeks, you’d fallen into a comfortable routine. You came into work at 3:45 to make yourself a tea and read your book, before starting work at 4. You start at the side furthest from Wayne’s office, as they left the earliest. By the time you reached the common areas, the rest of the staff would be leaving, only Fox remaining. He was always the last one to leave, usually close to 7. You couldn’t help but feel sorry for him, since you knew he was typically the first person in the office too. So, you’d bring him a decaffeinated coffee around 5pm. You’d find yourself talking to him for a while, usually about stories from the past that you could both laugh about. 

Truth be told, you were starting to really enjoy the man's company. He had a dry sense of humour that you found hilarious. Being in the office late could be rather lonely, so you clung onto the moments you had with him. 

A positive of working alone in the office was that you could play all your music out loud. You’d recently gotten into a podcast where three friends read stories and discussed them. A lot of them were light hearted or ‘am i the asshole’ reddit posts.

Tonight, you listened to their supernatural episode as you finished up in Fox’s office when you heard a bang down the hallway. Slowly, you creeped to the door to peep down the corridor but there was no one there.

Maybe the ghost stories were getting to you. You shook your head and turned back into the office when you heard the noise again. Jumping, you looked toward the sound. The only thing down there was Mr Wayne’s office.

Clutching your mop between closed fists, you edged down the hallway. Taking a deep breath, you pushed the door open and rushed in, hoping to catch the perpetrator in action.

Only the office was empty, of course it was. You couldn’t help the relief that coursed through your veins. It was obviously going to be empty, you had yet to see The Bruce Wayne in this room. You were starting to wonder if it had even been used. Maybe Fox should get this office, that way someone can appreciate the view.

You laughed quietly to yourself before turning off the podcast and putting on some tunes. That was more than enough scares for you tonight.

Unbeknownst to you, you were not alone. A certain billionaire had stumbled in here before his night duty, expecting to find the place empty as usual. He hadn’t been in for a few weeks now but things rarely changed this high in the building.

Then you’d burst into the room, armed with a mop and suddenly he couldn’t breathe. You were the single most beautiful person he’d ever seen. Who were you and what were you doing here? 

He couldn’t help the way his dick twitched in his trousers. No. Now is not the time. 

He stayed in the shadows and watched you work, diligently going from one room to another before stopping in the kitchen to make a drink. You pulled a book out of your bag and read for a while. Bruce found himself creeping closer, eager to see what you were reading. 

Then you looked up and it seemed like you were staring straight at him. He knew you couldn’t see him but he couldn’t stop the way his heart stuttered in his chest. Nor the way his lower half jolted. 

What was it about you that made his infamous control slip? He’d never had this issue, not even as a teenager.

Your eyes widened as you kept gazing in his direction and he slowly turned his head. The bat symbol drifted amongst the clouds. 

He held back a sigh as he shifted further into the darkness. 

Maybe he was due a visit back into the office, after all. 

—

Or maybe not. 

It had been a week since Bruce first saw you in his office, clutching a mop like your life depended on it. Sometimes, when he lay awake in his bed, he thought about how oblivious you were to his presence that night. And every night since.

He should really get you some self defence classes, perhaps send them as a gift from Wayne Enterprises. He hated thinking about what could’ve happened if he really was a burglar. He could only keep you so safe, you needed to be able to handle yourself. 

Then he felt a bit crazy. Here he was, talking about you like you were… part of his life. Although, he supposed at this point you were part of his life. He just wasn’t part of yours. Too many times he’d driven to the building just to never get out of his car.

He’d asked Fox about you at his last equipment meeting. He tried to act nonchalant about it, casually asking if there were any new staff on the top floor. 

“We have a new cleaner.” Fox said, relaying your name. “They’ve been here for about three weeks. Settling in very well.”

Bruce repeated your name, strangely satisfied by the way it rolled off his tongue. 

“May I inquire why you’ve asked about them?” Fox’s words caught Bruce off guard. “You’ve never been interested in the Wayne staff before.”

“Just keeping up to date with the comings and goings of my fathers legacy.” Bruce suddenly found the kevlar padding very interesting. 

“Better late than never, I suppose.” Fox hummed, running his fingers across the fabric. “This kevlar is half the weight of your current gear.”

“Is it still as durable?”

You didn’t come up in the conversation again but Fox filed the information away, eager to ask Alfred about it. 

—

“What does your partner think about you working so late?”

Fox’s question caught you completely off guard, causing you to almost spurt out your tea. He immediately grabbed the tissues off his desk, handing them to you.

“Forgive me, it was an inappropriate question.” 

“No, no, no. It’s fine.” You said, finally swallowing down your mouthful. “I, uh, don’t have a partner. So, I don’t think they mind.”

“I suppose that makes two of us.” 

Before you could respond, he tactfully changed the conversation. 

—

“They’re single, you know.” 

Bruce furrowed his eyebrows but didn’t look away from his newspaper. “Whose single, Alfred?”

His heart almost broke free from his chest when Alfred said your name. 

“How would you know that?” Bruce’s words were more rushed than he would’ve liked, the newspaper long forgotten on the table.

“Every old man has his secrets.”

“You spoke to Fox,” Bruce sighed. “They probably thought he was coming onto them.”

“Worried you have competition, Master Wayne?” 

Bruce couldn’t help but chuckle. 

“You know, I may not be the master of romance but I hear that the first step in any relationship is to talk to each other.” 

“Obviously,” Bruce muttered, picking his newspaper back up.

“What you’re doing right now has a name, Master Wayne.” 

“And what is that?”

“Stalking.”

Bruce couldn’t help but flinch at the word. He turned to defend himself but Alfred was already gone, leaving him a pot of tea. 

—

You were sitting in the kitchen, tea in one hand and your book in the other. You’d found yourself in the office a bit earlier than usual but didn’t mind. It was always good to have some time to wind down before you started your shift. 

“What are you reading?” 

You couldn’t help but inwardly sigh, putting your bookmark in. “Just a-” Your breath caught in your throat as you looked up. If Russell was attractive, this man was downright gorgeous. A face carved for a god with luscious hair combed behind his ear. 

He looked eerily familiar but you couldn’t quite place him. You could feel your cheeks heat up as you bought your gaze back down to the book.

“I’ve never heard of The Dry Heart before,” Bruce’s heart leapt from his chest as he took the seat across from you. “What’s it about?”

You sneaked a glance up at him but immediately looked back down when you made eye contact. “It’s about an unhappy marriage, I’m reading it for a book club.”

He hummed, his eyes searching your face. You were even more breath-catching up close. “You must be our new cleaner,” you liked the way he said your name far too much. “I’ve been meaning to catch up with you.”

“You have?” Who was this man? You would remember seeing such a gorgeous face among the office. 

“I try to meet all the new employees but I’ve been a bit slack lately, please forgive me.”

You slowly lifted your eyes to look at him and couldn’t help the way your lips lifted. 

“Consider it forgotten,” you said softly.

He opened his mouth to respond but was cut off by Fox. 

“Mr Wayne, how lovely to see you again.” Lucius came in and stood beside you. “I see you’ve met our latest employee.”

Your eyes shoot, Mr Wayne? Surely not. In your rushed state, you completely missed the way Fox smirked at Bruce, causing the younger man to stare daggers back at him.

“Of course, it’s important to know everyone in the office.” 

Fox hummed, turning back to you. “Please excuse us, I have a very important meeting to drag Mr Wayne into.” 

“Uh, yeah, sure.” You had a hard time even saying the words, your mind whirling. Wasn’t Bruce Wayne an arrogant asshole? This man was the furthest from that. He was so kind and funny. And good looking. Holy shit was he good looking.

No, you’re not doing that. Not to your boss. Especially not when your boss is a world famous womaniser. 

You can’t help the way your eyes follow him as he walks out or the way they trail down to his perfect ass. Entering the hallway, Fox rolls his eyes when he sees the massive smirk on Bruce’s face. 

—

“I was hoping I’d find you here.”

You can’t help but jump as Bruce walks into the kitchen. “Mr. Wayne, I didn’t expect to see you so soon.”

“Please,” he sits down at the table and smiles at you. “Call me Bruce.”

“Okay, Bruce.” 

Bruce savours the way his name rolls off your tongue and how your cheeks go bright red under his gaze. His eyes follow as your blush spreads down your neck and under your neckline. 

“I usually take the new employees out for lunch, your turn is well overdue.” He takes a moment before continuing. “I guess ours would be more like dinner.”

“I suppose so,” you smile at him, oblivious to his wandering gaze. “But you don’t have to do that, Bruce. It’s fine, honestly.”

“I insist. How about tonight?”

You brought a lousy microwave dinner for tonight but there’s no reason why it can’t wait for tomorrow. Plus, who doesn’t like a free dinner? Lost in thought, Bruce takes the opportunity to study the way you bite your lip and store it away for later. 

“Sure, tonight is good.”

—

You weren’t sure what to expect during dinner but it wasn’t this. Bent over, your hand clutching your side in an attempt to ease your stitch as you laugh hysterically. Bruce is laughing too, his smile so big it shows his perfectly pearly whites.

“No way, you’re lying.” You gasp between breaths.

“I wish,” Bruce looks away in faux-shame. “I wasn’t always the smoothest.”

“I find that hard to believe.” Your laugh settles into a smile. 

“Why’s that?” He sounds genuine when he asks, curious even.

“Well, look at you.” You immediately heat at the implication, quickly stuttering off an excuse. This is not a date. “Y-You’re The Bruce Wayne. It would’ve been a-all over the newspapers if you, uh, messed up.”

Bruce merely hums, his eyes dropping down to your lips as you bite away at them again. 

This is bad. You cannot be flirting with the boss, especially not your boss's boss. Sure, he might be into it now but he’s not known to stick around with the same person for long. You can not afford to lose this job if things go bad.

You’re saved by the server coming back to drop off the check. Bruce’s hand grasps yours as you go to take the check, sending a bolt of electricity down your arm. His eyes find your own, a small smile gracing his lips.

“I’ve got you.”

Fuck. 

[sugarushwriting]

from this idea/request

your dream job.

working with a boy kpop group as a marketing newbie.

they came to the united states for tour. you were excited to work for the one and only stray kids.

𐒡𝛫𝛧

not proofread. please like, comment, reblog! do not repost or translate, tysm!!

₍ᐢ. .ᐢ₎ ₊˚⊹♡

you could barely contain your excitement. even 2 weeks later and 4 shows later. you don’t think you’d ever get over the fact you are literally working with the stray kids.

you didn’t care if your job was to double check and make sure catering was okay. or if the wardrobe designers had everything they needed. or ran errands for food or other supplies.

it was all worth it to be able to be in close proximity with the stray kids.

your korean language knowledge lacked, however the boys were good speaking in english and hearing you talk in your native language. you once even apologized to them because you couldn’t communicate with them in their language. even with simple words.

bang chan and felix looked at you like you had two heads and said to never apologize for that. it seemed the other boys didn’t mind either.

you all communicated well enough to make sure everyone was on the same page.

right now you were carrying 2 big plastic bags and 2 drink carriers to the guys’ dressing room while they waited for press conference in boston.

opening the door softly, you bowed and walked in quietly as each boy was doing their own thing.

han was singing, lee know harmonizing. hyunjin and felix playing a game on their phone. seungmin and i.n. was napping. changbin and bang chan deep in conversation.

you were just surprised more chaos wasn’t happening right now.

changbin and bang chan immediately saw you carrying everything and rushed to get up to help you.

“here, let us help.” changbin said in his cute english accent.

“we could’ve went and got our own take out.” bang chan smiled taking the drinks.

“it’s fine, part of the job.” you awkwardly replied.

“thank you so much!” felix smiled pausing his game with hyunjin.

you turned around to leave the boys, as your supervisor would yell at you for spending too much time lingering.

even though the boys (all 8) have even told you they didn’t mind company.

they loved their u.s. staff.

“do you want to join us? we got extra.” bang chan asked. what you didn’t recognize in his tone was hope.

he was hoping you would say yes. but frowned when you shook your head politely. “i wish i could, but i should go see if my boss needs me for anything else.” you smiled and walked out of the dressing room.

your smile could melt bang chan.

what you didn’t know, was that bang chan started to enjoy your company. the first day he met you, newbie to this industry and work, he loved the brightness your energy brought.

he wanted to call you sunshine in a nickname, but was scared to see how you would react.

him having a crush on staff? fine, okay.

but he knew you were probably drilled to not even look twice in their direction in that way or else you’d be terminated.

he didn’t want to ruin this opportunity for you.

but he also wanted you. sexually? maybe. but even more so, just wanted to spend more time with you.

and he would find a way.

︶꒦꒷♡꒷꒦︶

and bang chan did.

he had texted your personal cell asking for you to bring him something as he felt nauseous and had a headache.

it was rare bang chan asked for anything. at least, from what you observed.

so the fact he texted your personal cell rather than your work cell, your stomach dropped thinking something was truly wrong with him.

you even texted him back asking if you should bring back up, and he had said no.

bang chan: no, i just need you

bang chan: and the stuff i asked for, yeah

bang chan’s ears got red at the thought of the first text message and how it could be interpreted.

he waited anxiously in his private hotel room, pacing back and forth waiting for your knock.

what if you got the stuff but handed it off to security to bring to him? dang it, he should’ve been more specific that he wanted you to hand it directly to him.

light knocks came to the door, and he smiled knowing it was you being polite, even with knocking on a door.

he opened it, seeing your worried face, and you pushed passed him.

“are you okay bang chan?” you asked frantically and took everything out the bag that could hopefully help him.

bang chan couldn’t get sick and you would do everything you could to help that.

in reality, bang chan was fine.

“just feeling a bit queasy.” he says with a fake frown. “no matter how much traveling we do, being in different time zones so many times do get to us.”

“i bet!” you turned to him finally seeing him. he was dressed in black sweatpants, black sleeveless shirt and house slippers.

those fucking muscles. you could literally drool at the sight. heck, you probably were. you had to blink rapidly to get your mind right.

“yes, right,” um you stuttered, noticing bang chan smiling. “i—i should go now.”

“stay for a while?” he asked, his question thick with his aussie accent.

“i don’t know—,”

“please? just for one movie at least?”

was this appropriate? probably not. you could potentially get fired. but couldn’t you also get fired if you left your client unhappy?

you’d do anything to make the boys happy. anything. and you knew if you truly didn’t want to, they wouldn’t make you.

the thing is—you wanted it all.

bang chan hoped you would agree. but he wouldn’t hold you hostage if you said no.

please say yes, he internally begged.

you nodded, “okay.”

thankfully, you were dressed in comfy clothes because when he had texted you, you ran to the nearest convenience store in panic.

his room was big enough to have two big comfy chairs that had sight of the television on the wall.

“what kind of movies do you enjoy?”

“anything in mind yourself?” you asked.

“how about the new marvel movie?”

“sounds good to me!” you smiled and hugged your knees close to your chest getting comfy on the chair as he got comfy on the other chair next to you.

if bang chan was bold enough, he would’ve asked if you wanted to watch the movie while laying in bed.

but would that be too bold? he can hear some members say, ‘not bold enough!’

how bold should he be with you? he did some lurking and found your personal social accounts. before you deleted any evidence, he found that you were a fan of theirs.

although he joked saying fans needed to touch some grass, he needed to touch some grass.

he saw the thirsty posts you had made of him before deleting. that’s why he wore the sleeveless shirt.

going shirtless would be too much too soon.

bang chan was restless during the entire movie and you noticed quickly.

you got up and grabbed some of the medicine and pedialyte from the bag. “here take this. you’re restless!”

“oh, um thank you.” he smiled timidly and took the the one pill and drunk the pedialyte.

“maybe that’ll help.” you smiled sitting back down.

“i think I should lay down?” he asked more in a question rather than a statement.

“ok, i’ll leave you be.” you smiled and stood back up.

“no, can you stay? um, just make sure i don’t vomit in my sleep?” bang chan wanted to cringe so badly at his own pleading.

“don’t you sleep naked?” you blurted without much thought and he laughed.

“yeah i do, but i can stay dressed for you.” he winked.

oh this flirt. this mister, ‘i don’t know how to flirt.’

should you stay?

“yes, you should stay.” he said and you wanted to slap yourself as you found that you said that out loud.

bang chan got comfy in bed, turning off the television. he patted the empty spot next to him. you hesitated but remembered technically he’s your boss too.

the thought of sleeping with your boss? your celebrity crush who’s your boss? amazing.

you sat next to him and you two got in comfortable conversation. it started with him asking how did you know you wanted a job like this and you replied it started in your teen years with the 17-magazine and teen vogue magazines wanting to be around celebrities and get to know them better.

like isn’t it fun to be able to interview your favorite popular artists?

as time you went on, you suddenly yawned and looked at the clock on the hotel nightstand.

“shit! it’s almost 1 am!”

bang chan laughed. “well, our show isn’t until the day after tomorrow,”

“you mean today? the day after today?”

“no. it’s not today until we sleep then wake up. regardless of time.”

you looked at him with interest. “that’s an interesting way to put it.”

“either way, we sleep, we wake up, we have nothing to do so we can sleep in.”

“well depends if my boss needs me to do anything.”

“i can tell her to give you a day off. say i need you as my personal assistant.”

you laughed. “personal assistant in what? keeping you company.”

bang chan blushed. “maybe.” he replied quietly with a smile.

“i can do that.” you replied.

was chan flirting with you? or was he just being his usual self?

no, this seemed like flirting. you doubt he’d just ask anyone for that.

“well i can keep you company whenever we wake up.”

“and tonight. while we sleep?” bang chan stared at you, his brown eyes looking at you with hope.

“sleep?” you choked out nervously. sleep? with? bang chan?

you could literally combust.

“i don’t have sleep clothes?” you questioned.

“i can lend you something if you need, unless you sleep naked too?”

you bit your bottom lip. should you do this?

“please? i won’t do anything you’re not comfortable with. if you don’t want me to touch you, i wont. i—i just really like your company.” bang chan admitted shyly.

how could you say no to that? “okay.” you smiled.

what you wish you could tell him was, ‘yes! touch me! i’ll sign an additional nda!’

you got into bed next to bang chan, after dressing in a plain black oversized stray kids shirt he gave you. you denied needing any pants as it would just make you restless in your sleep.

the shirt covered all that needed to be covered.

you both laid in bed, facing each other with nervous smiles.

“we should get some sleep.” you said with a yawn.

“yeah, we should.”

you and bang chan stayed up until 6 am that morning.

[luminousbeings-crudematter]

Should you write it? Uh, please do!😭🥴😩 as a corporate girlie I would love me some Office!Ghost tbh, maybe you’re from another agency working intel on a joint operation w 141 and he gets a kick our of teasing you bc you’re such a stark contrast with your cute lil briefcase and the business casual dresses, totally not used to working literally on site surrounded by all these military/law enforcement men you usually do work for behind the scenes in the safety of your office

PAIRING: Office! Ghost/Co-Worker! Ghost x F! Reader 

WARNINGS: that particular kind of tacit sexual tension you find in corporate Britain || sexy eye contact from across the bullpen || filthy language || 18+ only

A/N:  corporate girlies unite! || anon is referring to this post || i tried to do the prompt as it was but realised that I know nothing about how the military works :) but this is fiction, so we ball, I hope you like it anon! I have no idea where this fic going, please help :)))

Part 1 of 4 || Part 2 || Part 3 || Part 4

***

It starts simple before it gets complicated, as these things tend to do.

There are exactly two things that keep you motivated in this job—the smoke breaks you take 5 times a day, and the off-chance of seeing Ghost around the base.  That’s it.  Two things.

And one of those was being ruined by your newest friend’s lack of enthusiasm for the other thing.

“I bet he's blond.”

Simon just takes a deep drag of his cigarette, looking at you with the distinctively irritated side eye that he gives you about 12 times a day.

“Ask me why I think he's blond.”

“No.”

But you’re undeterred.  “He just has that energy, you know.  I’ve only ever seen him with MacTavish, and he stands there like a tall, sexy, dumb…tree.  Like, I bet he’s fucking gorgeous, but he’s also giving blond himbo.”

Simon’s eyes roll up to the sky in irritation.  “I dunno what himbo means.”

“Yeah you do.  You said you’ve worked with Ghost before.”

You almost want to perform a pirouette in joy at getting Simon to finally look at you.  “N’ what of it?”

“Then you know what a himbo is.  It’s Ghost.”

You don’t even try to contain your manic laughter when Simon just about turns and leaves.         

***

What Simon doesn’t understand (the cantankerous bastard) is that you’ve made eye contact with Ghost a few times around the base.  The man is more elusive than average, even in this line of work.  His presence around the base is...well.  Entirely consistent with his moniker.  The man is a ghost.  

Sometimes you wonder if it’s all really performative, but something about the way he moves in the spaces around him leads you to conclude that maybe he’s omnipresent after all.  He'll catch your attention from the periphery of your vision, only to disappear when you try to actively seek him out.  He melts into the background of wherever he looms, like a shadow. (Or a Ghost).  There and not there, all at once.

And on the rare occasions you’ve seen him around, he keeps to himself.  Not surprising, given everything you know about him (which isn't a lot), but what is interesting to you is the way he looks at you.  And when he’s around, he does look at you.

You can't say you mind, considering you look at him too.  Even after all these years working with big, handsome, massive men and women, day in and day out, you still can't say you've gotten used to it.  And you could never be used to someone like Ghost.  

But then there’s Simon.  The other man you’re finding yourself increasingly attracted to.  

They tell you he’s only there temporarily and as punishment.  You can't even begin to imagine who could (and would even dare to) punish the big grump.  You don’t actually know why he’s being punished with desk duty, and even if you wanted to, you have no way of finding out.  He won’t tell you, and neither will your supervisor. 

More importantly, you decide, you couldn’t care less. 

Simon’s punishment means that your week has suddenly become very, very interesting.  The mood around the office is different while Simon sits at your absentee colleague’s desk.  People are quieter around him—uneasy and the slightest bit put off by his brutish nature. But you can’t deny that there is something about Simon, something you can’t quite seem to put your finger on.  The man is just...effortlessly sexy.  

You sit across the room from him, but facing him, and so every time you look up, he’s there.  The height of the desks combined with the height of this mammoth man mean that you can’t see his entire face, but his eyes stick out from the top of the desk partition, and it’s enough to create…issues for you. 

Five days ago, when you'd walked into the office, and noticed a stranger on Davis’ seat, you hadn't actually known it was him.  He was just...some guy.  A nose that looked like it had spent more time being broken than not, wicked scars running down his face and into his lips, mean-looking but with the most expressive brown eyes.  And then your supervisor introduced him to your team as Simon.  And that was it.  Thus had begun your love affair with permanent arousal. 

You must be one of Pavlov’s dogs with how you’ve been conditioned to associate the feeling of his eyes on your face with wetness between your legs.  It’s mercilessly constant and you’re left feeling achy and unsatisfied every day, having to content yourself with rubbing your thighs together for some much needed relief.  And through it all, Simon just watches you.

You know he’s interested.  And he must know of your reciprocity, because your traitor face gives it away, and because his interest is quickly replaced by smugness.  

During a brief stint of temporary insanity, you consider confronting him about it.  But what would you even say?   So sorry, Simon, you big, scary, grouch, but would you just please hit this and we can both call it a day and I can move on to making heart eyes at Ghost again? Hehe, no.

But you’re stubborn to a fault, so you befriend him (albeit with you doing most of the hard work in your “friendship”) and downplay your attraction, while he pretends he doesn’t spend most of the day making bedroom eyes at you.  Win-win.

And if you end up carrying an extra pair of panties in your purse, then it’s not like he needs to know about it.

****

Taglist: @devcica || @kneelingshadowsalome || @tiredmetalenthusiast || @xintothewoodswegox || @miyabilicious ||

[butts-bouncing-on-the-beltway]

This morning I woke up, 4 days after payday, with my bank account fully in the negative, little to now grocery shopping done in the past 6 weeks due to finances, and exhausted. I drove to the food pantry (because there's not a busline from the house to it, and I wouldn't have had money for a ticket even if there was) and even though it's named for a Jewish concept using a Hebrew word with Jewish religious significance, I pulled up to a Methodist Church. I sat in their sanctuary surrounded by pride flags and other people in need of food, and waited 90minutes to be called into the distro space. There, a woman sat with me and stared for a moment at my listed income on my application sheet and asked three times if it was right before slowly entering the information she knew would disqualify me from the program and quietly told me I could not pick up an allotment. I told her I understood and made a joke about never imagining I could make this much money in my life, let alone make it and still not afford groceries, and she told me I couldn't pick up an allotment but if I spoke with her supervisor they'd make sure I didn't leave empty handed. I said I was grateful and that if they had rice and sugar I could make do for a month. The program director told me they don't have sugar, but packed me a small bag of rice and canned veggies and some apples and frozen blueberries, and I told them again that I was grateful and it was true.

I don't know why I'm typing this out. I feel so weird and have been wrestling with this since leaving the food pantry. I don't really have a point here. I *am* grateful they helped me when they had no need to. I *am* grateful they're here to be asked for help. They were kind and treated all of us (not just me) as human, and it's clear they knew many of the people there with me as regulars. I walked by a staff person praising an elderly woman's new haircut since her last visit, saying she looked beautiful, and the woman glowed! Everyone was talking and having a lovely time and clearly felt welcome and safe there.

But I saw how everyone treated the children. They were happy, well loved children, visibly. They smiled and waved at me when I walked by, and they were full of play and energy. Which is maybe part of why they were confused and slow to recall when their parents tried to keep them calm and still. It was maybe why they were delighted that I smiled and waved and sat with them, since no other adult was doing it. No one was even looking at them except to "keep them out of trouble". I remember places like that when I was young. I remember the ones who could see my mom as human enough to give her boxes of fruit and current-day sell date foods in the back of a store or church house. But who couldn't see me, her child, as human enough to even say hello to me or ask my name. It taught me that begging was something you do carefully, a dance of placation, pitifulness, and humble pride, all carefully added in drops until the person who can keep you from starving decides if and how to do that. As a child, my clumsy social graces weren't up to the challenge of keeping the steps of the dance, so it was better I stay silent than risk destabilizing my mother's work. I found myself dancing her steps this morning, and hating myself for the way I framed and shared my truth, regretful and brought low instead of asserting my humanity not be pinned upon my financial status. I didn't lie to anyone. Nothing I said was untrue or even eliding of truth. But I knew that the truth only mattered as it fit a particular story of need, and so I made sure it did.

This is charity, I think. Earning the gifts from your benefactors that will allow you to survive, all while remaining just pitiable enough, just small enough, not to threaten their sense of distance from you. They're here to aid the needy. It helps remind them that they are not us. But I am. In every way. So what has gone wrong? How could this be? It disrupts the reassurance.

It's why they had no sugar you see. No chips, no snacks, no sweets for the children, and no sugars. Sugars are a luxury. Not a basic staple of cooking. At least not to them. Sugars are used for cakes and candies, not for marinades and cooking oils. So why should we need them? It would just hurt our health anyway.

I've decided what this post is I think. It's a recipe.

Sin-free Simple Syrup Recipe

Live in economic freefall? Rely on church run food donations to eat? Really tired of someone trying to suggest that fruit serves the same role as fucking sugar in your efforts to feed yourself?

Me too, bitch, me too.

Reinvigorate your sense of self after having it ripped apart to appease the charity staff with this 4 ingredient fruit-flavored simple syrup that can be used as liquid sugar in many recipes (as long as you don't mind fruity sugar in your recipe!)

4 cups frozen fruit (blueberries, in my case)

1 cup room temp water

A squeeze of citrus juice or crushed ginger root if you have it (to taste)

1-2 tablespoons of sugar-sap product (maple syrup, honey, molasses, etc) or 1-2 tablespoons of sugar (any kind) depending on what's available

Throw all together with any other flavors you may care for (spices, etc) in a heavy saucepot, and simmer on low/medium-low until reduced to your preferred syrup texture, then transfer to an airtight container and chill. It can store for 2weeks, so cut the batch in half or quarters if you expect to not use much in that timeframe.

I use simple syrup in ratios of about 1tbs simple syrup for every 3-4 tablespoons of dry cane sugar, and about 1tbs simple syrup for every ¼cup of sugar-sap product. Feel free to experiment and find your own substitute ratios.

[pettyrevenge-base]

No you can't have new years eve off.

So I started a new job this year and up until recently I've genuinely been enjoying it. There's some colleagues I've bonded with really well with and I'm actually really good at what I do. I work in primary care for the NHS (UK) and patients are always telling me how helpful and how kind I am. Since I joined in January, 6 patients have bought me chocolates/flowers by way of a thank you for fixing certain problems for them. For the first time in a really long time I feel like I've found some sort of calling. As lame as that sounds. But recently my days have become increasingly difficult.

4 months into my employment my colleague (let's call her Trish) who trained me up had to take some time out for a health issue so I spent 3 months basically doing the job without her, and at times it was incredibly stressful being the only person able to perform the job. Admittedly there was maybe one or two days it was too much and I had to run off for a small cry before getting back out there. However, eventually ended up taking it in my stride and thus gained praise and respect from colleagues and patients alike. But when it was said Trish was coming back I was relieved because I thought it would give me a bit more breathing room. I was wrong.

Now I'll preface all of this by saying that Trish isn't particularly well liked. She's known for being blunt to the point of cruelty both to patients and coworkers, she's snappy, and rude to pretty much everyone. There's negative comments regarding her on Google fir crying out loud. She's had umpteen complaints against her but they keep her around as she's worked there for around 20+ years. When she went on leave, granted I didn't know her that well, but we got on well and in spite of everyone bad mouthing her behind her back or making snarky comments when she went into a different room, I stood up for her. No one was particularly overjoyed she was coning back from leave other than me.

For the first few days she was back she went straight back to trying to "train" me in spite of the fact I'd been doing everything solo since her absence. Which rubbed me up the wrong way a little but I ignored it. The last time I saw her I was still regularly asking questions. So that's fair enough. But even though she could see I was quite capable and competent she kept talking to me like a moron so I had to be quite blunt with her and tell her I'd been doing the job by myself perfectly well with 0 help from her or anyone so I didn't need to be "refreshed" with training.

Since then (July) the relationship has soured somewhat. We're civil when it comes to work stuff but outside of that we don't really talk. Until a couple of weeks ago. I had a particularly difficult patient call up 3 days in a row and I just needed to vent. In my head it came under the headline of "work related" so I vented to Trish about the patient, she agreed the patient was difficult and I did the correct thing for them etc. I thanked her for letting me blow off some steam about it and went to do something else. I forgot something though so went back and caught Trish bitching about me to 2 other colleagues, calling me soft, a whingy cow, i just need to grow up and get on with it etc.. She was like a deer in headlights. Nothing was said between us but the whole next day she may as well have been kissing my arse.

Now my supervisor messaged me the other day re an extra holiday day around Christmas, Trish is on annual leave currently so the supervisor hadn't yet asked which extra day she wanted. From previous conversations with Trish I know she wanted to take the last few days of the year off so she could go over to Europe to spend NYE with her adult child. After the way she's treated me the last 2 months I felt like being incredibly petty so I asked for the day I knew she wanted and asked to use a couple of my annual leave days as I have "family commitments" meaning I had 3 days off, total, following the weekend (this was also going to be Trish's plan). My supervisor gave them to me. So that now means Trish won't be able to take the days off as there won't be any cover. I also know she's already booked her hotel and flights and she was just waiting for the supervisors to bring up the extra holidays.

So fuck you Trish.

TLDR; Caught a colleague slagging me off so knowingly booked annual leave for dates I knew colleague wanted. Colleague had booked hotel and flights to visit family for NYE. So now she won't be able to go as there won't be cover due to me having booked the time off.

Source: reddit.com/r/pettyrevenge

[notthewriteryourelookingfor]

I am at my fucking limit so buckle up:

Because I have adhd and anxiety and depression, I need to take melatonin to get to sleep at a reasonable time otherwise I'll be lying in bed for literal hours until I can fall asleep, doubly so if I take my adhd meds that day.

So I live in Australia and if you live in Australia you can't buy melatonin over the counter if you're under 55 (idk why I'm too tired to look up why) and I'm 29 so fuck me I'd need to get a prescription and then a months supply is like $30.

So I've been ordering melatonin from this place in the US which is about 5 months supply for about the same price maybe a lil extra for shipping like $50 for 150 tablets.

So when I realised I was getting low on them I went to the sight and ordered again.

Easy-peasy right?

Well it turned out that I had enough to get me to the last day of their delivery window (about the 27th of Feb) and I was like " ¯\_(ツ)_/¯ they're usually pretty quick with delivery so I should be ok" but then the 27th rolled around and no delivery.

So I checked the tracking and it hadn't been scanned since the 17th. It was in my country, in my state, but hadn't moved in 10 days.

So I looked and the company was using a new 3rd party delivery company and they Sucked. It was a continuous problem that they just didn't deliver packages, lost them, took months and months and months to deliver something to next door the facility.

So I got in contact with the American company and they're gonna send me a refund (more on that in a sec) and til then i was like "dear God ill have to order from Amazon 🤮) so I did.

Shipping cost more than the product but the delivery time was about a week and I'd found 2 of my old diazepam that I could take if I really needed to.

To note: I usually only take my meds for work, I can generally get by without them when I'm not working but now not taking them for work makes me feel like I am not being as useful/productive/etc as I could be and as a supervisor who is often the one in charge I need to be on the ball.

Amazon package was meant to come today.

I did get an Amazon package today but was it my desperately needed melatonin? No it was a fucking Christian self-help book:

Like does this look like medication to you?!?!?!

I get that mistakes happen but this is the 2nd issue I've had with this 1 thing.

Also as a queer satanist/witch it feels a lil insulting even tho it wasn't probably wasnt intentional at all and some Christian who wanted a self help book has been sent sleep medication like oops.

But that is not the end of the saga.

Luckily Amazon is on the ball about refunds and I was able to reorder the item (& a 2nd brand so we'll see who comes first) and paid extra for fast shipping. Even then it will take another week for it to arrive.

I have my supervisor shift on the weekend, I cannot be unmedicated for it but I will be running on 2 hours of sleep if I'm lucky.

If I didn't take the adhd meds I'd be on maybe 4 hours sleep so it's not much difference tbh.

But on top of all that: the refund from the 1st company (that I will never be going back to after this) was pending in my bank account. It had the amount ($95 cuz I ordered 3 bottles of 2 different strengths plus shipping) with a "this is pending" label.

It has now vanished from my account.

It is no longer pending but I also do not have the money.

I am giving them the 10 business days they said it'll take and if it's not in my account I am raining hell.

I work retail minimum wage, I live paycheque to paycheque, I cannot be out $95 with nothing to show for it.

10 business days is the 15th

My new order is meant to arrive on the 14th

We'll see what I get first, a refund from the person I ordered from in January or the replacement items I ordered Wednesday last week.

(Also the express shipping isn't much faster I just need it literally as soon as possible I am so tired)

[thesimmermo]

Something New, Something Different

Season 2, Chapter 4 🎀

A few weeks past and Morgan finally gets in contact with Maurice.

Morgan: I know that you've seen my texts and calls. Marie has been in Brindleton Bay all weekend and I was told that she didn't see you at all. It was your weekend with her. Maurice: Morgan, I was busy. This weekend wasn't a good weekend for me. Morgan: You are so full of shit. Why beg me to bring her just for you to do her like that? That's so fucked up. It's like you don't even want to be her dad. Maurice: I do but I have a lot going on. Morgan: What the fuck ever. Don't worry about it. Do what you have to do. She just won't come out there anymore because it's clear we need to go and rework the custody agreement. It's supposed to be 50/50 not 99.99 to 0.01. Maurice: That won't be necessary. Morgan: Oh, but it is. I'm calling my lawyer and we'll meet with a judge this time to discuss custody. This is a shit show. Maurice: Morgan.

She hangs up the phone and paces the room back and forth thinking. She is more disappointed than angry. Her phone vibrates in her hand and she sees that it is Dylan.

Dylan: Hey. I understand if you might be busy but would you like to go out and get a drink. I've had a long day at the hospital and wanted to get some relaxation.

Morgan hesitates before replying. It's been months since she's gone out and relaxed. She's been so focused on Pre-school, her job, and Marie that she hasn't had anytime for herself. Tonight would be best since her parents have Marie for the evening.

Morgan: You must have been reading my mind. Meet me at The Solar Flare Lounge in Oasis Springs. Dylan: See you there.

Morgan gets dressed quickly and meets Dylan at the lounge. He's standing outside waiting on her as she walks up. He smiles and she can't help but smile back at how attractive he looks without being all dressed up. They share a quick hug before chatting a bit.

Morgan: "You look so different without that business casual thing going on."

Dylan: "I could say the same about you. But for sure, you still look beautiful."

Morgan: "Thanks, you did not have to say that.

Dylan: "I did. But enough of that, this place seems way out of my comfort zone."

Morgan smirks and turns to the door.

Morgan: "Perfect. Now maybe you can loosen up a little and relax from that day you had. Come on."

Morgan leads Dylan inside and they walk to the bar and sit. She orders their drinks and then turns her attention to Dylan.

Morgan: "So Dylan, tell me about yourself."

Dylan: "I'm 28. I was born and raised in Windenburg. I come from a family of doctors. My mother was a pediatrician and my dad was a Neurosurgeon. They're retired now and still reside in Windenburg. How about you?"

Morgan smiles at the thickness of his accent when he talks.

Morgan: "Uh, let's see. I'm also 28. I was born and raised in Willow Creek. My dad's a farmer and my mom's a supervisor. I got married at 24 and had my beautiful daughter Marie at 25. Uh... My ex-husband and I also got divorced that year and I recently just moved back to Willow Creek where I'm the principal at Willow Creek High."

Dylan: "OH! So you had a baby and still climbed that career ladder. Very impressive Ms. Smith."

Morgan smiles at the complement. It was refreshing to hear someone congratulate her sincerely.

Morgan: "So, how is Willow Creek treating you?"

Dylan: "Fabulously. I've met some amazing people. 2 men that work with me named Jarrod and Theo said they knew you."

Morgan: "Oh my gosh. Small world. Jarrod is married to my best friend Serena. We met in college. Theo is married to my BFF Kysre. We've been friends since elementary school."

Dylan: "They spoke quite highly of you. Theo told me that you "don't take shit" and are "nice nasty."

Morgan laughs and sips her simtini.

Morgan: "At least he knows."

Dylan smiles and stares at Morgan as she speaks. They sit for hours talking and drinking. Morgan has not felt open in a while. She felt as though she could sit there and tell Dylan every detail of her life without fear of judgement. She felt like she could finally let loose and be herself.

Dylan can't help but admire Morgan. He's taken aback by her beauty, her sincerity, and the generosity that she has extended to him in such a short time. He's never felt this way about someone and he can't wait to see what happens in the future.

Dylan: "This might be a little out of pocket but would you like to dance?"

Morgan smiles and downs the last of her drink. She reaches out her hands and leads Dylan to the dance floor.

Dylan takes in the sweet scent of her perfume and the smell of cocoa butter on her skin as he holds her dancing slowly. They continue to talk and laugh but soon they are swaying back and forth in silence taking in the fullness of each other.

The moon's glow peers in from the night sky and Morgan pulls away knowing that she should get home.

Morgan: "I should get going. I don't want my parents to keep Marie for too long."

Dylan: "I definitely understand. Let me walk you to your car."

Morgan: "This was something I needed more than you'll ever know. I appreciate you thinking of me and inviting me out."

Dylan: "We all need time to unwind and relax every now and then. I am glad you could come."

They walk closer to her car and Dylan stops.

Dylan: "It was nice getting to hang out and get to know you Morgan."

She smiles shyly.

Dylan: "I know that you just got out of a divorce and I don't want you to feel pressured to hang out. But I'd love to get to know you better."

Morgan: "I think I'd like that."

Dylan smiles and opens the door for her.

Dylan: "Goodnight Ms. Smith."

Morgan winks at him and climbs in her car.

Morgan: "Goodnight Mr. Gray."

She speeds off into the night and Dylan stands there watching as she turns back toward Willow Creek. He smiles and turns to his car.

Dylan: "Morgan Smith..."

He smiles as he drives away.

[weresilver]

My, my, looks who's alive! Another fic of mine has been consuming my thoughts. I just finished the first chapter for that one at a little over 6k words. Fun stuff. I want to post that one for Halloween (though with the Steddie big bang, who knows), but we'll see. I might hold off on that one and try an focus on this one once more? We'll see. For now, enjoy! Oh, if the @ tags don't work, or if you just don't want to be tagged like that, I'll also be using the "Pin a String fic" tag :)

[Part 1] – [Part 11] – [Part 13]

@madaboutmunson @xxfiction-is-my-realityxx @dijkstraspath @spectrum-spectre @epiclazershark @redheadchimechild @steddie-there @gayngerthings @manda-panda-monium @goodolefashionedloverboi

Pin a String to My Chest – 12

The reunion

Wayne had been coming to work as usual during the week Eddie was missing, confident that he'd show up fine, returning from an improvised trip he and the older boys from the club decided to go on. Nevermind the fact that Eddie hadn't called; he'd never failed to let Wayne know where he was before.

He knew Eddie wouldn't have killed that girl, maybe someone just broke into their trailer—

A full week after finding her body in the trailer, he got a call from the hospital, saying that Eddie had been admitted during the night. He spent the rest of that day as well as the night there. The next morning, the press announced his kid's innocence — to some people's surprise, apparently, if the nonsensical noise he heard from the TV was anything to go by.

They went on about a man called Peter Ballard, obsessed with the Creel murders and determined to recreate them. He chose their targets, stalked them, and killed them a few days later. Chrissy Cunningham happened to be most vulnerable when she decided to reconnect with an old middle school acquaintance.

Wayne didn't pay much attention to the TV after that. He made the calls he had to in order to stay with Eddie in the hospital, but he'd still have to work some nights. Not many, but some.

He met the people who claimed to have helped Eddie, and despite the insane story they all told him, he found he believed them. Hopper coming back from the dead — or wherever he was taken to, he supposed — and confirming it all helped. A little.

The Henderson kid was there as often as he could, often doing his homework next to Eddie's bed and talking about it as if Eddie would reply to him at any moment, tired of all the science talk. Wayne worried about the kid, but he didn't know what to tell him, especially not when the first thing he did was hand over Eddie's necklace.

Dustin was there. With him, the Wheeler girl had said. Wayne couldn't imagine what that must have been like.

Eddie had been admitted ten days ago. This was the third night Wayne had to go to work since then. He'd been doing his best to ignore the guilty looks as much as the disbelieving ones, and so far, no one had tried talking about it all in his vicinity. Now, he knew people were talking elsewhere, but as long as he didn't hear it, it should be fine.

Wayne shouldn't be here. He knew that, his coworkers knew that, his boss knew that, but apparently he didn't have a choice.

The call came close to 4 am, about two hours before the end of his shift. One of the supervisors, a man he could never remember the name of given how rarely he saw him, called out for him, saying there was someone on the phone.

"It's from Hawkins General," he clarified softly once Wayne was close enough. "Didn't say much, but I assume it's about your nephew."

Wayne was quick to thank him and walk into the office. He picked up the phone with a deep breath.

"Hello? This is Wayne Munson."

"Mr. Munson," a woman answered, sounding too chirpy for the hour. "It's Linda." Right, Eddie's nurse every other night. She was one of the nicest ones he'd met so far, always a kind word and gentle touches where his nephew was concerned. "You might want to get here soon, Eddie just woke up."

She had promised to call him if anything happened, personally. Wayne's heart was racing, at first for the fact she was calling at all, but then for the fact that Eddie had woken up. She spoke some more, though he wasn't sure he absorbed much of it.

He hung up with a promise to be there as soon as possible. He spoke briefly to his supervisor before the man was waving him off.

"Just go, I got this."

He never drove so quickly in his life.

Linda was waiting for him at the front desk, her smile widening when she saw the state he arrived in.

"I told you he was tired, Mr. Munson," she said, turning to walk further into the hospital without preambles. "You could have taken your time driving."

Wayne shook his head even though she couldn't see it. "You said he asked for me? No way in hell I'm keepin' him waiting."

Linda didn't try making small talk after that, leading the way to Eddie's room. Not that Wayne needed directions after spending most of the last ten days here, but the sentiment was nice.

She opened the door gently, letting Wayne step in first. Eddie seemed to be asleep, but it was clear he had woken up at some point; the thin blanket covered only half of his uninjured leg, the other slightly elevated with a pillow. It looked like Eddie had tried to move around. His left arm was in a sling, probably to keep him from stretching the wound on his chest and shoulder.

"Let me know if you need anything," Linda said from the door.

Wayne nodded absently as she closed the door. He moved the chair closer to Eddie's bed, the scraping noise enough to make his nephew's face scrunch up.

"Hey, kid." He kept his voice soft, not wanting to disturb Eddie if he wasn't awake but letting him know he was there just in case.

"Wayne?"

God, the kid's voice was rough. He gently patted Eddie's forearm, avoiding the bandages, and kept his hand there.

Eddie's eyes fluttered open, face creasing in drowsiness and confusion. "You…?"

"I'm here, Eddie," he reassured. He was probably smiling a little too wide for what Eddie was used to, but he didn't really care. Wayne helped him drink some water from a cup left on his bedside before asking, "How are you feeling?"

Eddie moved to shrug a little, but grimaced in pain. "Achy," he said, with a scrunched up expression that told the discomfort was a little deeper than that. "What happened?"

Wayne shook his head. There wasn't much point in talking about it when Eddie looked on the verge of sleep once more. If Eddie had actually forgotten the circumstances of his injuries, he guessed having the rest of his little monster slaying group around would help more than Wayne talking about it could.

"We'll talk when I'm sure you won't forget it."

Eddie hummed, nodding slowly. "Stayin'?" He asked, slipping into an accent that didn't come out often. His eyes slipped close, head slightly turned to him. "Missed you."

"I missed you too, kid." He squeezed the arm he was still holding. "I'm not goin' anywhere, go back to sleep."

Wayne made himself as comfortable in the hospital chair as he could, not once letting go of his nephew. The kid seemed relaxed, though that might be the work of the painkillers; Wayne had been told the state Eddie arrived in, and he guessed the painkillers would be needed for a while.

Minutes passed in silence, as Wayne watched Eddie breathe. It had become routine, making sure his nephew was still there. It was because of that routine that Wayne saw his face contorting into a frown right before he groaned.

"Eddie?" He asked, leaning closer to him. "Are you okay? What's wrong?"

"Thinkin'," he mumbled, slurring with sleep. "Not goin' to the concert next week, huh?"

"That's, uh, that's tomorrow, actually." Eddie let out a questioning noise that sounded awfully confused. "It's…" He trailed off, glancing backwards at the clock on the wall. "It's almost 5 am on April 7th, kid."

Eddie was staring at him, confusion clear in his eyes despite the low light. He looked away after a moment, turning his gaze forward.

"Oh," he whispered. He took a deep breath — as deep as he could, all things considered. "Okay."

Wayne couldn't help but raise a brow at his non-reaction. Eddie had been excited for this concert for weeks, going on rants about the concert whenever he lay eyes on the tickets that Wayne was safekeeping. Metallica and Ozzy. Eddie had learned a song or another from one of them, Wayne couldn't tell which one. He'd spent so much time practicing it…

"Don't look at me like that," Eddie mumbled, frowning. "Can't do shit about it now." He pulled his arm free of Wayne's hold and slowly rubbed his eyes. "Should've just—"

"Not been attacked?"

Eddie froze. So he did remember. He slowly turned to look at Wayne, who wanted to grimace as the movement seemed to stretch the bandage on Eddie's neck. His eyes were wide, looking afraid in a way Wayne hadn't seen since Lauren brought him over at 7 years old.

"I—I didn't…" His breathing picked up, and his hand pressed against the bandage on his chest. "I didn't do it." He shook his head, grimacing. "I wouldn't—"

I wouldn't hurt them.

Eddie couldn't finish his sentence, but the desperation in his eyes made it clear what he wanted to say. Wayne knew he didn't do it, that he would never hurt anyone. He knew who the actual murderer was.

"Eddie, son," he grabbed his hand, one of the few areas free of bandages. "I know, okay?" Eddie's gaze was fleeting between his eyes, looking for a catch he wouldn't find. "I need you to breathe, Eddie, as deep as you can."

It took a couple of minutes and many repeated words before Eddie was breathing easily once more. He was frowning, clenching his hand around Wayne's fingers.

"There you are," Wayne said softly. "Your new gaggle of friends made sure I knew what was going on."

Eddie's expression didn't change, but he nodded. "You… You believe 'em?"

"Got no reason not to." He shrugged. "Hopper coming back from wherever he was sure helped."

Eddie opened his mouth to question it, most likely, but all that came out was a tired sigh. "Sure, whatever."

Chuckling, Wayne patted Eddie's head, making a bigger mess of the kid's hair. He was sure that Eddie would demand a wash soon.

"Get some rest, son, I'll be here."

Eddie hummed and, surprisingly obedient, closed his eyes. He moved a little to adjust himself on the bed and was out almost as soon as he got comfortable.

It wasn't long before Wayne fell asleep as well, more tired than he'd realized after a nearly full shift.

[blueskiesandwindchimes]

Dreams Can Become Reality

I know I said I'd have some good news earlier in the week. Before I get to that, I'd like to share how much I really do appreciate my day job. I get to make my own schedule. That is the biggest plus in the column of perks. The second biggest plus is being told by clients how much they feel I've helped them without judgement. One time, a client called our office and left a wonderful voicemail for me, gushing over her experience.

The downside is that I am in the middle of getting my post grad client hours before I can become fully licensed. I have been doing that for almost three years now under a supervisor. It wouldn't be so bad except that until I am fully licensed, I could only take cash clients, until recently. Insurance panels do not accept provisionally licensed clinicians. Because of that, it has taken me way longer to get my full license than I ever anticipated. Before October, I was working maybe 7-8 hours a week with clients for the last several months, making less than minimum wage in the process. Thank God for my husband being the breadwinner. But now, my hours are starting to pick up because the state of Louisiana has decided to let provisionally licensed clinicians start to see Medicaid clients. Yay! I may actually finish getting my post grad hours before next summer now.

The pick up in business has been mainly what's kept me from updating this page. I had to retool my schedule. I stopped seeing clients on Friday and decided to use that day now to write out all my official notes for all the clients I saw that week. In doing so, I get to do it at home with no distractions and as a result, I learned something. At work, my average for writing notes was 3-4 per hour. At home, it was 5 per hour. Less anxiety over the secretary walking into my office needing me to do something else or sending me a text for the same reason allowed me to focus and make better use of my time.

NOW, onto the good news. We had a young woman here in town decided to open up her own little bookstore and coffee shop. Previous to this, all we had was Books A Million. Anyway, so I went into this new business and talked to the owner because I saw on her FB page that she was doing local author signings on the weekends and had someone signed up already. So now me and my book are signed up for December 7. That's part of the good news. The other part is that this inspired me to start sitting down last weekend and start outlining a new book. I am about a third of the way through outlining, and once that's done, I expect writing the book itself will only take maybe 3-4 months. I spent my free time at work during the week not typing up work notes, but instead creating a preliminary book cover idea for this new story. I want to share it here now.

Take of that what you will. And while I'm at it, I also retooled the book cover for my original book, Sealed In Silence. Here's what it looks like now.

Here is the link again to check out my first book on Amazon.

[morgue-xiiv]

for the ask game: Idiot Doom Spiral

OKAY! I been working on this one for a while so it's gonna be great. Really high concept.

This is tough, not because he doesn't have good or bad thing about him, but because like. Everything about him seems like an opinion or vibe based thing. Like okay he's homeless because he lost his keys and ID and couldn't prove he had a right to enter his own home. Is he a fucking dipshit as I've heard many people say or is he a potent reminder of the insane precarity of our lives? I think the latter. Every person I've spoken to about it has a different idea of how he could get into his own house and every one of them runs out of ideas if you say "and if that didn't work?" even a couple of times. Even the game says there should be an obvious solution yet does not provide one. Oh your landlord would let you in. What if you rented through a managing agency and the staff turnover is high so no one recognises you? How would you even CONTACT your landlord? with the phone number you wrote down and carry with you everywhere even if you're on a jog? Oh your staff would let you in at work. Suppose they don't though? Suppose the main point people are on a week long business trip or your security guard says "look man I know its you but I'm not allowed to let you in without ID I could lose my job", you're a grown man so your parents could easily be dead or very far way. my absolute favourite take was "well the supervisor in your building would recognise you!" Yeah thanks Monica Geller, tell me you're American without telling me you're American. Hell, what if all this beurocracy is HARD and lying down on a beach drinking is EASY. That's the real reason, you maybe could get in "if you tried hard enough" but everyone has a limited ammount they CAN try and traumatic experiences like the cops locking you up for asking for help sap that energy Realllly fast. You, too, are probably 4-8 comedy of errors events from homelessnessliness. It blows!

1) He's very invested in his work and doesn't accept anything that falls bellow his standards of excellent BUT his job is predominately hollow overcompensated manipulative bullshit. BUT advertising is art even if you don't agree with the art or its aims. He's focused on his artistic fullfilment rejecting low concept ideas even if he thinks they would be functional effective ads.

2) I seem to recall him rejecting fascism as 'low concept stuff' but I can't find the line now so take my word for it. And I'm not even sure.

3) IDS was a very controversial Tory scumleech who oversaw massive punitive cuts to financial support for the disabled in the UK and it's funny as fuck now to call him Idiot Doom Spiral because they abbreviate the same. (that's meta as shit sorry)

3) he seems to really appreciate the company of his friends but he clearly views himself as "above" them somehow. Buddy, you had a fancy job but you're here in the dirt those are your mates now. coked up marketing exec aint the win over drunken small business owner and professional non-caller of Abigails even when you were society approved.

4) not above a little beneficial fraud. Does however take a pen "for his trouble" without negotiating or revealing that price in advance. But sometimes it's the racist lady's monkey pen so for the love of god yes please take it I hate that pen.

5) TFC: he's supportive if you tell him you're dating Kim

6) I really feel like there's more but he has so much dialogue goddamn

7) oh he refers to his ex as a "sweet piece of ass" the objectifying misogynistic little cumstain.

8) smart enough to not drink medical spirits

9) If you tury to embark on the cocain skull quest he pretty much looks into the camer and says "not unless we the studio get More Money to make a Bigger Game!" and that's really funny. I mean kinda sad now but that meta shit is funny. I guess in narrative he doesn't know that's what he's doing.

10) he's pretty entertaining and can chat shit on all day if you keep him in booze. We all need that friend.

[caranox]

This Dark Embrace: A Cruel Fate Story

Devyn Kinsley is a witch—a male witch—with little power in his matriarchal coven. In one of the last neutral-territory cities, filled with creatures that can offer him more, he's managed to keep his head down in favor of living right by his family. The problem is that ever-present pressure to marry a girl from his coven to ensure he doesn't fall prey to the temptation of binding himself to something far more vicious.

So when Devyn has a chance encounter with a mysterious, heroic stranger called Lonán, who Devyn assumes is a wizard, he falls head-over-heels, thinking that he's found a way out of a loveless marriage. But Lonán may not be exactly who he seems...

Interested in the first chapter of this (achillean) m/m urban romantasy? Read below! You can find the rest on my Patreon (chapters 1-3 free; chapter 4 onward available for supporters)!

01 — Devyn

“Once again, selling crystals and talismans in the break room during operating hours is against company policy,” the supervisor rattled off from the notes on his phone, taking the time to push up his glasses before continuing. “Push your side hustles when you clock out.”

Devyn Kinsley shifted and rubbed his arms as some of the other couriers nudged each other with snide remarks about getting caught. The supervisor continued to scroll through his phone with a sigh and rattled off a few other instructions about changing routes and delivery updates, but Devyn couldn’t help but bounce on the balls of his feet. That overwhelming urge to move nipped at his heels.

“You good, Dev?” the guy next to him whispered. A brown, muscular bicep elbowed him before he felt those deep, coffee-colored irises fix on him. Conall.

“Y-yeah. Sorry.” His shoes stuck to the vinyl tiles again.

Conall shook his head. “No wonder you get so many deliveries done whenever you clock in. I don’t know where the hell you get all that energy. Does being cooped up as a boy witch do that to you?”

Devyn stiffened. His question was laced more with curiosity than he expected. Devyn’s own dark eyes slid over to the druidic emblem hung around a cord on the guy’s neck.

“I’m… not sure. Maybe,” Devyn admitted, squeezing his arms a little tighter. “I’d just rather be out working than sitting around the house all day. Don’t really want to be a burden.”

The guy snorted. “Never really understood why covens treat men like criminals. They act like banishing them to a house will keep them out of trouble somehow.”

Devyn’s chin dipped down into his sweatshirt collar, hating how his ears heated. Goddess, why was he feeling so guilty now? Sure, he’d felt a little uneasy when he’d first taken this job a few months ago, but his moms hadn’t really dissuaded him from doing it. Granted, they hadn’t been completely thrilled with the idea either, especially once they heard the courier service he’d be working for delivered to anyone and not just magically-inclined humans.

He glanced around at the other people in the breakroom: a small army of druids holding cups of stale coffee or water bottles, rolling their eyes as their boss droned on about new company policies. And then there was Devyn­—a single witch in their midst. A black sheep trying to fit in, even though they could all see right through him with his lack of tattoos of Celtic knots or flowering trees, his unpierced ears and nose, his bulkier sweatshirts and jackets instead of form-fitting leather.

Devyn’s eyes wandered over the others in the room until the supervisor cleared his throat and boomed out a druidic word he always did at the end of his meetings. “All right. You’re all dismissed. Remember to file the proper paperwork for any damages or returns. We can’t afford to get lax on that again.”

Some of the couriers half-shoved each other into the walls as they filed into the corridor, cackling about something to do with selling incense from their locker last week, but Devyn could only think of wanting to grab his delivery bag and hurry out into the street. He wove between a few of them to the shelf with ‘KINSLEY, DEVYN’ stickered above it.

“Dev—”

Devyn spun around to Conall again as he hoisted up his own bag.

“You’ve been kind of quiet recently. You sure you’re okay?”

He started to nod before blurting out, “Yeah. I’m good. Really.”

Conall’s frown persisted as they started outside together, stepping into the side street behind the building with dumpsters and bicycles crammed up against the brick walls. Silence pooled between them as they dragged themselves to the main road, the sound of cars momentarily interrupted by obnoxious laughter spilling out the exit behind them as the rest funneled out to start their routes.

Conall his throat. “Um, so… I was thinking…”

Devyn hummed for him to continue as he plotted the addresses on his list for his map.

“You want to get a drink tonight?”

He inwardly cringed at the thought of being surrounded by numerous coworkers, along with trying to talk his moms into letting him stay out a little later instead of running home to help with dinner. “I… don’t know. I’m not exactly fond of dealing with a bunch of drunk druids,” he said with a laugh, hoping to soften the blow.

Conall his mouth, closed it, opened it again, and blew out a nervous chuckle as he reached for the back of his neck. “I was actually thinking it’d just be the two of us.”

Oh. Devyn’s heart lept into his throat. “I- I can’t,” he choked out. “N-not that you’re not—I mean—” He flinched as Conall’s brows knit together, and Devyn tried to stammer out a reason that didn’t make him sound like a total dick. After all, this guy was pretty. And nice. And okay, maybe he wasn’t quite Devyn’s type, but it’s not like he’d really had the chance to meet many other guys outside of his coven with the routine of going to school or work and then straight home. “I’m pretty sure my moms would kill me if they heard I was seeing a druid.”

“Well, um—Have you considered converting?”

Devyn clutched his phone a little tighter, blurring the screen around his fingers with the sweat on his hands. “I know that coven life may seem really weird to you, but I” —he shook his head— “I can’t abandon my family. I’m also not trying to discount how kind you’ve been to me by showing me around and hanging out with me, but I’m kind of just coming to terms that I’m probably better off not seeing anyone since my only options are other girl witches and a bunch of wizards.”

“You act like someone’s not going to come along and try to sweep you away,” he said with a humorless chuckle. “Dev, I don’t think you give yourself enough credit.”

“My family isn’t super high-ranking in the coven, which means I don’t have much power in my blood. I’m sort of worthless,” Devyn mumbled. “That’s why I took this job—”

He grabbed Devyn’s shoulder right before they hit the corner, the stoplights changing before one of them would be given the signal to escape this horrible conversation. “You’re not worthless,” Conall whispered, his eyes filled with remorse. “The fact that your coven has even pushed that idea onto you is just… wrong.”

A chirp of the crosswalk and Devyn shrugged his hand away. “Rules are rules. It’s what I have to sacrifice to stay with my family. I don’t like it either, but I don’t want to lose what I have.” He hesitated, wishing he could find something better to say—something to remove that weight settling in his gut now. “I’m sorry.”

Devyn stepped away and turned to jog across the street, feeling Conall’s eyes on him until he turned another corner. His pace slowed in the sea of people and creatures wearing the faces of things that appeared human. Everyone and everything around him put on a façade to ward off the things they feared or to undermine the fears of others. Learning to keep his head down and ignore them all turned out to be a better tactic than trying to puzzle each one of them out. The less he tried to decipher a stranger, the easier he slept.

He only wished he could undo his own soul-searching to lift that burden of being the perfect son his moms dreamed of, but he couldn’t imagine his heart ever belonging to a woman.

***

The sun beat down on the buildings around him by the time Devyn pushed into the pub with a box in hand. Dozens of eyes from darkened booths and tables tucked into corners flicked up to take him in before returning to their meals or laptops. He swallowed at the lingering glow of some of them, a tell-tale sign that the things lurking in here wanted others to know of their inhumanity.

He shuffled up to the counter, willing his arms not to shake as he nodded toward the bartender. “I have a package for a” —he tilted the label up as his mind blanked on the name printed there, despite reading it about ten times on the way in— “Heber Marina to sign for.”

The bartender jabbed his thumb toward a door. “I’ll go get him. Give me five.”

His shoes peeled off the tiles with every step on his way to the back of the pub, the sticky squelching making Devyn absently drum his fingers on the package while he waited. Devyn’s pulse picked up when a man a few seats down the bar slid him a look—something he felt more than saw out of the corner of his vision, especially since it was starting to tunnel in on the mirror along the back wall of bottles.

The sharp clack of heels on wood flooring approaching him sent every muscle taught like a bowstring. “Well, well,” came a husky purr.

He jerked in a half-turn, just in time to catch the woman’s hand cresting the bar top. Deep, glimmering plum nail polish on what he hoped were press-ons looked like shards torn from the sky. Devyn’s eyes followed the black, lacy blouse to the woman’s face, and his stomach twisted when he saw the gold irises peering back at him, cut through with a thin, elongated pupil—like a cat’s.

His back dug into the corner of the bar as a wicked smile spread across her face. “I never expected to find a witch here, of all places,” she mused, reaching for tousled waves of his hair.

That need to slap her away or recoil was instantly overridden by a freeze. His entire body locked up, head spinning as air cut off from his lungs, unable to breathe like his brain had malfunctioned, and decided if he became a statue that she’d leave him alone. Devyn clenched his teeth as her nails tingled against his scalp, and she suddenly seized his jaw, forcing him to meet her eyes again.

“Adorable and well-behaved…” A dark chuckle slipped past her glossy lips, and his heart plummeted at the glimpse of fangs. “How would you like to follow me home, little witch?”

The end of his promised five minutes couldn’t come fast enough. He tried to shake his head and winced as her grip tightened, threatening to crush bone. No one else in this establishment spared them another look. Not a single witch or druid in sight slid out of their seat to come to his aid.

Devyn squirmed, finally grabbing the woman’s wrist to try to pry her off of him until she took another step forward. Her body pressed against his, pinning him between the bolted-down stools.

“I think you should reconsider your actions,” she said in a low growl. “I’d hate to have to break you before—”

The man a little further down the bar slid off his stool, and her head snapped up, eyes narrowing on him as he reached for something Devyn couldn’t see.

“Leave the witch alone,” he said smoothly.

She bared her teeth with a guttural hiss that made Devyn’s hair stand on end. He tried to move his head to take in his hopeful savior, but her grip tightened on his jaw like a vice.

“Why don’t you fuck off, pretty boy?”

The man took another step, finally bleeding into Devyn’s vision. At least the demonic woman pinning him against the bar was right about something: he was pretty—beautiful, really. Steely eyes, near-black hair brushed into place, pinstriped suit, monogrammed tie clip with ‘L. R.’, and a cane at his side, a hand choking it right under the handle. He couldn’t be older than thirty, and with the way his thumb pressed up on the silver-dipped grip of the cane, Devyn quickly understood he wasn’t as alone as he thought.

“I don’t think you want to deal with Mr. Marina’s wrath because you decided to ruin his deliveries by snatching a courier and destroying his relationship with that agency. So, I’ll give you one more chance to let the witch go before I cause enough of a racket that he hurries to see what the fuss is about.”

She bared her teeth, fangs, and all before the pressure released from Devyn’s jaw. The woman stalked off, pushing through the front door with a jingle of a bell as he gasped out a shaky breath.

A hand clamped onto his shoulder. “Are you all right?”

Devyn nodded, rubbing his jaw. “Y-yeah. Thanks. Didn’t mean to cause any problems.”

The man—wizard—pulled away and leaned his cane back up against one of the barstools. “I wouldn’t consider that to be your fault,” he said with a frown. “You were just doing your job.”

“But I didn’t exactly try to fight back either,” Devyn mumbled, feeling heat flood his cheeks with embarrassment. Another wizard he’d humiliated himself in front of, and an attractive one at that too. Great.

“Well,” the wizard said, glancing around the pub, like he was making sure everyone had gone back to their own business again, “if you feel like you owe me, I wouldn’t say no to a date.”

Devyn’s head whipped around so fast, the room almost tilted. He half-stumbled toward the wizard, righting himself as he grabbed onto the bar for support.

The guy rocked back slightly, biting his lip like Devyn might say no. Devyn, who’d only dreamed of a handsome wizard prying him away from the fate of being paired off with some random, woman witch within his coven he’d undoubtedly feel nothing for. His mouth felt like it was filled with cotton as he stammered out a “Y-yeah. O-of course.”

The wizard broke into a grin and offered him his hand. “I’m Lonán Reverie.”

“Devyn,” he blurted, thrusting out his own hand into Lonán’s while sparks prickled along his skin. “Devyn Kinsley.”

---

Read Chapter 2 • Support Me on Patreon

[itsbrandy]

Burnout Chapter 8

Summary: Bee and Claire become friends while prepping for Bee's audition.

Word Count: 7k

End of Episode song: Easier Said Than Done - Thee Sacred Souls

Chapter 8: Champagne and Shrimp Pasta

“It’s a deal,” Bee said with a smile. “After work today and tomorrow, audition on Saturday.”

“Audition on Saturday,” Mark confirmed.

“For Netflix,” Bee repeated, just to speak it out into existence one more time.

“For Netflix!” Claire shouted.

The exchange rattled Bee’s brain, leaving her feeling dizzy even after she had left her new agent’s office. They had done some activities that sounded like a standard procedure –signed paperwork and discussed their lives, dreams, and ambitions. With the minor work that Bee had done in the past, Mark felt confident that she wouldn’t totally embarrass him at the audition on Saturday. Well, that and the help that Claire had offered.

Bee hadn’t been able to work properly for the rest of the day. She stuck to icing cupcakes, cookies, and other goodies but didn’t cross anything major off of her to-do list. Around 4 p.m., she snuck to the bathroom to text her partner that she wouldn’t be home until 8 or 9 p.m. She was meeting with her acting mentor, Claire.

She made sure to tell him her name so that he wouldn’t get suspicious that she was cheating on him or anything unsavory. Another argument with her partner was the last thing that she needed. If it wasn’t for the happy distractions of this week – with Dieter Bravo visiting her at her work, to filming with Dieter Bravo, talking to Dieter Bravo, flirting with? Dieter? Bravo?...and now this Netflix audition.

To be honest with herself, she didn’t really believe that Mark and Claire weren’t just trying to boost her confidence with the whole “you’re the only one Netflix could ever decide to pick!” schtick. There had to be other Asian women out there in their 30s just waiting for the perfect opportunity.

And even more, there would be other Asian women who had been trying at this for longer, auditioning for other things with more practice. She didn’t think that she could compare to those other women, and despite the connections that Mark and Claire both had, she didn’t fully trust that they had the inside scoop on what the showrunners were expecting. Everything just seemed too good to be true.

[Partner]: That’s okay, just drive home safe after. 🙂

Bee breathed a deep sigh of relief. The text had come through nearly 30 minutes after she sent it, which made her suspect that he had questioned how to respond to it for a while before finally deciding to be levelheaded about it. He had the tendency to respond to things reactively, especially when there were lapses in his routine. She looked down at her hands, encrusted in frosting from decorating cupcakes, and typed the reply back anyway.

[Bee]: Thanks, babe! &lt;3

She shoved her phone back in her pocket and walked to the handwashing station, lost in thought, and she bumped into someone. Tall, blonde, and dressed in a bright pink button-down shirt, Bee instantly knew that it was her boss that she had walked right into.

“Oof!” Bee said, stumbling backward. “Oh, sorry, Amy, I didn’t see you there.”

Her supervisor looked at her disapprovingly, at first, before softening her expression. “Hey! I was just coming to check on you. Someone told me you seemed a little off today,” Amy said with a smile. “Are you doing alright? Is there anything that I can do to help?”

Bee stiffened, upset at the intrusion. Her thoughts went wild with annoyance. Who had spilled to Amy? I was doing the best I could today, constantly doing things all day. Maybe they weren’t the “important” tasks, but I’ve been baking my ass off.

“Yeah, I’m okay,” Bee said with a shrug. “I’ve just been doing some more decor tasks today. I was feeling like my frosting technique is a little rusty.”

The lies spiled smoothly from her lips as she stepped into her acting self. She was good at this, at convincing people that everything was okay. She had done it in her first serious relationship, and she did it constantly in the one that she was in now. It wasn’t that difficult to convince other people that nothing was the matter, at least for Bee.Maybe that’s what Mark and Claire saw in her. And maybe that is what Netflix would see in her too…

“Oh,” Amy said. “Okay, well, I just wanted to check in on you. I know you took that late lunch, so I just wanted to make sure you didn’t get any like devastating news or anything.”

Bee bit her tongue. There were a series of responses that she felt in her mouth, but none that she felt comfortable with delivering to her supervisor. She wanted to tell her that it was inappropriate to inquire about her personal life. If she wanted to write her up for not doing any design work today, she was well within her rights.

“Nope,” Bee said instead, popping her lips on the ‘p.’ “Everything is great with me. I’ll submit that PTO request after I clock out for my timesheet so that you have it for payroll.”

“Thank you,” Amy replied, looking a bit startled by Bee’s casual demeanor. Whoever must’ve told her that she was seeming upset or different must have really talked it up dramatically.

“No problem!” Bee said, walking toward the hand washing station behind Amy. “Is there anything else that I can do for you?”

“Nope!” Amy responded, similarly to how Bee had said it earlier.

“Okay, thank you, Amy."

“Thanks, Bee,” Amy grinned as Bee turned the sink on and started to wash her hands. “I heard that Dieter Bravo was calling you that during filming. It’s a cute nickname. I think it suits you really well.”

Bee felt her face flush deep, hot red. “He did. I forgot how much I loved that nickname.”

“If you want to change your nametag around here for it, I can take care of the change,” Amy said, pointing to the Disney nametag on Bee’s chest.

“I-I’d love that,” Bee stammered, though she didn’t know how much longer she would be working for Disney after this audition.

“I’ll add it to my to-do list for tomorrow!” Amy said, walking back out of the kitchen with a slight wave. “Have a good rest of your night, Bee.”

“Thank you!” Bee said, waving a soap-covered hand at her.

The rest of the day finished smoothly, and with a whole batch of cupcakes for a Disneyland Hotel event frosted, decorated, and put into the cooler, she headed to the office to quickly fill out her extra lunch length slip. She had only gone about 20 minutes over, but it was better to document and eat into her PTO than sneak around her supervisors in order to go to auditions. If this Netflix audition was unsuccessful, she would still need a job to hold her over until she got the role of her dreams.

Claire had texted her the address of her condo while they were still at Mark’s office, and Bee clicked on the address in iMessage to pull up Apple Maps.

The drive to Claire’s condo was a bit longer than expected, but she supposed it was normal that Claire commuted around Los Angeles for various workshops. It was one of the major perks of living in the city, having access to so many other small towns, cities, and areas that you wouldn’t otherwise.

She could teach that workshop every day for the rest of her life, and people would still sign up, hopeful to learn more about the world of acting from her.

Claire’s neighborhood was nice – it was a newer development, which meant that it was especially expensive, even though it looked to be a studio condo. There were luxury cars parked on the street, and there didn’t seem to be a piece of litter in sight. Bee double-checked the address just to make sure that she was at the right condo, and her phone verified that she was.

“What the fuck else do you do for work?” Bee asked herself out loud after parking on the street out front of Claire’s condo.

The workshop she had attended had been so cheap, there was no way that Claire was able to afford to purchase a luxury condo in this part of L.A. on like $200 a day, tops. The salary was nothing to scoff at, but it was not luxury Los Angeles condo money.

Regardless, Bee grabbed her bag from the front seat and walked up the stairs that led to Claire’s condo. It was just after 6 p.m., after the time that Bee had spent driving and in traffic, but she was on time, according to what they had agreed to in Mark’s office. She knocked on the door, and Claire answered as if she had been standing there, waiting for her to knock after spying her car on the street down below.

“Welcome!” Claire shouted, swinging the door open wide. The interior of her apartment was trendy, stark white, and decorated with at least one hundred lush green plants. She held a bottle of wine in her right hand and a spatula in her left. “Ready for dinner?”

“Um, yeah, actually,” Bee said. She hadn’t eaten anything except for a cookie at work around 3 p.m. – a perk of being a baker. “I’m starving. Thank you, Claire. You didn’t have to cook anything. I could’ve just dealt with it.”

“No way!” Claire said. “You should be practicing on a full stomach, and I love to cook. I made champagne shrimp and pasta – is that okay with you?”

Bee’s eyes widened. “That is 100% okay with me. Please cook for me every day of my life, Claire.”

Claire laughed and ushered Bee in. “Come on! Set your stuff down. I’ll serve you a plate, and then we’ll get started on the sides.”

“The sides? Like side dishes?” Bee asked incredulously.

“No, silly. The sides that Netflix sent Mark,” Claire said, gesturing to a packet of paper on the countertop. “We’ve got to get those memorized and firmly in your noggin before Saturday.”

Bee stared at how thick the packet was. “Okay.”

“But dinner first. You can’t learn anything on an empty stomach. Would you rather sit at the bar or the table?”

Bee set her bag down by the front door and took her sneakers off as Claire closed the door behind her. “Um, whatever works best for you. I’m not sure where you prefer to eat.”

“Let’s be fancy and sit at the table,” Claire said. She skipped to the kitchen with her spatula in hand and grabbed two large plates which she piled high with pasta and grilled shrimp. The bottle of wine was still in her hand as she served them, completely unopened, so she did each step of plating them one-handed.

Bee walked over to the table and took a seat. It was a small, round table that had a tiled top. It was an obvious thrift flip, which was extremely popular in Los Angeles homes. The table was probably $10 at Goodwill, and Claire likely paid $200 or more for it. Claire set her plate of pasta down with a fork and returned to the kitchen to grab her own plate. Still, with the bottle of wine in her hand, she finally set out to uncork it.

“Sorry, I’m so rude. Do you want some? I didn’t know if you drank or not,” Claire said, pouring herself a glass.

“Sure, I’ll have a glass. I’ll be here for a bit, too, right?” Bee clarified.

“Yeah, like an hour or two. Are you that much of a lightweight?” Claire asked, pouring Bee a generous glass of white wine.

Bee laughed. “What are the stereotypes about Asians again?”

Claire brought both glasses over to the table and shrugged. “You said it, not me. So how was your day?”

“It was a day,” Bee said, blowing her breath out of her mouth. “I mean, the headshots and the meeting with Mark you know about. That was amazing, and I don’t even know if I have the words to describe how cool that was.”

“And the rest of it?” Claire asked, twirling her pasta with her fork. “I want to know all about it. What does Bee do every day?”

“Well, I went back to work, and I was a little bit shellshocked,” Bee admitted. “My boss was even super weird about it and came and checked on me. I was doing maybe not the most important task that I could be doing, but I was still doing stuff that needed to be done.”

“That’s fucking annoying. What was her problem?” Claire asked. “Did she catch you on your phone or something?”

“No – well, maybe, actually. But I literally used it once to text my partner back. “But she said that someone was concerned about me and reported to her about it. I’m not sure who would do that, but it’s definitely possible that there are girls at the bakery that are jealous of me right now.”

“Did you tell anyone about the Netflix audition? Girl, that’s a no-no,” Claire looked dumbfounded.

“What? No, I didn’t tell anyone about that. It was the Dieter filming session that I did,” Bee shrugged and dug into her pasta. It had been ages since she had eaten food that looked this good, and she knew how to cook.

“The who what?” Claire asked, her pink mouth open in shock. “The Dieter what? Dieter, as in Bravo?”

Bee felt her cheeks flush. “Um, yeah. Dieter Bravo came and did a special tour of my work, and I got to do a tasting with him that was filmed. I was chosen for it, though, and it made sense. It was me and my friend Staci who were chosen to do the gig. And we film all the time at work, honestly. Little YouTube videos and stuff for Instagram all the time.”

“But not with Dieter Bravo,” Claire gasped. “The little stuff isn’t with Dieter Bravo, bitch, I would be jealous too. I would tell on your ass if I saw you slacking off if you got to hang out with Dieter Bravo for work!”

Bee nodded with a mouthful of food. “Oh my god, Claire, this is incredible.”

“I don’t care about the food. Tell me more about Dieter! What was he like? I’ve never filmed with him before!”

“Okay, wait, that’s a question that I have for you,” Bee said. “What exactly do you do all day, Claire? This place is incredible. My partner and I have a double income, and there is no way that we could afford a condo this nice in this area.”

Claire looked a little dejected at the conversation change. “Um, well, I used to be a lot more successful than I am now. I had really big roles like 10-15 years ago, and at the time, people thought that I was going to be a big star, so I was getting paid way over what was expected for the roles I was getting because people were trying to form relationships with me.”

“Oh,” Bee said, feeling sorry that she had asked. “I’m sorry for prying. It’s just gorgeous.”

“It’s okay. I just kind of fell out of the spotlight. I fell into the early 2000s pain pills scene a little too hard to be attractive to many directors. I’m starting to get it back now, though, but I know how the industry works, and I know how auditions work. I just don’t get many roles because of my reputation. It’s no big deal.” Claire shrugged and drank more of her wine.

“I’m sorry, Claire. I’m glad you’re doing better now,” Bee said, cringing at her own stupidity for prying. She had felt brave enough to ask her the question because of how kind and hospitable Claire had been, but that clearly bit her in the ass.

“It’s fine,” Claire shrugged. “I’ve lived a very comfortable life and helped a lot of young actresses and actors make it big in Hollywood in the meantime. Besides, I’m sure you’ll see me in something big sometime soon.”

Bee raised both her eyebrows and looked down at her plate. She didn’t want to press Claire for more information after already blundering so badly. “Dieter was great. I haven’t met a kinder celebrity, and I’ve interacted with plenty in filming. He was so kind to me, and he was so cute. Like even cuter in person than I ever could’ve imagined.”

Claire looked more than slightly jealous but she continued to poke at her shrimp andpasta. “Well, I’m glad you liked him.”

Her words were cryptic, and Bee could feel her heart rate increase. She was assuming things that she probably shouldn’t be assuming, but it was hard not to. With all of the wrenches that had been thrown into how she thought her life was going to go just in the past week, there was not much more that could actually surprise her.

“And what else did you do today?” Claire asked, with her mouth full of pasta.

Bee shrugged. “Drove here, and now we’re eating dinner.”

“Nice,” Claire said with a smile. “I taught a morning workshop, met up with Mark at his office, and then came back to relax and cook dinner.”

“That sounds like a solid day,” Bee said.

“So, you have a boyfriend, right?” Claire asked, pouring herself some more wine.

Bee nodded. “Yeah, I do.”

“How is he taking this news?”

“He’s not,” Bee shrugged. “I haven’t told him yet.”

Claire winced, baring her teeth. “Bee.”

“What?” Bee looked up at her. “I know, I have to tell him at some point, but I’m just not ready yet.”

“Well, is he a bad guy?” Claire asked expectantly.

Bee shook her head. “No, he’s not a bad guy, but he would disapprove of me being so ‘flippant with our financials."

“So he’s controlling,” Claire said, taking another sip of wine.

“I mean, yeah, a bit?” Bee wasn’t sure how to answer. “But it’s more that I let him do it, more than he actually controls me.”

“It’s the same thing, babe,” Claire said with her brows raised. “It doesn’t matter, really. But you’re going to have to tell him eventually, so why not now?”

Bee thought about this for a moment but then decided not to respond except with a shrug of her shoulders.

They were both nearly done with their pasta, and the dull bubbling feeling of a buzz had started to light up her brain. She felt more relaxed from the alcohol but more on edge from the line of questioning she had received from Claire.

“Ready to get started?” Claire asked, setting her fork down. “I’m ready whenever you are.”

“Yeah,” Bee said. “I’m so ready.”

****

The entire day of Friday passed by in a blur. Bee made a point to work mostly on creative throughout the day, sketching up new ideas in her notebooks, passing them on to their designated artist to mockup, and doing test bakes of them to prototype and taste them. It was a busy day, with an upcoming Disney Pixar film about to be released, and early preparations for Halloween and the holidays had begun.

By the end of the day, her fingers were cramping from sketching and adding minute details to a prototype that she knew would get declined. It was just too intricate to be replicated on a mass scale, but it was gorgeous and reflected the new movie so well.

As she worked, she ran lines in her head. With Claire, she had spent 3 hours runninglines, practicing the scenes, and working through the beats of them. She knew how her face was supposed to move as she moved through the scene.

Now, she also knew the show. It was based on a popular romance series, as Mark and Claire had both alluded to. However, it wasn’t exactly based directly on a book. Instead, it was a spinoff series to – one of a few that were planned out to be derivatives of the main series – Bridgerton.

There was an accent – of course – for these lines, but Bee had done some accent classes in her 20s that were helpful in perfecting it. A simple RP, nothing too fancy… but it was still an added element that stressed her out.

The clock in her workroom was just 10 minutes to 5 p.m. when Amy walked in to check on her. She resisted the urge to roll her eyes, anticipating that someone else had complained about her today.

What gives? I worked on creative all day. What could you really say I did this time?

“Hey, Bee,” Amy said. “I’ve got that new name tag for you.”

She held up the new name tag that was bright and shiny and said BEE in bold blue lettering.

“Oh thanks, Amy!” she said excitedly. “I’m excited to wear it on Monday.”

“Perfect!” Amy said, crossing the distance between them to deliver the name tag. “About Monday, I was wondering if you would be interested in filming a follow-up segment to the Star Wars treats? We had some interest from higher-ups and the cast in returning to catch up with you guys and discuss the desserts all together all as one big group?”

The breath caught in Bee’s throat – there were so many questions that came to her mind that she wanted to ask in one hurried rush. She would if it had been Staci who broke the news, but this was her direct supervisor. Amy was nice and all, but she would not be in favor of any unprofessional thoughts toward the actors that they would be working with.

“Yeah, I would love to! That group was a lot of fun,” Bee said, playing it off completely. “Same kind of schedule as the other day?”

“Yep! Makeup first thing in the morning, and if you could try to wear the same, like earrings or little things,” Amy said. “We want to make it seem like it’s the same day, and then Dieter can give you the ‘Bee’ name tag because he encouraged you to choose it and play with it.”

A planned interaction between her and Dieter. If she was with Staci, she would shriek. Like, actually squeal like a girl out loud.

“Oh, I love that idea,” she said, once again hiding her true feelings. “That was a really great moment during filming, so it will be great to make that connection for an ending segment. I love that idea.”

“Me too! It was Staci that came up with it, actually. She’s a genius,” Amy laughed. “But she might have ulterior motives, though I won’t comment on those.”

Bee flushed. “Oh, I might have to kill Staci.”

Amy luckily picked up on her joke and laughed with her. She handed her the nametag and smiled.

“Have a good weekend, Bee! Thank you for all of your hard work this week,” Amy said. “I don’t know what we’d do without you!”

****

The revelation that she would get more time with Dieter Bravo next week made Bee want to hurry through the weekend. Still, she had too much planned to sleep through the weekend in anticipation of what was to come.

She had told her partner that she once again had a planned session with her instructor. He was understanding and supportive of her trying to get auditions. She had also let slip that she had talked to her instructor’s agent and gotten headshots that were taken free of charge.

He was also surprisingly calm with these revelations, although hurt that she had been keeping some things from him during the week. Bee responded by blaming the distance on him, which in retrospect, was not the best thing to do.

Bee saw the hurt on his face when she said it, but his acceptance of his apparent faults made her feel a bit more comfortable. He seemed like he was willing to change at least a little bit, and he promised to be more attentive to her and her needs.

Once again, she worked with Claire on the lines at Claire’s house after being made an amazing dinner. The script was pretty manageable, and it was filled with angst and dramatic flair.

The character was interesting, and it was equally interesting that the lead was going to be Asian in a traditional, British high-society setting.

Claire was playing the role of the male love interest, who talked smoothly in a posh British accent. The characters were somewhat similar to Season 2 of Bridgerton, where the woman played hard to get and the man was a little abrasive, but definitely interested.

“Okay, let’s run that one again?” Claire asked, still talking in a posh accent.

Bee nodded. “Can I get some water?”

“Not if you don’t say it in character,” she scolded.

Bee laughed. “Can I get some water?”

This time, she repeated it in the accent of the character.

“Perfect!” Claire said. “Go get a glass, they’re in the cupboard. On the left.”

Bee jogged over to the kitchen and grabbed herself an empty glass to fill with water from the fancy fridge. She was feeling confident and like she had made a friend in Claire. This was an activity that didn’t seem like one that a mentor and a mentee would engage in. They felt like friends, best friends.

“I’m going to your audition tomorrow, by the way,” Claire said from the living room. “I want to be there for you to do some pre-audition work.” She said it with a wink that left Bee feeling a little unsettled – like there was something that Claire wasn’t quite telling her about the audition.

When she left Claire’s condo that night, she felt like she was ready for the audition and prepared to give this audition her best try. And maybe, just maybe, Claire and Mark had been right about the fact that they would want her to star in this project.

She got home around 10 p.m., and Bee set her stuff down and walked into the living room, where her partner was once again watching the news, as he always did. But riding on the high of her day and with the anticipation for the audition the next day, she thought that it would be the perfect time to drop the news of the audition on her partner.

“So, I have an audition,” she said. “And it’s with a big television company.”

“For tv?” he asked. “Like actual tv?”

Bee grinned. “I mean, kind of. It’s actually for Netflix. A Netflix original.”

He grabbed her around the waist and squeezed her tightly. “Oh my god, no way, babe! No fucking way!”

She laughed and tilted her head back as he jokingly shook her. “I know, I know!”

“You’re amazing! I knew you could do it. You’re amazing! Are you going to call your mom?”

“I don’t know,” Bee said, pondering the question. “Should I?”

“Yeah!” he almost yelled, still shaking her slightly with excitement. “You need to tell her. She’s going to be so proud of you!”

“Okay,” Bee said, her excitement kind of getting worn down from how overdramatic his reaction was. “I’ll call her.”

She disentangled her limbs from his and pulled her cell phone out of her back pocket. She didn’t want to call her mom, not now, but the excuse was a little better than having to deal with him. His neediness was an immediate turnoff for her, but she couldn’t put a finger on why.

Taking a step away from him, she tapped into her contacts to find where her mom was listed in order to give her a quick phone call. He looked at her eagerly, anticipating how she would share the news with her mom. The phone dialed, and he kind of bounced on his heels in excitement.

She tried to reframe his excitement as a good thing, but it felt weird. It didn’t feel genuine. He was too excited. It was fully out of character.

****

When she woke up, Claire was already spam calling her. It was half past eight, but her phone had rung three separate times from her mentor.

“Hello?” Bee asked sleepily. “What do you want so early?”

“Where are you?” Claire asked. “Hello??”

“I’m in bed? The audition doesn’t start until like 11 am? It’s 8:30?” Bee groaned. “What’s the matter?”

“Well, you need to get ready so you should be out of bed at 8:30 and getting ready so you can get to the audition 30 minutes early at 10:30, which means you now only have an hour to get ready because you must account for traffic. Didn’t we go over this last night? I thought I walked you through each and every step of this audition process for the morning,” Claire said, the words passing her lips at a mile a minute.

“Okay, slow down, please,” Bee begged. “What do I need to be doing right now?”

“Get out of bed and go take a shower!” Claire instructed. “And when you’re out of the shower, start on hair and makeup immediately. Come on now, get to it!”

“Okay, okay,” Bee said, throwing the covers off of her body. She got up and started following Claire’s pushy but probably correct instructions. This was Netflix, after all, and if there was any opportunity for her, it was this one. She was going to get this role if it was the last thing she did.

As she got ready, she realized just how right Claire probably was that she should’ve been getting ready sooner. She was having trouble with just about every step of her morning routine. It was like fate itself was trying to tell her that she shouldn’t be doing this, and she started to doubt herself along the way.

She was out of body wash, she got a huge dollop of mascara right on her cheek, and she couldn’t find a lint roller to get the dog hair off of her clothes for the life of her.

Adding to these troubles interfering with her getting ready for her big audition, her partner had gone back to his usual ways and he was immediately complaining that she was leaving so early in the morning and refusing to make him breakfast.

Bee almost shouted at him before deciding that it would be better if she avoided a conflict with him on the morning of her big day. If she got this role well…things would be different.

There was no way she could picture herself living her life with him if she was a celebrity, and that was that.

She left without giving him a kiss – something that she was sure to answer for when she got home. He could tell that she was pissed off with him. He just wasn’t saying anything about it.

The drive to the production company’s studio was relatively short, and she had left the house at 10 a.m., which made her adequately early in Claire’s eyes. The parking lot was guarded by security, who by some sort of miracle, accepted her explanation that she was there for an audition.

It was 10:30 a.m. on the dot when she parked her car next to Claire’s Lexus. Bee could see her squeal through their car windows, and Claire exited her own car to come and sit in Bee’s before they went into the studio.

“Okay, so there are three executive producers in there,” Claire said as she slid into the passenger seat. “And the director, and the main writer. I already went in and introduced myself, and Mark is going to be here too.”

Bee nodded, the full force of the nerves starting to really affect her now.

“Okay…wouldn’t it be better if I didn’t know exactly who was going to be in there?” Bee asked.

“Well, I just don’t want you to have any surprises because it’s a bigger casting call than I thought,” Claire explained. “There’s a lot of people auditioning today, and there are a lot of people making this decision. It’s not as lowkey as we were originally told.”

“Oh,” Bee said, a little disappointed that Mark and Claire had been wrong about the apparent lack of competition for the lead role she was going for.

“Stop it,” Claire playfully smacked Bee’s leg. “I meant this entire casting call. There is more than just one role being cast today. So chill out, and relax. Breathe. So, three executive producers, the director, the main writer, and three of the roles that are already cast in the show.”

“Okay,” Bee said, taking a deep breath in and blowing it back out. “And are all of these names publicly available? Do you know who they are? Do you know what they like?”

“Well, I mean, I know, but I don’t think it would help you to know who they are,” Claire said cryptically. “Besides, the three people who are cast aren’t there to help decide. They are just there for screen testing and compatibility testing.”

“Are they good? What background do they have?” Bee asked. She wanted to gauge how much experience the other “unknown” actors had so she could compare herself to them. Maybe if there were others who had only really done commercials 10 years ago, she would have a better shot.

Claire let out a sigh. Bee looked at her, thoroughly confused at how erratic she was being.

“Spit it out, Claire,” Bee said.

“One of them is someone that you know.”

“You?” Bee gasped. “Did you get a role?”

Claire looked sheepish and then nodded. “I have a supporting role. I’m really excited about it.”

“That’s incredible, Claire!” Bee said, grabbing her hand and squeezing it. “When did you find that out?”

“The day before I taught your workshop, actually,” Claire confessed. “I knew I was getting back into it. I told you so the other night.”

“That’s amazing, but you’re not unknown. You have experience,” Bee pointed out.

“I’m pretty much unknown completely to the younger generation. The producers think that this will be a good way to give me a fresh start,” Claire said with a smile.

“Absolutely! Well, now I really really want to get in, so we can work together. Who else is already signed on?” Bee asked.

“I guess I should’ve said two people you already know,” Claire said, once again sounding mysterious.

“Who do I know that acts?” Bee asked. She wracked her brain, trying to see if she remembered any of the other actors from the workshop. None of them struck her as someone that she would “know.” “Is it someone named Jason?”

“Who is Jason?” Claire asked.

“No one,” Bee said quickly. Whole Foods guy.

“He’s someone you met recently….” Claire continued.

“So, it’s a man. Mark?” Bee tried again.

“Okay, fine. I’m just going to say it,” Claire said, so offended by her guess that she rolled her eyes. “It’s Dieter Bravo, Bee. Dieter Bravo signed on.”

Bee stopped breathing for a moment, and she swore her vision went fully fuzzy. “What?” Bee whispered, finding it suddenly hard to breathe.

“I know,” was all Claire replied.

“Claire,” Bee said, deadly serious. “I thought you said that they wanted unknowns for this project.” Claire smiled a devilish smile. “I meant for the female lead.”

“Stop it, you’re joking,” Bee accused, pointing her finger at Claire. “You’re just messing with me to get me excited for the audition.”

Claire shrugged. “Maybe I am, maybe I’m not. You will just have to go inside and see for yourself, I guess.”

“I guess I will,” Bee said confidently, though on the inside, she felt like her heart was exploding out of her chest with nerves. “But I think you’re lying just to hype me up, and you're going to be wrong.”

“Mmhm, okay, Bee,” Claire said. “Whatever you think. It’s 10:45.”

“Okay, shit,” Bee said, turning the keys in the ignition to turn off her car. “Let’s go then.”

“Do you need anything from me?” Claire asked, opening her door.

Bee shrugged. “For you to stop lying to me would be nice.”

She was joking, but it would be nice to have a fair warning about whether or not she was about to be in the same room as Dieter Bravo for a second time this week.

“No comment,” Claire said, closing the car door behind her.

Bee followed her lead as she walked into the production company’s studio. It was pretty bare bones, which surprised her. The lobby was nice, but the set itself was nearly completely blank, with a bunch of cameras set up and trained on a white background. There were wires everywhere, and the whole production setup seemed like it was in a bit of a rush.

“They’re on a deadline,” Claire whispered behind her. “If they don’t find people this week and announce casting, they might get dropped.”

So, it’s today or nothing then, she thought. Bee liked those odds.

“Check in over here,” Claire instructed, showing her where the clipboards were for sign-ins. There were drawn lines on a blank white sheet of paper for each of the roles.

The audition had been invite-only, meaning that each person there knew the role they were auditioning for. Her character’s name was Celine, and she quickly wrote her name under the three other girls that had signed in for earlier time slots. She tried not to read too much into it, but there were only two lines available for time slots after hers.

1 out of 5 was also odds that she didn’t hate.

She checked the time on her phone, and it was nearing 11. There were no executives or cast members in the seats, which made sense to Bee since she had Claire with her. They apparently had been on a break.

Claire disappeared around 10:50, back behind a series of curtains, and she could hear her laugh from all the way across the studio. This left Bee to stand awkwardly with a production assistant by the sign-in sheets. She was supposed to be the first to go after the end of the break.

Then, in response to Claire’s laugh, was another laugh there that Bee also thought was familiar. It was masculine, deep, and so sexy it made her take pause.

“Quiet, everyone!” the production assistant yelled. “It’s time to start round two of auditions, starting with the role of Celine!”

The group behind the curtains quieted and trailed out to sit in front of the white backdrop in their empty chairs. Bee tried not to look at them as they walked to their assigned seats. She didn’t want to recognize a director, or worse, Dieter. This was just a normal audition. She was just auditioning for a cereal commercial, simple as that.

Next to her, the assistant turned on their walkie-talkie and said clear as day into the receiver. “Can someone make sure Dieter knows we’re doing a compatibility test on this one?”

Her heart thundered in her chest even faster than it had before. Impossibly fast, beating in her ears, blood rushing to her head.

Then, the assistant tapped her on the shoulder. “Are you Bee?”

Bee blinked back to reality and nodded. “Yes, I’m Bee.”

“Okay, you’re up first. They’ll tell you what to do.”

“Thank you,” Bee said to them.

“Good luck!”

Bee walked as confidently as she could toward the white backdrop. There was an X on the floor right in front of it that designated where she was supposed to stand, and that X was her guide.

She stood in front of the group of elite executives, Claire and … Dieter Bravo, and gave a slight wave.

“Hello, everyone, my name is Bee, and I am auditioning for the role of Celine. I am currently represented by Mark Carter,” she said, as instructed by Claire.

“Thank you, Bee,” the director said. “We are going to start with the third side for you. Claire will read for the part of Willa.”

Bee nodded and conjured up the memory of her and Claire practicing that very scene. Now that she thought about it, Claire had gotten extra involved in her accent in that scene.

Bee took a deep breath in and waited for Claire to begin the scene from her seat.

“You cannot marry him, Celine,” Claire said in character.

Bee laughed. “I don’t want to marry him, Willa. It’s just that everyone is suggesting that I do that you are even thinking of it as an option. It isn’t an option. He isn’t an option. Not for me.”

“You are so frustrating. You make me want to pull my hair out,” Claire said.

“And you make me want to scream! Sometimes I look at you, and I just want to shout at the top of my lungs. Why can’t you just mind your own business and stay out of mine?” Bee said passionately. Her accent was good today, and she was running off the energy of the scene. They had given her a good one to start with.

“I didn’t know that,” Claire said softly. “I thought I was looking out for you. It’s what friends do, what companions do for each other.”

Bee shook her head and rolled her eyes. “You’re selfish, Willa. You want me to believe I can’t marry him so that you can instead. Well, you can have him.”

“Thank you, ladies,” the director said – interrupting the scene midway through. Bee’s stomach sank to her shoes. They usually only did that when they didn’t like what they saw. “Can we move to the next side, please? Number 4?”

“They weren’t asked to prepare for that one,” one of the producers piped up.

“Well, can someone get me two scripts, please?” the director asked, snapping her fingers.

“One for Bee and one for Dieter. I need to see them both in this scene.”

Chapter 9 | Series Masterlist

[jaestrz]

Old love [ Kim Mingyu ] chapter 2

- single!dad au - non!idol - ceo!gyu - fluff - soft hours^^ -

“it wasn’t my intention to keep it a secret from you, I just wanted to protect her from the world and now I want to do the same to you.”

chapter 1

🤎🤎🤎

You didn’t even think it was possible to hear what Chan or Jeonghan was saying. Helping them? You didn’t even left your seat since you got in work this morning until right now. There is a possible chance for you to actually go blind for staring at your computer for too long to complete the papers. Your colleagues had to call out your name a few times to keep in track if you’re still alive or dead. Honestly, It wasn’t really your fault, there were a lot of people in the room as well. The background noise really blurred your ears out. How many times did you hear the printing machine work? It sound like it was going to explode from printing non stop.

it’s been a week since the last incident between you and Mingyu. Until now, you both have never really saw each other. Maybe you did but you don’t know if he even knew you exist at the company dinner a few days ago.

Full laughter filled the room. The sounds of metal utensils clacking. Everyone was enjoying dinner including Mingyu. You had been eyeing him a lot and you couldn’t find a good reason why. Was it the way he talks with staffs? Discussing about life? Or was it the way he smiles at people? You don’t know. But you weren’t enjoying the company dinner. Mingyu didn’t stay long like you expected. He told everyone he had someone waiting for him and that he should be going first. It doesn’t bother other people but you.

The sudden urge of wanting to know his private life was devastating. Even when it wasn’t your problem, it pushes your mind into thinking what was going on. If you had to call yourself nosy then you would.

Soonyoung’s conversation with Myungho caught your attention. “his child is probably waiting for him at home. How sweet of him.” Soonyoung said to Myungho who nodded at his words.

“child?”

Myungho hummed “a toddler I think. Haven’t seen that little cheeky kid for ages. She must’ve been 4 by now.”

“I didn’t know that.”

“Some of us either. didn’t really saw her until we finished our interns. Boss rarely brings her.”

y/n this y/n that. You weren’t even focusing on Chan talking about something. There was a few other more files that you needed to finish, you don’t want to listen to anyone.

“I thought supervisor’s work less. Projects have been pretty good so far since you started working here but you’re probably going to die faster from overworking.” You saw Soonyoung leaned against your desk, his stupid americano in his other hand.

“and you’re the last person I want to see before i die.” You joked, earning a laugh from him. “Go and take a break or something. I’m not interested in seeing you die before me.” You watch as he snatched your computer mouse, saving your work and exit. Taking the files that was scattered on your desk and tidying it in their usual spots.

-

You wished you heard Soonyoung earlier when he said you should walk around the building instead of working on projects. 7 hours of sitting was making you regret your life existence. Your bone felt fragile to walk to the pantry to get yourself coffee to stay awake. It wasn’t really the most crowded place in the building but it’s enough for you to breathe.

It was, until you saw a little toddler running around the hallways, bumping into you. You squat down to her height. “what are you doing here running around? What’s your name?” You hold out her hand, trying to get the toddler closer to you before she runs away. She was fiddling with the hem of her brown skirt using her fingers.

“min.”

“min? Nice to meet you min, i’m y/n.” There was a small smile on her face.

And by her breathing, you could tell she was exhausted from running around with someone. Or maybe alone. “are you alone? Where’s your mom?”

she shook her head no and shrugged her shoulders. Great. You’re stuck with a toddler without knowing who her parents is.

You pulled out sweets from your pocket, giving the kid. “Who did you come here with?”

“daddy.”

“should we go look for your daddy then?” You questioned and she nodded in response, raising her arms asking you to pick her up which you did.

Maybe you did forget about your works piling up on your desk. You’re with a kid who’s lost. You’ve been walking around the building trying to find someone’s dad. Even asking different departments if they have a kid named Minji which sadly no.

Until you put Minji back on her shoes and she pulled you to someone she caught her eyes on.

Mingyu.

“ hey, don’t run away like that again Minji.” He hugged Minji and kissed her forehead. It felt like a string tugged in your heart seeing him as a father figure. You wished you had the same exact of love and treatment when you were a kid.

“But min found pretty girl name y/n. She’s nice.” Mingyu raised a brow at the familiar name his daughter mentioned before looking up to see you. Minji doesn’t socialize with strangers. It took her months to get used to his friends like Seungcheol. Even Jeonghan. He had a surprised expression on his face.

Please say something to make it last longer. You hoped, your mind wasn’t really helping you.

“Y/n, i’m so sorry if it caused inconvenience to you. Minji likes to run off sometimes, I should’ve kept her close to me.” Mingyu told you but you didn’t say anything. There was a mix of scared and confusion in you that you couldn’t explain.

But he doesn’t look married. Never saw a ring on his finger and a photo of his wife. Mingyu rarely talks about his personal matter with people. Although you always had thought about this,

he’s hard to read.

You forced out a laugh, running through your hair back with your fingers. “It’s fine. I was just going to the restroom.” you lied. This was getting awkward. “Anyway sir, i checked your schedule and you have a meeting with the SQ Corp at 3 pm. Are you okay with it? Or do you have something planned? I can postpone it.” You asked and he glanced over his watch. The little girl was calling you out a few times to get your attention.

“yeah sure. Thanks for reminding me.”

He smiled, when you were about to leave you heard his daughter ask him.

“ Y/n is nice, she gave me sweets. When can we see y/n again?” The toddler asked as Mingyu chuckled in response.

“Do you like her? She’s daddy’s workmate now.”

Minji nodded.

I like her too. Gyu thought.

[suzyblue0292]

@r7skt sorry it took so long to reply. Had to do the teaching before I could type about the teaching.

Two quick misconceptions about teaching:

1. We are not 12month employees. We are contracted employees for the months school is in session. Some if not most schools with hold part of each month’s paycheck so we can survive in the summer. A few schools expect you to do this yourself. Which is hard because if there’s an emergency then that money is very tempting.

Despite that most teachers work on their curriculum, classrooms, and professional development (all of which we often pay for out of our own pockets) during those non-contract months.

Many of us also work other jobs during that time - and the school year.

2. We don’t just work the hours school is in session. We have stated contract hours we are to be on campus- generally around 30 minutes before and after first and last bells. Most teachers are there hours before after or both at least a few days a week. And that’s just teachers - coaches, principals, counselors live at the school. Coaches have to run practices, there has to be a principal at every school event, counselors and principals are drowning in paperwork. And that just covers the work we do at school- most of us work at home as well. The reason any teacher protest/walkout begins with a contract hours only step is because schools don’t function when those are the only hours we work.

The kids are the worst part of teaching. The kids are the only reason I teach. There’s nothing better than seeing a kid “get it.” Or building relationships with them. They are sweet and helpful and funny. Loving them is so fucking easy.

There is nothing more exhausting than being insulted to your face by people you care about more than anything just for doing your job/the right/adult thing.

When I worked in tech one of my supervisors said that 10 percent of your clients cause 90 percent of your problems. Same thing in teaching. Most kids know when they’ve screwed up and will own it. But oh my god the ones that don’t. Whatever they did or didn’t do is your fault not theirs. And 9 times out of 10 their parents will come for you and maybe your job as well. And the thing is you love the kids anyway. Which is why it hurts so much.

Just Google Ed laws if you’re not already familiar with the BS going on in various states right now. Ryan Walters in particular will bring you a wealth of insanity.

Trying to create an ELA curriculum is beyond headache creating in our current political climate. Granted I teach in a rural school (although I have taught at large ones) in a Bible Belt state.

Do not believe anything you see on the inspirational teaching movies. It doesn’t work like that.

Teaching is a lot more than standing in front of a room talking or even marking papers. You plan the lessons for each week (I prep 20 a week - each 50 minutes long because I teach English I, II, III, IV). Once you know what you’re teaching you have to get together the materials for all the lessons printed/posted, etc. then you teach it, then you grade it, then you analyze the data from the grades work to see if the kids learned it or if you need to reteach it. Generally while fielding emails and verbal complaints about why you’re not grading faster, because someone has always turned something in late that they want graded immediately. You’re also dealing with discipline issues, tech issues, issues from whatever club you sponsor, setting up testing dates, taking webinars. I am also my school’s coordinator for our states career portfolio program that all kids have to complete before graduation. And if you teach English every branch of the military will come to your class to give recruitment speeches multiple times junior and senior year. In fact anyone the school allows to speak with the kids that isn’t an assembly will happen in English because it the only required 4 year course so they get to everyone. Same with paperwork- need to get it everyone- English dept.

How much time do you have in your day to complete all these non teaching tasks? 50 minutes. And your 20 minute lunch. I’m fortunate enough to work at a school where they allow you to work at your desk if the kids are working, but some schools require teachers to be on their feet walking the room if there are kids present.

If you have questions hit me up!!

I’ll continue if I can think of anything else, but I’ve got lesson plans to finish for Monday😭🤣😭🤣

I know a lot of people hc Jason as an English teacher. I like it, I do. But let me be real with you 9 days out of 10 this is the conversation he comes home to:

“How was work?”

“I fucking miss being a crime lord. That’s how.”