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katerina-marie · 3 months

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The Uncertainty of Domesticity

Toji Fushiguro x Female Reader

Part 1, Part 2, Part 3 of 3

Toji Fushiguro wasn’t afraid of much, though he definitely felt so when he became a widower in the same moment he became a father. Years later, he felt it again when you came along with the same hopes and dreams for a future he never thought he would experience again.

Content: JJK universe but no canon events / strangers & neighbors to lovers / medium burn idk / female reader and referred to as such but left descriptively vague / no y/n / out of character and soft Toji / single-father Toji / NSFW - vaginal sex so please avoid accordingly - but I can't write smut to save my life so it's not very explicit / Megumi-Mama/Mamaguro dies in childbirth and its mentioned once or twice / cutie pie child Megumi / fluff / slice of life / light angst from Toji's inner turmoil / discussions about having children / pregnancy and childbirth for reader in part 3 (pending) / more notes below

WC: 7.9k

Notes: Slow burn? *Shakes head* I don't know her. I find in my fics that I like to write from a farther out, outside looking in perspective, or in a more snapshot-esque view. Pacing is hard for me in terms of how to write authentic relationship progress, so forgive me if it comes across a little too fast. Though, that is somewhat intentional with this story. I like the idea of Toji and reader going all in cause life can be short and cruel and who's to say that you can't?

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Toji wasn’t entirely sure about the Itadori family.

Yuji was fine enough, if not a bit empty-headed, but his two older brothers caused his eyebrows to raise every time he saw them. The one with pink hair had a temper that rivaled his own and was somehow covered in various black tattoos despite the fact he was still a young teenager. The other one didn’t seem any better to Toji, with dark circles around his eyes as if he was in a constant state of sleep deprivation, and he too had some odd black mark across the bridge of his nose and cheeks. The father was something else as well, but they were kind and accommodating to his son, and it didn’t escape him that they lacked a mother too. All in all, Megumi needed friends, and apparently he picked the odd ones, so Toji would tolerate their peculiarities for the purpose they served. Namely, acting as spare babysitters when the occasion called for it.

But of course, the one time he really needed them, the whole Itadori household had come down with the stomach bug. Since Toji had already done his time with such an illness with Megumi before, he wasn’t so inclined to do it again. Thus, he was sufficiently out of babysitters. Usually if the Itadoris weren’t available, Toji would bribe one of the more trustworthy older students from the school to watch Megumi in exchange for cash and pizza, mostly for nights involving a failed date or something less noble that never felt worth it the next morning. However, in an unfortunate turn of events for such a pleasant Saturday, it was his job and students that were requiring his attention. The principal had rung him twenty minutes earlier to demand his presence in helping with a situation no doubt caused by a particularly troublesome twosome, and Toji wasn’t keen on his last resort of bringing Megumi with him.

That left you. Toji wasn’t sure why he was so nervous about the idea. You had offered again since the first time just last month to watch Megumi for him, but he hadn’t yet found a reason to do so. He wasn’t going on any dates, at least not since you moved across the street, and if Megumi was over spending time with you, Toji had a feeling he’d be itching to do the same.

However, time was ticking, and the longer he stood at the window that afforded him the best view of your house and snuck another glance through his blinds, the more likely he was to forgo the idea entirely. Thankfully, Toji could feel the weight of Megumi’s eyes on his back and since it felt very much like his son was thinking of him as something close to moronic, he yanked his phone out of his pocket and dialed your number before he could stop himself.

“Hello, neighbor,” was your standard choice of greeting for him, but the way it flowed off your tongue and lit upwards at the end always had Toji trying to calculate in his head how many times he could reasonably call you in a week before he could be seen as desperate.

“I have a favor to ask,” he said tightly, and he turned from the window to pace along the back of the sofa that Megumi was currently sitting on. “Can you come over and watch Megumi for a couple hours? Work is being a pain in my ass and I’m needed there, but Yuji’s family is sick, so I don’t really have anyone else to watch him.”

You didn’t miss a beat before squealing your reply into his ear. “Of course! Give me five minutes and I’ll be right there.” Toji, the grouch that he was, couldn’t deny that your enthusiasm for the prospect of spending time with his kid made him feel soft and warm in a way that he usually found unappealing for himself.

“Thank you,” he said back, and he could hear you bustling about on the other end of the phone, “the front door will be unlocked, so just let yourself in.”

After a quick, “sure thing,” you ended the call, and Toji let out a breath he hadn’t realized he’d been holding on to. He looked down at Megumi, and from the grin on his face, Toji could tell he knew exactly what was going to happen.

“You better behave, you hear me?” His son nodded so quickly—enthusiastically—that Toji was shocked his head did bounce right off. “You know your schedule for the rest of the evening, so don’t try to weasel anything extra out of it, else I’ll find out.”

Toji walked back to the window to glance through the blinds again. “And don’t tell her anything weird about me either.”

Megumi made a confused noise. “Like how you look for her out the window all the time?”

Toji dropped the blinds so quickly one would think they turned animate and bit him, then spun around to stand up straight. “I don’t do that,” he said gruffly, but Megumi wasn’t paying him any attention, clearly unimpressed by his father’s patheticness, and was instead focused on the book in his lap. Instead of trying to argue with a kid who wasn’t yet six, Toji dashed off to the bathroom to double check its state of cleanliness. He had just finished up when he heard a faint knock at the front door and then your voice greeting Megumi a second later.

Upon coming out and seeing you standing behind the couch while Megumi pointed at something in his book, Toji suddenly wished he didn’t have to leave at all. You were clad in a blue lounge set that looked as soft as he imagined you felt, and under your arm was a bag stuffed with puzzles, movies, and Megumi’s favorite bag of chips. The smile you gave him when he walked up to you didn’t help his motivation either.

“Hi,” you chirped, and Toji didn’t miss your swift head-to-toe onceover of his work clothes that you didn’t even try to hide this time around.

“Hey,” he answered back, and god, he’d be lying if he said that looking down at you while you gazed up at him through darkened lashes wasn’t his one of favorite things as of late. “Thank you again for doing this. I owe you one.”

In the first instance of touch since he had hugged you a couple weeks back after losing Megumi at your house, you placed your hand on his upper arm and squeezed just a little. “It’s no trouble. I promise.”

As the two of you shoved him out the door, clearly catching on to his reluctance to leave, you gave him a cheery promise to keep him updated on everything he’d miss, and as the day wore on, seeing your name on his screen followed by a photo evidence was an extra pump of adrenaline to his system.

You and Megumi sitting outside with ice cream cones that dripped down your fingers.

Megumi’s look of elation when he finally fit the last piece of a puzzle together.

A sheet pan of chocolate chip cookies fresh out of the oven with the assurance that you wouldn’t let Megumi eat more than two (an hour).

You perched on the side of Megumi’s bed with a book in hand while he was snuggled under the blankets as a yawn took over his face.

Each and every one ended up being saved to his phone, and Toji didn’t have any explanation as to why other than because he had wanted to.

By the time he was finished and leaving the school, the sky was black and the air was quiet. The time on his watch told him that Megumi had been in bed for close to three hours now, and Toji wondered what you had been doing in the time since then.

How would you look curled up on his couch with a book? Did you fall asleep to some movie that you had put on the TV? Would he be wrong to imagine that you would glance at the door occasionally and wish that he would walk through it at that moment?

Thoughts of you kept him occupied on his drive home, and once there, he hurried to park the car and bound up the couple steps to his front door. When Toji finally pushed through it, you were sitting in the corner of his couch, TV on and a plate scattered with cookie crumbs in your lap. You craned your neck back to look at him, and the slow smile that stretched across your cheeks had him aching for the nights long passed when there had always been someone to welcome him home.

“How’d things go?” You turned the TV off and shifted in your spot to place your hands on the back of the sofa and then rested your chin on top of them to watch him expectantly

“It was…fine,” Toji managed, and it occurred to him that there was a whole other world he kept hidden from you. At some point, should you indicate that you wanted something more from him, he would have to divulge that pertinent information to you. However, that was getting ahead of himself, and he racked his brain to come up with an explanation that would satisfy your curiosity, but wasn’t so detailed that he couldn’t explain it away if necessary. “Our school was hosting an event with another a couple hours away and, naturally, our resident trouble-makers did something they shouldn’t.”

“Sounds fun,” you remarked sarcastically.

Toji huffed a quiet laugh and considered moving from his place in front of his door to sit next to you but only managed one step before you were making a move to get up.

Another missed opportunity.

“I, uh, really appreciate having you watch Megumi for me today. It seems like the two of you had a good time. But I’m sorry this is how you had to spend your Saturday night.”

“Don’t be. I don’t mind at all,” you told him as you stood and bent down to grab your bag off the floor. “Megumi is a great kid, and I love children.”

The adoring look on your face combined with the wistful way your words came out had something twisting uncomfortably in Toji’s stomach. He clenched his hand around his car keys until they dug into his skin painfully. “You do?”

“Mhm,” you hummed, coming around the couch to stop in front of him. “I don’t get to spend much time with them—I only have a few friends that have one or two, and I never had the patience to be a teacher.” You poked a gentle finger into the meat of his shoulder in a way that was teasing, but for once he couldn’t bring himself to react.

Neither do I.

“So you want your own one day?”

Your expression shuttered and went uncharacteristically blank, and Toji suddenly wished he could turn back time. His words must have come out strained, or maybe disapproving. He didn’t intend for them to sound like so, but something about them set your jaw tight and had your eyes drooping in what looked a lot like disappointment.

In a brief flash of self-pity, Toji found himself missing his wife. He missed having someone that would be patient with him in his foul moods and curt way of speaking. Someone who guided him through the tangled web of his emotions and helped him coax out something gentle and palatable instead. Toji wished he was better at whatever this was just so he had a chance at keeping you near him.

“I do,” you finally replied, but the words were hushed and dismissive in their finality. Toji couldn’t think of anything else to do but nod, lest he open his mouth again and dig himself deeper into something irreparable. He turned his attention over your shoulder and down the hall to where Megumi lay sleeping so he didn’t have to keep subjecting himself to how you were now looking at him like you wished he was something else.

“Well,” you started, and Toji hated how your voice was clipped and forcibly light. You stepped around him to reach for the front door. “It’s late, and I want to make sure we all get some rest. I’ll see you two later, yeah?”

You were already mostly out the door by the time Toji was able to call out a goodbye and you disappeared with a quick flash of your fingers. Resignation lingered in the air after you left and it made Toji feel like he had done something very wrong.

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If you thought about it hard enough, you really had no one else to blame but yourself for the maelstrom of your emotions.

It was almost frightening how quickly disappointment had tempered the giddiness that crackled under your skin that evening in Toji’s house. He looked like he had seen a ghost when you mentioned your love of children. His question had come out sounding like he had swallowed rocks, gargled and strained and like it took every ounce of his effort to get the words off his tongue. When you had confirmed it for him—that you wanted children one day—his nostrils flared wide and the entirety of him tensed so visceral that it looked painful. You had kindly seen yourself out at that point as you were certain his body had unknowingly entered a state somewhere in between flight or fight, and you didn’t wish to aggravate it further.

If his reaction to a question that didn’t have anything to do with him at all on the surface—maybe the underlying tension was a cause for that—then you didn’t know why it felt like the floor had fallen out from under your feet, or why your stomach had dropped so heavily it actually pained you. But that was a lie, and you knew that somewhere in the last six months you had grown inexplicably attached to Toji Fushiguro and his six year old son. It wasn’t quite that you had already picked out names for children that had your hair and his eyes, but the possibility of something more with him had felt so close to fruition, almost tangible in your grasp, that having the hope of it dashed so suddenly was crushing in its own right. You would not bend in your desires for your life, at least not one so significant as that, but neither would you expect Toji to give himself to something that he didn’t want, not when it would require all of him.

So, as you had read about but never quite experienced, maybe there wasn’t anything quite as painful as “almost.” When you had returned home that evening, your first stop had been your shower as it was the most proper place to wail about opportunities missed and allowed for the dramatics towards a situation not yet fully understood because it all could be washed away with the swirl of a drain. And, in your most infinite wisdom, the only way to recover from such a figurative loss was to choose the mature path and avoid the thing that caused the pain in the hopes that detachment would prevent any further attachment.

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The longer Toji stared at his phone with his thumb hovering over the button that would dial your name, the more imbecilic he felt.

He had been skirting around you for the same amount of time you had been acting weird (three weeks and two days, but he wasn’t keeping count), but when Megumi looked up at him this morning with a pouty lip and imploring eyes, begging him to invite the pretty and kind neighbor over for his birthday this weekend, Toji knew he was going to be have to be the one to wave the metaphorical white flag.

For what exactly? He had no idea. But clearly, his son had gotten just as attached to you as Toji was, and he couldn’t blame Megumi at all for it. Not when you always stopped to listen when he spoke, remembered the name of his favorite stuffed animals, and asked about his best friend Yuji. Even more so now that Megumi had figured out you kept a stash of his favorite snacks in your pantry for whenever he found himself over there, a frequency that had been increasing until lately.

Toji hadn’t really minded having to go over to your house and fetch his kid, not when he could wager with himself (the only form of gambling he permitted nowadays) on what you’d be wearing when he walked through the doors. Sometimes it was the well-tailored fabric of your work clothes, and other times it was some combination of skin skimming pants and shirt that was somehow just as appealing as the little dress that swung around your hips with every step. You had knocked the wind out of him with that one a while back.

Yet, all of that was negated by the fact that you had started to distance yourself ever since that night you babysat Megumi. After stewing over the stilted conversation for the rest of the night after you left, Toji chalked it up to nothing more than an awkward misunderstanding. Though on the following Monday, when you had come home early from work while he and Megumi had been playing outside, you offered nothing more than a brief wave and a smile that seemed less enthusiastic than normal before shutting yourself inside for the evening. Megumi had looked as dejected as Toji felt and to their frustration, the rest of your interactions followed suit.

To make things increasingly worse, on Tuesday evening just last week, Toji happened by the opened window in his living room and saw a car a whole tax bracket nicer than his sidle up to your driveway. You had gotten out, smartly dressed, and a tall man equally well clothed had stepped out of the driver’s side. The two of you chatted animatedly the whole walk to your house, but Toji had turned away before he could witness whatever was about to happen on your doorstep.

The memory had him angrily mashing his thumb into the dial button and bringing the phone to his ear.

“Hey,” you answered on the fourth ring. Your voice was still light and chipper, but lacked the warmth and enthusiasm you usually held for him.

“Got time to talk?” Nerves had Toji reaching straight to the point. “Megumi’s with Yuji for the next little bit.”

A beat or two passed before you answered, but it was long enough that Toji squirmed in his seat on the couch. “Sure. I’ll come over there?”

Toji gave you the same instructions as last time: to let yourself in. Two minutes later the knob of his front door was twisting, and he was up in a flash. You greeted him with a half-hearted grin as you stepped over the doorway, and he held his arm out to direct you to the couch.

“You’ve been avoiding us,” he said bluntly as he closed the front door behind you.

You winced, shame making your cheeks warm. You took a seat and Toji plopped down next to you on the couch just as you got settled in, and the weight of him dipped the cushion enough that you slid a little closer to him. You righted yourself before speaking. “Ah. You noticed?”

Toji looked thoroughly unimpressed and none too pleased, and in the silence you swallowed thickly. His living room suddenly became the most interesting thing. The TV stand against the front wall only held the large flat screen and nothing else. The window to the left of the room looked out over the street. In front of the sofa was a pale wooden coffee table with a half-done puzzle. In the corner to the right of the TV, there was a shelf layered with some knick knacks, a couple of Megumi’s books, and if you squinted hard enough, you could just make out a small framed photo of Toji and a woman with dark hair.

“I felt like I had hit a nerve unknowingly that night, and I didn’t want to linger around and make you uncomfortable,” you finally admitted when the quiet became too much. Toji had been watching you with those unnerving eyes of his and he let out a stream of breath as he leaned back against the sofa. He laid his arm across the back of it and when his fingers landed just a hair's breadth from your shoulders, you would have sworn they twitched outwards to try and graze your shirt.

“Maybe a little,” Toji said, scratching at the back of his head with his other hand,“but you didn’t know, and that’s not on you.” His eyebrows furrowed and it seemed like he was concentrating on something, maybe remembering something you had said. “Aren’t you scared?”

It was your turn to give him a quizzical brow, and while you weren’t sure where exactly he was going with the question, you had no doubt about what he was asking. “About having children?”

Toji nodded and you let out a little noise of understanding. He watched as you tilted your head to one side, peered up at his ceiling and chewed at the corner of your lip as you collected your thoughts. You drew your feet up onto the sofa, facing him, and pulled your knees to your chest to relax further into the corner, and Toji had to fight the urge to nudge you into speaking. Your toes wiggled from where they sat just a half foot away from his leg.

“Maybe a little,” you considered, and Toji’s face slackened. “I’m sure you know that having them is a huge change and an enormous responsibility, but it’s worth it, no? In the same vein, I’d be scared of not having them even though I want to just because I’m nervous. I think having to live with such significant regret would be just as terrifying—at least for me. But that’s part of life, isn’t it? Doing the things that scare us because we want the chance of happiness that they could bring?”

He studied you, seemingly perplexed by your decision and his inability to understand it, but you didn’t squirm under his gaze and you willed yourself to remain quiet in the hopes that he would respond. His fingers behind you thrummed against the sofa, and his eyes darted once to the picture frame on the shelf.

“My wife died giving birth to Megumi, or right after technically.” Toji saw from the corner of his eye how your face fell, but you didn’t open your mouth to offer your condolences, so the rest of the story—his tragic past (minus the parts about the things that went bump in the night. That was for another time)—spilled out without a hope from him to stop it. By the time he was done, Toji’s nails were clawed into the fabric covering his knees, and at some point you had shimmied across the sofa closer to him so you could rest a reassuring hand on his arm.

“I’m so sorry,” you said, voice delicate and just above a whisper. The emotional aspect of it all made it feel like his skin was crawling, but Toji worked past the sensation. “I hope I didn’t come across as insensitive earlier. All those words only apply to me and how I feel. Your choices for your future, no matter what they are, are plenty valid.” You ducked your head down to meet his eyes better, and when his met yours, the sorrow in them made your chest ache.

“I owe you another apology,” you added sheepishly, and when Toji opened his mouth to disagree, you moved the hand from his arm to hold it up to him in hopes he’d hear you out. “I acted poorly. Childishly.”

You suddenly looked everywhere but at him, and your voice was hesitant when you spoke again. “I was being presumptuous in thinking that my decision to have children one day would matter to you. I got ahead of myself.” The whole thing felt very reminiscent of grade school “love” confessions and secret meetings. Hot embarrassment made your palms sweat and you itched to flee to the shelter of your home.

Next to you, Toji made a wounded little noise in the back of his throat, and his spine stiffened when understanding hit him and he realized that—no matter how far-fetched it seemed at the moment—you had considered him in a glimpse of your future. The image of it, something that he hadn’t seen for himself since the day his wife died, appeared in his mind and nearly stole his breath away.

Megumi. A wife—you this time. Children. Happiness and peace. The same terror that it could all be ripped away and he would be left alone again.

If he had you, Toji knew he wouldn’t be able to deny you anything, but there would be no solace for him those entire nine months, and even after, should he find himself in the same shoes again. Tentative excitement and abject fear would war inside of him from the moment the two of you would commit to the idea, and if he was lucky, maybe it would abate in some reasonable amount of time after you delivered his child and lived long enough to enjoy it with him.

Toji knew the odds of such a tragedy occurring again was low, but likelihoods and probabilities mattered little when he already knew their worst case outcome.

“But that’s part of life, isn’t it? Doing the things that scare us because we want the chance of happiness that they could bring?”

“Presumptuousness is okay sometimes,” Toji murmured, and though your expression was hopeful, you shook your head once.

“Maybe,” you conceded, and he could tell you weren’t entirely convinced. He could see as doubt trickled into your features and turned down the corner of your lips. “The topic of children isn’t something to be left undecided or uncertain.” Your lips stayed apart and moved slightly even though nothing came out.

“I like you,” you breathed out once you seemed to regain yourself, and hearing the words out loud was a balm to Toji’s ears. “But I’m not willing to sacrifice my own happiness, not for something like this. And that’s okay. It’s also okay if you don’t want them, but that means this,” you gestured between him and yourself, “doesn’t go any father and that there’s someone else out there for each of us.”

The memory of the man walking you to your door left a horribly bitter taste in his mouth, but Toji knew it wasn’t jealousy or possessiveness that drove his desire for you. The craving for domestic bliss, to have a person that loved him and his son had him yearning to pull you close, but the anticipation of something sinister lurking and waiting to snatch it away made him falter.

“It’s not that I don’t want them,” Toji said, and he made sure to hold your eyes with his. “I’m scared of what happens if history repeats itself.”

When he turned his head again to the shelf in the corner, the conversation and his reactions from that night seemed to make more sense. And now, when Toji stared at you in a way that was a little helpless and a little entreating, you were powerless to do anything but give into the thrill that hopefulness brought forth.

“Well, your fear isn’t unfounded,” you told him gently, and he nodded in agreement, “though I’d like to think that this would be worth it.” You let your hand drop onto his and used your nails to scratch gently on the back of it. Tension bled out from his shoulders and Toji shifted forward just so he could be close enough to share the same air as you.

Perhaps the emotional turmoil of a tragedy passed wouldn’t cease to exist overnight, but if hopeful optimism could be found in the eyes of a person who set one’s heart alight, then maybe the two of you would be just fine.

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Time seemed to move slowly and all at once from that afternoon, and each interaction afterwards brought forth an emotion well known but newly rediscovered in light of emerald eyes and a scar in the corner of smirking lips.

Humor when Toji had wandered off to the kitchen after your talk to get a glass of water and surreptitiously inquired about the man in a suit at your door last week. There was a clatter of dishes when you made a casual off-hand remark about the quality of the view from his window, and when he returned to you without a glass in hand, looking like he was trying very hard to appear nonchalant, you couldn’t help but giggle at his expense. You had to explain that the man in a suit was just your boss dropping you off after a conference and that he came to the door to receive the gift you had for him and his wife to celebrate the arrival of their new baby. Toji had looked a little embarrassed by the end of your explanation.

Disappointment when you found out Megumi’s birthday coincided with a non-negotiable event at work and you’d have to miss it. You weren’t sure whose face was harder to look at when they each turned their pouting lips and begging eyes on you. However, when you had knocked on the door late in the evening on Megumi’s birthday, a little breathless and carrying a balloon and gourmet cupcake, the little boy had thrown himself at your legs in a fit of giddy laughter. Toji looked at you with a swirl of emotion on his face, something heady and warm, appreciative and awe-struck, a little bit adoring at the frazzled aura surrounding you.

Abject disbelief a month later when Toji told you about things that went bump in the night and about a school that was a lot more than it seemed. You couldn’t quite wrap your head around the concept, but Toji answered any question you had, even if apprehension made him want to grab onto you and never let you go. Somehow, for some reason, you accepted it well enough with the promise that you didn’t talk about it unless absolutely necessary. Toji assured you, with a grin that was confident and proud, that he was there to ensure nothing ever happened to you.

Love-sick even though it might have been too soon when Toji wrapped a large hand around your wrist after you said your goodbyes to him underneath the golden glow of his porch light. Megumi was already in bed, tired from a day spent out playing in fresh February snow, and when Toji tipped your head back to kiss you, the size of him became so apparent up close that it had butterflies erupting in your stomach. His hand could span your cheek while his fingers threaded into your hair. He bowed over you when his other hand pressed into your back to arch you into him, then his arm followed to encircle your waist in a grip that was ironclad. Toji chased after you when you pulled away to take in a gulp of air, and you knew right then that refusing him was never something you’d be very good at.

When the days were still cold and Megumi could only tolerate being outside so long before the tip of his nose froze pink, most of your time together was spent cuddled on one of your couches as an endless list of movies played on the TV. Sometimes Toji would be situated in the middle with Megumi splayed across his lap and you tucked under his arm, a blanket thrown across all of you. Other times, your feet would lay on Toji’s thighs while Megumi sat back against your chest. On nights Toji would fall asleep mid-movie and his snores would be too loud to continue, you and Megumi would find yourselves in the kitchen waiting for hot chocolate to bubble on the stove while you listened to him chatter animatedly about whatever happened at school the previous day. When the hot chocolate finally cooled enough to sip on without scalding your tongues, Toji would shuffle his way into the kitchen. Megumi would be perched atop the island, legs kicking happily, and you would be leaning up against. Toji’s eyes would still be bleary with sleep, but you’d offer him your mug and he’d drop a kiss to your hair and let his hand grip at your waist.

When the weather began to warm enough in the late spring, many an evening the three of you would sit on a blanket in the grass of a nearby park. Megumi would throw a ball or fly a kite, and you would recline in between Toji’s bent legs with a book in hand. On more than one occasion he’d stop you as you began to turn a page, and you realized that he’d been reading along from where his chin was perched on your shoulder.

“You read too quickly,” Toji huffed, and he lifted his hand so he could flick back the page with his thumb. You angled your head back to glance at him and he used the opportunity to place a kiss on your temple.

“I wasn’t aware you were following along.”

“Yeah, well, I wanted to see what about it kept hogging all your attention.” Toji’s fingers danced up and down your rib cage and you shrunk back into his chest to try and flee from the tickling sensation. “Turns out it’s just some sappy romance,” he complained.

When you recovered from laughter that pained your sides, you settled upright and brushed the hair from your face. “I’ll have you know it should get quite interesting in the next couple chapters.” You kept your voice innocently flirtatious, but Toji caught the insinuation nonetheless, and you could feel the deep hum in his chest against your back.

As it turned out, sex was hard to come by when there was a six year old running around the house, careers to be worked for the both of you, and limited time for just the two of you. There had been nothing more for the two of you than stolen kisses around a hallway corner when Megumi was eating lunch in Toji’s kitchen and lingering looks promising something more when given the chance.

Toji must have finally had enough just a couple weeks later when he had called to inform you on a Friday afternoon that Megumi would be gone at Yuji’s for a couple of hours. You were just leaving work and had promised to be over in the shortest time you could manage, but it still felt like an eternity by the time you had stopped by your house to freshen up and change before knocking on his door. Not a second passed before he was wrenching it open and tugging you inside with a grin that was downright wicked.

As soon as the door to his bedroom slammed shut, Toji peeled your shirt off while kissing down your neck as you fumbled with the button of his jeans. You snuck your fingers up under his shirt to run them over the muscles of his lower abdomen, and when he shivered in response you felt pride well up under your skin, but that faded quickly when Toji cupped you under your thighs to lift you and spread them around his hips. When he turned and fell back against the bed, you laughed as you caught yourself on his chest, and the smile that stretched his cheeks and the brightness of his eyes had him looking boyish, and the sight of him below you had you tearing the rest of your clothes away in a hurry.

Toji was impressive in every aspect of himself as you would now know, but you didn’t have the opportunity to dwell on the matter when his hands were on your breasts and his lips sucked a mark just below your collarbone. He made space for himself between your legs and kissed you softly when the size of him knocked your breath away. He remained patiently still until you rolled your hips up against his and tore a moan from both your throats, and he didn’t let you know a moment’s peace until his name rang from your mouth at least three times.

The sun was almost set when Toji’s phone pinged with a text from Yuji’s dad that they were on their way to drop Megumi off. He groaned in exhaustion from where his head rested on your stomach, and you could tell he was reluctant to pull away from how your fingers scratched at his head. With no time to waste, you managed to claw yourself out from under him to slip back into your clothes even though you had to bat away his wandering hands every other minute. Toji was quite proud of himself when he managed to steal away another couple minutes of kissing you senseless. Luckily, he had just finished pulling on his shirt as the two of you made it to the living room as the doorbell rang.

You watched with an amused smile as Megumi staggered inside with his backpack falling off one shoulder. The poor kid was clearly worn out from a day playing out in the sun, so much so that he could only give you a half-hearted wave as Toji directed him towards his room to get ready for bed.

When Toji came back from tucking in Megumi, you didn’t get up to gather your things and say your goodbyes. Instead, Toji leaned over the back of the couch to kiss you and whisper something in your ear that had you flushing hot from head to toe, and you didn’t resist when he led you back to his bedroom so that the two of you could indulge in one another all over again, albeit much quieter that time around.

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

You woke the next morning with a quick inhalation of air through your nose, your body still attuned to the internal clock of the work week. Even though it was Saturday and the sky had just begun to blush pink, your mind urged you out of restfulness. You stretched the languidness from your muscles and took note of all the places where soreness twinged, and in favor of chasing the last remnants of blissful sleep, you rolled from your side onto your stomach and buried your face into the plushness of the pillow below.

A puff of pine scented shampoo wafted into your nose and you blinked the rest of the room into awareness. You were not in your bed; you weren’t even in your own home, and the unfamiliar sounds around you came into focus. A fan thrummed faintly, a breeze rushed past the windows and drowned out any early noise from the street, and Toji snored softly to your right. His charcoal colored sheets were tangled up under his arms, and you recalled having to fight him for them in the middle of the night when you woke up shivering only to find out that he had a penchant for hogging the blankets. Toji hadn’t even budged at your attempts to yank them out from under him, and you eventually gave up in favor of snuggling in as close to him as you could. Thankfully, your skin sliding against his roused him enough to lift an arm for you to tuck yourself under, and you sighed at the warmth of him, your insides going soft when he curled his arm around your back so his hand could engulf your hip. You fell back asleep almost immediately after.

At some point in the night you had drifted away from him, and now, as you were able to watch the steady rise and fall of his chest and noticed how his fingers twitched occasionally, you knew that every night you’d spend in your own bed alone would feel empty and unfulfilling. While staying overnight hadn’t been unplanned—Toji had insisted—what happened in the morning hadn’t been discussed, and you became acutely aware of the fact that there was a little boy sleeping a couple rooms down who would, most likely, be waking with the rising sun, and you had no clue as to how his father wanted to proceed.

You sat up slowly, keeping the sheet clutched over your chest, and you scanned the floor of Toji’s bedroom to locate all articles of your clothing that you had shed the previous night. You had no intention of sneaking out, not when that alone would be detrimental to the newly cemented relationship, but you would feel more prepared for the conversation upcoming if it wasn’t done in the nude. With a swing of your legs, you made a move to push yourself off the bed, but a rustle of sheets behind you, followed by the feel of Toji’s hand skimming up your arm made you pause.

“You leaving?” His voice was still roughened with sleep, and when you looked back over your shoulder at him, he was using his other hand to rub at his eyes.

“No,” you said simply, “not yet. Just getting dressed.”

Toji’s fingers tightened around the top of your arm and he tugged gently. You didn’t hesitate to follow and fall back into him. He curled you into his chest and you shivered in delight when the fingers of the arm you rested your head on found their way into your hair while his left hand reached across his body to squeeze at your waist. A pleasant sigh lifted and lowered Toji’s chest when you skimmed your fingers across it, and you had the briefest curiosity for finding out if he was as eager for you this morning as he had been last night. When he suddenly rolled on top of you and you parted your legs to make room for him, the answer became evident, because yes, he certainly was. Toji’s nose found itself in your neck as lips nuzzled into your skin, and the deep inhale he took of you made you ache. All of him was distracting, enticing in every way, and the feel of the muscles in his back shifting under your fingertips nearly had you forgetting any rational thought aside from having him again. But when the yellowing sunlight began to filter in through the window as his hands pushed up your thighs, mindfulness took the place of lust and you cleared your throat pointedly.

“I hate to interrupt,” you whispered, and Toji paused in his pursuit of being inside of you, “but it’s almost daylight, and Megumi…” you trailed off, unsure of what to say—how to broach such a subject—and Toji made a low noise of disappointment in your ear before letting go of your legs. He lifted his head to look at you, and wiggled out from under him to sit up. You brought your knees to your chest and fiddled with the sheet around your ankles while Toji fell onto his back with a huff next to your side. The pout on his lips amused you.

“I wasn’t sure if you were ready for him to see me with you this early in the morning, especially in yesterday’s clothes.” Toji sighed and lifted his hands to rest them under his head, and you could tell indecision warred in his mind. “I’m not against slipping out and going back home. I’d understand,” you offered to him.

“That feels kinda wrong though,” he said, and the inside of his cheek caved as he bit down on it. He removed one hand from behind his head to trail his fingers down your spine and you shrugged lightly.

“It’s alright. We can talk with him later.” Toji finally nodded and blew a breath of air out of the corner of his mouth before sitting up to press a kiss to your lips. His eyes were bright when you pulled away.

“Want to come back after a while and take the kid to breakfast?” he asked. A grin took over your face and you bit down on your lip as you nodded.

“That sounds like a good idea. I’ll head back and you can let me know once he’s up.” You narrowed your eyes at Toji in feigned annoyance. “I need a little bit to clean up , anyway.” He smirked, clearly proud of himself and not at all ashamed, and you squeaked out a noise of surprise when he launched himself at you.

An hour and a half later found you back at the Fushiguro residence, freshly showered and dressed for a morning out. You didn’t bother knocking, and you had just opened your mouth to announce your presence when you heard bickering from down the hall.

“It doesn’t matter what shade of blue your shirt is, Megs.” Exasperation was barely hidden in Toji’s voice. “Just put this one on so we can go.”

“It does too,” Megumi argued, and you could clearly imagine the way Toji and his son mirrored each other's stances, arms crossed and lips twisted in a scowl as they stood adamant against the other. You giggled to yourself as you made your way down the hallway.

“Put this one on, Megumi. I gave you a choice, but now I’m choosing. This one matches your pants just fine.”

“Nuh uh. I don’t like it.”

Toji sputtered. “But you told me to grab them!”

You popped your head into Megumi’s room and rapped your knuckles against the door to get their attention. “Trouble getting ready?”

Megumi spun to face you, and Toji turned to you with a heavy sigh of relief. Stress twitched a muscle in his cheek, and you took notice of the repeated clenching of his fist. Nothing else about his appearance though could betray his anger or frustration, and you knew the amount of self control and effort it took for him to patiently parent his son. When his eyes turned helpless, you crouched down in front of Megumi.

“Not sure which shirt to wear?” you asked, and the little boy nodded shyly. You hummed in understanding and reached out to take one of the shirts that Toji held in his hand. You brought it close to you and held it up against the fabric of your dress, something light and casual for the morning, and lowered your head to peer into Megumi’s eyes.

“How about this one,” you offered, “I think it’s nice, and it nearly matches the color of my dress. Wouldn’t that be fun?” Megumi’s expression lit up and he held his hands out eagerly for the shirt of choice. After passing it to him you stood, smiling softly at Toji as he mouthed a ‘thank you’ and then backed out of the room. “I’ll wait for you guys out here.”

Just as you made it halfway back down the hall, you heard Megumi sigh in a way that sounded years older than he was.

“Your choice was ugly anyway, Dad.”

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

Y'all, I swear I reread my fics to proof and edit them, but surely I'll find a mistake every run through, so please forgive me for any that I didn't catch.

Thank you for reading if you do<3

#toji fushiguro #toji x reader #toji x you #toji fushiguro x you #toji fushiguro x reader #jujustu kaisen #jujutsu kaisen x you #jujutsu kaisen x reader #jjk #jjk x you #jjk x reader

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the-wandering-mage · 1 month

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Gotham Bats ruin and save Spiderman's Operation Nest

This is like a story concept written out for a Spider-Man Batfam crossover fic I don't have the time to write fully. This is more developed than a prompt but, still is thought I'd share and maybe you guys will enjoy it and/or somebody will pick it up and develop it into a fully fledged fic. So here it goes-

A more spidery Spider-Man is dropped into a DC universe right into Gotham. It's the beginning of fall in Gotham which is a problem for a Spider seeing as he is stranded in another universe with nothing but his Spidey suit and his AI companion. He has no access to the synthesized hormone cocktail he's been taking in the winter to keep him from going into hibernation. Now Peter could get together the stuff to synthesize the medication but, he need a stable place to set up a running lab to make it as he'd need it fresh and take it on the regular. That is a lot of work and resources he'd have to come up with and maintain. Also he is a depressed boi and a long nap actually sound really good. So instead of trying to set up a lab he starts Operation Nest. He is going to find a small enclosed space and prepare it for his long winters nest.

Peter also decides pretty quickly with all the crazy dangers of Gotham and all the warnings of what Karen was able to find after connecting to this world's version of the Internet to keep the suit on and just be Spider-Man full time. The suit would keep him safe from chemical attacks and the overall pollution of Gotham as well as keep him anonymous in the very likey event he has to use his powers to defend himself. Which will let him keep a nice civilian identity that Karen crafted come spring if he chooses to.

Peter's first two objectives in Operation Nest are to get money and find a location. The first Karen helps him with easily setting up a company, then filing and selling some benign patents, since this world is really behind in tech. She also helps him get more immediate cash without crossing into stealing just by doing online commissions for simple tech support type things while the patent money is still pending. Peter gets a laptop that he uses to help with some of the tech work even though Karen can literally do five jobs at once under several fake IDs she made herself.

Most of the day for Peter however is spent looking for real estate. Which is harder in Gotham than one might think considering the rival gangs, rival super villains constantly blowing up things, and all the homeless fighting over whatever is left of the abandoned buildings. The only good thing about all this is a giant spider nest will go relatively unnoticed amongst all the other craziness. Peter's adventures running all over Gotham trying to find a place to hunker down for a couple of months cause him to run into all sorts of characters.

Peter is in a weirdly apathetic state towards himself with all his trauma so he saves people obviously, and is still empathic, maybe more so with trying to get the villians to be better people and just talking with them like real people but, he is really basley about his own safety. He has already lost everyone he cares about and he's faced down Thanos, so none of the villians at this point faze him. He doesn't see them as a threat to himself. He ends up making a bunch of friends with villains by continuing what May believed in, what Ben believed in, and helps the villains out so they can hopefully make a change.

The bats hear about him and decide to investigate but all of them get terrible first impressions and they assume he's a villain or going to be one if they don't find him. Peter is OP and scary. He's not given up his friendly neighborhood spider-man but he has stopped trying as hard to look human type of friendly. He just has slow given into being a spider and is creepy. He also leaves spider webs everywhere, since his natural ones don't dissolve like the artificial ones that he uses sparingly. This also freaks them out and there is debate on whether what they are hunting is a meta human or an intelligent spider creature. Also at least one bat at the beginning runs into one of the webs and at least one gets temporarily stuck to a criminal they are trying to free from a cocoon

By the time the bats find Spider-Man they are all convinced that he's a villain plotting something big but really they've just been stalking Peter as he completes his to do list for Operation Nest. All the dangerous equipment and suspicious purchases from villains were really to get his nest set up. Peter knew his friends had some of the stuff he needed like a cytogenetic freezer to keep some of his food from spoiling over the course of a few months since he doesn't want anyone making deliveries to his house while he's hibernating. His friends were happy to help although he still paid them despite their insistence not to.

Karen thinks it's hilarious. Although they acknowledge itd be better to just explain the situation to the bats before Peter is in active hibernation and let them find them. They totally ruin their bust by opening the doors of a small dilapidated old tailors shop in the fashion district, where Peter had set up his nest in the basement. Peter isn't happy with them feeling very territorial. He wants them not to touch anything as he shows them into his nest. He warns them and they are a bit freaked out when he hisses at them when they inevitably ignore he's instructions out of curiosity but then settle a bit when they notice how tired he is. Cass probably gets them to back off. He explains things enough so they leave him to his hibernation with the promise of hanging out in the spring.

Or alternatively. Karen is too busy setting things up she doesn't notice with her smaller processing power disconnected from Stark Tech as she is to notice the Bats noticing them. Then she is being wired into the Nest when they start getting close so, she doesn't know they are closing in. Then she is doing system checks to make sure she is able to monitor Peter when he's hibernating and can use the machines and mechanical arms to help Peter for the parts of his hibernation he will be awake or partially awake to handle his bodily needs before cocooning back into his Nest made of his natural webs and blankets.

Karen doesn't know they are there until they break her perimeter alarms and she is forced to use her defensive measures since Peter has just gone into hibernation like a day ago. The bats having more resources than Karen at their disposal and coming at her from all angles breach her defenses and get into The Nest. Karen does her best to rouse Peter with alarms blaring but she is only able to get him into a semi state of consciousness. Not enough to move him without drugging him which would be dangerous for his health and with so many coming for her charge she does her best to throw her mechanically arms in front of him to guard him where he is.

The bats once they see a sleepy confused Peter with a strange woman's voice begging them to leave him alone they feel bad realizing they judged him wrong. Especially after seeing him adorably yawn with his fangs popping out.

#peter parker acts like a spider #spider-man in Gotham #fanfic #fanfiction prompts #fan fic for adoption #batman fanfiction #spiderman Batman crossover #spidery peter parker #peter in gotham #adorable Peter Parker #angst and fluff #fanfiction crossover

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mostlysignssomeportents · 1 year

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The Sacklers woulda gotten away with it if it wasn't for those darned meddling feds

The saga of the Sacklers, a multigenerational billionaire crime family of mass-murdering dope-peddlers, is an enraging parable about how the wealthy, the courts, and sadistic high-powered lawyers collude to destroy the lives of millions, profit handsomely, and evade justice.

But there's an unexpected twist to this tale. After the Sacklers procured a sham bankruptcy that denied their victims the right to sue while leaving their fortune largely intact, the Supreme Court – yes, this Supreme Court – saw through the scam and froze the process, pending a full hearing:

https://www.nytimes.com/2023/08/10/us/supreme-court-purdue-pharma-opioid-settlement.html

The Sacklers basically invented modern, legal dope peddling. Arthur Sackler, the family's original crime-boss, revived the practice of direct-to-consumer drug marketing, dormant since the death of the medicine show, to peddle Valium. An aggressive and shrewd lobbyist, Arthur built the family fortune and, more importantly, its connections:

https://www.timesofisrael.com/how-the-sackler-family-built-a-pharma-dynasty-and-fueled-an-american-calamity/

A generation later, the family's business company created Oxycontin, and procured misleading and false research about the drug's safety kickstarting the opioid epidemic, whose American body-count is closing in on a million dead. Armed with inflated claims about opioid safety, the Sacklers' pharma reps bribed, cajoled and tricked doctors into writing millions of prescriptions for oxy.

This scam had a natural best-before date. As ODs flooded America's ERs and bodies piled up in America's morgues, it became increasingly clear that something was rotten. The Sacklers pursued a multipronged campaign to keep the truth from coming to light, and to keep the billions flowing.

On the one hand, they hired McKinsey to find novel ways to encourage doctors to keep writing prescriptions and to convince pharmacists to turn a blind eye to abuse. McKinsey had all kinds of great ideas here, including paying pharma distributors cash bonuses for every overdose death in their territory:

https://www.nytimes.com/2021/02/03/business/mckinsey-opioids-settlement.html

When the issue of these deaths came up in public, the Sacklers blamed "criminal addicts" for their own misery, stigmatizing both people who desperately needed pain relief and the people who'd been deliberately hooked on the Sacklers' products. The legacy of this smear campaign is still with us, both in the contempt for people struggling with addiction and in the cruel barriers placed between people in unbearable agony and medical relief.

But mostly, the Sacklers kept their names out of it. They laundered their reputations by donating a homeopathic fraction of their vast drug fortune to art galleries and museums in a bid to make their names synonymous with good deeds.

The Sacklers didn't invent this trick. Think of the way that history's great monsters – Carnegie, Mellon, Rockefeller, Ford – are remembered today for the foundations and charities that bear their names, not for the untold misery they inflicted on their workers, their crimes against their customers, and the corruption of governments.

But the Sacklers made those Gilded Age barons seem like amateurs. They invented a modern elite philanthropy playbook that Anand Giridharadas documents in his must-read Winners Take All, about the charity-industrial complex that washes away an ocean of blood with a trickle of money:

https://memex.craphound.com/2018/11/10/winners-take-all-modern-philanthropy-means-that-giving-some-away-is-more-important-than-how-you-got-it/

As part of this PR exercise, the individual Sacklers kept their names and images out of the public eye. For years, there were virtually no news-service photos of individual Sacklers. When journalists dared to criticize the family, they used vicious attack-lawyers to intimidate them into retractions and silence (I was threatened by the Sacklers' lawyers).

They also worked their media mogul pals, like Mike Bloomberg, who added their names to the "Friends of Mike" list that Bloomberg reporters were required to consult before writing negative coverage:

https://pluralistic.net/2020/02/29/friends-of-mike-enemies-of-the-people/#sacklerbergs

But Stein's Law says that "anything that can't go on forever will eventually stop." As lawsuits mounted, the Sacklers found themselves increasingly synonymous with death, not charitable works. But like any canny criminal, the Sacklers had a getaway plan.

First, they extracted vast sums from Purdue and shifted it into offshore financial secrecy havens:

https://www.reuters.com/article/us-purduepharma-bankruptcy/sacklers-reaped-up-to-13-billion-from-oxycontin-maker-u-s-states-say-idUSKBN1WJ19V

Even as this money was disappearing into legal black holes, the Sacklers demanded – and received – extraordinary protection from the courts, who aggressively sealed testimony and materials presented through discovery:

https://www.reuters.com/investigates/special-report/usa-courts-secrecy-judges/

When this gambit finally failed, the Sacklers insisted that were down to their last $4 billion, and, with trillions in claims pending against them, they declared bankruptcy.

When a normal person declares bankruptcy, they are required to divest themselves of nearly everything of value they possess, and then still find themselves hounded by cruel arm-breakers who deluge them with threatening calls and letters:

https://pluralistic.net/2021/05/19/zombie-debt/#damnation

But for the richest people in America, bankruptcy is merely a way to cleanse one's balance sheet of liabilities for any atrocity you may have committed on the way, without giving up your fortune.

The Sacklers are a case-study in how a corrupt bankruptcy can be conducted.

Purdue Pharma presents a maddening case-study in the corrupt benefits of bankruptcy. When it was announced in March, many were outraged to learn that the Sacklers were going to walk away with billions, while their victims got stiffed.

First, they converted their victims' right to compensation into "property" that the Sacklers themselves owned. This transferred jurisdiction over these claims from the regular court system to the bankruptcy court. A bankruptcy judge – not a jury – would decide how much each of these claims was worth, and then what how much of that worth these victims (now recast as creditors) would be entitled to through the bankruptcy.

Thus tens of thousands of claims were nonconsensually settled without a trial, by an administrative judge with no criminal jurisdiction, not a federal judge who'd undergone Senate confirmation:

https://pluralistic.net/2021/03/31/vaccine-for-the-global-south/#claims-extinguished

These "coercive restructuring techniques" are not available to everyday people who are drowning in student debt or credit-card bills – these are the exclusive purview of the wealthiest Americans, who enjoy a completely different bankruptcy system that is rigged in their favor.

Three judges – David Jones and Marvin Isgur of Houston and Bob Drain of New York – hear 96% of the country's large corporate bankruptcies:

https://www.creditslips.org/creditslips/2021/05/judge-shopping-in-bankruptcy.html

These judges are unbelievably horny for corporations, embracing a legal theory "that casts the invention of the limited liability corporation alongside that of the steam engine as a paradigmatic development in the pursuit of prosperity":

https://prospect.org/justice/how-do-you-solve-a-problem-like-the-sacklers-purdue-pharma-bankruptcy/

Now there are more than three bankruptcy judges in America, so how do the nation's biggest companies get their cases heard by these three enthusiastic Renfields for corporate vampirism?

They cheat.

For example: when GM was facing bankruptcy, it argued that it was a New York company on the basis that it owned a single Chevy dealership in Harlem, and got in front of Judge Drain.

The Sacklers were – characteristically – even more brazen. They really wanted to get their case in front of Judge Drain, the nation's most enthusiastic supporter of "third party releases," through which bankrupt billionaires can wipe the slate clean, securing dismissals of all claims by the people they wronged.

Drain is also uniquely hostile to independent examiners, "an independent third-party appointed by the court to investigate 'fraud, dishonesty, incompetence, misconduct, mismanagement, or irregularity…by current or former management of the debtor."

https://papers.ssrn.com/sol3/papers.cfm?abstract_id=3851339

If you're the Sacklers, hoping to keep two thirds of your billions and extinguish all claims by your victims, there is no better helpmeet than Judge Robert Drain of the Southern District of New York.

So, 192 days before filing for bankruptcy, the Sacklers opened an office in White Plains, New York (a company may claim jurisdiction in a specific court once they've operated a business there for 180 days).

Then they filed a bankruptcy in which they altered the metadata on their casefile, inserting the code for a Westchester county hearing into the machine-readable, human-invisible parts of the documents they uploaded to the federal Case Management/Electronic Case Files (CM/ECF) system (they also captioned the case with "RDD, for "Robert D Drain").

They chose their judge, and the judge obliged. UCLA Law's Lynn LoPucki is one of the leading scholars of these bankruptcy "megacases," and has written extensively on why these three judges are so deferential to corporate criminals seeking to flense themselves of culpability. She sees judges like Drain motivated by "personal aggrandizement and celebrity and ability to indirectly channel to the local bankruptcy bar. The judge is the star and the ringmaster of a megacase – very appealing to certain personalities."

Thus, these judges are "willing and eager to cater to debtors to attract business…[an] assurance to debtors that…these judges will not transfer out cases with improper venue or rule against the debtor…"

https://www.fulcrum.org/concern/monographs/02870w66d

This kind of judge-shopping goes beyond the Sacklers; the cases that Drain and co preside over make a mockery of the idea of America as a land of equal justice. "Prepack" and "drive-through" bankruptcies are reliable get-out-of-jail-free cards for capitalism's worst monsters: private equity firms.

Whether PE murdered your grandmother by buying her care-home and putting each worker in charge of 30 seniors:

https://www.washingtonpost.com/local/portopiccolo-nursing-homes-maryland/2020/12/21/a1ffb2a6-292b-11eb-9b14-ad872157ebc9_story.html

or poisoned your kids by filling your neighborhood with carcinogens:

https://www.webmd.com/special-reports/ethylene-oxide/20190719/residents-unaware-of-cancer-causing-toxin-in-air

limited liability wipes the slate clean.

30% of America's bankruptcies are private equity companies using the bankruptcy system to wipe away claims for their misdeeds, while keeping a fortune, thanks to the shield of limited liability.

Take Millennium Health, JamesS lattery's fake drug-testing company, which promised to help nursing homes figure out whether seniors were abusing (or selling) their meds by testing their piss for angel dust and other drugs. Slattery defrauded Medicare and Medicaid for millions, borrowed $1.8 billion (Slattery got $1.3 billion of that). He eventually walked away from this fraud after paying a mere $256m to settle all claims, and kept a fortune in assets, including the 40 vintage planes his private company ("Pissed Away LLC" – I am not making this up) owned:

https://prospect.org/justice/how-do-you-solve-a-problem-like-the-sacklers-purdue-pharma-bankruptcy/

For the wealthy, bankruptcy is the sport of kings, a way to skip out on consequences. For the poor, bankruptcy is an anchor – or a noose. This is by design: judges who preside over elite bankruptcies speak of their protagonists as heroic "risk takers" and tiptoe around any consequences, lest these titans be chained to a mortal's fate, costing us all the benefits of their entrepreneurial genius.

PE companies helped the Sacklers design their own bankruptcy strategy, and it was a standout, even by the standards of Bob Drain and his kangaroo bankruptcy court. But now, the Supreme Court has pumped the brakes on the whole enterprise.

The judges ruled that the exceptions the Sacklers took advantage of were intended for bankrupts in "financial distress" – not billionaires with vast fortunes hidden overseas. In so doing, the court threatens all manner of corrupt arrangements, from "the Boy Scouts, wildfires and allegations of sexual abuse in the church diocese — where third parties get a benefit from a bankruptcy they themselves aren’t going through.”

The case was brought by the DoJ's US Trustee Program, which lost in the Second Circuit when it tried to halt the Purdue bankruptcy and argued that the Sacklers themselves had to declare bankruptcy to discharge the claims against them.

Now the Supremes have hit pause on the bankruptcy the Second Circuit approved, and will hear the case themselves. It's only one step on a long road, but it's an unprecedented one. Some of the country's filthiest fortunes are riding on the outcome.

Going to Defcon this weekend? I’m giving a keynote, “An Audacious Plan to Halt the Internet’s Enshittification and Throw it Into Reverse,” tomorrow (Aug 12) at 12:30pm, followed by a book signing at the No Starch Press booth at 2:30pm!

https://info.defcon.org/event/?id=50826

I’m kickstarting the audiobook for “The Internet Con: How To Seize the Means of Computation,” a Big Tech disassembly manual to disenshittify the web and bring back the old, good internet. It’s a DRM-free book, which means Audible won’t carry it, so this crowdfunder is essential. Back now to get the audio, Verso hardcover and ebook:

http://seizethemeansofcomputation.org

If you'd like an essay-formatted version of this thread to read or share, here's a link to it on pluralistic.net, my surveillance-free, ad-free, tracker-free blog:

https://pluralistic.net/2023/08/11/justice-delayed/#justice-redeemed

Image: Edwardx (modified) https://commons.wikimedia.org/wiki/File:Serpentine_Sackler_Gallery,_June_2016_05.jpg

CC BY-SA 4.0 https://creativecommons.org/licenses/by-sa/4.0/deed.en

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mintymelty · 7 months

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YHS Rewrite/Redesign: Alec.

⚠️Warning! SPOILERS FOR ITSFUNNEH’S YHS AND YHS: A SERIALIZATION BY PROXY⚠️

OH. MY. GOD. this little rat has been sitting in my draft box for like a month. like i have his character down but his design needed a round 2. thankfully, i pulled through.

Meet alec. Alec is close to his mother and tolerates his sister depending on the day. He’s blunt, and somewhat calloused, but cares for the few friends he has.

He also works for a murderer.

YOU ALL KNOW WHO, in addition to a ridiculous amount of cash, has a bunch of dirt on Alec, that could not only ruin his life, but his loved ones, too. Alec is forced to work with the “Terror of Yamada High” (name pending) and… dispose of YAKW’s messes.

Putting aside his deal with the devil, Alec has had a tough life. His dad was a dirtbag, his mom’s working two jobs to support Alec and his sister’s education, the whole deal. Such an unstable upbringing has instilled only one value in him: loyalty.

As Kat and Alec bond over similar experiences as poor kids with immigrant parents, YAKW might influence Alec in ways previously unseen in Itsfunneh’s original Yandere High School…

…But we’ll get there when we get there! Thank you all for supporting YHSAS! And let me know if you have any critique of the rewrite! Have a nice day1!

#itsfunneh yandere high school #itsfunneh yhs #itsfunneh #pixel art #mcyt fanart #yhs #yhs alec #minecraft

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romanarose · 7 months

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Hey, I love your HCs of the Triple Frontier boys <3 I was thinking about what are some of their hobbies/interests and what kind of music they like to listen to. What do you think?

excellant question nonnie!!! I have LOTS of hc's, thanks for asking!!!

Santiago Garcia

We know Santi loves Metallica

And the sountrack to TF has Fleetwood Mac and Bob Dylan

I think Santi just loves music! He flies a lot so he spends time listening to full albums.

He doesn't have a lot of free time

Despite everyones teasing, he's not here to fuck pretty women. He's here to work.

Still, despite onl a few personal items he does have his guitar. Plays it a lot.

It does help with women

When he was a kid he thought he'd become a singer, he loves Vicente Ferdanez and Juan Gabriel

Alas, for a poor immigrant family Santi couldn't abandon them to persu wishy-washy dreams, he needed to work. Hence the military.

Still, it makes him happy when he sit and play guitar, watching people smile.

He learns songs from all his friends and families favorite bands.

William Miller

Will hates modern country.

Growing up in the yee haw south I think he hates what it's become

Was not upset when Tobey Keith died at all, think he ruined the genre in the post-9/11 nationalism

He enjoys thegrassroots rock movement (springsteen, melloncamp, petty) and the blues.

Him and Santiago both love Fleetwood Mac. It combines Santi's love of rock and Will's love of the blues.

Enjoys jazz but also classical music. He has more interest in the instruments than the lyrics of music anyway.

Him and Frankie both love love love Johnny Cash (who doesn't?)

Will loves suduko

He loves things that calm his mind.

Will likes sports, it was how him and Ben spent a lot of time on the farm.

To this day he likes going out to play ball with Ben. It helps Benny with his ADHD.

Benjamin Miller

Benny does not find tossing a ball around or playing basketball helps his ADHD at all

What he does find is that is helps Will's obbsessive obsessive worrying about him.

So, in that sense, Ben likes it because 1. it's fun and 2. it's a rare chance where he can help Will. Will doesn't let people help him much

Benny looooooves trash TV

The Bachelor, Love after Lockup, Love is Blind

He likes shows he doesn'thave to pay a whole lot of attentionto.

Not that Benny isn't smart bc I haaaaate when people act like he isn't.

But with his ADHD (which I hc he has) he tends to have a lot of things going at once. He's not going to be able to sit down and fully commit to something like The Handmaid's Tale.

Will go head to head on country music with Will and Frankie

he likes the bro country like Florida Goergia Line, Jason Aldean

No one ever accussed him of great taste, okay?

He's here for a good time, not a long time.

He doesn't like the racist or anti-lgbt artists and won't give them his money for concerts

But you can't fauly him for getting don to Red Solo Cup

Also loves classic hair metal (wore an AC/DC shirt most of the movie)

Francisco Morales

Frankie loves country music and grunge

His favorite Benny singing tho

Favorite is anything Chris Cornell and I'll stand by that!!!

Soundgarden, Audioslave, Temple of the Dog, his solo work

Frankie is a busy man, but I like to think he likes lego's

He's an enginier, so you know he's a smart man. I bet he loves making lego sets come together

Frankie has very strong opinions on children's television.

Bubble Guppies > Paw Patrol

Hates Paw Patrol but his daughter likes Skye becuase she's a hellicopter/pilot dog so he allows it.

Loves being out in nature. He's trying ot instill a love of the outdoors in his daughter, but also loves pending time with the guy, or even by himself

When he's overwhelmed, Frankie likes to go for a walks in the woods.

Will fuck up a farmers market all DAY

Oddly enjoys mowing the lawn

My man is Hank Hill

"Why would anyone do drugs hen they could just mow their lawn."

Now that he's sober, he finds lawncare is a great way to distract himself while still being a present father. He can do that while his daughter plays.

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

thank you so much for the ask!!!! i love chatting about my boys <3

#frankie morales #francisco morales #santiago garcia #santiago pope garcia #triple frontier #will miller #william miller #ben miller #benjamin miller #francisco catfish morales #oscar isaac #garrett hedlund #charlie hunnam #pedro pascal

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ausetkmt · 1 year

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At President Trump's rally in Tampa last week, a familiar face made it back in the national news. Maurice Symonette, also known as Michael the Black Man, was front and center in a crowd hurling invective at CNN reporter Jim Acosta, waving a "Blacks for Trump" sign.

Symonette has been a regular at Trump rallies all over Florida and as far away as Arizona. Just last month, he popped up at the U.S. border to appear in a video with disgraced sheriff-turned-pardoned-Senate-candidate Joe Arpaio.

All that national exposure raises an obvious question: Who is paying the bills for Symonette, a former member of Miami's murderous Yahweh ben Yahweh cult, to represent "Blacks for Trump" at Trump rallies?

Since Blacks for Trump isn't a registered political organization with the Florida Division of Elections or the Federal Election Commission, there are no public records of any donations funding the group's operations.

It seems unlikely Symonette is fronting the cash for his travel himself because he filed for bankruptcy this past May. In federal court records, he reports that he's unemployed, generates no income, and has $0 in the bank. He also says four banks have staked claims on $2.9 million worth of property around Dade County.

So how is he getting to Arizona and Tampa to stand behind Trump on national TV? Reached on his cell phone, Symonette declined to discuss his group's financing. "You guys are horrible racists," he said. "You are lawbreakers and you're mean... God is going to punish you horribly."

Throughout the '80s, Symonette — then known as Maurice Woodside — was a devoted follower of Yahweh ben Yahweh, a charismatic preacher who wore white robes and called himself the Messiah.

Federal prosecutors later accused Yahweh, whose real name was Hulon Mitchell Jr., of ordering his followers to murder at least 14 people, including random white vagrants who were massacred as an initiation rite.

Symonette was charged in federal court along with Mitchell and 15 other followers in 1990; while the cult's leader was later convicted of 14 charges of murder conspiracy and served nearly two decades in prison, Symonette and six other cult members were acquitted.

In the decades since, Symonette has been charged with crimes including grand theft auto, carrying a weapon onto an airplane, and threatening a police officer, but has never been convicted. (He does have a pending case on a municipal ordinance charge in Hollywood after police showed up to a really loud party he threw.)

Since Trump's election, Symonette has carved out an unlikely new niche as one of President Trump's most visible African-American supporters. He has a knack for getting prime placement directly behind Trump and has handed out hundreds of his "Blacks for Trump" signs.

They advertise his website, which is full of conspiracy theories about Cherokees running the U.S. banking system. (Really.)

Symonette was even featured at a Miami Trump rally that prosecutors later alleged had been funded by Russian nationals looking to disrupt the election.

Symonette filed for Chapter 7 bankruptcy on May 16, listing Washington Mutual, Homecomings Financial, HSBC Bank, and Indymac Bank as his creditors; each institution laid claim to one of four houses. Three are in North Miami-Dade County, and one is near Kendall.

In court docs, his only listed assets are clothing, watches, various household items, and a pool table. He does say that his live-in girlfriend, whom he doesn't identify by name, provides him with $2,000 per month.

Could that money from his significant other cover Blacks for Trump's various trips around the country to support the president on TV? Symonette wouldn't discuss that with a New Times reporter.

Instead, he spoke at length about his belief that the banking system is corrupt. He added that "Trump being the president is the greatest blessing we have ever had."

In his bankruptcy case, he's repeated those allegations about the banking system being crooked to Judge Laurel M. Isicoff. He's also repeatedly sought to change hearings that overlapped with Trump events. Symonette suggested the scheduling conflicts are a sinister plot to keep him away from the spotlight at Trump rallies.

"Creditors know that I have a rally in Arizona on July 25 and deliberately set the hearing on that date to cause me and my musical band to miss the performance and the rally with the bus we rented," he wrote in a motion filed the same morning as the Phoenix rally. "The creditors overheard that at the house we are disputing... and set that hearing on the same date just to harm me."

That motion was denied, as was another he filed on July 30, just before Trump's Tampa rally. "As founder of Blacks for Trump, (I) have rented vans to go to Trump's rally. We need to make the country aware how the banks (FOREIGNERS FROM THE EAST) are illegally taking WHITE AND BLACK PEOPLE'S houses away."

Maurice Symonette's story is baffling, to put it mildly. Symonette, who also goes by the name Michael the Black Man, somehow went from being part of the murderous Yahweh ben Yahweh cult to getting acquitted of murder charges himself to being a staple at Donald Trump's presidential rallies all over the country. Even among the rogue's gallery of rodeo clowns and Bond villains who make up Trump's core cadre of supporters, Symonette might legitimately be the weirdest person hovering around Trumpworld

After Michael the Black Man turned up at a Tampa-area Trump rally last week and led anti-press chants, it's worth taking note of all the bizarre places he's materialized since becoming a prominent Trump supporter:

1. At the original October 2016 Trump rally where he first popped up on TV:

Conservative Twitter is abuzz this afternoon with a trending hashtag: #BlacksForTrump. The spark is clear: Thousands have retweeted photos from Trump's rally in Lakeland, Florida, this afternoon showing a small group standing directly behind the Donald while enthusiastically waving "Blacks for Trump" signs. "Blacks are for Trump and the left can't stand it," writes @LawlessPirate, with another pic of the sign-waving man wearing a shirt reading "Trump & Republicans Are Not Racist." So who is this new face of Trump's elusive black support? He's none other than Michael the Black Man, also known as Maurice Woodside or Michael Symonette, who has made waves in Miami in recent years with protests against the Democratic Party and rallies for the GOP. He's also a former member of the murderous Yahweh ben Yahweh cult, which was led by the charismatic preacher Hulon Mitchell Jr., who was charged by the feds in 1990 with conspiracy in killings that included a gruesome beheading in the Everglades. Michael, along with 15 other Yahweh followers, was charged for allegedly conspiring in two murders; his brother, who was also in the cult, told jurors that Michael had helped beat one man who was later killed and stuck a sharpened stick into another man's eyeball. But jurors found Michael (and six other Yahweh followers) innocent. They sent Mitchell away for 20 years in the federal pen. In the years that followed, Michael changed his last name to Symonette, made a career as a musician, started a radio station in Miami, and then reinvented himself as Michael the Black Man, an anti-gay, anti-liberal preacher with a golden instinct for getting on TV at GOP events. He's planned events with Rick Santorum and gotten cable news play for bashing Obama. Since 1997, he's been charged with grand theft auto, carrying a weapon onto an airplane and threatening a police officer, but never convicted in any of those cases.

2. At a Trump rally in Bayfront Park in Miami just before the election: 3. At a rally allegedly organized with the help of Russian agents:

A federal grand jury filed charges against 13 Russian nationals [in February 2018] for allegedly stealing identities, wiring money overseas, and staging a small series of flash mobs to help tip the 2016 election in Donald Trump's favor. It's unclear whether the social media campaign had any actual impact on voting, but the FBI alleges Russian money indeed affected one small group of Miamians who unknowingly used Russian cash to pay for supplies for an unnamed rally the September before the presidential election. There still seem to be online traces of that Moscow-funded rally. Only one publicized, pro-Trump rally appears to have taken place in the Miami area — #LatinosConTrump in Doral at 1 p.m. September 11, 2016. The event was pitched as an "anti-media" protest outside the town's Univision offices. The national group Latinos With Trump created flyers for the rally and noted that virtually all of Miami's most prominent pro-Trump groups — Cubans 4 Trump, Hispanas for Trump, Latinas for Trump, and the official Miami Trump Volunteers — would attend.

4. At a 2017 Trump rally in Phoenix, per the Washington Post:

And so it was Tuesday night before a crowd of Trump supporters in Phoenix who had come to watch another show. There was the president, whipping up the wildly cheering crowd, and then there was Michael the Black Man, chanting just beyond Trump’s right shoulder in that trademark T-shirt. The presence of Michael — variously known as Michael Symonette, Maurice Woodside and Mikael Israel — has inspired not only trending Twitter hashtags but a great deal of curiosity and Google searches. Internet sleuths find the man’s bizarre URL, an easily accessible gateway to his strange and checkered past. The radical fringe activist from Miami once belonged to a violent black supremacist religious cult, and he runs a handful of amateur, unintelligible conspiracy websites. He has called Barack Obama “The Beast” and Hillary Clinton a Ku Klux Klan member. Oprah Winfrey, he says, is the devil. Most curiously, in the 1990s, he was charged, then acquitted, with conspiracy to commit two murders.

5. With noted racist Sheriff Joe Arpaio at the U.S.-Mexico border just last week:

Via our sister paper Phoenix New Times:

Former sheriff Joe Arpaio filmed a video at the U.S.-Mexico border with a former Florida cult member who goes by the name Michael the Black Man. In the video posted on Thursday, Michael has his arm around Arpaio as the ousted former sheriff promotes his improbable race for Arizona's open Senate seat during a visit to the border fence in Naco, Arizona. Michael was a follower of the Yahweh ben Yahweh cult, a black-supremacist religious sect in Florida. In 1990, the feds charged Michael and over a dozen fellow cult members with conspiracy related to brutal murders in Florida. Alongside Arpaio and Michael in the video is an independent Senate candidate in Massachusetts, Shiva Ayyadurai, who shared the live video on Twitter. Born in India, Ayyadurai is a scientist and MIT graduate who claims that he invented email. He began his Senate campaign as a Republican before switching to run as an independent. Ayyadurai’s campaign uses the slogan, “Defeat #FakeIndian Elizabeth Warren,” as a derogatory jab at his Democratic opponent. “First of all, I’m from Massachusetts, so of course I’m supporting this great guy,” Arpaio says of Ayyadurai in the video. “He’s gonna win.” Michael says, “We’re at the border right here, between Arizona and Mexico.” He turns to Arpaio to ask if he has anything to say to the camera. The aging former sheriff brings up his law enforcement background. “It’s great to see the border again; I haven’t seen it in a while,” Arpaio says.

If you've got any info on who's paying Symonette's travel bills to Trump rallies, email [email protected] or [email protected]

For a second, Donald Trump seemed to be backing off his vitriolic attacks on the free press. After five journalists were massacred at the Annapolis Capital Gazette, Trump briefly toned down his slurs. He even invited New York Times publisher A.G. Sulzburger to the White House to clear the air. But it didn't last.

Trump quickly returned to his Stalinist, enemies-of-the-people label for journalists and then lied about his meeting with Sulzburger to insist that truthful reporting is "fake news." Those insults have a real effect, and that fact was never frighteningly clearer than at Trump's rally last night in Tampa, where an unhinged-looking mob screamed insults and waved middle fingers at journalists, particularly CNN's chief White House correspondent, Jim Acosta.

The scene left many political watchers deeply shaken, including Acosta:

Just a sample of the sad scene we faced at the Trump rally in Tampa. I’m very worried that the hostility whipped up by Trump and some in conservative media will result in somebody getting hurt. We should not treat our fellow Americans this way. The press is not the enemy. pic.twitter.com/IhSRw5Ui3R— Jim Acosta (@Acosta) August 1, 2018

But most national press watchers didn't notice who was right at the center of that mob hurling invective at Acosta and his colleagues: Yep, it was Michael the Black Man, AKA Maurice Symonette, a former member of Miami's murderous Yahweh ben Yawheh cult who once faced charges of conspiring in the group's murders.

That's him with his instantly recognizable "Blacks for Trump" sign:

.@Acosta is trying to do a stand-up at #trumptampa and the crowd is booing and chanting “CNN sucks” behind him. pic.twitter.com/XiULajB1Li— Emily L. Mahoney (@mahoneysthename) July 31, 2018

Symonette has been a mainstay at Florida Trump rallies and over the past year has popped up at other Trump-linked events around the nation. Just last week, he flew to Arizona to film a video at the border with disgraced former sheriff Joe Arpaio. Trump's staff regularly gives Symonette front-and-center seats where he waves his black-and-white sign on national television.

Here's some background on Symonette from New Times' earlier reporting on him:

He's also a former member of the murderous Yahweh ben Yahweh cult, which was led by the charismatic preacher Hulon Mitchell Jr., who was charged by the feds in 1990 with conspiracy in killings that included a gruesome beheading in the Everglades. Michael, along with 15 other Yahweh followers, was charged for allegedly conspiring in two murders; his brother, who was also in the cult, told jurors that Michael had helped beat one man who was later killed and stuck a sharpened stick into another man's eyeball. But jurors found Michael (and six other Yahweh followers) innocent. They sent Mitchell away for 20 years in the federal pen. In the years that followed, he changed his last name to Symonette, made a career as a musician, started a radio station in Miami and then re-invented himself as Michael the Black Man, an anti-gay, anti-liberal preacher with a golden instinct for getting on TV at GOP events. He's planned events with Rick Santorum and gotten cable news play for bashing Obama. Since 1997, he's been charged with grand theft auto, carrying a weapon onto an airplane and threatening a police officer, but never convicted in any of those cases.

In other words, he's exactly the kind of guy you might not want to drive into a blind rage at journalists who are just trying to do their jobs. Yet there he was in Tampa, right in the middle of the crowd screaming at Acosta — who, incidentally, took time to talk to the crowds who were so angry with him:

After each live shot, @Acosta would walk down and politely talk to the people who just heckled him. He talked to one group for at least 15 minutes. pic.twitter.com/J26nlxfD6k— Christopher Heath (@CHeathWFTV) August 1, 2018

There are two safe bets on this topic going forward: Trump won't stop throwing insults at the media, and wherever the president is whipping up that anger, Michael the Black Man will probably be there with his signs, happily taking the bait.

#Ex-Cult Member Behind “Blacks for Trump” Is Bankrupt #So Who's Paying for His Trump Rally Trips?#blacks for trump cult #blacks for trump #lies #Black Lies Matter too #Black Lives Matter

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whumpster-fire · 6 months

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Leading Thieves Say Millennials and Zoomers "Ruining the Crime Industry"

A variety of criminals have spoken out over the past few weeks, saying that crime just doesn't pay like it used to because Millennials and Gen-Z-ers are so broke, they have nothing of value to steal.

Stephen "Fingers" Gilligan, Pickpocket: Pickpocketing has been on the decline in America for a while, but it's getting ridiculous now. Nobody carries cash anymore, and even cards aren't paying out. The other day I stole a wallet with five debit cards, and all but one of them declined. The last one had just enough to buy a Sierra Mist from a vending machine. That was my second best score all week. The best was a $40 Olive Garden gift card and a crumpled, discolored $5 bill that I had to use archeological techniques to retrieve without it disintegrating in my hand.

Burt Crustman, Mugger: Man, nobody walks through dark alleys at night since the pandemic hit, and when they do? Jackshit. The only valuable anyone under 40's got on them these days is their phone. Admittedly lotsa people have $3000 phones, but you know what the market for fencing iPhones is like? It's shit! Everybody's buying new phones because their phone's the only nice thing they can afford!

Monty Derailleur, Bike Thief: Well the bike theft business would be going good, if people ever used the bikes they bought. The sales are high, but the fact of the matter is, the bike lanes around here are shitty or nonexistent, there's no room to take them on the bus, and there's no bike racks so everybody knows it's gonna get stolen.

Jerry Rigby, Car Thief: I don't know what you're talking about, Grand Theft Auto is booming. There's $75,000 pickups, $60,000 SUVs, $100,000 Teslas, and most people can't even afford to buy a used car legally so fencing's never been easier. The reason it's hard for those of us in the business is twofold. First, too many people living out of their cars. Second, the competition. You see a nice car parked somewhere, you gotta be on it like that, or the fucking illegal towing rackets will beat you to it. It's nearly impossible to make a living as an independent car thief.

Dwayne Pipe, Burglar: The only reason to be breaking and entering in the post-Pandemic years if to use somebody's shower. I swear to god, half the time when I break into a place, the only furniture is a mattress on the floor and a mid-sized computer monitor as a TV, and those are only good for scrap because with planned obsolescence the way it is, they have a life expectancy of about 6 weeks after theft. To be honest with you, I'm running a loss on most jobs. The only reason I haven't gone straight is because all the legal jobs pay jackshit too. That, and I really like replacing people's family photos with pictures of Nicholas Cage.

Brittlyghn McKannyck, Shoplifter: Shoplifting these days is a hobby, not a career. Half the time the stores are too understaffed to even stock the shelves, and if they're not, everything's locked up. I had to get a guy to unlock a magnetic tag on a box of Crispix the other day. If I didn't live with my parents, there's absolutely no way shoplifting full time would be viable.

Norman Gore, Master Hacker and Identity Thief: Scamming people out of their financial info or cracking passwords has never been easier, but the scores just aren't worth it. I keep getting into bank accounts that pending overdraft fees. It's pathetic. I have to leave the lights off so my hacker den's only lit by the monitors, and type on three or four keyboards at once to hack enough people to make ends meet.

Jack Gazebo, Digital Pirate: Oh my fucking God, people, stop paying for streaming! Learn to torrent! I'm telling you, man, this generation just doesn't have the technological literacy to pirate media.

Captain Tom Stillcutt, Analog Pirate: Let me tell ye something, matey, it be a sad day for piracy. No more galleons laden low with gold doubloons, rum, and exotic spices, nay, it be all scurvy container ships full o' mass produced plastic now. Me last prize was a forty foot container loaded full of over a hundred thousand Funko Pops, en route from the East Indies. The worst part of it was as the cap'n I gets a double share o' the booty, whether I want it or not. I've been makin' one walk the plank every day, and my cabin's still full of the blasted things. Shiver my timbers, I hate these damned Zoomers! At least the ones in me crew are happy.

Geraldo Cardamom IV, Gentleman Thief: The economy's just horrible for heists these days. Art heists? Jewelry theft? All the rich idiots are blowing their money on crypto, NFTs, and custom furniture from hipster woodworking YouTubers. Nobody just has a gallery in their house with priceless antiques in glass cases below a conveniently placed skylight, or millions of dollars in cash and gold bullion in vaults behind secret doors with seven different elaborate locking mechanisms anymore. Nobody secures their valuables with networks of criss crossing laser motion sensors. The only guys with that kind of money are assholes like Jeff Bezos and Elon Musk, and they don't have the sense of style for that. They just hire a bunch of assholes with guns.

Carmen San Diego, Legend: You must be joking, right? The reason I retired is because the infrastructure in this country is so dilapidated it's impossible to move it without it disintegrating. My last heist was "stealing" the World's Largest Pothole in Lansing, Michigan. I lifted the entire six lane wide, fifteen foot deep pothole out of the ground, disassembled it, and shipped it across the country to a warehouse in Las Vegas, then filled in the hole with pristine asphalt so it looked like it was never there. Nobody investigated. Nobody came after me. The city threw a parade in my honor. It didn't even take a month before my record holding pothole was dethroned by one in Cleveland, leaving me with nothing but a bunch of dirt, crumbling asphalt, and broken dreams. That's when I realized it was time to call it quits. Well, maybe the Bass Pro Shops Pyramid, but it already looks stupid enough in the middle of Tennessee that the only way stealing it would be funny is if I put it in the original Memphis.

#shitpost #the wide world of crime

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queer-geordie-nerd · 22 days

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"Olja and Vlada come to take us to the airport. Belgrade is gray and asleep. We are driving in silence. I carry an envelope with our humble cash in my underpants. It is forbidden to carry more than $5,000 over the border. The Serbian government sees it as a way of depleting the country’s cash reserves. Which is truly funny in light of the constant and continuous grand theft that is being committed on a daily basis at the very top by Milošević’s thugs.

Shady characters from all over the former Yugoslavia are making huge amounts of money by simply taking loads of cash in bags and suitcases over the border and hiding them in foreign accounts. Millions, billions have been transferred in that way and in other illegal ways. And those who have profited from it are quickly becoming the new elite. From time to time someone is prosecuted, more as an attempt to show a clean and proper face to the West than from trying to eradicate criminal elements from the society. But that’s a whole other story concerning a whole other kind of people. As for us, there are no millions or billions. We have to hide our humble savings in our underpants.

On our way to the airport we have to stop at a couple of checkpoints. There are many scary elements to this prospect. First, we are carrying more that the allowed amount of money over the border (the cash mainly came from the sale of our recently acquired car). Second, Goran is subject to military duty, either in Croatia where he was born, or in Serbia where he’s been living and working. These checkpoints have been created, among other reasons, to prevent the dramatic desertion of young people who don’t want to fight in a war they don’t understand and don’t approve of.

The Yugoslav Army has been literally chasing young men in order to enlist them and send them to fight against their former buddies. We have a whole bunch of friends in Belgrade who for months have been sleeping in other people’s apartments to avoid the draft. Goran solved his problem a couple of months before when he cleared his military status in a highly dramatic episode involving a fake letter from America inviting him to a film festival in New York and a bribe to a military official, a bribe that consisted of a couple of elegant pens – yes, pens (maybe the guy was a budding writer!). But you never know: there is a huge possibility that they stop him from traveling on account of his pending military obligation. They could even send him back to Croatia where another army, the newly formed Croatian Army, would draft him with great enthusiasm: it was a known fact that Croatian Serbs were drafted first and sent to the frontline to fight the other Serbs, the Serbian Serbs, the enemy Serbs.

As a Croatian actor of Serbian ethnicity would later tell me: “In the Croatian Army I had to watch my back for a Croatian knife and my front for a Serbian bullet.”

At the first checkpoint we are stopped by two policemen with their guns at the ready. Our faces are white, our voices shaky. “Oh, Ms. Mira, hello. Nice to see you. And you, young man, where do you think you’re going?” asks the guy with the gun. His hands trembling, Goran takes the envelope from the military out of his backpack. “Here it is, officer. I’ve been invited to an important film festival in New York. Please, take a look.” The guy is reading the letter with a morose expression. He clearly isn’t happy. “At this crucial time for our nation you, young man, should be in a trench fighting for your country, not visiting film festivals abroad.” “Well, you see…” Goran begins to explain the inexplicable. The other guy takes the letter, looks at it and says: “Ok, go, whatever. Those who don’t care about the future of our people and its very survival, are free to go whereever they want to go. But, remember, the homeland doesn’t forget. And it doesn’t forgive.” (I’m taking liberties here. I don’t really know if the guy said those precise words; his face was saying it.

These same words could have been spoken at a border crossing in Croatia, with the heavily compromised notion of “homeland” expressed by a different word (“otadzbina” in Serbian, “domovina” in Croatian). We continue, relieved. I’m thinking: god, was I right in making the decision to leave. Those two patriotic policemen could not be more symbolic of what we are fleeing from.

The next check point is even scarier. They ask us about our money and we have to lie. They want to check the letter from the military again. They look at the letter for a long time, then they look at Goran with the utmost disgust, then they look at me with the usual lecherous, misogynist, patronizing “sympathy.” “Oh, Ms. Mira, so how are things in Zagreb? Not that good, ah?” I smile. Nobody says a word. Let this be over.

Finally on the plane, the first thing I do is go to the toilet and take out the envelope with the money from my underpants. I sit on the toilet and sigh deeply. It is over. We are out. I begin to laugh. And then I cry. The flight attendant knocks on the door. “Is everything OK?” “Oh, yes, everything is good. It’s really, really good,” I say and flush the toilet in order to silence the sounds of laughing and crying that my happy body is emitting uncontrollably. We are flying with KLM and have a night to spend in Amsterdam.

Could it be more perfect? We get out of the plane and the air is different. We feel we can finally breathe. We are lighter. We need a drink. We need a joint. We need a couple of drinks and a couple of joints. Long live freedom!"

- Mira Furlan, Love Me More Than Anything In the World

#mira furlan #book excerpt

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ashleywool · 3 months

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health update/diatribe/infodump BUT THERE'S A CAT VIDEO AT THE END

Dearest reader: This should be a simple health update, but instead, it's an obnoxiously detailed info-dump written by the kind of person who knows more than most people about American health insurance but is still surprised at how it continues to find new and innovative ways to suck. If this is not the type of thing your brain or nervous system wants to wrap itself around, I don't blame you one bit, but if it is, I hope you'll at least walk away having learned something or being at least mildly entertained. If not, feel free to

SCROLL TO THE END FOR A HTDIO-ADJACENT CAT VIDEO!

When last we left our third-or-fourth-favorite mildly niche-famous T-list Broadway person, she was finally on the brink of getting a brain and pituitary MRI. This was supposed to happen on Friday.

But I wasn't allowed to get the MRI on Friday because Cigna's pre-authorization was still pending and there was nothing my doctor could do to escalate its urgency, nor could they withdraw the order. They couldn't do anything at all until the third-party organization that approves the pre-authorizations signed off on its medical necessity.

Look, I get it. This is an expensive and labor-intensive procedure, so they have to be thorough. I mean, sure, my doctor said it was medically necessary, and sure, they sent the additional clinical information to confirm its medically necessity, and sure, every order at every stage was marked as urgently medically necessary, and it was sent for processing on Monday, but how can they REALLY be sure it's medically necessary until my case is also reviewed by doctors who have NEVER seen me, and don't work weekends or holidays, and will get around to reviewing it at their own leisure? The folks at the radiology clinic rescheduled me in their next available spot and maintained that they'd contact me as soon as possible to fill any upcoming cancellation spots.

A ridiculous mildly annoying setback was that their next available appointment wasn't until July 26. They couldn't attempt to book me at any of the other dozens of clinics affiliated with this hospital network, because the pre-authorization is site-specific, which is like buying someone a gift card from the Starbucks on my block only to find out that they won't honor it at the Starbucks two blocks down perfectly reasonable, because I'm sure every site has differences that can't be perceived from a patient perspective.

Oh, and the existence of a pending pre-authorization prevented them from doing the MRI that day even if I'd had $8K in cash to pay out of pocket for the procedure. Which is perfectly reasonable, because why shouldn't American healthcare policy punish rich people too? I'm sure it's many flavors of unethical for one doctor to do something without the approval of another doctor even though the doctor whose approval it hangs on has NEVER SEEN ME.

One fellow in particular--I'll call him Quincy--gave me some insider info on how to prepare for the types of advocacy he's had to do in the past with this particular pre-authorization team, and which numbers to call and questions to ask. He isn't technically supposed to know this stuff and also isn't technically supposed to share it, but says he does it all the time anyway--hence why I'm keeping him anonymous. Quincy isn't his real name, but Quincy is a real one, and I took in his information like a medieval warrior selecting the choicest armor to prepare for battle the informed and fully compliant patient I strive to be.

Anyway, a few persistent phone calls later, a Cigna rep informed me that the middlemen would approve the pre-authorization for the MRI on the condition that I get the procedure done at a standalone radiology facility instead of a hospital-affiliated facility. Which is like buying someone a gift card that could only be honored at Starbucks kiosks located inside Target stores, but not at a standalone Starbucks or anywhere else in Target perfectly reasonable, I know the insurance companies don't wanna have to spend hospital prices any more than I do. So I spent a great deal of time yesterday looking up non-hospital-affiliated radiology clinics that were in-network.

I made an appointment with one clinic for Thursday. But I also made an appointment request at a different clinic for Monday morning, just in case they could see me sooner--because I knew this clinic didn't accept Medicare or Medicaid, and were therefore exempt from the requirement of third-party pre-authorization. (Pro-tip: even if you do have Medicare or Medicaid, always try to bypass pre-authorization for diagnostic procedures, especially if you have a particularly high in-network deductible--it's entirely possible that paying out of pocket for a service at an out-of-network provider could cost less than the amount you'd have to pay towards your deductible at at in-network facility. American math.)

THIS MORNING, I woke up at 8am to a phone call from the latter clinic, saying that if I sent them the doctor's prescription, they could pre-authorize the procedure and see me tomorrow. So that's what I did...and then I got an email saying that they couldn't accept a prescription for an MRI with and without contrast because they don't have contrast at that facility. Which is like finally securing a coveted reservation at an elite steakhouse only to find out they don't season their steak or even have steak sauce perfectly reasonable, because not everyone needs contrast, but I do, so that place was out.

But as far as I've been told, Thursday's appointment should go off without a hitch as long as I call EviCore (the pre-authorization middlemen) tomorrow morning to tell them all about the not-hospital that will be giving me a not-hospital-priced MRI, so that they can grant the pre-authorization at long last.

Perhaps if I plead my case and bat my eyes at them real cute-like through the phone, they'll give me some other reason why it's actually not medically necessary for me to know definitively whether or not I have a literal brain tumor I can get seen even sooner than Thursday.

FUNNY STORY THOUGH...

A couple weeks ago I was talking to a friend from church who was going through a lot of the same stuff as I was, and I was like "idk, maybe get your cortisol checked?" and lo and behold, he messaged me back a few days ago saying that he'd found a new doctor and asked him to do just that, and WITHIN A DAY his doctor ordered ALL the labs I'd fought for (serum blood cortisol, low-dose dexamethasone suppression test, 24-hour urine, saliva, etc.) AND an MRI for suspected Cushing's.

And he completed ALL OF THAT within a week.

Although he did have to suffer for quite a while before I floated the possibility of Cushing's, just like my friend Alan had to suffer for years before his own endocrinologists floated the possibility of Cushing's. Still, they both got that MRI the second it WAS floated, without a fight, and I'm genuinely happy for them.

But I can't help wondering how much quicker and easier this whole process would have been for me if I were a man. Or if I was neurotypical. Or if I still had a choice about whether or not to disclose being autistic. But mostly if I were a man.

THIS IS THE END! HERE IS THE HTDIO-ADJACENT CAT VIDEO YOU WERE PROMISED!

I'm fostering my friends' exquisite tuxedo princessfloof for a few weeks. Chevy and Tex are being very accommodating foster siblings, but she's much younger and is used to being the only pet, so naturally it took her a while to acclimate.

But there was one thing she took to immediately: the How to Dance in Ohio fidget spinner.

#how to dance in ohio #htdio #cats of tumblr #fidget spinner #endocrine weirdness #actually autistic #american healthcare is neither healthy nor caring #but really this is mostly about the cat and the fidget spinner

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eternitas · 4 months

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Unseen Varia - Profiles

Carol Martins

Basic Info:

Full Name: Carol Martins

Nickname: Cary, Butterfly, Sweetbun, Spacebunny

Age: 12 / 22 (TYL)

Birthday: pending

Gender/Pronouns: demigirl, she (primarily)/they

Sexuality: undisclosed

Ethnicity: black, half british half italian

Height: 155cm

Flametype: mist, secondary cloud flame

Weapon of Choice: completely relies on illusions and thus does not wield any weapons

Affiliation: Varia, Mist Division

Position: Second in Command

Languages: italian (+SL), english (british), spanish, portugese

Strengths: illusions, being cute, deception, lying, optimistic, never gives up, clothes design, sewing, crochetting and cross stitching, drawing, keeping up with studies, chemistry

Weaknesses: hand to hand combat, any weapon handling, can be sometimes too childish

Character Summary:

Carol is a swetheart! But don't let that cute face and the happy facade foold you! She is a master at illusion making and deceiving the minds of others. That doesn't mean that she is twofaced or in any way cruel, far from it. She genuinely has a warm and kind heart, like Leo, always trying to knock her opponents out before it gets truly ugly. She enjoys life at the Varia, mostly for all the benefits and because she got attached to the people there. Her aunt was the one that recomended her to work at the Varia, with how strong her power in illusions are and she followed the advice, as she believed that the extra cash would come in handy if she wanted to kickstart her own fashion brand. She brightens any room she comes into and always seems to be in a good mood! She is rarely seen depressed or truly enraged as she always seems to find a bright side or doesn't let the negative affect her too much. It's speculated that this might be her way of avoiding more traumatic things, but nobody could verify or deny this.

Background:

Carol was born as the only child of an italian woman after she had a short summer love with a british man. Only once she was born did her mother reach out to her father to inform him. He immideatly moved to italy and they build their small life in Milan. However her mother died of cancer as she was 6, leaving her and her father alone. While her aunt, her mothers sister, was always there for her and heped the small family, her father always struggled with accepting his wifes death until the depression lead to him causing a car accident. Carol was left in her Aunts care who eventually helped her to become more educated. The family however was struggling financially so when Carols power as an illusionist was becoming more apparent Carols aunt sent her to apply as an apprentice to Mammon who she was doing buisness with, providing the Varia with certain chemicals.

Mammon was first unsure about taking in a child, but when Carol showed him a demonstration of her powers he was convinced that she would go far. He managed to scam her into working for only 10% the pay but free housing in the Varia HQ and she proved to be a great addition to the Mist division. Mammon allowed her to work on her little fashion passion project on the side and made her his Second in Comand as she was the last one he feared to actually in any way critisize him on his money scamming of the entire rest of the organisation.

Fighting Style:

Most don't even notice how she pulls them straight into her illusions as she always sets them up gradually before a fight can even truly begin. Her cutesy demeanor makes her usually be underestimated, which she easily exploits. She very early on in missions uses her animal box weapon, which is one of the main reasons why she is so incredibly good at what she does. Farfalle della Nebbia. The Mist Butterflies are almost undetectable and slowlyspread spores of mistflames in the area which Carol then uses to truly set up her illusions, letting them creep onto her opponents, that the moment they realize they are in an illusion, their mind has already bought into this new reality. Her secondary cloud flame also makes it easier to use her box animals for longer as its propagation quality ensures she can use juuust as much mist flame as she needs. When she notices someone breaking through her illusions she strengthens them significantly, while at the same time planning a swift retreat, so that once her opponent breaks out of it she is already gone and not to be found.

As an illusionist she very seldomly works alone and it's not uncommon for her allies to also fall for her illusions, which is why she tries to center her powers onto just her opponents.

Trivia:

Her own fashion brand is called Mariposa Dollhouse where she designs very cutesy outfits that are primarily targeted at more darkskinned women.

Carol joined when she was 15 but she only worked part time to finish her education on the side. Still Mammon decided to promote her early as she not just showed promise, but seemed to be outstandingly capable of juggling being a teenager, illusion training, education and her own hobbies with little trouble

Carol isn't often at the Varia, but when she is she definitely seeks out her fellow coworkers and SiC colleagues

Zarria has become something akin to a mother to Carol in the way that she looks out for the little girl and Sergey, Leo and Jaque especially are like big brothers to her

She never learned how to swim so when she gets in the pool she either stays in the shallow area or wears floaties. She also loves using floaty rings

Carol likes her natural hair and changes hairstyles sometimes, tho she enjoys just having it in an afro.

Carol loves sweets and is very picky when it comes to food, she especially has a fear of eating food that has gone bad so she always checks anythings due date

She greatly dislikes carbonated water, but she loooves soda and lemonades.

She is one of the few members that do not hit the language requirement for the Varia and is still accepted into a high position.

Her favourite school subjects are Art, History and Chemistry. Her least favourite is PE and Spanish (the spanish teacher doesnt like her and makes things especially hard for her)

#khr #khr oc #khr ocs #katekyo hitman reborn #unseen varia #unsen varia profiles #YAY!!! FINALLY FINISHED MY SECONDS IN COMMAND!#SAY HELLO TO MY BABY GIRL!

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justimajin · 1 year

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The Profit & Love Statement » Pt. 6

↠ Pairing: Seokjin x Reader

↠ Genre: Fluff, Comedy, Angst

↳ (4.4k), Office AU (lowkey E2L vibes)

↠ Summary: The workplace isn’t for everyone. It can be mundane and repetitive, with some describing it like a nuisance and others as a blessing. You’re the kind that leans more towards the latter and while it does make you an ideal candidate for many things, nothing could have prepared you for the whirlwind that is the new employee.

GIF credit.

↠ Next Update: Tuesday, August 22 (series masterpost here)

“One spinach dip appetizer and two mushroom soups.”

Your brows draw together as you carefully scribble down the order. Pursing your lips, you lean forward and press a hand against your ear.

“Do you mind just repeating that last part?” You raise your voice a couple of tones over the blasting music and loud chatter of customers around you.

“One spinach dip appetizer and two mushroom soups.” The man repeats, despite you just not hearing only the end of his sentence.

You hum, focusing on swirling your pen against the paper quickly even though there’s a customer across the room sitting with an empty plate and glancing around anxiously for a waitress.

You look up, ready to ask the two men if there were any desert or drinks they wanted as well, only for the words never leaving you.

“Look over it again sweetie, just in case your memory fails you.”

You raise an eyebrow and meet with an annoyed expression on his face. There’s an endless list of sarcastic remarks and comments ready to escape you, but with a polite smile, you simply say‒

“I appreciate the advice, but I’d rather get down any deserts and drinks you’d want.”

Even though his expression doesn’t change, he at least gives you the rest of the order properly. You promptly leave the table and hand the order in, swiftly moving on to wait for the table of seven the previous man was at.

“The bill!” He blurts out right away and you take the cue to head over to cash to print out the bill, only for him to pause you.

“We want to split it!”

“How many?” You ask, assuming they were all friends and just wanted to pay separately in two bills.

“Seven!” He announces and you blink.

He wants to split the bill….seven ways?

You politely nod with a smile, but there’s no mistaking the confused and annoyed expression you hold at cash.

Spending roughly fifteen minutes printing different receipts, you force yourself to ignore the pending stares waiting for their orders and head back, seven bills in your hand.

But the real fun comes when there’s seven different people asking you to bring them a machine for their credit cards.

Twenty excruciating minutes later, you are pacing around the restaurant and bringing orders back and forth. Sweat begins to accumulate at your temples and when there’s a customer loudly complaining that there’s a piece of hair in his soup, you nearly lose it.

The door to the bathroom slams open and you slip in with a quick ‘bathroom break’.

Your back falls against the tiled walls and you wipe away the sweat, a breath of relief leaves you.

You stay like that for probably fifteen minutes, a stark difference arising in your demeanor.

It’s only when there’s a soft knock against that you’re scrambling forward, fixing your apron. Planting a hand against the bathroom door, you’re expecting to see your Manager furious with your unplanned break, or worse a customer whining you haven’t gotten their order yet.

As horrifying and unrealistic as that last scenario is, neither of them thankfully come true.

Jungkook grins as you emerge outside. To your disbelief, the entire store is empty.

“Good news,” He says, “Boss had to rush home early today for his wife’s birthday so the restaurant closed early. New customers were turned away and old ones left after eating and paying.”

“You’re joking.” You exhale, unconsciously pressing a hand against your racing heart.

“Nope.” He picks up a mop and some rags, “We’ve got cleaning duty today too, so if you’re okay with spending the next hour scrubbing tables and floors with me, it might just be your lucky day.”

A huge smile curls at the corner of your lips and you gladly take the mop away from him.

***

The laughter practically spills from his lips.

“So you’re telling me….” He points out in the midst of it, “He took the first opportunity to run away when you weren’t looking?”

Your chin is resting on top of the mop handle you were using, an annoyed look crossing your features compared to the giant bunny smile Jungkook adorns.

“Yep.”

“Wow.” Jungkook remarks, “What an interesting place I applied to.”

You lower your hands and grasp onto the mop handle again with a huff, “Don’t even! I had so much work to catch up on afterwards and it could have all been avoided if I hadn’t spent all my time trying to chase after him.”

“Like what I am doing wrong?” You wonder, “Forcing him to work?”

“They do say that some people aren’t naturally suited to certain professions.” Jungkook brings up, spraying down a table.

You snort, “And where’d you find that saying?”

“I discovered it when a customer’s kid threw up the other day and while cleaning it up, I realized–“ He pauses, “Man, I really can’t do this.”

You grimace, “That bad?”

“The kid threw up a second time during the night and it was all over the entrée.” He shakes his head, “Let’s just say taking two showers wasn’t even enough.”

“I don’t know who to feel worse for – you or the kid.”

“Honestly after seeing his mom scold him for ruining dinner, I would say the kid.”

You softly smile at that and Jungkook sighs, sounding like his patience was wearing thin, “I’m just hoping for any type of job response now. Good or bad.”

“Well, here’s to hoping for the best.”

You raise your mop with a smile and Jungkook laughs at the display.

“Thanks.” He mutters, peering over at you, “Also, not to sound rude or anything, but I think I’ve been seeing way too much of you these days.”

He pauses, “Did you take on more shifts?”

You nod, “My landlord decided to generously hike up my rent recently.” A bitter laugh leaves you, “So either I take more shifts or find a new place to live at.”

“Damn, that sucks.” Jungkook replies, “Just make sure you're not overdoing it though. Money or not, being around customers 24/7 isn’t the best.”

“Why?” You quirk up an eyebrow, “You have a problem with customers?”

Jungkook chuckles, “This is coming from the person that ducked into the bathroom to avoid them.”

You laugh, well aware how strict your boss was at taking no breaks during dinner time rush hour, “You talk like you haven’t done the same.”

“Hey, I took two showers. Two showers.” Jungkook emphasizes, “I think I’ve sacrificed enough.”

Laugher spills out of your lips and Jungkook exhales like he’s seen too much.

On the flip side, the office has been bustling.

In the midst of discussions circulating through the office of a new model being launched, you’ve been busier than usual. Not only do you have the stress of getting a bunch of new tasks done in evaluating and setting current sales goals, you’ve also been informed that the departments are expected to present information to their superiors for the new product launch.

As a result, your own work area is a disarray and you can’t remember the last break you took.

“Y/N, did you finish the customized report?” You hear Yoongi’s voice echo through the plastic.

“Not yet.” You deeply exhale, “I’m aiming to get it hopefully done by today.”

Yoongi hums on the other side and you could have sworn that if you looked over a little, the man’s work area would be in a similar disarray as you alongside with some empty cups of coffee. You haven’t spoken to Seokjin for much of the day, informed that he was to be in a meeting with your Manager.

Typing a few more inputs into your screen while stifling down a low yawn, you get up from your chair and head towards the printing room.

There’s many tasks you haven’t run through yet – with the most notable being running down to Marketing and Customer Service. You usually consult those two departments during this time and let them in on the impending budget, as well as assisting wherever you can.

You also typically go through the current sales goals and evaluate if they’re exactly what your company is aiming for this time around. You know the goals should be lower than before, since the company has already lost a lot of revenue from the previous product and don’t have sustainable–

There’s a shoulder that collides right into your forehead, sending you falling backwards.

The file in your hands splatters onto the ground.

“Oh my god–“ You instantly crouch down, attempting to quickly collect the contents and stack them together. “I am so sorry, Sir.”

You glance up meekly only to see Hoseok having the widest grin on his face.

“Hoseok?”

“No, please.” He places an exaggerated hand on his chest with a grin, “You may call me ‘Sir’ from now on.”

You shake your head with a scoff, and he leans over, helping you stuff the remaining papers in your file. Rising onto your feet, Hoseok smiles.

“So I’m assuming the new product launch hasn’t spared you either?”

“Barely.” You remark, “Also sorry about that.”

“Eh, don’t worry about it too much. I think it’s because everyone’s been working extra hard lately.” He retorts, “I said hi to Yoongi today and even he seemed out of it.”

You knowingly smile and Hoseok points to your file, “Speaking of which, you really seem in desperate need for a break.”

“Oh no, I’m good.”

“You sure?” Hoseok raises a brow, your fatigued shoulders and drooped shoulders being far too much of an obvious sign. “Have you even had a break for lunch yet?”

Before you can say anything, it seems like your stomach making noises is enough of a response.

Hoseok tries his best to hold down his laughter and you shake your head with an embarrassed smile, already gesturing to him to head towards the break room.

***

“You have meetings lined up too?”

Hoseok leans against the counter as you remain seated at one of the tables. The coffee machine behind him blends and churns, puffs of steam emitting from the top.

“Yep.” You grimace at the taste of uncooked noodles entering your mouth, “I think I saw an email of a short one scheduled this week.”

“I got that one too, my lead said it was going to just be an overview of the product launch for all departments.” Hoseok explains.

“Imagine my relief.” You sarcastically retort and Hoseok snickers.

“From a failure of a project launch to the next~” Hoseok wistfully says, turning around to grab his coffee. Despite his playful tone, there’s a dash of seriousness in his eyes.

“Can I ask you something?”

You hum, “Why did you take up the responsibility to train Seokjin? It seems like you already have a lot on your plate.”

Your hand freezes.

Normally, you wouldn’t want to discuss such matters with your coworkers and it’s information you would want to keep under wraps.

But this is Hoseok asking you.

Your voice drops into a whisper, “The good news came from Soyou saying she would monitor my work in the next couple of weeks and then hinted at higher opportunities.”

“Woah, really?” He says in astonishment, slipping into the chair in front of you, “That’s amazing, Y/N!”

You softly smile, “That, plus I could really use the raise in pay.” A sigh leaves you, “Aside from taking more shifts at my other workplace and this job, I don’t really have any other options to bring in income.”

Hoseok attentively nods, “In a situation like this, the only two other options are taking on a third job or applying for a loan, but I’m not sure how you would feel about those.”

“Both are ideas I did have.” You admit, “But both have other problems that I don’t know if I can deal with.”

Although doable, a third job would be far too hectic for you to balance. Alongside that, you weren’t keen on the various interest rates you would have to keep paying just in taking the loan.

Hoseok hums, “Well, I’m glad Soyou’s giving you a chance, Y/N.” He looks at you intently, expression deadpanning. “But promise me you won’t push yourself too much and that you’ll take good care of yourself, okay?”

You chuckle, “I will Hoseok, I promise.”

He smiles and you quirk a brow at him.

“Enough of my woes, how are yours doing?”

He pouts and leans forward on his hand, “You know, the usual – my mom’s still trying to set me up with someone and running away in protest doesn’t seem to be the answer.”

“Aw, you pulled a Seokjin.” You remark with a smile.

Hoseok chuckles, “Wow, the salt is still there, I see.” He spreads his arms wide, “Fortunately, the good old woes of Hobi are still going on and would definitely cheer you up.”

You laugh at that as Hoseok grins. “Remind me to visit your mom one time and try to convince her otherwise.”

“Will do.” He leans forward, “Speaking of visits….”

You blink, “What?”

Hoseok raises an intrigued brow, but you’re still confused by the implication. Suddenly, a light bulb goes off in your head.

“Oh, that visit.” You smirk, “Jungkook said the last time he came, you launched yourself on him.”

“Of course I did!” Hoseok loudly protests, “I haven’t seen the guy in centuries so of course the one time I see him, I’m going to hug him!”

Your shoulders are shaking with laughter and Hoseok pouts, “Come on, convince him please.”

“Well, word on the street is that he applied for a job here and is waiting for an interview.” You whisper, wishing you had a camera to capture the utter joy on Hoseok’s face.

“Yes! It’ll be like good ol’ times!” Hoseok reminisces, “Except Yoongi’s gotten a lot grumpier since he had his kids, Jungkook’s a lot older, and we’re no longer at an internship.”

“You forgot the part where we got older too.”

“Shh, we don’t talk about that.” Hoseok waves you off and continues rambling, something that just has your head shaking with a smile.

There’s a deep frown settled on his lips.

The door is closed shut behind him as he exits the room, the annoyance on his features clear as daylight. He wasn’t expecting much – perhaps a simple check in on his training or more so, to inform him that making a run for it during work hours wasn’t exactly very professional of him. In any sense, he assumed that he would be planted in front of Mrs. Soyou Kang.

But nothing could have prepared him for this meeting.

“You’re joking.” He says baffled, “You have to be joking.”

“I thought you knew, Mr. Kim.” The finance manager had said to him, “We’ve mandated that you would be trained here as an employee…but ultimately, for a future position in the company.”

Seokjin’s eyes are as wide as they can possibly be.

“But that doesn’t mean I can become the CEO in just two month’s!”

“Headlines have started to come out.” Mrs. Kang had said, “In two month’s time, your father will be officially retired and wants you to take up the position.”

There’s a mixture of thoughts and feelings racing through his head, all of which he can barely comprehend. He knew all of this was eventually coming, but for it to be a mere matter of months?

How on earth is he going to manage an entire company by then?

She had simply given him a soft smile, and he knows that there’s no use in saying anything to rebuttal.

He is the CEO’s son after all – the very one chosen to uphold the title. Of course it would soon be time for him to follow in the same steps.

A deep sigh leaves him outside the manager’s office.

“Well, this just all sucks.” He mutters harshly underneath his breath. Glancing around, he realizes he hasn’t seen you all day and it further drills into him the reality of what all this training has been leading up to.

He’s confined again, and for some reason the elevator at the end of the hall is all he can stare at.

The elevator takes forever to come to a stop.

Your heel taps against the floor as your arms remain crossed. Hoseok is leaning against the door, patiently waiting with a sheepish smile.

“You’d think getting back up to the next floor would take less than five minutes.”

“More like twenty.” You say with a small laugh, scanning the structure, “Maybe there’s just a lot of people using it?”

Before Hoseok can answer, the elevator dings and your eyes light up. Hoseok practically scrambles away from his subdued posture, finally ecstatic to head down to his floor.

The elevator opens. You glance up unfazed.

“Seokjin?”

“Y/N!” He laughs in an instant – a little too quickly, you note, “What a surprise! How funny is it that we bumped into each other, right?”

He continues to laugh, “Well, nice seeing you around!”

Although petrified, he still attempts to make a run for it, but it’s not until your voice compels him does he stop.

“Wait.” You turn and Hoseok glances at both of you in confusion, “Aren’t you supposed to be on the Sales and Finance floor?”

He’s rendered speechless, no excuse coming to mind.

At his realization, your voice mimics his own cherry tone, “What a coincidence, we’re going the same way too.”

Hoseok slips into the elevator and you follow after him, “Are you coming…?”

Seokjin lets out the biggest sigh ever. He was so close, literally just one floor away, but of course he had to manage to bump into you somehow.

With a deflated sour look and slumped shoulders, he follows through and enters the elevator.

***

Throughout the elevator ride, there’s this odd silence that doesn’t go away. It’s not until you catch Hoseok smile amusedly in yours and Seokjin’s direction that you have to hush him down, and he gives you a huge thumbs up as a way to emphasize what a great job you were doing. Before you exit onto your floor and he leaves for his office, he wishes both of you good luck and you simply shake your head at that with a small smile.

You head down the hallway and towards your cubicle with Seokjin following behind you. Once you reach your work station, you notice Yoongi peer his head above the plastic and then lower it as he realizes it’s just you and Seokjin, refocusing on his work instead.

“Alright,” You turn to him, “Both of us should get back to work.”

He groans, “Not this again.”

You raise a brow at that, but then you notice the dismayed expression on his face.

“We have to get started on work.” You persist with a reminder, “You know, because of your training…”

You’re expecting some complaints here and there, but his lips are set into a firm line and his arms are crossed. Normally, you would have just continued on as usual, but it isn’t until‒

“Uh-huh.” The sarcasm in his tone is blatantly obvious, “That sounds fantastic.”

You blink wide-eyed.

Seokjin slumps against the desk, hand pressing against his cheek.

His apathetic eyes dart over to you, taking notice of the confused stare you throw in his direction.

“What?”

“Do you…” You continue to probe, “Do you really hate working at the office that much?”

“Depends on my mood but generally, yes.” He honestly states.

But you’re still confused, “Not everyone has the luxury of getting such a good entry position in the office.”

“Well, not everyone wants to willingly kill off all their brain cells for that luxury.” He counteracts.

You frown, still taken aback from the sudden change. Things usually came easier for you because you like working in the office and you’re good at it, but that doesn’t take away the fact that you’re still chasing after a position that will most likely take a decade to come into your hands.

And yet someone with the opportunity that’s been handed to them, someone who won’t even have to work towards such a position, could quite literally hate it.

“I see…” You begin, your brows knitting together.

You know you can’t let this opportunity, this chance, slip so easily from you after Soyou finally acknowledged your skills. There has to be somethingyou can do to fix this.

Thinking back, you wonder if maybe your approach is just wrong – if maybe there was a way you could figure out what makes him want to stay rather than run away, if you could just somehow negotiate–

Your eyes flicker.

Planting your two hands against the table, you lean forward.

“Alright then ‒ what’s your deal?”

Seokjin blinks, “What?”

“Five minutes.” You grin, raising your hand to clarify, “I’ll give you a five-minute window to negotiate with me as much as you want. To establish an agreement between us for you to want to work here from now on.”

Seokjin stares at you like you’ve just offered him the most bizarre idea ever, but you on other hand, know how to play the business card. Negotiations are common in creating contracts and making decisions, so if you could just create one with him in which both parties can be happy, you hope it’ll dim down his desire of hating the workplace.

“Okay…” He cautiously begins, as if testing the waters, “I guess…more breaks?”

He sits properly in his chair now, carefully considering, “I can’t handle just one break through the day. Constantly working is too stuffy for me.”

“That’s agreeable.” You fumble around your drawer for a moment as you listen to him, soon yanking out a blank piece of paper that you scribble the term on.

“What’s next?”

Seokjin places a finger against his chin, “We can’t stay in one place. I’d like to move around more so show me around other floors in this building or something.”

You write it down, “After seeing you run away at every opportunity, I can agree with this one.”

“I did that once.” He interjects.

“And I’m going to pretend you weren’t trying for a second time down at the elevator.” You say as you write, glancing at him, “Alright, next?”

“Um…maybe go easy on the work stuff?” He states, growing surer by the minute, “You kind of rush over things easily and it’s hard to understand.”

“Could have told me that on day one when I asked you, but okay.” You murmur.

“Once you admit I caught you staring at me, then maybe.” He retorts back with a wink and you roll your eyes.

“Just keep going.”

“Okay…oh!” He snaps his fingers, “You have to take me out to some nearby decent restaurant.”

You blink, “What?”

He shrugs, “I spend all my time here and the last time I escaped, I saw some places to eat around.” He waves at the paper like he doesn’t want you questioning him, “Just write it down.”

“Fine.” You state, adding it in. Staring at the paper in full, you nod. “Alright, looking good so far.”

“What are your terms?” He softly questions.

“Huh?” You stare at him, not expecting him to actually ask, “Oh, um–“

You smile knowingly, “I guess they’re just properly focus when you’re working alongside me and don’t run away again.”

He smiles, “Alright, that’s agreeable.”

You narrow your eyes, “Did you just mimic me?”

“I’m sorry, isn’t it your job to train me?” He chides.

You raise your hands up in defense, “Touché.”

After adding in some tweaks here and there, you solidify both your conditions and Seokjin’s. It surprised you how easily it was to negotiate and come up with an agreement that both of you were okay with.

You smile at the result, “Now all we have to do is implement this.”

***

Your fingers glide against the keyboard as your type, generating up a report.

Seokjin furrows his brows, scrutinizing the paper before him for about five minutes before he clears his throat.

“Uh, so, in conclusion, sales have been rough…?”

You grimace, “Not quite….”

At his blank expression, you shift closer to him, “Gross profit is the region you need to look at, it’s essentially the total profit the company’s made once you take away the costs involved in producing the product and the services required to supply it.”

You flip through the papers and point to a particular page with a bunch of graphs, “This is the diagram that shows the amount of gross profit over the calendar year, with this,” You point over to the last product launch, “showcasing our lowest point.”

You peer up at Seokjin – who has a finger against his chin and his eyes are narrowed, like he was actually paying attention.

“I just have one question.” He brings up.

“What?”

“Why on earth do I need to know all of this?”

A loud exhale leaves you, baffled by the inquiry.

“Are you being serious right now?”

He narrows his eyes, “Do I not look serious to you?”

Letting out another sigh, you try not to linger on his words and ultimately retract your steps, “Okay, so–“ You flip through the pages until you can locate the first graph again. “Gross profit is important to know in sales because it helps us understand how much profit the company can make from its merchandise.”

You point toward the multiple charts again, “And exhibit B, our profit throughout the years with the latest product being close to the worst since the product didn’t sell.”

“So it’s important because it tells us the current profit the company makes and looking at it throughout the years helps with figuring out the low points.” Seokjin literates.

“Aka the ones to avoid, which can help forecast and predict new ones for the future, which is the root of what my job is.”

Seokjin stares at you in awe, “That…actually makes sense.”

You knowingly smile, and there’s a head of russet hair peering over in your cubicle.

“You sound like you’re making progress.” Yoongi smirks, “Does this mean I can have a noise agreement made?”

Seokjin responds this time, “You can try, apparently Y/N’s really good at doing five-minute negotiations.”

You scoff, “Just interpret your sales or I’ll get Yoongi to tell you a dad joke this time.”

Yoongi snaps his head around, staring at you like you’ve just asked the worst possible thing from him. Seokjin however, beams with the news.

“I’d love to hear some from him!”

Yoongi doesn’t miss a heartbeat to shut down that idea, “No.”

“Oh come on Yoongiii.” Seokjin laughs, “I know you secretly love them~”

Yoongi helplessly peers at you, “What have you done?”

You laugh, “Hopefully, something good.”

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