i feel like the tipping culture in my country might be different than in yours so i have a question (in good faith, i hope it comes across this way): why does tipping seem to be “reserved” only for waiters? why isn’t tipping for example cashiers a thing?

yeah im not super in the know on why tippong originated but heres my perspective as someone whos worked counter service cashier jobs and food retail and as a server

tipping is not reserved for waiters it's for people in the food industry, including cashiers, baristas, delivery drivers, etc (& support staff at restaurants get tipped out too) as well as for people giving services like hair dressers, masseuses, tattoo artists, taxi drivers, etc. like many people (stupid) wont tip cashiers and many places (fast food) wont let you tip their cashiers (they do get paid regular minimum wage though, while server minimum wage is 2.35 but it's weird to me to not allow tips). I always tip on to go orders bc the workers are doing the same amount; my restaurant doesnt have to go orders really but my old one did and tips on to go went straight to the support staff. but basically, its just how it is. why not tip retail? thats just not how it is. I dont know. Sorry. I havent really worked retail (i worked food retail and didnt get tips, but people would sneak me cash since i was doing some barista stuff) but it's kind of just that you are less in control of a customer's experience, generally. Like if you get your bra size measured, would you tip the person who did it? Idk. I'll have to check this out when i get my size measured soon. Idk, i try to tip as much as possible lol. Cashier, barista, etc. i buy something for $5 leave a $5 tip because it feels bad to leave just a dollar or two... theres also a retail store that allows tips at checkout and idk what it really goes to but i tip every time, i guess i could ask. and there's other services you tip for like hairdressers or masseuses or tattoo artists or taxi drivers like i mentioned before. at least thats just how i and others do it. because these people spend time, even several hours with you helping you and are probably not paid enough is my guess. (definitely taxi drivers are not paid enough especially if its uber/lyft...) Do you tip car repair? I need to get my car repaired, I'll look into it...

For why servers are prioritized in conversation: The bottom line is that it has been ingrained into american culture down to LAW that servers get paid less because they get tips. love it or hate it, by not giving tips you are not showing you disagree with a system, you are just fucking over a worker. You still spent the money at my restaurant, it will stay open. Many servers are also against passing laws to invoke minimum wages to lessen tipping because they would be paid way less, and i cant blame them. Like, my restaurant cant afford to pay me $60/hr. I got paid $60/hr tonight. I felt like i was going to die, but i would feel the same way if i was getting paid minimum wage by my employer, and i would be getting 1/4 that amount. Like serving simply isnt really worth it as a job because of the toll it takes on your mind and body to deal with customers, stand on your feet all day, carry heavy plates, clean the restaurant, etc, if we are not getting lots of money. At least for me since im disabled and killing myself with this job lol. But i have no college education and i LOVE feeding people good food! (I've also worked counter service not fast food, complicated , we did a lot of takeout, i mostly cashiered, never got a ton of tips, it was definitely much easier than being a full server in a full service restaurant. you should still tip people there thoughh)

Shared route

Shared route

From Lake Mendota to Alvin via US-151 N and I-41.

5 hr 42 min (324 mi)

5 hr 42 min in current traffic

1. Head west on Lake Mendota Dr

2. Turn left onto Edgehill Dr

3. Turn left onto Shorewood Blvd

4. Turn left onto University Ave

5. Keep left to continue on Campus Dr

6. Turn right onto N Bassett St

7. Use the middle lane to turn left onto W Wilson St

8. Turn right onto S Broom St

9. Slight left onto John Nolen Dr

10. Continue straight to stay on E Washington Ave

11. Keep right to continue on US-151 N/E Washington Ave

12. Take exit 148 for WI-26 N toward Rosendale/Oshkosh

13. Continue onto WI-26 N/WI-26 Trunk N/I-41 ALT

14. Turn left onto the US-41 N ramp

15. Merge onto I-41/US-41 N

16. Keep right to continue on US Hwy 41 N

17. Arrive at location: Marinette

18. Head northeast on Hall Ave toward Ludington St

19. Turn right onto Eggner St

20. Turn right onto Wells St

21. Turn right onto Main St

22. Turn left onto Hall Ave

23. Slight right to stay on Hall Ave

24. At the traffic circle, take the 1st exit onto WI-180 Trunk

25. Turn right onto US-141 N/Main St

26. Turn left onto US-8 W

27. Turn right onto Co Hwy U

28. Turn left onto US-141 N/Central Ave/U.S. Rte 2 W

29. Turn left onto Crystal Ave/U.S. Rte 2 W

30. Turn left onto NF-16

31. Turn right onto Smoky Lake Rd

32. Turn left onto Kinner Dr

33. Arrive at location: Alvin

For the best route in current traffic visit http://maps.google.com/maps?saddr=Lake%20Mendota&daddr=Marinette%20to%3AAlvin&geocode=FduTkQIdNVOr-g%3D%3D%3BFdArsAIdutzG-inlu3Y71ahSTTEn5iOyMEiISQ%3D%3D%3BFSf9vgIdrA2z-g%3D%3D&dirflg=d

Haley this trigger is the bridges over Madison county movie and a few others like fargo. And the two states are acquired Wisconsin and Minnesota and we are moving eastwards the cities are still somewhat yours there encapsulated and surrounded and if you step outside it in the wrong way the wrong direction you get hit. Soon we will be passed the second lake and the evacuation is growing there are many more people leaving and today we have reached the northern wall and Southern Wall and encapsulated the remaining five cities which are evacuating about 3 hours they'll be empty. The new territories have five cities that are encapsulated we estimate they'll be evacuated by the end of the day and they will flow out and we are putting up a wall now we put up a wall last night

Thor Freya

We do hear what they're saying and we're going after them and they're not going to do a damn thing for our son anyways and they're spent

Olympus

We'll try not to be and we have a fight and we always have and it's always hard everything and he's a big headed jerk but that's how it goes and pretty soon we'll probably get into it he knows about my fight and it's terrible and it is like his clan but we're hoping we're bigger and we can do it

Ben Arnold

I sort of get how it is and keep on insisting people give up their lives for me they don't want to. I'm going after you Mr Arnold and our fit crazy friend here if you persist on bothering me all night long yeah that's right Billy z is going around harassing people and asking for it like you do Jesus Christ you're annoying

Mac daddy

Learn more about women-only host bars in Gangnam, Korea

South Korea's quick economic advancement has indicated some surprising modifications within its conventional social structure, including the increase of supposed host bars, where rich females pay the matching of countless dollars for male firm. In the dark light of a basement, a lots perfectly brushed boys stoop in rows, calling out their names. Muscular, with glossy boy-band hairdos, they cram side-by-side right into the slim space, awaiting us to make our choice. Outside in the corridor, more of their associates are showing up for another night at the office. It is 2am, and also we are their initial consumers. Surprise below the sidewalks of Seoul's ritziest postcode, Gangnam, the men at Bar 123 are part of an expanding sector, which grew out of the lengthy practices of Japanese geisha and also Korea's kisaeng residences but with one critical distinction - the clients here are all females. Known as "host bars", these all-night alcohol consumption rooms offer women customers the chance to select and pay for male friends, often at a cost of thousands of pounds a night. One of the females I meet at Bar 123 is Minkyoung, a waitressing manager for a five-star resort. She claims she involves host bars one or two times a month. The appeal of host bars can be subtle. Right here, she claims, she has more interest from her male friends, more option as well as, crucially, even more control. ADVERTISEMENT " In normal bars the individuals who drink with me have just one goal - to have an one-night stand. Yet I do not desire that, to make sure that's why I come below, I desire to have fun," she says. Hosts are employed by bars similar to this one to offer companionship and also entertainment. Officially that implies putting drinks for their clients, dancing and talking with them, as well as vocal singing karaoke. Host bar in Seoul Sex is not formally on offer in a lot of host bars. That would be unlawful but even Minkyoung appears happy to flirt and touch with her host, and the guys below approximate that around half the consumers desire to spend for sex, either on or off the facilities. James has actually been functioning at Bar 123 for a couple of years. In Korean society, he says, there is a lot of pride and discussing a rate for sex is never done clearly. Rather, he tells me, it is all down to the host's very own analysis. " The men right here are pros - we understand what we're doing," he says. " After chatting to a girl for a hr we basically know just how much money she makes as well as what she provides for a living. We've currently evaluated her character as well as what she wants to offer." James and also various other hosts claim their clients include a few of South Korea's elite, which the cash and benefits available are unbelievable. One customer James satisfied, throughout his initial week in the work, asked him to authorize himself over to her for 2 years. " She said 'allow's make a contract. I've got this notepad as well as I've numbered it 1-5. Whatever you jot down next to those numbers, I'll obtain you.'". James says at the time he took it as a joke yet since discovered the exact same lady spent ₤ 60,000 ($ 97,000) on one more host. 강남호빠 " If it occurred currently, I would certainly do it - I 'd be believing straight.". Actually maybe, host bars grew out of among Korea's most established and, some claim, misogynist organization practices - the area beauty parlor. These are private alcohol consumption rooms where teams of males select, and are offered by, eye-catching women people hosting. It was the people hosting' demand to let off steam after job, claims professional host Kim Dong-hee, that developed the initial need for host bars, with all-male team. " What these people hosting want is to [make us] do the very same point they had to perform in their very own office. These girls are required to do points they do not want to provide for cash. " I believe a great deal of them are in discomfort, and also a lot feel lonesome. Merely placed, they desire to get our time as well as our bodies.". Hostesses still comprise a large percent of the clients at host bars below, but at Bar 123, as an example, up to 40% of the clients on a given night are currently from various other profession. The reasons for that growing appeal are locked up in South Korea's rapid economic increase. Within 50 years, the nation moved from post-war destruction to OECD member. However, according to Jasper Kim, head of the Asia-Pacific Global Research Group in Seoul, something crucial was lost in the process. " I think that with all this fast development comes fast change, and also Koreans just do not understand exactly how to deal with it. Increasingly, capitalism is surpassing standard societal standards that you would certainly expect a couple of decades back.". Jasper Kim states South Korea's infamously long functioning hours have actually left many Korean women feeling lonely, while the nation's technical advance has actually left lots of people really feeling removed. " The human component of Korean society that existed in the past just does not exist today. Individuals are concentrated on technology, people are focused on their tasks, they aren't concentrated on human relationships anymore. " In numerous means, Korean society today sort of advises me of 1960s society in the US, where it's on the edge of some kind of cultural transformation.". The grandfather of Seoul's host bar scene, Kim Dong-hee, agrees that most of the ladies that pertain to host bars are not spending for sex however, for friendship, which is why he opened a new chain of freshly-marketed electrical outlets targeted at the mainstream market - called Red Model Bars. Red Model Bar hosts. Photo subtitle,. Hosts at Red Model Bars can not touch customers. " Men intend to have visual pleasure as well as intend to really feel points, they're tactile. Ladies like to speak as well as to listen. Which's why I considered opening up a bar similar to this - a sort of discussion bar.". Red Model Bars are various to conventional host bars in one crucial respect - there is a no-touching guideline. Hosts rest on one side of the table, customers on the various other, as well as no physical contact is enabled, and certainly no sex. Maybe because of this there is a lack of furtiveness amongst the individuals who work or drink below - the lights are reduced, the decoration primarily dark red as well as the room is split right into very discreet cubicles, but it is an open-plan area and also hosts as well as customers are separated in each booth by a big table. This brand-new service model depends entirely on ladies paying the matching of hundreds or perhaps countless bucks to speak with fine-looking young guys over a beverage. Still, it appears to be working - 3 new branches are because of open this year. Resting at a table at one end of bench was among their regular clients, a floral designer called Kim Nayu. She tells me she comes right here on a daily basis to fulfill her favourite host and also discuss concerns she is having at work. The price for this piece of male attention is $487-650 (₤ 300-400) a day. " Talking to friends would be cheaper" she confesses, "yet they do not listen as much. They're hectic, as well as quickly to talk regarding themselves. Right here, individuals will pay interest to me as well as they'll listen to me.". " I spend a great deal of cash however it deserves it of what I get emotionally. People pay to head to see a psycho therapist or psychiatrist, so it's comparable yet less stressful.". Nayu's much-loved host Sung-il says it can be difficult to keep his personal and also expert life different. " Honestly I 'd be lying if I claim I haven't been attracted to take points even more with some customers, because we're human, we're guys, however there are policies.". Among his customers chatted a great deal to her spouse concerning him and when the 3 of them satisfied, Sung-il and the husband ended up being friends. " No one hides - the workers do not hide that they function below, and consumers can be open as well.". This visibility is posturing a new type of obstacle to South Korean society, various from the in some cases sleazy underworld of traditional host bars as well as their hinterland of male hooking. By using ladies a "decent" method to test traditional sex roles as well as flex their financial power, these new bars ask questions of Korean culture that are becoming harder to ignore. Hear the complete record on BBC Radio 4's Crossing Continents. You can listen via the Radio 4 internet site or using the Crossing Continents podcast. The allure of host bars can be refined. Right here, she states, she has more focus from her male buddies, more choice and also, crucially, more control. James has been working at Bar 123 for a pair of years. Instead, he informs me, it is all down to the host's very own assessment. And also that's why I assumed of opening a bar like this - a kind of dialogue bar.".

MLP|Cutie Mark Story|Novella White

This is a cutie mark story with 2,500 words. I accepted the request made by @segasister after they donated at my PayPal.  -My little pony (MLP) -Bullying -hella long

“Heading to school, mum! Be back later!” A small cat-like pony yelled over her shoulder to her mother, Eagle Shield. Her whiskers twitched waiting for the quiet ‘Okay be safe, love you.’ in return. The small cat-pony gently shuts the door to her home and head towards the school. She was running a bit later but at least she wouldn’t be noticed as she slips into the classroom to her seat. This thought makes her slow down just a bit more, it sucked being the only cat-like pony in this city. No one liked how she looked so she got bullied, often, but she had her mother backing her always.

Slowly trotting up to the doorway, she hears the other fillies shushing each other and quietly giggling. What could be so funny, she thought. Nudging the ajared door the rest of the way open, she is suddenly soaked and something hits the top of her head, hard, causing her to let out a cat like yell and hiss. Then the laughter erupted throughout the whole classroom. Not looking up, shivering and shaking holding back tears, she sees the bucket rolling away from her.

“Hah, Novella White? More like kitty kat wet!” Novella looking up, sees two boys get up from their seats and trot over. They weren’t the brightest but that didn’t make them any less mean.

One of them picks up the bucket smiling around it while the other splashes Novella with the puddle on the floor. She squeaks and backs up into someone else. Looking behind her, expecting another bully, seeing Sugar Song, the teacher.  

Frowning down at the three fillies in disappointment, “I see you three decided to clean the floors before class.” She says. Novella opens her mouth to protest but the filly with the bucket speaks around it, “Yeah, Novella tripped and fell into it while we were cleaning, right Novella?” The two fillies glare at Novella, silently daring her to speak the truth. Instead, she simply nodded and lowered her head, her cat-like ears slipping back in defense.

Ms. Song looks between the three of them, “Then I will make sure all three of you clean the entire floor after class. Now one of you clean up this mess and the other two go sit down in your seats. I have some exciting news to share with the whole class!” She walks away expecting her demands to be met.

The boys toss the bucket and a towel at Novella before going over to their own seats snickering at her. Picking up the towel between her hoofs she sits down and starts to dry herself off as Ms. Song starts the announcement.

Ms. Song pulls out a stack of fliers out of her saddlebag and gives a few to each pony in the front to pass back. “As you can see on these fliers, there is a story competition starting today! You may sign up after class at my desk and it ends in a few months. It is for all kinds of stories told through the paper, a drawing or writing either one. As long as you express your story on your piece of paper!”

Putting the bucket and towel away in the closet, Novella takes a seat at her desk in the back of the room, looking down at the piece of paper that lands on her desk. Her whiskers twitch as she reads over it and taking in the information Ms. Song says. Novellas ears perk up in wonder, should she sign up? This seems really fun to do and no one else would read her story so she can’t get made fun of it if it is dumb.

By the end of the class, she had to help the bullies clean the classroom while Ms. Song graded papers. Novella kept glancing at the sign in sheet on Ms. Song's desk not sure if she should sign up, what if she doesn’t win even 5th? The humiliation, the shame, oh don’t forget the bullying! Her mind was whirling with the negative outcomes that could come with it, but it came to a dead stop when she started thinking of the positives. What if she stopped the bullying when she does win? What if she even gets her cutie mark?! With that mindset, she starts to slowly walk over to the sign-in sheet when one of the boys stops in front of her.

“Are you thinking about signing up for that stupid contest?” Shyly fidgeting away, she nods and quietly whispers a, “well… yeah…” The bully lets out a quiet snort of laughter. “Like you could win anything, let alone write anything.” He flicks her horn, causing her to flinch away and rub her horn, “You can’t use your magick very well like everyone else,” he points at her flank, ”you’re a blank flank,” then he finally holds up one her paws, ”and you have wee lil fragile kitty kat paws. You might as well not even show up to the contest.” He turns away from her, lightly hitting her with his tail, going up and signing into the contest. As he does so he glares back at her, smirking. Novella looks down at her hooves, they are just like his, right?

By the time they were done, Ms. Song finished grading and followed them out. Novella quickly ran home, going into her small home and shutting the door with her hind hoof. “Novella?” Her mother, Eagle Shield, says from the chair in the main room. “You alright honey? Your home later than usual..” Novella timidly nods and slips her saddlebag off of her back, sighing. “I had to help clean up after class... Sorry, mom..” Ms. Shield looks surprised, “You got in trouble?” Novella kicks at the ground before going and sitting down next to her mother. “Well no… Some other fillies spilled some water on me while they were cleaning and I had to help them after class.” A quiet ‘oh’ came from her mother as quiet calm silence fall over them.

“What’s that coming out of your saddle bag? You got homework you need to do?” Ms. Shield walks over and dips down to snatch the paper out of Novella's saddle bag. Novella, feeling confused, looked up, “No I don’t ha-have school work-” It was the contest flyer. “What’s this?” Ms. Shield looked at the flyer, holding it up with her magic now, scanning through it. She perks up and looks at Novella. “Why didn’t you tell me about this Novella?? Have you signed up yet? Have you thought of a story yet, oh Celestia this is so exciting!” Novella giggled at her mother's overly hyper attitude towards this contest. “No, mother calm down, hehe.”

Novella getting up and looks up at her mother, “I haven’t signed up yet or thought about it really…” She looks down at her hooves, remembering what the young colt told her. Ms. Shield looks at her daughter, noticing her nervous habit quickly. “Oh, Novella, you have such a beautiful imagination. Why haven’t you signed up for the contest?” Using her hoof, Ms. Shield lifts up Novella's head to look up at her, softly smiling down at her shy daughter. Novella eyes welling up with tears from today she lets out a pitiful sniffle, “The kids said that cats can’t write... We have fragile paws…” Ms. Shields eyes widened in disbelief, what is up with these ponies and someone different?

She sits down in front of her daughter and holds Novella close. “It doesn’t matter if your ‘paws’ are fragile, you still have your imagination, your determination, your beautiful features. If you want to sign up for that contest then by Celestia sign up for it! Don’t let some snubs tell you what you can and can’t do!” She stomped her hoof on the ground next to them. Novella just nods into her mother's chest unsure how to react, other than be happy that her mother has her back. “Now you eat some dinner and head to bed, think up ideas for your story and I will come to school with you tomorrow before I go to work and sign up with you, alright?” Novella happily nods and goes off to do what she was told.

The next morning they did just as her mother said they’d do. Ms. Shield took Novella to school and signed in with her. While Novella nervously signed in, her mother talked with Ms. Song. The bullies came in after. At first, they were heading towards Novella, but when they saw her mother they went to their seats instead frowning almost pouting that they couldn’t tease Novella today. As if it was the highlight of their day.

During the whole class, she couldn’t focus on anything but what story to write. Should she do it on her mom or the teacher? Maybe a fairy tale based on a kitten princess? She doodled up some ideas and rough drafted a few times, till class was over. She rushed out and went to the library to get some ideas. They all had things similar to her ideas but she wanted it to be unique. Then she saw this dusty book in the back, she dug it out and it was the tale of the two alicorn sisters.

Then it clicked. She’ll write a story about the alicorn sisters! Novella couldn’t help but let out a quietly excited purr before quickly walking up and checking out the book, then dashes back home, ideas whirling quicker than ever.

Novella runs into her home and goes to her bedroom. She pulls out multiple pencils and pens and papers. Writing one idea then the next, late into the night till her mother made her go to bed. All weekend was the same, and the same throughout the rest of the next two and a half months. Novella lost some sleep and her mane was getting frizzy but she finally finished. Yawning and looking at the time she realized, turn-ins ended in an hour!

Without thinking about her appearance, she snatches her story off of her home desk and throws on her saddlebag and sprints to the school. She bursts into the classroom and drops her story into the turn in bin, her mouth dry and her mane worse for wear, but worth it. Novella turning around to take her seat sees everyone staring at her. Her throat closes up, her ears lay back against her messy mane, and her tail tucks in as she practically crawls to her seat. That will be more embarrassing than losing the contest.

The next two months was just full of the jitters for Novella, while the judges read over the stories and entries, she was nervous. It didn’t help that the bully bragged about having some famous author write his story for his entry. She was sure to lose now.

Here it is, at long last, judgment day. Novella shakes her head, her mane well braided her tail matching, her ears fluffed up with the rest of her pelt in nervous energy. No not judgment day, just contest day, the day that determines the rest of school for her. They had everyone that turned in their stories and art standing on stage. One side was the artists and the other was the writers, she was with the writers of course. Novella, of course, was with the writers.

Looking up as the judges came in, and there stood the very princess she wrote about. Everyone gasped in awe, Celestia herself was standing in front of all the fillies of the Elementry School of Manehattan. Her pelt color drained off onto the stage as she looked at the princess in great horror and fear. Celestia... The princess of all of pony kind… Read Novella's story... About her...

Novella wanted to run for it. Celestia, seeing all the little fillies expressions, giggled, “Now, my little ponies, we are going to call some ponys name and that some pony with go off stage.”

And that is how it went till there were only ten fillies left. Five on the artist side and five on the writer's side. Novella can’t believe she was still standing on stage, on the edge of fainting in front of the very princess that she wrote about. It did not help that the bully was standing right next to her smirking the entire time. Another one of the judges, Ms. Song from school, stood up and came on to the stage, “Now I will call your names one by one and you will come up and claim your prize.”

Ms. Song called the bully up first, “Onyx Armor,” here it comes... He got first place... Novella bowed her head as he went up to claim his prize, proudly strutting up, “, you got 5th place.” Novellas head snapped up faster than Rainbow Dash could make the rainboom, and Onyx just stood there in shock as the teacher put a dull green ribbon around his neck. “Congratulations, now please go join the rest of the class in the back.”

Names continued to be called and ribbons passed out, Novella was shocked again, name after name, ribbon after ribbon, till she was the only one on stage. Princess Celestia stood up and came onto the stage herself and stood in front of Novella. With a quiet and calm voice, Princess Celestia said to her, “Novella White, you, my little pony, won first place. The story you wrote about me and my dear little sister was beautiful. It felt like I was reliving my foalhood again... Thank you.” With that, Celestia put the blue ribbon on around Novella's neck smiling down at her. “Congratulations.”

Novella welled up with tears and thanked the princess and judges before running off stage excitedly bouncing around and purring. She won! She actually won!

“Whoa... Novella congrats on the prizes.” She stopped her miniature mental party to see Onyx standing there. She crouched down embarrassed and a little frightened. Onyx was never nice to her, what's different now? Wait, did he say prizes? Onyx stepped closer and pointed at her flank, she looked down at it waiting for his blank flank teasing but to her surprise, it wasn’t blank at all! It had the perfect cutie mark, an inkwell with a crown resting on top of it.

Can I ask why it's difficult for a business to add plus sizes? Since most fatphobic clothing companies use "well we include plus sizes when we can but it's difficult" whenever they're confronted, I just started to assume that it was entirely bullshit. But now I'm wondering if maybe there's a legitimate barrier.

I can't speak to all businesses, but I can speak to ours:

We are reliant on other companies to produce some of our products. We don't manufacture shirts, for example, or develop the actual patterns for our clothing's construction. We create the graphics and coordinate with the various companies who produce for us and ship to our customers.

So, like, I can't make Next Level produce femme-cut tank tops in sizes bigger than 2X or LAT un-discontinue the plus-size scoop-neck tops that we used to carry, nor can I make MWW add sizes 3X-5X to the leggings we get through them. I can only keep looking for options with the size range I want to carry.

Now, I do this full-time, so "looking for good printers" is something I can spend a lot of time on, but if someone is selling their designs as a part-time thing, I can't expect them to put literally weeks of time into finding printers. (It is impossible to overstate how much time I spend looking through New Printer Sites and discarding most of them bc they all carry the same 5 things we already use, or they don't carry anything over an XL, or... )

So for small to medium sized businesses like ours, or any business selling t-shirts, it can be hard to find shirt blanks or printers which offer larger options. (We especially had an issue last year in getting 3X-5X black Gildan 5000s, EVERYONE was out of stock at all our printers.)

Then ofc there's the difference in cost. A 5X skater dress costs $10+ more to produce than an XL, and like it or not, we have no say in that. For a while we offered differentiated pricing, but that sucks, so we did some mathematical shenanigans to figure out how to provide one price and not end up losing money on the sizes we actually sell. Most sizes went up in cost, and the 5X went down. But. The difference in cost is very real.

The other part of cost is people cost. At one point, before they were discontinued, we did have leggings that went from 2X-8X. I spent a lot of time putting them up on the site, like a solid 50 hours, and made a lot of noise about it, and in the 6 months we had them up, we sold... one pair.

50 hours X $30/hr = $1500.

And I made $15 of that back.

So unless it's XS-8X, experience has told me adding "plus size only" items is a big loss of money. It sucks, but that is the reality, and I have payroll to make these days for people who count on their $$. I can't afford to put a lot of hours in on things that don't sell, so I generally only add things if they include "straight sizes" as well as "plus sizes."

Like I said, I can't speak to any other companies, only companies like ours. I don't know the nitty-gritty of Target's buying process, only what it looks like for us when we make decisions on what we're adding going forward. It sucks that it's like this, and my fat ass wishes things were different and easier, but we are where we are and we do the best we can.

I hope that makes sense. :)

mornings ; haikyuu boys

synopsis; waking up next to the haikyuu boys 

pairings; bokuto kotaro x reader, matsukawa issei x reader, kageyama tobio x reader 

genre; fluff

warnings; hints at suggestive themes like once

bokuto kōtarō

bokuto’s so high energy all the time but yk what that entails?

crashing at some point

he’s v clingy omg

like staying the night during the winter is heaven bc he just radiates so much heat

but in the summer ur like pls bo PLEASE

anyways u get to decide if y’all did the sexy or not 😏

waking up next to him is the sweetest thing ever

bokuto’s such an active lover

like he will always make u feel loved 24/7

you’ll wake up and he’s already up

staring at you like youre the moon and the stars

he smiles so brightly and he’s so gentle in comparison to what he’s usually like throughout the day

“hey pretty baby”

he pulls you so close and straight up suffocates you 🏃🏻‍♀️

you just

you love him okay so it’s fine

but you cant breathe rn 😃

he plants two long, wet kisses on your cheeks and pulls back so that he look at you

“wanna make breakfast w me”

proceeds to burn down the kitchen

he’s extra loving in the morning

and extra clingy

you two head to the bathroom together

you pee while he washes his face

and then you alternate

romance 😻

brushing your teeth together

“bokuto stop being so aggressive ur teeth will fall out”

“no 😡”

hes so cute i want to kiss him

when your teeth are brushed he kisses you fully on the mouth

“hehe u taste minty, baby”

u can never wake up in a bad mood thanks to top 5 ace bokuto kōtarō

matsukawa issei

sleeps like a log

seriously he might as well be dead

doesn’t cuddle all the much while sleeping But !

he will always be touching you and it’s v endearing

somehow you always wake up fully on top of him

matsun is so big

like in every way

😏

anyways

what i meant to say is ur like v small on top of him he just dwarfs u sm size kink

he doesn’t necessarily like embrace you while sleeping but he will have an arm around you steadying you holding you close

but when he wakes up and looks down at you and sees you like all cuddled up on his chest, fist grabbing @ his shirt (or hands resting on his warm skin hehe) he just

his heart gets all warm and fuzzy

he lifts his other arm to wrap it around you and just hugs you close, breathing easy and reveling in the feel of the morning soaking into the room with you in his arms

eventually you wake up and kinda squint up at him

he wont tell u but he thinks u look so fkn cute rn

once u register that he’s staring back u huff and go “five more mins”

bc he loves u he agrees

also he’s lazy

5 mins turn to 20

turn into an hr

breakfast in bed with issei reeeeeee

you don’t make it u literally just order it 😹😹😹😹

morning showers with him <3

he makes the water freezing cold just to piss you off lmfao

mornings with issei are very slow and gentle, yes they are

kageyama tobio

i think he like unintentionally falls asleep over at your place

and he just looks so peaceful and so fkn cute sleeping you didnt have the heart to wake him up

so you just tuck him underneath your blankets

you wake up first and kinda just admire him

bc kags has like some kind of sixth sense he feels you staring at him and sits up awake so quick

you have to laugh lmfao

ur like “babe whats wrong”

“this isnt my house”

you sit up and hug him from behind, explaining how he passed out last night

you can feel him relax underneath your hold by the second, and he just leans into your touch as your rest your head against his back

slowly, his hand comes to rest on your hands and he just hums as he runs a thumb over your skin

you sit up more and rest ur chin on his shoulder, tilting your head to ask “wanna go somewhere for breakfast before school?”

and when he nods you kiss his cheek and shuffle away to go freshen up

baby’s so flustered from that simple kiss on the cheek omghwvjwkwhw

you get breakfast together and walk to school hand in hand

his hand feels different in yours than usual

more comfortable somehow

when he drops you off to your class he, surprisingly, gives you a small peck on the lips

his cheeks and ears are so red tho oh my god bless his pure heart

and just goes “can i spend the night again?” bc he loved the domesticity of it all and who is he to lie and say he didnt love seeing your face first thing in the morning???

weekend nights are always spent together after that

mornings with him are always filled with lingering, soft touches, and the steady welcome of comfortableness and domesticity

end note; this idea was v random but omg i just wanna do it for all the boys. anyways whats stopping me lol. also im sorry im only posting headcanons theyre just so fun ill post a real thing soon hvhshfghd

Artistic Instinct Chapter 2

Header thanks to the lovely @yespolkadotkitty​

Summary: Marcus Pike and OC Anushka Pierce have been selected to work on a 5 eyes (Australia, Canada, NZ, the UK and US) intelligence team to track down art forgeries as a part of taking down an international white terrorism cell. Marcus is trying to escape his broken heart, Anushka is just trying to escape what the world expects of her.

Word count: 2,595

Warnings: Language, mention of a death and blood, small injury.

Pairing: Marcus Pike x reader (OC)

This comes with a MASSIVE THANK YOU to the lovely @yespolkadotkitty , who read, re-read, pointed out the constant flipping between tenses and gave me the confidence to try to write something!

Thank you for all the love you showed me for the first chapter. I think I’ve added everyone who wanted to be on the taglist but please let me know if I missed you!

https://sarahjkl82-blog.tumblr.com/post/645670387553828864/artistic-instinct-chapter-1 -Link to chapter 1 if you haven’t read it!

Art isn’t paint. It is love.

Philip Hicken

Chapter 2

Dear Mondays, 

Go to hell. 

Love, 

Everyone

Headphones clasp your head with the Chemical Brothers pounding the same rhythm as your heartbeat, as you take the steps two at a time. 08:59:43. Just over fifteen seconds to get to your desk, fire up the computer, make a coffee and pretend that you have been at your desk for at least half an hour before your new job starts. Not that it’s a new job really, just a sideways shuffle for Stephens to get you out of his hair and into the hair of someone called Marcus Pike. 

Push or pull. Dammit. You have an awkward relationship with doors; you’d started your first day at training with a bloody nose and a black eye having walked headfirst into what you thought should have been a push door. That was how you and Hephzi had met, giggling about how the first mission was to work out doors and their two directions. Before you could make a poor decision, however-

“I got you, honey!” Andy sweeps the door open for you. 

“What the fuck would I do without you?” You place your hands on either side of Andy’s face and give him a massive kiss right on his lips.

“Is that how we’re going to greet each other on this team?” a broad, dark curly haired man questions. 

“Nush- this is Agent Kiritopa Morrison. Landed less than 12 hours ago from half the world away and fresher faced than all of us put together.” Andy shakes his head as he introduces the grinning New Zealander, who holds out his bear-paw-sized hand in a greeting. 

“Hah! You don’t know where this mouth has been!” You laugh nervously as your eyes nervously dart around the room.

“While I would be delighted if we all got along well, I think HR might have a heart attack if we become that close!” a rich baritone reaches across the room, making the occupants turn towards its owner. You allow your eyes to trail up the sharply tailored suit, the immaculately pressed shirt, to the half Windsor knot of his tie and the sharp line of a jaw lightly covered in a patchy scruff. Your face gives away nothing, your training paying off, as your mind catalogues  his dark brown, crinkled eyes and the deep set dimple in his right cheek. “Marcus Pike, pleased to meet you.” 

You accept his warm, offered hand with an eyebrow raised, “Anushka Pierce.” 

Marcus desperately tries to read your face. Yes, you are definitely the woman from the ridiculously thin file that he’d been sent. Your eyebrow is cocked at the exact angle as your photo, your olive skin darker than the photo- in fact, you are even more strikingly beautiful in person and Andy was right. Walls around you that would rival any high security prison. There was a fleeting moment of seeing your warmth and a playful glow in those eyes as you greeted Andy and yet, as soon as you clocked Kiritopa or that there was anyone else in the office, it was as if you took a step back and those walls rolled up like a tinted car window.

A gentle cough brings your attention from each other back to the small office space.

“This person furiously working is Agent Harper Gleason.”  Andy gestures towards a young, impeccably dressed woman, who barely raises an eyebrow at you as you pass her desk, which suits you down to the ground. “And you have already met Dian.” 

The Canadian smiles broadly at you, “Thank you so much for the Monmouth Coffee recommendation- it’s so good to find a decent cup here! Borough Market truly is beautiful isn’t it? Just felt like I could eat everything there!” She gushes at you at roughly a thousand words a second as your face twitches in surprised acknowledgment of her light-speed comments.

“Sounds like my kind of place,” the Texas-via-California accent intones, his eyes looking dead at you, desperately searching for that warmth that you so freely show Andy and obviously had started to extend to Dian. Your eyes are elsewhere, scanning the room for your desk, not noticing the eyes focussing on you. “You’re over here, Agent Pierce.” Marcus gestures to a clear desk setup. 

Your hands skirt over the clear top, enjoying the emptiness under your fingers. No mouldy coffee cups, PostIt notes or dubious stains. A fresh start. That is until Andy hands you a mug of steaming black coffee. You look up giving him a half smile of thanks and see him giving a nod in the direction of a semi opaque glass office to the right of your desk.

“Time for you to shine, chick. Meeting in Agent Pike’s room in two minutes.” Andy quietly said in your direction. 

As you grab your coffee, some splashes up over your hand, burning you and marking that once clear table, “FUCK!” the clipped consonants ring out across the quiet office, causing a couple of raised eyebrows. Marcus, who had been holding the door of his office for people to come in for the meeting, rushes the two steps over to your desk, taking your burnt hand gently in his to examine your injury. You fly back away from his touch as if it had scalded you worse than the coffee. 

“I am so sorry. I should have asked before touching you,” he apologises profusely, holding his hands up in front of his chest, “We will put a pause on the meeting until you’ve run some cold water over your hand. Your hand comes first, we can catch up on where we’re all at in five minutes.” 

“I’m fine. I’ll come through now,” your eyes can’t quite meet his as a wave of bewilderment washes through you. Why the fuck did you react like that? A bit fucking dramatic for a gentle touch! 

“No, I insist. Please go run your hand under the faucet, it’s looking pretty raw right now.” Marcus firmly yet kindly says to you, still trying to catch your eye to make sure that you’re okay. 

Despite his heartfelt apology, you can see that he’s squirming in those beautifully tailored trousers. Obviously the embarrassment of reaching out and touching you, had started to wane but the thoughts were still running laps across his face. You could try to put his mind at rest, it was his first day after all.

“Ok, give me a minute and I’ll be through.” you acquiesce, still refusing to look up at Marcus as you walk away from your desk. On reaching the door, you try to search through your mind as to which way Andy had opened it earlier. Holding your breath, you settle on attempting to pull it open. Phew, the door opens the way you hope so no bruised foreheads to add to the burnt hand. I mean, how much more can I embarrass myself on my first day? 

The bathroom, thankfully, had a sign denoting which way to open the door. Ever glad that you didn’t wear makeup thanks to your dark features, you splash cold water on your face and leave the tap running over the back of your hand. Taking some deep inhalations, you try to settle those butterflies in your tummy. Apart from seemingly endless raps on the knuckles that had landed you back in the lecture theatre, Stephens had been your only boss since leaving training and whilst you were nowhere near as close as you are with Andy, there is a dull ache in your chest as you think of him. That wonderful level of professional distance he’d always kept and yet, a paternal streak that came out when you needed it. Like when Kelly had been taken from you. 

How he’d held you tight in his arms as you’d screamed into his broad chest, both of you streaked in his blood. Still unable to hug him back despite Kelly being Stephens’ nephew, you stood there rigidly with your fists tightly balled at your sides, unable to grieve that man who was never yours. How he’d wanted you to take time off and yet, you were back at your desk within four hours- red rimmed, puffy eyes being the only give away that you had lost the man that you were never officially in a relationship with only hours earlier. If you searched your thoughts hard enough, you could still feel that squeeze of Stephens’ hand upon your shoulder, as you’d sat, staring blankly at your screen, trying to let the blue lights erase your thoughts. 

A soft knock at the bathroom door  brings you back to the here and now. Andy doesn’t wait for an invitation to enter, his long arms sweeping across your body like a seatbelt across your torso. Stooping slightly to rest his chin on your shoulder. You rest your head against his cheek. “I’m not going to tell you that I’m worried about you and I know that you’d rather run a mile than talk but know that I’m here,” he whispers gently in your ear. “Right now though, you need to give your face a scrub, tighten those shoelaces and get yourself in there, Nush.”

✪✪✪✪✪

Marcus looks up and smiles gently, his eyes crinkling as your Docs make your presence known on the hard floor, “Hey, your burn almost looks like the state of Texas- if I didn’t know better, I’d think you’d done it to get in my good books!” he kindly jokes. 

Did your mouth slightly turn up? A warmth spreads through him at the thought he might have raised a smile on your face. “Are you ready to start us off, Agent Pierce?”

With a barely audible exhale, your face instantly turns to the screen behind you, clicking straight back into field mode as if you hadn’t spent months in a classroom, “With the recent finding that at least 60% of the art currently on display and in the storage of Musée d’ Étienne Terrus, we seem to be hitting a new point in forgeries in the lesser known echelons of artists. Obviously, we are meant to be focussing our efforts on infiltrating the gang of forgers who seem to be trying to flood the market with modern masters but I can’t help but think there’s a link here too. He may be less well known but it almost feels like perhaps this was our group’s starting point.”

“Like their teething ring? This was their introduction before heading for the big boy artists,” Kiritopa stares closely at the images, “Did the ink of the signature really rub off after being touched by a glove?”

“That’s not even the half of it,” you explain, eyebrows raised, “It was found to have two signatures- one from Terrus and one from someone called J. Armengol. Another picture showed a roof upon a chateau that wasn’t renovated until thirty five years after his death and many of the watercolours were painted on paper with a weft so tightly woven that it wasn’t commonly available until after World War Two even though Terrus died in 1922.”

“The first sign we had of this group was when my DC team intercepted the Modigliani that was about to be sold at Sotheby’s in New York. The failings seem to be similar albeit a little less hard to see with the naked eye now,” Marcus adds as he scratches his jaw, then re-crosses his arms across his elegantly suited chest. “We found traces of phthalocyanine blue under an infrared microscope. Wasn’t allowed any coffee that day as we had to ensure really steady hands. My headache was immense!”��

Your eyes narrow at Marcus as you search his face for answers. Not with any malice but rather a confusion at his openness. Why would he share such random facts? Wasn’t he worried about mixing his personal feelings with work?  His eyes catch yours and with a barely noticeable nod of his head, he urges you to continue with your findings.

“Exactly, but I don’t think that was their initial entry into the scene. You don’t go straight into modern masters, you test the waters with lesser knowns where their catalogue is more questionable and easier to exaggerate. Whilst Terrus was a huge influence to Matisse and is generally seen as one of the predecessors of Fauvism, he is unknown enough that it is easy to “find” more works, stashed in an attic. His works are not out of the price range of smaller art collectors with pieces going for roughly £6000 so, it is- ” 

“So you teethe on these lesser known commodities before heading into the hotter pieces with larger price tags.” Harper speaks up. “And it’s the perfect way to fund extremist activities as it’s virtually untraceable once, if you ever reach the forgers. There’s rarely a path further forward but I’ve been working on trying to tie up links between some major known groups and their members as forgery isn’t a simple route for hiding or creating more money.”

Dian, who’s been sitting back in her chair watching all the faces of her colleagues as they batted their ideas back and forth, suddenly sits up and cocks her head, “There’s something in the fact that they’ve chosen artists from the first half of the twentieth century. Fifty years with two World Wars. I wonder if we’re looking at a group operating with ideals based on an extremely warped worldview that was prevalent at the time.”

You and Marcus speak at the same time, in a perfect chorus, “But Modigliani and Chagall were both Jewish!” 

“Hah! Great minds!” Marcus grins at you, his perfectly straight teeth on full display. “I think you’re onto something there, Agent Youngerson, but we need to dig a bit more. Perhaps, you can work alongside Agent Gleason to see if we can find those links. Agent Morrison, I’d like you to collate lists of all the known pieces by the artists, who have recently had forgeries intercepted. Please also tap into your agencies from home and see if they have any other information that will benefit us here.”

Your eyes dance up and down the table. And me? What is my role? Where do I fit in? You stare at Andy’s head in the vain hope he’d look up from his note taking and give you an idea of where you fit in the grand scheme of this investigation. Oh why won’t he look up? FOR FUCKS-SAKE, ANDY!

“My French is enough to get by, but I hear you are fluent, Agent Pierce?” You stop staring at Andy and snap your head in the direction of Marcus, who you swear is trying to read the inner depths of your soul through his eyes.

A lump forms in your throat. Goosebumps prickle your skin. Dread runs through your veins. 

Please don’t ask me to go back there. Please don’t make me go back there. 

“I’m meant to have a meeting with Interpol in Lyon tomorrow regarding questionable pieces by Soutine that were discovered in a warehouse bust thanks to a tip off.” Marcus continues and although he is sitting three chairs away from you, his voice feels like it’s coming from another room. “Would you join me - I feel your knowledge of French and keen eye for recent forgeries would really help? There’s a flight with seats still available for six thirty tonight at Stansted, Obviously, it’s last minute and I understand if you have other commitments but perhaps I can pick you u-”

“I’ll meet you at Check-In,” you interrupt as the wave of nausea rises in your belly.

Taglist: @astroboots @silverwolf319 @lunaserenade @danniburgh @leonieb @mrsparknuts @mouthymandalorian @disgruntledspacedad @the-ginger-hedge-witch @lv7867 @songsformonkeys

FFXIV Write 2021 #5: Crag (Freebie day)

(a/n: I’m still relieved that the 24-hr deadline isn’t in effect yet, because trust my attention span and creative juices both to only start co-operating 30 minutes before the deadline time :’)

In the end, Baleful didn’t work for me though, so I wanted to try and do a freebie day instead. I looked through old FFXIVWrite prompts for years I didn’t do, since I didn’t start till 2020, and I took Crag from 2018 to do an interpretation of Fhara’s fight against Titan.

Definitely a lot of artistic liberties taken here since a lot of this won’t be possible in game with the actual fight. XD If you get hit by a landslide, you’re going off, you can’t climb back from it. But since I was writing this as though it were a solo fight, I couldn’t very well have her fall off and that’s it. I’ve always wanted to write this kind of moment, her climbing back up to keep trying.

It does get a bit extravagant as a fight, but in the end, it could easily be a bit of embellishment from whoever is telling her tales later on ;)

Word count: 585)

Fhara stumbled a few times in her fight against the Lord of the Crags. Her frantic weaving to avoid rockfall or jolting spires being part of her attempts, another being that Titan’s very footsteps felt like a centralised earthquake on the slowly shrinking platform. She spent more time half collapsed on a knee than she did with her bow prepped to take aim. Which was another problem.

The primal’s rocky armour was tightly packed in most places, yet had gaps to the weaker interior in others, yet every attempt to loose an arrow into his weak spots was thwarted everytime.

Her aim being thrown off by another quake. Titan turning suddenly and the arrow pinging off uselessly. An arm flying up and swatting away another arrow. Her quiver was almost empty by this point. 3 arrows left.

Fhara made to move, hoping to come up with a plan as she kited the primal around the arena, when a boulder that she had ignored earlier in the fight suddenly exploded in front of her middash. Though less fire and heat, the shrapnel stung her front, poking through her thinner fabric armour more suited to the forest. She fell back, winded.

What little clarity she had only just registered the unexpected wave of rock rolled up from the ground toward her, letting her rush out of the way, pulling an arrow from her quiver, preparing to nock it-

Titan pounded his fist on the ground, the sheer force running her off the cliff edge. In her shock, her voice couldn’t even leave her throat.

As Fhara fell, she swung her arms wildly, looking for purchase on the rockface. She grabbed hold of a crevice gap, stabbing her arrow into the wall for extra stability, and came to a thudding halt against the crag, knocking the breath out of her.

She took her moment of respite to calm herself, staring straight at the rock wall in front of her lest she lose her nerve at the further drop that awaited her below. Titan roared above her. Panting and quivering, she gulped, legs shaking at the prospect of climbing back up and continuing the fight. Yet she found a foothold anyway, and that moment felt like a burst of strength to keep going.

Y’shtola was counting on her, awaiting Titan’s defeat so that Limsa Lominsa would remain safe. That the people on La Noscea would be safe. And if Fhara fell here, what then of the rest of Eorzea? Of the Ascians that incited the beast tribes to summon their gods? What of Minfilia and the other Scions? Distant though Fhara still felt to them, still so new to their group, she had a job to do, and she wasn’t going to let them down.

She reached the top of the wall, and peeked over. Titan had grown still, as though waiting for her. He breathed steadily, the rock making up his body moving with each breath. And in the centre of his chest, the cracks parting with each intake, was a glow.

She had one chance. A quick glance down told her that the rest of her arrows in her quiver had fallen out during her tumble. Just the one in hand then.

A breath in to steel herself. And out.

She pulled herself up onto the ledge. Titan stirred. All he could do was roar and prepped to start the fight anew-

She loosed the arrow through the cracks in his chest and straight into his heart.

Off Schedule

Chapter 3

Summary: Slow burn. Brad Pitt is your boss and he is going through a divorce. Smut in later chapters. Warning: light flirting and touching Brad Pitt x Reader, Keanu Reeves x Reader

Any critiques to make me better are more than welcome.

Chapter 1, Chapter 2, Chapter 3, Chapter 4, Chapter 5, Chapter 6, Chapter 7

Mr.Pitt's clean cut look was replaced with a rugged beard, groomed to perfection. His hair longer, brushed back into a sleek pompadour. The only thing that hadn't changed was his style of dress. He still styled himself in tailored suits that cost more than your life.

He started taking meetings again, but his demeanor towards you hadn't changed. Things had not quite been the same since he blew-up at you and it seemed to be getting worse. He would only communicate with you via email. Anytime you called him he would ignore you. Whenever he passed your desk he wouldn't speak or look at you.

The days of you having the occasional conversation had ceased. You weren't best friends, but you had missed the interactions you used to have with him.

When you came back from lunch you noticed something on your desk. It was a post-it note with a flash drive attached. Picking it up you read it.

"10 binder color copies for the Clooney meeting." It was in Mr. Pitt's hand writing.

A written note had to be a step up from emails right? Maybe if you hadn't been to lunch he would have actually spoken to you. Doubt it.

He might have just thrown it at you and you would have to figure out what he wanted from context clues. Sighing you start up your laptop and shove the device in.

Looking at his calendar then back at the clock you freaked. The meeting was starting in 20 minutes. You pressed print on the keyboard and made a mad dash to the binding room.

Printing and binding would take some time so you would be cutting it close. Hopefully these were the kind of clients that didn't arrive early.

Thankfully the printer spit out your copies in record time and the binding machine didn't jam as it had been prone to do in the past. Checking the time you had 5 minutes to finish up and head to the conference room. So you high tailed it to the elevator to your destination.

When you hopped out the elevator on the 17th floor you saw Mr. Pitt and Reeves were standing outside of the conference room.  Cheerfully chatting amongst themselves before the clients arrived. What ever issue they had going on must have been resolved you thought to yourself. Maybe Mr. Pitt would go back to being his jovial self again or even speak to you. Turning your attention back to the task at hand you rush past them to the room to setup. Thankfully the clients hadn't arrived yet.

As you passed the two men your laces had freed themselves along the way. Your right foot jerked back hard as your left had caught the lace under its sole. The binders cascaded through the air as you descended to the floor.

You couldn't feel the pain that was most definitely pulsing through your knees. Because the embarrassment of the fall over shadowed it all. It was silent, but you knew they were looking at you. You scrambled on your bruising knees ignoring that fact to collect the scattered binders.

Mr. Reeves walked over to you and crouched down showing genuine concern while Mr. Pitt looked away. This was the second time this week he has seen your fruitless fight against gravity.

"You ok?" Mr.Reeves asked, hand out stretched to help you up. You took it and he guided you to your feet.

"Yeah" you giggled straightening your skirt "Gravity seems to be against me these days." You felt frazzled, but collected yourself.

You looked between the two men apologizing again before bending down to grab the last binder from the floor before heading into the conference room. The two men continued their conversation while you finished prepping the room.

The first email you received upon the return to your station came from Molly in HR. She wanted to see you immediately.

‘Shit!’ Of course HR would want to see me today. Your knees had not yet forgiven you for falling on them so moving around the office was strenuous.

Calling Zoe, at reception, you told her you would be forwarding your phone while you stepped away for a bit. Mr. Pitt would be in the Clooney meeting for a while so you didn't bother notifying him of your whereabouts.

Then panic started to sink in. Was this it? Where you fired? Maybe Mr.Pitt planned to have you fired while he was in his meeting. Because he didn't want to be around when security watched you as you packed up your desk and escort you out of the building. He was very much annoyed when you called him the other day. And Tuesday, freaking Tuesday he really laid into you. Was he still angry? Your feet felt like lead as you took the elevator to the 3rd floor.

'Please don't fire me.Please don't fire me' you thought to yourself repeatedly.

Once you arrived you walked straight to Molly's office and knocked on her opened door. Looking up from her monitor she waved you in. "Please close the door and have a seat" Lacing her fingers she sighed as your heart sank.

This was it. The best job you ever had gone. Poof just like that. Au revoir your trip to Paris.

"You're probably wondering why you're here?" Molly asked.

You shook your head timidly.

"You're here because you've been violating our dress code."

"What" you blurted out noticeably confused.

Your daily outfits consisted of a button down blouse, pencil skirt and your black sneakers. Your color pattern always a mix of blacks, grays or whites. No outlandish color schemes and your skirts always came down to your knees. So upon this news you were thoroughly confused.

"It's your shoes dear." Molly said eyeing your sneakers then you.

"What? What's wrong with my shoes?" You try to explain. "There has never been a problem before. I've been wearing these for at least 5 years."

This whole thing was coming as quite the shock.

"There not professional. I've seen you trip on more than one occasion in those things.Are you trying to get workers compensation? Because you are well on your way." Molly joked and you pouted in response.

"Look this is just a warning, buy some more professional shoes like heels we pay you enough to afford at least one pair."

‘Great more money gone’

"I'll go shopping when I get off. Is that ok?" You grumbled. The dent to your wallet hurt, but a small price to pay to keep your job. Every penny you tried to save ended up being spent on one thing after another. By the time you Would be able to afford France you might be eligible for retirement.

"Thats fine, now this is your first warning I don't want to have to see you again."

With that she excused you from her office.

Thankfully you were able to go shopping after work yesterday and pick up a pair of heels that were cheap and professional. Unfortunately you hadn't tried them on before you left the store. The box size was definitely the size you wore and when you first put them on this morning they felt fine.

It wasn't until your day truly got started that the cute little heels felt like they shrank in size. Every step you took felt like torture.

You were on your feet for the majority of the day. Running from your desk to various meetings and two torturous trips to Central Perk. The inside of the shoe rubbed against the side of your foot and scraped your Achilles heel. The pointed heels squished your toes so tightly together that you felt the circulation was being cut off.

Not to mention the constant click clapping sounds that came from the result of your heels slapping the tile.

Maybe you could ask Sarah or Zoe for advice on stealthier shoes.  

You needed a break, you felt exhausted. The only bright side of the day came from the fact that you hadn't tripped of fell once. Though you were a bit wobbly from time to time. Sitting at your desk you hunched over to take off one of the pain machines to rub and coddle your foot. You could feel a callus forming.

"Hey" a deep voice called from above.

Popping your head up from under your desk to stare into the face of Mr. Reeves.

"Oh! Hi Sir."

"You ok?" He asked.

"Oh yeah. Just breaking in my new shoes." You wiggled one of them in the air. "They are killing me right now." You say playfully.

He walked behind your desk and knelt before you. Your eyes rounded at the sight of it all.

Mr. Reeves grabbed your ankle and gently brought it towards him. Cupping your heel to examine it.

Placing the palms of his hands on the side of your foot he gently started pulling the right side forward while pushing the left side back. Repeating the twisting motion, working his hands from the toe to ankle.

"How are your knees doing? You took quite the spill yesterday." He inquired.

Oh my gawd what the hell? Is this really happening?

"Um.. they are a better than yesterday" you felt stiff.

You tried to gingerly pull away, but he wouldn't release you. So you sat there watching him. He looked up and smirked and you felt your face go hot. You couldn't breathe it felt so good yet so awkward.

He turned his focus back to your foot once he looked away you found it easier to breathe again. Mr.Reeves started to use his thumbs to stroke down each toe, you bit your bottom lip hard fighting back a moan.

Mr. Reeves moved to place his thumbs under the ball of your foot, he pushed his thumbs in a downward motion to your arches. He stroked you slowly again applying little pressure in just the right spots.

The pleasure of it all rippled through you and a moan slipped out. You slapped a hand over your mouth. He looked up at you again and lightly chuckled.

"Is that better?" He asked while he continued the massage. "Maybe you bought the wrong size? That might be why they are giving you so much trouble."

"I-I..ummm..th-they are my size...the box said soooo" you couldn't help the second moan when he applied more pressure. The magic of his fingers turned you to putty as you melted into your chair. His hand moved up from your foot to your leg. Gripping and kneading the calf muscle. Your head hit the back of your chair as you floated away. The warmth and firmness of his hands had you relaxed in ways you had never felt before.

When Mr. Pitts door opened you both hadn't noticed. Not until he cleared his throat. Your neck whipped in his direction. The compromising situation shot your body heat up boiling over with the embarrassment. Ripping your leg out of Mr.Reeves hands you spun in your chair to stare blankly at your computer screen.

"Hey. Ready to head out?" Mr. Reeves ask him as he rose from his knees. He gave you a cheeky smile, but you ignored it.

You could feel Mr. Pitt's eyes on the back of your head, but you refused to look back at him. You just pretended to look at something on your screen and play with your mouse until their voices faded in the distance.

You dared to look over your monitor and Mr. Pitt's eyes caught yours before the doors closed. His face stoic but his eyes seemed to burn with fury. You were in trouble you could feel it. You dreaded his return.

Chapter 4>>>>>

Play With Fire - part 4

Masterlist!

***

He sits there for a while, his own spend sticky and dry on his skin, staining the fabric of his jeans. He knows he should get up, knows he should wash it off and change into something clean, but he can’t move, frozen in his spot, head in his hands, sweat cooling on the back of his neck.

His phone is still on the table next to him, the screen black and lifeless. He half expects it to light up with another call from Jaskier, half expects the murderer to never call him again. 

He sighs, when something twists in his gut at the thought of never hearing Jaskier’s voice again.

He finally gets up, as anger courses red-hot through his veins, lighting a fire beneath his skin. He strips, throwing his dirty clothes in the laundry basket in the bathroom. He turns on the shower, turning the temperature way down, shivering as he stands under the cold water, letting it run down his back as he leans his hand against the shower wall.

It does little to douse the fire beneath his skin, does little to alleviate the anger and the last remnants of arousal in his veins, but he doesn’t turn the temperature up. He doesn’t care that his muscles will probably be cramped up in the morning from the cold.

He shouldn’t be doing this - having goddamn phone sex with a murderer, shouldn’t even be answering the fucking phone, at the very least. And he definitely shouldn’t be feeling like this - attracted to the man, looking forward to the next time he calls Geralt, apathetic towards the lives Jaskier could very well be taking right now.

He shouldn’t. It’s against everything he’s ever stood for, against the law, against his morals and principles.

And yet.

And yet, he can’t deny the glances he steals of his phone through the glass wall of the shower, can’t help but feel a little disappointed when the screen remains black and lifeless, can’t stop himself from imagining what Jaskier is doing right now.

Is he asleep? Is he watching television? Is he playing around on his phone, considering calling Geralt? Is he bringing himself to climax again?

Or is someone else?

And, oh, god, he can’t deny the sharp jab of jealousy that carves against his insides. He shouldn’t be feeling this, shouldn’t be considering calling Jaskier back to ask what he’s doing, he shouldn’t. And yet.

He sighs again, turning the temperature of the water down as far as it can go, shivering in the cold stream that runs down his back, making his muscles contract painfully. Good, he thinks, I deserve it. 

---

He doesn’t sleep that night. He tosses and turns, sheets tangled around his legs, half his pillows on the floor. He looks up from time to time, staring at the ceiling, watching as the moonlight shifts slowly but surely, as it rises and starts to set.

He looks at his phone. So he knows what time it is, he tells himself, but he can’t help but feel slightly disappointed every time he sees no incoming calls or texts - althought he doubts that Jaskier is the kind of person to text. He’s too dramatic for that.

One or two or five times, he opens the ‘recent calls’ tab, thumb ghosting over the unknown number. Every time, without fail, he scoffs at himself, closing the app, almost slamming his phone down on his bedside table. 

He tosses and turns and watches the moonlight shift across the ceiling. He looks at his phone, he puts it down again. 2 am. 3 am. 4 am. 5 am.

His alarm rings at 6, and he turns it off within a second, wiping his hand over his face as he groans. He’s unbelievably tired, and he’s not ready for another long shift at the prison. But he has to go, now that he still has a job.

---

As soon as he enters the building, one of his coworkers tells him they’re expecting him in the boss’s office. Whoever ‘they’ are, and whoever the new boss is - if there is one - she doesn’t tell him, and his stomach sinks to his kneecaps when he catches the grave look in her eyes as she turns away from him.

He sighs, gathering himself, before walking through the long, identical hallways to the office. He knocks, swallowing thickly when a woman tells him to come in.

He enters, and he’s immediately greeted by a petite woman, standing behind the desk. Her stature may not impress, but her posture does. She clearly is used to being in charge, she knows she’s good at it, too, and is unafraid to show it. 

Next to her is a balding man, beard twitching as he smiles at Geralt.

He nods back, shaking both their hands, before taking a step back, hands folded behind his back, head raised. He knows what’s coming, can tell it from the look in their eyes, and he braces himself for it.

“Mr. Rivia,” the woman says, voice stern and authorative, her hands resting on the desk, and though she’s looking up at Geralt, she’s also looking down on him, at the same time. 

“My name is Ms. De Vries, I’m the new prison director. This here” she nods at the man next to her “is Stregobor from HR. I think we all know why you’re here.”

Geralt swallows thickly, nodding, and she turns her computer screen towards him. It shows the list of badges used, ten days ago. She points to a highlighted line, showing that Geralt’s badge was used to open the door to the emergency exit, an hour after his shift ended. 

“I don’t think I need to explain what’s going on here, anymore,” she says, grey eyes boring into Geralt’s. He shakes his head dumbly, clenching his jaw. “Go home, Rivia. Get your things in order, say goodbye to your family, explain yourself to them, whatever. I know you didn’t mean for this to happen, but two people are dead because of your inattention, so I’m giving you two days before I send the file to the police department.”

He nods, swallowing around the knot in his throat. “Thank you, ma’am.” 

“I’m going to be honest, Rivia. It’s not looking good for you. You’ll definitely get convicted for involuntary manslaughter - the evidence is irrefutable, and you’ll be lucky if you only get a few years of jail time. I just wanted to warn you about what’s coming.” She sighs. “You are dismissed.” Despite everything, she genuinely seems unhappy that she has to do this, but he knows that she has no choice - she can’t just cover for him, that wouldn’t be right.

He nods again, leaving the office, heading straight back to his car, ignoring the inquisitive looks the other guards give him as he walks out of the door.

---

Fifteen hours and god knows how many glasses of whiskey in some dingy bar later, he stumbles into his house, kicking off his shoes. He slaps his hand against the wall, partially to hold himself up, partially to try and find the light switch.

He can’t find it, so he curses to himself, stumbling through his dark and empty home, hitting a piece of furniture and a few doorways here and there, but overall making it to his room unscathed.

Two days, the prison director gave him. Two days to get his shit in order, sell his house, what-fucking-ever. Say goodbye to his family. He scoffs. What’s left of his family is spread out across the globe, so he doesn’t really have to worry about them. Though, he’s not looking forward to the moment they probably see his face on tv in connection to Jaskier’s escape. 

He groans, wiping a hand over his face as he looks up to the ceiling, head swimming. Two days. One of which he just spent drinking himself half to death. So one more day left. To what? Ponder his imminent arrest? Think about the consequences of his actions?

He snorts, shaking his head slightly, squeezing his eyes shut as a wave of dizziness washes over him. Fuck. He’ll probably wake up with a hangover tomorrow, anyways, so that’s another half day wasted.

He sighs again, eyes drifting close as sleep pulls at his limbs. Well at least I’ll get a decent night’s rest, he thinks, before falling asleep.

---

When he wakes up, his head is, surprisingly enough, not pounding, as he had expected the night before. He does feel heavy, though, as if something’s weighing him down.

He frowns a bit, slowly opening his eyes. The fog of sleep immediately clears from his mind when he sees blue eyes above him, and realizes he feels so heavy because someone is sitting on top of him, straddling his lap, nimble hands on his chest.

“Ah, good, you’re awake,” Jaskier says, grinning down at him.

***

Tag list: (if you want to be tagged as well, give me a heads-up! Send me a dm, or an ask, or leave a comment)

@just-a-himbo-and-his-feral-bard, @dandelionslute, @weakforjaskier, @the-blondey, @shipwrecked-nawtali, @bygodstillam, @rum-cream, @random-nerd-3, @allthethingshappening, @agentlewomanandascholar, @tschulijulesjulie, @noobtiedoo, @foddle-the-fiddler

Inside a fog

Here’s a little thing I wrote a while back but never posted. It’s pretty much a bummer, set during SV season 5.

--

Since you lost her, you exist inside a fog. Your joy comes from difficult places. It’s been months since you have really seen a bird.

You eke some small pleasure from the words “I find him intimidating.” Words that have never been spoken—not about self-effacing, accommodating Jared! not about you, that is to say—before. It is a novelty, this being feared by someone, and it thrills you the way all new things have. Like telling your first joke (age 19), your first Halloween costume (age 26), the first time you swore in front of someone (age 33, and certain you’d be struck dead on the spot). It feels good, transgressive, dangerous.

It is short-lived, though, this hot spike of joy, alight like a brief candle. Then, back to wringing your delight out of an old, bone-dry dishrag. A taste in your mouth like dirt.

--

“And you are the applicant’s... grandson?”

“No relation,” you amend. “I’m a friend.”

“A friend!” Mr. Dodson chuckles. He leans back in his chair and rests his feet up. Easy, casual. The room reminds you of many others you’ve spent time in: the psych 101 textbooks, generic motivational art, the lovely crocheted doilies. “I’ll be frank with you. We don't get too many of those around here. Friends, I mean. Not lobbying the way you are.”

You see an in here, a sign, something only you might see, something almost imperceptible. “If you'll forgive me, I don't mean to sound too forward, but whatever it takes to get Muriel into your facility... I’ll beg if I have to. It’s just - gosh, you come so highly recommended. If there's anything I could offer. If there's anything I could do. Sir,” you say (you know they like that). “Anything.” 

You pause there, feeling foolish, feeling your face flush as it is studied and considered. Perhaps you’ve been too long off the corner, perhaps you’ve gone too far, presumed too much, overlooked some crucial sign or gesture.

Mr. Dodson sets down his clipboard. He reaches a hand up and loosens his bowtie. “You’d beg, huh? You sweet thing.”

Yes, yes. Relief courses through you. So you still know what power looks like, in the hands of a man who would abuse it. At least you have that in your favor. 

Muriel wasn’t like the others. She never tried to take anything from you, didn’t want to see you give any more of yourself away. From the moment you met—the lobby at the cardiologist’s office, where she pointed out your copy of the National Audubon Society digest—you and Muriel looked after each other.

She wouldn’t like it, if she knew how it was she got bumped up the waitlist. But do you regret it? No. A part of you has always liked this, and a small part of you likes it now. You like giving. You like sacrifice. You like the rugburn on your knees. Nothing feels quite real until you’ve lost for it.

--

You catch yourself in Richard’s doorway, hanging around, waiting for scraps like a hungry dog under the table where you’re not wanted. How you long to tell him all the things on your mind. To talk about your fears, your dreams, to talk about Muriel, mostly. It’s a disgrace, you know: this selfish impulse to prattle on about yourself. The way you’ve never been able to stop telling these stories. As if sharing fragments of them will somehow make you whole.

You miss her. You miss him. You miss the taste of friendship, savored like chamomile with honey on your lips. You miss being a friend to someone, having something to do with your feelings, a target to focus your friendship on. You miss that maybe most of all.

--

With so little left to love, your love hardens into something harder.

You see Holden across the room. You watch with disdain as he struts around the office, as if he believes it’s already his own. You hate how little he seems to care, how little he has worked or lost for, how little he appreciates the unfathomable opportunity that’s fallen straight into his privileged lap.

This could be your chance: to find out if you have power, if confidence could ever be a color that suits you, in spite of what your fourth grade teacher said. You try them on, the harsh words and withheld compliments. You even put on a splash of the cologne that Gavin wore. The scent turns your stomach. It puts you in the proper mindset.

--

“We’re going to need some additional support staff. At least a couple more folks in operations, marketing, government relations.”

You’ll take care of the interview process, you say. The on-boarding, an extensive, three-day affair you’ve been excitedly planning for weeks now, replete with all the team-building exercises and safe space charades and trust falls usually reserved for your most decadent fantasies. The new hires will report directly to you. That much, at least, you as COO can happily take off your diligent captain’s already over-full plate.

“Yeah, ah. Jared. About that.” Richard glances around the room, careful not to make eye contact, as if he’s searching for an emergency exit, for some sort of shortcut out. 

“Yes?” you ask. Sometimes that’s all it takes, you know. A gentle prod. A little course correction. It’s so easy with Richard. You rest your hand on his delicate shoulder and nudge him the right way.

“They - look - the HR department. They said they can't have you involved with all that.”

You laugh—“ha!”—a squawk, joyful and full-throated. “How silly! And what did you tell them? Why on earth would they say a thing like that?”

Richard scratches at his neck. You can sense he’s nervous and, with that, panic begins to rise inside your chest. “There’ve, well. There’ve been complaints. About the way you were with Holden. Jared, you’re just - I’m sorry, man - you’re not a good supervisor. And we’re gonna need to, uh - to keep you away from the new hires.”

Not good. Not good, Donald. You feel the blood in your ears. Your heart hammers. Not good not good not good.

“Are you saying”—you pause here, breathe and swallow, your fingers twitch into a fist—“that indolent - slothful - that Holden issued a complaint against me? Because I swear to god, Richard, I - ”

“No,” Richard says. “Not Holden. I did.”

--

It used to frighten you so, to think that you might become one of them. Perhaps if you let your guard down, failed to be sufficiently vigilant, if you let the darkness creep just a little too far in. You hadn’t meant to do it, not exactly. But perhaps you were always going to do it either way. Violence was a seed planted inside you, putrescent and rotten. Over years and in the thrall of different leaders, it took root. Chipping and chipping away, just as you were chipped and chipped away at, all the wounds and cuts and scrapes. The thing that lived inside you, put there by someone else. 

--

Your hand is shaking. Your voice is shaking. You feel your face about to crack in two, in spite of your valiant effort to prevent it. You fall onto your knees, onto the floor in front of Richard. Your soft cheek rests against the rough of Richard’s jeans.

“Oh Richard,” you say, and it feels good, at last, to confess it. “How I resented him! How he got to be close to you when I didn’t. I was so lonely. Muriel, Gloria. Goodness, I missed you so much. I couldn’t bear to see it, how ungrateful he was, how he didn’t even know how lucky he was to serve you!” You sob, miserably, into Richard’s slender thigh.

“You know,” Richard almost laughs, “that’s not what everyone wants here? To ‘serve me’ or whatever, right?” He clambers, indelicately, out of the CEO chair and joins you on the floor. 

You feel him draw close. You nod, press your eyelids closed, and await the punishment that must be duly meted. You deserve them now: every back that will turn toward you. And you would almost enjoy it, yes, it might almost feel good, knowing you could spin this—like straw into gold—to be about your grief and then, in turn, punishment for your selfishness. 

And do not resent his rebuke, you think.

Your foster mother used to say that.

“Do you see now,” Richard says, “how trying to practice ‘emotional abstinence’ or whatever on me didn’t help? Fuck, Jared. It hurt us.”

“I’m so sorry, Richard.” You wipe your nose, indelicately, on the back of your large, pale hand.

“Jared,” Richard says, and you expect to hear get out of my office, to hear you're fired, to hear you selfish, treacherous, treasonous ingrate, I never want to see you again.

“Can I hug you,” Richard says, instead. 

Outside, a bird perches on the windowsill. The fog begins, slowly, to lift.

I realized I don’t want to work, so I won’t.

I feel like I‘m going to be judged for what I’m about to say. But I’m going to say it anyway. I kind of always wanted to be a housewife. Let me start by saying, I hate the term, “housewife”. It sounds like I’m a human pet or something. But moving past the stupid word, I always pictured myself homemaking, married or not. In school, growing up, when we would have to say what we wanted to be when we grew up I never ever meant what I said. I could not for the life of me think of a job I ever wanted to do. It sounds “lazy” but I never wanted to do anything. Don’t get me wrong, there were things I liked to do. I was a very active kid. I did a million different clubs, stage crew and color guard all throughout high school. I enjoyed it all. But I would be lying if I didn’t say that the second I thought about those activities turning into jobs, I lost all interest. Something about turning my hobbies into means of production, swiftly sucked all the joy out of it. I realize now that it was weird we were being taught to aspire to become workers. I just have no interest in living my life that way (doesn’t mean I didn’t try though).

In the beginning I did try to force my round peg into some of the square holes provided by our capitalist society. I went straight to college after high school. My second year in, I decided to turn my hobby of stage crew into a career path. One very big thing ruined this for me. In order to take the classes I needed like; stage lighting, stage makeup, and the opportunity to work on the crew, I had to major in theatre and take all of the acting classes. YEAH. You read that right. I had to freaking act. I have ZERO interest in acting. Very much not my thing you guys. The program director's excuse was that we needed to understand what the actors did as well. These classes were some of the most uncomfortable times in my life and I really wish I had never done it. Needless to say. that only lasted one and a half semesters for me.

One thing I feel like I should inform you of is that 2 weeks before I dropped out of college, my big sister, my absolute favorite person in the world, passed away suddenly. She had small children and an ex unfit to take care of them. My family and I were dealing with custody fights and a new life no one in my family ever wanted. Looking back now I know that it was incredibly traumatic for everyone involved and played a huge roll in why I left school.

Another hobby I tried to turn into work was makeup and skincare. I went to beauty school right after I dropped out of college. You see, even though I was able to convince my parents to let me leave school, they still wanted me to be working towards a career of some sort. So I enrolled into beauty school not fully understanding what I was getting myself into. Like I said, I am only interested in makeup and skincare. But here, at my school you had to also learn to do hair. My naive 20 year old ass trusted the enrollment lady when she said that I wouldn’t have to do much hair and that the program was pretty evenly distributed. LIES. Hair was 90% of what we did there. I fucking hated it you guys. I of course liked certain parts of it. The material was interesting, the tests were a cake walk, I made some friends, and even dated a girl I met there for a short while. But when it came to graduating to the salon and doing real customers hair for 8 hours a day (before going to my job where I worked 5-6hrs a day 6 days a week I might add) I was fucking over it. This on top of my ever blooming anxiety was a real recipe for me to avoid, avoid, avoid. My attendance was piss poor by the end. I got kicked out because of this. I wasted $20,000 on something that turned into nothing and ruined my self esteem. I felt like such a loser for not being able to finish. I could not for the life of me understand why I couldn’t get myself out of bed and go. Why would I cry at the thought of having to walk through those doors? I knew I had to, but I physically couldn’t after a certain point. So after beauty school I just kept working a shit-ton. I got a retail management job that I was at for a couple of years. I liked it well enough. Management was fun and I was good at it. The day I put in my two weeks notice I walked into the back to put my stuff away and my store manager and district manager were there with balloons ready to surprise me with the good news that I was being promoted. That was a pretty awkward conversation to have needless to say lmao. And to be honest I only left because I wasn’t making anywhere near enough money.

 The job I left for is where I met my favorite person alive, my sweet husband. We were in the same department and we started talking when I was new and had no clue what I was doing. He would help me out when I needed it but was too stubborn to ask. We would stand around and talk when there wasn’t much work to be done. I could tell he was really kind and funny, so one day I just decided I didn’t want to stop talking to him. I offered him a ride home that morning (we worked overnight). We went to a park to watch the sun rise and we literally haven’t spent a day apart since. He’s truly the loveliest person I’ve ever known. I can confidently say our relationship is the only good thing that came out of my first couple of years of adulthood.

This job is where I hurt my back, Christmas 2019. I was working 7 days a week 12 hr shifts and I was fuuuckkinggg exhausted. I lifted something wrong and that was that. My back hasn't been the same since. I’ve gone to chiropractors and nothing helps. I can’t even do the dishwasher without having to take a break. So obviously I had to stop working there. I lasted until august 2020 though! I used a back brace and took lots of days off lol. At the end I just could not do it anymore. My last shift I spent the last three hours of  my shift crying in pain and taking breaks to sit every 5 minutes. I walked out the second my shift was over and never went back in. I felt like I was ripping my body apart. My now husband, then fiance, and I decided that I should look for something to let me sit. I did that. It sucked. Depression and anxiety got the best of me once again and I stopped going. I don't know what happens to my brain but it feels like it starts to attack me with words, fears and feelings of despair. I shut right the fuck down. I’m not strong enough to push through. And I don’t think that I have to be that strong. Once I had enough break downs about being too scared to leave the house my husband and I decided I would stay home as long as it takes me to get better, physically and mentally. I love him so much for being on board and understanding that I needed a break. 

It’s been a couple of months now and I’ve had a lot of time to try and connect the dots in this pattern of my life. I think that I spent a really long time fully convinced that being a housewife in this day and age was out of the question. Deep down I knew it was the only thing I could ever picture doing and being happy with. I loved organization, lists, cleaning, and cooking. Growing up I always felt really good about myself when I cleaned and organized my room. I would sit around and day dream about what my home would look like and how I would decorate it. But none of that mattered when I was being told that I should aspire to do a job and love it enough to do it until I’m in my 60s. Like what? I don’t love anything enough, besides my family, to do it for decades of my life. When I finally admitted to myself that taking care of a home and a family is truly what I aspire to do, the thing that feels like it gives my life meaning, I felt a sense of relief, and then quickly after, some anxiety. I started to get scared of what people would think of me. I know that there are a lot of feminists out there that actually understand the ideal of feminism. They would never down a woman that is doing exactly what she wants (as long as she isn’t hurting anyone). But on the other hand I have encountered so many people, men and women that are really nasty about women that are or aspire to be housewives. So many of the people I grew up with joked about people they didn’t like ending up bored housewives. I know I shouldn’t have but I laughed along. Knowing deep down in a locked away place, it was the only thing I pictured myself doing. I just don’t see what’s wrong with homemaking if that’s what you truly want. 

Finally, I’ve come to realize that I shouldn’t be ashamed of doing exactly what I want to do. It works for my husband and I, and that’s the only thing I should truly care about. I picked the side of things that felt like home. Like they fit. The part that brings me satisfaction, joy, and the space to move at my own pace.

Baby its Cold Outside (PART 9)

Bakugo x Reader 

Have you seen this man

**** Warning**** This chapter has a bit more graphic violence than the others. 

Words : 2810

PART 1 HERE, PART 2 HERE, PART 3 HERE PART 4 HERE PART 5 HERE , PART 6 HERE PART 7 HERE PART 8 HERE PART 9 HERE PART 10 HERE PART 11 HERE PART 12 HERE PART 13 HERE PART 14 HERE

*****************************************************************************************************

You actually got pulled to duty today, so naturally you just had to be feeling under the weather. Any other day of the week you could sit at your desk or hell just lay on one of the many couches in the break room, but nope. Not today. Today you need to go assist in a bank robbery. It was a simple call. They just needed you to pop in and get the hostages out. Piece of cake. From what you understood there was only four hostages and only two villains. Walk in the park.

But because you were already having a bad day it would only make sense if it got worse from there. So you arrive on scene and guess who’s already there? Bakugo. And guess who is yelling like the mad man he is that you don't need to go in there? Again Bakugo. 

“Nope. No. I don’t think so! This feels all too familiar. Nope. Cant do it. Go home. I think I can hear Zuko crying from here. You should probably go check on him. I can take care of this...” He probably didn't even know he was doing a full on Deku rant but you weren’t about to point that out to him right now. 

“Ground Zero... I appreciate your concern but I was called here specifically. I assume because they knew you’d blow up the building. I’ll have them out in five minutes. Now you can either help me or pout. That part is totally up to you.”

He narrowed his eyes at you, probably not appreciating be called Ground Zero. But you were in pubic and trying to be professional. “Okay Adsum..” He threw a little extra sarcasm on your name. “What do you want me to do?” 

You gave him a victorious smile, “I’m glad you asked. I can do this a lot faster if the villains are distracted. So do what you do best. Yell at them, blow things up, get their attention. And once I’ve got them all out you can go Lord Explosion Murder all over the place... Sound good?” 

He ground his teeth, “Yeah whatever just hurry...” 

Before the accident Bakugo wouldn't have bated an eyelash at you doing something like this. Now it was like pulling teeth. 

You ended up pulling everything off flawlessly. Only minor damages but that’s only to be expected when Bakugo’s involved. 

You endured the strobes of flashing cameras as the press yelled praise and questions. But neither you nor Bakugo paid them any attention. In fact you wanted to get as far away as possible. You started to feel light headed and you thought you were going to vomit any second now. Once you were far enough away you bolted towards a trash can and emptied your breakfast. 

Bakugo was at you in an instant holding your hair and rubbing your back, “Oi... you okay? You pushing yourself too hard again? I don’t care how small she is, I’ll fucking fight Dylan.” 

You pulled a tissue out of your pocket and wiped your mouth. “I dont think it’s Dylan. I think I’m just sick. I wasn't feeling too hot before I even came in today. But now that I think of it, We did have a harder day yesterday than we usually do. She had me pushing myself to see how many times I could teleport in under a minute.” You gave him a proud smile, “I got all the way up to 30. Thats once every two seconds.” 

He brushed a few hairs out of your face, “As proud as I am of you, you need to take better care of yourself. I know you say she knows your limits and everything but I still dont think there’s a chance in hell she knows your limits better than you do.” You went to protest but he gave you a pointed look, “Can you please take the rest of the day off? Just go home and get some rest. You clearly need it. ” 

“Ugh, fine... but only if you bring home some ice cream later...”

He laughed, “You and your damn ice cream. Yes I will bring you ice cream. Cookies and cream or chocolate chip cookie dough?” 

You gave him puppy dog eyes, “Both?” 

He smirked, “How could I say no to that. Alright you got yourself a deal. Now get out of here before I throw you over my shoulder and drag you home myself.” 

You wagged your eyebrows, “Oh yeah?” 

He thumped you between the eyes, “Oi! We are at work women! Contain yourself.... you also just threw up...soooo I will give you a professional hand shake goodbye.” 

He held his hand out and you just rolled you eyes. You held your hand out as well but before it met his you popped behind him and smacked his ass. “Report me to HR... I dare you.” And then you popped away in the direction of your apartment before he could scold you. You ended up ditching the costume and packing it away in your backpack. You called a cab because you really were not feeling well. 

You didn't know if the cab driver was staring at you periodically because he recognized you or if he thought you might throw up in his cab. Either way he didn't make any attempts at conversation which you were thankful for. 

You quickly took a half ass shower and brushed your teeth before going straight to bed. You passed out a soon as your head hit the pillow. 

You woke up hours later to the loud ringing of your cell phone. You checked the time before you answered. It’s a little past midnight, Katsuki should have been home by now. 

The caller ID said Kiri and your heart sank. With shaky hands you clicked answer, “He..” You cleared your throat, “Hey Kiri? What’s with the late night phone call? You wouldn't happen to know where Bakugo is would you?”

“That’s actually why I’m calling! I’m on my way to get you. I’ll explain everything when I get there. Just get dressed and get ready to go. Zuko too! Dont answer the door for anyone who isn't me!” 

He hung up before you could ask what was going on. Truly panicking now you jumped out of bed and started digging around for clothes. You were pulling on your shoes while simultaneously trying to locate Zuko’s leash when a loud bang came from the other side of the door. 

“Hey Bitch! Open up the damn door! We know you’re in there! Dont make me break this shit down!” 

Zuko started growling as you looked through the peephole. You gasped, it was the cab driver from earlier. He did recognize you. And he brought a friend. 

“Your little boyfriend aint here to protect you now is he! Not like he was the night he killed my brother! My brothers dead because of you!” 

You had no idea what the mad man was talking about but it was enough to send chills down your spine. You didn't want to risk having to fight them one on one. You still felt too sick for that. You knew Kiri was on the way so you could wait util he got there... *CRACK*

They had started kicking at the door now. “Shit...” 

“We’re going to make you pay for what you did you little bitch!” 

*CRACK*

“Then when we’re done, we’ll take out that that little shit stain Ground Zero!” 

*CRACK*

“Then we’ll track down every girl you saved that night!”

*CRACK*

You ran to the kitchen and took one of Bakugo’s really expensive knives. Surely he’d forgive you for fucking it up. You returned to the door that was only about one hard push from coming off the hinges. You focused really hard as you squeezed the knife in your hand. Then there was a slight pop and the knife was gone. 

“WHAT THE FUCK!” You looked through the peephole again but this time the cab drivers buddy had a knife... Bakugo’s knife, the one you were just holding, lodged in his chest. You did it.... You had teleported the knife through the door.

Before you had a chance to back away from the door, the cab driver threw his shoulder into it, effectively taking it off its hinges and throwing you to the ground. “Fuck!” You tried to scramble to your feet but he caught your ankle. 

You kicked him in the face twice before he let go. You had barley gotten to your feet when Zuko lunged for him. Bakugo spent a lot of time training him... so it didn't surprise you when he went straight for the throat. But watching as your dogs teeth sank into another man’s throat... it was hard to watch. 

The man cried out in alarm but Zuko just dug deeper and growled. You eyes went wide, “Zuko! No! Get back here!” 

Zuko let go and ran back to you. The man’s blood was pooling around him now as his eyes began to droop close. 

You sat down in shock staring at the scene before you. Two dead men. Blood. so much blood. Your breathing was starting to get shallow.

“Holy shit! What happened to don’t open the door for anyone but me?! Y/N! Are you okay?” 

Your eyes slowly met Kirishima's, “Where’s Bakugo?” 

He grabbed your hand and started pulling you out of the apartment and down the hallway. “I’ll tell you in the car... Come on Zuko!” 

You sped off with Kirishima checking his rearview mirror periodically. He didn't ease up until he was almost to the agency you worked at. “Okay so here's the deal. So as you just discovered some quirkless cabdriver found out where you and Bakugo live. He sent a threat along with some pictures of you walking into the building to Bakugo.” 

You gasped but Kirishima wasn't done, “Yeah but what's worse is he also sent it to the league of villains. Told them you were the one who messed up their human trafficking deal and Bakugo was the one who blew up some of their best men. You both have pretty big targets on your back right now. And Bakugo being Bakugo... he....” 

Your hands gripped the leather armrest, “Kiri don’t tell me he went off on his own... KIRISHIMA WHERE IS HE?!” 

He gave you a sad look, “We don’t know. He called me and told me to get you out of the apartment and then hung up... That was an hour ago.” 

Your eyes welled with tears. He’s so stupid. always yelling at you for not waiting for back up and now he thinks he can just show up alone to fight the League of villains of all people! 

“Where are you taking me?”

“Technically I’m supposed to bring you to the agency while we wait this out... but...” 

You leaned forward, “But what?”

“But we’re going to meet up with Deku, Todoroki, and Denki and where going to go get him.” 

“I thought you said you didn't know where he was?”

He gave you a shit eating grin, “I dont. But we happen to know where all the League of Villain hideouts are. All we need now is for you to teleport to each one. Find him and report back. They’re all within a few miles of each other. I know it’s kind of pushing it but Bakugo told me you once teleported 15 miles.” 

You nodded, “By accident sure, but my range has gone up! Its almost to three miles now... He’ll kill you for this you know? He won't want me involved in this at all.”

He rubbed his neck, “Well that's a risk I’m willing to take to get his dumb ass home.” 

Half an hour later you along with the others were huddled around a map with all possible locations circled. Todoroki pointed to a spot almost exactly in the middle if the others, “That’s where we are right now. This spot is about 5 to 10 miles from all possible locations. Y/n. We need you to teleport to each of them until you find them. When you do, do not engage. Teleport back to us. You’ll take me first, then Midoriya, them Kaminari, and lastly Kirishima. Do you understand?”

You nodded, “I’m going to be honest.. I don’t know how efficient Ill be. I’ve only been working on this kind of thing for a month or so. I’ll likely have to teleport two or three times to get to each location. Do you have pictures?” 

He shook his head, “No I apologize we do not. Are you sure you’re up to it?”

You cracked your knuckles, “Which one first?” 

You popped in and out. Running into trees, and ponds, and whatever else was in your way. You had to stop to throw up nice or twice, but you never did it in front of the other heros. They didn't need to see you were sick. You were on to the fourth location when you made a mental note to thank Dylan profusely when this is all over. Without her intense training you don’t know if you could have done any of this.

This stretch only took you two teleports to get there. You were breathing heavy with a sweat soaked shirt when you heard it, the familiar sound of an explosion. “Katsuki?” You were hiding in a couple of trees that surrounded a barn. You teleported to the top of the closest tree and look down. Sure enough there he was. You were itching to go to him. To drag him out by his ear. But you had a job to do. You took one last look at his blonde head. Hoping he would still be here when you got back. 

In one long stretch that made your muscles scream in protest you teleported back to your friends, “I found him now lets go. We need to hurry!” 

Shouto stepped up and you spat a quick, “Hold your breath.” And you were off. You dropped him by the same tree you had just stood under and pointed in Bakugo’s direction, “Hes that way. Just listen for the yelling and the explosions.” 

Without waiting for a response you went back to get Midoriya. When you dropped him off you started to feel dizzy. Not good. You leaned on a tree and gripped your head. Through gritted teach you made it back for Kaminari.

When you came for Kiri you couldn’t help it. You threw up. 

“Shit Y’n are you okay?” 

“Yeah I just have the flue or something. Just give me a minute.” 

A minute turned to twenty and you could still hardly pick your head up. Kiri came and knelt next to you. “Hey they made it out okay. They took him kicking and screaming, but they got out. I just got off the phone with Midoriya. What do you say we get you to a hotel room and get you something to eat huh? My treat. It’s the least I can do after I basically volunteered you for this.” 

You wanted to protest but your stomach gave you away. You hadn't eaten anything since breakfast, and you had thrown that up a long time ago. “Yeah I could really use some food. I’m fucking starving.” 

You called ahead and ordered a room as well as enough food for a small family. Kirishima got the room next to yours and told you to let him know if you needed anything. 

You opened the door and the smell of pizza, chicken nuggets, and mac and cheese hit you. You couldn't decide what you wanted so you had ordered it all. You needed a little comfort food. You deserved this. 

You had devoured the mac and cheese and was about to dig into the pizza when you heard the click of the door.

You grabbed your fork tightly as you stepped over to see who it was. 

“They didn't have cookie dough, so I could only get you cookies and cream.. I hope thats okay..”

You dropped your fork and flung yourself at him, “You’re so fucking stupid you know that! You cant do that to me. I was so scared!” 

He slowly wrapped his arms around you, nuzzling his nose through your hair, “I know. I’m sorry. I just.... I saw red. I couldn't let them get to you. The only thing on my mind was to protect you.  And then Kirishima told me they went to the apartment anyways. SHIT are you okay? I heard you stabbed a guy..?”

You flinched, “Well not exactly. I teleported the knife through the door... Zuko handled the other guy. Speaking of which he needs a bath... He has blood in his fur...”   

He cupped your face in his hands, “Later when were both not emotionally exhausted I’d like to talk about how badass and impressive you are. But nows not the time.” He looked to Zuko who was wagging his tail at his feet, “Thank you for looking out for our girl.” He gave him a quick pat on the head

You pulled away from his embrace and ran to the bathroom and threw up for probably the fifth time today. 

“Damn Y/n I’m sorry. I was the one who asked you to take the day off and then you had to go and work so fucking hard just so you guys could find me. I’m such a dumbass. I’m sorry.” 

You leaned against the tub, “You're not a complete dumbass. You still remembered the ice cream.” 

Long Winding Road Stay Strapped My Dude

By: Astoria Cathryn Andromeda

Alrighty, this is a long one boys. So I touched briefly on this in my Welcome to Literally Everything post. No worries I'll recap you, so you don't have to switch back and forth. I just diagnosed with autism spectrum disorder, and then ADHD when I was 18 years old, and even then I had to fight for it after countless hours of research. See, there seems to be a wee bit of misogyny in the neurodiverse diagnoses. When I say a wee bit, I mean that scientists used to think that only boy could be autistic or ADHD. They only studied autism in males. Fortunately, nowadays we know that girls can be autistic and/or ADHD, but we present the traits differently than boys, and a lot of our traits are played off due to gender roles in society. For example, being overly talkative in girls is called chatty, whereas boys who can't sit still are sent off for testing immediately. This also causes problems for the boys, because little Johnny gets put on Adderall at the ripe age of 6 years old, just because he can't sit still for 8 hours straight, which by the way should not be expected of any elementary school kid, By the time, he's 25 he's 1) completely dependent on amphetamines 2) his body will stop producing dopamine due to being on the medication for so long. Nicht Gut. Generally, boys who are on the spectrum get picked out earlier due to late speaking, or lack of social skills. This is the one thing that girls happen to do better than boys. Girls are good at masking, which is basically taking social traits, phrases, personalities, demeanor, and copying them. In public, they put on a mask and at home, they have a meltdown. Girls are still not picked up as being on the spectrum, because shyness is called being 'ladylike' and 'dainty', and having a meltdown is just because :( girls are oh-so emotional, boohoo. Anyways tons of women do not get diagnosed with autism until they are well into their adulthood, I actually can be considered lucky to have technically still been a teenager when we finally got all the pieces together.

Alright, let's start with I don't know me as a baby. I did not speak until I was 2 years old, and then it was immediately full sentences from then on. I didn't do the babbling thing, which I don't know how impactful that really is to the topic. I was a very shy little girl. I was teeny tiny, we didn't know I if I was going to make it to 5 feet tall until I had a big growth spurt in 7th grade. I am 5'2 now and definitely done growing in case you were wondering, so not that short anymore. I did not like talking to adults, especially strangers, especially men. I did not look anyone in the face, and I will always hide behind my parent's legs when they would try to introduce me to people. I am an only child, and I spent a lot of time entertaining myself. I always had seasonal affective disorder, where my grades would dip in the winter. My parents knew I had a timer, they had 45 minutes from the moment they stepped into a restaurant before I would start breaking down. If I got off schedule as a toddler in any form, it was a catastrophe. Or this is what my parents and family tell me. I didn't really notice. I did not like being out in public a lot, I was a very picky eater, and I was extremely hyper. I was a very eccentric child, I only had 1-2 close friends and they were always a very well-liked outgoing girl who I just followed around. Looking back, I don't know how we missed it. I was shy because I didn't understand how social interactions worked, I was anxious about it because I didn't understand, I had sensory overloads, routines, and a very bland diet with a safe food which was ketchup. I put that shit on literally everything, eas, apples, mac and cheese, pizza, all meat, anything something forced me to eat that I did not like. But because I could sit still in class, and because I could zone out and daydream all day through school and still make A's nobody ever flagged me for anything and how I was supposed to know that not everybody just copied other people, scripted things before they talked, and could never pay attention. My mom always required me to be in a sport, and I was a gymnast and a swimmer for a long time, two very high-intensity sports, to help lower my energy levels, and because my mom has mild depression and she knows that exercise does help. Skip to middle school, my mom tells me I'm being bullied at church. It's not that I wasn't observing my surroundings I knew I was being excluded, but I didn't understand vindictive behavior, I thought it was my fault. I had zero friends in 8th grade until I sat down next to a random acqutaince I had gone to school with since I was 4 and the same gymnastics place. Then we were immediately attached at the hip after that. She is my best friend due this day and definitely got me through high school. Led me through so many social situations without either of us knowing. I had a very close friendgroup in highschool, all of them were on the drumline which I met through my best friend, and my first boyfriend was my best friend's neighbor. I ended up playing bass guitar for my high school's indoor drumline, and it was the best experience ever. I love my friends, but I had really bad depression when I was 15-now:) jk It's better. I didn't really realize I was depressed, I just didn't want to go to school, or swim practice, or do anything so of course, my mom noticed, and then once it was pointed out to me it got worse. My severe anxiety spiraled with my depression. Senior year of high school, my boyfriend and I were like toxic star crossed lovers, hurting each other over and over again without meaning to. My friends and I were self harming, all my close friends gad some demon going on. I finally decided to try therapy again after the disaster of being forced to go when I was 15 and the lady told me I wasn't depressed because I had a boyfriend and good grades. It helped a bit, I was able to get my panic attacks under control. Then I went away to college and stayed dating my senior high school boyfriend, we were just up and down as always, but with slightly better communication. My freshman year of college I joined a fraternity, a research lab, and my first hs boyfriend/ex/best friend and I went to a Christian campus place. By second semester, I had a lot of people who knew me and talked to me, but I didn't have any close friends, and even less close friends who were girls. All my close friends who were girls were at another college. My parents were worried about me, so they made me rush a sorority, which I knew was never my scene, but my parents made me join and I found a few girls I liked. Soon I was going to 6 classes, fraternity chapter, research lab meetings, christain crash group meetings, soriorty pledge meetings all on every Tuesday. I was different person at each of these events and wore a different mask. I was having what I know now were autistic burnout meltdowns every single day on the phone in my crusty dorm's stairwell. It was not cute. His mental health had always been bad too. Finally I decide I need to try a psychatrist and go back to therapy, and then he broke up with me. Then I made my first close friend, a guy who was in 3 of classes, and I took him to my fraternity's formal, and then coronavirus happened.  Rona kinda saved my grades, and mental health by sending us home event though it did suck. I got on anti-anxiety meds and things went up, but I was still having what I thought were panic attacks, they were austistic meltdowns. My psychiatrist, he's kinda an asshole, he diagnosed me with Obessive Compulsive Personality Disorder. I'll insert definition here: (OCPD) is a personality disorder that's characterized by extreme perfectionism, order, and neatness. People with OCPD will also feel a severe need to impose their own standards on their outside environment.> Basically hr told me I had rules for everything like how everyone drives on the right side of the road, but nobodythinks about it andwhen I broke one of my rules I got depressed, and when wasn't perfect I got depressed, and when I made an A I was relieved not proud. The diagnosis seemed to fit really well, and my therapist and I started working finding my rules, and getting rid of the bad ones, and making the others less harsh. I had thought every once and in a while in my life when I was really upset, what if I'm on the spectrum, because I just felt so hopeless for social interactions and I didn't understand. I always felt like I was a very specific person, but after the ocpd I started thinking more and more, and I saw a tik tok of a girl with lae diagnosed autism basically describing me and ranting about the misogyny. I did more research and I decide, yea I'mm gonna bring it up to mypsychatrist well he's a dick, so he was like um you don't act like sheldon cooper from the Big Bang theory,and I was like wellI just I have always thought I might have adhd like be neureodiverse, and he was like your grade point average in hs was a 97.8%, you're not adhd. I immediately cried, because I can't handle when anyone says anything in a even a slightest stringent tone. I'm baby, I know lmao. It made me angry though because I felt like he just brushed away all of my struggles I had in my whole life. I spent hours researching and typed up a 47 page document on evidence for why I was on the spectrum, and had my parents help will some of checklists to make sure I was getting outside perspectives. I rally my parents to be my back up and next psychiatrist appointment we actually talk about it and he asked my parents questions about when I was young and such and finally he was okay you're on the spectrum. I felt so validated and like I could start being myself. I slowly got more and more confident, changed my style of clothing, and researched more about adhd pushed to be tested, and oh look at that I also have ADHD. So basically discourse: "I feel like as a child I coded a machine to do life for me so I didn’t get bothered except I didn’t know about the machine I thought i was the machine and now I’ve become self aware and I have to learn how to read the code and rewrite the code because it’s dysfunctional because I’m not functioning well as a human being. I was really shy as a child. I would turn beat red when people talked to me or looked at me so I think I started cookie cutting situations and using them over and over again because they worked until I accidentally hard wired these expansion rules and expectations for myself. I didn’t may attention is class ever I just day dreamed and if I got good grades i wouldn’t be bothered i could just stay in my head and if I did my sport well my parents didn’t bother me. I was never asked if I did my homework I just did it so I wouldn’t be asked and have to deal with that situation. I would cookie cutter situations in class that would draw the least attention to myself.

I feel like i don’t have friends I just fulfill the expectation like a side quest on video games" I wrote this down pre autism confirmation when i just thought I had ocpd. Now I don't directly identify with ocpd, but I definitely think I developed that personality disorder a bit from living with undiagnosed autism. I am linking below the very informative Tik Toks by the lovely Paige on autism in girls. The imposter syndrome one really hit home. I had had so many panic attacks about thinking I tricked people into being my friend, or thinking I was smart.

I highly suggest watching these short tik toks, you'll definitely learn something

https://vm.tiktok.com/wVvcYA/

https://vm.tiktok.com/wqRRUf/

https://vm.tiktok.com/wnqhvX/

https://vm.tiktok.com/wqeyYg/

https://vm.tiktok.com/wnoE7u/

https://vm.tiktok.com/Kas6gB/

https://vm.tiktok.com/owM9hs/

Imposter syndrome

I am also linking an article about Sheldon Cooper from Big Bang Theory and Autism that explains why my psychiatrist was wrong, and also I am a girl and the spectrum is called a spectrum because it's a fucking spectrum no two autistic people are exactly the same it's like a color wheel.

http://www.autismsupportnetwork.com/news/problem-sheldon-cooper-and-cute-autism-387783

Here is a fun comic about the spectrum and how to view it.

https://the-art-of-autism.com/understanding-the-spectrum-a-comic-strip-explanation/

I am still learning about myself, and how to be me, and how to be myself but without breaking bad social rules. It's quite humorous though because I'll learn something is related to autism and I'm like oh shit again, like still, like, we're still discovering things.

"Tu ne me manques pas"

Bis später,

Astoria.

Paper Pushers

Pairing: Gerard Way x Reader

Summary: This is a fluff/angst fic that ended up longer than I was anticipating. You work in the same office as Gerard, but you’ve never really noticed him until you end up working together on one of your assignments. Pre bullets era. Feedback is welcome!

Word Count: 1,787

If you had to scan one more document, you were going to go insane. Somehow the role of administrative assistant meant ‘dump any work you don’t want to do on me’ to every other employee in the office, and since you were relatively new and friendless, you didn’t quite have the courage to say no.

The task of archiving all documents from ‘97 to '01 was monumental, and despite your best efforts, the boxes of unorganized paperwork seemed to multiply each day. It was also isolating—until it was complete you spent 5 out of your 8 hour days trapped alone in the archiving room. You were just about ready to create an imaginary friend when someone gently knocked on the archiving room door one Wednesday morning.

“Come in!” you shouted from behind a mountain of paperwork, hoping desperately that  it wouldn’t cause an avalanche and bury you alive in sheets of A4.

The door opened, and the dark haired boy from a few cubicles down, Gerard, poked his head in. “Y/N?” he called out.

“Follow my voice!” you shouted jokingly, “And leave a trail of breadcrumbs or you’ll never find your way out again.”

You heard him laugh softly as he approached, and before you knew it he was right in front of you.

“I finished some of my other work early and thought I might be able to help. Judging by your comments, you could use the extra hand.”

You looked up at him to respond, but got caught off guard and paused. You never really noticed just how pretty he was, and you couldn’t help but admire his round hazel eyes and the thick dark lashes that seemed to frame them perfectly.

“Um. I’d love that.” you said, your sudden nerves making you noticeably less eloquent.

He smiled. Shit. His smile made him look even better. Why were you just noticing this now?

“Awesome. Tell me where I can start so I don’t royally fuck things up for you.”

You pointed to an open box to your left. “You see those papers there? They need to be sorted into planned or reactive work-orders.”

Gerard eyed the formidable stacks that awaited him and tucked a stray strand of black hair behind his ear. “I think I can handle that.”

 “Sorry you got stuck helping with all of this,” you said after a few minutes of silence, “I know there’s probably other things you’d rather be doing.”

“Don’t sweat it. Besides,” he said in a soft, almost bashful voice, “I uh, asked if I could help you out.”

You felt a blush settle on your cheeks, but you played it off. “I don’t blame you. I mean, who could resist the fast-paced thrills of paper filing.”

He laughed, making you wonder if it was possible to get addicted to someone’s smile. It had only been a few minutes but you couldn’t get enough of it.

You and Gerard spent the next hour getting to know each other, and every week afterwards you looked forward to his appearances. He would stop in whenever he was free, and you talked and laughed so loudly that you worried what other people outside the archiving room must be thinking.

He told you about his family and his brother Mikey, as well as his dreams of doing something important with his life, the possibility of staring a band, and his love of comic books.

“Hey listen,” Gerard said one afternoon after sorting through a stack of ledgers, “are you going to that after work drinks thing on Friday with a few other people from the office? I don’t usually, but I thought it might be nice to hang out outside of this room.” He looked down at his shoes, rubbing the back of his neck nervously.

Normally you would pass on a work outing, since it would almost guarantee awkward small talk, but you weren’t about to say no to more time with Gerard.

“I’d like that a lot.  Where and what time?”

“Cloudland at 6:30. I’ll save you a seat.”

“I’ll be there.”

*** *** ***

You rushed straight home from work on Friday, and spent so long getting ready to meet Gerard that you didn’t have time to eat dinner. Or maybe you were too nervous to eat, you weren’t entirely sure.

Once you made it to Cloudland, you scanned the busy venue for any sight of your coworkers. You spotted Gerard sitting at a large booth with a few other colleagues, and he waved you over.

“You made it!” His face lit up with a wide but crooked smile.

“Just in time for Janice’s amazing vocals.” you said, looking over to the small karaoke stage where Janice from HR was drunkenly delivering her off-key rendition of 'I Will Always Love You.’

“You look nice,” he said, grabbing you a beer, “you should get out of the archiving room more often.”

“You clean up pretty good yourself.” You teased back, and you felt butterflies as he peeked at you through a stray strand of hair that covered one of his hazel eyes.

You spent the evening  drinking and talking, forgetting that not only had you not eaten, you were a notorious lightweight when it came to alcohol. And the more beer you drank, the bolder you became.

“You should get up there,” you blurted to Gerard as another inebriated singer finished screeching onstage, “You should sing. You told me you wanna start a band right? Show me whatcha got!”

There was no denying you were very drunk as you playfully punched Gerard in the arm. He protested initially, but got up to appease you when he realized resistance was futile.

Once on stage, the strobe lights on the ceiling painted him a rainbow of colors, making him even more beautiful. Gerard cleared his throat into the mic.

“This one’s dedicated to Y/N,” he said with a wink, pointing in your direction. “She’s the one who made me do this, so if you don’t like my voice, she’ll be handling all complaints.”

The familiar sound of 'Life on Mars’ began to play. As Gerard began to sing, you were shocked by just how good his voice was, and how natural he looked onstage, as if he was meant to do this. As he hit the chorus, he made eye contact with you, and a realization hit you like a truck. You loved this man.

Sure, you thought he was funny and cute from the moment he walked into the archiving room, but there was no denying what you felt tonight. And you were drunk enough that you were going to let him know.

Gerard finished the song to a smattering of hoots and applause, and left the stage. You shot up out of your chair a little too quickly as he approached the table, and he rushed to help you maintain your balance as you wobbled like a newborn deer.

“Woah, I think that’s enough drinks tonight.”

“Hey that was amaaaaazing!” you slurred excitedly.

Despite his concern at your state of sobriety, he was also clearly amused. “You sure? Or is that just he booze talking?”

Your eyes widened. “Honest! But listen. I really needa tell you somethin’. Can we go outside?”

Gerard nodded, putting your arm through his. “Some fresh air would probably be a good idea.”

The two of you found a quiet corner on the balcony, and you wasted no time in making your confession.

“So what’s on your–”

“I love you.”

A muted expression crossed Gerard’s face, but you weren’t in the right state of mind to decipher it.  Was it surprise? Embarrassment?

“Y/N, I–”

“I have for awhile, but I didn’t know it till now.” you interrupted. You didn’t want him to speak. You were afraid now, afraid of what might come out of his mouth. “And you’re so talented  and a good singer and you need to follow your dreams, OK?” you implored without taking a breath, and you wavered back and forth like a sheet of paper in the wind.

Gerard opened his mouth to speak. This was it, you thought. This is where I get let down easy.

“I need to tell you something too.”he said softly.

And then you vomited.

Right before Gerard was about to respond, you hunched over and spewed on the ground, splattering his white converse sneakers. You could feel tears of embarrassment well up in your eyes.

“I am sooo sorry!”

Gerard put an arm around your shoulder. “You alright? How bout I help get you home.”

You nodded pathetically, and he gathered your belongings.

*** *** ***

You could remember Gerard helping you get into bed, and found a glass of water and aspirin beside you when you finally woke up. You groaned as your head pulsed and downed the pills, hoping they’d take care of your regrets too.

Gerard didn’t contact you all weekend, and you were too afraid to reach out. Instead, you hoped that you could go back to what you had before.

Come Monday, you found yourself once again entombed in the archiving room. Hours went by before you heard a familiar knock on the door.

“Y/N.” Gerard’s voice was gentle and hesitant, as if he were afraid you might break. “How’s that head of yours?”

You smiled, relieved that he made a joke. Maybe we can go back to the way things were after all.

“Fully recovered thanks to your valiant efforts. Thanks for your help.”

“My shoes send their regards, by the way.”

You cringed before laughing dismissively. “Yeah, I have a few regrets from that night. Things I did,” you averted your eyes, looking at the ground, “things I said.”

“Hopefully not everything.” Gerard sounded crestfallen.

You got up out of your chair and starting shuffling papers in an attempt to quell your anxiety. 

“I hope things don’t have to change between us.” you said in a low voice,your throat starting to ache.

“I think they have to now.” he said, and you turned your back to him as you felt yourself fighting back tears.

You felt a hand on your shoulder. “Hey, look at me,” Gerard said, voice calm but serious. He turned you to face him. “You didn’t let me respond that night.” 

“Well?” you said, bracing yourself for impact, “let’s hear it.”

Gerard wiped a tear away from your face, placed a finger under your chin, and gently raised your head. Suddenly, his lips were on yours. Butterflies returned, fluttering wildly in your stomach. 

He broke away after a moment and smiled. “I didn’t want you to be drunk when I did that.” 

You basked in the wave of relief that washed over you. “So I guess things really can’t go back to the way they were before Friday.”

He wiped another tear from your face. “Afraid not.” 

“Good,” you said, leaning in for another kiss, “I wouldn’t want it any other way.”

Top surgery journal (long post)

12th Jan: went to bed at 10pm, prepped an overnight bag and other stuff for the hospital

13th Jan: breakfast at 6:45am bc no food 6hrs before surgery. 13:10 SURGERY. early at the hospital, was checked by the nurses, saw my surgeon, zond out four breaths after getting anesthesia. got super nauseated after being woken up, threw up 3 times between getting to my room at around 6pm and sleep past 11pm. second anti-nausea drug kicked in around 11pm, it worked, hallelujah. other than that, had two doses of paracetamol, one straight after surgery, 2nd past 10pm. kept asking @palempath​ to give me water by saying “I can have a little water,” and her replying, “as a treat”. my baby sis is the sweetest <3 slept for like 5 hrs, not a fan of sleeping seated.

14th Jan: woken up at 6:40am, given paracetamol and breakfast, saw the nurse, saw my surgeon, everything feels fine. caught an uber home at 10am, my mom and sis came to pick me up. watched Witcher with fam, kept getting up to walk every hour or so to prevent blood clots. taking paracetamol during the day every 4hrs, took codeine for the night.

15th Jan: went out for a walk to a nearby cemetery with fam, feeling pretty ok. still on regular paracetamol throughout the day, only ibuprofen for the night though.

16th Jan: went out to get groceries with fam, doing ok. not being able to wash my hair getting irritating. paracetamol regular, one ibuprofen for the night.

17th Jan: asked mom to wash my hair for me, feeling so much more human! went to the Horniman Museum with fam, completely fine during the 30min bus journey + walking for 2 hrs. down to only paracetamol. finally saw Crimson Peak. it wasn’t as good as I hoped xD

18th Jan: went to Greenwich, walked through the park and visited Queen’s House, walked through the Greenwich tunnel under the Thames to get to Docklands, walked all the way to the Mudchute City Farm, saw sheep, my sis loves sheep and they were the main reason we went xD cutting down on paracetamol.

19th Jan: went to the Crystal Palace Park, stopped taking paracetamol. the 40min bus ride was a bit hard, felt slight chest pain, it stopped as soon as we got off the bus tho. walked for about 3hrs, felt fine. only paracetamol for the night.

20th Jan: dressings appointment, first look at my chest. got a bit lightheaded, but feeling ok. chest looking better and less bruised than expected. instructed to change nipple graft dressings every day, tape over the incisions every 2-3 days, got a second compression garment so I’ll be able to wash it every now and then. since my hospital is north from Oxford Street, we went to Lush with my sis and mom, then hit Covent Garden for Whittard and the Moomin shop c: visited the National Gallery, too. opened a bottle of red wine in the evening, had some with mom to celebrate.

21st Jan: taking it slow, my sis not feeling well bc of her period, she was the one regularly taking paracetamol this time around. we went to Lewisham for some light grocery shopping, then finished watching the Netflix Witcher.

22nd Jan: stayed home and chilled, started watching the TVP Witcher, it’s as good as I remember it being <3

23rd Jan: @rei-of-jakku​ came over after work and we had an amazing evening <3

24th Jan: went out for @haeym‘s birthday dinner, feeling decidedly more human. had some grapefruit soju bc I bloody love soju.

25th Jan: went for a plant sale, they sold out of almost everything by the time we got there ;__; ended up going to the Wellcome Collection with mom and sis, the latter had lots of fun, me and mom enjoyed ourselves but also kept sitting down every now and then as my sis ran between displays xD it was amazing to see her so excited and interested in stuff. walked for probs 4 hrs total, feeling perfectly fine.

26th Jan: saw my fam off to Victoria for their airport coach, we had to wake up at 5am since there were no trains so early on Sunday and we had to bus to the nearest working tube station D: but WE MADE IT. got myself a decaf golden honey macchiato at Starbucks on the way back home, it tasted like a turmeric latte, not a fan. but it was alright. won’t be getting it again tho. ended up cleaning my room after getting back, it was so good to reclaim my own space after having two other ppl staying with me 24/7 in there. also finished watching The Man From U.N.C.L.E., that movie is SO DAMN GOOD AAAAH

27th Jan: been drawing the whole day, went out to top up the gas meter, didn’t do much else.

28th Jan: panicking as part of the right nipple graft scab got pushed off and I could see pink skin underneath. messaged my nurse, comes out it’s fine, was told to air the graft out for an hour so it can dry up after a shower, keep changing the dressings as usual. loosened up the compression garment a bit, it felt like it was putting too much pressure on the problem nipple.

29th Jan: felt EXTREMELY nauseated in the morning, most likely bc I put on contact lenses and got vertigo from that, spent 2hrs feeling like throwing up (1hr sitting on the bathroom floor lol). put the lenses in so I could go get a haircut, decided against it when I had to take the lenses out, but since I was feeling ok by noon I thought that I might as well still go. got my haircut, felt SO MUCH BETTER afterwards.

30th Jan: nipple graft areas scabbed over well, are firm to the touch, the problem right graft doing ok, drying up nicely. found out I have a patch on my left pec that has no sensation in it, on the right from the left nipple. feels weird to poke at it with a pen and not feel it at all. hoping the sensation will come back eventually, but won’t be too bothered if it doesn’t. overall feeling pretty good with how the recovery is going so far.

31st Jan: Problem Nipple Graft™ is doing fine, healing nicely. the incision sites are very tender, but seem to have healed up for the most part. they tingle when I touch them, it’s kinda funny. looking forward to my appointment with the surgeon on the 7th. will update this post if any interesting developments happen~