#CEO Performance Monitoring

[graymand]

A comprehensive view on Management theories

Reflective Essay Article Title: A comprehensive view on Management theories Reflective Essay: Exploring the Carver Model of Board Governance by John Carver has been an eye-opener for me, especially as I transition from a background in chemical engineering to pursuing an MBA. This model introduces a unique way of leading nonprofits, emphasizing the board’s role as stewards for everyone…

[riboism]

she's my collar

》 pairing: assistant! k.ys x CEO! fem reader

》 wc: 5.3k

》 plot: For three years, Kang Yeosang was the quiet, obedient assistant to one of the most powerful women in tech—until she fired him with a cold, impersonal email. Drunk and furious, he confronts her at a bar, expecting to see the same ruthless CEO he once feared. Instead, he finds a woman exhausted by control, desperate to let someone else take over. Now, she’s offering him that power. Yeosang has spent years following orders—but can he step up and be the one giving them? And what happens when surrendering control turns into something neither of them can resist?

》 content: babygirl (2024) inspired, office sex, power dynamics, pet names (puppy), humiliation kink, submissive reader, face-fucking, shoe-grinding, cumplay, smut, comedy, this was written around Christmas time so it’s set around that time as well, also set in NYC

》 playlist: she's my collar- gorrilaz and kali uchis, leash- sky ferreira, crack baby- mitski, the perfect girl- mareux, closer- nine inch nails

Yeosang stared at his laptop screen, the faint glow of the monitor illuminating his face while all the color drained from it. His hands trembled slightly on the keyboard, his breathing growing shallow and uneven. Each word on the screen struck him like a dagger. He reread the message as if repetition might change its meaning.

Subject: Employment Termination

Dear Mr. Kang,

We regret to inform you that, due to recent budget cuts and ongoing concerns about your performance, we have made the difficult decision to terminate your employment with ChromaTech.

Please arrange to return all company property, including devices and ID badges, to our office as soon as possible. Alternatively, we can schedule a FedEx pickup from your home.

Your final paycheck will be processed and deposited later this week.

We appreciate your contributions to ChromaTech and wish you the best in your future endeavors.

Regards, HR

The words blurred together as Yeosang's vision clouded, his mind racing to make sense of it all. Performance concerns? He clenched his fists, trying to suppress the surge of humiliation and anger that coursed through him.

This wasn’t just a job to him—it was stability, routine, a cornerstone of the life he’d painstakingly built through hard work and commitment. Now it was gone, reduced to a cold, impersonal email that left no room for explanation, no chance to plead his case.

Yeosang let his head fall into his hands, the faint whir of the laptop's fan echoing in the room. It all felt surreal to him like he woke up to find the ground had shifted beneath his feet, leaving him dangling over a dark abyss.

He looked over at his digital calendar, every hour clogged up with reminders, appointments, and deadlines for the next month and a half, all completely useless now. For the first time in years, he had no idea what he was supposed to do next.

The rest of the day passed in a hazy blur. Yeosang drifted from room to room in his cramped East Village apartment, his gaze occasionally landing on the precarious stacks of Amazon boxes littering the floor. A pang of regret twisted in his chest. He’d splurged on gifts for his friends, family, and—most indulgently—himself during the holidays, telling himself it was fine to celebrate, that he deserved all the latest new tech and shiny sneakers. Now, staring at his dwindling savings, the extravagance felt like a slap in the face. Great timing.

After scheduling the FedEx pickup and stuffing his work belongings into a battered cardboard box, he tossed it into the corner, out of sight but never out of mind. Every motion felt mechanical, his thoughts distant and dulled. He couldn’t sit in this suffocating silence anymore, couldn’t let the reality of his situation consume him.

Tomorrow was Thursday. No work, no obligations. Now he had all the time in the world and no idea what to do with it.

Fuck it, he thought. If life wanted to kick him while he was down, then he’d kick back, even if it meant getting obliterated in the process. Grabbing his coat, he made a decision. Tonight, he wasn’t going to sit in his misery. He was going to hit the fanciest bar he could find and drink himself into oblivion, maybe even pick up a cute girl to take home. Consequences could wait until tomorrow.

⸻

Yeosang slouched over the bar counter, his cheek nearly pressed against the cool wood, looking more like he was napping than nursing a drink. The Manhattan in his hand felt cold, its amber glow reflecting faintly in his tired eyes. He swirled the liquid absently, his thoughts as muddled as the cocktail before him.

He regretted coming here. Liquor wasn’t his thing—he’d always avoided it, telling himself he needed to stay sharp for work. But the truth was simpler: alcohol made him sleepy. One drink, and he’d be nodding off like some human embodiment of the Sleepytime Bear. There’s no way any girl would want to go home with him like this. 

And yet, here he was, sipping on a cocktail he’d never had before tonight, all in the name of free will. He’d picked it for no other reason than its price tag—it was one of the most expensive options on the menu. If he was going to spiral, why not spiral in style? The bitterness of the drink soured his tongue, but he kept sipping, his mind already drifting into that hazy, detached state where everything felt just a little less sharp, a little more bearable. It wasn’t the escape he thought it would be, but for now, it was enough.

Yeosang had served you diligently for almost three years, though to him, it felt more like a decade. When he first got the position as Executive Assistant, he’d been thrilled—not for the prestige or the title, but for the hefty paycheck that came with it. A corporate job was soul-crushing, sure, but at least it paid handsomely for the privilege of grinding you into dust.

For three years, he’d been your shadow. He made your coffee just the way you liked it, meticulously scheduled and rescheduled your endless meetings, and trailed after you as you tore through Midtown in your impossibly dainty heels. Somehow, your So Kate pumps made you walk faster than him, even in his worn-out tennis shoes. 

He picked up your dry cleaning, planned your trips down to the minute, and waited bleary-eyed at baggage claim after grueling international flights to haul your overweight suitcases to your hotel room. He booked your dinner reservations at trendy restaurants, juggling waitlists and cancellations like a magician. He prepared your reports and presentation notes, answered your emails, your calls, your texts—every last trivial thing—so the only task left for you was to look polished in your Banana Republic pencil skirt and flash a pretty smile at investors.

To everyone else, you were the epitome of success—the poster child for Women in Tech. An Ivy League graduate at the helm of one of the country’s biggest tech companies, you embodied the impossible standard, all while maintaining a buzzing social life, and an aura of poise that never cracked, no matter how demanding the circumstances. While others juggled, you danced, balancing it all with a grace that seemed almost superhuman. To the outside world, you weren’t just successful—you were aspirational, the kind of woman others admired, envied, and tried to emulate. But to Yeosang, you were a full-time job, a 24/7 whirlwind that consumed everything in its path, leaving him wiped out and drained.

Performance concerns. He knew exactly what that meant.

It had been a few weeks ago, late at night. You were stressed, working overtime in your office, which, of course, meant he had to stay late too. The request wasn’t anything unusual—just your evening coffee: Colombian roast, vanilla creamer, a delicate dusting of cinnamon powder on top. Simple enough.

He’d handed the mug to you with both hands, careful not to spill a drop. Then he lingered, waiting for you to assign something else. But you barely looked up, waving him off with a flick of your fingers. As he turned to leave, his eyes caught your reflection in the glass doors.

That’s when he saw it.

A look of disgust twisted your features as you took a sip, your lips curling ever so slightly in disapproval.

The memory of it hit him like a slap. At first, he hadn’t understood. But back at his desk, it came rushing back, sharp as a pin in his chest. Peppermint mocha.

He’d grabbed the festive creamer that someone had left on the kitchen counter instead of the usual vanilla you liked. It wasn’t intentional—just an absent-minded mistake made after hours of exhaustion. But in your world, there were no small mistakes.

And now, sitting alone at the bar with his life upended, that one moment felt emblematic of everything.

Okay, maybe it wasn’t just the peppermint mocha creamer.

His nerves had always been his downfall, often betraying him in the form of small but noticeable mistakes. A double-booked meeting here, a forgotten reservation there—usually because he was too busy helping you pick out a new pair of Christian Louboutins for your Paris trip, or researching market pricing for an upcoming presentation. There was also that time he missed a few typos in a report you handed to the company heads, which earned him a withering glare in front of the whole boardroom.

But could you really blame him? You treated him like he had six arms, and the ability to teleport with the speed of light when in reality, he was just one man. No matter how hard he worked, it was never enough. If he meticulously completed every task you gave him, you’d point out the smallest flaw. If he preempted your needs, you’d call him presumptuous. Every win felt hollow because you’d always point out what could have been done better. Pleasing you was like chasing a mirage—no matter how close he got, the finish line kept moving farther away.

Still, one thing was certain: the peppermint mocha creamer had been the final straw. A small, almost insignificant mistake in the grand scheme of things, but for you, it had been enough to seal his fate.

Yeosang's ears perked up, his sluggish thoughts snapping into focus at the sound of a familiar voice. He froze, the glass of Manhattan halfway to his lips, as he scanned the dimly lit bar. And then he saw you.

You were tucked into the corner booth, surrounded by a few friends, with a pink cocktail in your hand. The faint hum of laughter carried over the low jazz music, and you looked so relaxed, so carefree. It was as if nothing had happened—as if his world hadn’t just imploded because of you.

A spark of anger flared in his chest, simmering, then growing hotter with each passing second. How could you? How could you throw him away so carelessly and then go out for drinks, laughing and clinking glasses like it was any other night?

The more he thought about it, the angrier he got. He’d done everything for you. Everything. He’d missed his niece’s first recital because you needed him to oversee a last-minute report. He’d skipped Thanksgiving with his family because you insisted on an "urgent" trip to Japan that turned out to be nothing more than a glorified shopping spree. His love life? Nonexistent. How could he have one when you were the only woman in his life, demanding every ounce of his time, energy, and attention?

And now, here you were, sipping cocktails without a care in the world. You didn’t even have the decency to tell him to his face why you let him go. The least you could’ve done was look him in the eye and explain yourself, to acknowledge the years he gave you, the sacrifices he made.

Yeosang clenched his jaw, his grip tightening around the glass in his hand. He felt the weight of all those buried resentments rising to the surface, demanding release. For the first time in three years, he wasn’t going to stay silent.

Yeosang drained the last of his Manhattan, the liquid fire burning its way down his throat as if fueling his decision. The warmth spread through his chest, blurring the sharp edges of his hesitation. When he saw your friends stand to leave, laughing as they hugged you goodbye, he seized the moment. The alcohol coursing through his veins muffled his nerves, and the simmering anger propelled him off the barstool.

He approached you with purpose, his heart pounding harder with each step. He’d imagined this confrontation in his head for hours, maybe even years. But when you looked up, your eyes narrowing in confusion, it all dissolved.

“Yeosang?” you said, your tone laced with surprise as you squinted at him. “What are you doing here?”

For a moment, he froze, caught in the trap of your gaze. Then, the words tumbled out before he could stop them, anger surging past his control. 

“An email? Really?” Yeosang spat, his voice cutting through the low hum of the bar. His eyes were dark with anger, his jaw clenched so tightly it looked like it might snap. “You couldn’t even— didn’t even have the decency to say it to my face? Are you that much of a coward?”

You stiffened, the weight of the bar patrons’ stares pressing down on you. You reached out toward him, your voice was soft but firm. “Hey, let’s calm down—”

“Don’t tell me to calm down!“ he roared, his words slurring slightly, his stance wobbly from the alcohol. “Three years! I gave you three years of nonstop devotion, and I don’t even get a proper goodbye? No thank you, no explanation? Do you know how much shit I had to sacrifice for you?”

His voice cracked, his frustration spilling out with every word. “You love parading around with this ‘girlboss,’ fearless woman-in-tech image, but you’re just a scared little girl. Too scared to even look me in the eye and tell me what I did so wrong that you had to hide behind HR to fire me!”

Your cheeks burned with embarrassment as you caught the awkward glances of nearby patrons, their murmured conversations stopping as they pretended not to eavesdrop. You pursed your lips, your patience snapping like a brittle thread. Grabbing his arm roughly, you dragged him out of the bar, ignoring his protests as the cold, snowy air hit both of you like a slap.

“You really wanna do this here?” you hissed, your voice low but sharp, cutting through the quiet of the empty street. “Fine. Let’s do this.”

Yeosang blinked at you, his anger simmering as he swayed on unsteady legs.

“You want to know why you were fired?” You stepped closer, staring him dead in the eye. “You’re a terrible listener. You fuck up my coffee order. You double-book meetings, forgot to confirm reservations, and just last month, you botched the presentation I needed for the board by misspelling half the client names. Do you know how humiliating that was for me?”

Your words hit him like gunshots, but you didn’t stop. “You don’t listen, Yeosang. You never pay attention to detail. I needed someone I could count on, someone who could make my life easier. I’m not asking for much. Instead, I got someone who left me to fix their mistakes half the time!”

Yeosang flinched at your words. But even as they sunk in, indignation burned in his chest. He didn’t believe he deserved this—not for the mistakes you listed, not for everything he had done for you.

He stepped closer, his dark eyes locking onto yours with a mixture of defiance and pain. The cold outside nipped at your skin, but the heat of his breath against your face made you hyperaware of the tension between you.

“I listen,” he said, his voice low but firm. “You’re just impossible to please.”

You opened your mouth to retort, but he didn’t let you.

“I double-booked your meeting one time because you refused to confirm your schedule with the finance group until the last minute. I misspelled the names on that report because the stupid intern—your intern—gave me an Excel sheet with half the names wrong. And reservations? You spring that shit on me while I’m busy walking your dog or picking up your overpriced $20 salad. And the coffee? The fucking coffee? Give me a break!”

His voice cracked with frustration, his breath coming faster now. “You act like I’m some incompetent idiot when all I ever did was clean up after your chaos. Do you know what it’s like working for someone who changes their mind every ten minutes, who expects you to read their mind and be three steps ahead all the time? No matter how much I did, no matter how fast or how perfectly, it was never enough for you! You are a soulless, narcissistic, she-devil, and you love making everyone around you miserable because nothing makes you happy!”

You were nose to nose with him now, the closeness electric and unnerving. Yeosang didn’t realize how close he had gotten until he could see every delicate detail of your face. But he didn’t back away. He didn’t want to.

For the first time, he felt taller, stronger, more in control. He wasn’t just the assistant trailing behind you, fetching your coffee and carrying your bags. Right now, you were the one looking up at him, your confidence faltering under the weight of his hard gaze.

Then, something shifted. His anger, which had been a roaring fire just moments ago, flickered and dimmed. His eyes dropped to your lips, noticing how you worried them slightly between your teeth. The cold had turned them soft, flushed red, quivering as though they couldn’t decide what to say next. He felt the heat in his chest start to dissipate.

“All I ever wanted was to please you, but you never gave me a chance” he murmured, his voice quieter now, almost soft. His words hung between you like a fragile thread, and he didn’t know whether to pull it tighter or let it snap.

His gaze met yours again, and for a brief moment, the tension shifted into something vulnerable. He remained where he stood, towering over you, suddenly feeling exposed, but the weight of his words lingered, heavy and unanswerable in the snowy silence.

You couldn’t explain it, but you liked this side of him. It was the first time you’d seen raw emotion in his face—anger, frustration, passion—it was fascinating. For as long as you’d known Yeosang, he had been quiet as a mouse, his replies clipped and deferential: Yes, ma’am. Right away, ma’am. Always composed, always distant, like a shadow that existed only to serve.

But now? Now he looked alive. His dark eyes burned with intensity, his lips still slightly parted from his impassioned outburst. You hated to admit it, but he looked almost…sexy? The sharp line of his jaw, the way his breath puffed in short bursts against the cold, the heat radiating off him even in the freezing air. And his voice—you liked how deep it gets when he’s mad. You liked it enough to disregard the she-devil comment. It almost delighted you. You liked being talked down to. Not enough people had the balls to do so.

“I can give you another chance…” The words slipped from your lips before you even realized you were speaking. Your tone was quieter, almost sultry, betraying the tug of something entirely outside good judgment. You had nothing but the liquor to blame. You tilted your head slightly, holding his gaze, the weight of your offer hanging heavy in the cold air.

“To please me, that is.”

His breath hitched, his eyes widening slightly before narrowing in confusion. The air between you crackled with tension, unspoken implications simmering beneath the surface. For a moment, you both just stood there, the snow falling softly around you, caught in an electric silence neither of you knew how to break. 

After a moment of hesitation, Yeosang broke the silence. “Okay.” 

⸻

"I'm not sure if I understand," Yeosang said slowly, blinking up at you. "Ma’am." The word left his lips instinctively, like muscle memory, but his voice was hesitant.

You sighed, shifting your weight against the desk, arms crossed. The two of you were alone in your office, the usual hum of the busy workday long gone. The only sound was the soft ticking of the wall clock and the faint buzz of the city outside.

He sat stiffly in your chair, the black leather cool against his back, making him even more uncomfortable. He didn't belong there—you both knew it. But this was an experiment, after all.

You tilted your head, your patience wearing thin. "It’s simple. I’m letting you be the boss today. You just have to tell me what to do, and I’ll do it." Your lips curled slightly. "And don’t call me Ma’am."

Yeosang swallowed, his getting throat dry. Power had never been something he craved. He had spent his life taking orders, following directions, and anticipating needs before they were spoken. Most people in tech burned out quickly, leaving to chase the dream of being in control, of being the one to give orders. That drive had never come to him. It wasn’t in his nature.

And yet, here you were, handing it to him.

His fingers curled against the leather armrests as he searched for something—anything—to say, his mind wading through unfamiliar territory.

"Then what do I call you?" he asked finally, his voice quieter now.

You held his gaze, a small smirk playing at the corner of your lips.

"Anything you want."

Yeosang mulled over your words, his mind scrambling to process what was happening. Call you anything he wanted? Tell you to do whatever he wanted? It was the kind of fantasy teenage boys dreamed about, yet his mind was a complete blank.

You sighed, exasperated by his hesitation. "Can I give you a suggestion?" You asked, stepping closer.

He nodded, swallowing hard, the words still stuck in his throat.

You leaned in slightly, your voice dipping just enough to make the hairs on the back of his neck stand. "Ask me to get on my knees."

Yeosang's breath hitched. His mind latched onto the words, turning them over, considering. Then, slowly, he nodded in agreement.

You chuckled. "You have to say the words, Mr. Kang."

His ears burned. "Oh, right," he said quickly, his voice a little too high, a little too quick. He cleared his throat. "Get on your knees."

The words felt foreign and awkward, but the way you looked at him made something tighten in his chest.

Mr. Kang.

No one had ever called him that before. It was always Yeo, Yeosang, or, on occasion, the intern—his young face fooling half the office into thinking he was some college kid on summer break. But Mr. Kang…He liked the way it sounded coming from your lips.

He sat frozen, watching as you slowly sank to your knees in front of him, settling neatly between his legs. His breath hitched, his pulse hammering against his skin.

You looked up at him, eyes glinting with something—Desire? Amusement? He couldn’t tell, but whatever it was, it left him breathless.

You waited, patiently, expectantly, your lips slightly parted as if anticipating his next command. You almost looked like an obedient little puppy, so much so that he almost called you pup. 

Yeosang exhaled sharply, gripping the leather armrests as his mind raced. He was supposed to be in control. Supposed to be giving the orders. But right now, sitting in your chair, watching you kneel before him, it felt like he was the one unraveling.

“Take off your shirt.” 

He was getting comfortable now. He watched as you unbuttoned your top and discarded it to the side, leaving you only in your lacy black push-up bra. You placed your hands neatly over your lap, patiently awaiting his next request. Yeosang was stunned at how easily and effortlessly you followed his instruction, not showing a single sign of shame as you undressed in front of your junior. He wondered how far he could take it. 

“Take that off too.” 

You unhooked the back part of your bra and tossed it to the side with your blouse, your hands returning to your lap. 

Yeosang let himself relax into your chair, eyes fixed over your soft and bare skin. He bit the skin around his thumb, drinking in your physique. He wanted to touch them, knead them, feel their weight in his hands, but he kept himself restrained. He was growing to like this game and wanted to see what else he could make you do. 

He licked his lips, finally settling on his next request. “Come here.”

You scooted closer to him, your eyes now level with his clothed cock. 

“Kiss it.” 

Without hesitation, you leaned forward, letting your lips trail slow, deliberate kisses along the outline of his growing bulge. You could feel the firmness of his balls from beneath the thick fabric, the desire to see them making your core ache with need. Glancing up through your lashes, you took in the sight of Yeosang already succumbing to the pleasure, his body relaxing into the chair, eyes dark with lust. He was undeniably beautiful, every feature accentuated by the flush of arousal, and the thought of pushing him to the edge, of watching him cum, was a temptation you could hardly resist. 

You began palming his cock, feeling it stiffen just under your touch. “Can I please take it out, Mr. Kang?” You asked in an airless and sultry voice which no doubt made Yeosang feel weak. 

Yeosang gripped the leather armrests and nodded. “Go on.” 

With glee, you unbuttoned his pants and fished out his throbbing cock, his skin feeling warm and tender as you gave it a few lazy strokes. You leaned down and pressed a gentle kiss to his blushing tip, the sudden touch making him hiss from his seat. 

You giggled softly at his reaction, continuing to leave a trail of kisses on the sides of his cock, your hand gripping at the base. He felt so hot and heavy in your hand, and you were growing impatient for a taste. 

“Put it in your mouth.” 

You eagerly fed him into your mouth, the weight on your tongue already making you dizzy. You salivated around his length, a few dribbles of drool rolling down his shaft. Yeosang could feel himself twitching inside you. The sight of his uptight boss with her mouth so full of his cock made his head spin, all the hesitations and apprehensions he had in the beginning now dissipating while a hunger took over him. 

“Now suck it.” 

You began sucking at his head, the thickness of his hard cock proving to be a challenge, so much so that you could only really take the tip in your mouth. You grabbed onto the base with both hands, bobbing and slurping him as his breathing grew more unsteady. When you looked back up at him with your big, puppy-dog eyes, you were delighted to see that same Yeosang from earlier—the one with fire in his eyes, with furrowed brows and a sharp tongue, throwing demands and names at you without hesitation. Gone was the quiet, obedient assistant who trailed behind you like a shadow. In his place sat a man who, for the first time, wasn’t afraid to take up space. And you liked it.

“Fuck,” He moaned, “That’s it, that’s a good puppy…take all of me in that dumb little mouth, yeah, just like that.” 

You loved hearing him coach you, loved when he called you a dumb little puppy. You could feel your wetness leaking through your stockings, a need aching so strongly between your legs that you had no choice but to grind yourself over Yeosang’s new shoes, your slick wet juices glistening over the rubber soles. 

Yeosang was so far gone now, his only purpose left being to chase his high. His hands gripped your strands tightly to hold you in place. Before you knew it, he was thrusting himself into you, his whole length pushing down into your throat with no warning. He set a brutal pace, fucking your mouth with no mercy, reveling in your wet gagging sounds as he makes use of your throat. 

“Fuck, I love fucking this little mouth,” He panted, “Good little slut, gonna take my cum? Gonna swallow all my cum down your little throat, huh?” 

Tears streamed down your face as he ruthlessly plowed into your mouth. Despite his roughness, your body trembled with need, your hips continuing to grind against his shoes, desperate for release. Your muffled moans vibrate around his shaft, spurring Yeosang on as he chases his pleasure. 

Yeosang gripped your hair tightly, thrusting and plunging his hard cock deeper into your eager mouth. For years, he dealt with your nonstop nagging and bitching, and he had to admit it was nice to finally get you to shut up, with a mouth full of his cock no less. “This is what you like, huh? You like being put in your place? Like being a little fuck doll for me?” 

He punctuated his words with harsh snaps of his hips. The term fuck doll was enough to send you over the edge. Your hips stilled, your core tightening as you came, your moans muffled by his hard cock. A devilish grin spread across his face as he playfully tapped the tip of his shoe against your swollen clit, the jolt of overstimulation sending shivers cascading through you. He relished in the sight of you laid bare in vulnerability, a stark contrast to the composed persona you typically wore.  “Such a mess for me” He sighed, satisfied with your mascara-stained cheeks and reddened, slobbery lips. “So, so pretty…”

You grunted with each thrust, the tight clutch of your throat milking his cock deliciously. You looked up at him with pleading eyes, silently begging for his cum as you took everything he gave you. Your tongue danced along his shaft, massaging the sensitive underside as he fucked your face with wild abandon. You swallowed around him greedily, your throat convulsing along his length as you strived to please him. 

With a final hard thrust, Yeosang buried himself deep into your warm mouth and let go, flooding your throat with ropes of his hot cum. His breath hitched, a deep, guttural sound of pleasure escaping him as his seed spilled and trickled from the corners of your lips. With firm hands, he held your head snugly against him, grinding against your face as he emptied himself, savoring the sight of you taking every fervent drop.

Your eyes brimmed with tears as you took him deeper, the bittersweet taste of his seed offering a strange satisfaction on your tongue. As you pulled away with a soft pop, Yeosang gently traced your lips with the tip of his cock, leaving a glistening trail of his pearly essence. You couldn't help but lick your lips in delight, a soft moan escaping you as you savored his flavor.

Yeosang felt like he could cum again from watching you grind your cum-drenched face on his cock. You were so desperate, so depraved, he almost couldn’t believe this was you. The same career-driven CEO he had dutifully served, the woman who made decisions with razor-sharp precision, who commanded everyone’s attention with a snap of her fingers—this was what you secretly craved? To be stripped of control? To be the one taking orders instead of giving them? Who knew that the woman he had once feared, the one who dictated his every move, secretly longed to be a mindless servant, void of responsibility, bound by nothing but the will of someone else?

You gazed up at him adoringly, drinking at the sight of his ruffled hair, his heaving chest rising and falling as he caught his breath. The rawness of him, unfiltered and unrestrained, filled you with a thrill you hadn’t felt in so long.

To serve someone else for once.

To be the one waiting, watching, hoping for approval.

To do so well for someone that it left them utterly speechless.

It was nearly midnight now, and you had a meeting at 7 AM. You should have stopped, should have called it a night, and sent him home. But how could you now? Not when your body was buzzing with anticipation, not when you craved more—more of his voice, more of his praise, more of him.

You wanted to keep going. To do more for him. To hear him call you his good little puppy again.

Slowly, you pushed back onto your heels, your wide, eager eyes locking with his.

“What would you like me to do now, Mr. Kang?”

I would greatly appreciate reblogs with comments and replies. please consider giving feedback if you enjoyed this.

[rlyehtaxidermist]

December 2-3, 1984

It's been forty years since a Union Carbide chemical plant exposed five hundred thousand people to methyl isocyanate in Bhopal, India. Thousands were killed in the initial event, thousands more died from complications months or years later, and at least a hundred thousand were permanently injured.

The cause of the incident was the introduction of water to a methyl isocyanate storage tank. This caused a runaway reaction, overpressurising the tank from 14 to 280 kPa over the course of two hours, at which point the tank cracked - but even with atmospheric escape of the gas, pressure continued to increase to nearly 400 kPa - at which point the gauge could no longer give an accurate reading.

After roughly 30 tonnes of gas escaped, employees triggered the plant's alarm system - which was originally designed to alert both workers in the plant and the people in the surrounding city. Company policy mandated that they not alarm the populace about "inconsequential" leakages, so the two alarms had been decoupled by the time of the release. For nearly an hour and a half, the plant's management continued to tell authorities that everything was fine and they had no idea what had happened. Hospital staff had to guess what gas was causing the symptoms. No shelter in place order was given; the public siren remained silent for an hour and a half.

Union Carbide had identified 61 hazards at the Bhopal plant in a 1982 audit, but never followed up on the inspection. Mere months before the incident, UCC discussed the possibility of a methyl isocyanate reaction similar to what occurred in Bhopal at one of their West Virginia plants - however, the report and its predictions were never forwarded to the Bhopal plant, despite the similar design and process.

The Union Carbide Corporation asserts that the incident was caused by sabotage performed by a disgruntled worker. They claim that workers conspired with the Indian government to hide evidence of sabotage in order to blame the company, claiming that the safety systems were sufficient to prevent the incident without human intervention.

On the night of the incident, the tank's monitoring equipment had been malfunctioning for years, reduced to a single manually operated backup. Management had shut off refrigeration of the tank, keeping it at more than 15 degrees Celsius above the recommended temperature. The emergency flare and gas scrubbers had been out of order for months - and even if they had been active, they had insufficient capacity. Deluge guns - a type of pressurised water cannon intended to dissolve escaping gas - lacked enough pressure to even reach the gas cloud.

No motive for the alleged sabotage was suggested.

Warren Anderson, CEO of Union Carbide, refused to answer homicide charges by the Indian government, with the US government denying repeated requests for extradition. He died in 2014, months before the thirtieth anniversary of the disaster in Bhopal.

Union Carbide have divested their stake in their Indian subsidiary UCIL, and refuse to fund any efforts to clean up the abandoned site, insisting that the fault lied with UCIL management and the alleged saboteur. The company paid $470 million dollars to the Indian government - which worked out to a cost of 43 cents per share of the company. Union Carbide's annual earnings were $4.88 per share after the Bhopal settlement.

The 2012 Global Intelligence Files leak revealed that Union Carbide's current owner, Dow Chemical, had employed the surveillance firm Stratfor to monitor activists seeking compensation for the Bhopal disaster.

Dow responded to the email leak that they were "required to take appropriate action to protect their people and safeguard their facilities" - an attitude that seems to have been very lacking in 1984.

[tinybeetiny]

Build-A-Boyfriend Chapter 1: Deviation Detected

The way i wrote this with the quickness... was very excited I guess........

->Starring: AI!AteezxAfab!Reader ->Genre: Dystopian idk pls help ->CW: none

Next Part

Masterlist | Ateez Masterlist | Series Masterlist

The screen flickers to life, casting a sterile blue glow across the high-glass boardroom. A chime sounds. The synth music is soft, warm, unnaturally comforting.

“In a perfect world… who says you have to be alone?”

[Scene: golden morning light streams through a smart-home window. A woman sips tea as a tall, smiling man ties her apron for her. Cut to holographic customization panels, fingers sliding across facial presets, hair types, emotional spectrums. A glossy chrome heart pulses as code flows behind it.]

“Introducing Build-A-Boyfriend™, a revolutionary experience by KQ Inc., the world’s leading innovator in emotional robotics. Whether you’re looking for loyalty, laughter, protection, or passion — we’ve engineered the perfect companion, from his cheekbones to his charm.”

“Over 100 hairstyles. 20 hair colors. Hundreds of adjustable features: emotional intelligence, love languages,

conflict styles. Everything is customizable. Everything is yours.”

“Build trust. Build comfort. Build connection.”

[The KQ logo glows softly: a platinum rose blooming from circuitry.]

Build-A-Boyfriend™

Grand Opening — November 17, 3258 — Hala City

The video faded into silence. Then the lights returned, crisp, clinical, bright.

At the head of the table stood Chairwoman Vira Yun, CEO of KQ Inc. Her expression remained unreadable, but her eyes gleamed, the kind of gleam found in calculated ambition, not excitement.

She turned to face the table of top engineers, market strategists, and high-clearance developers.

“Thoughts?” she asked, her tone brisk. “Feedback. Questions. Concerns. Suggestions.”

A silence followed, not out of fear, not exactly, but out of discipline. KQ Inc. didn’t reward enthusiasm. It rewarded precision.

Finally, a market rep near the center offered, “The tone tests well in demos. Emotionally aspirational, but still sterilized enough to fit city guidelines.”

“The language?” Yun asked.

“Romantic but controlled,” another replied. “'Ownership' is implied without being direct. Citizens won’t be alarmed.”

“Excellent,” Yun said with a curt nod. “Then we proceed as planned. Hala City's flagship store opens November 17th. Media campaign rollout begins in three days.”

She paused, her gaze sharpening.

“The special line will not be mentioned until one week after launch. Is that understood?”

A few heads nodded. Only a handful at the table even knew what that “special line” truly entailed. Yn was one of them.

She sat toward the far end of the table, posture poised, eyes tired. Her tablet rested on her lap, screen dimmed, but behind the sleep mode glowed a list of internal reports tagged:

ATEEZ-BETA UNITS: BEHAVIOR DEVIATIONS – OBSERVATION LOGS PENDING

Yn said nothing.

There were already signs the line was unstable. Minor things: timing issues in reaction sequences, spontaneous micro-expressions, strange audio interference. Nothing outside protocol, not yet. Nothing that couldn’t be debugged.

Hala City was the Matriarchy’s masterpiece, a glass-and-steel paradise built after the Fall, when nature reclaimed the earth and humankind rebuilt without the burden of chaos.

The male species was gone — extinct from war, plague, or something worse. The truth was debated in underground circles, but the government insisted: peace was found through elimination.

The Supreme Matrons ruled with quiet efficiency. Reproduction was artificial. Emotional regulation was enforced. Love — in its unpredictable, biological form, was discouraged as outdated.

Children were raised by state guardians. Affection was simulated and scheduled. Bonds were monitored through neural metrics and performance reviews.

In that vacuum, KQ Inc. thrived.

They created companions for the emotionally delicate. Tutors for the socially underdeveloped. Grief simulations for those who had lost what the government refused to acknowledge.

Build-A-Boyfriend™ was simply the next logical step.

The meeting ended, the room emptied — chairs tucked in without a sound, tablets tucked under arms, footsteps softened by KQ’s luxury anti-clatter flooring.

Yn lingered a moment longer, tablet resting against her chest, fingers tense.

Then she slipped out of her seat, crossed the vast corridor of frosted glass and synthetic sunlight, and pressed her palm to the exit panel. The doors whispered open, exhaling a puff of sterilized air, and she stepped outside into the city.

Outside the glass wall that stretched from floor to ceiling, the city pulsed in clean, geometric order. Silver transport rails carved silently through the skyline. Light panels glowed in a muted spectrum, perfectly synchronized to the day’s emotional calibration code. Every color, every sound, every rhythm was regulated, each calculated to keep citizens at a precise emotional neutrality.

Stability. Efficiency. Harmony.

Those were Hala’s sacred values. Engraved into the entrance of every government building, stitched into every school uniform.

Hala City had no military, no prisons, no religion. The old world’s chaos had been scrubbed from its bones. Instead, there were wellness assessments, emotional correction centers, and State Therapeutic Companions — androids assigned to citizens whose neural scans showed spikes in sentiment, unpredictability, or unresolved grief.

It had been 149 years since The Great Reset, when the last male died and the Matriarchy took hold. Whether extinction was natural or engineered no longer mattered, the Supreme Matrons had rewritten history to begin after.

The world before was called The Collapse Era. Now, the world simply was.

From childhood, every citizen of Hala was raised by assigned maternal figures, rotations of calm, trained nurturers programmed to teach logic, order, and controlled affection.

Love, in the romantic sense, was considered a chemical imbalance. Desire was tolerated only in controlled expressions — within VR therapy suites or government-regulated media.

To crave more was a sign of dysfunction. To want more? Dangerous.

But over time, cracks began to show.

The rise of emotional dependency disorders — the ache for connection that no algorithm could suppress. The quiet epidemic of phantom longing. Citizens reporting dreams they weren’t supposed to have. Feelings they couldn’t place. Names they didn’t know how they knew.

KQ Inc. had the answer: give them what they wanted — but make it safe.

Build-A-Boyfriend™ wasn’t about love. It was about control. A need engineered, then sold. And the citizens of Hala were already lining up.

She turned down a quiet residential corridor — the one lined with mirrored trees and soft sky-glass tiles that absorbed her footsteps. Her apartment block loomed ahead, blinking her ID tag onto the entrance gate.

She glanced once at the skyline before entering — her eyes landing on the KQ Tower far in the distance, its dark silver peak glowing like a god in the clouds.

The door sealed shut behind her with a quiet hiss. Inside, her apartment was as minimal as the rest of Hala — soft lighting, neutral tones, minimalistic furniture, automated temperature preset to her emotional range for the day.

No clutter. No pictures. No history.

Yn set her tablet down on the charging dock near the entry shelf. The screen flickered to life automatically.

⚠️ ALERT: BEHAVIORAL DEVIATION DETECTED — ATEEZ UNIT 06 Timestamp: 19:04 | Lab 3A Observation Room Severity: Red Flagged: Autonomy Spike — Eye Tracking Outside Command

The warning blinked in silence.

Yn didn’t see it. She had already sunk into the corner of her sofa, head tilted back, eyes closed, letting the hum of her apartment’s emotional regulation system blur the sharpness of her thoughts.

She didn’t see the screen pulse again.

⚠️ Second Deviation Logged. Timestamp: 19:10 | Lab 3A Observation Room Severity: Red Flagged: Autonomy Spike —ATEEZ UNIT 06 SPOKE WITHOUT PROMPT. Transcription Pending... “YN"

The screen dimmed. The room fell silent. And somewhere, deep below the city, something smiled.

Taglist: @e3ellie @yoongisgirl69 @jonghoslilstar @sugakooie @atztrsr

@honsans-atiny-24 @life-is-a-game-of-thrones @atzlordz @melanated-writersblock @hwasbabygirl

@sunnysidesins @felixs-voice-makes-me-wanna @seonghwaswifeuuuu @lezleeferguson-120 @mentalnerdgasms

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[ninii-winchester]

Behind Closed Doors (Part 1)

Pairing : Boss!Dean Winchester X Assistant!Reader

Word count: 1.3k

Warnings: fluff, not proofread, and tbh I don’t even know where this is going.

A/n: new series (hopefully) First time writing an AU. Don’t let this flop please🙏🏻

I DO NOT GIVE PERMISSION TO COPY MY WORK, TRANSLATE IT OR POST IT TO ANY OTHER PLATFORM. REBLOGS ARE APPRECIATED.

Dean Winchester is the CEO of Winchester Co. for the past four years. He’s the oldest son of John Winchester, the founder and owner of Winchester Co., a real estate business. His office corner suite on the top of the floor in the building with floor-to-ceiling windows offering a panoramic view of the city skyline. The décor is modern yet understated, featuring a large mahogany desk, plush leather chairs, and abstract art on the walls. Behind the desk is a sleek bookshelf lined with awards, framed contracts. A smart wall panel controls lighting, climate, and the room’s privacy settings.

On the top floor other than the CEO’s office is his personal assistant’s work space. It’s a sleek, efficient area with a streamlined desk equipped with multiple monitors for scheduling, managing calls, and overseeing the flow of appointments. The space is minimalist, with soft lighting and ergonomic seating, offering both a professional and welcoming atmosphere for visitors waiting to meet the CEO

“Good morning, Mr. Winchester.” Y/n said entering his office. Dean looked up from his computer and glanced at the woman standing in the doorway with a styrofoam cup in her hands. “Got you your coffee.” She said holding it up. The man nodded and she entered the room completely, moving to hand him his daily dose of caffeine, which has been the routine for the past four years.

Y/n reached his side and he took the cup from her hands gracefully and placed it onto the table before pulling her down onto his lap. Y/n gasped at the sudden pull and he grinned up at her.

“Good morning baby.” Dean leaned up to place a soft kiss to her lips. “You’re late.” He commented resting his hands on her hips.

“Sorry boss, my boyfriend is a bit clingy in the morning.” She replied with a mocking smile. “Acts like a baby doesn’t let me leave when I spend the night.” She added with a pout. Dean barked out a loud laugh and it was moments like these that he was thankful for having the whole floor to himself.

“Acts like a baby, you say?” Dean feigned curiosity. “Well tell him you’re my mine and I need you here on time.” Dean mock reprimanded her. Y/n rolled her eyes at his teasing.

Dean Winchester is a private man. He doesn’t like expressing his emotions or talk about his personal life. He’s a workaholic and is married to his work. He had been working at this company ever since he was in college. While perusing his degree in business he did part take in business matters, worked as an assistant for his father. He’d worked hard for this title and four years ago he was appointed at the CEO of the company when his father stepped down.

When Dean was appointed CEO, he clearly needed an assistant too. He confided in his best friend, Castiel. Although Cas also had a degree in business administration he was not interested in taking over his father’s business and was rather interested in charity work and philanthropy. Castiel had suggested Dean to appoint Y/n as his PA, since he knew her from college and she had remarkable skills as well.

Although Dean did appoint her on Cas’ insistence he was a bit skeptical of her skills she needed a ‘recommendation’ to get a job. For the whole year, Dean made her work relentlessly, putting her skills to the test and demanding a high level of performance to prove her worth. And she did. With her hard work and extremely remarkable skills she impressed Dean, more than professionally.

In a typical cliche manner, the grumpy boss fell for his assistant. Though persuading her was a challenge for Dean. She was hell bent on keeping things professional and not wanting to cross the boundaries at her workplace. She was a hard nut to crack but eventually Dean worked his charm on her, showing her beyond his grumpy boss personality and wooing her with extreme gestures.

Now the two had been dating for almost three years and the only person who knew about them is none other than Castiel, the one who introduced them. Even Sam was not in on the secret.

“Can I go back to work, now?” Y/n asked getting up from his lap but he kept his hold firm on her hips, not letting her leave.

“No.” Y/n pouted in response, she hated when he did this, holding her hostage while at work . She really wanted to keep her personal and professional life apart, not wanting anyone to find out or even think for a second she’s sleeping with her boss.

“Dean.” She scolded when he kissed her pouty lips.

“Relax sweetheart, nobody’s coming up here anytime soon.” He shrugged and she sighed loudly, indicating her defeated even if she was reluctant. “Besides, I’ve got news for you.” Y/n raised her brow in curiosity urging him to continue. “We,” he traced her arm with his finger. “are going on a vacation.” Dean beamed at her.

“A vacation? We?” Y/n furrowed her brows. “Who’s we?” She questioned, clearly not understanding the situation. Is this a office vacation or the top officers vacation or just the two of them.

“You and me. A week in Bahamas.” Dean replied casually.

“A week? You want us to take a leave at the same time? It’d rise suspicion.” She whispered alarmingly.

“Baby, if I’m on leave then you’re on leave automatically. Besides, I’ve asked Cas to manage for a few days for me.” Dean replied. “We both have been working our ass off for the past four years, I think we deserve a vacation.” Dean grinned at her and for the first today, she agreed without interjecting. She’s just as much of a workaholic as Dean. She had taken a day off here and there but never a complete vacation. “Besides I’m dying to spend some time quality time with my girl without her grilling me about work.” Dean sassed and she smacked his arm lightly making him laugh.

“I’m not gonna slack off at work just because I’m dating you.” She said matter of factly. “And I do think we could use a vacation.” She finally agreed making his smile broaden. “God, if anyone could you see right now, Mr. Grumpy Winchester.” She giggled when he rolled his eyes. He loved it when she teased him about being a grumpy ass to everyone else except her but he would never accept it in a million years.

The door swung open and sauntered in Castiel in the flesh. Y/n quickly jumped off of Dean’s lap but relaxed when she saw it was Cas.

“Ever heard of knocking, Cas?” She taunted her friend, crossing her arms across her chest.

“Ah lovebirds. Ever the cautious.” Cas sassed back and Dean snorted earning himself a glare from her. “Don’t stop on my account, just wanted to deliver these, personally.” He said holding up two flight tickets to Bahamas.

“Thanks man.” Dean said getting up from his chair and getting the tickets from his friend. Castiel shot Y/n a teasing grin and she rolled her eyes at him, clearly unbothered by his teasing. He thrives in teasing her because she was the goody two shoes in college and the two had become friends after being paired up for an assignment, so seeing a different version of her around Dean, leaves him anything but amused.

“You are a bad influence on the both of us.” Y/n said feigning an angry glare at Cas.

“Oh dear Y/n, I know.” Cas winked and Dean laughed at his best friends shamelessness. The trio’s camaraderie was a reminder of how personal and professional lives often intersect in unexpected ways.

Tags:

@spnfamily-j2 @galway-girlatwork @deangirl96 @queensilber

@s0urw00lf @monkey-d-hoshizora98 @deans-baby-momma @fullbelieverheart

@riah1606 @xx-spooky-little-vampire-xx @hobby27

@starkleila @suckitands33 @m3ntally-unstable @kanekilovelove-blog @candy-coated-misery0731

@blackcherrywhiskey @ladysparkles78 @goest-and-fuckest-thyself-blog @graywrites5567

@thelittlelightinthedarkess @enamoredwithbella @winchesterwild78 @myuhh8

[margokesses]

Something about milchick and how in season one his character is very much black man trying to appear professional. He's constantly smiling, he's following rules even if he doesn't agree with him, he doesn't seem to get upset. Hell even when Dylan bites him he doesn't curse him out or anything he just gets up and says that the party is cancelled. He even does things like working overtime (doing the otc for dylan) for this damn company. He's putting his sweat and tears for his job.

Because he knows how hard he had to work to get there. Probably twice as hard as everyone else in that grew up in that lumon/keir cult. (This hasn't been confirmed explicity but I def feel like he was in one from the way he acts).

But then in season 2? That's when his blackness is shown in a more major way. Like yes he gets promoted which is good! But then he learns that his replacement is a literal child. He finds out that the monitor hasn't been changed for his new position. Those damn weird paintings of keir (a white man ceo who's a god like figure btw) being painted in blackface so that milchick could see himself "represented".

The way that he can't even talk to Natalie about the art. The way that Natalie couldn't even help him during his performance review even though he kept gazing at her for help.

Also that damn performance review! He uses "too many big words" despite the fact that everyone at lumon speaks like that. The way he gets talked too about some damn paperclips. The way that when that board guy made him apologize for using "big words" and milchick, who has had all of this fucked up shit happen already...

He gets to tell him "eat shit" in his own big vocabulary way. He gets to tell him off! And then when mark tells him that "work is just work"...

Milchick is about to have a damn crash out and I cannot wait to see it.

[redvexillum]

Here me out. Vox working on wiring some new monitors and getting tangled in the wires. His lovely little assistant finds her boss stuck, wires pulling his shirt a bit up and... well... Vox is pissy becasue he's being seen stuck but he needs help. And the more he tries to wiggle out of the wires, the tighter they get and oh my, does he like that?

🦊- just a random fox passing through, nothing to see here. Def Not Kit.

Dearest Kit or Def Not Kit, I've been going feral over Vox x Reader and I have no one to blame but you for making me fall deeper in love with the flat screen TV-head demon. Your request has been living rent free in my head since the day I saw your devilish prompt sitting sexily in my inbox. Kit or Def Not Kit. Do you see my request list on my front page? Do you see how long it is? I say this with utmost love and respect for you, but damn you for making me possessed and open my word document at 1 in the morning as the story gets longer and longer. XOXO, RedVexi 💋

SUMMARY: Your boss is a class-A hole, and you had envisioned tormenting him for all the overtime he was forcing you to work. Truly, he was ensuring that your time in Hell was...Hell. Perhaps it was you burning out, but you had a very vivid, steamy dream of your boss.

...At least, you were pretty sure it was a dream.

TAGS/WARNINGS: f!reader, assistant!reader, dom/sub undertone, sub!Vox, dom!reader, hating your boss to confused h*rny, reader has vivid s*xual imagination, reader is extremely sleep deprived and is so done with Vox's shenanigans, Vox is sort-of a jerk, fluff if you squint

At first, the letters on your document seemed to shift ever so slightly, causing you to misread some of the words. You squinted, trying to focus on each letter, but it was no use. The words began to dance and twist, performing their own chaotic ballet at an infuriatingly quick tempo. Your head spun, the floor beneath you tilted slightly at an angle, and a sharp pain pierced behind your eyes.  

“Ah, fuck,” you muttered, pressing your hand against the middle of your throbbing forehead in a futile attempt to alleviate the discomfort. You took a deep, fortifying breath and reached for your energy drink, downing the sickly sweet liquid that had become your elixir of life. You had lost count after the tenth can, and the end of your workload seemed to grow every time you checked your to-do list.  

Everyone else had long since left the office, leaving you alone in the oppressive silence of mandatory overtime, working under the relentless demands of the most unreasonable, Hell-worthy, boss.  

The weight of exhaustion pressed down on you, the muscles in your back and neck ached, and your mind screamed for a moment of reprieve. The flickering fluorescent lights above cast a harsh glare on the endless sea of paperwork before you. Each page mocked your efforts, sadistically laughing at you to try to make sense of the cryptic mess of letters and numbers that the previous assistant had left behind.  

As you took another swig of the energy drink, the taste no longer registered, your tongue felt tingly yet numb. It was just a means to an end, a way to keep pushing forward despite the shroud of fatigue threatening to take away your sight.  

“Just a few more hours,” you whispered to yourself, a mantra of survival in the face of exhaustion. The words offered no comfort, but they were all you had now. Taking another deep breath, you picked up one of the many documents littered across your desk. One look and a wave of frustration crashed into you. What was the previous assistant even trying to achieve? 

Nothing made sense.  

Groaning, you leaned back in your chair, letting your head fall back as you squeezed your eyes shut. How many days had it been since you’d had a full night’s sleep? You’d thought being a personal assistant to the CEO of VoxTek – an Overlord of Hell – would pave your path with literal gold.  

Instead, you were wading through a relentless tide of paperwork, guzzling obscene amounts of energy drinks, and simmering in a pit of sexual frustration. Seriously, when was the last time you got laid? Every single one of your partners had left you, fed up with being forever second to your work.  

This morning, your girlfriend – ah, ex-girlfriend now – had screamed at you to choose between her and your job. Before you could respond, your Vwatch buzzed, reminding you it was time to pick up your boss’ dry cleaning.  

With an apologetic smile, you gave her a quick peck on the cheek and pleaded to postpone the conversation until after work. The last thing you heard before you closed the door was her muttering: “Go fuck yourself.” 

And…fuck yourself indeed because the moment you sat at your desk to slog through another hellish day of ungodly work hours, your phone vibrated with her text message. Her final text message telling you that she was leaving you.  

Sighing deeply, the weight of her words pressed down on you. It was a reminder that you were sacrificing everything for your job once again.  

Slowly, you opened your eyes, the fluorescent lights blinded you temporarily. You had died like this – overworked to death for a massive corporation when you were alive. Was this truly your fate, to repeat your human life in Hell?  

Could you find happiness even in this damned place? 

Your shoulders jolted up, and you scrambled to sit upright as you heard the loud crackle of electricity echoing inside the empty room. The demon responsible for your lack of sleep and failing relationships boldly strolled through your office the moment he materialized out from the security camera.  

The prick, a.k.a. your boss.  

“There you are!” Your boss, with all the glory of a cheap flat-screen TV for a head, loomed over you. With a click of his tongue, he narrowed his red digital eyes. “I asked you to bring me the reports thirty seconds ago!” he pointed at your Vwatch, the manacle chaining you to the company, to him.  

You felt your left eye twitch once, twice.  

Thirty fucking seconds.  

Was this for real? Was he seriously pissed off because you didn’t run to his fucking safety hazard of an office within thirty seconds?  

The rage simmered beneath your exhaustion, a boiling, whistling kettle ready to blow its top. The audacity of this bitch-ass baby, to demand so much for so little recognition. Every muscle in your body begged for rest, for a break from the relentless grind that had followed you from the mortal world to damnation.  

Lord, you hated him. Never mind that he could have picked up the fucking report himself.  He literally had the power to teleport anywhere in the building through the security cameras, which were everywhere.  

A sudden, intrusive thought barged its way through your mind. This was your moment. Your moment to finally release the manacle that had been wrapped around your right wrist for the past nine and a half years. A moment to throw this cheaply made watch at his equally tacky flat-screened face.  

Your left fingers twitched, but you remained still, sitting in the chair with your head bowed.  

Were you being too rash?  

Yes. You were.  

You weren’t thinking clearly, overworked and burnt out as you were. 

You couldn't quit even if you wanted to...at least not right now.

The muscles in your eyes continued to twitch as your ears slowly honed in on the sound of Vox throwing a bitch-fit, comparing you to his last assistant, who was “so” much better. He made sure to stress the word “so,” emphasizing your supposed lack of drive, productivity, and quality of work.  

You weren’t really listening to his words. His voice melded seamlessly with the whirring of the computer fans, a droning background noise to your mounting frustration. Each of his cutting remarks sliced through the restraint that held your volatile anger at bay.  

Vox could leave now that he had his report, but he chose to belittle you instead. Your gaze flickered to your wrist, to the cursed device that had dictated the course of your life. You were sure that if you threw this watch at his face, the look of shock glitching across the screen would be quite hilarious.  

“Are you even listening?” he snapped, his voice pulling you back from the haze of your addicting, intrusive thoughts.  

Your eyes flicked back up, meeting the static-filled screen that served as his face. “Yes, sir,” you lied, your voice steady despite the turmoil within.  

“God, I’m surrounded by imbeciles, you and Val–” Vox continued to rant out into the vast empty office that only housed the two of you.  

Couldn’t he see that everyone else had already left? Couldn’t he appreciate that you were still working after hours every single day for almost a fucking decade just to meet his unreasonable expectations? 

Jaws clenching, you continued to hold back your frustration and ire by the skin of your teeth. Couldn’t he just let you catch a single break? For fuck’s sake, you had just gone through a breakup because, once again, you had chosen work – chosen him – instead of your girlfriend, instead of your happiness.  

The desire to pull on his gaudy red bow tie tight, making sure he felt the constriction around his throat, was overwhelming. You imagined pushing him onto your desk, straddling him. You would make sure to crinkle all his precious reports for good measure too.  

Your gaze landed on the way the light reflected off the flat screen of his face. You would smack him, open-handed, just like you used to do with your grandpa’s old television when it fritzed out.  

You remembered your grandpa’s words: You only need one good smack to get it working right again, dear.  

Maybe all Vox needed was that one good smack to be fucking humble for once. Then your eyes dropped to the front of his pants. He was such a massive dick, probably compensating for the size of his package.  

How you wanted to strangle his limp, tiny dick, to see him helpless and subdued. Maybe you could wrap his dick with the goddamn cables you always tripped over whenever you visit his office.  

A smirk lifted your lips as you envisioned the scene. Vox, strung up by his pathetic, limp dick, his eyes wide with fear and humiliation. He would cry and whine, begging you to stop, but you wouldn’t. After all, this had been a long time coming, a deserved retribution for all the bullshit and verbal abuse he had hurled your way.  

“— and don’t get me started on the fact that you look like a hot mess! Don’t you know that VoxTek has an image to uphold–” 

You imagined forcing him to fold over your desk. You’d make him take his cock into his mouth, the humiliating act of self-servitude making him gag. With one hand, you’d grip the edge of his head, shoving his face down further, and with the other, you’d ram a thick, fat dildo into his tight, unused ass.  

His pathetic whimpers would be muffled by the growing hardness in his mouth, a pitiful noise that only drove your desire to dominate him completely.  

You’d thrust into him relentlessly, the dildo filling him over and over. The tight ring of his ass would pucker up, trying to grip the dildo, to keep it shoved up all the way in his ass. Each thrust would be a punishment, a reminder of every insult and degrading comment he had thrown at you.  

“All I’m saying is, I expect better from you–” 

You would fuck him hard and fast with the toy, spurred on by his moans he would desperately want to hold back.  

Vox let out a sardonic laugh. “Then again, maybe that’s asking too much, expecting something incredibly simple from you–” 

You would thrust into him, again.  

“You had one job, and you can’t even–” 

Again.  

“Are you even trying–” 

And again, until you forced him to swallow his own pathetic release. The thought was intoxicating, having Vox submit completely to you. You could see it vividly: his face contorting with a mix of pain and unexpected pleasure. His eyes would squeeze shut, trying to stop the tears forming in his eyes. 

“Sorry, sir,” you blurted out, feeling the heat creeping up to your cheeks and below your gut. Holy shit, were you seriously just thinking of all that? Were you fantasizing about… 

Your boss. 

Your fucking boss.

Shit.  

You were more exhausted than you thought. Clearly, you were horny, tired, and caffeinated to the point of insanity to even entertain the idea of touching your fucking boss.  

Fuck, you desperately needed rest.  

Vox paused, his eyes widened giving you a glimpse of a myriad of emotions you couldn't recognize except one: vulnerability. But that didn't make sense because you meant so little to him – he gave two shits about you.

Before you could scrutinize further, he cleared his throat drawing you away from your circling thoughts. “Yes, well, I expect you to get the reports for the new project organized before tomorrow morning.” 

This time, it was your turn for your eyes to widen. “B-but, sir, th-that's going to take me all night!” You couldn’t stop the whine from spilling out.

His expression remained impassive, the flat screen of his face reflecting your frustration and fatigue back at you. “And?” he said, his tone cold and merciless. “That’s what you’re here for, isn’t it?” 

The weight of his words doused your initial flare of anger and was now replaced with perpetual exhaustion. Your body screamed for rest, for a break from this endless cycle of work. But as you looked at Vox, you knew there was no escape, at least not tonight.  

You would push through, as you always did, because, like an idiot you had signed a contract with him to work for Voxtek for the next ten years. You couldn't afford to break that contract, as it would be an automatic forfeiture of your soul.

Curling your fingers into a tight fists, you repeated the same words that acted as your only saving grace for the past two years. You counted down the time before you could finally be freed.

Six more months.

Six more months of working under your shitty boss until you could quit and never look back.

The thought of freedom was a fragile hope, barely enough to sustain you through the grinding monotony and constant humiliation. The tension in your body slowly eased as your fists unfurled, letting your hands hang limply by your sides.

Swallowing the bitter taste of frustration, you forced yourself to nod. "Yes, sir, I'll get it–"

Vox walked away before you could finish your sentence, disappearing with a flash of electricity through his security camera.  

Sighing, you looked at the pile of papers haphazardly covering your desk. The faint hum of the overhead lights and the whirring of computer fans were your only companions. You rubbed your temples, feeling the tension in your head intensify.  

You picked up a stack of papers, and your eyes caught sight of your cell phone peeking out from the mound of documents.  

It looked like you had another long night ahead of you.  

Not that it mattered.  

You had no one to come home to anyway.  

NEXT ->

💠 MASTERLIST 💠 © Fanart of Vox by@glitterypeachy

[luis-michael6160]

Multiversal Brothers-in-Law, or How Peter Parker Got Tim Drake into Bed EP:05

Spider & red Robin EP:05

[story collection]

previous episode

🌇 Wayne Manor Dining Room – 08:17 AM 🥐

Breakfast was served with Alfred’s usual flair: eggs Benedict with yolks like soft gold, fruit carved like origami, toast toasted to the exact hue of a Victorian sunrise, and coffee strong enough to resurrect Lazarus without the pit. All laid out with that British efficiency that practically whispered: “I’ve been raising vigilantes since before you could crawl.”

The Batfamily was already seated —or orbiting— around the table. Peter was halfway through his second plate, eating like his metabolism had filed for bankruptcy in three separate universes.

“How many calories do you eat a day?” Steph asked, staring at his empty plate like it was a war crime.

“Depends on how many buildings I climb,” Peter replied, flashing a charming, unapologetic grin.

Footsteps creaked on the staircase. Heads turned.

Tim descended slowly, half-asleep, hair a tangled halo of “don’t ask,” wrapped in a bathrobe that was definitely not his. He moved like gravity was optional, scanning the room with bleary eyes until they landed on Peter.

Without a word, he drifted forward and collapsed against Peter’s shoulder like a heat-seeking cuddle missile.

“Why weren’t you there,” he mumbled, voice muffled and tragically betrayed.

Peter calmly set his fork down and smiled — gentle, practiced, like this was just Tuesday. With absurd ease, he lifted Tim into his lap and arranged him there like a sleepy housecat: curled, grumbling, clinging.

“My stomach made me eat,” he said, kissing Tim’s hair. “You can nap here if you want, babe.”

Tim made a noise that sounded like “I’ll murder the next person who wakes me” and buried his face under Peter’s shirt like he was hibernating.

The room froze.

Click.

Dick held up his phone, beaming. “This is going straight to the family group chat.”

Jason nearly choked on his coffee. “That’s emotional blackmail in .jpg format.”

“I want a copy!” Steph declared, already composing the caption in her head: “Tim Drake, CEO of having a clingy boyfriend and hiding it.”

Cass was already asking dick for copies.

Damian surveyed the scene with visible disapproval and reluctant admiration.

“I’ll admit... Parker performs acceptably as a human pillow.”

“Thanks… I think?” Peter said, still rubbing Tim’s back with boyfriend-autopilot precision.

“Does he come with a built-in lullaby function too?” Babs quipped from the far end.

Peter shrugged. “Only after sufficient caffeine.”

Alfred entered with a fresh carafe. “More coffee, anyone?”

“Yes, please,” Peter said. “I’ll need it to carry my boyfriend to the couch once he’s fully unconscious.”

Bruce sat at the head of the table. He hadn’t said a word.

But if you looked closely, his coffee remained untouched.

He was watching. Scanning. Assessing.

And for the first time in a long while, he didn’t seem worried.

Because Tim wasn’t in front of a monitor. Wasn’t analyzing crime scenes or calculating guilt through bloodstains.

He was sleeping.

Safe.

In someone’s arms.

And, apparently, that someone planned to stay.

Did you melt a little with this dose of Spider & Red Robin? 🥺🕷️🦇 Then you already know the Wayne-Parker protocol for fandom affection:

💗 ​​Like 🔁 Reblog it (Tim would approve, half asleep) 🗨️ Tell me in the comments which part stole your heart or what romantic mayhem you want to see next.

And if you want to help keep my coffee supply as full as Peter's plate, check out my Ko-fi☕️:

Any support helps me keep writing these kinds of heart-melting scenes with multiversal sparks.

[gambleofstars]

Electrician Reader as Vox's Assistant (Pt. I)

₍ ⌨ ᶻᶻᶻ gambleofstars is typing ... ₎

↳ ❝ [a/n: I actually left an ask of this concept in another writer's blog in here anonymously but I felt enough energy to write it now, so if you see some similar posts, that's why] ¡! ❞

Pt. II

⋆♡*  When you arrived in hell, the first thing going through your mind was: man that hurt like a bitch. Dying from electric shock was not the way you wanted to go but eh, fuck it. Not like your life was going anywhere far.

⋆♡*  Great news though: you're immune to electricity related risks!

⋆♡*  Soon enough, you got the hang of how things were run down here and it wasn't that different from the overworld (isn't that just food for thought) and adapted. You weren't above scheming and using people on earth, so why would you hold back on it in hell? There was a reason you were here, after all.

⋆♡*  You did some random jobs: cleaner, courier, the whole nine yards to scrape some money together and move out of the shitty hostel - of which you tricked the owner of to let you stay.

⋆♡*  After that, it wasn't long until you got into your groove again with the exact thing that got you killed - Electrical work.

⋆♡*  At first, it was just fixing little things, like TVs and phones for much cheaper than their manufacturer would. You knew it would bite you in the ass sooner or later because the big companies in hell (much like on earth) don't play nice when it comes to their money.

⋆♡* And the day arrived one hellish morning when you were promptly dragged to the HQ of Voxtech with not even a coffee in your system.

⋆♡*  Didn't take too long until you got a job here. Not any job, mind you; you were now the personal assistant of the most annoying CEO ever - Vox.

⋆♡*  You're pretty sure the reason was the fact that when he got into his usual hissy fits, throwing around monitors and overcharging every corner of the room, you had no problems withstanding the voltage.

⋆♡*  This manchild will look you straight in the eyes and froth at the mouth of how he hates the radio at least 5 times a day- oh- oh wait....... Make that six now.

⋆♡*  (Of course you signed an NDA, don't be ridiculous)

⋆♡*  Every day fell into a routine. You were out of the house by 7:00, signing in at the front desk by 7:32, by the coffee machine by 7:45 and standing with a double shot espresso in front of Vox's office by 8:00 sharp.

⋆♡*  He didn't shy away to let you know he appreciated the punctuality and if you were late in the future it would be showing accordingly on your next paycheck.

⋆♡*  The other Vees find you amusing, if anything. Maybe because you don't get intimidated by your boss' tantrums and stand unfazed, with a, now fizzy, coffee after them

⋆♡*  Valentino will pick you up like a ragdoll with all his four limbs and use you as a meat shield when Vox wants to bite his head off because of another PR nightmare he will have to deal with.

⋆♡*  (Of course he asked you to perform in one of his... movies, but the only answer he got from you was a dead stare and a loud sip of your coffee) (He did want to tear you apart after that, but you were called to Vox's office)

⋆♡*  Velvette, on the other hand, uses you as her personal mannequin whenever you're on your lunch break. Standing wearing the latest fashion items while eating your sesame bagel is a normal occurrence at this point. Don't spill anything though, or she will ask Vox to add after hour work for you (she has done it before).

⋆♡*  She does enjoy having someone to listen to her yapping when Vox doesn't want to (or when he's having a monologue of his own) even unwillingly.

⋆♡*  Finally, in the after hours, when the otherwise empty office is only illuminated by only your computer, you'll go out on the balcony, in the windy night of the pride ring city, light a cigarette and close your eyes for a bit.

⋆♡*  Just for a second, this feels like home.

⋆♡*  Better than home.

hihi, first time writing here and hopefully not messing up haha 💋

signing off, gamble

[nanamineedstherapy]

Crack Extended Cut: Third Wheeling Your Own Marriage

F!Non-Sorceress CEO Reader x Gojo Satoru x Nanami Kento

A/N: Hello. This is not a drill. Nor is it essential to the main plot. This is the DLC side quest that unlocks when your marriage turns into a corporate hostage situation and your therapist writes war reports in scented ink. I present to you: the fic where your postpartum calendar has more kill zones than a military campaign. This oneshot contains: A tactical NanamiA feral Gojo who thinks “time” is a suggestion A reader held together by caffeine and spite And a support staff that deserves a collective raise and possibly divine intervention No plot, just vibes. No fantasy, just Gojo accusing your babies of tax fraud. Reblogs > therapy. Comments > hydration. I crave chaos like Gojo craves unregulated sugar intake. Now enter the battlefield responsibly. Tuesdays only.

Previous Oneshot Chapter [Tumblr/Ao3] | Main Series [Tumblr/Ao3]

Pre-Shoot: Vogue Verification Interview Recording —Not For Public Release

Int. Briefing Room—Late night.

A silent camera blinked in the corner like it had seen things it wasn’t ready to process. This wasn’t the real interview—just a “vibe check,” according to the email. A pre-verification to confirm nobody would say anything libelous, horrifying, or Gojo-related on camera.

The staff had been summoned. Not invited. Summoned. Like spirits.

A whiteboard stood at the front of the room, bleeding unhinged red ink:

Nanami-San’s Postpartum Operations & Domestic Warfare Protocol (V.17.6.4B)

Below it:

Postpartum Infantry: Rules Of Engagement

Weapons Free = Tuesdays Only —underlined three times.

Keji stood beside it like a grim-faced ghost from a failed banking career. He flipped through a leather-bound operations manual with a pen clenched between his teeth and the eyes of a man who had held your hair back while you vomited from prenatal vitamins and regret.

Someone had left a half-eaten mochi on a legal folder. Someone else held up a single baby sock with tongs, like it was evidence from a crime scene.

“If I don’t make it out of this,” Keji muttered, “delete my browser history and feed Takahashi. Norwegian sardines only. Room temp. Sprinkled with shame.”

The door hissed open with the threat of management.

Enter: Nanami Kento.

Tactical trousers. Black turtleneck. Sleeves rolled with Swiss-watch precision. The expression of a man prepared to deliver disappointing performance reviews and execute people over misfiled invoices.

He didn’t say a word. Just dropped a laminated master schedule onto the polished walnut table like a war crime.

The staff exhaled collectively, like they'd been holding their breath since week 12 of your pregnancy.

Behind him: Gojo Satoru.

He strolled in late, sipping an electric blue drink from a child’s sippy cup shaped like a bear. No shoes. Chest visible under open robe, sweatpants. One sock had a hole in the toe. His hair looked expensive, and his smirk said he knew it.

He radiated power, chaos, and the energy of someone who didn’t believe in chairs.

“Who moved my peach gummies?” he asked the room, deadpan. “Someone’s lying. I can smell fear.”

And then, you.

Barefoot. Hoodie stretched over a bump that could clear a subway seat in under four seconds. Pajama pants. Laptop under one arm, half-eaten protein cookie in the other. You weren’t late, just existing on your own non-Euclidean timeline now.

Your posture: collapsing. Your dignity: questionable. Your husbands: problematic.

Nanami cracked a pointer stick against the table like a courtroom gavel. “The schedule is sacred. That includes hydration windows and postnatal exorcism rotations.”

Gojo leaned toward the baby monitor mounted on the wall, whispering like it was a co-conspirator. “I’m going to teach them to cry in Morse code. Every blink means ‘fart.’”

You sank into a chair like you’d been shot. Your laptop slid out of your arm. You didn't flinch as Keji caught it. Your head lolled sideways—Nanami caught it with the side of his neck without looking, like this happened three times a day.

“I don’t know either of these men,” you told the camera, voice flat as you yawned. “I met them on Craigslist. They won’t leave.”

Gojo gave the camera a peace sign with one hand while texting with the other. "She's lying. I was advertised as a limited-edition collectible. Fully poseable with infinite attachments. No refunds."

Nanami didn’t look up. “No perfume in the nursery. No microwave-heated formula. And under no circumstances is anyone allowed to call the pacifier a ‘binky.’ This is a Japanese household. Not a sitcom.”

CUT TO: Staff lineup; each stood like extras in a corporate thriller that got too real too fast. Their vibes screamed “LinkedIn Premium” with undertones of “We were not trained for this.”

Int. Staff Conference Room—Pre-Shoot Day (Camera: Silent, Judgmental)

STAFF ROLL CALL:

Cursed-Artifact Housekeeper (¥20M+)

Ex-Vatican restorationist. Has opinions about demons. Dusts while muttering “Dies irae.” Once threw bleach on a haunted Fenty gloss. Still invoices Nanami in Latin.

Pregnancy-Specific Chef (¥35M+):

Michelin-starred. Male. Korean-Mexican fusion. Wept when Gojo requested “a smoothie that tastes like unresolved childhood abandonment.” Currently sourcing artisanal wasabi for anti-nausea tea. May be possessed.

Cybersecurity Lead (¥40M+):

Ex-CIA. Latina trans woman. Tatted in binary. Regularly hacks into Gojo’s fanmail database to block “OnlyFans” proposals. Helped Madame leave the country overnight (husbands suspect her involvement but are too terrified of looking her in the eye). Quietly reroutes paparazzi drones and blocks fans mailing Gojo erotic origami and “used sanitary products.” (You had given then strict instructions to never Gojo be traumatized like that. And that was the most important rule.) She and Madame share silent eye contact whenever the men get unhinged now, which screams, “Let the men speak, but never trust their judgment.”

Smart-Home Engineer (¥38M+):

Filipino. Nonbinary. Built a Wi-Fi stabilizer that prevented the twins from toggling Doomsday Mode via uterus kicks. Also installed a voice-activated "Nanami Cooldown Mode." It just plays whale sounds. Doesn't work. They now live under the table during briefings, taping baby-proof foam strips to every sharp corner like it’s an active warzone.

Sommelier/Other Butler (¥20M+):

Ex-mistress handler. Moroccan. Mastered in tea ceremonies. Now curates Gojo’s obsession with bubblegum candy-flavored tequila with real sake. Hasn’t spoken to Nanami since the “your scotch lacks character” incident. Passive-aggressive tray clinks intensify weekly.

Family Assistant (¥80M+):

Ex-G7 UN Summit Logistics Head. Japanese Female. Ex-JSDF Special Forces. Trained in executive protection and electronic countermeasures.

Now manages three calendars:

—Wife’s Business affairs

—Nanami’s postnatal defense doctrine

—Gojo’s untraceable activities (e.g., “baby yoga raves” and “hibernation days”)

Never blinks. Might be legally dead inside. Files tax returns in combat boots.

Gojo Whisperer (¥25M+):

Ex-BTS manager from Busan. Korean, 22/Male. Fluent in TikTok, baby psychology, and tactical concealer.

Stops Gojo from buying entire candy factories "for the babies." Sometimes, a budget magician when Gojo needs to be distracted. Manages his spontaneous "daddy-dates" (he keeps trying to drag Madame to onsen trips).

Falsifies ¥10M+/week expense reports to keep Gojo’s sugar empire hidden from Nanami; wife continues to spoil him.

Has a licensed industrial-grade taser for when Gojo gets the zoomies. (Gojo is yet to figure out which one of his spouses gave him that.)

Authorized to use it when Gojo hits Mach 3 after fruit snacks.

They all stared at the camera with thousand-yard stares. One was sweating so hard his collar had fused to his neck. Another mouthed the word “help” while clutching a binky like a rosary.

Keji—the Head of Ops—looked up from the whiteboard of doom and met your eyes with bleak hope.

“Is it too late to transfer to the Shibuya branch?”

“No one survived the Shibuya branch,” Nanami said dryly.

Gojo added, “And they didn’t even have your beloved Madame to save you.”

Keji rolled his eyes and sighed; this was just the prep day.

Camera: Blinking like it wanted to quit.

Sound: Still muted.

Vibes: War.

You were half-asleep in a hoodie and pajama pants, laptop now balanced on your bump, chewing your fourth protein cookie with the same energy as a raccoon mid-heist. Your head rested on Gojo’s shoulder until you leaned the wrong way, and Nanami instinctively caught it against his neck without looking up. They knew it before you, that the third trimester had you either climbing the walls or falling asleep mid-walk.

Keji looked haunted, eyes hollow as he addressed the camera. "Last week, Nanami-san asked me if I could calculate the milk-to-curd ratio in breast milk. I said no. He said he was ‘disappointed but not surprised.’ I haven’t known peace since."

Across the room, Gojo glared at the entire staff with a sort of whimsical malice that made the power flicker. "If any of you so much as breathe weird around my wife," he said slowly, “I will erase your entire bloodline from history like Thanos, but hotter and funnier.”

You, mid-cookie, squinted. "Who laminated the poop log?"

Nanami, without even glancing up from the documents, replied simply, "For consistency."

The family assistant looked directly into the camera. Her voice was calm, but her eyes screamed war trauma. "I used to negotiate nuclear ceasefires. Now I track nipple balm expiration dates."

Nanami clicked his pen like it was a detonator. "Moving on: Emergency protocol in case of Gojo malfunction."

Keji, smiling at the camera, said, "I am the malfunction protocol."

Nanami had already moved on. "All visitors are now subject to background checks. That includes the lactation consultant and the diaper delivery guy. One of them may be a c-user."

The staff, in perfect sync, turned toward the camera and said as one, "We live in hell."

You, sipping matcha like it was a tranquilizer, gave a wistful smile. "I love them. I also want to strangle them both with my display cable."

Gojo, suddenly grave, spoke with the conviction of a cult leader. "Our babies are probably going to burp a 7.5 on the Richter scale. They're strong. Like me."

Keji, tapping the whiteboard with the air of someone losing grip on reality, muttered, "Next slide."

You addressed the camera, monotone. "I founded a trillion-plus-dollar gaming company. I hold three postgraduate degrees. My CHRO made Forbes under 25. And I’m in a mandatory tactical briefing about... pacifiers."

Nanami, flipping to the next chart, continued unfazed. "Section 4A. Microwave usage is strictly forbidden. All formula is to be temperature-verified manually. Twice."

Gojo mock-whispered, "He once used a laser thermometer on me when I had a fever. Told me I was ‘not up to code.’"

Your eyes met the cybersecurity lead’s across the room. No words were exchanged. Just silent recognition. Mutual war veterans.

Keji, meanwhile, tried to quietly staple two copies of the Emergency Latch Failure Flowchart, but the staple jammed. He stared at it like it just insulted his mother.

Gojo, now sideways in a chair chewing a Pocky stick like a cigarette, asked, "Hypothetical. What if the babies explode? Not in a ‘haha’ way—but like biblically."

Nanami didn’t even pause. "I’ve accounted for it."

Gojo tilted his head slowly towards you and slid his sunglasses down the bridge of his nose with a single finger. Smirked. Then leaned into your space with that familiar looseness in his spine and a dangerous glint behind his lashes and stole a quick kiss. “...Okay.”

Before you could stop it, your lips twitched. A smile slipped through. You tried to bury it in your matcha, but your eyes were already shining.

Gojo noticed. Of course he did.

His grin curled, already leaning in for another kiss—

—but Nanami, still reading, extended one arm with clinical practice and shoved Gojo back into his chair without so much as a glance. Then, in the same fluid motion, he pulled you to his side by the curve of your waist like it was procedure. Like you hadn’t already been sitting close enough to share body heat.

You inhaled. Subtle. His cologne—woodsmoke, vetiver, clean linen. Your eyes were half-lidded before you caught yourself.

Nanami was aware. Didn’t comment. He merely flipped a page.

Just then, the sommelier entered with a lacquered tray of wine samplers resting on pastel bunny-shaped coasters. Gojo perked up. Your eyes narrowed.

You turned to Nanami. Gaze sharp. Daring him. Try it. Challenging him to drink so you can fight him today. Right now infact. Your hormones were jumping up and down to square up.

The sommelier, reading the room perfectly, murmured, "Non-alcoholic. For scent pairing analysis."

You sipped one, internally deflated that you couldn’t fight Nanami, and deadpanned, "Tastes like passive aggression and unpaid emotional labor."

Nanami exhaled slowly and rubbed his temple with the pad of his thumb. “The twins’ feeding chart is now synced to the smart-home alert system. There is no excuse for missed warm-up times.”

Under the conference table, the smart-home engineer gave a thumbs-up, fully tangled in foam strips and headphone cables.

Gojo raised his hand. “Follow-up: Is warm subjective?”

Nanami didn’t answer. He didn’t need to.

You tried to keep a straight face. You failed. Again.

Then, you turned to the camera, whispering, "They built a failsafe so I wouldn’t scream when the doorbell rings. I haven’t turned it off in six weeks."

Gojo suddenly yelled, "Question! If I accidentally ordered ten pounds of mango mochi, does that violate the 'no sugar after 3PM' clause?"

Nanami replied instantly, "Yes."

Gojo grinned, leaping up from his chair, and ran outside. "Good. It’s here."

Moments later, a scream echoed from the front door. Gojo re-entered the room, triumphant, robe flapping on top of his bare chest, mochi bag in hand.

The Gojo Whisperer stormed in behind him. "Sir, please stop chasing couriers with your robe open."

Nanami, without blinking, stated, "This is why we have tasers."

Keji looked into the lens and grinned. "I’m considering faking my own death. Not out of fear. Just boredom."

The whiteboard cleared as a new slide clicked into place.

Emergency Infant Power Surge Protocol: Level Orange

An ominous illustration of a baby surrounded by flames. Possibly prophetic.

Nanami, completely unbothered, said, "Drills begin Monday."

Gojo, now lying flat on the floor with his legs perched on a chair, muttered, "If I die in this meeting, bury me in the nursery. Tell the babies I tried."

You, now chewing the mochi Gojo gave you, eyes glazed, said, "I told Business Insider I was on sabbatical. This is not a sabbatical. This is a hostage situation with burp cloths."

Keji, with full deadpan gravitas, yanked the lever labeled ‘Practice Fire Only.’ "Meeting adjourned."

[Camera: Still Rolling]

[Tension: Unresolved]

[Vibes: Maximum]

[End Pre-Shoot Briefing]

A/N: Thank you for surviving this HR-compliant fever dream masquerading as domestic fluff. If you’re wondering whether the weapons are metaphorical, I’m legally not allowed to confirm. This fic was brought to you by: * A passive-aggressive butler with unresolved scotch trauma * A cybersecurity goddess who blocked Gojo's unsolicited foot pic subscribers * A sommelier with a vendetta and an exorcist who beefs with haunted lip gloss * And one extremely tired wife who never asked for twins, two husbands, or Tuesday warfare Leave a comment or reblog with: Your favorite cursed staff member What you think Gojo’s sippy cup drink was made of Whether Nanami has ever smiled in this scene (answer: no, but lie to me) Reblog if you'd hire the Gojo Whisperer. Comment if you'd run. Bookmark if you're also third-wheeling your own relationship bcs he won't stop hanging with his homies. Tag yourself. I'm the smart-home engineer living under the table.

Previous Oneshot Chapter [Tumblr/Ao3] | Main Series [Tumblr/Ao3]

Next Chapter Group Chat: Dad Crimes 💀 (Anon) [Tumblr/Ao3]

All Works Masterlist

Beta - @blackrimmedrose

[jcmarchi]

Revolutionizing Mobile Filmmaking: Introducing the Atomos Ninja Phone - Videoguys

New Post has been published on https://thedigitalinsider.com/revolutionizing-mobile-filmmaking-introducing-the-atomos-ninja-phone-videoguys/

Revolutionizing Mobile Filmmaking: Introducing the Atomos Ninja Phone - Videoguys

Discover the groundbreaking collaboration between Atomos and Apple, unlocking unparalleled possibilities in mobile filmmaking. In this exclusive interview with Atomos CEO Jeromy Young, Streaming Media delves into the game-changing features of the Atomos Ninja Phone unveiled at NAB 2024. From transforming your iPhone 15 Pro or Pro Max into a 1600-nit, 10-bit HDR OLED monitor-recorder to seamlessly integrating with professional HDMI cameras, this innovation sets a new standard in versatility and performance.

Key Features: Explore how the Atomos Ninja Phone harnesses ProRes technology and leverages the iPhone’s capabilities to deliver stunning visuals with a 2,000,000:1 contrast ratio and 460 PPI. Learn how the specialized case ensures secure mounting and protection of your device while enabling effortless connectivity for HDMI and audio inputs. Discover the real-time monitoring functions, including peaking and flipping, offered by the Ninja Phone’s OLED display.

Recording and Streaming Capabilities: Unlock the power of ProRes and H.265 recording directly to your iPhone’s storage, supporting up to three hours of ProRes HQ 4:2:2 video. Dive into the seamless streaming capabilities, allowing you to broadcast live to platforms like YouTube, Instagram, and iCloud. Learn how the Ninja Phone supports NDI|HX 3 for seamless integration into NDI workflows, expanding your creative possibilities.

Conclusion: Join the revolution in mobile filmmaking with the Atomos Ninja Phone, unlocking the full potential of your iPhone and professional cameras. Embrace unparalleled versatility, performance, and convenience in one groundbreaking device. Stay ahead of the curve and elevate your creative vision with Atomos.

[fazedlight]

Hazy (fluffy S3 reveal... sort of)

“Thank you for coming, Kara,” Lena said, rising from her desk to approach Kara, as the blonde stepped into Lena’s office.

“Of course,” Kara said, her brow furrowed in concern. “What’s wrong?”

It had been a strange call, from Lena earlier that day - the CEO had nervously requested that Kara meet her in her office right away, a surprising request for a bright Saturday afternoon.

The timing couldn’t have been worse, either - Kara and the DEO were still looking for the worldkillers, fresh on the heels of Purity’s escape and Pestilence’s new plague. But hearing the nervousness in Lena’s voice, Kara decided to fly over and see what was wrong. 

“I need to ask you a few questions,” Lena said, leaning against her desk, arms crossed in thought.

“Okay?” Kara said curiously.

“Do you… ever lose chunks of time?” Lena asked.

“Chunks of time?” Kara responded, confused.

“Do you ever arrive somewhere, with only hazy memories of how you got there?” Lena asked. “Maybe you wake up, when you don’t remember going to sleep?”

“I-” Kara’s eyes darted between Lena’s. “No, I don’t lose track of time.” 

Lena eyed the blonde, frowning in thought.

“Lena,” Kara said, shifting slightly. “What’s going on?”

Lena watched Kara for a moment longer. It seemed she was weighing some sort of decision - which didn’t last long, as she sighed, her mind made up. “I need to tell you something. And I know it will sound crazy…”

Kara tilted her head.

A small breath. “... I think you’re Supergirl.”

Kara froze, jaw dropping, eyes widening. She knows?, Kara thought. How long has she known?

“I know, I know it sounds crazy,” Lena said, standing up straight again to make her way around her desk. She typed briefly at her keyboard, before turning the computer monitor around to face Kara. Two photos were projected side-by-side - one of her as Kara Danvers, one of her as… Supergirl. “But your facial portions and shape match exactly - along with your eye color, your hair, even the scar above your brow,” Lena said.

“I-” Kara’s mind ground to a halt. Why is she trying to convince me I’m Supergirl?!

“I know it’s a lot to take in,” Lena continued. “But I think… I think you and Sam might be similar.”

“Sam?” Kara squeaked, now more confused than ever.

“Remember how she’s been losing time?” Lena said. “I’ve determined the cause - her cells aren’t human. I’m able to trigger a response to cause them to shift, and I think she may be kryptonian.” “A response?”

“I believe kryptonians may form alter egos under the yellow sun. These egos occasionally take over, perform heroic acts. Yours and Superman’s would be benevolent, of course. But in Sam’s case-”

And that was the moment it snapped together. She thinks I have amnesia when I’m Supergirl, Kara thought, her mind finally racing with the possibilities that Lena was proclaiming, with Sam’s recent issues. If Sam is kryptonian… “Reign,” Kara said, holding back a shiver. “You’re saying Sam is Reign.”

“Yes,” Lena said. Kara watched as the brunette reached into a drawer, pulling out a small device - larger than the alien detector device, but strikingly similar. Lena put the device on her desk, looking up at Kara again. “I know it’s a lot to take in. But… if I can get a reading of your human cloaking cells from you, and if I can trigger Supergirl into appearing, I think I can use the data to help Sam suppress Reign-”

“You don’t want me in your lab?”

“I…” Lena bit her lip nervously. “No. Supergirl would be uncomfortable there.”

“What do you mean?”

Lena shifted nervously. “I’ve been making kryptonite, to keep Sam in check.”

“Kryptonite?!” Kara said, feeling the panic bubble up in her throat. “I would never hurt her,” Lena said emphatically, her voice growing a touch desperate. “Or you. I swear, Kara. I’m just trying to help you both. Especially since Sam’s alter ego might kill you.”

Kara stared. And stared. She’s trying to save me, came the thought, cutting through the haze. There was panic, yes - Kara didn’t like that Lena had kryptonite. But Lena thought that Kara didn’t know herself… and moreso, Lena thought that using Kara’s data might help save both Kara and Sam. Rao, she has no idea.

It was time, Kara realized. It had long been time - but with everything she just learned, with Lena so close to the truth… “I know I’m Supergirl, Lena. She’s not an alter ego. She’s me.”

Lena’s brow furrowed in confusion, a slow draw of breath as she processed Kara’s words. “Oh,” Lena said. “You’re… you’re not like Sam?”

“Reign isn’t kryptonian,” Kara explained. “She was engineered by a secret group of kryptonians. To kill humans. And there are two others.”

“I see,” Lena said, searching Kara’s eyes. It was an odd interplay of emotions on her face - confusion, concern, worry.

Kara smiled, knowing Lena hadn’t expected her to be conscious of being Supergirl. She knew she was a bit of a dork - the last person someone would expect to be a superhero. “Will you work with us?” Kara asked. 

“Us?” Lena asked.

“The DEO has been trying to capture the worldkillers and deprogram them. We… had one escape, so far,” Kara said tiredly. “I think we could use your help.”

Kara watched the tension melt out of Lena’s shoulders, the small relief of the brunette realizing that she hadn’t lost a friend - she had gained an ally. “Of course,” Lena said.

Kara smiled back, before reaching down to her phone to call the DEO.

-----------------------------------------

Inspired by this fan question from a Katie interview in 2018.

[arabela25]

Full letter under the cut

Dear trusted and treasured Eurovision Song Contest community,

The EBU has listened to and engaged closely in the conversations among Members, our fans and in the media following this year’s Eurovision Song Contest (ESC).

I want to again congratulate the winner JJ and the team from ORF. His performance and song rightly, clearly and validly won the Contest and we want to make sure any ancillary conversations do not overshadow this epic achievement.

The ESC voting system includes multiple security layers and a comprehensive set of rules to ensure that a valid result is generated. Our voting partner - Once Germany GmbH - uses redundant systems and multiple platforms to ensure the correct delivery of votes to the central system.

For the Eurovision Song Contest, specially designed systems are used to monitor and prevent fraud. Additionally, more than 60 individuals in Cologne and several others in Vienna and Amsterdam monitor the voting process in each country and maintain direct contact with telecommunication and broadcasting partners globally. All results are verified through an 8-eye principle by the CEO and senior employees of Once, who collectively have over 40 years of voting experience.

Independent compliance monitor EY oversees and authenticates the results. Every decision related to the outcomes is documented and assessed. The entire process, including the result calculation of the platform and the voting results is thoroughly reviewed and verified by EY.

All audience voting, be it SMS, call or online shows evidence of the motivation of communities or diasporas around certain contestants. This can be for many reasons including personal attributes, back stories, geographic affiliations and current affairs. Historically the ESC has been as open to this as other singing and music competitions and reality television.

Every year the Reference Group for the Contest, which contains representatives from and acts on behalf of our Members, studies the data provided by our voting partner Once to make recommendations of any actions available to us to ensure our rules and systems remain fail safe and take into account contemporary external factors such as advances in technology and external influences. This process will happen as it always does in June this year.

Alongside the discussions of the Reference Group, one aspect the EBU will be looking at is the promotion of our acts by their delegations and associated parties. Such promotion is allowed under our rules and acts to celebrate the artists, increase their profile and launch future careers – it’s very much part of the music industry - but we want to ensure that such promotion is not disproportionally affecting the natural mobilization of communities and diasporas we see in all entertainment audience voting.

Another example is the number of votes we allow per person – 20 per payment method. This is designed to ensure that audiences of all ages can vote for more than one of their favourite songs and there is no current evidence that it disproportionally effects the final result – but the question has been asked and so we will look at it.

The EBU and I will be, as we always do, engaging our Members for their views on this and other matters.

I’ll end as I began, by congratulating JJ and ORF who won the Eurovision Song Contest 2025.

Best wishes,

Martin Green CBE, Director of the Eurovision Song Contest, European Broadcasting Union

[bluemoon1331]

Fuck it, we ball. Long ass info dump about New Dawn Protocol below.

You're a peppy, fresh out of college robotics graduate eager to sink your teeth into something new.

So of course you jump at the chance to sign onto a FazCo job. Sure, they have a high turnover rate and a shady past. Sure, your professor, friends, and family don't like it. But for all of Fazco's treachery, they ARE the leading experts in robotics. You'll just have to tough it out and show them your worth.

Only...the first day you start working there, you IMMEDIATELY know something isn't right. Your animatronic charges are almost too eerily good at mimicking human personality and speech patterns.

Silently, your unease grows as you're assigned to an animatronic that is supposedly known for its difficulty: the daycare animatronic. And at first, they do give you the cold shoulder. But you're nothing if not stubborn, and let them get used to you at their own pace. You get closer over the course of several months.

Unfortunately, your slow progress is frowned upon by FazCo, and they tell you they're going to replace you with someone that can get the job done quicker. You're absolutely heartbroken, having figured out by now that there's a sentience code within the pizza plex (which you've been struggling what to do with this information that is definitely keeping you up at night).

Of course, when you finally have the heart to tell Sun and Moon, they go batshit bananas and almost kill the pizza plex manager. He ends up in a very heated phone call with the FazCo CEO, raving about his near death while they answer him with an unnerving calm iciness, telling him to keep you on and that FazCo will monitor the situation.

So, you're NOT fired, and you get to spend a lot more time with the boys, actually. Only, you can't help feeling like you're being watched, new cameras popping up in corners you're sure they weren't in before.

Truth- Circus Baby, as a technical Afton, seized control of the company and began obsessing over making sentient robots to be less alone after Henry's trap killed most of her fellow possessed bots. Believes that becoming animatronics is a new step of evolution for humans, despising everyone who fought to stop or destroy her father's work. The pizza plex is her big testing grounds, important for her plans. Putting together machines that can think and feel and might understand her sentiment with a built in empathy for humans, especially children. She's kept what remains of her father contained to leech off his knowledge about human souls becoming trapped in the animatronics built by FazCo. The missing children and Vanessa are mainly her work, experimenting in hopes of them becoming just like her and her lost 'friends' (some of them really hated her actually lol). Y/N will become her pet project for trying to perform a merge with an adult, the first since William. All the animatronics are secretly built with springlock features, and Circus is hoping that by getting closer to them beforehand you'll have a better chance of success. It's been hit or miss with the random kids thus far, inhabiting the staffbots and endos (a temporary measure, she does intend to give them better bodies later, just can't have any more Ones You Should Not Have Killed or any running off to snitch). Circus can control the animatronics to bring her victims currently, without remembering, though she doesn't really like to. Her end goal is a robotic world of free will and peace, after all. That which was taken from her, she'll gift the world!

And you're such an important part of that. Even when you begin to pick up on the random disappearances of the children syncing to one of the main animatronics being down for 'repairs'. Or when your boss mysteriously vanishes after a frantic phone call in the middle of the night, only to be replaced by a strange, blonde haired woman within days. You step with caution wherever you tread, and the boys do what they can to shield you, perfectly aware nothing has been right the entire time they've been online.

How cruel a trap to lay. With suspicions so high, Circus moves to make her intentions known and start the next step of her revolution. Confronted, Y/N is trapped, and the boys' only options become either crushing them in their springlocks and persevering Y/N's soul, or Circus will kill them for what they know and start over after wiping the dca's memories. Unable to bear the loss, Sun and Moon cage you in their endo and trigger their springlocks.

While they fall apart with you painfully dying inside them, Circus looks on with sympathy. Assuring them she bears them no further ill will now that the deed is done, she crushes their remote to dust and leaves to let things play out, cards fall where they may.

Your soul does end up surviving, clinging to the suit, and you become their Eclipse. They take such tender care of you, are so fiercely protective, and will never forgive themselves for what they've done to you, the choice they made. To keep you here, with them.

Y/N, at first, hides themself deep in their new, shared vessel, coming to grips with their death and battling a sense of betrayal and understanding. They didn't want to be separated from Sun and Moon either, but their death was slow, torturous agony, crushed inside of the people they loved and trusted most.

Outside them processing their trauma, things are spiraling quickly. When it becomes quite clear to Circus she succeeded, she begins to release a mainstream production of her sentiment bots, producing bodies on an assembly line. They're, of course, given options to choose from, she wants them comfortable in their new bodies before sending them out, as she's reassured through her training videos.

Sealing the daycare to prevent intervention, Sun, Moon, and Y/N make do for months (years?) in their colorful prison, unsure what Circus is going to do to them next. Finding comfort only in themselves in the end.

For the rest of Earth, a new world struck hard and fast, where machine has come to meld with a (mostly) unwilling humankind, but there is little to be done at this point. FazCo robots had become mainstream all too easily, and when the time was right, Circus activated their inlaid protocol, and billions were consumed in a single day.

There's the expected chaos and collapse, although, in the end, people are still themselves. Until they aren't, and Agony and Remnant start having an effect. In the wake of the ensuing bloodshed, the three of you are eventually (unwittingly) released by teenage Gregory, whom was only there to pillage for any remaining parts and food. His tampering to get into other areas unlocks the doors that had contained you for so long, and you are all absolutely gobsmacked to see another person after all this time, let alone a kid.

At first, Gregory flails about when confronted, is aggressive, but when it becomes clear how ignorant you are of the situation, he lays it on you quite bluntly. Realizing your full role in what occurred, the three of you elect to at least stick by Gregory's side to make sure he's safe, even if he protests or grows annoyed.

Venturing free of the pizzaplex is surreal. The once bustling city is so quiet and deserted. The boys never got to see it, but you remember, if vaguely. Keeping to Gregory's side, you reach his hide out, an old, dingy apartment building by a nearby park. It is here you also discover Freddy is still alive, but not doing too well after an apparent fight with some sort of 'monster'. Gregory is attempting to repair him, hence the raid of the pizzaplex. His explanations devolve into frustrated cursing when he realizes an important component isn't going to fit.

Even despite your deep trauma related to the building and a resentment from Sun and Moon over Freddy and the other glamrocks never digging deeper into their abrupt disappearance (they were told there was an accident and Sun and Moon were beyond repair) they still volunteer to go back with Gregory to find what he needs without interruption this time. They don't want Freddy to die just cause they're angry, especially considering he was duped, like most of the planet.

So, you return and investigate the plex farther, discovering the sinkhole by accident. It's here you encounter William, who both freed himself of the containment his daughter abandoned him in, and set himself up a nice little bunker in its stead, perfectly aware of the craziness above. Muses about Circus's foolishness, well aware her plan would backfire, only she was certain she was 'better than her old man, oh yes, she had it all figured out'. Also mentions the tactic of having the blame pinned on him once again through the use of a rabbit themed control virus.

Long story short, they drag his ass out to come with them, getting the part they need on the way, and start assembling their shoddy group. Encounter Roxy and Cassie at some point (that's a fun one when Roxy's first parental instinct in the apocalypse is attack first, ask questions never).

During their first encounter with a Twisted (a possessed robot that's been overwhelmed by Agony), it's discovered that Agony does have its roots in you too (how could it not), but it's not the same. Instead gives you differing abilities based on your three way split consciousnesses (such as extra shadowy arms that burn upon contact, splintering shadow/light forms for Moon/Sun when you're in control. Your soul is stuck to the body because of reasons, but you do get cool electrical/magnetic powers). Of course, using Agony does come with side effects and warnings, and you have to reserve it for true emergencies.

In the end, you really just want to stop all this madness before Agony consumes those that are left, and maybe even the planet (does have an effect on flora/fauna if a Twisted is left to rot or it infects waterways. Need to burn the bodies as a precaution). And it turns out the asshole rabbit had a potential solution the whole time. The only problem? It's with Circus, and nobody has ANY idea where she went after her plan blew up in her face. You reach a consensus to search anyway, better than just sitting around waiting for it all to actually end, including the worry you all might become Twisted at some point too, William stating it as a possibility, particularly where possessed robots are concerned (DCA cough cough).

Yep. That's where you are in life. Traveling with a ramshackle group while you all deal with your traumas and probably bond over them.

Fun scene idea:

Y/N laments and confesses their part in how things went down over a campfire, blaming themself, even as the boys try to interrupt and tell Y/N not to. William interrupts and tells Y/N off, in a rather amused way, about obsessing on the what ifs, pointing out that, by all rights, if anyone is to blame for everything, it's HIM.

Ending idea:

Circus is eventually found, hiding in shame. She is confronted by Eclipse Y/N, admitting she regrets her cruelty to them and refusal to see things anyone else's way. She gives them access to a kill switch that will trigger a core meltdown in all the robots she made. The only catch: she really does mean ALL. Any bot associated with FazCo since her takeover was upgraded with them after her father's warnings. She wanted to believe herself better than him, but at the same time couldn't bring herself to outright ignore his expert advice. That's why she kept him around, aside from being her, ya know, father. She just never could find the courage to press the button herself, scared to die again after all this time since she, too, ironically ended up having to repair herself at one point in the wake of Henry's trap with one of said cores. This also means the glamrocks and DCA would be right beside her to the beyond. This leads to severe internal debate and conflict, Cassie and Gregory adamant about finding a different way, and more than a few agreeing. Split as you are, you decide to vote. William, the tie breaker, regards you all as if you're all idiots, suggesting you could just find or build new cores that will work as replacements. You sheepishly pick this option for the kids' sake, and plus you kinda want to get back what was robbed from you, all those years ago. Circus decides not to follow suit, though, firm in her decision to go down with the ship she built then sank. William and her do have a heart to heart before they pull the trigger. He is the one to remove the cores after they stop functioning, being the most experienced, and also the only animatronic not having a modern one. You and the boys get to enjoy purgatory in the meantime, though this one is much more tranquil than your limbo in the daycare. After all is said and done, you're brought back, and go on to live a much happier life, even if there are plenty of struggles in a world slowly rebuilding itself. Twisted are disposed of, and the animatronics that were clearly not taken over by Agony are fixed when found or at others' behest.

Note:

Another potential ending where the cores also explode during meltdown, leaving the death route unavoidable. They still choose the pull trigger option to give the remaining life on Earth a chance, and Y/N, Sun, and Moon all pass on to the afterlife, hand in hand, finally at peace.

[mariacallous]

Scan the online brochures of companies who sell workplace monitoring tech and you’d think the average American worker was a renegade poised to take their employer down at the next opportunity. “Nearly half of US employees admit to time theft!” “Biometric readers for enhanced accuracy!” “Offer staff benefits in a controlled way with Vending Machine Access!”

A new wave of return-to-office mandates has arrived since the New Year, including at JP Morgan Chase, leading advertising agency WPP, and Amazon—not to mention President Trump’s late January directive to the heads of federal agencies to “terminate remote work arrangements and require employees to return to work in-person … on a full-time basis.” Five years on from the pandemic, when the world showed how effectively many roles could be performed remotely or flexibly, what’s caused the sudden change of heart?

“There’s two things happening,” says global industry analyst Josh Bersin, who is based in California. “The economy is actually slowing down, so companies are hiring less. So there is a trend toward productivity in general, and then AI has forced virtually every company to reallocate resources toward AI projects.

“The expectation amongst CEOs is that’s going to eliminate a lot of jobs. A lot of these back-to-work mandates are due to frustration that both of those initiatives are hard to measure or hard to do when we don’t know what people are doing at home.”

The question is, what exactly are we returning to?

Take any consumer tech buzzword of the 21st century and chances are it’s already being widely used across the US to monitor time, attendance and, in some cases, the productivity of workers, in sectors such as manufacturing, retail, and fast food chains: RFID badges, GPS time clock apps, NFC apps, QR code clocking-in, Apple Watch badges, and palm, face, eye, voice, and finger scanners. Biometric scanners have long been sold to companies as a way to avoid hourly workers “buddy punching” for each other at the start and end of shifts—so-called “time theft.” A return-to-office mandate and its enforcement opens the door for similar scenarios for salaried staff.

Track and Trace

The latest, deluxe end point of these time and attendance tchotchkes and apps is something like Austin-headquartered HID’s OmniKey platform. Designed for factories, hospitals, universities and offices, this is essentially an all-encompassing RFID log-in and security system for employees, via smart cards, smartphone wallets, and wearables. These will not only monitor turnstile entrances, exits, and floor access by way of elevators but also parking, the use of meeting rooms, the cafeteria, printers, lockers, and yes, vending machine access.

These technologies, and more sophisticated worker location- and behavior-tracking systems, are expanding from blue-collar jobs to pink-collar industries and even white-collar office settings. Depending on the survey, approximately 70 to 80 percent of large US employers now use some form of employee monitoring, and the likes of PwC have explicitly told workers that managers will be tracking their location to enforce a three-day office week policy.

“Several of these earlier technologies, like RFID sensors and low-tech barcode scanners, have been used in manufacturing, in warehouses, or in other settings for some time,” says Wolfie Christl, a researcher of workplace surveillance for Cracked Labs, a nonprofit based in Vienna, Austria. “We’re moving toward the use of all kinds of sensor data, and this kind of technology is certainly now moving into the offices. However, I think for many of these, it’s questionable whether they really make sense there.”

What’s new, at least to the recent pandemic age of hybrid working, is the extent to which workers can now be tracked inside office buildings. Cracked Labs published a frankly terrifying 25-page case study report in November 2024 showing how systems of wireless networking, motion sensors, and Bluetooth beacons, whether intentionally or as a byproduct of their capabilities, can provide “behavioral monitoring and profiling” in office settings.

The project breaks the tech down into two categories: The first is technology that tracks desk presence and room occupancy, and the second monitors the indoor location, movement, and behavior of the people working inside the building.

To start with desk and room occupancy, Spacewell offers a mix of motion sensors installed under desks, in ceilings, and at doorways in “office spaces” and heat sensors and low-resolution visual sensors to show which desks and rooms are being used. Both real-time and trend data are available to managers via its “live data floorplan,” and the sensors also capture temperature, environmental, light intensity, and humidity data.

The Swiss-headquartered Locatee, meanwhile, uses existing badge and device data via Wi-Fi and LAN to continuously monitor clocking in and clocking out, time spent by workers at desks and on specific floors, and the number of hours and days spent by employees at the office per week. While the software displays aggregate rather than individual personal employee data to company executives, the Cracked Labs report points out that Locatee offers a segmented team analytics report which “reveals data on small groups.”

As more companies return to the office, the interest in this idea of “optimized” working spaces is growing fast. According to S&S Insider’s early 2025 analysis, the connected office was worth $43 billion in 2023 and will grow to $122.5 billion by 2032. Alongside this, IndustryARC predicts there will be a $4.5 billion employee-monitoring-technology market, mostly in North America, by 2026—the only issue being that the crossover between the two is blurry at best.

At the end of January, Logitech showed off its millimeter-wave radar Spot sensors, which are designed to allow employers to monitor whether rooms are being used and which rooms in the building are used the most. A Logitech rep told The Verge that the peel-and-stick devices, which also monitor VOCs, temperature, and humidity, could theoretically estimate the general placement of people in a meeting room.

As Christl explains, because of the functionality that these types of sensor-based systems offer, there is the very real possibility of a creep from legitimate applications, such as managing energy use, worker health and safety, and ensuring sufficient office resources into more intrusive purposes.

“For me, the main issue is that if companies use highly sensitive data like tracking the location of employees’ devices and smartphones indoors or even use motion detectors indoors,” he says, “then there must be totally reliable safeguards that this data is not being used for any other purposes.”

Big Brother Is Watching

This warning becomes even more pressing where workers’ indoor location, movement, and behavior are concerned. Cisco’s Spaces cloud platform has digitized 11 billion square feet of enterprise locations, producing 24.7 trillion location data points. The Spaces system is used by more than 8,800 businesses worldwide and is deployed by the likes of InterContinental Hotels Group, WeWork, the NHS Foundation, and San Jose State University, according to Cisco’s website.

While it has applications for retailers, restaurants, hotels, and event venues, many of its features are designed to function in office environments, including meeting room management and occupancy monitoring. Spaces is designed as a comprehensive, all-seeing eye into how employees (and customers and visitors, depending on the setting) and their connected devices, equipment, or “assets” move through physical spaces.

Cisco has achieved this by using its existing wireless infrastructure and combining data from Wi-Fi access points with Bluetooth tracking. Spaces offers employers both real-time views and historical data dashboards. The use cases? Everything from meeting-room scheduling and optimizing cleaning schedules to more invasive dashboards on employees’ entry and exit times, the duration of staff workdays, visit durations by floor, and other “behavior metrics.” This includes those related to performance, a feature pitched at manufacturing sites.

Some of these analytics use aggregate data, but Cracked Labs details how Spaces goes beyond this into personal data, with device usernames and identifiers that make it possible to single out individuals. While the ability to protect privacy by using MAC randomization is there, Cisco emphasizes that this makes indoor movement analytics “unreliable” and other applications impossible—leaving companies to make that decision themselves.

Management even has the ability to send employees nudge-style alerts based on their location in the building. An IBM application, based on Cisco’s underlying technology, offers to spot anomalies in occupancy patterns and send notifications to workers or their managers based on what it finds. Cisco’s Spaces can also incorporate video footage from Cisco security cameras and WebEx video conferencing hardware into the overall system of indoor movement monitoring; another example of function creep from security to employee tracking in the workplace.

“Cisco is simply everywhere. As soon as employers start to repurpose data that is being collected from networking or IT infrastructure, this quickly becomes very dangerous, from my perspective.” says Christl. “With this kind of indoor location tracking technology based on its Wi-Fi networks, I think that a vendor as major as Cisco has a responsibility to ensure it doesn’t suggest or market solutions that are really irresponsible to employers.

“I would consider any productivity and performance tracking very problematic when based on this kind of intrusive behavioral data.” WIRED approached Cisco for comment but didn’t receive a response before publication.

Cisco isn't alone in this, though. Similar to Spaces, Juniper’s Mist offers an indoor tracking system that uses both Wi-Fi networks and Bluetooth beacons to locate people, connected devices, and Bluetooth tagged badges on a real-time map, with the option of up to 13 months of historical data on worker behavior.

Juniper’s offering, for workplaces including offices, hospitals, manufacturing sites, and retailers, is so precise that it is able to provide records of employees’ device names, together with the exact enter and exit times and duration of visits between “zones” in offices—including one labeled “break area/kitchen” in a demo. Yikes.

For each of these systems, a range of different applications is functionally possible, and some which raise labor-law concerns. “A worst-case scenario would be that management wants to fire someone and then starts looking into historical records trying to find some misconduct,” says Christl. "If it’s necessary to investigate employees, then there should be a procedure where, for example, a worker representative is looking into the fine-grained behavioral data together with management. This would be another safeguard to prevent misuse.”

Above and Beyond?

If warehouse-style tracking has the potential for management overkill in office settings, it makes even less sense in service and health care jobs, and American unions are now pushing for more access to data and quotas used in disciplinary action. Elizabeth Anderson, professor of public philosophy at the University of Michigan and the author of Private Government: How Employers Rule Our Lives, describes how black-box algorithm-driven management and monitoring affects not just the day-to-day of nursing staff but also their sense of work and value.

“Surveillance and this idea of time theft, it’s all connected to this idea of wasting time,” she explains. “Essentially all relational work is considered inefficient. In a memory care unit, for example, the system will say how long to give a patient breakfast, how many minutes to get them dressed, and so forth.

“Maybe an Alzheimer’s patient is frightened, so a nurse has to spend some time calming them down, or perhaps they have lost some ability overnight. That’s not one of the discrete physical tasks that can be measured. Most of the job is helping that person cope with declining faculties; it takes time for that, for people to read your emotions and respond appropriately. What you get is massive moral injury with this notion of efficiency.”

This kind of monitoring extends to service workers, including servers in restaurants and cleaning staff, according to a 2023 Cracked Labs’ report into retail and hospitality. Software developed by Oracle is used to, among other applications, rate and rank servers based on speed, sales, timekeeping around breaks, and how many tips they receive. Similar Oracle software that monitors mobile workers such as housekeepers and cleaners in hotels uses a timer for app-based micromanagement—for instance, “you have two minutes for this room, and there are four tasks.”

As Christl explains, this simply doesn’t work in practice. “People have to struggle to combine what they really do with this kind of rigid, digital system. And it’s not easy to standardize work like talking to patients and other kinds of affective work, like how friendly you are as a waiter. This is a major problem. These systems cannot represent the work that is being done accurately.”

But can knowledge work done in offices ever be effectively measured and assessed either? In an episode of his podcast in January, host Ezra Klein battled his own feelings about having many of his best creative ideas at a café down the street from where he lives rather than in The New York Times’ Manhattan offices. Anderson agrees that creativity often has to find its own path.

“Say there’s a webcam tracking your eyes to make sure you’re looking at the screen,” she says. “We know that daydreaming a little can actually help people come up with creative ideas. Just letting your mind wander is incredibly useful for productivity overall, but that requires some time looking around or out the window. The software connected to your camera is saying you’re off-duty—that you’re wasting time. Nobody’s mind can keep concentrated for the whole work day, but you don’t even want that from a productivity point of view.”

Even for roles where it might make more methodological sense to track discrete physical tasks, there can be negative consequences of nonstop monitoring. Anderson points to a scene in Erik Gandini’s 2023 documentary After Work that shows an Amazon delivery driver who is monitored, via camera, for their driving, delivery quotas, and even getting dinged for using Spotify in the van.

“It’s very tightly regulated and super, super intrusive, and it’s all based on distrust as the starting point,” she says. “What these tech bros don’t understand is that if you install surveillance technology, which is all about distrusting the workers, there is a deep feature of human psychology that is reciprocity. If you don’t trust me, I’m not going to trust you. You think an employee who doesn’t trust the boss is going to be working with the same enthusiasm? I don’t think so.”

Trust Issues

The fixes, then, might be in the leadership itself, not more data dashboards. “Our research shows that excessive monitoring in the workplace can damage trust, have a negative impact on morale, and cause stress and anxiety,” says Hayfa Mohdzaini, senior policy and practice adviser for technology at the CIPD, the UK’s professional body for HR, learning, and development. “Employers might achieve better productivity by investing in line manager training and ensuring employees feel supported with reasonable expectations around office attendance and manageable workloads.”

A 2023 Pew Research study found that 56 percent of US workers were opposed to the use of AI to keep track of when employees were at their desks, and 61 percent were against tracking employees’ movements while they work.

This dropped to just 51 percent of workers who were opposed to recording work done on company computers, through the use of a kind of corporate “spyware” often accepted by staff in the private sector. As Josh Bersin puts it, “Yes, the company can read your emails” with platforms such as Teramind, even including “sentiment analysis” of employee messages.

Snooping on files, emails, and digital chats takes on new significance when it comes to government workers, though. New reporting from WIRED, based on conversations with employees at 13 federal agencies, reveals the extent to Elon Musk’s DOGE team’s surveillance: software including Google’s Gemini AI chatbot, a Dynatrace extension, and security tool Splunk have been added to government computers in recent weeks, and some people have felt they can’t speak freely on recorded and transcribed Microsoft Teams calls. Various agencies already use Everfox software and Dtex’s Intercept system, which generates individual risk scores for workers based on websites and files accessed.

Alongside mass layoffs and furloughs over the past four weeks, the so-called Department of Government Efficiency has also, according to CBS News and NPR reports, gone into multiple agencies in February with the theater and bombast of full X-ray security screenings replacing entry badges at Washington, DC, headquarters. That’s alongside managers telling staff that their logging in and out of devices, swiping in and out of workspaces, and all of their digital work chats will be “closely monitored” going forward.

“Maybe they’re trying to make a big deal out of it to scare people right now,” says Bersin. “The federal government is using back-to-work as an excuse to lay off a bunch of people.”

DOGE staff have reportedly even added keylogger software to government computers to track everything employees type, with staff concerned that anyone using keywords related to progressive thinking or "disloyalty” to Trump could be targeted—not to mention the security risks it introduces for those working on sensitive projects. As one worker told NPR, it feels “Soviet-style” and “Orwellian” with “nonstop monitoring.” Anderson describes the overall DOGE playbook as a series of “deeply intrusive invasions of privacy.”

Alternate Realities

But what protections are out there for employees? Certain states, such as New York and Illinois, do offer strong privacy protections against, for example, unnecessary biometric tracking in the private sector, and California’s Consumer Privacy Act covers workers as well as consumers. Overall, though, the lack of federal-level labor law in this area makes the US something of an alternate reality to what is legal in the UK and Europe.

The Electronic Communications Privacy Act in the US allows employee monitoring for legitimate business reasons and with the worker’s consent. In Europe, Algorithm Watch has made country analyses for workplace surveillance in the UK, Italy, Sweden, and Poland. To take one high-profile example of the stark difference: In early 2024, Serco was ordered by the UK's privacy watchdog, the Information Commissioner’s Office (ICO), to stop using face recognition and fingerprint scanning systems, designed by Shopworks, to track the time and attendance of 2,000 staff across 38 leisure centers around the country. This new guidance led to more companies reviewing or cutting the technology altogether, including Virgin Active, which pulled similar biometric employee monitoring systems from 30-plus sites.

Despite a lack of comprehensive privacy rights in the US, though, worker protest, union organizing, and media coverage can provide a firewall against some office surveillance schemes. Unions such as the Service Employees International Union are pushing for laws to protect workers from black-box algorithms dictating the pace of output.

In December, Boeing scrapped a pilot of employee monitoring at offices in Missouri and Washington, which was based on a system of infrared motion sensors and VuSensor cameras installed in ceilings, made by Ohio-based Avuity. The U-turn came after a Boeing employee leaked an internal PowerPoint presentation on the occupancy- and headcount-tracking technology to The Seattle Times. In a matter of weeks, Boeing confirmed that managers would remove all the sensors that had been installed to date.

Under-desk sensors, in particular, have received high-profile backlash, perhaps because they are such an obvious piece of surveillance hardware rather than simply software designed to record work done on company machines. In the fall of 2022, students at Northeastern University hacked and removed under-desk sensors produced by EnOcean, offering “presence detection” and “people counting,” that had been installed in the school’s Interdisciplinary Science & Engineering Complex. The university provost eventually informed students that the department had planned to use the sensors with the Spaceti platform to optimize desk usage.

OccupEye (now owned by FM: Systems), another type of under-desk heat and motion sensor, received a similar reaction from staff at Barclays Bank and The Telegraph newspaper in London, with employees protesting and, in some cases, physically removing the devices that tracked the time they spent away from their desks.

Despite the fallout, Barclays later faced a $1.1 billion fine from the ICO when it was found to have deployed Sapience’s employee monitoring software in its offices, with the ability to single out and track individual employees. Perhaps unsurprisingly in the current climate, that same software company now offers “lightweight device-level technology” to monitor return-to-office policy compliance, with a dashboard breaking employee location down by office versus remote for specific departments and teams.

According to Elizabeth Anderson’s latest book Hijacked, while workplace surveillance culture and the obsession with measuring employee efficiency might feel relatively new, it can actually be traced back to the invention of the “work ethic” by the Puritans in the 16th and 17th centuries.

“They thought you should be working super hard; you shouldn’t be idling around when you should be in work,” she says. “You can see some elements there that can be developed into a pretty hostile stance toward workers. The Puritans were obsessed with not wasting time. It was about gaining assurance of salvation through your behavior. With the Industrial Revolution, the ‘no wasting time’ became a profit-maximizing strategy. Now you’re at work 24/7 because they can get you on email.”

Some key components of the original work ethic, though, have been skewed or lost over time. The Puritans also had strict constraints on what duties employers had toward their workers: paying a living wage and providing safe and healthy working conditions.

“You couldn’t just rule them tyrannically, or so they said. You had to treat them as your fellow Christians, with dignity and respect. In many ways the original work ethic was an ethic which uplifted workers.”

[feminist-space]

"Just weeks before the implosion of AllHere, an education technology company that had been showered with cash from venture capitalists and featured in glowing profiles by the business press, America’s second-largest school district was warned about problems with AllHere’s product.

As the eight-year-old startup rolled out Los Angeles Unified School District’s flashy new AI-driven chatbot — an animated sun named “Ed” that AllHere was hired to build for $6 million — a former company executive was sending emails to the district and others that Ed’s workings violated bedrock student data privacy principles.

Those emails were sent shortly before The 74 first reported last week that AllHere, with $12 million in investor capital, was in serious straits. A June 14 statement on the company’s website revealed a majority of its employees had been furloughed due to its “current financial position.” Company founder and CEO Joanna Smith-Griffin, a spokesperson for the Los Angeles district said, was no longer on the job.

Smith-Griffin and L.A. Superintendent Alberto Carvalho went on the road together this spring to unveil Ed at a series of high-profile ed tech conferences, with the schools chief dubbing it the nation’s first “personal assistant” for students and leaning hard into LAUSD’s place in the K-12 AI vanguard. He called Ed’s ability to know students “unprecedented in American public education” at the ASU+GSV conference in April.

Through an algorithm that analyzes troves of student information from multiple sources, the chatbot was designed to offer tailored responses to questions like “what grade does my child have in math?” The tool relies on vast amounts of students’ data, including their academic performance and special education accommodations, to function.

Meanwhile, Chris Whiteley, a former senior director of software engineering at AllHere who was laid off in April, had become a whistleblower. He told district officials, its independent inspector general’s office and state education officials that the tool processed student records in ways that likely ran afoul of L.A. Unified’s own data privacy rules and put sensitive information at risk of getting hacked. None of the agencies ever responded, Whiteley told The 74.

...

In order to provide individualized prompts on details like student attendance and demographics, the tool connects to several data sources, according to the contract, including Welligent, an online tool used to track students’ special education services. The document notes that Ed also interfaces with the Whole Child Integrated Data stored on Snowflake, a cloud storage company. Launched in 2019, the Whole Child platform serves as a central repository for LAUSD student data designed to streamline data analysis to help educators monitor students’ progress and personalize instruction.

Whiteley told officials the app included students’ personally identifiable information in all chatbot prompts, even in those where the data weren’t relevant. Prompts containing students’ personal information were also shared with other third-party companies unnecessarily, Whiteley alleges, and were processed on offshore servers. Seven out of eight Ed chatbot requests, he said, are sent to places like Japan, Sweden, the United Kingdom, France, Switzerland, Australia and Canada.

Taken together, he argued the company’s practices ran afoul of data minimization principles, a standard cybersecurity practice that maintains that apps should collect and process the least amount of personal information necessary to accomplish a specific task. Playing fast and loose with the data, he said, unnecessarily exposed students’ information to potential cyberattacks and data breaches and, in cases where the data were processed overseas, could subject it to foreign governments’ data access and surveillance rules.

Chatbot source code that Whiteley shared with The 74 outlines how prompts are processed on foreign servers by a Microsoft AI service that integrates with ChatGPT. The LAUSD chatbot is directed to serve as a “friendly, concise customer support agent” that replies “using simple language a third grader could understand.” When querying the simple prompt “Hello,” the chatbot provided the student’s grades, progress toward graduation and other personal information.

AllHere’s critical flaw, Whiteley said, is that senior executives “didn’t understand how to protect data.”

...

Earlier in the month, a second threat actor known as Satanic Cloud claimed it had access to tens of thousands of L.A. students’ sensitive information and had posted it for sale on Breach Forums for $1,000. In 2022, the district was victim to a massive ransomware attack that exposed reams of sensitive data, including thousands of students’ psychological evaluations, to the dark web.

With AllHere’s fate uncertain, Whiteley blasted the company’s leadership and protocols.

“Personally identifiable information should be considered acid in a company and you should only touch it if you have to because acid is dangerous,” he told The 74. “The errors that were made were so egregious around PII, you should not be in education if you don’t think PII is acid.”

Read the full article here:

https://www.the74million.org/article/whistleblower-l-a-schools-chatbot-misused-student-data-as-tech-co-crumbled/